I would like to start out by saying that I have been ridiculously guilty of this for over a decade and it needs to stop…for me anyway.  Does that mean I am deactivating my Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, Linkedin, Snapchat, Pinterest, WordPress, my website or any other social media sites that I am on?  No.  I need those avenues for important things, like promoting my books, keeping up with family and friends who are far away, offering positive thoughts and prayers when asked of me, asking for positive thoughts and prayers in trying times and to celebrate the outcome of those loving gestures.  I love seeing when others are succeeding and cry with them when they hurt.

Now here are the problems I have encountered with being addicted to social media.  Some of these things have been done to me but many, sadly, I have done to others.  I’m not doing it anymore.  Life is too short for me to live online when there is a whole world out there and people right in front of me.

It’s taken many months of serious cognitive behavioral therapy for me learn to love myself and there are still days that I struggle with it.  This form of therapy teaches you to see things in a different light.  Teaches you to evaluate why we do what we do and how to turn it around into something positive or stop the behavior if it is just plain negative.  I have made many life changes outside the internet, but I want to talk about this particular change I am in the process of making…time spent on social media.

I got to thinking, why do I post so many selfies?  I take at least twenty and then when I find the perfect one, I post it.  Why?  Validation.  Most everything I do on social media is for validation.  I want others to say, oh what a lovely picture.  When they do, I feel validated.  I finally believe I am pretty…for a while.  It’s a wonderful high.  It feels good to hear others compliment you, especially when you have low self esteem.  You find yourself checking every little bit to see how many likes you got or who said something nice to you.  There are a couple of problems with this.  One, I should not be basing my self worth on other’s opinions of me.  That is just sad.  And two, God forbid someone insult the picture. Suddenly all the kind words of the other people fade away and all that remains are the hurtful words of one person.  My self esteem plummets again.  Again, I should not be basing my self worth on the opinion someone has of me.  I need to love myself.  Period.

Why do I follow so many sexy, famous people?  Will I ever have dinner with them? Probably not.  Do they need MY validation?  If they do, aren’t I feeding into their unhealthy cry for validation?  Does this make me an enabler?  Is it just so I have eye candy running through my newsfeed 24/7?  Shouldn’t I see them as people with families who probably don’t want them seen as eye candy?  I know I don’t want that for my loved ones.  I don’t want people looking at them and thinking of them in sexual ways versus seeing them as the amazing human beings that I know and love.  I get nothing from following sexy famous people, except more time taken away from my loves ones and time taken away from the constructive things I could be doing, because I am so busy looking through the hundreds in my feeds.  I am removing them.  If I want an update on a show I like, to see when it will come out, I can just look it up.  Or I know I will see someone post about it on Facebook as I scroll through looking for important things, like births of babies, engagements, weddings, birthdays, job promotions or the like.  Real life things with real life people that I care about.

I don’t need to post pictures of every single thing I do, no more food pics (you’re welcome, those look gross anyway), no more selfies (unless updating my profile pic), no more conversations so people can tell me I am funny or witty.  I don’t need that validation anymore.  I love myself now.

I will still be posting positive, funny or inspirational memes, articles that I think people can benefit from, checking in on my depression and suicide prevention group (we all need encouragement in there), liking all the wonderful things that happen to all those I care about and asking for prayers and positive thoughts when needed.  I will always update after the fact, too.

But a lot of the stuff on my newsfeed needs to go away.  I think I could cut my online time by half if I make a few changes and just stick with the important things.  The things that actually matter in life.  Not the wasteful things that do nothing for me except forfeit my precious time.  I will also be altering my notifications.  The only notifications I need to be receiving are the ones linked to messages.  I do not need my phone, computer, smart watch or iPad to ping every single time someone posts on any of my social media sites. I only need to know when someone is trying to reach me personally.  That’s it.

