Today’s a new day, and I am not sure if I can make it another hour. Two weeks and chicken change days later (after having the baby) and my antidepressants aren’t working. What’s going on with me now?!

Yesterday turned out shitty for me. I didn’t have the energy to say “Happy Monthly Anniversary”. Been with him for two years and a month, and starting out the gates (again), I feel alone and underappreciated. Is this part of the parental depression when you have the baby? I mean, I shouldn’t ask, because this is baby number four, but this is hitting differently than before.

Last year, we had our son during the lockdown. In Dallas, TX, there were riots out the ass. Sitting in the hospital, newborn baby boy, and watching George Floyd’s video spread like wildfire catered to the iceberg of depression and hate in my heart. We have a son, and this is what we are dealing with from society that “claims” they appreciate blacks and don’t see color, but still treated as low down niggas.

Yeah… You can’t relate if you never had to fight for something, even if you had the same rights from birth.

However, this emotional mood I’m in, which is throwing a wrench in everything, isn’t bringing me comfort. My roommate murdered my laptop, so I am doing everything on my phone. He also hid the camera equipment, so my boyfriend couldn’t handle up on his business.

Everyone has their lives and too busy for anything, unless they’re getting paid. Now, here I am, a stay-at-home mom, feeling alone and misunderstood, and fighting through depression by myself. Granted, this is the perfect time to grow and overcome private obstacles. However, this isn’t anything new. All my pregnancies I felt alone and ignored. After having the baby, it amplified to where I didn’t want to be bothered anymore. What for if I am not worth an hour or less of your time?

I went backwards and started cutting again. Many people may say, “don’t do it”, but feeling the blade on my skin did feel comforting. After doing what I did, I got mad at myself all over again. Even though my wounds weren’t deep, I felt insignificant to the world.

So, what now?

I guess I’ll take this weekend off and regather my thoughts and emotions. Letting my boyfriend know is completely out of the question. He has enough on his plate that should last him another trillion and one years. As long as I am conscious enough to answer the phone and sound like I love my life, then I am good to go.

Should I let him in? Is it worth it after two years of failed attempts of being transparent and hopeful that he’s more than understanding?

I’ll leave those questions there for God to discover. He owes me one anyway.


By the way,

I decided to try this journaling thing again, but more progressive than damaging. I have done this style before, but time and time again my boyfriend wasn’t too happy with it.

We agreed to change the style, make it more healthier and progressive than negative and whiney. Now, after going a year without journaling my heart out, I am back with the shits. Maybe this time I improved. Plus, I am prepared for whatever comes my way (since I am not using my signature pen name).

Let’s see how the cookie crumbles.

Until next time old friend…