It's not just that on Friday I had a job offer and by Monday they had decided not to hire me....it's not just the fact that everytime I go and interview or meet new people, I'm more pregnant and more self-conscious about my body....it's not just that Leigh told me that he slept with another woman after I left New Hampshire, but that I shouldn't feel bad because "it was only a one-night stand"....it's not just the fact that my nipples have started leaking colustrum (pre-lactation. Yumm....low in fat, high in carbohydrates and protein. Beat that, Atkins dieters!) even before the start of my third trimester.....It's none of these individual facts. It's all of them.
I really don't want to be a depressed mother. Peanut deserves more than that. I've battled with depression ever since Mongolia and, for the most part, I've climbed uphill, but have managed to see the horizon. I feel like I'm slipping back under. The cummulative effect of being single, pregnant, and jobless weighs heavy on me. I'm sleeping a lot more and it's getting harder and harder to wake up in the morning because I don't want to face another day. I'm not sure what to do. Peanut and I are already on anti-depressants (I'm sorry, baby! The doctors keep telling me that it's safe and that you'll grow up to be strong and happy, but I worry. Is it going to be like DDT in the 1970s, where everyone thought it was safe? Or like when they found out that taking estrogen suppliments during menopause can increase your risk of breast and cervical cancer?). I don't have a therapist yet in Texas. I need to get one.
*Update* I called some therapists this afternoon and hopefully one of them will call me back. I also have a second interview set up for tomorrow at 11am at another non-profit. Wish me luck. This time, if I get a job offer, I'm asking for it in writing. Maybe blood. I'm definately heading into the private sector if these folks don't want to hire me.