Life block?

I started a post last night about why I haven’t written much lately, but it isn’t so much that I haven’t written lately, it’s not writer’s block- it’s life block.  I am barely living my life.  I am not someone I have ever been, or ever dreamed I would be. Part of me wants to be curled up in bed, or watching TV or reading.  And part of me looks at that part of me with disgust.

That part of me, looks at me and how I am living my life right now and wants to scream “wake the hell up”.  You have two wonderful children- yes they have issues, but they are amazing human beings.  Stop yelling at them for making messes, for wanting to play with slime, for being a typical teenager with earbuds in.  You have an amazing husband who stands by you no matter what.  He’s picked up the cooking when you dropped it, he doesn’t feel well either and yet he humor’s your breakdown.  He listens to every bit of whining you do about your past, or how you look, or how much this isn’t the life you dreamed of.  This isn’t the life he dreamed of either.  He didn’t expect to be unable to work at 38 years old.  He didn’t expect to have to depend on the “system”, he expected to follow in his father’s and grandfather’s footsteps, and work hard all his life, to come home and be a jack of all trades, to be able to take vacations, and be able to do things he wanted to do.  That part of me, looks at me with disgust and disappointment.  Thinks I am selfish.  Hates me.  That part of me knows I am a disappointment to my family, that I have never done anything or accomplished anything.

And that part of me? Hates all of me.  Hates itself for not being stronger, for not being able to “snap out of it”.

I want so badly to wake up tomorrow and to smile, to be thankful for another day, to get up  and make breakfast, happily get my kids ready for school, or better yet still be homeschooling them, to cook my husband a good meal at dinner time.  To be the fun mom that makes slime, that let’s them cook in the kitchen and make a mess.  The mom who understands that her teenager pushing her away isn’t about her, that it’s about growth and independence.

But instead I am trapped in a prison of my own construct.  No matter how much I WANT to snap out of it, I can’t. I have mental illness.  It’s not laziness, it’s not weakness, it’s not selfishness.  It’s just as real as a physical illness.  I KNOW this is my logical mind.  In the part of my mind that Mary Poppins would say my insight lives.  But I can’t seem to accept any truth where I am not at fault for everything.

Another reason I haven’t written is that I just don’t seem to be able to muster up the energy most days.  For some reason that is unfathomable to me, February was a crazy stupidly busy month.  And what 2 years ago I would have scoffed at and completed with ease, makes me need a long nap.  My counselor and I were talking today about the fact that I am just drained all the time, I am grumpy and irritable, I have no hobbies anymore – even the thought of taking out my knitting needles makes me tired.  She told me about the “spoon theory”.  She explained it that we have a certain number of spoons everyday, and as a person with my mental illness has fewer spoons that someone without it.  So where someone without mental illness can get up at 6am, shower, get their kids off to school, make breakfast and maybe work out and only use a spoon, me just thinking about getting up out of bed to face another day uses a spoon.  And showering uses a spoon or two.  That by the end of the day I don’t have any spoons left.  So true. The only reason I have the energy to write all this out today is that I took a nap already, and I am home alone.  Hubby has taken little one to occupational therapy, and big one is still at school.  No one needs me at the moment.

Last night I was laying in bed thinking about how hubby has to take little one to occupational therapy and maybe I should surprise him and make dinner.  I want to do that so much, but just thinking about the work it will take makes me exhausted.  I am going to try.  Even though everything I cook lately comes out terribly, even though it will wear me out.  Sometimes I think I don’t express enough gratitude for all the does for us.  He is the unsung hero, here in the family, holding us up, when he himself can barely stand.   So while he might not be able to work, he is providing something so much more important than financial support, he is carrying the weight of it all on him. I will never be able to pay him back for all he does.  I just wish my family could see the tremendous amount he contributes to our lives.  I wish they would look at him the way I look at him and see a hero.


