Been thinking a lot about mental health lately. I’ve discussed this with a friend and it really got me thinking about how I’m here, in this place, at this moment. As a mother of three beautiful children, I often lose myself to being a mom. I struggle with things daily, like, am I doing enough for the kids? Am I being a good housewife? What can I improve? Meanwhile, who I really am gets lost in the shuffle. I don’t partake in the hobbies I used to enjoy. Instead, I hide in the garage, drink wine and enjoy my few minutes alone. During those few minutes, I plan all the things I want to do, crafting, photography, painting, drawing, dancing, etc. I begin to feel better. Then I enter my house and all is forgotten yet again as I am greeted with a screaming toddler, or a teen in the midst of autistic teen angst. What’s for dinner? Can I have a snack? Why the hell is there dog food in these rain boots??!
I am happy I’m busy with family stuff because my kids are happy. My husband is happy. But me? Not entirely. Not fully. I need my creative outlet to not only get a break from the mundane, but to also express my emotions. Hell, every human needs this. As a woman, I was taught to bottle up my emotions and just keep going through the motions. For my family to be happy. But, when mama’s not happy, ain’t no one happy, am I right?
14 years ago, on October 30, my bestest, closest friend, Megan, was murdered. Shot in the head by her husband for reasons I will never know. I harbor much guilt over this because I was with her hours before this tragedy happened. After a girls night out, I tried to get Megan to stay the night with me, but she refused. I didn’t push the subject enough. I didn’t insist. I had a feeling something bad was going to happen, but I didn’t trust my gut and force her to stay. I sent Megan home. To be killed by the man she loved.
Shortly after this, I spiraled downward. I left my husband 6 months later because he was an abusive and cheating piece of shit and I didn’t want to end up dead like Megan. I had a 1 year old son to worry about and raise to not follow in his father’s footsteps. We left abruptly, with only the clothes we needed, while my husband was at work. We stayed with my parents, I got my shit together as best I could, and filed for divorce three days later and never looked back.
I began dating someone immediately thinking that would at least keep my mind off y’all the badness I was going through. It worked. Until it didn’t. Once our relationship ended, I spiraled down into a deep depression. My son had just received his autism diagnosis during the ending of our relationship and the breakup was the least of my challenges, yet it was the spark to the flame that was occurring. I was forced, without his distraction, to finally deal with the death of my friend, my divorce, learning how to be a single mom, realize that I was now living on section 8 and food stamps, dealing with the impact of learning my son was autistic and all the therapies and doctor appointments that never ended. With no help or visitation from my son’s dad, I tried very hard to not self medicate.
When I couldn’t get out of bed for a couple days, nor could I eat or even drink without gagging, I finally called my mother to help me with caring for my son until I could get through this deep dark place. She forced me to visit the doctor, who recommended therapy as well as medication. So I went. Anything to get better for my son. Months and months of grieving all the things, skipping my therapy to care for my son, realizing that I was in this alone, not having Megan to talk to about everything, I finally began drinking. I’d pop pills. Smoke pot. You name it. Anything to hide from the truth. I had to keep smiling to appease my mother who insists that women should bottle up their emotions and keep on trucking, so I’d get shitfaced just to deal. It was all a bit rough. I sought out men just to feel someone touch me and love me, even if just for one night.
I can’t remember exactly exactly when I started loving myself again. I do know it was sometime shortly before I met Paul, my current husband. In that time, I was able to befriend a female, still feeling guilty for even considering a new friend, but I was so desperate for female companionship that I dove in head-on. We had a blast for a while, until she turned on me. She ended up being horrible and said terrible things about my autistic son. She was also very possessive, much like my ex-husband. I ended that friendship quickly.
Then I met Paul. He has been my saving grace. He pulled me out of any funk that remained in me and I started having fun again. I let myself love again. I wanted children with him. I wanted a lifetime with him. We started a family very quickly, and waited to marry for a while because I was still afraid of the permanence of that and I did not want to go through another divorce. When our child was 3, we finally tied the knot and it’s been great ever since. However, lately, I see myself spiraling down again. He recognizes this and is there to help me talk about it. He sees my pain, and he understands it. I am grateful to have my life partner here with me. Who knows where I’d be if not for him. He makes me love me BEFORE I love him. And that is truly the best gift.
28 October 2018
17 October 2018
Menstrual Cups: The Real Instructions for Use
Let’s talk menstrual cups. Ladies, there is nothing worse than going to the store and purchasing tampons along with your ice cream and chocolate bars. The look from the cashier is always priceless. You give them the knowing smile like you were just caught bleeding all over the conveyor belt. Yes, it feels like that to me. And spending my hard earned money on something that I literally toss down the toilet just doesn’t make sense to me.
