Why Optimism?

I am an optimist. I've been an optimist since I seen the need for one in my family (or maybe all my life).
Why then, am I having trouble getting out of bed each morning?
Why then am I feeling so tired by midday (regardless of caffeine intake) that I really need a moment to pick myself back up enough to keep moving?
Why then, am I so tired of my husband's voice that I'd rather watch a movie, play on the computer, sleep, or ignore him all together, than actually have a conversation with him?
Why would I rather just let my kids have their own way for the evening than bother with fussing and putting them to bed by a decent time?
Why don't I care when there's an accident in the middle of the night?
Why don't I care enough to pick up the toys that are strewn about, and would much rather step over them for the next week or so until I feel like making the kids pick them up?
Why am I starting to pick out of the plastics cupboard for my bowls, instead of doing the dishes?
Why is the laundry sitting in a crumpled heap on my bedroom floor, with the occasional footprint on a stray item because I could care less about putting it away?
I seem to have lost sight of the reason for my unfailing optimism. I've lost hope, clarity, and faith that things will get better eventually. I don't want eventually, I just want it to end. Period.
I'm tired of trying to find room in my mother's house for me, and my 3 other family members. I'm tired of cramming thing sin closets, under beds, on shelves, and in random places because they don't have a home.
I'm tired of cooking.
I'm tired of constantly cleaning up after my kids because I'm so afraid that any mess they make will bring down the wrath of parents who are as fed up of living with us, as we are of them.
I'm tired of shushing my kids when they get excited, upset, or just plain feel like being kids.
I'm tired of telling them they can't do something because this house isn't our and I don't want them ruining anything.
I'm tired of relying on other folks to keep me afloat.
I'd sleep with the entire fucking city if it meant that my kids could have a place of their own, and actually be comfortable. I'd rob a bank if it meant that I could stop answering my kids with "I'm sorry honey, that's stored at Ama's in Washington because we don't have room for it here". I'd sell my soul if it meant that my children wouldn't have to struggle like I am now. I'd seriously just take some blunt metal instrument to myself right now if it wasn't for the fact that that's exactly what I'd be giving them if I did it. A life of struggle.
I'm an optimist because I have to be. I have to believe that there is a reason for this. I have to believe that it will all work out. I have to believe that someday it will give someone a chuckle, or an epiphany. If I don't, I'd give us all some Kool-Aid and call it a day.