I wish I had some witty intro. A backstory or memory to bring us to this moment. I don't, though.
I know I post a lot about mental illness and how being bipolar is shitty and it often goes on ad nauseam and it begins to become so much background noise and no one wants to hear any more about it.
It can be background noise and it can go on and it certainly can be monotonous. Only, I can't escape it or close out a window or forget about it. It's always there.
***
My doctor often talks about self-care, as if that is something I can just say, "A ha! Now I know! I will do it and it will be lovely and I will be ok."
And I WANT that to happen, but the truth is, I am not even sure what self-care is. I thought it was bathing and making my bed and doing makeup, but apparently, that is not what she means.
"What makes you happy? What are you good at? What brings you joy?"
I....don't know. My kids? Driving? Getting a great parking spot?
"No, no, no. What brings you joy deep down inside? What - aside from your family - is truly something that makes you happy?"
And I can't answer. And if I COULD, I might even say that sometimes THEY don't even make me happy. And good moms don't say things like that. They also don't start multiple sentences with the word AND. Alas, I really dig it and it helps with the flow of my thoughts.
So there it goes.
***
I want joy. I remember the girl who I once was. Not as well as I used to remember her.
I remember finding joy in little things. The way the sun set. The way I'd come home from work and everything would be the way it was when I left that morning.
Traveling.
Seeing different countries.
Being in control of myself.
ONLY answering to myself.
No responsibilities.
And she was happy, that girl. And yet, she still wanted more.
***
She wanted babies. She wanted desperately to be a mother. She tried and tried and married and divorced and cried and prayed and almost had it two times. But it didn't happen.
And that girl was willing to give up everything.
And she did.
And finally, FINALLY, she was a mom. Her wish had come true.
Only? It still wasn't enough and she still wasn't happy.
And how can life throw that at you? How can you get what you want and not be able to enjoy it?
I loved my baby with such a fierceness. She was all that I imagined she would be. And more! She was my hopes and my dreams and the things I never even knew I wanted.
But sadness and anger and that feeling of being adrift on the sea would not leave me.
And still I went on.
***
And we grew together, me and my girl. And she taught me things. And I grabbed onto her like a life jacket. Clinging to the hope that she could bring me up out of the depths and save me. Save me.
But babies can't save you. Babies SHOULDN'T save you.
But meds can. Well, meds can help. Doctors can help. Cognitive Behavioral Therapy can help.
And they helped for a while. And then we switched. And then we made new cocktails.
And then my new baby was growing and we were back to square one.
Nine months of going it on my own.
***
When I say it was rough, that doesn't do it justice. Devils and evil and fire and fury. That's how I spent it. Crying and raging and pulling my hair out.
And then she was here! Out of my body. In my arms. And I knew - I KNEW - it was all wrong.
I lashed out. I screamed. I threatened to kill myself. I said horrible, horrible things to Mike. And the best place (or worst?) to do those things is at the hospital. I spent most of my time there sedated, begging them to wake me to feed my baby. After all, I knew I would have to go back on my meds soon, and I needed what little I could get from her. Feeding her from my body.
And she fed. Oh, she was a pro. Bleeding and cracking and pain you wouldn't believe. But she didn't give up. Neither did I.
And then the time came. I cried and said goodbye to that connection. And I know - I KNOW - that the connection exists no matter what. And I know - I KNOW - that a healthy mom was the most important thing.
But I was angry. So, so angry. Why me? We all have said that before. I know. But, why doesn't MY brain do what it should? Why can't I feed my baby and love my family and not know any anger or confusion or what exact combination of meds will calm me enough to not want to walk off a bridge?
And that is a long story just to say that it is back.
***
I'm not pregnant now. There are no babies on the way. But, Mother Nature fucks with you nonetheless. She laughs and tosses your hormones around into an unidentifiable mess and then says, "Here. Deal with it."
Only? I can't. I literally cannot.
I am sleeping all day. I am forgetting my meds. I am staying home and ignoring invitations and pretending that it's fine.
But it's not. And I'm not.
And it's totally the nature of the beast. And it totally won't last. But bipolar disorder does. not. care.
Days? Weeks? Months? Who knows? I am armed now, though, with the tools to know it won't last forever. I just need to push through and tell myself that I CAN DO HARD THINGS.
I can get through it. I can push on. I can make it through to the other side.
But, oh. It's so hard, you guys.
And I really - TRULY - don't think it's fair.
***
Sunday, November 12, 2017
Friday, October 6, 2017
Obsessions and Compulsions
I have OCD. I don't just like things neat. In fact, I am often extremely messy.
It's not always about that, and referring to people as "so OCD" because they like things a certain way is doing a bit of a disservice. OCD has many sides and many manifestations.
***
I just took Klonopin (which helps with my anxiety, ability to fall asleep, and all around calmness). It is a lifesaver sometimes.
What it also often does, is give me the time to arrange my thoughts into recognizable sentences, without being too out of control.
So I thought about what I wanted to discuss, and came up with OCD.
***
When my anxiety gets really bad (which it is right now), my OCD also kicks into high gear. Right now, my main issues are hand washing.
Hand washing is the major problem I have. Hand washing with soap and water is always best, but antibac lotion is second to that. In a pinch, I will use baby wipes or something like that, but it's not the same.
The reason I need to wash my hands is to combat the anxiety. The actual act calms me and almost become an orgasmic experience. I don't mean that in a sexual way. It's a release of sorts (think when you have to pee so badly and then you FINALLY find a bathroom and can go). It's like pent up tension that finally releases when I wash my hands. It leaves me almost so relaxed that I could fall asleep afterward. Just talking about it now makes me want to wash my hands, in fact. I have antibac with me everywhere. In my purse, on my desk, in the car, on my windowsill. Everywhere. I need to have access to antibac or a sink at all times.
It's not a germ thing, necessarily, which I think causes confusion. It's just a need to wash my hands. Unfortunately, this causes dry, scaly hands which often crack and bleed. It gets worse during the winter.
I try to stop, but it is just too much, and it is basically harmless. So there's that.
***
The second manifestation is counting. Not like counting throughout the day, but counting actions.
If I want to do the dishes, I have to do things in tens.
Put ten things in the dishwasher. Take ten clean things out of the dishwasher. Fold ten items of clothing. Put ten items away. Research something online for ten minutes. Etc.
It's a compulsion (see how that works), and it often creates a lot of extra time and effort in my life, but it is important to me. It's a way of taking some sort of control when I feel lost and OUT of control. It is a simple goal to go after. It is pretty easy to achieve. It hurts no one.
Sometimes I find myself forgetting my count and doing one thing extra, and it almost makes me hyperventilate. Then I have to tell myself that it's ok, I can do or add nine more things, and it will work out. I am usually ok with that, but it sometimes overwhelms me and I cry or get angry.
***
There are a few other obsessions or compulsions which I have successfully been working on.
