I got out of bed today.
In the first blog, “The Start of Something Beautiful,” I wrote about how, of all my experiences, being a mommy was my greatest accomplishment. When I say greatest I mean, the thing in life I am best at doing. I have accomplished many things, but this is, and always will be, my greatest.
Then, there is my hardest accomplishment. Getting out of bed every day. When I wake up, I do not get out of bed for myself, because believe me, I could find it easier to stay there. I get up, simply, for my husband and my son. Tristan cannot take care of himself. He needs me. Marco needs me, even if he is a grown man.
I open my eyes, I see the sun has risen, but I close my eyes again and pretend it is not a new day. I escape into the back of my eyelids, for just a little longer. I wait. I wait for Marco to roll over and say good morning, I wait for Tristan to wiggle around and announce his presence. I lay there and I wait to be told that I need to get up, because others need me.
As easy as it could be to stay in bed all day, every day, I get up. I could give up and give in to my mental diseases, I could let them consume me. They already almost have, so why not give in completely ? The truth is, that I do not want to disappoint my family. The two people in this house that would do anything for me. And if they would do anything for me, then I cannot lay in the bed, wasting away, and do nothing for them. Every day though, I feel myself giving in to the desire of staying there.
It is always an uphill battle. I refuse to let my battle win.