This is all just my opinion.  This is just what I want to do for me.  I look forward to conversations where I am not scrolling and posting while someone I love is right here, talking to me, longing for my undivided attention.  I look forward to TV shows where I don’t miss something because I am looking to see who is saying something that makes me feel better about myself.  Car rides where I actually pay attention to the person visiting with me, not missing parts of their conversation.  Walks where I put down the Pokemon app for a while and just enjoy my surroundings.

I will still be on way too much, but at least it should be constructive, encouraging, hopeful and helping others in a healthy way.

That’s all I have to say about that.

 

Loves Last Straw

Posted: July 14, 2016 in Uncategorized
It’s cold and dark,
the earth envelops me.
The dirt is soft,
But I cannot see.
If I open my eyes,
the dirt will sting.
If he would hug me or kiss me,
Oh how my heart would sing.
The air trickles in,
through the straw between my lips.
He must love me,
or into this straw the dirt he would slip.
I know he loves me,
Though he buried me alive.
If he hated me,
I would not survive.
It’s because of his love,
I am here in this place.
If I would stop asking questions,
I’d see love in his face.
If I would stop arguing,
He would treat me right.
If I was a better person,
We would never have a fight.
I earned every hit,
I earned every hurtful word.
Oh what I would give,
to be a free little bird.
But wait…I am strong,
I start digging, I can flee.
No one holds me here,
I know I can be free.
As I rise up,
I feel the dirt break apart.
I smell the fresh air,
I feel my beating heart.
The sun on my face,
the wind in my hair.
I run and I run,
I’ll never go back there.
That was not love,
burying me alive.
That was not love,
giving me a straw to survive.
Escaping that hell,
now that is love to me.
I only needed to love myself,
to break…
myself…
free!
A little something I just wrote for my friends facing domestic violence. My heart aches for each of you.

coffin

I made this for this for my precious friend.  I love you so much.  You will heal.  Your mind, your heart and your body.  All of you.  The scars will remain but only as a reminder that you are strong and you survived.

Any of you who follow my blog know that I attempted suicide last December.  Things are better most days but still so very difficult.

I have chosen life many times over the last 6 months, but so many of those times I needed my support system to help me make that choice.  I assume being someone who battles depression and is seeking treatment, isn’t all that different from being a recovering alcoholic, drug addict, porn addict or sex addict…just a few of so many addictions.  You want to change the behavior and you want to be happy, but it’s not easy.  The urges are there, the triggers are there hiding in the shadows waiting for you to become vulnerable.

I am learning how important it is to have professional counsel to help you locate those triggers and deal with them in a constructive manner the minute they present themselves. I have yet to master that ability but I am trying.  I am doing every thing in my power to get better even if there are people out there who only work at making me worse.  There will always be critics and negative people.  People who tell you that you can control your ptsd. People who tell you to get over it.  People who say you are just doing it for attention or to make their life miserable.  It is important to remove yourself from those people so you can heal.  Those people are dangerous for your mind, your outlook on hope and hinder the help you are getting by professionals.

It is important to surround yourself with positive people.  People who love you.  People who want to help you and are willing to be there for you and hold you in your darkest moments.  I have been blessed with so many of these kinds of people in my life.  I know I would not be here without them.

All I ask of my all of those precious positive people in my life, is please don’t give up on me.  I am working so hard at healing, but it takes a long time.  Know that I am so grateful for you and one day, I will be healthy and strong and will repay your kindness.  I am sorry that I can’t offer much right now.  It’s like someone in a body cast that wants to help you clean your house or cook you a meal.  They want so desperately to repay your kindness. But at the very same time, you know that if it were THEM in that body cast and you were helping them, you wouldn’t want them to concern themselves with how to repay you.  You  would just want them to get better so that you two could go out and play in the sunshine again.  I try to keep this in mind.  Thank you for being here for me.

The battle with depression may never completely end, but that’s okay.  The battle will lessen and time will heal so many wounds. In the end, I know that I am loved and that I love and that is what matters most.  Patience, understanding and love will see us through. The happy days are coming, more happy day than I am used to are already here.