For instance, I can only park in certain lanes and certain spots in certain parking lots. When those spaces are taken, I need to drive around until they (or another acceptable spot) is free. I have lately been expanding those areas and have been able to park in other lanes somewhat successfully. I think about it the whole time I am shopping, and only feel "safe" again once I am back in the car and moving.
***
While I don't need to go into everything, I figured those are the three that may make the most sense to everyone else.
I DO like to have things a certain way, and I DO prefer no changes to my schedule, and I DO find interruptions to my plans to cause a bit of havoc, but those are not as debilitating. They are also easier to control.
So there.
***
That is how my OCD presents. Everyone is different.
The "How OCD Are You?" quizzes make me want to scream. OCD is serious and it is medically diagnosed after much discussion and observation. You often need to be medicated or go through cognitive behavioral therapy (which I always recommend for a variety of mental health issues).
Pills are ok. Therapy is ok. Psychiatrists are ok.
Anything that helps you without harming you is ok. Your brain doesn't care how it gets help. It just appreciates that help has arrived. Sometimes, the pros override the cons.
I am a huge believer in medication and therapy. I am a huge advocate for mental health. I am very lucky to live in Cincinnati, which takes mental health very seriously, and has the highest amount of psychiatrists per capita in the United States (as of my last research).
Do not allow yourself to allow other people to tell you what is right or wrong. Do not allow anyone to make you feel guilty or "less than."
I KNOW I am a broken record when it comes to this (don't even get me started on gun control or car seat safety), but it's because I think it is so very important.
Speaking about my problems is important for me because I hope it will be important to someone else and may open up dialogues in other peoples' lives.
It's ok to need help. And anyone who says otherwise is just plain wrong.
***
And that is that for now.
It's not always about that, and referring to people as "so OCD" because they like things a certain way is doing a bit of a disservice. OCD has many sides and many manifestations.
***
I just took Klonopin (which helps with my anxiety, ability to fall asleep, and all around calmness). It is a lifesaver sometimes.
What it also often does, is give me the time to arrange my thoughts into recognizable sentences, without being too out of control.
So I thought about what I wanted to discuss, and came up with OCD.
***
When my anxiety gets really bad (which it is right now), my OCD also kicks into high gear. Right now, my main issues are hand washing.
Hand washing is the major problem I have. Hand washing with soap and water is always best, but antibac lotion is second to that. In a pinch, I will use baby wipes or something like that, but it's not the same.
The reason I need to wash my hands is to combat the anxiety. The actual act calms me and almost become an orgasmic experience. I don't mean that in a sexual way. It's a release of sorts (think when you have to pee so badly and then you FINALLY find a bathroom and can go). It's like pent up tension that finally releases when I wash my hands. It leaves me almost so relaxed that I could fall asleep afterward. Just talking about it now makes me want to wash my hands, in fact. I have antibac with me everywhere. In my purse, on my desk, in the car, on my windowsill. Everywhere. I need to have access to antibac or a sink at all times.
It's not a germ thing, necessarily, which I think causes confusion. It's just a need to wash my hands. Unfortunately, this causes dry, scaly hands which often crack and bleed. It gets worse during the winter.
I try to stop, but it is just too much, and it is basically harmless. So there's that.
***
The second manifestation is counting. Not like counting throughout the day, but counting actions.
If I want to do the dishes, I have to do things in tens.
Put ten things in the dishwasher. Take ten clean things out of the dishwasher. Fold ten items of clothing. Put ten items away. Research something online for ten minutes. Etc.
It's a compulsion (see how that works), and it often creates a lot of extra time and effort in my life, but it is important to me. It's a way of taking some sort of control when I feel lost and OUT of control. It is a simple goal to go after. It is pretty easy to achieve. It hurts no one.
Sometimes I find myself forgetting my count and doing one thing extra, and it almost makes me hyperventilate. Then I have to tell myself that it's ok, I can do or add nine more things, and it will work out. I am usually ok with that, but it sometimes overwhelms me and I cry or get angry.
***
There are a few other obsessions or compulsions which I have successfully been working on.
For instance, I can only park in certain lanes and certain spots in certain parking lots. When those spaces are taken, I need to drive around until they (or another acceptable spot) is free. I have lately been expanding those areas and have been able to park in other lanes somewhat successfully. I think about it the whole time I am shopping, and only feel "safe" again once I am back in the car and moving.
***
While I don't need to go into everything, I figured those are the three that may make the most sense to everyone else.
I DO like to have things a certain way, and I DO prefer no changes to my schedule, and I DO find interruptions to my plans to cause a bit of havoc, but those are not as debilitating. They are also easier to control.
So there.
***
That is how my OCD presents. Everyone is different.
The "How OCD Are You?" quizzes make me want to scream. OCD is serious and it is medically diagnosed after much discussion and observation. You often need to be medicated or go through cognitive behavioral therapy (which I always recommend for a variety of mental health issues).
Pills are ok. Therapy is ok. Psychiatrists are ok.
Anything that helps you without harming you is ok. Your brain doesn't care how it gets help. It just appreciates that help has arrived. Sometimes, the pros override the cons.
I am a huge believer in medication and therapy. I am a huge advocate for mental health. I am very lucky to live in Cincinnati, which takes mental health very seriously, and has the highest amount of psychiatrists per capita in the United States (as of my last research).
Do not allow yourself to allow other people to tell you what is right or wrong. Do not allow anyone to make you feel guilty or "less than."
I KNOW I am a broken record when it comes to this (don't even get me started on gun control or car seat safety), but it's because I think it is so very important.
Speaking about my problems is important for me because I hope it will be important to someone else and may open up dialogues in other peoples' lives.
It's ok to need help. And anyone who says otherwise is just plain wrong.
***
And that is that for now.
Saturday, September 23, 2017
Cliches about how it doesn't matter how they get there.
Every few months, I will come upon another article online talking about the merits of having your child vaginally and naturally versus having a c-section.
For some reason I cannot fully comprehend, many women consider c-sections to be either a) the easy way out or, b) not truly giving birth at all. It's frustrating and hurtful and can do serious damage to women who are already in a vulnerable place because of the circumstances surrounding the birth of their child(ren).
For some reason I cannot fully comprehend, many women consider c-sections to be either a) the easy way out or, b) not truly giving birth at all. It's frustrating and hurtful and can do serious damage to women who are already in a vulnerable place because of the circumstances surrounding the birth of their child(ren).
***
Why are women so quick to judge and decide what is right and wrong? Why is something so incredibly personal as the birth of a child open to so much discussion with people who are not even involved? Why can we not, as women, be sympathetic and understanding and SUPPORTIVE?
Why is birth (and, truly, ALL things mothering) even up for debate?
Why are women so quick to judge and decide what is right and wrong? Why is something so incredibly personal as the birth of a child open to so much discussion with people who are not even involved? Why can we not, as women, be sympathetic and understanding and SUPPORTIVE?
