There is so much I want to write about, to scream to the world listen to this. My negative thoughts and constant replaying acts from my past keeps me from having normal sleep without meds or a heavy heart. I’m getting older, 38 in December. Something about approaching 40 and still have two children under 10 is causing me to silently panic and quietly bare the anxiety moving through my body. It is like I am unconsciously seeking a way to turn back the clock or run away from what many women with mental or physical illnesses would love to have. For that I SHOULD be grateful. I only harbor guilt and fear in my heart. Without meds the quieting rumbling in my chest, I spews out hatred and evil thoughts about hurting those closed to me…mostly my husband. In many circles he would be considered a saint for walking with me through awfulness I am to ashamed to write. He has stood by me with love and courage to build a life with a outwardly successful woman who shielded the true extent of my illness. A few months after marriage, I started to unravel. Panic attacks, outbursts, crying constantly, praying that God would free me from the illness or my body. I became my worst enemy. I wanted, no needed to die to be free. The voices were so loud, screaming, whispering ways to slip away from my tortured mind. An inpatient stay, ECT, and time away from being me, gave me a thin rope of hope held by my husband. As he and I approach our 4th anniversary, I can only meet him with gratitude for deciding to continue to walk with me on an unsteady, unpredictable journey. I dedicate this post and all my love to my unsung hero, my husband.

Quiet thoughts….

It is night again. The house is quiet, the children and husband are sleeping, the gliders are playing. I think about sleep and my mother. She’s been died for some months now. I thought I would never come to terms with not having her in my life, bossy, opinionated, and down right mean some days. I miss her.

I miss her smell and the way she hugged me when I came home to visit or felt sad. She had a way of pushing her love and comfort to where ever and when ever I was. Her love was total, unconditional, smothering, safe, and protective. Before she died, we had several conversations about how she saw her life now as a grandmother and wife of almost 38 years. She told me she felt if she could keep us all in her little bubble that she would be ok. She told me to make sure I get a life outside of the kids and my husband. She said that one day my kids will grow up, move away, and have families of their own. She wanted me to understand that I needed something besides them to live for. Then, she sobbed I miss my momma. Now, I know the pain in her tears that day that longed for her mother’s smell, hugs, and wisdom. I pray that when she closed her eyes for the last time here, she opened her new eyes to her mother smiling with open arms embracing her after a long absence.

Creating peace…

I would first like to thank the brave souls who choose to accompany on the beautifully, painful journey discovery and acceptance.

It has been several months since I’ve posted. I was stuck in complications of my life. Wife, mother, sister,  daughter, and all that good stuff.

I sit alone tonight under the light of a single light in our tv room. The house is quiet. My lids are heavy from the potent mixture of meds which help me to sleep all night without evil dreams of killing someone (mostly chopping of heads with a sharp sword made just for quick, effortless beheading) or worse…I get stuck in a repeating dream of continuing to do the same task, but always having it rejected with nothing but to start again. Still yet, the very worst dreams are the ones in which the painful emotions of  a dream follows me when I awake. I’m often held prisoner in mind…

No amount of meds or therapy can help one face and conquer their demons. Only the courage to take the meds, go to therapy,  or whatever… Can allow you to take a chance on not knowing the state of your mood once you wake.

For those who say pray or meditate, I call bull shit. Don’t you think I’ve tried it all. I’ve put lies and faith in…. away to focus on those aspects of my life and living that brings me the most peace.


Still got it????

Hum… It is now June. We are now in the summer months and true to its history OK is getting hot.

I’ve been thinking of what I’ve been missing being married for the second time. I am now 37 and counting down the days until my 2 year old is 18, so I can get out. I am not sure if that is my bp or real feelings. My husband has zero desire to be with me romantically. Even if he did, I’m not sure if he would know how to make me sing. Maybe, I never know… The quiet ones are the ones who keep those sexual secrets.

1. I hate that I am over 300 now. Man….. psych meds, steroids to heal my broken wrist, and just plan depressed because I signed up for a shot gun marriage with another man that can careless about my sexual and emotional happiness. I wonder if it is punishment for “having wayyyyyy to much fun” earlier in my life. If I could go back 20 years to my younger self, I would say…. workout!!!
Avoid any foods that taste good… Last, date a man pursuing a good career. In reality, I did the exact opposite. I made it through school, but each year of school was completed with an extra 15 plus pounds. BP and severe anxiety did not help. Now, after everything, I am a stay at home mom on social security living in a small subdivision with my husband who helps to take care of me. I have asked myself repeatedly if what he contributes is enough to make up for the loneliness I feel.
Touching him is like I touched him with lightning. Hugs take him by surprise, and I can feel the repulsion in his touch or lack their of. He says that he told me that he told me already before we got married that he was not interested in a romantic relationship with me. Maybe he did… I chose not to hear I guess. I had had relationships before him in which I believe the men cared for me. Or, was it I was just some sex.

