Priceless

It's been a week since I was laid off. How am I handling it? It's day by day. So far I have cried countless tears, applied to three jobs, and come up with about 30 bagillion (yes, that's an actual number!) reasons as to why I shouldn't have to be going through this at all.

Priceless.

My husband told me he was proud of me the other day. He said that I was handling things really well - that three years ago, I would have crawled into a hole and stayed indefinitely. Three years ago, he would have been right. There were days last week when I did not want to get out of bed. I laid there, waiting for some divine intervention that would prevent me from physically moving, thus having to call out. But in the end, my limbs moved and I went to work. Those moments are so scary. So reminiscent of a worse time in my life. This is what a recovering alcoholic must feel like when presented with a drink. Except, I was never an alcoholic. I was depressed. I thought about going back to therapy - my one saving grace, only second to the support of my husband. I thought about the possibility of going back on medication. I've thought about...going back. But like many who hit rock bottom, I refuse to go back. I refuse to wake up with tears already in my eyes. I refuse to make chores out of daily tasks. I refuse to let them beat me. My enemy last time was me. This time, I have to be on my side.

I have no idea what this week will be like. I have no idea what next week will be like. Or the week after. But I do know that it has to work out. It has to get better. It just...has to.