My dear brother has me hooked on a song by Ed Sheehan – Supermarket Flowers.  He wrote it for his grandmother who had recently passed. If you haven’t heard it, and are in the mood for a good ugly cry open youtube and have a listen.

When I hear the song I think about my mom. But I am not so sure it’s MY mom I am thinking about.  I think it’s partially her, and partially the mom I wish she was.  The mom who always picks you up when you fall.  Needless to say, every time I listen to it at the very least I get choked up, but usually I shed a few tears and often have a good ugly cry.

There is a line towards to the end of the song where he says:

You were an angel in the shape of my mum
You got to see the person that I have become

That bit of the song made me wonder every time. Obviously Ed’s grandmother had been proud of him, look at what he had accomplished.  But I wondered what my mom thought. My gut told me that I am an embarrassment.  On disability, poor, have mental illness, never finished college, never got that “big job”, never really did much with my life in term of success the way the world defines it. I have a husband who worked his butt off to support us for 20+ years, but then became disabled as well. We lost our house, our car.  We are not like anyone else in our family financially or career-wise.  My sister got a bachelor’s degree, a master’s degree and became a dually licensed therapist, with her own practice and employees.  Her and her husband make a whole lot of money, and live a life where they don’t have to worry that the next time her kid grows out of sneakers it will break their budget beyond repair.  She is not obese, and she is “the pretty one”.   My brother is what I would consider a big whig at one of the largest banks in America.  He is extremely successful and has climbed the ladder at the company from the ground up.

So after weeks of wondering what my mom would say if I asked her about “the person I have become”.

So the other day, on a particularly sad day, I thought what the heck let’s make it worse and ask her.

Me: (8:00am) Please don’t call me back about this- I’ll cry and I’ve cried enough today- are you disappointed in the way my life has turned out?  Disappointed in who I became?

Mom: (2:07pm) Am I supposed to answer this? U said not to call you.

Me: (2:08pm) Yes you can text, just don’t call, if I hear your voice I’ll cry.

Mom: (2:11pm) No I am not disappointed in you. I am disappointed you don’t have the support you need to shine.


What does that mean?  I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it. I can’t shake my feelings of sadness. My mom isn’t disappointed IN me, but she’s disappointed in my life.  She’s disappointed I don’t “shine” in her eyes.

Shine- what could I do that would make me shine in her eyes? Make lots of money? Have a really good job?  Have children without mental health issues? Not have mental illness myself?

I know at least a part of it she blames on my husband.  My sister, step-father and mother have all made comments over the years that make it obvious they don’t like certain things about him.  My step-father went so far as to say that my husband “mis-uses” me.

My husband doesn’t misuse me.  And it’s not his fault I don’t shine.  I made the choices that have made me who I am and if I don’t shine that’s on me.

I know I am fat and not as pretty as my sister. I got my dad’s genes, I was doomed before I was born.

I know I didn’t graduate college (not for poor grades or lack of funding – which my parents didn’t help me with AT ALL might I add) but because of different priorities- namely wanting to be a wife and mother.

I know we are poor and that’s an embarrassment. I know we drive beat up vehicles that are loud and ugly.

I know we don’t buy locally sourced organic food.

I know I don’t make my own soap, lotion, and deodorant.

I know we don’t grow 99% of what we eat.

I know that I have children with issues and I know you blame me and my parenting for them.  I swear if I could have done something that would have prevented, autism, bipolar, ADHD and anxiety I would have done anything. I would have traded my life for it, because my children will suffer their entire lives.

Shine.  The word just keep rolling over in my head.

I don’t shine… am I tarnished silver? That with a little polishing could shine again?  Am I a star that has lost it’s shine because it’s dying and it’s light is flickering?  Am I like flat or matte paint and no matter what I do, I will never become high-gloss?

I don’t think there was ever shine in me.  I think that shine was put out long before I ever became an adult.