2. What do I tell my daughter? I don’t want her to repeat my mistakes, yet I know she has her own road to travel. I only wish I will be available to her to assist her when needed. I want to encourage to be independent in her thinking, to take in the information and decided what is right for her. Parental advisement may be taken or not. I want her to miss me when I pass, not feel like her right arm is missing and never coming back. I feel like my life is active test in which I am currently failing. The study guide/cheat sheet/make up exams are not available.


Didn’t think it would ……

I’m not sure where that saying came from. But for me, I didn’t know that saying goodbye would hurt so bad. My mother’s passing devastated my life, because I had always depended on her for support, strength, and understanding of life’s complex events. Even though she had only received a high school diploma, she walked my sister and I all the way through doctorate degrees. She was the smarted woman I knew.

Enough of that, I want so bad to let her passing go, to wash over me as a previous psychologist suggested after my first husband died. My parents both had been exceptional aspects of my life as pillars and safety nets. I think the 2nd one is what hurts so much, knowing that I must stand on my own.

Independent is something I believe that many teenagers, young adults, and some time young children often master. For me and my sister, we were the center of my mother’s world. As she said before passing, we were all she had. When we ‘got grown and got her own lives, she didn’t know herself outside of us. She apologize repeatedly for never letting us grow, but keeping us in her tight circle to “in her mind” keep us safe. Rather, the opposite happened we (my sister and I) are only babes among wolves.

No one can blame her desire to protect, but it was taken to far. As an adult, I was still fearful of punishment of my parents for not doing what they asked or not doing things their way. I became subservient to their comfort when they would visit. I bowed my head and tried to meet their ever wish during the visit. I would cry to my husband in anger at the level of control they had over me. He has been walking me through the process of forcing them to let me go and go up, not needing my mother to help me make every decision, and standing on my own two feet when my family’s needs came for my parents.

Year of physical and psychological abuse drove my need to please. I could not see past that desire. I sought at men who would desire a subservient woman. After sometime, I would become angry with their control and broke off the relationship; regained my neediness (pretended); or sought violence as a way of punishing myself. I provoked otherwise nice men to push and hit me as I would do the same to them, repeating the cycle started by my parents. According to my upbringing, decision must be filter through my parents for wise counsel. When I moved way, seeking counsel among the cities lowest became my haven. I was too broken to share my life, my cracks, and mood swings with intelligent men who I believe would see right through me.

Mother’s day is a glorious time to let the mother’s in your live know how much they mean to you and your family. As I sit here with valium protected hurt, will my healing spirit out into the universe to comfort the downtrodden, broken hearted, sick, or those who could give a shit, please find peace in whatever experience you choose. Let know one but you direct your path, if you do, like my mother you will be 54 and have no idea who you are.


Can you stand the rain?

I was obsessed with music from the time I could connect with the lyrics. I may not have known what the song really meant, but I could tell the passion of the song and some of the words connected with my young feelings and pain.

I think most people who watch “The best man holiday” connected with the air band section when they performed “Can you stand the rain” by New Edition. I am 37 now. I remember hearing the song and liking it, but I really didn’t get the meaning of the beautiful song until I listened to in in the context of a woman of experience with loss and love. Now, that we have lost half our income from my disability –bipolar, PTSD— We have taken a huge financial hit. I gave birth to our son in Feb of 2012 a full 2 months before his due date. I took diabetes meds that morning per dr order and attempted to drive the hour drive to my obgyn. I drove my usual 80 in 75 with the cruise on. I knew I was a little off but kept going. I went to far to the center concrete barrier and the rumble bumps, brought me back to reality that I needed to correct my driving. Instead of hitting the brakes, I believed I hit the gas. I remember hitting the wall, turning sideways, and crunching only the wall and road. We came to a stop near a tree, just shy of a drainage hill that could have killed us. My daughter who was 6 at the time, calm and wise beyond her years always, said mommy you need to call 911. I lifted my foot off the gas, turned off the car, and turned to see if she was injured. She was perfect. She screamed because blood from my webbing between my thumb and finger was bleeding profusely. I called my husband and told him a rolled the car, then my mother. I tried to cover the wound, but I could only think of my daughter and my unborn son.

