Monthly Archives: August 2014

Because I Drive With My Ears, Apparently

Godalmighty, am I exhausted. Thing 3 had a doctor’s appointment today far far away (about 70 miles) and of course things got a little hairy.

I was driving, which is not my strong suit (haven’t actually figured out what is), and she would.not.stop.talking.

Thing 3: So when I meet Katy Perry for the first time….

Me, thinking: The first time? The fuck. This kid.

Me: Sophie, can you please be quiet for a minute, Mommy is trying to drive.

Her: When I meet her I want to have a pen and paper so I can get her autograph and also…

Me: Sophia. I’m lost. Please just wait a minute.

Her: Katy Perry is my favorite singer and I HAVE TO HAVE A PEN!

Me: Child. Stop talking.

Her: WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA.

Her: *sniffles* You know you don’t have to use your ears to drive, right?

Me: ….

She wailed for like 10 minutes straight. I drove in circles, cursing under my breath. My GPS went from saying we were 11 minutes away to an hour and 34 minutes. It was tense.

It was actually nothing like this.

It was actually nothing like this.

She finally stopped crying and started right back up with Katy Perry this and Katy Damn Perry that and I just let her because I finally knew where I was. We made it to the appointment with time to spare. This worked out well because being the excellent parent we all know me to be, I put her in white shorts and then gave her Cheetos. So we had some time to try to remedy that disaster, but there was just no fixing it. She had orange hand prints all over her little self.

We also had time to talk about Mommy not being that good in traffic and how sometimes I just need quiet time so I can think, and she understood and it was sweet until she said that she was going to have to tell Daddy that I called another driver an idiot. Then she skipped away. I’m just glad I had the sense to say “idiot” instead of what I was thinking.


PTSD

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Things are not going well here in the land of the lost.

I realize that I’ve been sick so much in the last few weeks that I’ve missed or thrown up my medication more than I’ve taken it so I’m basically free balling here and that doesn’t work well for me.

I keep trying to tell myself to just hang on until I’m back mostly on level and that Depression Lies and that my kids need their mom. But I keep asking myself what is the point to a life where you are always sick, either mentally or physically or both?

I’m so tired of being sick.

I’m so tired of being sad.

This is a pathetic post and I’m done with it.

Here’s some information about PTSD. The bolded parts are from WebMD.

 

Post-traumatic stress disorder can be crippling. Many people think that PTSD is limited to people who have been in war or lived through some horrific act of violence. Those people can and do suffer from PTSD, but they are not the only ones.

I was diagnosed with PTSD when I was 14. Twenty years ago. And I’m still dealing with it today.

From WebMD:

Posttraumatic stress disorder (PTSD) … is a serious condition that can develop after a person has experienced or witnessed a traumatic or terrifying event ….

…PTSD is a lasting consequence of traumatic ordeals that cause intense fear, helplessness, or horror…

…Most people who experience a traumatic event will have reactions that may include shock, anger, nervousness, fear, and even guilt. These reactions are common; and for most people, they go away over time. For a person with PTSD, however, these feelings continue and even increase, becoming so strong that they keep the person from living a normal life.

Symptoms of PTSD often are grouped into three main categories, including:

Reliving: People with PTSD repeatedly relive the ordeal through thoughts and memories of the trauma. These may include flashbacks, hallucinations, and nightmares. They also may feel great distress when certain things remind them of the trauma…

Avoiding: The person may avoid people, places, thoughts, or situations that may remind him or her of the trauma…

Increased arousal: These include excessive emotions; problems relating to others, including feeling or showing affection; difficulty falling or staying asleep; irritability; outbursts of anger; difficulty concentrating; and being “jumpy” or easily startled. The person may also suffer physical symptoms, such as increased blood pressure and heart rate, rapid breathing, muscle tension, nausea, and diarrhea.

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A problem I have with PTSD is that I feel guilty that it is still a problem. I feel like I should be “over it” by now and sometimes feel like my friends and family feel that way too. Feeling guilty for being sick doesn’t help, and in fact only adds to my anxiety and depression. I don’t know how to “fix” myself. I don’t know how to be better. I would not choose a life of pain and fear if I had the choice. I did not choose to have fibromyalgia, chronic debilitating migraines, chronic pain syndrome, or the Alpha-gal allergy anymore than I chose to have depression, anxiety, and PTSD. These are all things that I fight through every single day. And it is a fight. Right now, it’s a fight that I feel like I’m losing.

I just have to keep putting one foot in front of the other until I come from under this black cloud. Eventually I will be in the sun and I will be proud that I made it through again.

If you are struggling too, tell me about it. I probably don’t have the words to help, but I can listen. If you are happy, tell me that too. It will help me see through this dark.


Safety First

Husband: Don’t go outside, there’s a big copperhead on the porch.

