You know that feeling you get when your blood rushes to your head?  How about when it happens over and over again?  Ever had that happen?  No?

 Good.  It's not fun.

 Last night i was laying in the hotel bed and it kept happening over and over.  When it happens, everything gets loud.  It sounds like if you were to put your hands over your ears and someone turns up the volume really loud.  And then you have to walk through a door and you know whatever is on the other side is terrifying.  And that wave of terror and loudness washes over your body over and over again.  That's the feeling.

Good times!

After I finally fell asleep I started dreaming.  The medication makes me dream dreams that I physically feel. Do you know what I mean?  Like if your on fire and you FEEL hot?  Or if you have to carry a huge load on your back and you can't get it off and it's pressing on you so hard it's actually hard for you to inhale.  For real.  Ever had that happen? No?

Good.  That's not fun either. 

Surprisingly after all that I was doing OK this morning.  But as the afternoon went on....I started losing it.  It's really hard for me to  sit still.And then mix that up with being  in a crowd of people.  I started to fidget.  Only it's constant.  And....bigger then a fidget.  And probably distracting.  My husband asked if I wanted to leave. 
I said no.  I wanted to stay.  I really wanted to be strong and get through the whole day without bolting. But I stayed to long.  I started feeling like there was ants crawling on me.  I kept thinking....please, just let me get through this.  Only ten more minutes.  Only five more minutes. 
Finally it was over and I wanted to run but didnt.  We finally made it to the car. 
My husband tried talking to me.  I burst into tears and couldn't stop. 
I'll be OK, I said.  It's just been a long day.
We went to eat.  I calmed down.  I remembered to breathe. 
I hate being like this.  It makes me feel so.....almost like a little kid who can't control herself.  It's so demeaning. 
We went to Walgreen's.  I picked out some ice cream and told Keith that he better get his own because I was not sharing. 


Puffy, cried out eyes. 

I ate the whole container.

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Right after worked today we jumped in the truck and headed to Kansas City. 

OK.  That's not really how it happened.  Actually we stayed up late Wednesday night packing, worked our butts off all day today and hurried out the door so that we could make it here before dark.  My husband talked on the phone for two hours trying to straighten out work issues and I drove.  A few times I had a very strong urge to jump out the door and run for the hills. 

I am tired, cranky, completely stressed and irritable. 

When we made it to the hotel I ran a bath and actually sighed out loud when I sunk into it. 
We are going to a convention tomorrow and there will be lots of people. 
I am afraid of being around all those people.
And guess what?  We have no toothpaste.  I thought I would use his  and he thought he would use mine. 

Neither of us brought ours.

I also forgot Q-tips.  I realize you aren't supposed to stick them in your ears but I use them to dry the outsides.  And OH I DO stick them in my ears as well. 
So there.

Can you tell that I am fabulous company tonight?

Another thing....  This product?


Maybe there isn't a odor if YOU DON'T HAVE A NOSE.
Otherwise your legs and arms will smell like a bowl of cereal that has been left in the sun for three days. 

I guess between the bad breath and the scent I won't have to worry about anyone talking to me. 

Perfect!

I would cry but I'm to tired.  I haven't slept a solid three hours in five days.  We are leaving for camping on Wednesday and the whole trip is making me nervous and stressed out. 

I need to just breathe.  Calm down.  Tell myself that tomorrow will be OK.  Camping will be OK.  Everything will be OK. 

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Can't you just smell that beefy gravy?

Me and my husband meet for lunch during the week at least once.  I always order something like above.  I am a meat and potato kind of girl. 

My husband usually orders something like this.


This always confuses the waiter and nine times out of ten when they bring us our meals, the waiter/waitress wants to put the salad in front of me. 

I say, "Give that salad to him!  The hot beef is mine!"

Then I ask for a extra dinner roll because what they give you is NEVER enough to soak up the gravy. 

