Kids. Really.

So, my kids have been making me laugh mostly these days. I say mostly. Not the last two. I think PMS has hit and period is pending. :/

So, here’s some cute funnies for myself to remember and to share with those who like these kind of things.

Bliss has started to talk and sign. It has only taken her 19 months but she’s finally getting the hang of it. Kind of. For dog, she says “dah-dah” and pats her chest instead of her leg as the ASL is. She points to her nose as she says “bir” instead of pretending her pointer and thumb are a beak. She finally says Mom with regularity and somewhere she picked up “boobs” and points to what will one day be boobs. “No” is much to frequent as is “ow” every time I change her diaper. I think mostly because I respond to it, but I keep telling her it won’t be “owie” if she’d just stop eating dirt. Her binkie is “wee-wee” and she can say blankie. She can finally say “milk, please” and try to sign it, but my favorite is “more”. It don’t know why, it’s just how she says it. She is finally nodding her head in a yes response and will sign “thank you” after I say it. So, we are finally making progress with her. She definitely knows how to sign bath and knows what that is, I ended up with two water babies.

I’ve started at the gym recently to help with my weight control, stress management, pain management, and they have a daycare I can take the kids for 2 hours. Obviously, I shouldn’t have to mention, they keep getting sick. Bliss is teething, she’s finishing up her eye teeth which everyone says are the worst. Edison never acknowledged really he was teething, and neither has Bliss, until now. She is now a non-stop, screaming, temper tantrum, drooling, snotty mess. And it’s hard. The sound she makes when she screeches is overwhelming to my brain. And lately, as is the age, when she doesn’t get her way, the screaming and squealing and gnashing of teeth and vomiting of green stuff and head spinning (I am mostly joking. mostly.) is just too much for this mommy. I go to the gym, get a great workout in, feel great, actually get a shower in, and then I pick up my kids and the ride home undoes everything I’ve just done.

This too shall pass.

Edison is fully potty trained. I say that because we have been accident free for 2 weeks now and he’s started to wake up in the middle of the night crying because he has to go. Which is great, except that I am up from 1:30 to about 4:00am every day. He gets up, pees, has a hard time going back to sleep, Bliss hears us, wakes up, she doesn’t want to go back to sleep and cries, plus with her awful cough and teething… let’s just say my nights have been awesome. :/ Plus I get up every morning at 5:20 because I am a good wife and The Captain wants to get up to get to the gym by 6:00am. He never wakes up to his alarm, but the second I nudge him and say his name, he wakes up. I have to stay there for a minute because 9 times out of 10 he’ll go back to sleep in seconds. So I have to stay there until he really wakes up and is up. So, I haven’t been getting much sleep.

On top of the sleep thing, I have been waking up in so much pain that wrestling the kids from upstairs to downstairs to change diapers and make sure that we all maneuver the stairs in my sleep deprived state and their toddler state is a success and get breakfast, I’m just not in the best mood in the mornings. It’s luckily not every day, but more days than not.

Edison has also started showing signs of his sense of humor which is sarcastic and really funny to me. I am not a morning person and I usually lay around and nap while Bliss is in her high chair eating breakfast and they both watch cartoons until she gets restless. Lately, when I ave been getting up, he comes to me with a bewildered look on his face, “What? Mom awake? What? Mom up? What?” and totally does the “I don’t believe this” face. It makes me laugh.

I just read this and found out I guess I never posted it… so I will post it now. It was originally written the first of June. LOL. I must’ve had more to write… or I wrote this on ambien and forgot what I was doing…


Splash of cold water.

I would officially like to state my non-medical opinion on something.

Writing is very therapeutic for some people. Either that or what doctors say about being intimate really are true. Yeah, TMI, but whatever, it’s the birds and the bees and it’s not a bad thing. Especially because when I’m pregnant I don’t want to be touched. I have to force myself to cuddle my kids cause they are too hot and breathing my air. I don’t want The Captain to touch me. He’s already fulfilled his role and anthropologically speaking, I don’t need him anymore until the baby is born. It’s nice to have days where I feel like we are just dating and I can’t get enough hand holding and cuddling and kissing. I forget how much fun it is to make out. You get married and the butterfly inducing things seem to get put on the wayside. As for the kid thing… I have two brains right now. The pregnant brain and the mommy brain. The mommy brain is much stronger in aspects because it loves the kid cuddling while the pregnancy brain is inside screaming to “give me back my air!!”

