Wake me up from bad dreams

There will be no LOLs posted this weekend out of respect for the victims of the Colorado Theater shooting and their loved ones. I have a few thoughts to share, then this page will be "dark" until Monday. We live in an increasingly crazed and twisted world. 'The evil that men do' has always existed but we live in a time when media technology not only exposes stories of violence and depravity, but overexposes it as well. Good news doesnt increase ratings or sell advertising space.

After 9/11 I found it very hard to watch shows depicting "blow 'em to hell" violence. While it may be make-believe on the screen, it still numbs us and desensitizes us in the clever disguise of entertainment. The same goes for reality television. Mindless entertainment about vapid people engaging in outrageous conflict boosts ratings. The global state of affairs and bad economies make us want to numb ourselves. I totally get that. Bad things happen to people all over the world every day, and we shake our heads, feel grief and anger, and then go back to sleep until the next tragedy.

Today, I implore you to ask yourself....Is this the world I want to live in? Columbine taught us some important lessons. It certainly taught law enforcement and emergency responders better procedures to act quickly, decisively, and safer at on-site situations. It taught us about bullying in schools, and the ease and access of weapons to under-age kids. It taught us that smart, troubled kids can fool authority figures when attempted help is required and given.

What have all the senseless acts of violence in the last 13 years taught us as a nation and individuals? I certainly dont have the answers to those questions, only my individual opinions. But one thing I know for certain is that we shouldnt have to be living in a world where these questions are even having to be pondered.

Ask yourself....Is this the world I want to live in? And then DONT go back to sleep!!!! WAKE UP!!! Wake up and look at the world around you and commit yourself to being part of a better world for yourselves and your children.

All of this is one of the main reason I refuse to allow negative comments and bashing on this page. Changing the world starts with one person making a stand. Changing the world starts with kindness, tolerance and understanding. Changing the world starts with saying, "No. I will not buy into hate, and fear, and ignorance." 

This has nothing to do with politics or public policy. Regardless of party affiliation or social leaning to conservative or liberal, any human being on this planet can be kind and decent to their fellow human beings muddling through on this planet. Ahmed in the Middle East, Boris in Eastern Europe, Jose in Mexico and Kwame in Africa all have the same common concerns as every other person on the planet. We all want enough to eat. We all want shelter. We all want to be able to earn enough to feed and clothe our children. We all want to feel safe in our homes and daily routines. We all hope to live without falling victim to some sort of violence. We shouldnt have to say that someone lost their life because they were in the wrong place at the wrong time.

But the change starts with each of us at our own individual levels. The change starts with staying awake. The change starts with deciding this is NOT the world we want to live in. The change starts with being a little kinder to every single soul that crosses our path. The pressure that we are under in today's society is unlike any ever seen in our human history. If you add that pressure to someone who is already mentally ill or unstable, its no wonder their psychosis spins out of control. 

I'm not suggesting that we can fix everyone who is suffering injustice or emotional pain or mental illness. But we can offer anyone, regardless of their state of existence, a kind word, an understanding smile, a moment of concern. As Gandhi said, "Be the change you want to see in the world." He also said, "The weak can never forgive. Forgiveness is the attribute of the strong."

Be strong. Be kind and forgive those who wrong you and who have done wrong. Start the change in your own world today. And please, for the love of God/Goddess/Divine Love or peanut butter and jelly sandwiches...whatever you believe in....dont just read these words, nod your head in agreement and go back to sleep. 

Stay awake this time. Be kind and be the change.

Sweet Dreams Are Made of This

Good morning , LOLers! It’s a bright new day with unlimited possibilities. I spent part of the day yesterday with Colleen, my bestie and sister from another mother. She knows me as well as anyone in my family and she’s able to point things out to me that I might be too close to view objectively. I got a good night’s sleep with no weird dreams, celebrity sex dreams or otherwise. 

And I feel completely different this morning.

Breakups suck. Everyone on this planet has had or will have their heart broken at some point, and we gauge the emotional pain based upon how deeply we cared for and were committed to our former partner. Sometimes we feel like we dodged a bullet, and other times we feel as if our entire insides have been ripped out leaving us about as functional as the Walking Dead.