I Thought I Wanted To Die

Posted: February 28, 2016 in hope, suicide, therapy, Uncategorized

Some of you know that I have been battling depression.  It turns out that I have probably been depressed most of my life, we just didn’t know as much about depression back when I was a kid.

I have endured many traumas in my life and I think they just all came to head on December 21st, 2015.  The things that I have experienced in my past, the things that lead me to this point in my life, aren’t the focus of this blog post.  The fact that I tried to commit suicide and I am finally getting the help that I so desperately needed…is.  THAT is the focus of this post.

Kyle and I had an argument that night.  Nothing new there.  We have done a lot of arguing over the last two years.  We weren’t aware that we both suffered from depression until a few months ago.  The meds help somewhat but you can’t take a magic pill and make all of your hurts and insecurities just disappear.  I think we both thought that was how it would work. We were both sorely disappointed to find out we were wrong.  I can’t speak for him, but I felt completely hopeless.  I was losing my mind.  I could no longer hear my own voice in my head.  I realized that is why people in mental institutions often talk to themselves. It’s the only way they can hear their own voice.

So on December 21st, 2015 we argued.  My mind slipped further and further away from me. I poured a bottle of pills in my mouth and began to swallow them.  Kyle fought to get them out of my mouth.  He was so angry with me.  He couldn’t understand how I could be so selfish as to take my own life right before Christmas, leaving my children devastated.  In my mind, I felt I was a worthless piece of shit.  I was wasting good air.  I felt I had more to offer by dying.  My kids would get a sizable amount of insurance money and they could give some to Kyle to reimburse him for all that he has spent on me.  I honestly thought I was doing the right thing.  I felt everyone would be better off with me.  And my pain, would at last, come to an end.  I was okay with that decision.

I sat there on the bed, half drugged from the pills I managed to get down.  I listened to Kyle rant about how terrible I am for attempting this and leaving my kids forever.  I thought about it.  I knew I should feel the same way but I didn’t.  For my kids sake, I called 911.  I knew I would take my life as soon as Kyle went to sleep and calling for help was the only way to ensure that I lived.  The dispatcher stayed on the phone with me until the police arrived.  They had to cuff me for my own safety and buckle me into the back of the police cruiser in my pajamas.  It was terribly uncomfortable, my hands cuffed behind my back and the hard seat against my butt and back.  It was 3am.  I didn’t know where we were going or how long it would take to get there.  My words came out in soft whispers.  “Are you taking me to jail?” I asked.  “No, sweetheart.  We are taking you to (some name I didn’t know).”  “Is that a hospital?” I asked.  “No.  It’s like a hospital.  They can see if you need your stomach pumped and will observe you for a while.”  “Is it a psych ward?”  I asked, shame overwhelming me.  How did I end up in this situation?  Would this place be like the movie, Girl Interrupted?  How long would they keep me?  Will I still be able to go back to Texas and see my kids for Christmas?  My head was spinning.  I was dizzy and it was hard to catch my breath.  The police never answered that last question.  So I knew.  I knew I was headed to a psych ward.