Me: I’ve got a big stick.

Him: No wonder the house is such a mess.

Me: ?

Him: That’s a broom.

So there was this giant snake on our porch, and by giant I mean a normal-sized snake, but it was venomous and it crept right up behind the husband. We are a little freaked out, especially since we don’t know where it is now.

Then this morning some shit happened and I ended up having to walk down the dirt road to get home, about a mile or so, and somehow I ended up with a pen in my hand. No idea.

Please disregard my hair.

Please disregard my hair.

But I was a little lot nervous about the snake and of course bears and coyotes and stuff so I was glad I had the pen. Because I’d just write them a polite note and ask them not to kill me, please. Or give them an autograph right in the eyeball. I don’t know. But it made me feel a bit better.

Now I’m home safe and sound and I’ve got the doors locked so the snake can’t get in. Because we all know how well that works.

 


Back-To-School Again

In honor of another back-to-school day where I feel torn between jubilation and anxiety, I’m reposting what I wrote last year at this time.

“The kids went back to school today. I started freaking out about it Friday and proceeded to organize everything in my house, like it would somehow protect them from bullies, mean teachers, yucky food, and head lice.  If everything was in just the right spot, what could go wrong? (I realize this is nuts.  Thanks.)”

I was sick Thursday and Friday and in the ER Saturday so I didn’t actually start organizing until Sunday.

“I think I did pretty good at hiding my back-to-school and sending-my-baby-to-Pre-K anxiety from the children. I was all hearts and flowers and “It will be SO MUCH FUN! Aren’t you EXCITED?!” But inside I was like “Waaaaa! My babies.””

This year I have a kindergartener, a sixth grader, and a junior.  Oh. My. God.

“I’m not alone in this.  My husband has called me three times this morning, the last time to ask if he “should just go take a peek and see how she’s doing.”  No.  That’s frowned upon.  I know my limits, so I’m just staying away from that school. If any of the three kids even wrinkled a nose at me, I’d have ‘em packed in the car and the homeschool books ordered.”

My husband is generally very calm and he is still calm today, but he is very worried about the bus situation. The bus situation consists of our kids riding the bus. Shut up, it’s a situation.

“I see the pros of school.  Interacting with peers, learning to follow rules, getting along with others, learning how to deal with assholes – these are all things children need to know.  But not every kid is a yellow #2 pencil.  I don’t want my purple-striped, glitter-covered, shiny-polka-dotted, maybe-chewed-a-little-bit pencils sharpened down until they match all the others.”

This. *sigh*

 


Between Allergies and Tracy, I’m Super Pissed.

I’ve talked before about my miserable meat allergy. Lately it has seemed to be getting better and I started to let my guard down. Last night it attacked in full force, and if I’d thought I could make it to the ER without shitting my pants, I would’ve gone.

We ate dinner at a family restaurant where we’ve eaten tons of times before. I ordered mashed potatoes and gravy. I’m thinking the gravy was the culprit – maybe cooked with sausage or bacon grease. Who knows.

mashed potatoes

Anyway, we weren’t even home yet before my stomach starting cramping horribly. I was squirming all over the seat, holding my poor belly, and yelling at my husband to hurry up.

He very calmly pointed out that he was going as fast as he could and I very irately pointed out that that wasn’t nearly fast enough. I was dying, HELLO?

We made it to my grandma’s house, which is only about a mile from my own, when I couldn’t wait any longer. I told him to pull over and let me out. I ran barefooted into the house and curled up in a ball of misery on her bathroom floor. I’m sure they thought I was crazy.

My mom showed up and I didn’t even care that she barged in on me in the bathroom, because I just knew the pain was going to kill me.

After throwing up and doing some other disgusting business, the pain kept on. Then I turned bright red from my head to my toes. My skin burned like I was on fire and anywhere I was touched hurt. It was like all my nerve endings were on the outside of my skin. I was freezing, but couldn’t stand for anything to touch me. I was swelling up, but not having trouble breathing. I took Benadryl and prayed and cried and prayed.

You know something bad is happening when you find yourself laying naked on the bathroom floor crying and it’s not even your bathroom.

I comforted myself by telling a story in my head of how heroic I was in overcoming this deadly allergy and the medal I would get once I survived. But then my daydream took a turn for the worse because they gave my medal to someone named Tracy. It was bullshit. It was also my daydream, so I don’t even know how that happened. That bitch Tracy needs to get her own fantasy.

So I guess that kind of gives you an idea of my state of mind during an allergic reaction. I rip all my clothes off and moan and have delusions. Good thing we at least made it to my grandma’s, because doing all that in the restaurant might have been awkward.

Do you have any weird allergies? When you’re really sick, do you make up stories to entertain yourself? Do you know this Tracy?