But that doesn’t change the fact that I will never be someone my mom is proud of.  Ive talked to a friend and my husband about this, and they both tell me not to let it bother me.  My husband says it’s not an insult (sorry I don’t buy it).  My friend told me not to worry about it because she’s not the most supportive person in the world, and that money isn’t everything.  And yes she’s right.  But…


No matter how old you are you want your mother to love you, to be proud of you and to “be there”. No matter how old you get you want your mother.

I have had an extremely emotional week.  Not for any particular reason. I am just sad, and when I am not sad I am angry, frustrated or irritated.

Tomorrow I have to go to my mom’s.  My sister will be there too.  I offered to let my husband stay home.  He’s sore from falling down the stairs, and pretty much just from living and we both feel like he will be judged because of what he can and can’t do.  But the thought of going alone is terrifying.  I’m dreading it, I can’t wait for the day to be over- and it hasn’t even happened yet.

Well I guess that’s all, nothing really to say other than I am not doing well at all.


What’s wrong with me?

So I mentioned my newest diagnosis, and I mentioned that I weaned off the amitriptyline in hopes that would help with the symptoms of the Autonomic Nervous System Disorder. However, it didn’t help.  And they have started me on a new antidepressant- Doxepim. I am on a very low dose. And ever since we have started the Doxepim 10 days ago I have been angry, irritable, sad, frustrated. I haven’t been the nicest person, nor the easiest to be around.

I am unhappy.  I am not content.  I am tired of living hand to mouth with no end in sight. I am on disability, my husband is waiting for his disability decision.  We will never have financial security.

And it really ticks me off that you can’t be honest with even your therapist or else she thinks you are on foot in the grave to offing yourself. So I am resentful- of pretty much everything and everyone in my life (with a few exceptions).  I am tired of this life.  So yes I fantasize about ways I could die.  Today’s version in my head has me walking out to the car, slipping on the ice, hitting my head and never “coming to” again.  But I can’t tell anyone that, they try to make me think “positive”, “look for the blessings”, and to that I say (and please let me warn you have to take off my Christian hat for a minute) go to hell. Seriously.  Shut up and leave me alone.  Just go away. Leave me alone with my intrusive, unhealthy thoughts. I don’t think I want to change right now. I think I am better off being miserable, because my life sucks, period, end of story.

And then. Then… get this. I get a call from my PCP’s office.  From “my doctor’s” nurse (I have been seeing a different doctor in the office.  And she says “we got the results of your halter and you had a normal rhythm with some extra beats here and there, but it was essentially normal ok?”.  And I was like ACTUALLY…I was in there last week, and Dr so and so, read the draft report and reported that my heart rate was 150 several times, and ranged from 120-150 most often.  And that my diastolic blood pressure is ranging from 87-117 and she diagnosed me with Autonomic Nervous System Dysfunction. And she’s like oooooh yeah I see that here.  Dr PCP may not had seen that before this came across his desk.  And then she proceeded to explain to me how to increase the meds etc. UM HELLO I thought you said I was fine?  Yeah I know Dr PCP blames it all on the fact that I am fat. This is also the same PCP that said a vitamin D level of 15 was just fine (I guess I should just die because I am fat. I am so angry and sick of this BS.

Why do I even bother.   Maybe I should just go off all my meds and just see what happens because I am done.  Nothing I helping anyway, and maybe if I go off the heat stuff my heart will just get to be as tired as I am and be done too.  I am just so exhausted, hopeless and done.

Yesterday at church my pastor was talking about “spiritual Sahara”, and that’s where I am right now.  He said when you are there hope evaporates and dreams die. I couldn’t have summed up my life right now any better.  My hope is dried up and dead, and my dreams are ran through a garbage disposal, put in a trash compactor, flushed down the toilet and sorted out with all the other solids in the waste water treatment plant.

Yes this is a pessimistic post.  Yes, its me throwing a pity party.  Yes its me being angry, resentful and tired of living my life.  But guess what, it’s my blog and I’ll bitch if I want to.




