How dare you insinuate that I'm going to raise a suck of a son. It hurts. You know how hard it is for me to keep believing I'm a good parent.

And I hate the product of the eight hours of work we did. It's fucking embarrassing. And you won't even review it. No. It's not okay that you insist on professionalism to absurd degrees other places but not here. 

Yes, I know I'm hormonal and depressed and overreacting. But I didn't get to see my family for four fucking days for you. And you pushing yourself is just going to make you sick again. I cannot keep up with you. And I finally get how intense and intimidating I must be sometimes because being one the receiving end is scary as hell.

I don't have the option of ignoring you and getting over it. We have deadlines. But I'm tired now. And I don't know what to do to make the situation better. I love you and your intensity. But I'm hurt right now. And I have to find a way to not be hurt.

I've been beating myself up for years for being a know-it-all. Today, I gave myself permission to be an expert. I have no ideas what that means but there was some relief there. I'll see what comes of it.

I come with pitfalls and traps that I set for myself to fail. There are less now, but they are still there.

This is all the depression talking. So it is mostly, if not all, lies. And maybe tomorrow or next week, I will be able to face all this and heal. That's a nice thought.