Family on a Friday Holiday

I’ve been bordering on depressed lately, being on bed rest to avoid pre-eclampsia is so boring. This morning I made a joke on Facebook and got snapped at in a comment, which did not help the depressed feeling at all. I deleted my joke and all prior comments and likes on the post because I have a bad habit of getting into arguments on facebook with that person, and now they have someone else to back them up that thinks exactly like they do. It’s not worth the fight, but it definitely makes me feel alone.

This afternoon, though, my mom called me and that was so helpful. I was actually bordering on afraid to talk to my mom, sometimes I get like that when I feel really alone. I can get super needy and call too much which can be stressful and difficult to deal with, so that is something I’ve been working on changing. The result often leads to me feeling like I have no one. I digress, the result of the conversation with my mom was feeling better. What I really love about my mom is she takes my faults for what they are and still loves me and helps me. I’m sure it’s taken 30 years of practice to handle the mess I can be sometimes, but she’s been there through everything. When I explained my fear of giving birth to Beastly is beginning to feel like the fear I had when I realized my anesthesiologist was male at 18 she knew what I meant. She was there and saw how I reacted. She also knows better than to try and explain things that are beyond my understanding. She told me today that there are things she can’t explain right now because I won’t understand until later.

Not long after that Debbie let me know Lisa got the Easter package sent to Madilyn and they were skypeing. I joined everyone downstairs and it was really fun to see my niece playing. Normally I feel really out of place during those sessions. There’s very little shared history, the traditions are different, the whole family structure is different from mine. The love is the same, but there’s a lot I don’t understand and have trouble adjusting to because my social skills are non-existent. Today I still didn’t say much, but I felt more like I belonged there. It’s hard for me to feel a part of my own family, trying to feel a part of a family that I’ve never grown up with is extremely difficult for me.

Today my mom described it as shyness, I think it may be a lack of trust in people. I’m constantly waiting to be hurt, waiting for that moment when people will let me down. Even though today started out bad, with me feeling depressed by avoiding a Facebook fight, it ended up being a really nice and inclusive holiday. People always think I’m strange because Good Friday is my favorite holiday, but to me the whole Easter Holy Week is about family. Today was a great Good Friday.

I love my family, all of my family, for being so kind with words and feelings. I love my mom for the way she treats me, and Debbie for sending Easter cards in the mail, even though she lives with us. I love both of them for being really sensitive about how difficult things can be for me. They both are so sweet with presents, not expensive things, but little things. Handmade cloth baby wipes, Cadbury eggs, my old outfit from my favorite baby pictures, a chocolate chip muffin…those things mean more to me than anything else.

Idealism at it’s best

I’ve been told by a lot of people that I am too idealistic. I don’t see why that’s such a bad thing, except that it makes me obnoxious to just about every person I meet that has really strong feelings about anything. There are the people who believe in keeping religion out of school, the people that believe in keeping religion in school, people that don’t believe or do believe in gay marriage, do or don’t believe in races being different…the list probably will never end. I have a serious problem with the media and a huge issue with just about anything political. I really want my kid to grow up in a world that doesn’t have huge distinctions between people.

I’m not stupid so I have no belief that this is going to happen outside of my house, but in my house terms like reverse-racism and gay marriage won’t exist. Marriage, in our current society, is based on love. In my house that love can happen between a man and a woman, a woman and a woman, a man and a man, I can even tolerate teaching my kid about polygamy in an age appropriate manner. Racism is still racism regardless of who is doing the hate. In my house that kind of hate will not be tolerated. Last May I was kind of relieved to realize that my religious intolerance for the Catholic church stems not only from what I have heard on the news, but also a prejudice I’d learned through childhood experiences. That’s something that I’m working on, it’s not very easy for me so it will take a while.

In my world we would celebrate each others differences, each season at school would be a great learning experience for all students in the class about their friends and classmates holidays and traditions. Not only religious, but also family traditions. In the summer one student might go camping, another to the Bahamas, in the fall they might hunt or make applesauce. To me it doesn’t matter why the student follows those traditions or what the traditions are, just that everyone’s experience is equal and should be treated as such. That’s what my kid is going to learn and that is how I’m going to expect them to behave in the world. They might get bullied for that, but it’s possible that they will end up with my brother’s swagger and charm or my sister’s strength of character and vociferous compassion. Any of those qualities will give them a great chance at not dealing with bullying themselves and protecting those around them from others that bully.