Memories- Things that sometimes remind me how lucky I am to have the life I have, problems and all.

I said a while back my goal for this year was to read 52 books. I am a little behind where I should be to meet my goal, but I am not really too concerned.

Today I finished Eleanor and Park by Rainbow Rowell.  I cried at the end.  Holding back the ugly cry as best as I could because my little one was here and she always gets upset when I cry.  And I can’t honestly tell which tears were tears of sadness at the book, tears of happiness for how lucky I got, or tears of relief for the fact that I… that I got my cake and can eat it too.

Eleanor and Park is a book I assume set back in the 1980’s given the references they use and the words like “Walkman”, “mix tapes”, and so many other references .  Without spoiling the book for anyone who might want to check it out, Eleanor is a girl round the age of 16.  She lives in a house with her 4 siblings, her mom and her abusive step-father Richie.  She had been living away from them for about a year because Richie kicked her out, but she eventually was able to come home. She started back to school and immediately, on her first day, on the bus ride to school no less, people started picking on her- teasing her about her wild red hair, the way she dressed, because she wasn’t toothpick thin.

No one would let her sit with them on the bus, until finally a boy name Park told her to sit with him. It took a while for them to become friends, and even longer for them to be more than that.  Eleanor had so many walls up inside of her from being mistreated and unloved her entire life.

The book chronicles their journey in first love.  But this book also reminded me of my story.

I lived with my mom, my dad, my little sister, and my half brother (from time to time). My dad was a mean, cruel, controlling man.  He physically, mentally and emotionally abused all of us.  Even my poor brother when he would visit.

I also didn’t have many friends at school.  I was picked on through elementary school, junior high and high school.  I don’t look back on the times spent in school with fond memories.  Most of the time I think of the worst days of my life.  The days I would cry myself to sleep, the days I would try to make myself invisible- because if I was invisible they wouldn’t pick on me mercilessly.  I think of the fact I became anorexic and lost a huge amount of weight because maybe if I wasn’t “the fat girl” they would like me (they didn’t).  Maybe if I lost weight my dad would stop making fun of my size – he didn’t. It drove me into depression.  Into even worse anxiety, and into self harm.  I had a couple friends in high school, but I didn’t talk to them about my life at home.  There was one friend, I spent most weekends at her house for years.  For years I wished her parents would adopt me.  I wanted her life.  Her house was my safe haven.

Until I saw him.  Somehow I knew the evening I saw him in my high school cafeteria, that it would all be ok, somehow. We became friends, then more. I was desperate for him.  I craved his love.  I couldn’t breathe without thinking of him.  He made my life worth it.  He loved me, unconditionally.  I had never had that before.  He saved me from my father, from my tormentors, from myself.  People still made fun of me, be sure of that, but it didn’t matter so much.  I had someone who loved me, all of me, battle scars, bruises and all.

We were almost immediately inseparable. The friends we each had felt displaced, but we just couldn’t stand to be apart.  It didn’t help we went to different schools, but we saw each other as much as humanly possible.  We talked about everything.  He knew everything about my past, things I had never told anyone.  I shared my hopes and dreams with him- dreams that somehow included him the minute we met.

People thought we were too much.  Too obsessed. Spent too much time together.  We were just “infatuated”.  But we knew; we knew even then that we would be together till death do us part.

And now, almost 23 years later, I still have all those scars, all those bruises, and some new ones, but he still loves me.  I loves me 100+ pounds heavier, when I’m sometimes broken, when I’m sometimes angry (at life really), when I am envious of others and their apparent lack of bruises and brokenness. He loves me with the purest, most unconditional life I have ever experienced in my life.

I still need him.  I am still desperate for him.  I still crave his constant companionship. And while our life hasn’t turned out exactly as we planned I wouldn’t trade it for anything.  He is my best friend, he is my first real love, the first person who really SAW, the real me, not the person I show the world I am.