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We are leaving for vacation next week. Going to South Dakota on a riding/camping trip.  It has taken loads of work to get ready for.  I really hope it's worth it. 
I think it will be.
I'm feeling good and all I can do is hope for the feeling to last.

My fear comes from leaving my boss.
I have been dreading this for months. 
I am with her at least four days a week and sometimes I pop in on the weekends.  She is dependent on me.

A co-worker told me I was the heart beat of her house.

That makes me happy and scares me at the same time. 

My work can be extremely stressful. 

And heartbreaking.

And at the same time, fulfilling. After fourteen years in her home,  I can finally give something back to her.  She has given me so much.  I have learned more from her then I can even begin to say. She has shaped  some of who I am.

 And I like that part of me. 

I'll be gone for eight days.  Thankfully she is still with us, mentally and somewhat physically.  But I worry.  Because I know that no one can do my job like I can.  And she knows it too.  She knows I need a break.  So she hasn't pressured me to stay.  But I know there will be times that she will be frustrated without me.  And not only that....

I fear that something will happen to her and I won't be there. 
I want to be there when it happens. 
I am trying to prepare myself mentally for the day that she takes her last breath. 
But you really can't do that can you?



Have you ever wore one of these?  She threw a few away because they were the wrong length so I tried it to see how it felt. 
It was extremely uncomfortable.  I couldn't stand it for more then five minutes. 

She wears it 24/7.

It causes chronic nose bleeds, dry skin on your face and sores on your ears. 
Not only that but the whole reason someone is wearing a tube in their nose is because they can't get enough air.

 And sometimes it's still not enough. 

I find myself breathing deeply when I see her struggling for breath. 

When I see someone wearing this at the store or something, my heart aches for them. 

And just for the record, she never smoked a day in her life.  Either did her husband.  People always ask me that.

I'm going to try hard not to worry about her while I'm gone.  I'm going to try hard to relish every moment with my husband and boys and not think about work.  I will not text my co-workers to see how she is doing.  Because even if it's a bad day....what will I be able to do anyway?

I also fear that maybe I will like being away.  Maybe I will see just how much weight my job has put on my shoulders.  What if I like the relief of being away to much? What if instead of itching to get back to work to help her, that I dread it instead?
 
I don't know.  Being around the dying is such a complicated thing.  Each day is different.  I can laugh and cry and feel joy and pain all in the same day.  I have no idea what will happen every time I walk through her door.   Sometimes at the end of the day I leave feeling lighter, thinking, everything is going to be OK!

  And other days.....

I cry all the way home. 

I do know without a doubt that I will be there for her until she doesn't need me anymore.  Whenever that may be. 

In the meantime I will live my life outside of work to the fullest that I can.  I will try not to miss a single moment.  I will try to let my worrying thoughts of her not cloud my days or rob me of the joy I will have being with my family.

I'll be back with her soon. 

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Now that it's finally nice out, the boys have been taking the old Barbie Bike outside. The main goal is to get air or do a wheelie.



They try to hit the curb just right. 


Micah is really good at it.  Darren.....not so much.
 But it's not from lack of trying.



Just look at the determination on his face!


But no matter how hard he tries....he's not as good as his little brother.  I think that makes him a little nuts.


 Part of it is that he is scared of the Barbie Bike.  This is by his own admission. Which is ridiculous considering the other bike he rides.

  Maybe if he had some gear on....


Or if his brother coached him.

"Pick up your speed!"


At this point I'm pretty sure the neighbors are enjoying the show because this doesn't look silly at all.


Even Ginger enjoys watching.


Shes looks a little worried.  As she should be!  Look! 


The Barbie Bike is riding solo. 

No worries though.  Nobody was injured.  It's a short fall to the ground. 


I'm not sure what we will do if the Barbie Bike blows a tire.  Or gets in some sort of unrepairable accident.

 I may have to purchase another one. 


Which I think makes me just as silly as they are.

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This is our dog Ginger.  Also known as...

GINGER LOUISE:  when she's naughty.
STINK POT: when she stinks.
BABOON: when she's being a dork. 