After half an hour we pulled up to the back of a small building.  Looked like an alley of sorts.  Very dark with one flickering dim light over the backdoor, it looked like a camera was next to it.  The police helped me out of the car and pushed a code onto the keypad next to the door.  I heard a loud buzz and a click.  The door came open.  They took me into a little room with a guard in uniform sitting behind a tall desk.  It was tall in the front, as if to protect him.  The police had me sit in a chair behind the desk, still cuffed.  They took off their weapons and locked them into a wall of safes.  The guard asked me questions while the police filled out their report.  Name, date of birth, home address, allergic to any medications, food allergies, any meds currently taking.  I said, “Prozac.”  “I’m sure the doctor will switch that.  It’s obviously not working,” said the guard.  Then he asked me to stand up.  He lifted my night shirt just a little bit to see if there were strings on my pajama pants.  And there were.  He said, “You can either change into a medical gown or I have to cut off the strings.  “Why?” I asked in barely a whisper.  “So you don’t try to hang yourself,” he gently explained.  “You can cut them off.”  I knew I wanted to stay in my own clothes if possible.  He then said, “I can either take the laces out of your shoes or you can wear hospital socks.”  I opted for the hospital socks.  So he took off my shoes and the police handed him my phone and he put the phone in a plastic bag.  It was sealed up with some strange colored tape like stuff.  He locked my phone in a safe and put my shoes in a paper bag and into a closet with lots of other paper bags.  The names of the patients written on them.  Then he ran a wand all over me to make sure I wasn’t hiding any weapons or anything.  My mouth was numb and my mind was drifting off.  The pills  I took were making me sick.  I heard another loud buzz and a click.  A doctor came through a second door.  Not the one we just entered but another one.  He examined me and said the nurse would be there soon to collect me.  The police uncuffed me, then unlocked the safe from the wall of safes and got out their weapons.  They wished me luck and left.

A nurse came and ‘collected’ me.  What ever that meant.  He took me to a break room/kitchen area.  He asked me tons of medical questions that I was having trouble answering due to the attempted overdose.  He checked my vitals and took me to a room with eight overstuffed recliners.  Two other women were asleep in theirs and one in between them had a sheet and blanket on it.  He said that was for me.  He asked if I needed anything to eat or drink before going to sleep.  I accepted a small paper cup full of water.  I got as comfortable as I could in that recliner in that strange place.  The TV on the wall was off.  The other women breathed deeply as they slept.  I dozed on and off until around 7am. My head still not right from the pills and the depression.  I was glad they didn’t seem to need to pump my stomach.  The nurse said it was time to eat breakfast.  We went into the little kitchen and me and the two other women sat at one table and several men were at the other two tables.  They had plates made up for us with yogurt, cereal, milk, cranberry juice and a banana.  I listened to the other two women talk.  Fredonia and Nikky kept trying to get me to engage in conversation, but I wasn’t much in the mood.  So I just listened.  They were interesting.  Apparently they come here often.  They knew the staff and they knew how things worked.  They said to me, “First time?”  I nodded.  “We thought so.  We haven’t seen you here before.  Welcome.”  I attempted a faint smile with little eye contact.  Maybe if I don’t look at them, they will leave me alone.  After breakfast they took us back to our recliners and turned on the TV.  Lifetime channel.  Really?  So cliche’.  The men were on the other side of the little office area in their own room with recliners.  They had on ESPN.  Again…cliche’.  I giggled as I thought, “If Kyle came here sane, he would end up crazy having to listen to ESPN.  He hates sports.”  I smiled as I realized I heard my own voice. And it was riddled with humor.  I took that as a positive sign.  Nikky was explaining that she was there again because she had a miscarriage.  She was telling Fredonia that she has two other kids but her mom took them away from her.  Fredonia kept singing church songs and shouting out random Bible scriptures.  She told Nikky that she had kids, too. Nikky asked what their names were.  Fredonia sat there for a minute or so, thinking. “I can’t come up with anything good yet.  Ask me again later,” she said.  Nikky went on with her story, like that was the most normal thing she could have heard Fredonia say.  The more Nikky spoke, the more angry she became.  Then she started shouting about how she tried to assault her husband with a knife and he pushed her away from him and that’s what caused her miscarriage.  She said a real man wouldn’t push a pregnant woman. Fredonia said, “You shoulda stabbed him.”  “I tried!” said Nikky.  I was suddenly feeling a little scared.  These women were a bit frightening.  Perhaps I DON’T belong in here.  