I finally slept last night. Three hours and then up for 2 and then three more. It was awesome. I showered, did my hair, did my makeup, dishes are done, laundry is 4 loads down and counting.

It is finally around 5pm and I’m finally crashing. I’m done for the day. But this is much better, more productive day than I’ve had in weeks.

Getting sleep is like a splash of cold water to the face. I love the feeling of being rested.


I want a drink.

Wait… change that. I want a big glass of moscato wine while sitting in my big tub with hot water and bubbles in candle light with a book.

But I can’t.

No, I can… I can do anything I want. I won’t. I won’t risk doing anything to hurt the baby I’m trying to grow. I won’t sit in a bath TOO hot and I won’t drink alcohol, (well, maybe a small taste here and there) but nothing to get me feeling the alcohol.

Because I do too much already that makes me a little nervous but both my doctors know about it and we’ve all decided that it is in my best interest to ingest the medicine I do.


Because it avoids times like this. Times where I’m out of Ambien, out of pain pills, and I can’t sleep. I’m almost out of Prozac, so we’ll see how that adds to the mixture. I am going on day 5 of three hours of sleep. You would think that the medicine would have run through my system and I wouldn’t need the Ambien, but the thing is, I get insomnia when I’m pregnant. I lay in bed for hours. HOURS! I have tried everything from lavender to warm milk to warm tea to getting up and trying something else until I’m tired. I am exhausted. I lay back down and my mind races and races and I can’t shut it down but my body and my eyes are weary and worn to the bone.

I am one of those people who needs sleep. I need at least 8 hours to function. The Captain gets c.r.a.n.k.y. when he’s hungry. Me? I get cranky when I’m tired. Not just tired but tired and laying in bed and suffering from muscle spasms that start at the base of my skull and run down to my right sciatic nerve and then it’s like that straight line is put in a tourniquet and spun tight so my back arches backward. It’s very painful and very not conducive to falling asleep. So, even when I start to nod off, this spasm hits and I’m wide awake. I sit up, do stretches, walk around a bit, then I’m wide awake.

Now, on Day 5 of little sleep, I’ve gotten past the cranky stage and I’m just plain ugly. I can’t help it. I turn into a toddler who is tired, I can’t control my emotions, I can’t manage my anger, I can’t manage my tears, I can’t manage my children, and I certainly can’t manage my house. The Captain comes home from a long day at work, has school to study for, and I feel bad because I haven’t done any housework. I can’t bear to get up long enough to wrangle the children and do dishes. Laundry? It’s such and easy thing and I’ve gotten back to the place that I’d rather slam my finger in the door than do it. Walking up the stairs to put my laundry away… I stand at the bottom of the stairs and I feel it’s them Empire State building stairwell. Having to carry my 30 pound Bliss up the stairs? I feel as though I’m walking up Mt. Everest.

Next week, things will be better as my prescriptions will be refilled… I hope. My psychiatrist has left where he was practicing and my appointment was cancelled. To get in with his PA, I have to wait another month. I hope my primary care physician will refill them for me until I can get back in.

There is light at the end of the tunnel. Things are so much better for me when I have slept. Even if I have to do it medically. For my sanity, for my inner beauty that I know is in there somewhere, for my children, for my husband, for myself… I will risk taking those medications. I did it with Bliss because Edison was so hard on me mentally and physically that I think it affected him adversely. I think she is much better emotionally than he is because I was willing to put me in a better place.

Until the end of the tunnel, there is not drinks, there is no hot tubs, but there is chocolate, there is soda, there is my favorite vanilla yogurt, there is the occasional retail therapy, and most importantly, there is time out for mom.

The sweetest thing

Damn you salt water taffy. Damn you and the horse you rode in on!

I say that because it’s not that I hate you. It is, in fact, because you had me had first ingredient (sugar) and texture. I have now consumed about 50 of you in as little as 2 days.