Like this...


But most the time I just call her Ginger.  Or girlfriend.  Because us girls have to stick together in a house full of boys. 




I'm guessing the name "Stink pot" would be appropriate here. 




And yes, I see the 8 inch hole in my sons jeans.  He has nicer jeans.  But these are his favorite.  And guess what?  I let him wear them to school.  GASP!  So yes, he is THAT kid.  And I am THAT mom.




Oh Ginger.  You kind of have a wide behind.



I think she heard me.


It's OK Honey.  You know we love you. Even though you drive us crazy sometimes. 
And....
You shed terribly.
You eat your toys.
Your breath is bad.
You get on the couch when we aren't looking.
You eat your poop.
You whine all the time.
You lick us.  And we know what's been in that mouth.

But you are a sweet sweet girl.




And I couldn't imagine life without her. 

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I'm just going to write this out ok?  I'm not going to go back and reread it or do spell check or anything like that.  I just need to say some things. 

My husband is leaving again for the weekend.  For the funeral of his sister's father in law. 
We have spent alot of time talking about him.  The profound affect he had on people.  How much he was loved.

The last time I saw him was last summer when a group of us went camping. 

I was in such a bad place at the time.

I remember that we had a few conversations.  I couldn't even hear his words.  All I kept thinking was...

"He would never be this kind to me if he saw inside my heart.  If he knew about my darkness.  I'm not fit to even stand this close to such a amazing person.  I'm not worthy enough to breathe the same air as he does."

It was hard to look him in the eye.  I was afraid he would see right through me.  I was afraid everyone would.  So I stayed away.  Kept to myself.  Buried my face in a book. 

I can't even tell you what my last conversation with him was.

That hurts so much. 

I should have been soaking it up.  Smiling along with him.  Catching his joy for life and holding on to it.

 Instead, I felt nothing.  Worse then nothing actually.  I felt like a fraud.  I kept thinking...

 "He thinks i'm a good person.  But I'm not.  He's only talking to me because there is no one else around.  I'll try to say what I have to say really fast with short sentences so he can finish up with me and  talk to someone more interesting.  Some one more funny/ better/ kinder/ smarter/ pretty/ spiritual/ less dull then me."




So I missed it.  And now he's gone.  And I would do anything to have one more conversation with him. 

I know I'm not the only one. 

His family is grieving.  Hard.  He was a incredible man.   And even despite all thier greif....they took the time to tell my husband to give me a hug.  To tell me they love me.  And that they can't wait to see me again. 

And for a minute I fell back into that bad place.  Thinking...Surely they don't really mean it.  How could they?

It's so hard to believe that anyone loves me.  Or even likes me for that matter.  But I have to get past that.  I have to start believing it.  Because I have miss so much.  And that is even more depressing then feeling unloved.

And please understand the " not loved" feeling is absolutely not from the lack of love shown to me.  Which doesn't make a whole lot of since I know.  It's the numbness of not feeling anything and feeling so bad about myself, truly feeling that I don't deserved to be loved.  So I deny people that.  And that's not fair to them.

Or to me.



I need to let people in. I need to believe that they care for me. That they like me.  I need to feel like I deserve it.  But even as I typed that I want to erase those words.  Why do I feel so undeserving of love?  I guess I know why....my mistakes, the deadness I have felt, my selfishness in wanting to run away, leave everyone behind and not look back.  I don't feel those things anymore.  I'm not that person anymore.  But I was.  And those feelings could and most likely will come back.  I try to fight them.  But it feels like drowning and after struggling for so long it's so hard not to give up.  Let it go.  Let the surface light fade away.  The darkness feels more like home then the light.
Thats why it's hard to believe someone would love me.

Because I'm not that person but I am that person.    Depression is part of me.  It's not who I am.  But it is a big part of me.  It shapes me.  Through therapy I'm learning survival tactics.  How to fight harder.  How to cope.  How to not let it rob me of my life. 