Then I discovered menstrual cups. I ordered a few different kinds off Amazon and found the one that works for me. I use the word “work” lightly. I mean, it does it’s job, and I forget I’m even on my period when I’m using it... Until I have to dump it out at the 12 hour mark. Holy shit I have never been so mortified in my life. The instructions that come with the cup do not prepare you for the murderous scene that takes place during the changing of the cup. “Simply remove the cup and dump the contents into the toilet” it says. “Rinse and reinsert the cup and go!” it says. Sounds simple enough! However, I would like to break down the reality of cup use for you. Here is my revised instruction manual for removing/reinserting a menstrual cup:
Reach up your vag and try to get a good grip on the cup and pull it out. There is suction there, so it’ll cause the worst cramp of your life whilst removing. With bloody hands, try not to drop the cup in the toilet filled with pee and blood, but dump the blood out of your cup as much as you can. Some will remain in the cup. That’s okay, because you’re going to run it under hot as hell water to remove the contents in your bathroom sink. Somehow, while still remaining on the toilet so your monthly juice doesn’t drip all over the floor, you need to also wash your hands. You’ve got to place the cup back into the bleeding black hole by folding it into a u-shape. Once inserted, clean the blood off your lady bits, then flush the homicide scene down. Pull up your clothes and upon standing, you’ll feel the most shocking POP! when the folded cup releases and seals itself to your love tunnel. If you don’t expect that, you’ll be left wondering if your vagina just came unglued and fell out of you. Time to sanitize the sink then wash your hands again! Expect to be in the bathroom for about 10 minutes during this process. But here’s the good news: You don’t need to worry about changing that blood sucker for 12 hours!
Then I discovered menstrual cups. I ordered a few different kinds off Amazon and found the one that works for me. I use the word “work” lightly. I mean, it does it’s job, and I forget I’m even on my period when I’m using it... Until I have to dump it out at the 12 hour mark. Holy shit I have never been so mortified in my life. The instructions that come with the cup do not prepare you for the murderous scene that takes place during the changing of the cup. “Simply remove the cup and dump the contents into the toilet” it says. “Rinse and reinsert the cup and go!” it says. Sounds simple enough! However, I would like to break down the reality of cup use for you. Here is my revised instruction manual for removing/reinserting a menstrual cup:
Reach up your vag and try to get a good grip on the cup and pull it out. There is suction there, so it’ll cause the worst cramp of your life whilst removing. With bloody hands, try not to drop the cup in the toilet filled with pee and blood, but dump the blood out of your cup as much as you can. Some will remain in the cup. That’s okay, because you’re going to run it under hot as hell water to remove the contents in your bathroom sink. Somehow, while still remaining on the toilet so your monthly juice doesn’t drip all over the floor, you need to also wash your hands. You’ve got to place the cup back into the bleeding black hole by folding it into a u-shape. Once inserted, clean the blood off your lady bits, then flush the homicide scene down. Pull up your clothes and upon standing, you’ll feel the most shocking POP! when the folded cup releases and seals itself to your love tunnel. If you don’t expect that, you’ll be left wondering if your vagina just came unglued and fell out of you. Time to sanitize the sink then wash your hands again! Expect to be in the bathroom for about 10 minutes during this process. But here’s the good news: You don’t need to worry about changing that blood sucker for 12 hours!
Just what else is there to do on a hot, humid summer day?
EDITED TO ADD: This post was written 6 years ago and since I haven’t been blogging since then, I just now posted it. I really need to step up my game!
Stay inside and write, of course!
I'm fuming. Not just from the 102 degree, thick-as-molasses air outside, but from the fact that I'm trapped in my bedroom because my precious 2 year old gets to sleep on his daddy's chest on the couch in the living room downstairs. The boy never sleeps longer than 2 hours at night so when nap time comes around during the day, sweet, spoiled, little Sage rules the coop. Everyone has to tip-toe around the house so we don't wake him or he will be a royal pain in the ass. This is especially hard when my 8 year old wants to play.
Let me rewind a bit. Getting Sage to sleep is easy. He still nurses and when he has my tits in his mouth, he sleeps soundly. The problem comes when I try to move him to his bed so I can close his door and let him sleep alone with the fan on (the ghetto fabulous white noise maker) so the rest of us can go about our daily business.
Stay inside and write, of course!