The doctor finally showed up and was taking each person into his office with the window that we could see in, one at a time, by order of arrival.  He finally got to me.  After talking with me and asking if I was still suicidal, to which I said ‘no’, he signed my papers to go home.  But since the police brought me and I didn’t come of my own freewill, I had to stay a full 10 hours. Which meant I would be here until 2pm.  It was 9am when he released me.  The day nurse came in to take our vitals.  She said to Fredonia, “I need your arm please.  I need to take your blood pressure.”  Fredonia jerked her arm away.  “You don’t get to take my blood pressure until you get me some clean clothes.”  The nurse looked at her, obviously irritated.  “This is not a mall.  You do not get clean clothes.  Now give me your arm.” Fredonia jerked her arm away again and started shouting Bible scriptures and Help me Jesus!  I wanted so badly to shout, “Help me Tom Cruise.  Save me with your witchcraft!” Like from Talledega Nights.  But I chose to remain quiet and entertained.  Fredonia said, “I come here for a few meals and clean clothes.  Your washing machine is broke so you can’t wash my clothes.  I want new ones.”  The nurse disappeared for a few minutes and finally returned.  “You are correct.  The washing machine is broke.  I will get you some sweats AFTER I take your blood pressure.”  “I need bus tokens, too.  Two of them,” ordered Fredonia.  “We only give one bus token.”  “Well, how am I supposed to get back here when I need food and clean clothes?”  “This is not a shelter, Fredonia.”  “I know.  It’s better than a shelter.”  “Are you still living on the streets in Beverly Hills?”  asked the nurse. “Yes.”  “Why do you choose to live that way?”  “I like when people ask me where I am from.  I say Beverly Hills.  They have no idea I am homeless.”  Again, I bit my tongue but wanted to say, “Kinda like I should have named my dog 10 miles.  That way I could tell people I walk 10 miles everyday.”  The nurse finally agreed to Fredonia’s terms and got to take her blood pressure.  Then she walked over to Nikky and reached for her arm.  Nikky promptly pulled it away and said, “If SHE gets new clothes, I want new clothes, too.”  The nurse looked like she wanted to hurt someone.  “Fine.  You get new clothes, too.  Now give me your arm.”  She reached for her arm again and Nikky jerked it away.  “I need a note from the doctor so I don’t lose my job.”  “You will get your note.”  She was finally able to take Nikky’s blood pressure.  I was incredibly amused by this scene.  The nurse came to me and reached for my arm.  I let her take it and put on the cuff.  She smiled and said, “You don’t look like you belong here.  What are you in for?”  “I tried to kill myself.”  Nikky and Fredonia gasped and said, “OMG!  We would NEVER try to kill ourselves.  We assault other people but would never hurt ourselves.  You are crazier than we are!”  I literally laughed. Wow.  I AM the crazy one in the psych ward.  Not really surprising.  The nurse was leaving and said, “What size sweats do you ladies wear?”  Fredonia stood up and lifted her shirt all the way up and said, “I don’t know.  What size do you THINK I wear?”  The nurse shook her head and left.  I would have guessed the ladies both to be a medium size.  A bit later she came back with XX large sweats and tossed them at the women.  The girls changed and said, “I think she’s trying to call us fat.  Fucking bitch.”  I had to work hard to hold in my laugh.  The ladies were discharged long before me.  I finally got out and made it home on new meds.  They would take a couple weeks to work though.  By the 23rd Kyle got angry with me again.  It was a miscommunication but we didn’t know that at the time.  I couldn’t handle the yelling and wanted to kill myself again.  Back to the psych ward I went.  At least that time I knew how it all worked and I was happy there.  I would have asked to stay longer but I knew I needed to try to get out before 10am the next day.  My plane was to leave for Texas at noon.  It was a nerve racking experience but I got out, barely in time.  Kyle was already at the airport and my precious friend came and got me from the psych ward and took me to the airport.  They released me to her custody and had to have proof I got on the plane.