Why is birth (and, truly, ALL things mothering) even up for debate?
It's something I think about often. I always come up empty. Most often, I come up struck silent. I do not understand.
***
Let's tackle the first part: C-sections are the easy way out. I am so beyond angry and beyond words for that one.
If having your entire abdomen sliced open (while you lie paralyzed from then neck down), your inner organs removed from your body and pushed aside, your baby practically tugged and pulled and ripped from your body, only to have your organs put back inside your body, your inner bits sutured, and then our outer bits (most often) stapled back together is "easy," I am not sure the definition of easy is completely understood.
Walking is horrific afterward. You are often gotten up off your few a few hours after MAJOR abdominal surgery to get yourself walking around. Your insides feel like they are falling out. You cannot stand upright. You cannot cough or laugh. You cannot sit or stand without help. You can not use the toilet without holding on to people or bars perched around the toilet. You piss through a catheter and make do with liquids at first.
They listen to your stomach periodically to make sure your intestines are working correctly and that food and drink are traveling where they need to. You see, your intestines are not in the same place they once were. Your inside-y bits are flipped and twisted and flipped again. Like spaghetti, they are now somewhere else. Your legs are checked regularly for blood clots and are massaged and moved and made to carry your morphine riddled body to the bathroom or down the hall or just past the pull out couch in your room on which your husband is sleeping peacefully and SNORING four hours after you have a baby cut out of you, while you are now being forced to jump out of bed and make your rounds, right after screaming out OH FUCK and then promptly vomiting on the floor in pain.
Then picking yourself up again and walking your ass to the bathroom to be hosed down by the most amazing and gentle nurses who have ever lived.
You cannot hold your baby in your arms, but must hold her off to the side, so that she doesn't press down on your incision. The football hold becomes your new best friend for breastfeeding, which, I am not going to lie, did not help with my fantasy images of breastfeeding my newborn baby.
***
***
Let's tackle the first part: C-sections are the easy way out. I am so beyond angry and beyond words for that one.
If having your entire abdomen sliced open (while you lie paralyzed from then neck down), your inner organs removed from your body and pushed aside, your baby practically tugged and pulled and ripped from your body, only to have your organs put back inside your body, your inner bits sutured, and then our outer bits (most often) stapled back together is "easy," I am not sure the definition of easy is completely understood.
Walking is horrific afterward. You are often gotten up off your few a few hours after MAJOR abdominal surgery to get yourself walking around. Your insides feel like they are falling out. You cannot stand upright. You cannot cough or laugh. You cannot sit or stand without help. You can not use the toilet without holding on to people or bars perched around the toilet. You piss through a catheter and make do with liquids at first.
They listen to your stomach periodically to make sure your intestines are working correctly and that food and drink are traveling where they need to. You see, your intestines are not in the same place they once were. Your inside-y bits are flipped and twisted and flipped again. Like spaghetti, they are now somewhere else. Your legs are checked regularly for blood clots and are massaged and moved and made to carry your morphine riddled body to the bathroom or down the hall or just past the pull out couch in your room on which your husband is sleeping peacefully and SNORING four hours after you have a baby cut out of you, while you are now being forced to jump out of bed and make your rounds, right after screaming out OH FUCK and then promptly vomiting on the floor in pain.
Then picking yourself up again and walking your ass to the bathroom to be hosed down by the most amazing and gentle nurses who have ever lived.
You cannot hold your baby in your arms, but must hold her off to the side, so that she doesn't press down on your incision. The football hold becomes your new best friend for breastfeeding, which, I am not going to lie, did not help with my fantasy images of breastfeeding my newborn baby.
***
I had to wait for people to hand my baby to me, as getting out of bed and then back into it was a herculean effort at best. "Pull with your arms and not your stomach!" "Sit down and then slide up slowly!" "Try to lift the back of the bed and slip yourself sideways in the bed and flip your hips up!"
Oh! And don't laugh. Or cough. Or, for the love that is holy, DO NOT SNEEZE. Do not. Do not. Do not.
***
And all the while, think about everything that went wrong according to your birth plan. There went the warm baths I had planned. Bouncing on a birthing ball. Walking around the ward, laughing and contracting with my mom beside me all the way. Being on all fours to hopefully let gravity do it's work to help my baby out.
***
All gone. Expectations and plans out the window.
***
Enter the midwife entering you room, introducing herself and letting you know your baby (your FIRST baby, the baby for whom you moved heaven and earth to conceive), wasn't doing well. Heart beat dropping. Unable to find it at all. HURRY HURRY HURRY. No time to call my mom. NO time to prepare.
Only time for me to cry and ask what I had done wrong. Was I too fat? Was I too old? Did we wait too long to induce? She is almost two weeks late. Should I have pushed for an earlier induction?
WHY WHY WHY.
***
And all the while, think about everything that went wrong according to your birth plan. There went the warm baths I had planned. Bouncing on a birthing ball. Walking around the ward, laughing and contracting with my mom beside me all the way. Being on all fours to hopefully let gravity do it's work to help my baby out.
***
All gone. Expectations and plans out the window.
***
Enter the midwife entering you room, introducing herself and letting you know your baby (your FIRST baby, the baby for whom you moved heaven and earth to conceive), wasn't doing well. Heart beat dropping. Unable to find it at all. HURRY HURRY HURRY. No time to call my mom. NO time to prepare.
Only time for me to cry and ask what I had done wrong. Was I too fat? Was I too old? Did we wait too long to induce? She is almost two weeks late. Should I have pushed for an earlier induction?
WHY WHY WHY.
***
I had never researched c-sections. It wasn't something that ever occurred to me. I had my birth plan and was ready to go.
But nothing goes along with plans. And I was rushed into a cold and clinical room. Alone. With no one I knew and no one I loved. Scared and crying, an epidermal inserted, pillow propped, sheet pulled up to block my view. Too much in shock to fully cry and too scared to even ask questions.
Mike finally allowed in. Me throwing up. Panicking from fear of suffocating. When you can't feel your lungs move, you do not know they are working. Begging for help. Screaming that I could not breath. "If you can talk, you can breathe, Adrienne. Just remain calm."
My first baby. I tried for ten years. I left my husband to have a baby. I met someone else, moved to another state WITHOUT question when I became pregnant. Left my family and friends and NYC. Oh, NY, I left you and left so many pieces of my life behind.
For THIS. This moment. This vision. This LIFE. Planned and made out of love, and not in danger.
Unfathomable.
***
Cutting and talking and tugging and lots of crying on my end. Trying not listen. Trying not to THINK. Trying to mentally prepare myself.
Finally feeling the pressure let up and my baby was pulled roughly from a small incision. Free of my body. We were no longer one, and the lump in my throat grew at the fact that the safety of my womb was no more.
Trying to see over as my limp, blue baby was rushed over to warm lights and machinery and tons of nurses. Quiet, other than the surgical team counting tools as they closed me up to ensure no tools were left inside.