The first time Max and I broke up was the worst heartbreak of my life. I couldn’t eat, I couldn’t sleep, and a good day was when I could wake up and make it to the shower before I started crying. I had been living in Vegas when we split and shortly after, went to Oklahoma to stay with my mom while she was going through chemotherapy and to try to put my own head back together. You can imagine the culture shock from Vegas to OK only added to my heartbreak and depression. But slowly I started to put myself back together and I measured my recovery not in feeling better, but in acknowledging that I didn’t feel as bad as the day before.  But this was the beginning of my on again, off again relationship with Max.

Three and a half years ago, we started back on again. At that point, I was still employed and going to school, and he had a home and obligations, so it wasn’t an ideal time for either of us to move to be together. We agreed to a long distance relationship for a specified number of years, and in spite of everything, we were making it work.

As I’ve said, I won’t go into the details of what precipitated this final breakup. But to be bluntly honest, I’d been willing to give up everything to move to his home, despite the fact I extremely dislike the area of the country where he lives. At the time it made sense, because he’s a homeowner, and the market still sucks and it would take forever to sell, probably at a lower price, blah blah, etc. But this morning, I feel a little angry at how little he’s been willing to concede over the last three years. I won’t deny that he’s been really supportive since my diabetes diagnosis and subsequent recovery and management, and encouraging in my job search. But the fact remains that I feel less valued at his reluctance to make concessions to my life, fully expecting to get his way to reduce the disruption to his own.

He’s not a bad man. He has some wonderful qualities or I would never have loved him the way I have for so many years. And I’ve always been aware of his faults and accepted them, knowing I couldn’t change him. But he is a selfish man, and ultimately this is what I cant live with.  But oddly enough, I’m not devastated. I’m not angry. I’m not bitter. I am deeply disappointed, though. His willingness to so blithely dismiss the depth and commitment of our relationship and me when he’d professed I was the most important thing in his life, has left me feeling completely unvalued to him.

But. Here’s the important thing. I know my own worth. I know what I brought to the table and contributed to the relationship and the depth of love and understanding that I gave to him. If he fails to recognize that once again, as he obviously has, then I realize there is nowhere left to go in the whole affair. I am finally finished and have him out of my system. He’s been like a drug to me for 15 years, whether we were together or apart. Yet I woke up this morning absolutely knowing I was done and he was out of my system for good. I could never want him back now because his latest act of selfishness closed the door to any future we may have had.

Instead of being a crying mess wondering what was wrong with me, wondering what I lacked that he couldn’t give me what I deserved, I woke up this morning knowing I deserve so much better and that there’s something inherently wrong in him to be willing to throw away what he himself claimed to be the greatest and best thing that had ever happened to him.

I may not have much right now. My future is very uncertain on many levels. But I have a future that is wholly my own. I have myself, which is a pretty damned awesome self. I have my self-respect. I have an open vista of possibilities before me. I may have just turned 48, but I still have the option to choose anything I want for my life. And that is something available to each and every one of us regardless of circumstances. Nothing is impossible. Regardless of your obligations, or commitments to family, children, or job, if you have a dream you have the power to make it happen. It may require sacrifice or finding a balance to make everything work. But no dream is too improbable.

I woke up this morning feeling renewed and clearheaded. I’m not sure what I want for my own life going forward. The only thing I know for certain is that I still need a full-time job. I’m partway there with the part-time job I just obtained. But the fulltime gig is necessary to rebuild my financial house. Other than that, I don’t have the first clue about what I want this next half of my life to look like. But I’m alive, I have my own inner strength as one of my best resources, and I trust completely in the Universe that everything really is going to be okay. It really is. And actually, I know its going to be better than okay. Its going to be stellar, because I have the ability to make it so.

I woke up this morning knowing it was time to dream a new dream.

Father's Day 2012

The man I call my father was not my biological father. I share DNA with a horrible man, an alcoholic, wife-beating child molester. My memories of this biological sire are fuzzy, for which I’m grateful. I have no wish to remember or honor the man who means little to me other than the sperm that brought Little Lainey Zygote into being.