Suicide as young as 13

Today in Southgate, Michigan a young life was taken. Because of this my Facebook blew up with lamentations of how the school doesn’t do enough about bullying, the schools don’t provide enough information about where to get kids help, constant pushing the problem off on to someone else. There were assumptions made about bullying, or not being shown enough love, it felt like people needing quick excuses for why something so difficult to process would happen.

I don’t hide much about my mental illness, and I shared with those people that when I was his age the only reason I didn’t try to commit suicide was because 1) I knew I would fail and 2) I felt I was put on Earth to suffer. I had done something incredibly wrong and never once questioned that God put me here to repay the debt I owed for what I had screwed up. If I’m going to be completely honest, I still feel like that sometimes. It’s a hard thought to keep out of my head when I’m not doing well. I’m working really hard at seeing God in a different light, but I have had a really difficult time returning to church for that exact reason. Continuing to high school I was an open cutter. Back then there weren’t a whole lot of resources available about cutting, but I regularly got sent to the social worker’s office. It got so bad that I skipped the guidance counselor and was sent directly to the office with the overweight, weird smelling social worker that said “you dress well, your grades are good, you shower, go back to class”. My issue with the school system from when I was kid is they should have called my parents to let them know how often I was being sent to that office. Beyond that I have no issue with the way the school handled things. I was not bullied the way a lot of kids were, my husband had it way worse than I did, mostly because I had some serious back up I didn’t even hear about when people made fun of me. This means the bullying was not an issue in my case, also the thought that parents should be more involved would not have helped me. We had family dinners every night, when my Grandpa Marv died and therapy was recommended I went, the therapist missed the signs of needing to send me to another therapist. My parents did a lot of things right. When I would have allowed my dad to beat me out of defiance, spanking stopped and I was instead placed in the corner; the best punishment option for someone with mental illness that needs to cool off.

Here’s my issue with what’s going on in discussion about this boy. No one knows what he was going through. It could be related to bullying, it could be related to home life, but my guess is to get this bad this boy needed medical attention. At 13 this is really difficult to determine, the treatment options for a kid involve a lot of psychotherapy and medications only when the situation gets really bad. Most medications are not tested on, or recommended, for kids under 18, most diagnoses can not be determined until adulthood. There is just too much going on in the teenage brain. In fact, without previous family history getting into a facility for help can be damn near impossible. In my case my bipolar disorder has recently been “upgraded”, if you will, to schizo affective disorder. There is no family history, and while there were all kinds of warning signs in my childhood there was no way to determine those were different than any other teen angst or child tantrums. My kid will have an advantage in the sense that not only do me and my husband know what to look for, we also have a whole support system set up for them. There are people who know how difficult my battle has been, they know my fears of yelling at my child for no reason, they know how terrified I am of any post-partum illness, but in particular psychosis and paranoia. There is family on both their dad’s side and my side, god parents, and friends of both me and their father that will tell them if I’m being irrational or if they are being a rotten brat. All kids push their limits and act like brats sometimes, I’m completely expecting to be overwhelmed by that. Everyone that is nearby to help with that knows how Terry and I want our child to be raised and will be able to act as surrogate parents when that break is needed for my sanity and theirs.

Through that kind of support system this type of situation can be completely avoided. Also, I was reminded of this situation of bullying today while watching an auction show with an outfit from the 501st. Katie and her mother inspire me so much, that is how you are supposed to take care of bullying. I hope to someday inspire my child to follow their interests the way that her mother did. Likely not on such a large scale, but there are so many ways to encourage and inspire your child that have absolutely nothing to do with the school stepping in.

Why does one need a college education to discuss difficult things?

On Saturday I was hanging around with some family, there was drinking happening so some of the conversation was not as open as I would normally appreciate. A lot of it was yelling when there was disagreement, and involved informing me that children are incapable of discussing and understanding difficult concepts, that those concepts should be left for college classes only. My problem with those conversations is they are not really conversations. It’s me being told that I’m wrong and when I try to defend my position there is yelling and I never get the opportunity. I’m not new to this kind of conversation, when I was 18 I taught Sunday school at my church. I got the pleasure of running a classroom of 30 3-year-olds, on a good Sunday, by myself because my aids never showed up. There was a little boy with autism in the 4-year-old class right next to mine and he would come over and play with the toys in my room. My kids were not allowed to play with the toys because they didn’t belong to the church, they belonged to the preschool. When he would come in I sat down next to him, said “no” and took the toy, returning it to it’s place. I would do this three, four, sometimes five times before he got bored and went back to his classroom. Sometimes it took longer so I would escort him back around the folding wall. One of the occasions where I escorted him back his teacher informed me that I was not allowed to tell him no. Didn’t I know he was autistic? There was no way that he could possibly understand, and because of that it was unfair of me to expect him to listen. I made the mistake of telling the woman, 12 years my senior and a mother, that he was four years old. At four every child can understand the word no and by not starting that early she would be damaging him later. What would happen when he got to puberty, experiencing feelings that he really couldn’t understand? At that point he needs to know the word no. She was really offended, it was probably partially a teenager correcting her, and partially the insinuation that this child would at some point have sexual urges that would be more difficult for him to learn how to control. Saturday I found myself in another one of these conversations.

