Yesterday I left the house.

You may not see why this is so important to me, and you may not immediately care. You may even say to yourself, what the fuck is wrong with this woman that she has to make such a big deal about everything in her life?

Well, I'm depressed, that's why. It's to the point that unless it's a medical appointment, I literally have to fight myself to put on my shoes and leave the house. I don't want to get up. This is not a good thing. When it's a fight to get yourself motivated enough to walk as far as the corner mailbox, that's a big deal. I can't just snap out of this. Wish I could, though. I've got a cute little baby asleep on my lap, and she's just the most squeezable and cuddly little girl that I know. If this was not so, I wouldn't love her so much, and I wouldn't make the effort to deal with this depression right now.

It's all about the small victories in my day this week. I took a shower. Twice. I cleaned my kitchen and washed all those bottles, and made up the formula to the exact consistancy of clotted cream, and measured out her medication every 6 hours in little flasks that remind me of high school chemistry. I've made dinner for my family and I've done it on little sleep, and no restful sleep at all. Personally, I think it sucks that whenever I close my eyes this week I've got the PTSD nightmares. I think that the perpetrators should be hunted down and shot for this, but that wouldn't solve anything. There's no way out of this but through, and that's what I'm working my way towards right now.