The man I call my father married a woman with six unruly children ranging in ages from 18 to 4, three weeks after they met. This man did his best to love them and bring them into his heart as his own. And this man was good to my mother.

The man I call my father threatened my biological father with bodily harm the first time the sperm donor came to take me from my family. The second time, the man I call my father was away at work, and I was kidnapped. Later I was the center of a custody battle which the man I call my father willingly accepted the financial burden and fought as hard as my mother to get me back.

The man I call my father helped me learn to read before I was ever school-aged. He recognized my intelligence, and encouraged it. He was proud of the grades I made and always wanted to know what I didn’t understand when my grades weren’t up to snuff, instead of punishing me. He took me to the library and picked out children’s classics for me to read. He wanted all of us to be educated, and I can remember him saying once, “You may not ever have money, but you can have education and good manners.”  People still compliment me on my table manners to this day.

The man I call my father was a good man. But he was not a saint. He was very old fashioned in his opinions of how young ladies should behave, this being at the height of the Women’s Lib movement of the 70s. He was very strict with all of us, and unjustly stern with my brother. But again, he took on the financial responsibility, not only of raising us, but of the court costs of the adoption processes to adopt those six children who weren’t his. My oldest sister was already married and pregnant with her first child when he adopted those kids. She was afraid she would deliver before the papers were approved, because she wanted to put his name as her maiden name on the baby’s birth certificate. Another part of our family lore is that when they finally got me back from my biological father, I came home on my step-father’s birthday.

The man I call my father was unable to adopt me. The biological father would not allow it. And, unfortunately, the man I call my father was killed in a work accident just days before my 9^th birthday. But when I was 13, my mother had my name legally changed, and now I have the same last name as the man who I will always think of as my father.

I have often wondered how my life might have been different had he lived. I’ve grieved the loss of not knowing him as an adult. I’ve wondered how he might have advised me and steered me away from some of my bad decisions, especially with regards to the men I chose. Would he be proud of the strong, independent, educated woman I’ve become? Would he be disappointed that I chose not to give him grandchildren?

The man I call my father would be 87 if he’d lived. Probably a doddering old man now instead of the epic, giant of a hero my child’s mind remembers. But today I honor him and love him and miss him; all that he was, all I perceived him to be, and all he may have yet been.

The man I call my father was named Keith William Thomas, and I am proud that three of my nephews bear parts of his name. I look forward to learning who he is when I see him again when its my turn to go into the light. I look forward to his fatherly comfort and his guiding friendship.

No, he was not a saint, but he was a good man. The man I call my father was only my step-father and only in my life for a few short years. But he is my father and I am his daughter as surely as if it were his blood coursing through my veins.

Happy Father’s Day, Daddy.

Some Sunday Thoughts

I went off on a bit of a tangent this morning on my Facebook page. My intent was not to sermonize or change anyone's point of view. It was just an expression of my thoughts concerning the recent growing theme of kindness I've been posting about lately.

Here are those posts, in order:

Just for the record, I'm not an atheist. I do believe in a loving Creator/Higher Power/God/Goddess/The Ultimate Peanut Butter & Jelly Sandwich. But all the biblical stuff, to me, is not much more than an historical record of a group of people. My God only wants us to love and learn. 

Oh...and another thing....some of you may be confused because lately I've been talking about kindness and love and how that may seem to conflict with some of the more sarcastic posts I put up. Here's how I see it: Humor is good. Laughing at a situation because of the humor and not because its maliciously making fun of something is an okay thing. We all have thoughts that are less than kind. But we choose to not act on them. And that's part of what makes sarcasm funny. We can ALL relate to frustration with others, and the thoughts we have of doing or saying something when we're frustrated, whether its someone in the express checkout lane with 40 items, or the kid that looks goofy-ridiculous with his pants down around his butt. But we have the thought, CHOOSE to not act on it, and laugh at the situation AND ourselves because we are so far from perfect. Some types of humor are NOT okay with me because they are so blatantly unkind. That's why you wont see them here. We're all just stumbling through life, a day at a time, trying to live, learn, and laugh. :) 