And still nothing. Still the sound of silence and held breaths and palpable fear.
And then, after what must have been days and years and months, a small mew. A tiny squeak. A little peep. And it all came out. And I sobbed. And I prayed and thanked the lord. And made promises and deals and told myself it would be all vegetable and rice and water for all meals.
A quick glimpse of my sweet girl as she was whisked out of the room. I whispered messages of, "Mommy loves you, sweet girl. For always," and she was gone. Her father looking back and forth between us until I yelled at him to get the fuck out of here and run to out daughter.
***
Hours and hours and hours later. Waiting in my room. Everyone having seen my doll baby but me. "Go to sleep," they said. "Get some rest."
But, no. Rest was not possible until that girl was returned to her rightful place in the world. In my arms, against my heart, next to my breast. Our return to each other.
Forced to walk around the room. Vomiting, screaming profanities because of the pain, blood everywhere, weakness and worry and FEAR.
WHERE IS MY BABY??
I had never researched c-sections. It wasn't something that ever occurred to me. I had my birth plan and was ready to go.
But nothing goes along with plans. And I was rushed into a cold and clinical room. Alone. With no one I knew and no one I loved. Scared and crying, an epidermal inserted, pillow propped, sheet pulled up to block my view. Too much in shock to fully cry and too scared to even ask questions.
Mike finally allowed in. Me throwing up. Panicking from fear of suffocating. When you can't feel your lungs move, you do not know they are working. Begging for help. Screaming that I could not breath. "If you can talk, you can breathe, Adrienne. Just remain calm."
My first baby. I tried for ten years. I left my husband to have a baby. I met someone else, moved to another state WITHOUT question when I became pregnant. Left my family and friends and NYC. Oh, NY, I left you and left so many pieces of my life behind.
For THIS. This moment. This vision. This LIFE. Planned and made out of love, and not in danger.
Unfathomable.
***
Cutting and talking and tugging and lots of crying on my end. Trying not listen. Trying not to THINK. Trying to mentally prepare myself.
Finally feeling the pressure let up and my baby was pulled roughly from a small incision. Free of my body. We were no longer one, and the lump in my throat grew at the fact that the safety of my womb was no more.
Trying to see over as my limp, blue baby was rushed over to warm lights and machinery and tons of nurses. Quiet, other than the surgical team counting tools as they closed me up to ensure no tools were left inside.
And still nothing. Still the sound of silence and held breaths and palpable fear.
And then, after what must have been days and years and months, a small mew. A tiny squeak. A little peep. And it all came out. And I sobbed. And I prayed and thanked the lord. And made promises and deals and told myself it would be all vegetable and rice and water for all meals.
A quick glimpse of my sweet girl as she was whisked out of the room. I whispered messages of, "Mommy loves you, sweet girl. For always," and she was gone. Her father looking back and forth between us until I yelled at him to get the fuck out of here and run to out daughter.
***
Hours and hours and hours later. Waiting in my room. Everyone having seen my doll baby but me. "Go to sleep," they said. "Get some rest."
But, no. Rest was not possible until that girl was returned to her rightful place in the world. In my arms, against my heart, next to my breast. Our return to each other.
Forced to walk around the room. Vomiting, screaming profanities because of the pain, blood everywhere, weakness and worry and FEAR.
WHERE IS MY BABY??
***
A few hours, and she is here. She is being brought to me. Crying and whimpering. Uncomfortably moving and twitching. Her, too.
Handed to me, so gently. So carefully. Giving me advice. Telling me what to do.
My body knew it, though. Had always known.
I gathered her in my arms, under my shirt, into my arms. Smelling her and touching her smooth skin, whispering my love for her, praying to God for allowing the doctors and nurses to know what to do for her. Thanking the lord that we live in a time in which this is all possible.
We both lived. We both loved. We both smiled.
We both fell asleep. Entwined together.
One again.
At least for a little while.
She is mine and I am hers.
I am not a MOTHER. I am HER mother. The dream fulfilled and so much better than I ever imagined.
***
Underlining it, is the second part of it all. A little shame, a little guilt, a lot of sadness.
I missed it all, you see. I missed the pushing and the sweating and the panting and the people around cheering me on until that amazing moment when baby is born and the whole room looks on in wonder and mother gets to hold her baby right away. Mother and child beginning the bonding immediately.
Mother and child one again. Right away! No wait. Family around. Celebrations. Cheers and photos and happiness.
***
A few hours, and she is here. She is being brought to me. Crying and whimpering. Uncomfortably moving and twitching. Her, too.
Handed to me, so gently. So carefully. Giving me advice. Telling me what to do.
My body knew it, though. Had always known.
I gathered her in my arms, under my shirt, into my arms. Smelling her and touching her smooth skin, whispering my love for her, praying to God for allowing the doctors and nurses to know what to do for her. Thanking the lord that we live in a time in which this is all possible.
We both lived. We both loved. We both smiled.
We both fell asleep. Entwined together.
One again.
At least for a little while.
She is mine and I am hers.
I am not a MOTHER. I am HER mother. The dream fulfilled and so much better than I ever imagined.
***
Underlining it, is the second part of it all. A little shame, a little guilt, a lot of sadness.
I missed it all, you see. I missed the pushing and the sweating and the panting and the people around cheering me on until that amazing moment when baby is born and the whole room looks on in wonder and mother gets to hold her baby right away. Mother and child beginning the bonding immediately.
Mother and child one again. Right away! No wait. Family around. Celebrations. Cheers and photos and happiness.
***
The operating room isn't like that. We DID have an amazing anesthesiologist who took photos for us. He was gentle and kind and understanding. He took a photo of my girl first reaching the outside world. I will post it below, but it's not for the faint of heart.
***
So. Easy? Never. Brutal and heartbreaking, lonely and scary, guilt-ridden and unknown, and alone. So very, very alone.
***
And for those who say it's not really giving birth. I gave everything I had to bring that child into this world. Having my body cut open. Being morbidly obese, knowing that anesthesiology and a major operation themselves are dangerous to my life. Not knowing if either one of us would survive.
***
There is nothing easy about it. There is nothing BUT giving birth. There is nothing LESS THAN a mother meeting her child for the very first time.
No matter how they get here. No matter how we meet. No matter how other people feel.
My life was now in my arms.
The fear and the pain and the worry and the guilt. The lifeless body. The tense moments waiting for a tiny noise. The rush of the nurses. The separation of mother and baby and father.
So hard. The hardest thing I've ever had to do.
And? So worth it. So, so worth it.
But easy? No fucking way.
So, yes. There are different ways to bring them here. And none are easy, but they are all beautiful and they are ALL ours.
***
Kudos to all the women who do it every day. And do it more than once. And do it through the pain and through the fear and through the guilt.
You are my tribe.
You are mothers.
