Do you ever…

Do you ever just want to say screw it all get in the car and just drive?  That’s how I feel right now. I want to get in the car turn up the music and just drive till I run out of gas. Of course my OCD and anxiety wouldn’t let that happen, I’d need to have every moment of the trip planned.  But the fact remains is that I’m exhausted from living today when I wasn’t at PT I was filling out paperwork.  Paperwork for mileage reimbursement paperwork for respite care paperwork for records releases.  And the thing is it took me all day it shouldn’t of taken me all day but it did. This is the first time since I got up this morning that I have been able to ice my ankle and my hip.

When I got up my daughter needed help cleaning her room we have been fighting with her all week and her ADD makes it difficult for her to be able to sort and figure out how to even start so I had to sit there and tell her every single item and want to do with it my OCD wanted me to just do it for her but unfortunately I cannot bend over for three months so I had to just sit therefor over two hours and tell her where to put everything.  

When that was finally done I want in my bedroom to get dressed and my husband reminded me that I had PT I said yes 11 he said it’s 1049. Cue major anxiety attack.  Cue not being able to find clothes.  Cue screaming at husband because he couldn’t find them either. Got to PT about 10 minutes late which didn’t seem to be a problem and she worked me hard.  I did a lot of good work and I’ve made a lot of progress so that’s good I’m really hoping to be rid of the crutches by next Wednesday.

After PT I came home and got the mail and started in with all the phone calls and paperwork work that I had to do

Then hubby made dinner for Little one and I had cocoa pebbles (yes I’m back on that)…. i HATE mealtime with a passion.  I hate the coaxing to eat one more bite, to use your fork, to use your napkin, to sit back up at the table.  I wanted to gauge my eyes out with my spoon. 

Today is an angry day I guess. 

Until next time…. 

Anne of Green Gables…

Anne: Marrila don’t you ever imagine things different from the way they are?
Marrila: No, never.

-Anne of Green Gables

Oh Anne, Anne, Anne- I have always, and will always identify with you.

 I have spent the last 2 days watching Ann with an E on Netflix and now I am watching the PBS movie that came out in December that I DVRd but never had time for.
Watching Anne reminds me of my childhood, I loved reading her books, watching the mini-series, everything about Anne of Green Gables was intoxicating. And I find now, I still feel that pang of imagination in my heart, that innocence and wonder.
I felt a lot like Anne growing up.  A child mistreated and forced to grow up too soon, but hanging on to dear life to the imaginary childhood she had.  An outcast among her peers except for one “bosom friend”.  I had one friend most all of my childhood.  And you know, looking back she was all I needed,  I didn’t need a gaggle of girls surrounding me, I had Q.  She and I met in the bus line one day when I was in 3rd grade and she was in 2nd.  We were inseparable.  I spent many many nights at her house.  So many that I used to pretend it was my house.  Other than her pesky and sometimes downright mean older brother her house was perfect.  Her mom was home when she got home from school – while mine was not.  Her father looked at her with eyes of a man who had won the lottery of daughters. While mine called me fool, numb, zero.  Her house was where I learned about things like Anne of Green Gables, Saturday Night Live, Shirley Valentine, and the meaning of home.
I remember one day after I got my license her father thought we had been off “joy riding” and he gave us both a stern talking to. I treasured that talking to my whole life. It was full of love and concern, not screaming and profanity.  And while at the time I thought he was wrong, after all I don’t think we were out joy-riding though maybe we were, I treasure that memory above all of my memories of him.  Of her mother watching her hand quilt.  Adoring and running my fingers over the quilts she had made, feeling each stitch, I can still remember the feeling of the taught threads beneath my fingers.
I still have never had a handmade quilt, but someday I will learn.  And I will remember the nights sleeping over there, watching J quilt with fondness.
I think the whole point of this post goes back to the first part I posted, which was also my Facebook status. Like Anne, I have always and may always wish things were different than they are.  I was contacted today by Q out of the blue, and it brought up a lot of good memories, which is a good thing, it’s been a hard day emotionally.
I have been crying a lot.  Hubby is outside building a shed to put all the contents of his shop in.  I don’t know if that’s why I am crying or something else, or nothing in particular, you never can tell with depression.  But I do know, that next Friday is move out day, and I will probably be crying a lot.  I am actually thankful I am unable to help, I am not sure I can handle the thought of packing up all his stuff from the business. Even now, the tears run so full from my eyes I can barely see to type.  My heart is so broken for him.  It was his dream, and it’s ripped away.
It’s why I am trying so hard to lose the Anne in me.  I don’t want to dream anymore.  Not when it seems every dream you have is either ripped away, doesn’t come true, or doesn’t come without a price. Maybe I will explain that last line another day, it’s a longer, more selfish story, and I am not ready to talk about it today.
Until next time.