Once in Texas, my kids had an intervention.  They didn’t like me being so far away from them in my poor mental state.  Kyle changed my plane ticket to a later date and I spent a few weeks with my children while my meds began to work.  I never should have been that bad off.  I went to the hospital on November 4th, 2015 for high blood pressure due to depression.  I am on state insurance.  I set up an appointment with a psychiatrist on November 6th, 2015.  They did an initial consultation and said they would call me in 3 weeks.  They never called.  I called them daily and left messages.  No return calls.  Then I tried to kill myself, twice.  I left more messages.  Help me.  Please.  While in Texas, I called even more times.  It was an uphill battle to get the help I so desperately needed, but I continued with the fight.  I finally got in a second time.  I told them of my traumas and suicidal tendencies.  Then I got in for a 3rd time, in February.  It took from November to February but I finally got in.  After many questions and such, they determined that I am a perfect case study for Cognitive Behavior Therapy.  I have been going for a few weeks now and I am off the antidepressants.  I am seeing much improvement, but I have a very long way to go.  I am in counseling with an entire medical team.  I have 5 people working my case.  I get to go once a week for a year.

I know it’s hard to get the help you need.  I couldn’t have done it, if I didn’t have such an amazing support system.  I am excited to see more progress and terrified at dealing with issues I deliberately disconnected myself from.  My counselor says I have to connect emotionally before I can experience true healing.  She says I am one of the strongest people she has ever encountered.  I don’t know that I am all that strong.  But I do know I am determined.  I will learn to love myself if it’s the last thing I do.  And I am finally on the right road.  The road to recovery.  I finally WANT to live.

Kyle wrote a status update this afternoon that meant much to so many. And I am grateful for that. But for me it was a freeing feeling. We have struggled for two years to stay together. He had mood swings roughly every three days. A Jekyll and Hyde kind of thing. We tried everything to help his mood swings. We tried talking with someone. Something to help us communicate better. But it’s impossible to communicate with someone who is battling depression. The problem was that we didn’t know he was depressed. He was either over the moon happy or enraged. There was no middle ground. I tried everything to communicate. I tried telling him many positive things about himself when he was on cloud nine and then gently bringing up something that hurt my feelings. It was like flipping a light switch. He felt attacked and guilty and it made him angry. It was impossible to rationalize with him when he was angry. It was living with the Hulk and Banner. I tried ignoring any hurts. I tried addressing them. I tried humor. I tried reason. I read articles on the behavior and books on narcissism. Nothing pointed to depression. Everything tried to make it about thought processes, past hurts and communication. After nearly two years of this happening every few days, I began to get sick. My blood pressure would skyrocket when he was on an angry day. I started to believe the hurtful words he would irrationally say in anger. I began to feel worthless and ashamed. I never knew who I would wake up to in the morning and that made it hard to sleep. I got tired, sad, frustrated and felt hopeless. When I ended up having to go to the ER for high blood pressure due to stress, Kyle decided to talk to his doctor. He had heard other people recently talking about depression and it made him wonder if maybe that was what was going on with him. His instincts were correct. As soon as he started on the antidepressants and began going to anger management, I realized I was living with a different man. I am so proud of him for taking the initiative and seeking help. He is doing beautifully. The new problem for us now, is me. I have been strong for 2 years. I gave all I could give and felt so alone even though I had a handful of trusted friends reaching out to both of us. Friends who love us both and want what is best for us both. Even with them here, I felt alone. No one could truly understand the depths of my wounds. Even in a room full of people, I felt like I was the only one who could understand living my beautiful amazing life and also my hellish nightmare. I’m thinking there are others just like me. I can’t be the only one. I am learning that I am one of the lucky ones though. Many people never realize the bulk of the problem is depression. They know there is help. I am blessed to be with a man who wants us to work and doesn’t want to put me through anymore of this painful cycle. A man who wants to help himself. Who wants to be happy. I have watched him change before my eyes. I have prayed for this and now it frightens me. I feel like I am living with a wonderfully consistent incredible stranger. I saw him giving me the best of him on daily basis. But I couldn’t give him the best of me. I was still angry and hurt and scared. I still am. But I went to the doctor today. I am on antidepressants, too, now. After a series of questions they determined that this is what I need. I worked with him for two years so he could get better. And now he is working with me. This right here is what a partnership is all about. We aren’t even married yet and we are already living by the ‘for better or for worse’ part of wedding vows. We just did it backwards. We’ve already done the ‘for worse’. I am so happy and grateful for the next part. ‘For better’. After all we have been through. I know we can make it through anything. I am so proud of you, baby. And so grateful we reunited when we did. We’ve made it through the worst. And as you always say, ‘like a phoenix rising from the ashes’, we are stronger and getting better. Together we can conquer the world. I love you.

