This is the sentiment my intrusive thoughts feeds me, constantly. 

My house is messy because I don’t have the energy or time to clean it, so I am a bad mom. 

I am frustrated with having to work from home today and my toddler is being very very needy and messy (with his food), and I am a bad mom for being frustrated with him over normal, developmental behaviors. He deserves a better mom than me. He is so sweet and perfect, and I am a bad mom for being irritated by him. 

The laundry and dishes are so far behind, even if I started it wouldn’t get finished for several days. I am a bad mom for putting my family through this. 

And I am exhausted from constantly fighting off these awful feelings about myself. No one else thinks this way of me, but it doesn’t change how intensely I hate myself for being sick and depressed. 

When does it get better? I’m already upset with how quickly my time with my baby is going to fly by—contrary to how it may sound, I am not at all wishing for the day he turns 18 and flies the coop. I just want to not be a fucking wreck right now, so i can actually enjoy these short years when he needs me.