I hate that I can’t stop eating. Every two hours. Otherwise I get sick to my stomach. I now know why The Captain gets SOOOOO cranky when he’s hungry. I’ve never really experienced hunger like this before. I eat because something sounds good or because I know I’m supposed to, not so much that I’m hungry. This is a completely different animal. I’m RAVENOUS!

I swear there are two in there, no matter what that first ultrasound said.

Mysterious Ways

I’ve always felt that the Lord works in mysterious ways. Or whomever you believe in. Or fate. Or whatever. I prefer to believe in The One Creator myself.

Anyway, my little brother Uncle Day got married to an absolutely delightful woman who we call Tante (it’s German for Aunt). They had a civil ceremony in our hometown so that us three sisters could be there. They then planned a church ceremony where she’s from. He mad a huge effort to come to my wedding so I felt it was important to be there for his.

I wasn’t really paying attention to the departure time of my flight Sunday morning, just that it was the only flight that I didn’t get back home by midnight or later early Monday morning. As I was looking, I realized that my flight left Dulles airport in Washington DC at 6:30am. Which meant I had to be there by 5:30am at the latest. I was in Charles City, Virginia which was about 40 minutes from Richmond and that was about 100 miles to DC. So…. That meant I had to be up about 1:00am (or 11pm my home time, ugh).

I figured that Richmond was a big enough city that I’d be able to get a shuttle or something from the Richmond airport to the Amtrak and then a train to DC and the metro or a bus or even just a taxi from the train station to Dulles. It should have been easy peasy. My mom and dad didn’t need to be in DC until much later so my dad just took me to the Richmond airport and dropped me off while I reassured him that I’d find my way. The poor guy wasn’t sleeping well and he didn’t need to be up to take me all the way to Dulles.

Richmond airport was D.E.A.D dead. No one was there. Anywhere.

I figured that I’d go downstairs to the taxi/shuttle area and seriously, no one was there. I called a taxi and luckily someone was able to come pick me up quickly. Thank God for cell phones and smart phones!! 😀 Although a police man showed up and asked if I needed anything, I guess I could have asked him for help, but by then a taxi was already coming. I guess Richmond isn’t the best place for a white girl to be out by herself at night.

The taxi driver came and took me to the Amtrak station and it was closed as well. He told me that if I wanted, he’d just take me to Dulles. I asked him how much that would cost me and he said that the thing that figured out the fare would say $300 but he’d only charge me $100. The only thing that ran through my mind was “Are you shitting me?!?!”

We stopped off to get gas (after he asked me politely if that was ok LOL) and I tried to buy him a coffee and he turned around surprised and told me he was going to buy ME breakfast! Who the heck is this guy?! I told him that he was already doing me a huge favor and I’d rather buy him something and he still ended up buying me a doughnut.

We got on the road and he was quiet to let me sleep and when we got closer, we sat and chatted. His name is Mahmood and he’s from Somalia. His wife is Egyptian but Somalian born and they have a 4 year old daughter. He loves Soccer (football) and his country made it to the top 8 in the African cup. Which is a pretty big deal for him.

So, I made it to the airport on time. For much MUCH less money and hassle than it should have been.

I’ve never heard of a cab driver making a deal on a fare before and this was a big deal he made for me.

Plus, I had some homemade jam from the wedding, Tante’s mom made a tiny jar for everyone. I had it in my bag that I didn’t check. The TSA agent just tested it with some weird thing and he just told me to be careful doing that, most people would make me throw it away. And I’m so thankful because it was so SO good. Strawberry jam is my favorite and homemade is even better. It has made me a happy girl for 3 mornings now. 🙂

Experiences like this remind me that there is someone looking out for me and that God works in mysterious ways.

Scratch that… nevermind.

So, my last post… just ignore that.

Apparently I am actually pregnant or I have a tumor. But let’s go with I’m pregnant because I’m not much of a hypochondriac. Based on dates of last month, I am 8 weeks along and am due at the first of March. The 7th or so. BUT, based on dates, I shouldn’t be pregnant as I avoided all of my fertile days so who knows. *shrug*

I know a few of you are going to be skeptical of me having another baby. Seeing as how I suffer from depression bad enough that I see a psychiatrist and dealt with a pretty bad case of post partum depression with Edison. That’s the miracle of modern medicine. I know my options after having a baby and did really well when Bliss was born. I really felt pretty great. Exhausted, but great. And right now, I am on an antidepressant that is safe during pregnancy, I am taking care of myself, and I feel pretty great. Not only that, but I am not even near as sick as I was with Edison and The Captain and I are doing so great!