***
So. Easy? Never. Brutal and heartbreaking, lonely and scary, guilt-ridden and unknown, and alone. So very, very alone.
***
And for those who say it's not really giving birth. I gave everything I had to bring that child into this world. Having my body cut open. Being morbidly obese, knowing that anesthesiology and a major operation themselves are dangerous to my life. Not knowing if either one of us would survive.
***
There is nothing easy about it. There is nothing BUT giving birth. There is nothing LESS THAN a mother meeting her child for the very first time.
No matter how they get here. No matter how we meet. No matter how other people feel.
My life was now in my arms.
The fear and the pain and the worry and the guilt. The lifeless body. The tense moments waiting for a tiny noise. The rush of the nurses. The separation of mother and baby and father.
So hard. The hardest thing I've ever had to do.
And? So worth it. So, so worth it.
But easy? No fucking way.
So, yes. There are different ways to bring them here. And none are easy, but they are all beautiful and they are ALL ours.
***
Kudos to all the women who do it every day. And do it more than once. And do it through the pain and through the fear and through the guilt.
You are my tribe.
You are mothers.
***
The most beautiful thing I've ever seen.
Monday, August 28, 2017
Can you feel me?
***
I am really depressed today. Nothing happened to make me feel this way. It's just how it is when you are bipolar. You can go through months and months of being happy and those are the good times. When the bad times hit, though, it can become so overwhelming that you feel as if you can't go on. You wake up in the morning just to get through the day until you can sleep again.
Nothing brings you joy. No one makes you happy. Everything is kind of black and white.
I don't post this for attention. I just wanted to let people know that the happiest people in the world can still be suffering. Suffering is not always outward, because it is so often embarrassing. No one wants to spend time with the miserable girl.
So I get up, and smile, and do what needs to be done, and chat, and take care of one or two things, sleep, and do it again the next day.
However, I AM happy. I have so much. My girls, Mike, my incredible mother and sister, My extended family and friends here and in NY. I'm a lucky girl!
***
***
So, for my friends who keep asking me to do things: Please be patient with me. I love you and I want to be asked. I just can't do it right now.
I also have incredible rage and anger when I am in a low point in a cycle. So there's that.
***
***
It's ok, though! Meds are so, so important. They allow me to stop from sinking too far into the depths. They allow me to stop a few minutes before making rash decisions.
I have been overspending the past week or so, and that is one of the number one signs that shit is not good. I'm trying to put the kibosh on that.
It's better than behaving in a sexual explicit manner, right?
Positive thoughts! I still have my virginity!
***
If you ever feel sad or overwhelmed and the doctor suggests medication, please consider it seriously. I hear people talk all the time about side effects or wanting to do things themselves, or feeling as if they won't be "themselves."
I promise, with all that I am, that there are no side effects that are worse than wanting to kill yourself. Feeling miserable is not "yourself." Drugs do not make you weak. They do not mean you are less than.
Drugs took me from a very dark place, a place in which I tried to jump off my balcony, a place in which a police officer had to come to my house and take me to the hospital because some very amazing friends knew there was something wrong and called them (from two other states!!), a place in which I begged my mother to let me go, a place in which I locked myself in my room regularly, looking for things to help me kill myself.
Drugs GAVE ME the ability to THINK again. The clarity to look at my sweet girls and see them and know what they needed. The strength to wake up, and shower, and leave my house, and bring my girls to the store or the park or the freaking gas station.
They GAVE ME sleep and calmness when I needed it. They GAVE ME the chemicals that were missing in my makeup. They GAVE ME the courage to meet people and open up my heart to new friendships.
***
They continue to help me every day. I have no goals in mind for stopping them. As long as they continue to help me, I will continue to take them.
I have the most amazing medical staff to help me. I have an incredible support system in my friends and family. I read and research and learn every single day.
I was ashamed for so long. I didn't want people to know. I didn't want to be looked at as crazy.
But honestly? Knowing there is something wrong and NOT asking for help would have been crazy.
Cincinnati has the highest rate of psychiatrists per capita in the country. The mental health community is the best of any of have experienced. There are so many resources here. There is help if you want it.
If you are NOT in Cincinnati, start with NAMI (National Alliance on Mental Illness). They can connect you with resources in your area.
Asking for help is being strong. And it's hard. And it can be frustrating and annoying and embarrassing. It can also save your life.
It saved mine. And now my children have their mother.
And yeah. I'm still sad right now. It doesn't mean it's not working. It just means I'm still feeling feelings. And feelings are truly ok.
***
Monday, February 13, 2017
Diamond Anniversary!!
Bear with me, this may be long.
***
Ten years ago (give or take a few months), I was living in a brand new city. My friends and family were all back home in NY. I hadn't met anyone here, yet. The only father I ever knew (my sweet Uncle Joe) was very sick with cancer back home. I was very pregnant and very sad and felt very alone.
So I did what so many of us do in that situation. I snorted cocaine. Wait, no. I went online looking for someone - ANYONE - who was anything like me. I wanted to feel not so alone. I wanted to meet someone who was going through something that I was going through.
I wanted a friend.
Only, the most amazing thing happened. I found dozens of them. I know, right? It seems crazy, and perhaps it is. But it's also beautiful.
***
I joined Babycenter and, after a failed attempt at relating to anyone in the PLUS SIZE AND PREGNANT board, I discovered the board which would change my life. I discovered the April 2007 board. This was a board filled with women (some first time moms - some experienced moms) who were all due to have their babies in April, 2007. So, I joined.
It took a few months to decide to post. As I said, I was sad and lonely and just depressed. It was my first pregnancy and I desperately missed my mother. It's hard to make friends as an adult and I didn't know exactly how to go about it.
So, one day, I jumped in and posted a comment.
And that was the beginning of history.
***
While the board is no longer there, these women are. There have been moves to different websites. There have been spin offs and breakups and exclusions (as there ALWAYS are among friends). There have been hurt feelings and incredible support.
There has been so much.
***
Over the past ten years (TEN, YOU GUYS!) I have forged the strongest and most amazing bonds with these women. We know each others secrets. We know what we love and what we hate. We know our hearts' desires and our biggest heartbreaks.
We have been there through divorces, new marriages, the births of new babies, arguments with neighbors, vasectomies, operations, cantaloupes, family drama, financial hardships, and everything in between.
We have cheered each other on. We have loved each other and hated each other and complained and been judgmental and angry. We have supported every single time someone needed support. We have held each others hands over the miles and been able to lean on each others shoulders.
We have been sisters to each other and aunts to our children. We drew the line at wives to the other husbands. I think. I don't want to know if I am wrong.
We took and gave advice. We met and hugged and spent time together IN REAL LIFE. We wrote and sent flowers and helped with anything we possible could. We became FRIENDS in all senses of the word.
