And here I am, back. No, I didn't die a tragic death, neither have I gone into exile or anything as dramatic as that. I've been depressed.
The fact that I had to stay at home with my 2 year-old for a couple of weeks didn't help a lot. I explain: he's a handful, stubborn and wilful.
It just got me thinking that I can control my son, I can't control my life, I just can't control anything lately. And that freaks me out.
And then comes crying. I just can't control myself. I feel I am a failure (in more than one aspect) and that makes me feel even worse. It's a downward spiral.
I'm back to work this week, which helps, keeps my mind occupied (a little too much maybe). And obviously as I am here writing again it's not as bad as it was anymore.
But the feelings haven't gone, sometimes I don't even know what brings them on, but they are there, one way or another.
I think I just resigned myself that this is not going to change, whatever I do with my life, this way of living is just what's inside me and will always be.
