Being a mom with mental health problems.

I find myself here today, needing to write. I find it extremely difficult to focus the past week. When I say extremely, I mean I can barely bring myself out of bed. I of course fake that smile, fake that everything is fine attitude. I have no choice. I have little's watching me. They can't see the cracks I find forming lately. The cracks of my mind that are starting to let the depression flow through the rest of me. I keep telling myself 'Better weather will fix it.' Yet, It isn't curing it yet. Maybe I need more time. That's something I tell myself a lot. "It needs more time". I need more time. At this point, I will probably be telling myself this for the rest of my life.

For those of you who don't know, I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder as a teenager. I didn't quite manage it right then, and I sure don't now. I was also diagnosed with depression and PTSD later on in life. I've learned to sum myself up as a walking time bomb. I always sink back into the deep hole of depression, I always have manic episodes of bipolar and I always have something that brings me back to the cause of my PTSD. High's and low's is what my life has been. When it's good, it's REALLY good and when it's bad, it's REALLY bad. No in between with me. I have choose not to medicate myself because nothing has worked. I suffer quietly. So my children never know, so my family never knows when it's bad. I always wear that smile.

Since having children, I find myself crying quite a bit during my lows. Mostly because I feel like the worst mother ever. Like these little humans would be better with a normal mother, one who doesn't have mental illness. My biggest fear is them growing up and telling others their childhood or me raising them wasn't 100% because of my problems. I have cried to my husband countless times because I feel like if I killed myself, they'd have a better shot at life. He always brings me back from the edge because he reminds me that I don't show them the illness. I also remind myself how selfish it would be to end your own life, and I am not a selfish person.

Why am I writing this today? Because, I want to cry before I leave for work. I have found myself neglecting the summer bucket list which is usually done by now. I find myself not outside 95% of the day with the kids as I usually do. I find myself getting short with them and having to try to stop myself. I want to cry because it's May and my depression still hasn't gotten 'better' like it does this time of year. I usually am up to my neck with crafts, activities and excitement for the months to come... but today, this week, the past month. I could care less. I am suffering. I am not living. I am realizing today, that maybe I need help and that I can't always do this alone.