My husband’s high school cousins are incredibly smart, fascinating, interesting people. Their parents take such an interest in their education and I’m positive that interest is what has caused them to be such amazing people. There is a rise in charter schools in the area I live in now because the public schools are terrible. There are some teachers that are phenomenal, I’ve worked with some at Wayne State, and some that it seems have never been educated themselves. Unfortunately, the charter school one of the cousins attends had great ideals when they started and he began his education there and has since severely declined. There are teachers that can’t speak the English language properly teaching both English classes and speech and debate. The other problem with this area is serious racism and xenophobic word vomit. This comes from all races, all cultures, all nationalities in the area. People talk a lot about discrimination and reverse discrimination, but really what it seems to be is fear and hate. Outside of my mental illness I’ve never experienced that against me, or within me.

That was a huge digression to explain what made me so angry on Saturday. The teacher that can’t teach English is apparently afraid of the black kids that come to the school from Detroit. I completely understand the fear, but my opinion is it isn’t the fact the kids are black, it’s because they are from Detroit and Detroit is a scary place. A lot of the kids that come from that area are rough, they have had little to no hope in their lives, little to no inspiration, role models are almost non-existent, even their politicians are felons. These kids wanted to debate if it was ok to use the word nigger within their own community. There were some kids in the class that were uncomfortable with the topic, but the teacher allowed it and went so far as to tell the kids that were uncomfortable with the topic they would be downgraded for not participating. That is a difficult topic for people to handle, but if done properly it can be a constructive and useful discussion for any age. Obviously the teacher in question is not capable of facilitating this kind of discussion, obviously this would not be constructive and would only make the racist and xenophobic nature of the area worse, but on Saturday I was told that under no circumstances can a high school class handle a discussion like that. That conversation should apparently be reserved for college classes only.

My problem with that opinion is by college a lot of these racist and xenophobic thoughts are not easily reversed. Beyond that, while I loved college, and have chosen to spend the majority of my adult life in some sort of higher education program, it isn’t for everyone. The person that said that to me has nothing more than a technical degree. Why would you want to waste money on a class like that when you are studying a technical field where it would be completely worthless? What about the people that never go to college? Should they be completely left out of ever educating themselves on difficult pieces of our language or history? I didn’t learn about why the Jewish community was attacked by Hitler until a college math class where we were learning about inflation. How is that acceptable? If we had an open discussion about differences in religion, mental capabilities, disease, race, language and how it can be hurtful, at all ages we would be a much more accepting world.

I think I’m going to be a disappointment as a mother to some of my husbands family. My kid will likely never believe in Santa, the Easter bunny, the tooth fairy, and they will be able to discuss really difficult topics with intelligence and poise. I will likely never talk baby talk, and never hold back answers from my child. I understand the need for things to be age appropriate, but I have no desire to shelter my child from things that might be painful to discuss. My kid will never need to be a certain age or education level to understand why the world can sometimes be really cruel, and that cruelty is wrong.

A snapshot into the world I live in

I’ve been calling my mom a lot over the last few weeks. There are a lot of nerves happening with the impending arrival of Beastly, I’m working really hard at getting better from the psych setback I’ve experienced over the last year or so, and sometimes I really just enjoy chatting with my mom simply because I’m bored. There is this strange humor my immediate family shares that I can’t find anywhere else.

My parents are working on putting their house on the market so my really neurotic father has had cleaners and stagers and realtors in and out of his house. I can just see his jaw twitching from the stress of having to allow strangers into his house. They had to rearrange all their pictures, repaint, clean, reorganize their closet by color…it’s ridiculous what they make people do to make their house look appealing to others. I get a really big kick out of thinking about how it’s making my dad go a little bit crazy.