That experience solidified our storm. I hated being pregnant. I wanted my son out of my body. I was in emotional and psychological pain from the abrupt stoppage and the lag I had before I could get in with a new dr. I was in tremendous pain. I hated my husband. And the hour drive to work and my daughter’s school. My son was a fighter. He was 5 pound 2 ounces at birth. The drs had to help him breath because he was born so early. I was happy to have him out, but the torcher of 1 month in the NICU made me thankful for my daughter’s natural full term birth.

The rain in relationships come in many fashions.

Can you stand the rain? New Edition

The first line of the song goes, One a perfect day I know I can count on you. When that’s not possible tell me can you weather the storm. Cause I need somebody who will stand by me/through the good times and bad times she will always be there

Love unconditional is not what I am asking this of you. Girl to make it last, I’ll do whatever needs to be.

Come on baby let’s go get wet.—

Wish I could upload my mp3, but I am not there yet. I typed out a few of my favorite verses from listing to the song over and over. I wanted to keep it old school and not cheap by downloading the lyrics, lol.

I have been married to my second husband for almost 4 years now. At least once a month, I tell him how unhappy I am with our relationship. I talked for almost 1 hour about the hurt I felt. He listened never said a word, if he tried I would cut him off. He said that he has unhappy in the marriage too, but thought divorce or separation would be wrong for the kids. All of my pain and hurt is always directed towards him because I know he will take it and stand the rain. Even though I feel this way right now, something, anything tomorrow can throw me back into a place of anger and disappointed. Just like I was raised… you have to do better at every thing or you will be beaten, no B’s in school, nothing… My parents told me I was bad when I got up the courage a year ago to ask why they were so harsh on me. Daddy told me I was bad. He said he don’t know why I even had kids. Now that momma is gone, he says we are all he has. He said he gave my mom 38 years and he will not apologize or discuss any aspect of their marriage with me and my anger and hurt regarding his new found energy to repair long term house issues. My mother begged that he would do it. Through my tears, I asked why was it ok now to get it done and ignored when my mother asked. He said he couldn’t get up their and fix it because people were watching him with disability, and momma didn’t want him to pay anyone to do it. I talked to my mother everyday, I know they had good times and bad times like everyone else. I was upset because he made my mother feel bad about not doing 100% in the house even though she helped him repair the roof, pull trees on the farm and feed the cows. She was also on disability and had her own issues. I was hurt that he asked so much of her and so little in the house, I thought/think he betrayed her and was an unthankful, chauvinist man. He did say that he gave my mother everything.
And he did. I didn’t really understand their relationship, only what momma told me about his leaving her 3 times, and being mean. At some point, they found a way to stand together through the storms of life.

{I know all the days won’t be perfect, but can you stand the rain? … come on baby let’s go get wet}


Raw Feelings

Holidays are always the worst. You think about the one(s) who are not there, gone on to the afterlife. You may also consider family feuds or traditions you wish would go away. lol

This mother’s day I will be thinking and crying about my mother. For me, she was gone too soon. Really, most days her death seems fake, like I can pick up the phone and tell her about my day. I have to quickly remind myself that even if I called, she would not be there to answer. I wear her favorite necklace, a round diamond with a gold ring with diamonds of progressing sizes. When I saw the necklace when she got it for Christmas, I immediately fell in love with it. She left it to me. She also left her huge wedding right with matching earrings. My sister was a little ticked that she didn’t get the “big rocks”. Really… I don’t care, but I know that it will be special to my daughter or my son one day. So, I will keep it for them. I have a nice ring already. 🙂 By the way, my sister is not married and not looking to get married or have children. Giving it to her would not be appropriate. So goes this tiff between my sister and I. We have pleasant exchanges on the phone and during brief visits, but there is something there, brewing. My parents had mentioned to me on more than one occasion that I was jealous of her for finishing her doctorate while I remain ABD.

After the events over the past few years, I could not dream of finishing my EDD/CI or even my BS. The ECT, meds, and mental exhaustion has left me dry of thoughts and words. My passion that once drove me to write for hours the streaming thoughts, ideas, and conclusions about education. Now, I am no longer interested in improving the overall educational system, but I am only interested in creating the best educational experience for my children.