***
Along the way, we lost a few of our moms. Heartbreaking in so many ways, it was made even more so because we had come to love the very children who had just lost their moms. While we would mourn our friends, we would also mourn the loss of the children to whom we would no longer have access. We would be faced with our OWN mortality. Our OWN what ifs? Our own worries and pain and horror.
And we also lost some of our children (both big and small). The heartbreak of losing a child is unimaginable and when it happens to a close friend, and you cannot be RIGHT THERE for them, it makes you feel helpless. Our friends' hearts are broken and we cannot give what we most want to give: hugs. We used whatever words we could. We cried and spoke and listened and prayed. Some of us were able to visit and give support that way. We sent cards and letters and gave our love in any possible way we could. You cannot cure that kind of pain. It never goes away. But, we will always be there to listen and cry and give love and REMEMBER. Those children will always be remembered. They are our babies, too, in a way. As any close friend will tell you, the children of your friends are children of your hearts. You will always love them and they will always be a little bit yours. Those women I mentioned above? They are the strongest and most beautiful women I know. Their beauty lies in the fact that they still love. They still allow us to share their babies. They still go on when going on is the last thing they want to do.
***
Ten years.
It takes a lot to keep a friendship going for ten years. It takes even MORE to keep multiple friendships going for ten years ONLINE. There have been times we have been busier than others. There have been times that some of us haven't spoken for months. There have been times where we were not so nice. It has all come full circle, though. Many of us have come together again, and while not all of our relationships are what they WERE, at least they are still there.
***
These women have seen me at my lowest of lows and my highest of highs. They know the darkest depths of my head and the largest and most loving parts of my heart. They've seen me at my most unkind. They've seen me complaint and rant and act like a baby. They listened to me moan. They put up with my attitude. They've rolled their eyes at my drama and put me in my place when it was needed.
I trust them with my heart. I trust them with my pain. I trust them with the things that are the most important me. I trust them with my girls. I KNOW that should I ever need help and they are able, they would drop whatever they needed to to help me. And I for them. In a heartbeat.
***
I have learned so much from these women. Not just how to use magical shaving methods, but how to comfort my children when they are hurting.
I've learned different points of view (even when I insisted my own was the right one - I get now that it's not, you'll be happy to know).
I've learned about different types of families and different ways to worship. I've learned that we can be kind and STILL get our point across. I learned that people are so, so very different, and that our differences are beautiful and worth learning about.
I've learned that anything can crack you up at any time and no one else will get it but the women who are THERE.
(For what it's worth, I've also learned to chill a bit about grammar and just write the way I feel, sometimes.)
***
I want to say so much about these ladies, but I don't know if my thoughts can come out of my head. I will try my very best, though.
***
To my April, 2007 mamas:
Thank you.
Thank you for welcoming me into your lives.
Thank you for sharing your children with me.
Thank you for loving my children even when I wasn't so lovable myself.
Thank you for listening to my (many) problems.
Thank you for the flowers and the cards and the messages.
Thank you for texting me at 1AM.
Thank you for accepting that I don't do telephone calls.
Thank you for cheering me on.
Thank you for sharing your joys with me.
Thank you for trusting me with your pain.
Thank you for giving me a place of safety.
Thank you for letting me know when I was being a huge asshole (it helped, I swear!).
Thank you for making me laugh until I cried.
Thank you for the advice at 3AM.
Thank you for the silly memes and inside jokes and crazy stories.
Thank you for forgiving me.
Thank you for being part of such an amazing group of women.
Thank you, sweet women, for being my friends.
Thank you.
***
I never knew that getting pregnant with my first child would open a whole new world to me. I never knew that the greatest give I could ever receive would also give me the gift of friendship. The gift of women who love me.
The smartest, most loving, most understanding, sometimes grumpy, occasionally asshole-ish, most awesome, and often BEST women I know.
I love you all. Even the ones who don't think that I do.
I may not be the most demonstrative (or most understanding) person, but I do know that I am lucky.
For all of you.
You will never be my "online" friends. You will always be my friends.
Happy Ten Years!!
***
Ten years ago (give or take a few months), I was living in a brand new city. My friends and family were all back home in NY. I hadn't met anyone here, yet. The only father I ever knew (my sweet Uncle Joe) was very sick with cancer back home. I was very pregnant and very sad and felt very alone.
So I did what so many of us do in that situation. I snorted cocaine. Wait, no. I went online looking for someone - ANYONE - who was anything like me. I wanted to feel not so alone. I wanted to meet someone who was going through something that I was going through.
I wanted a friend.
Only, the most amazing thing happened. I found dozens of them. I know, right? It seems crazy, and perhaps it is. But it's also beautiful.
***
I joined Babycenter and, after a failed attempt at relating to anyone in the PLUS SIZE AND PREGNANT board, I discovered the board which would change my life. I discovered the April 2007 board. This was a board filled with women (some first time moms - some experienced moms) who were all due to have their babies in April, 2007. So, I joined.
It took a few months to decide to post. As I said, I was sad and lonely and just depressed. It was my first pregnancy and I desperately missed my mother. It's hard to make friends as an adult and I didn't know exactly how to go about it.
So, one day, I jumped in and posted a comment.
And that was the beginning of history.
***
While the board is no longer there, these women are. There have been moves to different websites. There have been spin offs and breakups and exclusions (as there ALWAYS are among friends). There have been hurt feelings and incredible support.
There has been so much.
***
Over the past ten years (TEN, YOU GUYS!) I have forged the strongest and most amazing bonds with these women. We know each others secrets. We know what we love and what we hate. We know our hearts' desires and our biggest heartbreaks.
We have been there through divorces, new marriages, the births of new babies, arguments with neighbors, vasectomies, operations, cantaloupes, family drama, financial hardships, and everything in between.
We have cheered each other on. We have loved each other and hated each other and complained and been judgmental and angry. We have supported every single time someone needed support. We have held each others hands over the miles and been able to lean on each others shoulders.
We have been sisters to each other and aunts to our children. We drew the line at wives to the other husbands. I think. I don't want to know if I am wrong.
We took and gave advice. We met and hugged and spent time together IN REAL LIFE. We wrote and sent flowers and helped with anything we possible could. We became FRIENDS in all senses of the word.
***
Along the way, we lost a few of our moms. Heartbreaking in so many ways, it was made even more so because we had come to love the very children who had just lost their moms. While we would mourn our friends, we would also mourn the loss of the children to whom we would no longer have access. We would be faced with our OWN mortality. Our OWN what ifs? Our own worries and pain and horror.
And we also lost some of our children (both big and small). The heartbreak of losing a child is unimaginable and when it happens to a close friend, and you cannot be RIGHT THERE for them, it makes you feel helpless. Our friends' hearts are broken and we cannot give what we most want to give: hugs. We used whatever words we could. We cried and spoke and listened and prayed. Some of us were able to visit and give support that way. We sent cards and letters and gave our love in any possible way we could. You cannot cure that kind of pain. It never goes away. But, we will always be there to listen and cry and give love and REMEMBER. Those children will always be remembered. They are our babies, too, in a way. As any close friend will tell you, the children of your friends are children of your hearts. You will always love them and they will always be a little bit yours. Those women I mentioned above? They are the strongest and most beautiful women I know. Their beauty lies in the fact that they still love. They still allow us to share their babies. They still go on when going on is the last thing they want to do.