My mom is really amazing at letting me just talk. I get so grossed out by what I like to call “girl stuff”. When I was a kid I couldn’t ask my mom to bring home hygiene products from the grocery store, we had a system where I wrote it on the list and she put it in the bathroom so there was no real interaction. I’m still like that, so a lot of the questions people ask me about pregnancy that seem benign really send me into a tizzy of embarrassment. When I’m allowed to just talk I sometimes end up mentioning things that normally embarrass me if I’m comfortable with the person. I have some friends I can do that with, and my mom is one of those people as well. She’s really good at recognizing when I need to calm down, and there is a harshness in her tone when she tells me that my medication isn’t working or I need to see a doctor. I’ve had people tell me that makes my family cold or uncaring but I would argue that makes them honest. When I’m not doing well that honesty is more vital to my well being than any ounce of kindness or sidestepping the issue.

That’s not to say that there isn’t kindness or love, my mom made sure to let me know how proud she was when the stager loved my photos. I really love photography and the last time Terry and I went to Seattle I had a nicer camera than I’ve had before. That meant I got to take some really sweet pictures of things like the aquarium, the space needle and my parents backyard. They have such a gorgeous backyard once winter ends and everything blooms. My dad did landscaping for a while before becoming a computer guru so it was all done by them. The colors are amazing. It felt really great to hear that pride in her voice, and hear at the same time that a professional stager not only loved my pictures but also left them on the wall! I’m in the process of going through my photos and selecting a number to go in a craft booth to sell. That was a huge confidence booster.

Towards the end of the conversation I asked my mom if the stager allowed my dad to keep Max in the closet. Max is my dad’s cocker spaniel that died when I was ten. He’s lived in my dad’s closet since then, cremated in a box. As my mom and I joked about my dad’s obsession with the dog she started telling me about when she went to the vet with Ziggy (their 13 year old cairn terrier) and my brother. Apparently some person brought in a cat in a carrier that was obviously dead. She started the story and then, while laughing, recounted how terrible she felt because she found the whole situation hilarious. The person wanted the vet to do something to save their cat. At this point I couldn’t help but laugh as well, I couldn’t help making the obvious statement. “Maybe they thought Miracle Max worked there. They cat may have been only mostly dead, you don’t know that!”

And the hospital wonders why I call my kid Beastly after Edward Gorey’s Beastly Baby. I grew up in a house where we laugh about Miracle Max reviving mostly dead cats. There’s a certain morbidity and cruelty to that I guess, but it really comes from things like Monty Python, Mr. Bean, The Princess Bride, and Keeping up Appearances. Maybe we’re strange, but at least we have fun!

Moods and Diversions

Yesterday I mentioned that I had forgotten my medicine on Saturday. To people that have not been in the state of a mental health crisis this can sound like a small thing. One day, can’t be that bad can it? The answer is, of course, that it can be devastating. I’ve been using all of the skills the hospital reminded me about to keep my mood from skyrocketing out of control. It’s actually kind of entertaining to me today that they have labelled me depressed type schizo affective disorder, but that’s what they were able to see. The anxious, quiet, brooding mood permeated my thoughts as I was trying to figure out how to finish my semester without interrupting anything. Now that I’m free to do what I want I’m everywhere with my thoughts, there are a hundred projects that need to be done and damn it if they won’t all be done in the next 10 minutes. I’m excited about them all, and most have no real importance except in my own head.

I’m really grateful that I’ve reached a point in my illness that I’m beginning to recognize this shift in mood, and even more grateful that this particular time I have had the sensibility to try and prevent the really big upswing. I am still finishing projects, getting things accomplished, and dealing with an increased sense of mania. The difference is I am forcing myself to slow down, listen to meditation videos, and take one project at a time. Once my mood slows down again, which I’m expecting to happen towards the end of the week, I am going to start really looking into yoga. I want to be able to do meditations on my own. I’ve read amazing things about the ability to slow not only thought processes, but also physical processes. Blood pressure can be lowered, heart rates can be slowed, the brain waves can actually be manipulated enough to show differently on an fMRI scan. I doubt I’ll be able to have that kind of control, the studies I read used Buddhist monks, but if I could attain even a fraction of that control I will be a better mother.