With Edison, I got pregnant because I knew The Captain wanted kids and I didn’t really think it through and went through way too many life changes in year period that it wasn’t a very good idea. I wasn’t very stable, I didn’t take care of myself, I was a little crazy, and I feel bad for The Captain. I am pretty sure I drove him to smoking.

With Bliss, I just wanted to get my two kids out of the way fast since the first pregnancy was so bad. I just wanted it all to be done fast. So, six months after Edison was born, I was pregnant with Bliss. The Captain and I weren’t doing too well and it was hard on me emotionally. We were having a hard time regarding my role as a wife, a mother, and a stay at home mom. We pretty much didn’t talk for almost a year. But, we worked through it and things get better and better with ebbs and flows of bad times that come. That is part of dealing with me and my depression and ADD and my fibromylagia and the fact that I have relapses into not being able to do anything. But overall, I feel great. I feel better than I have with either of the first two. I feel much better than I did before about my husband and myself. Our relationship is simply amazing to behold these days. I feel very cheesy saying that, but it is. He is pretty much the teasing older brother to EVERYONE. Me included. I get my feelings hurt and I get tired of the teasing. I want a partner, not a brother. I want a friend! He has turned into a very patient man with me. He’s always been giving but he’s going over the top. And I feel very spoiled and it’s a nice feeling. It makes it easier to get up with the kids and stay home with them and enjoy them. I don’t know why, it’s weird. I also find it easier to do things like the dishes and cooking and cleaning because I know it makes him happy. He is going out of his way to make me happy, it makes me very happy to go out of my way for him. I love when we are on this spiral.

I also feel very good this pregnancy, so I don’t have this husband who I don’t hate per say but I feel a little bit of resentment toward. Not meaning to, I just do. I feel awful, I have this job I don’t get to call in sick for, and I have to just keep taking it. It’s hard when you feel like you have the flu. I was only sick for 5 days and figured that was due to dehydration. Two days of pounding water and the vitamin B’s and I feel awesome other than the insomnia and fatigue. Also, even though smells are kind of bugging me, The Captain and his smell aren’t. The other two times… boy! I just couldn’t deal with him even getting into my 3 foot space bubble. I hated that! I hated the look on his face when I felt like I was suffocating or the fact that I couldn’t snuggle him.

And I must say, therapy helps. I am enjoying my kids more than I ever have in my 3 years and 10 days of having them. I am able to keep my cool much better, even when Edison gets out the giant serrated knife and digs holes in my walls while I’m going to the bathroom. Or when Bliss is climbing on EVERYTHING risking her daredevil life all day long. They are fun and getting easier and easier, so why wouldn’t I want to have another one when I don’t feel that 2 is enough? My family isn’t complete yet and I am hoping that this will make me feel as though we are closer to completion.

Life is good. And I am loving it!


So, some TMI I think… or maybe a lack-there-of… but am I the only woman who hasn’t pooped having a baby? For some reason it’s been in blogs and on facebook of what to expect during birth and that is the one thing they say all women do. Nope. Not me.

Of course I don’t think the nurse knows about my going to the bathroom by myself the second baby or the temper I had in the bathroom while having horrible, atrocious, I-want-to-die contractions and the toilet paper would only disperse one square at a time. Yeah, you read that right. ONE FLIPPING SQUARE! The hospital couldn’t spare a square. So I went with the big guns and used my you-upped-my-pitocin-and-now-I-want-to-die right and used paper towels. And I flushed them, bitches. Yes I did. Right after I read the sign that said “Please don’t flush paper towels or feminine hygiene products”. Well, then give me more toilet paper.

Anyway, what made me think of this is that I feel pregnant. I feel sick to my stomach. Smells are bugging me. I get up and try to get moving and feel as though my heart is going to pound out of my head. I am out of breath. I am HOT. HOT. HOT. And not the I feel like a hot mamma. Like I feel like I’m 1000 degrees. I am tired. So SO tired. I can barely keep my eyes open. I can barely function. I am not sleeping well. I think I’m pregnant.