Sometimes I think back to the nights we were teenagers making plans for our future, despite everyone telling us we would never last.  Telling us we were just kids. Yes, we were just kids, only a couple years older than our oldest is now, but the minute we saw each other we realized we completed each other.

What does all this have to do with the book?  There were so many similarities between Eleanor and Park and my husband and I.  Reading through it, brought up so many memories and feelings. I don’t think I have related to a character in a book like I related to Eleanor- ever.

This book definitely gets four stars from me. How could it not?

One of those days….

Today is one of those days.  You know the one, where you feel like nothing you do is right, where you feel humongous, and just all around unhappy?

Tonight as I sit here in my recliner, I feel so fat.  I am the heaviest I have ever been in my entire life. That’s doing wonders for my self esteem.  I hate myself. I am sick of being in my own skin.  And yet, I don’t have the energy, or motivation to make even small changes.  And because of injuries, I am not cleared to exercise.  So yeah.  I am a beached whale.

I do my best to avoid having to leave the house, between the germs of flu season, the possibility that I might see someone I know and have to do that song and dance of “hi, how are you?” “Fine, you?”  When you really want to say, Im not fine, in fact life is pretty sucky right now.

I was lucky that last week I had an escape from reality with my brother, because without that I really don’t know how I would feel.

Tomorrow, I have to fire my therapist, I found one closer to home, and I never really liked the one I have- but I still have major anxiety. Im worried she will be upset with me. Thats my biggest fear with everyone pretty much. Comes from an abusive parent.

Then I have med management, get to tell her that my meds are doing diddly.  I really don’t feel like I am getting better, ever since getting back from vaca I have been sad, mad, irritable, angry, or exhausted.  I am sleeping like crap, unless I sleep during the day.  I feel like I am back to the way I was a few months ago.

And finally I have to go to an IEP meeting for my son. He has been homeschooled the past 5 years, but before that he went to school in a different district, and we fought and fought for what he needed, and I am still freaking out about it even though it’s a different district, it’s giving me major PTSD trigger.  The last time he was in public school it was a horror story.  IEP violations, mediation, a formal complaint against the district (they were found guilty of 7 counts), attending an IEP meeting the day that I got out of the hospital from having my appendix and gall bladder out and the special education director screaming at me because we were disagreeing.  After that, I took him out of school and homeschooled him for five years. This year AB (what I call after breakdown) I had to send them to school, I just couldn’t do it anymore. I was too irritable, too exhausted, too depressed.  I hate that I made that decision.  I hate that I couldn’t do what I wanted. Even though it’s been wonderful for my little one, she is thriving and has made so much progress.  But big one, he’s suffering.  And I already have ill will towards the current school.  Big one’s case manager at school has done nothing to help him with this transition. He has dropped the ball in so many ways. My son’s therapist is so angry about the whole situation.  He works at the school two days a week so he sees what’s going on there. I already feel like I am on the defensive.  If I am honest, I don’t think we will “win”.  They already lied to me at our first meeting when I said his diagnosis automatically qualifies him for an IEP, and they said that wasn’t true.  I went through this with the last school, and finally brought a copy of the statute in with me and they admitted it was true. I don’t know what will happen if they don’t do anything.  I don’t have the same fight in me I had 5 years ago.  And what REALLY sucks, is even IF we get everything we are asking for, which is very reasonable, they have 45 SCHOOL days to implement it. That’s the end of March/beginning of April. Well woohoo they won’t HAVE to do anything until the IEP is written, meaning the year will be almost over. Whole lot of good that will do. I am sick of bureaucracy, and paper trails and documenting every single thing.  