That stupid phrase “It’s no longer about you, you have to think of the BABY” drives me crazy. The people that say that are the ones that believe in being a helicopter parent treating their kids as if they can do no wrong. I don’t want to live for my child, I want to live for me and in turn give them a better shot at seeing what a whole person should look like. I remember my parents groping each other in the kitchen, it was gross. It’s still gross, but that is the kind of parent I want to be, one that doesn’t stop living their own life or experiencing their own love just because there is now another person in the house. I want to do the things that are right for me because they are right for me, and in turn I think a lot of that will end up right for my child. It will set a good example, and set up a positive sense of well-being.

When the medicine has been forgotten

This weekend had some lack of medicine fun. It’s the only time I’ve forgotten to take my medication since they refused it in the hospital when I was inpatient. Sometimes it just happens, usually it’s because I’ve had too much to drink (ie two beers) and taking my medication would be a bad idea, but this time it was just a fluke of excitement. Since the incident in the hospital I’ve been paranoid about taking my meds because the baby shook all day, just like my muscles. Let me tell you, it is not any more fun after the kid gains 4 lbs and doesn’t fit anymore. It felt like my stomach was having seizures all day.

The other side effect was being hypomanic all day long. I woke up at 6 am when Terry panicked in his sleep and grabbed me. He rolled over and went back to sleep, but I was so scared something was wrong I watched him for nearly 7 hours until he woke up. That’s right, seven hours of hypomania doing nothing but sitting in bed on my phone because I was terrified there was something wrong with my husband. A lot of people love hypomania because they get things done, the creativity increases, they are electrically friendly and popular, and everything comes so easy. I’ve learned over the last few years that isn’t the case for me anymore. Now its full of panic; anxiety-driven thoughts that something is going to go wrong and ruminating on past difficulties. That, in addition to the hallucinations, may be part of the reason why my diagnoses was changed to schizo affective disorder. It’s not really a traditional hypomania, but more of a mixed episode.

By the end of the day I did clean. A lot of the garbage is gone from the house, the whole upstairs has been swept and vacuumed, I’ve finished all of my baby shower thank you cards, and the stuff for my niece is finally ready to be sent to her. Today my brother’s birthday present has been sent out, and I made a whole address database so I can find addresses by name when I need. The productive hypomania has definitely set in after the medication was taken again. I’ve been watching lots of ASMR videos on YouTube to try and keep my brain from hitting runaway train pace. Terry started working today and I need to be able to keep a lid on my speed. Fortunately, I have been approved for my medical leave at school so I can take the time to do things that actually keep my thoughts in check, rather than feeling the pressure to keep going at a break-neck pace to keep up with class work. I’ll probably finish a bunch of crafts that have been sitting around, get some pictures of Detroit ready to sell, and read a couple of books.

Anything that keeps my head from spinning is a welcome distraction for the next few days!

Busy week

I had all these things I wanted to write about this week, I’ll hopefully get to it next week. I don’t want to rush the thoughts I have going on in my head with the Anderson Live show or the Katie show. I’ve been miserable sick with whatever respiratory junk is going through my father-in-law’s family and there was an unexpected visit to labor and delivery because of Beastly’s heart rate being high. Fortunately everything turned out perfect, but it’s kind of jump started me into baby prep mode because it feels a little more real. I was told on Monday that after 34 weeks there won’t be any stopping labor if it happens. The medication intervention isn’t proven to be any better for the baby than just being born, plus I almost prefer little Beastly to be born early. It will mean less exposure for them to Seroquel, which in my book is a great thing. As a result we’ve been finishing up all those little projects, making wet bags, buying the cloth diapers, doing laundry, cleaning…realizing that we could be parents to a living breathing child any day now is a little nerve wracking.

Plus spring is in the air! Today’s favorite is keeping the windows open. Fresh air feels so good after being so sick, and my kitties are so playful. Tialys is just beside himself playing, and Pan is 100% better after having his tooth pulled. They are both being so friendly and cuddly. A couple days ago after getting his pain medication Pan spent about 30 minutes just listening to my belly. He kept pushing his ear in, looking confused, rearranging & pushing his ear back into my belly. I think he’ll really love having a little one around when they are big enough to play together. He’s such a dog-like cat that he loves any kind of playmate.

I feel the funk I was in last weekend lifting almost all at once with the bright sunshine, fresh air, and clean living space. I’ve been showering every day because, really, who wants to go into labor with disgusting greasy hair. I read posts from these women on the pregnancy forum about how they feel too big to move and it makes them want to not get ready in the morning. No shower, no makeup, not even washing their face, and I feel sad for them. At this point in my recovery stage I can’t imagine wanting to sit in filth. To me that says giving up and losing myself to the darkness, and I’m not ready for that right now. Right now I’m in the small manic boost when I really want everyone to be as happy as I want to feel.