And while I'm on the subject...I have nothing against organized religion, per se. Some folks...probably even some of you LOLers find a great comfort and sense of community in the churches you attend. There is nothing wrong with drawing strength and sharing spirit with a group of like-minded people in my book. At one point in my life, the church I attended was mostly my whole world, and that was what I needed at that point in time. As I grew and changed, I found that didnt fit my own spiritual needs anymore. Church and love and spirituality are good things. But if any man or woman tells you that his/her ideology is the only ONE TRUE WAY...I'm sorry, but I call bullshit. God doesnt care how we arrive at our own truth of love being the greatest force in all the Universe. He only cares that we discover that gem, and then live it. Anything else is just a tool we've been given to help us on our journey. So my "making fun of Jesus and religion" is not done out of spite or mean-spirit. It is a tongue-in-cheek poke at all the things we're bombarded with as we search to find the still small voice inside ourselves that tells us within our own hearts and minds what is right and what is kind.

So much energy

This morning while cleaning, I had a burst of creativity and this basically wrote itself:

AFTER

After you dumped me I decided to try things I had never done before.

I let my armpit hair grow, just to see how long it would get until it bothered me.

After you dumped me, you shaved the goatee I’d asked you to grow.

In retaliation, I shaved my pubes like you’d always asked but I never would.

I started getting regular pedicures in protest of your neglected and dry, scaly feet

that I’d ALWAYS hated.

I cried, I ranted, I moaned and mourned.

After you dumped me I found a person at the core of my being

I could never have been with you.

After you dumped me, I went on living.

Just like I always said I would.

Who Do You Want To Be Today?

Who do you want to be today? Seems a simple enough question, right? The question and the answer are both incredibly simple, but as emotional beings we make it more difficult than it should be.

Who are you, right now, this moment? At the core of your being, who do you believe yourself to be? Now, who do you want to be in the next moment? Do you want to stay the same? Do you want to be lesser than what you were in the last moment, or do you want to be something better, something more?

In exactly one week, it will be 2 years to the day that I left my job/got laid off/took a buyout so someone with lesser seniority could keep the job she loved. I feel as if I’ve been in a fog for the better part of that two years, and now in retrospect, I can say I think I was. The worst time in my life was shortly after my divorce. My entire world had been turned upside down. I was drowning in debt. I owned nothing except for what fit in my car. I was crushed and broken and felt like my heart had been rolled and dusted in ground glass. But because I didn’t feel the same emotional upheaval and I wasn’t crying every day, I didn’t think this 2-year span of my life was any worse than, or even as bad as what I think of as “my dark days.”

But the similarities are eerily familiar. Drowning in debt? Check. World turned upside down? Check. Out of a job? Check. Emotions wrecked from a toxic work environment? Check. Health crushed and broken? Check. Being ill for so long before my diabetes diagnosis took its toll on me. And the amount of time it took to get it under control took an even further toll. I was having repeated infections, which in a healthy person will wear out the body. My body and glucose levels didn’t have time to recover before the next infection would hit. But because I had only been hospitalized the one time, I minimized the seriousness of the matter. Hey, I could get out of bed and manage to feed myself. I must be okay, right? I know I spent a lot of time complaining and being negative, and I would compound the negativity by beating up on myself. I was seriously ill and all I could think about was how I wasn’t getting better, what a horrible person I must be to be so whiney all the time, and how I was a failure at being a tough broad at my inability to get better. Is that fucked up or what? I wouldn’t heap all that shit on the shoulders of someone I loved. Why did I do it to myself?

I was taught to be strong, and resilient and self-reliant. For the first time in my life, I had to ask for help, and it was a strange, uncomfortable lump of pride to swallow. I needed more moral support than I ever had in my life. I was exhausted and overwhelmed all the time. I spent a lot of time avoiding even the basics of self-maintenance unless it was absolutely necessary. I was (more) depressed and started having anxiety attacks and muscle spasms. I had to borrow money. I hate just about every aspect of my life over the past 2 years. But that’s the key. The past.