And here is what Kyle posted earlier. The thing that prompted me to speak out as well. He approved my post.
This is from Kyle:
Depression and anxiety can easily trick you into thinking you are alone. You are not.
Some people need meds to balance things in their brain. Others use counselors/therapy/unbiased third party to help them to unlock healing within themselves. Others find solace and escape in entertainment. Some need a little bit of everything. And some are too afraid to do anything (stigma, skepticism, etc). I was, for decades. But no more.
If you are reading this and hurting, please reach out to someone you know, love, or trust. Google for an infinite amount of resources (not all are expensive either, even if your insurance doesn’t cover it or you don’t have insurance).
If you know someone who is going through a rough patch, message or post on your/their social media.
You are NOT alone.

And here is the note Kyle left me in my pill bottle.  I love and support you, too, baby.  #crazylove

 

kyles note

Very few know all of my life long struggles.  I am so limited on what I am willing to tell people for a couple reasons.  One, fear, just plain and simple.  I would never want any harm to come to anyone.  The other reason is that some of my abusers are still in my life and regardless of the damage done to me, I love them.  Yes, them, more than one.

I am a forgiving soul and I tend to be patient in most ways.  I always hope for the best in people and that they will see how hurtful their actions are and that they will stop the behavior.  I’ve only cut out a couple of people who went too far and caused their actions to impact my children.  That is something I will not tolerate.  Hurting me is one thing, but hurting my children is very different.  My kids are grown now and can handle themselves.  I raised them stronger than me and with self confidence.  Things I wasn’t raised to be.  Don’t get me wrong.  Parents do the best they can with the emotional tools they are given.  I certainly have made my share of mistakes with my own children.  They overcame those mistakes and forgave me.

In my life I have experienced molestation, rape, betrayal, gaslighting, even physically assaulted.  All of the abuses have left me with so many internal wounds.  I am usually strong and able to just brush them off and move on, but these days the hurts have joined hands and enveloped my soul.  They darken the room, choke my throat, spin me in circles and leave me a trembling weeping mess.

I appreciate the times Kyle is here for me to hold me and comfort me.  He travels a lot and I knew that coming into the relationship.  I was more than happy to be with someone who travels and leaves me plenty of time to write, paint and draw.  I had not planned on these panic attacks from PTSD caused by my past abuses to strip me of myself.

I haven’t written in weeks.  Not on a book, not a poem, no painting, no drawing.  I am the kind of person who usually gets six loads of laundry washed, dried and put away, while steaming the carpets and preparing a gourmet dinner and still have energy at the end of the day to focus on my art interests.   But I am losing myself.  If I get a load of laundry washed and dried I am having a good day.  It takes all I have to get out of bed some days.  If it wasn’t for my little dog needing out and fed, I would just hide under the blankets and cry.

I keep posting memes but I am quickly losing interest in that, too.  Friends call to check on me, so I know I am not alone, but I just can’t bring myself to answer the phone.  I do love all of you for reaching out to me and I apologize that I am struggling so much with being there for you.

Please just send positive thoughts and kind prayers.  I miss me.

beach me