Plus, Oz the Great and Powerful comes out today! What is better than that!?

Long weekend…

My husband and I did some baby shopping on Saturday. I love going shopping with him, but we were up so early. Two Mom2Mom sales, a huge thrift store grand opening sale, a Menards grand opening sale and we were ready to head home by 11:30 am. Yes, that says AM. On the weekends we aren’t normally out of bed before noon, although that will be changing soon because he got hired as loss prevention at the Menards we went to and the baby will be here soon.

On the way home there was a massive accident that closed one whole side of the interstate we use. By the time we got to that part of our journey there were two lanes open so we were able to pass, but I wish we hadn’t. All of the cars were gone, but the medical examiner’s van was there and the cops were half-heartedly covering the body of a 22 year old man. I saw his body laying there, his shoes are burned in my brain at this point. When we passed we assumed it was a horrific accident and he had been ejected, which is sad but somehow easier for me to deal with than the truth. Later on the news announced that the man had jumped from the bridge onto the road below. Alcohol may have been involved. Two people were trying to talk him down and the police were already on their way when he jumped. He landed and was hit by a car driving down the interstate that did their best to avoid him.

In order to explain how much this affected me I have to back up a little bit to Thursday night. Terry and I went to do (what else) a little baby shopping. On the way out the door there was a heated conversation between him and his parents about how much of our tax money we would be able to give them. At this point we had no idea he got the job at Menards and we have quite a few little things to pick up still for Baby Beastly, plus Pan needed a tooth extracted in addition to all of the bills we will have to cover. He gets unemployment, but that just barely covers our bills with no extra. Usually those conversations happen without me in the house because they really seriously affect my mental health, and about two weeks ago we were told to keep all of our tax money so we could get everything we needed for baby. I guess the bills came with shut off notices, which is extremely hard for me to handle because I can’t process bills being late. It’s been a really long journey to getting my bills on time and currently I have a 100% on time payment record. Every time this conversation happens and I hear it (usually every few months) it’s panicked, in hushed tones, and angry. Really angry. Mostly because the bills are so expensive. What this leads to is me being afraid to shower, use the toilet, eat anything, get a glass of water, do laundry…all of those little things that if you don’t do them in the hospital you end up having to stay longer because you are unable to care for yourself.

Combine that angry conversation I overheard with the shoes I saw on the man who committed suicide, Sunday was really difficult. I couldn’t get his still body out of my head. Honestly, it will likely be months before I stop seeing it on a regular basis. I didn’t want to make my in-laws angry about the bills so I refused to use the bathroom. I had conversations with myself about how dangerous it would be for me to shower, even though it had been nearly 5 days since the last shower. I debated with myself about how much I should eat, and tried to think of alternatives for how I was going to wash Beastly’s things. Terry forced me to eat and my father in law told me that he could eat but I couldn’t. This is something he says a lot as a “joke” but it sounds serious to me every time. Immediately following I was informed by Terry that I needed to eat something and I snapped back “I said I’m fine, and your dad agrees with me.” That is the first time I’ve been that forward about my anger. It was 100% driven by that man and his shoes. I looked up the statistics on how many people commit suicide that way in my area. It’s a lot. Almost all are successful, not because of the fall, but because they are hit by cars driving 70+ miles an hour. It’s terrifying to me because now that will be in my head later when I’m not doing well again.

I’m working on processing all of this and improving my outlook. Terry told me yesterday to make sure I have the conversations I normally have with myself with him instead. It will take time and practice to be able to open up that way. I have 30 years of practice keeping that stuff in so people think I’m less crazy than I am, and it takes effort to remember there are people that won’t judge me. There’s other things I want to talk about this week too, namely tomorrow’s Anderson Live show that also made me very upset, but I will save that for later. For now I’m really focusing on having those internal conversations in an external forum with my husband. This is why support systems are so important.

Favorite Friday.

Today’s favorite is easy. My husband! We spent the day together, he got a job offer so we’re celebrating! We ate the best burgers in Royal Oak at the Redcoat Tavern and now we’re chilling at Dragonmead, the best brewery in the area, listening to some live music. He’s my rock and my hero every single day. Without him life would be even more difficult and a whole lot less delicious!