But the tests keep coming back negative.



EDIT: So upon further study of myself, I have a sore throat and a fever. Upon further research, I guess all of my symptoms are most possibly due to the change in my anti-depressant. Apparently, these are all common side effects of Prozac. Fantastic. :/


I wrote this one in January after starting my anti-depressants. A month after seeing my psychiatrist for the first time. I am happy to announce that I am still doing well, I still have symptoms, but nothing like the dreaded October/November of last year.

So, mental illness is an interesting thing to me, not just because I suffer from depression, but in general. When I was in the 6th grade, I wrote my first research paper on mental illness. I don’t remember what other wrote theirs on, but I think, looking back, that’s a strange thing to write a research paper on when you are 11. Or 12. However old you are.

So, I’ve been taking different anti-depressants off and on since I was 20-ish. Some worked ok, some made me crazy. Well, crazier. I had one that put me into a place that turned me into a hyper-active crazy lady. I’d have to stop my car to get out and run around because the inside of my body itched. I had so much pent up energy I had to get it out. I couldn’t eat. I couldn’t sleep. I finally got to where if anyone looked at me cross-eyed I plotted their death.

I have been at the mercy of my regular family physician while dealing with this because it was such a pain to find a psychiatrist, I found a psychologist and found out that they don’t prescribe medication, and then when I did find a psychiatrist… he just stared at me. I couldn’t figure out what I was doing there or what he wanted from me.

My first doctor… my pcp. He was the guy I’d gone to my whole life and about the time that I decided that I needed something for my depression, I had started to get tattoos, piercings, and had finally gone in to get the dreaded “peek and poke” visit and get on birth control pills. His first reaction was that not only was depression just in my head (I am pretty sure there was NO pun intended) and that I obviously just wanted drugs. Just look at me. I was an embarrassment and how dare I. I would make a horrible mother with all of my piercings…keep in mind I had one tattoo on my thigh, 8 in my ears, one in my belly button, and one in my tongue. Not too much considering who I know, what I’ve gotten since, and the fact that I don’t think there is anything wrong with any of it. Anyway, he pretty much told me I’d be a failure the rest of my life and would never make anything of myself and heaven forbid I ever want kids.

I never went back and it kills me that my mom still goes to him.

I have pretty much been just dealing with my life on prozac. I am never motivated. I am never truly happy. I just get moved to a different med. No one ever changes dosages or adds anything, just one med at the lowest dose to the next one. I had one doctor that started putting me on meds for bipolar thinking that was my deal.

That was a real treat for me let me tell you AND I can just imagine that it was horrifying and awful for my coworkers.

Finally, we deduced that I have ADD and that is a lot of the issues I deal with. So I take Ritalin, I am still depressed but I can get stuff done and feel pretty ok with the day, I take it for too long and get WAY too irritable. It’s a very hard line to walk.

Having kids changed the whole game, folks. I have to be on the ball all the time, I have to be much more motivated and if not that, then I need to be much more functional. I can’t really drop the ball because my kids’ lives are at stake. So, my depression has gotten worse. Much, much worse.

I finally found a psychiatrist to go to but it took me 2 months to get in. I decided to go off my meds for that period of time so I had a clean slate of what I was feeling so I could get a better diagnosis.

That may have been the hardest two months of my life for my and my husband. Maybe not my husband, I am pretty horrible pregnant… 🙂

I have always thought about suicide, always been too scared, and always knew deep, deep down that this too shall pass.

I started trying to figure out a way to do it with the least amount of horror to everyone. No blood, no horrible hanging purple head, no brain matter, no one needs to see that. Ever. I started to think that maybe I could get a hotel room and save up all of my meds and take all of them with a bottle of wine or shots of whiskey and get the job done. Put up a note on the bathroom door for the housekeeping to call 911 or whatever and not to go inside and there was an envelope with a good bit of money for having to deal with that.

I hate that it started to intrude my thoughts at night.

Finally, my first meeting with my psychiatrist and he put me on a medication that I’ve never heard of before and once again I am going through what I do with each medicine.

I am so hopeless, that the first week, I experience a high because I have hope that this will work.

The second week, the hope starts to falter because I am not really sure what I am supposed to be getting out of these medications.

