Did you guys know that Winston Churchill suffered from depression? He called it his "black dog." It followed him around. If he was having a particularly down day he would say he "had a black dog on his back."
Guys, I think I have a black dog following me around. It's not a big dog - kind of a yippy little Scottish terrier. In the morning, it follows me around barking: "You can't do this anymore!" "You're failing as a mother!" "Your pants wouldn't be so tight if you would stop eating chocolate chip cookies!" And when I collapse into bed at the end of the day and close my eyes, I can hear him yipping at the foot of my bed: "You didn't do enough today!" "You are ruining your kids!" "You are thirty-one and you still have zits?!"
I hate this freaking dog.
He has been a particular nuisance of late. During the day I can drown him out with friends and children and running and housework and cracking jokes. But when the house is quiet in the morning or when I'm falling asleep he's still there, barking away.
I don't know why my metaphorical depression dog is male, but there it is.
I'm not trying to get sympathy from you guys. We both know that there are plenty of people in the world who are much more deserving of your sympathy. I'm just trying to figure out a way to kill this dog once and for all so that I can spend less time focused on myself and more time focused on other people.
I'm reminded of the time that DJ threw a frozen block of elk meat at our barking neighbor dog one night a few years back. He hit it in the head, the dog ate the meat (freezer paper and all), and we finally got to sleep. I guess what I need is a metaphorical frozen chunk of elk meat.