I'm fuming. Not just from the 102 degree, thick-as-molasses air outside, but from the fact that I'm trapped in my bedroom because my precious 2 year old gets to sleep on his daddy's chest on the couch in the living room downstairs. The boy never sleeps longer than 2 hours at night so when nap time comes around during the day, sweet, spoiled, little Sage rules the coop. Everyone has to tip-toe around the house so we don't wake him or he will be a royal pain in the ass. This is especially hard when my 8 year old wants to play.
Let me rewind a bit. Getting Sage to sleep is easy. He still nurses and when he has my tits in his mouth, he sleeps soundly. The problem comes when I try to move him to his bed so I can close his door and let him sleep alone with the fan on (the ghetto fabulous white noise maker) so the rest of us can go about our daily business.
06 July 2012
Time warp
What the fuck happened to the past 3 years? I swear, if I wasn't lost inside a massive black hole, shooting through some fold in time I'd be utterly amazed. It all seems like a blur, some blackout electric kool-aid trip. Since I met Paul, my life has not gone anywhere near the destination I had planned for myself prior to our introduction.
Long story short: 4 months after meeting Paul, the self-proclaimed rock star, I suppose the universe had its way with us. I got knocked up. Not that I didn't want another baby someday, but I kind of wanted to know the father a bit longer than 4 flippin months! Plus I was planning to attend school full time when Lucas started kindergarten, finish my degree and start my magnificent high-paying career before I stretched my stomach out to another time zone and lost days at a time to sleep dep.
The kicker to this is that I found out I was pregnant on Lucas' first day of full-day kindergarten. There went my college plans! I still attended school like a moronic fat whale up until 2 weeks before I gave birth, but I haven't been back since. I plan to change that in the next few months though. Shit, if I have time to blog I have time to do homework. Am I right? Yes, I thought so.
The pregnancy sucked big steel balls. You know the kind these hill jacks are hanging from their pickup truck hitches nowadays? Whenever I see those I wanna knock the shit out of the driver and stick the shiny balls right down their throats and continue kicking them in their nuts until they were on the brink of death. Imagine how that feels for a moment. That was my pregnancy. Details are irrelevant.
Cinco de mayo brought my precious baby Sage into the world, and 26 months later I feel like I'm finally coming down from my gallon of electric kool aid. I'm starting to sleep again (2 hours at a time counts, right?). Sage no longer has my tits in his vice grips every hour on the hour (it's only every 3-4 hours now), and I even get a little alone time (being spent writing this blog, of course). Apparently not too much is going on at 1:00 a.m. on a Thursday in Hillbillopolis, so my only choices are to tidy the house (how about no?) or blog.
Being a mom of two kids is far harder than I anticipated, and having these beautiful little fuckers 6 years apart made it easy on me in the beginning. However, now that Sage is mobile, Lucas seems to like his little brother as much as he likes his brussels sprouts.
Forgot to mention Paul moved in with us a year and a half ago. That roller coaster will get its own post!
Long story short: 4 months after meeting Paul, the self-proclaimed rock star, I suppose the universe had its way with us. I got knocked up. Not that I didn't want another baby someday, but I kind of wanted to know the father a bit longer than 4 flippin months! Plus I was planning to attend school full time when Lucas started kindergarten, finish my degree and start my magnificent high-paying career before I stretched my stomach out to another time zone and lost days at a time to sleep dep.
The kicker to this is that I found out I was pregnant on Lucas' first day of full-day kindergarten. There went my college plans! I still attended school like a moronic fat whale up until 2 weeks before I gave birth, but I haven't been back since. I plan to change that in the next few months though. Shit, if I have time to blog I have time to do homework. Am I right? Yes, I thought so.
The pregnancy sucked big steel balls. You know the kind these hill jacks are hanging from their pickup truck hitches nowadays? Whenever I see those I wanna knock the shit out of the driver and stick the shiny balls right down their throats and continue kicking them in their nuts until they were on the brink of death. Imagine how that feels for a moment. That was my pregnancy. Details are irrelevant.
Cinco de mayo brought my precious baby Sage into the world, and 26 months later I feel like I'm finally coming down from my gallon of electric kool aid. I'm starting to sleep again (2 hours at a time counts, right?). Sage no longer has my tits in his vice grips every hour on the hour (it's only every 3-4 hours now), and I even get a little alone time (being spent writing this blog, of course). Apparently not too much is going on at 1:00 a.m. on a Thursday in Hillbillopolis, so my only choices are to tidy the house (how about no?) or blog.
Being a mom of two kids is far harder than I anticipated, and having these beautiful little fuckers 6 years apart made it easy on me in the beginning. However, now that Sage is mobile, Lucas seems to like his little brother as much as he likes his brussels sprouts.