***
Ten years.
It takes a lot to keep a friendship going for ten years. It takes even MORE to keep multiple friendships going for ten years ONLINE. There have been times we have been busier than others. There have been times that some of us haven't spoken for months. There have been times where we were not so nice. It has all come full circle, though. Many of us have come together again, and while not all of our relationships are what they WERE, at least they are still there.
***
These women have seen me at my lowest of lows and my highest of highs. They know the darkest depths of my head and the largest and most loving parts of my heart. They've seen me at my most unkind. They've seen me complaint and rant and act like a baby. They listened to me moan. They put up with my attitude. They've rolled their eyes at my drama and put me in my place when it was needed.
I trust them with my heart. I trust them with my pain. I trust them with the things that are the most important me. I trust them with my girls. I KNOW that should I ever need help and they are able, they would drop whatever they needed to to help me. And I for them. In a heartbeat.
***
I have learned so much from these women. Not just how to use magical shaving methods, but how to comfort my children when they are hurting.
I've learned different points of view (even when I insisted my own was the right one - I get now that it's not, you'll be happy to know).
I've learned about different types of families and different ways to worship. I've learned that we can be kind and STILL get our point across. I learned that people are so, so very different, and that our differences are beautiful and worth learning about.
I've learned that anything can crack you up at any time and no one else will get it but the women who are THERE.
(For what it's worth, I've also learned to chill a bit about grammar and just write the way I feel, sometimes.)
***
I want to say so much about these ladies, but I don't know if my thoughts can come out of my head. I will try my very best, though.
***
To my April, 2007 mamas:
Thank you.
Thank you for welcoming me into your lives.
Thank you for sharing your children with me.
Thank you for loving my children even when I wasn't so lovable myself.
Thank you for listening to my (many) problems.
Thank you for the flowers and the cards and the messages.
Thank you for texting me at 1AM.
Thank you for accepting that I don't do telephone calls.
Thank you for cheering me on.
Thank you for sharing your joys with me.
Thank you for trusting me with your pain.
Thank you for giving me a place of safety.
Thank you for letting me know when I was being a huge asshole (it helped, I swear!).
Thank you for making me laugh until I cried.
Thank you for the advice at 3AM.
Thank you for the silly memes and inside jokes and crazy stories.
Thank you for forgiving me.
Thank you for being part of such an amazing group of women.
Thank you, sweet women, for being my friends.
Thank you.
***
I never knew that getting pregnant with my first child would open a whole new world to me. I never knew that the greatest give I could ever receive would also give me the gift of friendship. The gift of women who love me.
The smartest, most loving, most understanding, sometimes grumpy, occasionally asshole-ish, most awesome, and often BEST women I know.
I love you all. Even the ones who don't think that I do.
I may not be the most demonstrative (or most understanding) person, but I do know that I am lucky.
For all of you.
You will never be my "online" friends. You will always be my friends.
Happy Ten Years!!
Saturday, February 4, 2017
You Gotta Have Faith
I'm late to the party, I know. I've been wanting to make this entry and name it the way I have, but then George Michael died and I felt awkward and now I think enough time has passed so that I can safely post using his song title and we can all be assured that it is an homage of sorts.
Plus, he basically taught me about sex, so there's that.
***
But, oh man, it's been a fucked up couple of months. This winter/election/holiday season hit me like the proverbial ton of bricks and really sent me on a fast downward spiral. I was pretty low and am honestly still trying desperately to cling to whatever ladder/rope/hands that are pulling me up.
I know bipolar has phases and you can be happy for months or years at a time and then fucking SINK out of nowhere. Because I had been doing so well for so long, I thought i was ok and that I was out of the woods. But mental illness has a way of showing you who is boss, and bitch, it ain't you.
I barely had the energy to leave my bed or get dressed or bathe or talk to my friends. The worst (well, one of the worst) things about being like this is having to repeatedly explain to your friends that it is - in fact - NOT them and is truly all you.
I love my friends. I want to spend time with my friends. I am jealous when they do friend things without me, but I simply cannot FRIEND the way I need to. Texts go ignored. Messages left unanswered. Phone calls ignored. It's a shit situation for all involved. I am so lucky that my friends stick with me, because not many people would. It's hard being friends or family with someone who is bipolar. Hats off to you all, because you make me want to be more.
***
I know bipolar has phases and you can be happy for months or years at a time and then fucking SINK out of nowhere. Because I had been doing so well for so long, I thought i was ok and that I was out of the woods. But mental illness has a way of showing you who is boss, and bitch, it ain't you.
I barely had the energy to leave my bed or get dressed or bathe or talk to my friends. The worst (well, one of the worst) things about being like this is having to repeatedly explain to your friends that it is - in fact - NOT them and is truly all you.
I love my friends. I want to spend time with my friends. I am jealous when they do friend things without me, but I simply cannot FRIEND the way I need to. Texts go ignored. Messages left unanswered. Phone calls ignored. It's a shit situation for all involved. I am so lucky that my friends stick with me, because not many people would. It's hard being friends or family with someone who is bipolar. Hats off to you all, because you make me want to be more.
***
Got through the election and Thanksgiving and Christmas and New Years by the skin of my teeth. Not a pleasant person to be around, but I did my best and I honestly believe that the girls had a great time. SUPER antisocial during that time and no apologies about it. Sometimes I have to do whatever gets me through the next hour, or day, or week.
When you're in the depths of the roller coaster drop, it seems as if you will never get to the top again. And you click and groan and slowly move up the peak and it seems scary and worrisome and so freaking slow and you just want to get to the top, damnit and have this valley be over. And then it comes and you've finally made it to the top, and then often, you crash back down again. So frustrating and so sad and so DEFEATING.
***
The problem is when you enter a mixed state. When you are deep in a depression, but also experiencing mania. When you're super depressed and consider suicide, sometimes you don't have the energy to kill yourself. It's just too much work. But depression COMBINED with mania is a whole other ballpark. You're sad, of course, but now you CAN DO ALL THINGS. You can stay up all night. You can build a new ark for Noah. You can plan and think about and go through on your suicide plan because YOU ARE EVERYTHING. Nothing can trip you up.
Annnnnddd that's where I ended up and that's when I found myself crying on the floor in my doctor's office begging her to help me or commit me or just let me go. It's a shitty thing to think about how your children would be better off without you. It can be overwhelming and can fuck with your brain.
I've been dealing with this bullshit for years now and I KNOW that it will get better and I KNOW that it won't last forever, but your brain will tell you otherwise and when the voices in my head argue and try to tell me different things, it's almost too much noise and I need to scream it all out and let it land somewhere else.