My family has a long history of addiction. My mother’s father was an alcoholic who killed himself. My mother had two brothers and three sisters one sister and both her brothers were alcoholics and or drug addicts. In fact her youngest brother just died right after Christmas from complications of addiction to heroin.

I have no proof of exactly what was taken but I know my mother lost her job as an RN for meds missing from the med cart so it one point in time she had an addiction and I know in the 70 she dabbled in some pretty heavy stuff like acid with her ex and now she smokes marijuana daily.

My father’s brother was addicted to opiates and driving while under the influence as a young man (young 20s) got into an accident and suffered a brain injury and has never been the same he’s never lived on his own and has been living in a nursing home since he was about 40.

Why am I telling you all this because the past week and a half since my surgery I’ve been on Percocet and it has been the only time that I am not depressed while the Percocet is in my system I feel I could almost call happy but I don’t feel pain or sadness I feel like I can feel my OCD and that my Brain isn’t right but it almost doesn’t matter the PTSD memories come slower and less frequent I move slower and my brain moves slower.  I can see why people get addicted to these and how they could get addicted to these I myself think that I’ll feel a sense of loss when my pills are gone. I feel that I could easily become a victim of addiction to these pills.

This is something I’m going to have to mention to my med doctor today because I do not want to become an addict I think this proves to me more than I need the ECT treatment than anything else I need a reset of my brain.

Since starting that I went to my Pollyanna and Mary Poppins.  They were both a little concerned about the Percocet – as they should be, but I only have 6 pills left so they really shouldn’t be too concerned.

My therapist is thinking that maybe once a week is too intense for me, because I self harm – or want to- when I leave her office.  She also wants me to do one thing for me, that I enjoy to do, even if I don’t want to. In 2 weeks when I see her (she is on vacation next week) she wants me to think about other or not I want to keep weekly appointments or got to biweekly. Im really not sure how I feel about all of this.  Hubby went to the appointment with me, and he basically told us that I am withdrawing as much as I can from parenting.  It hurt, but it true. Sometimes the truth hurts….

Will finish this tomorrow…. eyes tired.

I spoke with my sister who (is a therapist) an she completely disagreed with the therapist -she feels its more likely that I need more intense therapy, so I am going to have to think about things, and decide what I need.

Mary Poppins has taken me off the Latuda because I thought it was making me really tired in the morning, but I am not so sure now that I haven’t taken it for a couple days, I think it’s depression and life that’s making me so tired.

We talked more about ECT therapy, and she thinks its worth a consult.  But on the other hand she thinks it might be worth waiting until I have had my appointment with the endocrinologist, given that the TSH is high.  I agree with that, but I am not happy with the lack of progress with my antidepressants. Hubby feels there has been very little if any progress in my depression, and Mary Poppins says looking over my chart it feels like not only have I not gotten any better but gotten worse. UGH.  Talk about discouraging.

So where do we go from here? I have no idea. But I will tell you for anyone worried, I have 1 Percocet left. There’s not chance of addiction- but I will be honest and tell you I miss the feelings it gave me.

Until next time….

Is it any wonder? 

Is it any wonder that I’m fat? I ate toast with peanut butter for breakfast, canned pears (in their own juice) for lunch, a cookie, a 1×1 square brownie. Not so bad right? 