My dad is back in the hospital AGAIN, he is very cagy as to why he is there, probably to make me worry more. He calls me multiple times a day, sometimes sweet as pie, and sometimes raving and ranting about his medical care etc.  Like tonight he kept me on the phone for an hour while he ranted on and on about how the people at dialysis avoid him like the plague, they get upset when he has to use the toilet while he’s being treated.  But if you knew my dad, you would understand why they do that.  One minute he is the most charming man you would ever meet and then he turns on you unexpectedly.  He’s a narcissist, textbook case. I never know which dad I will get when I answer the phone.

And the icing on the cake?  One of my closest friends seems to have dropped me. I don’t know if it’s because I am not homeschooling, or if it’s because she’s tired of me being depressed/anxious etc. When I message with her she is short, when I saw her today she barely said two words to me.  She hasn’t said anything, it’s just a vibe I am getting.  Hubby says it’s all in my head, that I only see the worst in everything, and while that’s true, I also know my friend.  And I know I need to stop thinking about it, and obsessing about it, because there’s nothing I can do about it. And I do have a really good friend who loves me, no matter what, she is supermom.  She is raising eight kids, homeschooling them, taking them to all their activities.  She always seems so calm and chill. I want to be her when I grow up.

I know this was a downer of a post, but I can’t help it.  I am literally sick to my stomach over all of this, and mostly tomorrow.  I am having a hard time seeing past tomorrow, I am not sure how I will make it through the day. 

If you read all this – thank you, and you’re amazing.

Until next time.

Are you kidding me?

Little one and I have had a cold since last Sunday.  No big deal, I have very little voice, not as stuffed up as I was and no sore throat.  Good deal.  Little one isn’t as snotty I thought she was on the mend… but tonight after I put her to bed…. I heard it… the telltale sound of vomit hitting the hard wood floor. Awesome.  3 days before Christmas, the night before we are to see Disney on Ice.  Thank goodness I didn’t tell little one we were going.

I swear if the rest of us get the pukes I will know the universe is against us 😦 I know probably sounds like I am being a little dramatic, but I am just so tired of 2017, and 2016 sucked, as did 2015 and 2014.  So yeah…..

I am just sick of my life.  Sick of being poor, sick of worrying about money constantly, sick of fighting for what my special needs children need, sick of dealing with narcissistic family members, sick of being in pain, sick of my husband being sick and in pain, sick of dealing with a mentally ill child who has violent outbursts, sick of dealing with a mother in law who hates me, sick of being a disappointment to everyone in my life, sick of being anxious, sick of OCD, sick of depression….

And if it weren’t bad enough- little one asked me today when I was going to be skinny like I was when daddy and I got married, because Im sort of bigger now.  She was at least trying to be nice about it.

Sorry – just having a pity party over here….


What a difference 5 years DOESN’T make…

I was asked and accepted to help in the infant room for our church's MOPs group. We get mostly toddlers but the occasional infant comes in and that's my happy place.  Well a friend captured a pic of me holding the infant this week. 


When I looked at the pic I thought to myself – I remember seeing a picture like that before…. so I went back through my pics and found this


and directly in the middle of that is this


I look at all three pictures and I hate the person in each one. She's not happy, she's not where she should be, she's no one and no where.

Thats how I feel about myself…. like I am a placeholder for the real me that's going to show up someday.  Is that normal? Don't answer that's rhetorical- I know it's not.

My dad and I had a horrific conversation yesterday that included him telling me he's going to wind up hating me if I am not complicit in him not following doctor's orders and  trying to live on his own with 1 leg, half a hand, a replaced hip, brittle diabetes, the need for dialysis 3x a week after proving over and over he is unable to care for himself.

And as for me, we are coming up on the anniversary of my breakdown and I am getting more and more anxious and more. and more upset that nothing has changed.  Im not better.  Part of me wants to stop all my meds and self medicate with vodka and weed.  I won't, I have seen in family members what happens if you do that….but a girl can dream of washing her sorrows down with a shot of zyr vodka, a couple percocets and a bowl of the best weed….

I scratched yesterday.  Im finally finished with all my dr visits and surgeries, it felt so good…..sooooo good.