Life passes. Then comes the depression. The feeling that you’ll never be right again. The fear that these outbreaks will become more familiar, or worse, never go away. You’re so tired from fighting that you start to listen to all the little lies your brain tells you. The ones that say that you’re a drain on your family. The ones that say that it’s all in your head. The ones that say that if you were stronger or better this wouldn’t be happening to you. The ones that say that there’s a reason why your body is trying to kill you, and that you should just stop all the injections and steroids and drugs and therapies.
Today, as Victor drove me home so I could rest, I told him that sometimes I felt like his life would be easier without me. He paused and said, “It might be easier, but it wouldn’t be better.”
These days are the darkest. But I know they will pass. I know that tomorrow things will seem a little brighter. I know that next week I’ll look back on this post and think, “I should stop listening to my brain when it’s trying to kill me. Why did I even write that post?” And that’s precisely why I’m writing this. Because it’s so easy to forget that I’ve been here before and come out the other side, and perhaps if I have this to read I’ll remember it again next time and it will help me to keep on breathing until the medications take hold and I’m out of the hole again.
Because quitting might be easier, but it wouldn’t be better.
Tuesday, August 23, 2011
While I am quite large, I am pretty darn active. With the exception of soda, I think I eat fairly well and I eat decent portions. My blood pressure is always perfect and my cholesterol is normal. I don't particularly like the image I see in the mirror, but I look at it as who I am. There isn't much changing it. I like my food dang it. I have never had too much will power to begin with. Now, I am not saying I would not love to lose some weight, but truly it is not that pressing to me.
I think it boils down to this: I am who I am and if you don't like it tough, you don't have to participate in my life.
I know it is not that simple for some people. I understand. I don't fault them for that. We all have our own demons to deal with, but truly it breaks my heart when someone hates who they are because of how they look. There are far too many good people in this world who look at you for who you are and love you anyway, unfortunately the jerks are the ones who cause the pain. I've been on the receiving line of that pain and it sucks. I try my best to shrug it off and say screw 'em.
I typically hate seeing pictures of me. A few years back I realized, this is the face people see everyday, who cares if it is captured by a camera or not. I don't stress about it anymore, but I usually don't like seeing them. There are a handful of pictures of myself I like. I ADORE my wedding photos. I was shocked at how well they turned out and how beautiful I looked. It was the first time I ever saw myself as beautiful. I have always thought they turned out so well because I was so very happy that is showed! There a couple with each children as babies that I love and some from a family photo shoot last fall. These are my babies and in these pictures I am happy and proud of my family and it shows. The last few pictures I love are ones I have from this weekend. I was sweaty and hot, but you can see the pure happiness on my face from being with a kindred spirit. I think I look wonderful. These pictures are all so special to me because they don't just show the "outside" me, but the inside, the important part, is obviously shining through and at these times the inside was happy and it showed. I think I need to let her out more often!
I know someone right now who is really struggling. They are amazing, wonderful and kindhearted. I wish they could see past what they hate about their exterior and see what I see. I see a gorgeous woman with so much kindness and love. I see a beautiful, nurturing mother who loves her children beyond measure. I see a sweet soul who cares about those she loves more than she does herself. I don't see a size, I see a friend. I don't see someone who is broken, I see someone who needs to feel loved. I see someone who needs to see what I see in her.
I know she loves this song and today I changed her ringtone on my phone to this song. It could not be more perfect for the way I feel. (I had never seen this video before today even though I had heard the some numerous times. It made me cry)
Monday, August 22, 2011
This weekend I spent time with another trauma momma family in Chicago. It was stinking amazing to sit in the presence of a family who gets us. One who see’s who we really are and still loves us. Priceless.
When I started blogging I had no idea that I would hook up with other women who were dealing with Fetal Alcohol Syndrome, Reactive Attachment Disorder or all the various diagnosis in our path. I had no clue I would not only find my community, but life long friends. I had no idea I would travel 3 hours to hug the neck of a Soul Sister.
This momma and I share so many things. I cannot imagine living the rest of my life without her in it. I am so glad I don’t have to any longer.
Wednesday, August 17, 2011
When he gets something in his head, there is no changing his mind. It is like a terrier who wants to dig!
He stares at others while they eat, hoping they will offer him some.
He has that flight or fight response when he feels backed into a corner.
If something moves outside he is instantly looking out the window and telling us about it.
If there is a storm moving in, he panics and refuses to step away from the window.
Runs to the door when someone knocks or rings the bell. Hollering "Someone's here!" the whole way.
And of course, he "barks" for no apparent reason except for hearing himself roar a lot of the time.
As much as I find this humorous, I am being somewhat serious. I don't know if it is his early trauma combined with his inability to understand social cues, but something about him makes him seem like a feral dog sometimes. Oddly enough we have found that he responds better if he channel our inner "DogWhisperer" and approach him in a calm assertive manner and show him that we are the pack leader. It works far better than entering into a power struggle.