I should probably wrap this up.  If I reread it I will erase the whole thing so I hope that it makes a bit of since.  If not, oh well. 

My heart feels a little lighter.  I'll be ok.  Some days are just....heavy.  And everything hits me so hard I want to crumble. 

So I write.  And I hope that when I look back on this post a year or even a few months from now... I'll see how far I have come. 

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First of all I apologize to my husband.  He hates it when I say I'm crazy. 

I'm sorry honey. 

Call it what you will, I need professional help.  And it's expensive. 


The bills have started rolling in.  At first I opened them and stuck them in my purse.  But then I checked my bank account and realized that I couldn't pay for them.  So my husband took them.  He told me not to worry about it.  Don't even open them. Just give them to him.

But I do worry.

I feel bad for him. 

He has been through so much as far as I am concerned and this is just another burden he has to bear.

It's not fair. 

I won't go into a rant about health care.  But it's ridiculous.  Who could afford this?  $168.00 for a one hour session. 



As much as Jaime has helped me, I think during our sessions I should be served lunch.  Or have a massage.  Or at least offered a soda. 

It's makes me want to quit going.

It makes me want to give the money to someone else who is worse off then me and cannot get help because they don't have a husband who will take the bill and they will suffer and hurt and live in turmoil for the rest of their lives because they can't afford to do anything about it. 



This is only for a few visits.  It takes months for everything to go through insurance first.

  Don't get me wrong, I am glad I have insurance to pay for some of it.  I'm not sure if I could stomach going if I didn't. 



I'm not sure who has 600 plus dollars laying around but it's not us.  So they will get paid when they get paid. 

And don't get me started on the pills I take.  Right now I am living off of samples from a very generous doctor.  But they will run out and we have been warned that insurance may deny paying for them and they are very expensive.

Having a mental illness is depressing in more ways then one. 
We could go on a awesome vacation with this money.
I could get a pedicure once a month for five years.
I could help my boy out with gas for his truck.
I could go on and on and on.

I realize that I need to view this as a treatment that is life saving.  Because it is.  It's hard enough to go every week.  Its even harder knowing how much it costs. 

I know I won't need it forever.  At least I hope I won't.  For now I will force myself to go.  And not think about the costs involved.  Because the costs of not going would be greater. 

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**** First of all I wrote this post on Sunday.  I try to write a couple when I feel good and when I have time.  Then I can post one a day or every other day.  The problem is when something devastating like the Oklahoma tornado happens and then I have a post like this one about my obsession with skirts and it just feels so....insignificant and petty.  And quite frankly embarrassing.  But tonight I am tired.  Its 9:30 and I have only been home for a hour.  My boss had a party tonight.  I cleaned her house today and then stayed  and  bartended, served food and then cleaned up.  My body is fried and so is my brain. 
But I want to write about the school children who lost their lives.  The absolute terror they must have felt.  The people who have lost everything.
My own fear of storms and tornado's. 
But I just don't have the words tonight. 
And so you get this post about silly skirts. 
It's all I've got. 
Maybe it's better then nothing.
Or maybe I should have held off with it.
Either way, here it is.  Just know that my heart isn't in the same place when I wrote it.  It's aching for Oklahoma and the people that have lost so much. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I have alot.  And if I tell you how many, please don't judge.

I have 63.

 But that includes winter skirts!  Which doesn't really make the number any better.  I mean, just knowing that I have separate winter and summer skirts makes me feel a bit of a fanatic.  I brought all my summer skirts upstairs and stored the winter ones in a downstairs closet. 

Skirts are just....fun.  I love the colors and fabric and how free they feel.  I wear one every chance I get.  I wear jeans and a tee shirt everyday to work.  So on my day off and the weekends, I want to wear something else.  I do have some summery dresses that I've been wearing with my boots now that the weather is nicer. I didn't count my dresses.  I think I may have around ten.  Maybe ten casual and ten fancy.  That's not to crazy.  Or is it?  I don't know.


