NaNoWriMo: Days 11 & 12

A BIG thank you to InkyGirl for this laugh! I hear ya, sista!

Well, day 11 wasn't all that productive, but two Prozacs later, I feel more ready to delve into my writing today on day 12. To be perfectly honest (hell, why not be honest, I don't think too many people are reading this), but I hit a rough spot yesterday when a dam broke open and my mind got flooded with hellish memories. When writing a memoir and when my mind is so fragile, that's the chance I take--that by writing 'something' will be remembered rending me useless. But--this may be cheating--I am going to 'fast forward' a few years to happier times until the Prozac kicks in all the way, and then I'll back track and pick up in the past where I left off.

Not only is my depression standing in my way, but factor in a full-time work-at-home job, my kids, the sometimes very needy hubby (he is working on a line of comic books, and me, being the only computer savy nerd in the house, I'm left to scan, tweak, and format his images into a printable format), and the cooking, and the cleaning (well, the hubby does the bulk of that, but I am the only one who ever cleans the sh*t stains from the toliet and the toothpaste off the bathroom mirror)--so in other words, I AM OVERWHELMED!

I am so tired, I could cry.

I feel so overwhelmed and so stupid today, and I am so tired I could cry. And earlier today, I did. Not just once but at least twice. It may even had been three times because I vaguely remember looking in the mirror noticing the owl eyes and black rivers down my checks and cleaning them away at least twice.

It's hard to explain what's wrong with me, but some days I just CAN'T FUNCTION, and today was like that.

It's like I'm in a cloud, and I'm waiting for the sky to clear up, the sun to break through, but it doesn't, and so I just float around bumping into everything, and when I bump into something (a responsibility, my children, my hubby), I get so dizzy and confused.

I can't answer questions.
I can't form a single coherent sentence.
I just stare with a blank, stupid look on my face.
My dyslexia and my ADD flares up all at once into one congealed mess.
I'm a basket case.

I think depression is settling in, again, and it scares me to death because I hate it. I simply HATE HATE HATE not feeling like myself because everything suffers for it--my writing, my job, my family, everything. I just want to sit down and cry. Maybe I will, that, or refill my prescription for Prozac.