Forgot to mention Paul moved in with us a year and a half ago. That roller coaster will get its own post!
30 April 2009
silly, silly life by way of cruel intentions
Once upon a time, I dreamed of a life filled with glory and white picket fences. All those dreams crashed before me like the broken bong I was smoking out of and managed to drop on the hard floor. As soon as I discovered the "other plane," white picket fences didn't seem so important anymore. I found that there was more to life than chasing a dream. I learned to live life for today and not worry about planning my future. Some may call me immature in that regard, but hey, while they're busy planning their lives, I'm living mine.
I've not had an easy go of things, but I'm happy to have had challenges presented before me so that I had the opportunity to learn and grow from my mistakes. My sweet beautiful mistakes... Many stupid failed attempts at love, many stupid decisions made. All in all, it was a good life. At least I'll have a story to tell (and possibly blog about in more detail later) my grandchildren.
The latest news that came about only because of the stupid mistakes I've made is this:
Everything I've done in life has lead up to this moment. I'm embracing it. I'm living it. And, quite possibly letting my heart open up to someone new after years in hibernation. It's a scary thing, a vulnerable thing. But I can't control who I love, even though I've tried many a time. The love is in there screaming to be let out like 5 year old in time out, and I can't hold it in much longer no matter how hard I try.
All I can say is thank goodness I failed in my marriage. Thank goodness I failed at dating so many times since then. Had I not, I would not have met Paul.
More to follow........
I've not had an easy go of things, but I'm happy to have had challenges presented before me so that I had the opportunity to learn and grow from my mistakes. My sweet beautiful mistakes... Many stupid failed attempts at love, many stupid decisions made. All in all, it was a good life. At least I'll have a story to tell (and possibly blog about in more detail later) my grandchildren.
The latest news that came about only because of the stupid mistakes I've made is this:
Everything I've done in life has lead up to this moment. I'm embracing it. I'm living it. And, quite possibly letting my heart open up to someone new after years in hibernation. It's a scary thing, a vulnerable thing. But I can't control who I love, even though I've tried many a time. The love is in there screaming to be let out like 5 year old in time out, and I can't hold it in much longer no matter how hard I try.
All I can say is thank goodness I failed in my marriage. Thank goodness I failed at dating so many times since then. Had I not, I would not have met Paul.
More to follow........
11 November 2008
potty training
I just re-read my 'reflections' blog and was even more impressed with where Lucas has come. Especially now that potty training is tackled (for the most part). Here's our story:
Back in February of this year, Lucas was 4 1/2, and we were enduring another hospital trip for asthma. The doctor sent us home and on the way home, Lucas started screaming, hyperventilating and stiffening up his body. I thought he was dying or something, so I pulled into a parking lot, got him out of the car and held him, listening for wheezing. He couldn't tell me what was bothering him, but I soon smelled it. Poop! When I tried to sit him in the car seat again, the screaming got louder. He would not bend his body at all. He was stiff as a board. I had to think of how I was going to get him out of this diaper and cleaned up without any wipes with me.
I laid the front seat back and placed my stiff son onto it and buckled him in. I drove the 1/4 mile to the closest gas station, which happened to be in the middle of the ghetto. Fun fun! I pulled into a gas station and carried a stick-like, crying, autistic boy into the bathroom, amidst all the stares and glares of the after work rush of customers.
I managed to calm Lucas down once the poop was off his butt. With no wipes, I had to use a paper towel to clean him up. Ouch! And I had no spare diaper.
Back in the car seat, Lucas had to endure the rest of the trip diaperless. And I had to endure the sound of my son wheezing again, even harder than before. We made it home, put a diaper on Lucas, packed a bag and headed out the door to the hospital again, where I would force the doctor to admit Lucas (the next day they found that one of his lungs collapsed!).
After a few days in the hospital, Lucas was doing better and we were allowed to go home. The following morning, I was looking for Lucas. I found him sitting on the toilet. Pooping!
Apparently, he associated pooping in a diaper with a traumatic experience and he wasn't going to go through that again. We spent about a week at home naked, learning how to recognize when he had to pee. After that, underwear time!! At 5, he still wears pull ups at night, but during the day, he's diaper-free!
Go Lucas!
Back in February of this year, Lucas was 4 1/2, and we were enduring another hospital trip for asthma. The doctor sent us home and on the way home, Lucas started screaming, hyperventilating and stiffening up his body. I thought he was dying or something, so I pulled into a parking lot, got him out of the car and held him, listening for wheezing. He couldn't tell me what was bothering him, but I soon smelled it. Poop! When I tried to sit him in the car seat again, the screaming got louder. He would not bend his body at all. He was stiff as a board. I had to think of how I was going to get him out of this diaper and cleaned up without any wipes with me.
