Everyday I walk through the door around 6pm, and I am greeted with the most heart warming smile from a little boy who stole my heart from the day I first found out I was pregnant. Sometimes he will doubletime it over to me, sometimes he won't. I am okay with that. I sit in the floor and attempt to give him my full attention for the two more hours he will be awake, hoping and praying one day he understands that I am doing this all for him.
9 days until move day. I have nothing packed. Nothing planned out. I don't feel like it when I come home. All I want to do is spend time with Brayden, and avoid the things that give me an attitude problem when I am home. This has made being around me lately not so pleasant when I am home. My mother is suggesting I go see my doctor again, and possibly my therapist to see if I can sort things out. I would, but I hate the medicine they prescribe, and they only want to treat the depression, not the anxiety. I feel like it's a situation I cannot win.
Then I think about how my brother spent the Christmas holiday, and how I feel about the military failing our soldiers who suffer from PTSD. My brother has done a marvelous job of managing his appointments, triggers, therapy, etc. A buddy of his didn't manage it as well. He is now in jail awaiting trial for a murder and attempted murder charge.
I guess when I think about it, my situation could be much worse. I don't have irrational thoughts. I just worry and lack patience at home. Maybe with a little bit of a lifestyle change, I will be able to shake this. I just have to hang in there.
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