As human, emotional beings, time is a linear thing. It helps us define the experiences of our lives and our growth. That was then, this is now, and the next thing isnt here yet. But who am I right now, and who do I want to be in the next moment? Today, this second, I am still the strong, capable woman I have been for many, many years. Two hours from now or tomorrow, my body might feel like hell. But I’ve realized I will still be that same woman, regardless of how bad I may feel physically. I might stay in bed all day and not get a thing done. But its because I’ve learned I cant push myself, not because I’m a failure or a wimp.

How I need to live my life has changed drastically in the last two years. Even before diabetes, I could push myself. Yes, I still had fibromyalgia, but I had learned how to manage that, and I could still burn the candle at both ends even if the candle I was burning had to be a shorter candle than earlier, younger candles. But I am now closer to 50 than I would like. My body is slowing down, simply because of the aging process. And I have fibromyalgia and I am diabetic. It was difficult to accept that my life and body were changing against my will. But that doesn’t mean I can’t have a healthy, productive, active happy life anyway. It’s just going to look a little different. If…that’s what I choose.

We cannot change the past. Those moments and the events transpiring in them are gone. Forever. We cannot get them back. We have right now. This moment. And we have the future. I have who I am today, and who I choose to be tomorrow. We all do. Tomorrow I may choose to feel sad, and lay on the couch. I may choose to clean the entire house. Or my body may be rebelling against me from anxiety, depression or my disease, and I may choose to be kind to myself, and wait it out.

I am not my emotions. My emotions are not what defines me or who I am. They are feelings. I can choose to experience them, and deal with them. Or I can choose to avoid them, ignore them, minimize them, or fear them. I spent two years making that choice. I want to choose something different now. I want to choose to return to the life I was meant to have, the life I wanted. That has to look a little differently now, but rarely do we ever get what we expected or imagined for ourselves. I can still choose to have goals and to live a full and happy life, loving people that matter to me along the way. I can choose to release the anger and bitterness of the last two years. That release may take some time, still. But I can choose to try to release all that negativity. I can choose to be a more positive person right now. I can choose to do the things I know I must to ensure my health, and all the secondary things that follow. I can choose to find solutions even while things look bleak. I can choose to feel afraid and keep going anyway without allowing the panic to overwhelm me. I can choose and choose and choose, because there is always the next moment, and the next moment and the next until I no longer draw breath, and my heart stops. I may not have any choice about that. But I can and will continue to make billions of choices for however many billions of seconds I have left on this planet.

Who do you want to be today?

Good-bye 2011, Hello 2012

I had such high hopes when I started this blog last year. Then my life remained difficult and complicated until I had a complete meltdown in May. I tried to keep a positive attitude, and I wanted to remain grateful. But when you're overwhelmed, even getting out of bed each morning seems the biggest accomplishment of the day.

My original goal and reason for this blog was to find something each day to be grateful for, and to blog about it. The rules were that I couldnt ever use the same thing, and what 365 things could I find to be grateful about through my entire year. It wasnt a bad idea or even too large a project. I was just approaching it at the wrong time in my life, however well-intentioned I was.

Today is New Year's Eve 2011 and a lot is different and a lot is the same as one year ago today. I'm still unemployed and still looking for a job. Time is running out and I'm starting to get a little anxious. I know it will be okay. Worst case scenario, I work 2 or 3 part time jobs. I've done it before. None of my friends would allow me to be homeless, so even if, god forbid, I were evicted, I wouldnt be out on the streets. I'm not a full time student any more. I discovered that was too much for me with my health being what it was. It took me two semesters and a lot of pressure I put on myself to discover that.

Now about that meltdown. I had student insurance at that point, and was going to the health center on campus for my diabetes and pain medications. I started having horrible pain and spasms in my right hamstring muscles to the point where I couldnt even sleep. The doctor who was seeing me must have been a bit of an empath himself, because he recognized that not only was I having pain issues, I was having extreme anxiety problems as well, evidenced when I burst into tears during our assessment. He called it true when he said he thought I was scared to death, but I didnt know why or what I was scared of. He referred me to the student mental health center, and I started seeing a counselor again for what I thought of as an emotional tune-up.