Does anyone else go through this weird high/low when they start a medication for anything that is “terminal”?

This is the 3rd week. I am still tired all the time due to the sedating effects of the meds, but for the first time, I feel… good.

I don’t really care to shower still… (ew, gross, I know) but when I do, I really feel good and get ready all the way.

I am finally feeling like housework isn’t so daunting I’d rather kill myself that load another dish or fold another item of clothing. It sounds so stupid now that I was so … I don’t even have a word to describe my depth of dread of getting up and doing the housework and taking care of my kids, let alone changing ANOTHER poopy diaper.

I am finally laughing with my kids and find that they really are fun and not so hard.

I am finally liking my husband again.

I am not yet to the point that I can get out with my friends yet, but Rome wasn’t built in a day as I keep telling my husband regarding the clutter and shit all over the house. Slowly. Slowly I am conquering this thing and I am really liking it.

Best of all, the guilt is gone. There is something about depression that causes horrible guilt. I didn’t want to talk to my husband thinking I’d make him mad at me or that I was wrong and the guilt of me and my relationship with him was hard. I had horrible guilt about my mothering and about how I was treating my kids or how they weren’t progressing as fast as this friend or that friend. I just don’t have the guilt. I love it.

I love not second guessing myself and just doing what I feel is best for me and my kids. What is best for me and my husband. I love that I am able to just talk to him and it’s things that have been bothering me and I just don’t care. It needs to be said and it really isn’t a big deal.

I hope this is really the medicine working and not a pavlov reaction to the hope that it will.

Pain in the neck

I’m 3 weeks late in writing this. Sickness and death and just life have kept me from taking the time to update for myself.

My first day of therapy left me with a week of severe migraines. I lived in severe pain in my neck, my head, my head and just I kind of thought that after telling this lady (who looks like Sara Brightman) about my childhood, teenager-hood, and young adulthood… This is too hard and I don’t want to do it again.

I don’t want to be told that I was a nothing child. I don’t want to talk about how I basically raised myself because my mom was sick and my dad was the typical old school male figure. He worked way too much and raising the children weren’t his deal.

I don’t want to explain how I self soothe myself in very embarrassing manners because I don’t know how to do so otherwise. Or how I can’t deal with my children because I have no impulse control and am selfish and don’t want to deviate from what I am doing because it’s not what I want to do. Or how I have been exposed to porn at a very early age because I was not taught boundaries neither were boundaries enforced.

I don’t want to know that I went from a neglectful home to relationships where I allowed them to treat me like nothing because I didn’t know any better.

I don’t want to be stoic about all of this and then cry like a baby because I am at the point that I catch myself screaming at my kids, swearing at my kids, and smacking heads cause of my rage. I don’t want my kids to be afraid of me nor do I want them to not feel that they can come to me. I don’t want to be a non-comfort.

I have realized though, that I have completely pushed people away from me who don’t treat me like nothing. If that makes sense in my warped head. I don’t know what to do with people who treat me like I matter, like my needs and desires and dreams are important.

I have been to massage therapists, chiropractors, eastern medicine gurus, anything you can think of, and almost all of them have said the same thing. I have severe pain in my neck and shoulder. All of the “non scientific” medicine healers tell me that is where emotions, hurt, anger, etc. are held. I have been told that I really need to find out what I’m holding there to get rid of it and when I drop my baggage, my pain will go as well. So far, it has only aggravated it. But maybe there is a method to the madness and that is my body afraid to purge the hurt.

So… therapy session number one… I grew up in a neglected household. Not that my parents didn’t do the best they could, but they didn’t give me the validation that I am important as a child. I didn’t get the everyday skills and lessons that most children get. I WAS loved… very much so… but my mom did what she could with what she had.

I do see the difference in my youngest two siblings compared to me and my closest sister. My mom was able to go to her doctor and demand that she get antidepressants. That yes, it was all in her head and she was sick and sad and needed help. My dad started to very much take an interest in the education of my youngest two siblings. He sat and worked with them on their homework every day… all the while, never paying attention to the fact that neither my sister nor I were going to school or failing all of our classes. Maybe he knew, but nothing was said or done about it so to me that is in essence ignoring us and our needs.