Well then 5:30 hit – I ate 5 Trader Joe’s fruit leathers and then asked hubby to get me a “snack” like eclairs at hannaford…. he did – the 4 pack.  Which now sits empty at my feet in the bag to hide the evidence, to hide my shame. 210 calories each, 840 calories total.  Not terrible I guess-  but it’s not the calories that’s the problem for me- it’s the sitting there and eating four 6 inch eclairs in less than 5 minutes sitting in the grocery store parking lot. It’s shameful. It’s disgusting.  It’s everything I think about myself.  

Fat people don’t bother me, fat ME bothers me.  I’m gross. But I see someone my same weight or even more- some of them are gorgeous, but either way there’s nothing wrong with them I don’t look at them and think oh my god they’re so gross but when I look at myself in the mirror I think that.  when I think about myself sitting in the parking lot of the grocery store shoving eclair after eclair down my throat to fill some sort of  void I think I’m gross. I’m gross.

 Even my husband gave me a look of disgust that I’ll never forget I’m must be discussing to him now too.  I guess I made my own thoughts come true I’ve always thought he thought I was fat and ugly but wouldn’t say it and now he really does think I’m gross. He knows the true me. The binger.  

I think what I found out or figure it out I guess was that because right now I can’t hurt myself I’m compensating with other compulsions spending eating two things I can control two things that bring me pleasure if only for a moment but the question is which compulsion should I indulge in which is worse? 

Excuse me while I go throw up, I feel sick.


2….5….7. Two-hundred fifty seven pounds.  That’s what the scale read at Mary Poppins office today. I have not been that big ever. I think if I even go back and look at my pre-delivery weight I have never been that big. I gained 12 pounds in the past 14 days. Twelve! Mary Poppins really believes that there something wrong with my thyroid and my TSH is higher than it should be so she’s probably right…. but 257 pounds.  Christmas 2015 I was 157. In 18 months I’ve gained 100lbs. 

Even if when I go to the endocrinologist in August she find something wrong with my thyroid it’s not going to magically make the weight fall off in fact it’s going to be harder to lose the weight. I feel discouraged, I feel depressed, I feel like a beached whale 🐳.

This was not the post that I had intended to post tonight that one guess I’ll save for tomorrow, but this has been weighing heavily on my mind. 12lbs in 2 weeks.  257lbs. 

And then there’s the fact that my TSH is high which indicates a problem with my thyroid. My TSH was 2.x in November 3.93in May and 4.08n in June why is my thyroid increasing at such an alarming rate of course I think the worst of some tumor or cancer growing. I’m a worst case scenario type of person. 

Just wait tomorrow’s post is even more uplifting 🙄

Father’s Day

Father’s Day brings a sort of division in my mind. First and foremost the honoring of my husband as a father.  That’s the easy part.  He’s a wonderful father, husband, caretaker, and friend.  He is the best of everything.  I love him more than life itself. So a day to honor him, I think it’s perfect.  In fact I bought him his dream knife for Father’s Day- a Benchmade Osborne.  His reaction was perfect “you bought a Benchmade?”  His face was lit up like kid at Christmas.   I knew I had done good, and I hoped that he realized I did that because he is the most wonderful partner.  Especially lately, he has been taking such good care of me, I can’t even begin to thank him, there are no words that I could use to express my gratitude.

The other side is honoring my own father.  It’s hard to honor a man who hasn’t been much of the kind of father I wanted and needed in my life.  But on the other hand he is my father.  And as much as I want to hate him for what he’s done to me I don’t – I love him because he’s my father.

But I do have a man in my life that has been a father to me for about 20 years.  When my mother and father split up my mother became in involved with a man she had known her whole life, a man who was her “boyfriend” when she was a little girl.  This man has been a wonderful father to me.  He has done all the things a father does.  He has given me tough love, and sensitive love.  He’s been there to catch me when I fall as well as let me fall to find my own way and make my own mistakes.  He didn’t have to do any of this. I am no blood relation to him, but he CHOSE me to be HIS daughter not just the daughter of the woman he loves.  I hope that he knows how much I love and appreciate him. He is not my “step father” he is my “dad”.

So to all the dads out there, awesome dads, men who tried but came short as fathers, and men who didn’t have to be dad’s to little girls and boys that came into their lives, Happy Father’s Day.  And of course Happy Father’s Day to my Heavenly Father who knew me before I was formed.