After taking my history and hearing about the past 2 years of my life (at that point), my counselor asked me if I was familiar with Post-Traumatic Stress Syndrome. Well, yes. I'm a psych major, after all, and became very intimate with the definition when I was in counseling to heal from being sexually abused as a child. But because I was already on anti-depressants and anti-anxiety medications, and I hadnt suffered an actual trauma, I didnt think it applied to me, even though many of the symptoms were present. What I didnt realize and what she pointed out to me, was that being diagnosed with a life-threatening illness can also cause PTSD. Did not know that. Then she began repeating the laundry list of maladies back to me.

Chronic fatigue syndrome for 10 years. Long term illness prior to diagnosis of diabetes. Stressful and toxic work place with repeated layoffs and additional work load. A wretched boss. Hospital with life threatening diabetic related infection within 2 weeks after diagnosis. The idiot watching my dog while I was hospitalized letting him overheat until he died and calling me while I was IN the hospital to tell me. Adopting 2 new dogs within 2 months of release from hospital. Continued illness because I cant get the diabetes under control. A major sinus infection. And this all happened just in 2008. 2009 - I get laid off at the end of January which is both a blessing in disguise and a huge blow to my identity. I keep having infections and end up in the ER on the night of St. Patricks Day for a cat scan on my kidneys. Luckily, no stones, but I'm one sick puppy dog. My doctor keeps dropping the ball on my health care until I find a new doctor in April. June...the engine in my car blows up. Fortunately, I have enough still left in my 401K to cash out and pay for a new engine. Something or someone divine takes pity on me and my mechanic finds a used one with only 26,000 miles on it. I start to get better, but when my mom comes to visit in July, I still poop out really easily and I can no longer tolerate heat. Then school starts full time and I end up with another sinus infection that wont go away. At all. 3 rounds of antibiotics later, and I'm still sick as a dog. A trip the the allergist. Cat scan on sinuses. All tests come back okay. But my white blood cell count remains high, so they know there's still something wrong. Right before finals they start talking about testing me for cancer. WHAT??? I manage to complete 3 finals exams, but the 4th I just blow off because I just cant do it, not knowing how badly it will fuck my student financial aid. I wait for weeks for test results. The hold up is that they sent the lab work to Johns Hopkins for a full DNA screen to rule out everything. I'm cancer free. The holidays roll around. I go into a baking frenzy for a craft fair, make too many items that dont sell and it ends up costing me money. A few days before I'm due to leave for OK and my first Christmas with family in ages, the dogs trip me up and I crack my wrist.

2009. I start this blog while I'm at my mom's. Long road trip with Mom back to Colorado for a stopover then on to Arizona so she can see my aunt and I can see Max. I get home to discover my Cobra insurance has been cancelled because I missed the premium due date by 2 days. No exceptions so now I have no insurance. Fortunately, I'm required by the school to have some form of insurance by the school, so the premiums are added to my tuition. But at this point, I dont know I have problems with my financial aid. I find out that I'm on financial aid suspension the day I'm required to drop classes for non-payment because of an incorrect email I received a month prior telling me I was approved. Fuckity fuck fuck fuck. Jumping through hoops for a waiver while I'm recovering from yet another kidney infection, and this latest fuck-aroo causes a major case of the flu which then turns into bronchitis. Can someone just put me out of my misery? So by the end of April, I'm a complete basket case. Leg pain so bad I wake up crying, psych referral, PTSD diagnosis and then I completely meltdown, pick a fight with Max and we temporarily break up. More counseling sessions, I start to feel better, increase my diabetes meds, and stop having infections. Finals are over, but I completely flunk one of my classes, so now I dont get any financial aid until I can complete more classes successfully and bring my grades up. July 4th weekend, Augie eats a pack of cigarettes, and I have to hospitalize him with the emergency vet. I spend the rest of the summer sending out resumes and weaning myself off percocet because now I'm out of insurance and pain meds. But still no more infections, so that's good, right? As the year drifts into fall, I hide out at home, sleep weird hours and start a humor page on Facebook, which oddly as it sounds, starts to validate me again as a human being of worth, because I can make people laugh. I find a doctor who I can afford (barely) out of pocket, he starts me on a non-narcotic pain medication and a new sleep medication and by Thanksgiving, I'm starting to feel human again. But I still want to hide from the world. Its easier to play on Facebook than to confront all the stress and emotional turmoil the last 2 years have wrought.