I laid the front seat back and placed my stiff son onto it and buckled him in. I drove the 1/4 mile to the closest gas station, which happened to be in the middle of the ghetto. Fun fun! I pulled into a gas station and carried a stick-like, crying, autistic boy into the bathroom, amidst all the stares and glares of the after work rush of customers.
I managed to calm Lucas down once the poop was off his butt. With no wipes, I had to use a paper towel to clean him up. Ouch! And I had no spare diaper.
Back in the car seat, Lucas had to endure the rest of the trip diaperless. And I had to endure the sound of my son wheezing again, even harder than before. We made it home, put a diaper on Lucas, packed a bag and headed out the door to the hospital again, where I would force the doctor to admit Lucas (the next day they found that one of his lungs collapsed!).
After a few days in the hospital, Lucas was doing better and we were allowed to go home. The following morning, I was looking for Lucas. I found him sitting on the toilet. Pooping!
Apparently, he associated pooping in a diaper with a traumatic experience and he wasn't going to go through that again. We spent about a week at home naked, learning how to recognize when he had to pee. After that, underwear time!! At 5, he still wears pull ups at night, but during the day, he's diaper-free!
Go Lucas!
progression
I met with Lucas' developmental pediatrician (she keeps track of his ASD diagnosis) a few weeks ago and it was the best meeting I've had with her thus far. No devistating news of how my son may never drive a car, may never attend college, etc. This time was different.
Lucas has improved his IQ in a year and a half from borderline M.R. to the high average/superior range. The doctor commended me on getting him the right treatments (early intervention, ABA, speech and occupational therapy), but I told her that I didn't do anything. It was 90 percent Lucas and 10 percent therapists. I was just the cab.
Anyway, according to the doctor, she feels that Lucas may be in on the road to "recovery," however this does NOT mean that he'll be "cured." He'll always have his little quirks and sometimes he may still zone in on the water in the sink or something of the like, but for the most part, he's found a way to control his behaviors and blend into society better.
There's always a downside, isn't there?
His psychological evaluation revealed some difficulty with executive function. This means that in the future, he may have difficulty with ADHD type symptoms such as resisting impulses, sitting still, and controlling his emotions. Who the hell doesn't have ADHD? I mean, really!?!
Despite the ADHD probability, much-needed services will be harder to obtain with the amazing progress Lucas has made. For example, Lucas' speech evaluation resulted in the speech pathologist not recommending speech therapy at this time because he's doing so well. However, he still needs help with pragmatics, social skills, and 'wh' questions. His developmental pediatrician is recommending speech therapy at this time, regardless of what the previous speech evaluation said, but we now have to go through another evaluation to determine if services are necessary. Round and round we go!
I'm celebrating his progress, but also cursing it in a way because it could be a fight to get what Lucas needs from this point on. Either way, I'll move forward with full force, busting through walls and toting my big guns, all while smiling my charming smile, of course!
Lucas has improved his IQ in a year and a half from borderline M.R. to the high average/superior range. The doctor commended me on getting him the right treatments (early intervention, ABA, speech and occupational therapy), but I told her that I didn't do anything. It was 90 percent Lucas and 10 percent therapists. I was just the cab.
Anyway, according to the doctor, she feels that Lucas may be in on the road to "recovery," however this does NOT mean that he'll be "cured." He'll always have his little quirks and sometimes he may still zone in on the water in the sink or something of the like, but for the most part, he's found a way to control his behaviors and blend into society better.
There's always a downside, isn't there?
His psychological evaluation revealed some difficulty with executive function. This means that in the future, he may have difficulty with ADHD type symptoms such as resisting impulses, sitting still, and controlling his emotions. Who the hell doesn't have ADHD? I mean, really!?!
Despite the ADHD probability, much-needed services will be harder to obtain with the amazing progress Lucas has made. For example, Lucas' speech evaluation resulted in the speech pathologist not recommending speech therapy at this time because he's doing so well. However, he still needs help with pragmatics, social skills, and 'wh' questions. His developmental pediatrician is recommending speech therapy at this time, regardless of what the previous speech evaluation said, but we now have to go through another evaluation to determine if services are necessary. Round and round we go!
I'm celebrating his progress, but also cursing it in a way because it could be a fight to get what Lucas needs from this point on. Either way, I'll move forward with full force, busting through walls and toting my big guns, all while smiling my charming smile, of course!
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