Annnnnddd that's where I ended up and that's when I found myself crying on the floor in my doctor's office begging her to help me or commit me or just let me go. It's a shitty thing to think about how your children would be better off without you. It can be overwhelming and can fuck with your brain.
I've been dealing with this bullshit for years now and I KNOW that it will get better and I KNOW that it won't last forever, but your brain will tell you otherwise and when the voices in my head argue and try to tell me different things, it's almost too much noise and I need to scream it all out and let it land somewhere else.
***
So, crying with my doctor and just being defeated and worried about healthcare and the state of the world and my own fucked up brain workings and why is the weather so dull and FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, WHERE IS THE FUCKING SUN? Oh, and did I mention perimenopause? No. Well, there's that. The trifecta of fucked up.
She thought it would be a good idea if I were to change meds at this CALM juncture. Slowly weaning me off Lexapro and slowly easing me into Effexor. Which, as an added bonus, can also be an activator and cause manic episodes. So, there's that.
So, yes. I ran out of Lamictal which is a miracle mood stabilizer and is, honest to God, my life saver. I ran out, y'all. On Friday. I couldn't get a refill until Monday or Tuesday and had already started the weaning off old meds/easing in of new meds. Also, period. Because LOL, even though morbidly obese people (and perimenopausal women) are not supposed to get regular periods, this bitch gets them 28 days apart, no fucking questions asked. I knew the moment both children were conceived because my cycle is that ridiculously regular.
It's fun talking about periods, no? Oh, and night sweats. Waking up in a puddle of your own bodily fluids is pretty much the hottest thing I know. Sexy, even!
***
It's fun talking about periods, no? Oh, and night sweats. Waking up in a puddle of your own bodily fluids is pretty much the hottest thing I know. Sexy, even!
***
So I lost my fucking mind, deactivated Facebook and tried to get my shit together. I read books and watched movies and pretty much cried in my bed because weaning yourself off of a med you have been taking for years at the highest dosage is painful, you guys. Physically and mentally. And Mike had to take cabs to work and bring the girls to school because the thought of getting out of bed was just too fucking overwhelming. And putting on clothes? Let's be real here.
***
***
Oy. This is turning out to be longer than I had anticipated it would be.
Apparently I wrote a crazed email to my doctor while on Klonopin and she was sufficiently worried enough to call me up and make me give her number to Mike and to tell me to stop being so stoic and tough and to tell people when I am fucked up.
Apparently I wrote a crazed email to my doctor while on Klonopin and she was sufficiently worried enough to call me up and make me give her number to Mike and to tell me to stop being so stoic and tough and to tell people when I am fucked up.
It's hard though. Who the fuck wants to hear that someone is SAADDDD. No one, that's who. I don't even want to talk to myself sometimes and the voices in my head are always arguing with each other and it's exhausting.
***
I'm heading into week two of the med transition. My period ended. I am back on Lamictal and I'm weaning and adding and SHARING MY FEELINGS and I am praying for the best to happen.
***
Which brings me back to the original line of this entry.
You gotta have faith.
I know faith and religion can be controversial. So, this is not an admonition or a call to arms or a recruitment. It is simply all about me. AS EVERYTHING SHOULD BE. ;)
I have not been able to find a Catholic Church here that will accept me (divorced, born after Vatican II, etc.). I could lie, but that would be horrible and who the heck wants to go somewhere that they are truly not accepted? I'm hurt and dismayed by the way things are, but I still have God inside of me and I know how I feel and I trust in His love.
And I truly have faith. Like, 100%, I have no doubt, I am a believer.
I don't know if people have to have faith in a higher power, or a specific God, or Goddesses, or whatever. I DO think that everyone should have faith to get them through the tough times.
Maybe it's faith in your family. Maybe it's faith in the fact that you are strong. Maybe it's faith that your friends will never let you down.
For me, it's faith in God and how much He loves me and how, when I cannot carry myself for one more minute, He will carry me himself.
I don't believe He makes me do or say anything. I don't believe He is responsible for all of my good choices. I believe He has given me free will. That is His gift to me. Free will to make my own choices. He loves me and He forgives me when I ask for forgiveness and He knows my very heart, even when my heart is not so clear to me at all.
And faith keeps me going. Faith helps me through the hardest of hard times. Faith lets me know that I CAN DO HARD THINGS. Faith lets me know that I am not alone. Faith keeps me above the water when I feel like sinking under.
I think that if I lost faith, I would lose it all, because my faith is sometimes all I have, and I will cling to it with every fiber of my body.
I think you gotta have faith. And whatever brings you faith had better be the most important thing in your life. It has to protect you and carry you and give you the strength and the power to get through the hardest of the hard times.
And sometimes, it also give me wine. My faith is pretty cool, you know. And I love it with all of my heart.
***
I'm heading into week two of the med transition. My period ended. I am back on Lamictal and I'm weaning and adding and SHARING MY FEELINGS and I am praying for the best to happen.
***
Which brings me back to the original line of this entry.
You gotta have faith.
I know faith and religion can be controversial. So, this is not an admonition or a call to arms or a recruitment. It is simply all about me. AS EVERYTHING SHOULD BE. ;)
I have not been able to find a Catholic Church here that will accept me (divorced, born after Vatican II, etc.). I could lie, but that would be horrible and who the heck wants to go somewhere that they are truly not accepted? I'm hurt and dismayed by the way things are, but I still have God inside of me and I know how I feel and I trust in His love.
And I truly have faith. Like, 100%, I have no doubt, I am a believer.
I don't know if people have to have faith in a higher power, or a specific God, or Goddesses, or whatever. I DO think that everyone should have faith to get them through the tough times.
Maybe it's faith in your family. Maybe it's faith in the fact that you are strong. Maybe it's faith that your friends will never let you down.
For me, it's faith in God and how much He loves me and how, when I cannot carry myself for one more minute, He will carry me himself.
I don't believe He makes me do or say anything. I don't believe He is responsible for all of my good choices. I believe He has given me free will. That is His gift to me. Free will to make my own choices. He loves me and He forgives me when I ask for forgiveness and He knows my very heart, even when my heart is not so clear to me at all.
And faith keeps me going. Faith helps me through the hardest of hard times. Faith lets me know that I CAN DO HARD THINGS. Faith lets me know that I am not alone. Faith keeps me above the water when I feel like sinking under.
I think that if I lost faith, I would lose it all, because my faith is sometimes all I have, and I will cling to it with every fiber of my body.
I think you gotta have faith. And whatever brings you faith had better be the most important thing in your life. It has to protect you and carry you and give you the strength and the power to get through the hardest of the hard times.
And sometimes, it also give me wine. My faith is pretty cool, you know. And I love it with all of my heart.
***
Have faith, peeps. We will get through this. There is always, ALWAYS hope. We just have to be open to it.
***
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)