I have a blanket that I sleep with every night. I know a lot of people have their wubbies or blankies or whatever, but I can’t sleep without mine. I know I am getting tired or anxious or stressed when I feel the need for my blanket. I rub the binding and suck my tongue. That’s how I soothe myself. I still rub the binding on my blanket and quite frankly if I am ever told I have to get rid of it… my answer will be a childish “Fuck off.”

When I was very young, about 7 or so, my parents were invited to an adult party where the kids were to be put downstairs to play amongst themselves with no supervision. I sneaked upstairs to find out what was going on… again, the thing with boundaries and obeying… and found them all sitting around watching porn. Now, knowing my parents, my dad can’t say no for fear of hurting someone’s feelings and my mom doesn’t do well with confrontation at all. So I saw my first porn at the age of 7. I knew what “mommy/daddy time” was all about. My parents were also very…. adventurous for a lack of a better word… in their own sex-life. Should I know all of this? No. Probably not, but I do. In the days before the internet, there were videos and magazines and my parents had them. Did I dig for them? Yes.

I then learned about masturbation and started about the age of 11. A lot. Apparently younger and more often than is normal. That too is a soothing mechanism. One that is detrimental to my marriage due to the fact that I relieve my own tension and don’t particularly need his help, as per the therapist.

So, yeah.

A lot of pain and neglect and not fitting in anywhere. I had one really good friend in elementary school who really treated me as if I meant something and I allowed it until I hit 6th grade. At that point, I didn’t fit in with the smart kids -even though I was smart, I didn’t get good grades. I didn’t fit in with the bad kids cause I just wasn’t a bad kid. I didn’t fit in with anyone. I couldn’t do sports, I wasn’t into drama, I wasn’t really that musically inclined or artsy. And those who really seemed to like me and really saw potential, I pushed away because I didn’t know how to deal with being told I was worth something.

And while I may try to find someone else because I just am a little weirded out by the strange Sara Brightman opera singer therapist, I will stick with it even though it totally is a pain the neck.

And so it begins…

So, I’m no stranger to therapy. I wrote this at the beginning of November at the beginning of my therapy to try to figure my head out.

I pretty much did not fare well the first time I was pregnant. I went from being the girlfriend, to the wife, to soon-to-be mother, and from independent working woman, to full time student, to working and going to school- all within 5 month time frame. I just didn’t deal well. And being pregnant makes me crazy… I think that’s pretty common.

While I was in school, they offered free counseling with grad students who were working toward getting their Masters or PhD and needed hours and practice. It was video taped so a certified therapist could go over and make sure they were doing ok and help them improve.

Man it helped a lot. Not only was I able to successfully kind of communicate with my husband, I didn’t drive us to divorce. The therapist was able to third party into my head a little to let me know what was worthy of anger, sadness, irritation and was wasn’t. She taught me ways to let the stuff go that wasn’t worth it and to talk out what was.

Then I stopped school and stopped therapy.

Today was the first day of therapy with a real, graduated doctor in psychology.

I don’t want to ever do that again.

She asked me questions no one has ever asked me. She delved into my past. Into my deep, dark self that I don’t go. She asked me question about things that I didn’t think were an issue and then moved onto areas where they became an issue.

I told her things I don’t talk about because it’s embarrassing.

I’m so exhausted I can’t even believe I am typing right now.

I left teary. Sat in my car and cried. Enjoyed hiding behind my giant sunglasses so no one could see me cry.

I don’t want to go back and yet I will. She thinks that I have so much baggage that I haven’t, can’t, don’t know how to deal with that I am chronically depressed. She has high in the sky apple pie hopes that I’ll be able to get off meds all together and learn to cope. Learn to soothe myself without my blankie or other means that aren’t normal.

After I sleep off what I dealt with today, I’ll kind of explain what she thinks is going on. My traumatic dating life, my neglected upbringing, the bullying, the feelings of self hate, worthlessness, and the need for validation that I never got. I also seem to have signs of social anxiety and had no idea.

But I apparently am for real ADD mothafucka’s. So, there’s that. That explains my forgetfulness aka flakiness and my severe inability to organize things. You can imagine how the ADD would really throw a wrench in the house keeping, chores, kid raising, personal hygiene, etc.

Demons begone and let the healing begin.

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