Life is “funny”. What is important at one point in your life seems trivial down the road. At one point, education and accomplishments is all I had. It was how I defined myself, my life, and my view of others. My pyschatrist asked me on my first appointment about my life. She gathered the importance of education and preforming as significant factors in my life. She also concluded that I defined my self worth and that of others on their accomplishments and wasted talents. Since I was more or less brain dead in terms of understanding complex ideas, I had stopped having value and death was my only option. She wrote a statement for me to repeat every night. I, name, have self worth because I exist. I can read it and believe it now, but then almost 2 years ago… it was not even a possibility. I cried at the thought and defiantly refused to complete the exercise because I knew it was a life. One cannot have worth if they are not productive. She asked me about a bum under a bridge. I asked about his background and such. When she said he had no goal, no purpose, he just existed. She asked me if he has value. I said no. I was stuck on the word value. Value means you are worth something to someone. Alone, homeless, drinking/drugging, no thought of tomorrow disgusted me. How could he be counted as someone of value in the same breath as someone who has spent their lives trying to move forward, improve. Just like the man under the bridge, I had no value because I was not moving forward. I was not improving, thus suicide was the only option because I could not see a future for me that did not include accomplishments and praise. I died inside…. I was reborn a better person. I cannot say that I do not struggle with self-identity and the need to die or run away. I remind myself that my mother has passed on and their would be no one to love my children the way I do.

Looking oneself in the mirror and confronting the secrets, the beliefs about oneself and others is a humbling experience. Standing naked physically and mentally, examining, looking, considering the possibility of waking up one morning some time in the next few months struggling to remember the events of the past year. Struggling to see yourself through the fog of shame and sorrow, for you mourn the loss of intellectual and economical advantage you had (over others?). Look again in the mirror, sad eyes searching for the person you thought you were, the life you had created and the future you were working for—- all gone because of mental illness/bipolar.

For what seemed like a nightmare has freed me from hamster wheel I thought was needed for me to be someone. I am someone, I am me for better or worse, faults and values. I live my life, forgetting words, struggling to complete complex tasks that were once as simple as tying a shoe. It is all humbling. I still struggle some days with having patience with others because they should have gotten it by now, when I must remind myself that I too struggle to “get it by now.”

As I wait for my first social security check, I am grateful for the income, but sadden by the need for it.

New News

Thanks for the help regarding my MIA posts. Lesson learned… I hope. I am new to this so I’m sure I will make more mistakes. I just hope it doesn’t cost me 2 of my best ramblings. lol

It is late and my son is in bed with us 🙂 fussing again. He needs everything in place to go to sleep. Meaning I must be in bed too. I like to stay up late, because I like the feeling of calm and quiet. I am not disturbed by little people needing me to be present with them in their space… i.e. being mommy.

Laying in bed tonight helping my son fall asleep since he needs everything just so before he does, I questioned out loud to my husband and the universe to try to understand how I ended up have children, not one but two. I was 28 when I married my first husband who died in 2007. We met in Oct were married in Jan and I found out I was pregnant with my daughter in Feb. Wham Bam Thank you mama. She was born in Oct. We named her after my mom who past away in March. Then, I met my current husband online 🙂 in 2010. We met in April, married in October, and I found out I was pregnant in June of 2011. Wow. I never really “dated” either man in a traditional way. We spent time together talking about marriage and family. I guess I prefer it that way. I am not good at playing hard to get or waiting for someone to decide I am good enough to be his wife after 3 years of my life. Did that once… never again.

Although, my marriages were unconventual, do believe there was order and purpose to what I always thought was impulsivity as a result of not enough meds and trying my best to reach a goal… what goal.

I’ve been married over 3 years now. 1 year longer than the first marriage! My husband and I tolerate each other. We care for the other’s well-being but.. there is no love there. We share space and children. I guess that is what I was going for when I met and married my husbands the way I did.

Most nights, I hate to go to sleep. To wake up another morning, in the same house, same relationship, same routine feeling unfifulled and stuck.

In search of peace

I was baptized in the Church of Christ at age 16. As far back as I can remember, I have been in search of a stillness, peacefulness in my being (so would say soul). Music often does it for. A beautiful song with or without great lyrics (if lyrics must be great, well thought out, resonates with my soul/ being.)

I grew up in a very small town in southern Oklahoma. There was not much to do. Making up games, visiting my maternal grandmother and watching her so or whatever, or just sitting outside playing made up games with my cousins or one friend. I never really connect well with others. I had too many secrets, secret thoughts, deep thoughts that I believe could never be understood by people in my circle. Without saying, music spoke to that inner part of my troubled self that longed for healing. Healing from what? Well, there is a laundry list I could write but really, I don’t know. My memory is a little fuzzy when thinking of that part of my life. I cry when forced by psychiatrist or psychologist to try to explain my childhood. My dr. labeled it PTSD. OK… I’m not sure if that is the right “label” but ok.