I realize it's excessive.  And my problem is when I go shop for new clothes I always head straight for the skirts.  Even though I just unpacked my  shorts and they are old and faded and my boss is probably tempted to give me some money to buy some new ones. 
I would probably wear a skirt to work but the tennis shoes and skirt thing is not a good look.

I have alot of shirts too. 


This summer I am trying something different.  I hung all my skirts and shirts backwards.  At the end of summer I am determined to get rid of anything that is still hanging that way.  I have way to much of everything and with my mind being a little on the crazy side sometimes looking at all the options makes me a little crazier. 


I hope Goodwill thanks me at the end of summer.

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Remember this? Two months ago my sons truck got stolen, stripped and filled with garbage.

It was a heart breaker.

Back up a year or so.

 Before he could even drive he started talking about what kind of truck he would like.  Something older, rugged, a manual, perfect for four wheeling.  Something like "my Uncle's truck.  I love that truck!"

Fast forward about a week after his truck was stolen.  His Uncle called my husband...."Hey, what if I sold Darren my truck?"

Yes please!  Darren couldn't believe it. We couldn't believe it. 


He was thrilled. And Uncle B was happy that the truck would stay in the family and it would receive the TLC it deserved. 



Seriously mom?


It wasn't the pictures I was taking.  It was the bathrobe I was wearing. 

This is why we should live in the country.  So I can hang out in my robe in the front yard without fear of the neighbors. And so we can just park our trucks in the yard so we don't have to move them around twenty times a day.




I'm so glad that everything ended up being ok.  Not just ok.  Even better then before.  Life doesn't usually go that way.  I'm grateful it did for him this time. 

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This was the first weekend in about three months that I have had anytime alone.  Mentally I was ready for it.  I feel good.  I have alot of energy.  I am happy.  So it fell at the perfect time as far as my mental state goes.  Still, my mind easily wanders so I had to make sure that I was busy.  Saturday I tackled my bedroom.  It was a disaster.





 And being scatterbrained and having a hard time focusing makes a semi simple task turn into a all day project.

 Because I couldn't clean off my dresser without organizing every single drawer.

 I couldn't tidy up my bedside table without going through all the books on it and oh wait if I just stop and read this magazine that is two months old I can just throw it away.

 I couldn't hang up my clothes without taking out every single piece and rehanging some on the "good" hangers and pitching the items I don't want.  Which is a task in itself because with every shirt I thought....is this me?  Do I even like this?  I'll never wear it.  But my boss bought it for me!  What if she dies!? Will i regret throwing it away?
So it took me the entire day. 



But that's OK.  I listened to IHeart radio.  Took a few breaks.


Ate lunch outside with Darren.


Speaking of Darren, he was busy most of the day.  We ran a few errands in the morning and then in the afternoon he went dirt bike riding with a couple of friends. 
So far he has convinced two of his buddies to buy a dirt bike and he is working on more. 

I am quite positive that their parents hate us. 


It's scary and dangerous and can be a mother's worst nightmare.  Those bikes are fast and heavy.


But he loves it.  So what can I do?

I really do enjoy being alone.  But after awhile I kept looking out the front window every time I thought I heard his truck.

Sunday I woke up at 5:30 and refused to get out of bed.  I fell back asleep until 10.  Darren was up.  He has a graduation and party to go to.  I am at Scooters because it's raining and the Internet is non existent at our house when it's raining.  My husband and Micah should be getting home sometime late this evening.  I have missed them so much.

A quiet house is nice but I don't like it as much as I used too.  I love the chatter, sound of footsteps on the wood floor, the occasional fight.  The door chime when someone comes in or out.  I wonder what sounds I make when I am there.  I bet they would miss them if I were gone.

  I know they would. 



I feel good about myself this weekend.  I felt like a grown up who does responsible things like clean her bedroom and who doesn't fall apart.   I felt like, "See?  You are a good person.  You know how to take care of things.  You can make good decisions even when no one is looking.  And p.s your bedroom looks awesome."

And for the first time in a long time I believed every word.

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