December 31, 2011...I havent had an infection in almost a year. I feel like I'm finally over the hump and on the back end of the last disastrous 2 years. But I'm still afraid. I get out of bed every day and push down the anxiety by getting on Facebook and wasting at least half my day there. I still have flare-ups with the fibromyalgia, but only one really bad one in the last couple months. All in all, I feel pretty good right now, and feel fortunate and grateful to have survived all of this more or less, intact. But the true emotional reality of this 2 years has never been acknowledged by me. I deny how awful its been. I tell myself its only been circumstances. Everyone goes through hard times. I minimize. I tell myself its only diabetes, its only fibromyalgia. I dont have cancer, I'm still a relatively young woman (for being middle-aged). I have a roof over my head, food to eat, and a car to drive. Things will turn around. Things will get better. Then why am I still so scared? I have PTSD. No, I dont. Yes, I do. Its not a big deal. I've been through worse. I'm just being lazy and making excuses for myself. But I know if I werent on medication, I'd be crying my fucking eyes out every day...or worse. I tried to wean myself off the anti-anxiety med, trying to save some money on prescriptions and I was such a weepy mess, I knew that wasnt going to work. I try not to say too much to my friends and loved ones, because God knows they put with a shit-ton of negativity from me that first year when I was so very sick.

Not every single second has been bleak. Good things have happened. I'm more secure in my relationship with Max than ever before, and a lot less jealous. We reached a compromise we both can live with, and even though I know it will still be a few more years of the long distance thing, I can live with that. Truthfully, if he'd had to put up with me during all this time, we probably would have thrashed the relationship...again. This year, I've re-established a relationship with one sister, and been able to be in more contact with the other sister. Every couple of weeks I've gone to lunch with my dearest friend, Colleen, who makes me laugh and listens to me without bashing me in the face when I go off on a self-pity kick. Anyone who can keep me out of the crazy-tree like she does deserves my endless gratitude. Not only have I had people to help me this past year, I've started to admit when I need help, and to ask for it. The dogs have been a blessing. There have been days when their needs to go out and be fed were the only reason I had to get out of bed. They snuggle with me when they know I'm sick or sad. These are all positive things at a time in my life when so much else has gone wrong. I try my best every day to hang on to these positive thoughts and the things that are good in my life.

I think its time for me to deal with everything I've stuffed down for the last 2 years, and admit, yes, it has been fucking hard and fucking awful. I want this new year to be so much better. I want a job I love. I want to be able to get bills caught up and paid off. I want to be able to start classes again. I feel like I've been in limbo, just merely surviving the tempest, and I want to start actually living again. I dont know that I have any resolutions or clear-cut goals for this year. This blog is no longer going to be what I originally intended for it. I wont post every day. And I probably wont always be sunshine and happy thoughts when I post. But I want to keep going forward with an attitude of gratitude. I'm grateful to have survived and gotten through all this. I still have it so much better than so many people in the world right now. I'm grateful to have people in my life that love me, and respect me, and appreciate me. I'm grateful I havent hurt myself. I'm grateful to know that sooner or later, this funk will turn around, and things will get better and eventually be okay. They always are. I dont see myself as being on a journey of discovery as this new year unfolds. I'm just living life, like every other day, every other year. I'm moving into a new year with hope. I have hope things will get better. I have hope I'll find a way to move through the emotional part of this condition. I have hope I'll find a great job. I have hope that I will continue to be grateful. I have hope that hope is the greatest tool for living I possess.