And Sometimes, Dreams Come True!

I can hardly believe it. My head is spinning, my feet haven't touched the ground... I auditioned yesterday for a local production of The Tempest (which just so happens to be the first play I ever did, waaaaay back in 10th grade--AND the play in which my first-ever kiss occurred--ON STAGE!!). I went in prepared, professional, and expecting great things of myself. I didn't expect a role, because these people had never seen me before and didn't know me from Adam. I didn't expect applause or congratulations. I didn't expect anyone to acknowledge me, or my valiant attempts at returning to the stage after more than half a decade away. I expected nothing from them, and everything from myself. I delivered.

I wasn't nervous. I read with confidence. I didn't hesitate to try anything they asked of me. I walked in with head held high, and I left two inches taller than when I had come in. I was PROUD of myself... For the first time in *I don't know how long.*

This evening, I got the call. I got a part! With plenty of stage time, a handful of important lines, and OHMYGOSH A REAL PART IN A REAL PLAY FOR THE FIRST TIME SINCE GRADUATING UNIVERSITY!!

This comes at an interesting time, because, as we all know, I've struggled very heavily with PTSD this year. I've gone through a great deal, and I've journeyed a long way to find inner peace and strength in my life. Additionally, as I mentioned before, I passed out behind the wheel on Friday and ran off the road, wrecking Hubby's car. This was the final straw for my current meds, which means I have to change them--tomorrow. I'm anticipating a couple of weeks where I'm not sure what I'm feeling, or where I feel very little (that's typically the case when I transition: I go a bit numb). I was feeling anxious about that, but now! NOW! I have something glorious to keep me on Cloud Nine for the next two months!!

My readers have seen me fluctuate heavily in the very recent past. First, I was bursting with inspiration and optimism. Next, I was in a pit of despair. Well, nearly killing myself on Friday gave me the final kick in the seat that I needed to get out and start to make things happen. No more excuses. If I want happiness, I have to go out and GET IT, instead of waiting for it to come to me. I spent ALL DAY Friday preparing for this audition, shopping for an appropriate outfit, hunting down my actin' shoes, planning my hair and makeup, taking self-portraits so I'd have something resembling a headshot, updating my horribly out-of-date and dusty resume... I turned a very scary moment into a moment of reawakening. It gave me the courage I needed to go out and TRY...

...And I succeeded! :D

So, of my 3 goals recently set (to lose 30 lbs, to get my voice back in shape, and to be on stage before the end of 2013), I am currently ACTIVELY working toward the first two, and I've managed to reach the third. The one that mattered the most to me is becoming a reality right before my eyes. I am coming back to the stage, and it feels like coming HOME.

I couldn't possibly be any happier than I am RIGHT NOW.

Dreams really DO come true!

Broken

When I think of myself, I don't imagine some run-down, washed-up old woman. Sure, I'm not the vibrant dreamer I was when I was 20, but I haven't aged or fallen apart that much in the past 9 years (oh dear, my birthday's just around the corner now!). I see myself as a positive thinker, a strong woman, a mother, a friend, a wife. I see myself as someone who can weather any storm, and who has seen quite a few. I'm a fighter, although I'll never go looking for one. I'm a fixer, although I can't fix myself. I see myself as many things, and most of them are positive, but the one word that never changes is broken. I see myself as broken.

I've been broken for longer than I've been able to (legally) drink. Broken since long before I cast my first ballot in an election. Broken almost since I started to drive. I can hardly remember a time when I was whole...

Damaged goods.

I used to think someone would come along and patch me up, good as new. Some kind of hero would whisk me away, and life would be a fairy tale, fully of happily ever after. I thought someone would make the pain go away. Someone would shine a light into all the darkness and let in the sun forever. That never happened. That never will happen. It's a childhood fantasy. I'm a broken woman, and I always will be a broken woman. I'm okay with that.

Because, despite being broken, I've managed to piece together a pretty great life for myself. I have friends, I have family, I have people who love me and whom I love. I have dreams (still!), I have goals, I have drive. I have the determination to make it through every day and see through to the next. I have a daughter, a child, a little life who relies on me for her everything. And, broken as I may be, I give her everything. Everything I have, and more. I gave her life, and I will give her love until the end of time.

I may be broken. I'll always be broken, I'm sure... But that sure hasn't held me back yet!

I'm Still Here

I've been pretty quiet as of late. C's doing well, Hubby's doing well, and I'm wrapping up the loose ends on this semester of school. There's not much to report, and, as a wise blogger advised me when I first began this venture, "Don't blog unless you have something to say."

I'm out of therapy for PTSD. The EMDR seems to have been incredibly effective, and, while my triggers still exist and prompt some anxiety, they are no longer debilitating. I have found the strength and power to walk away from drunk, aggressive men in bars. I am no longer experiencing flashbacks. I have been regularly messaging someone whose very name was a trigger for nearly a decade, and I can say that name without flinching (although I'm not entirely sure if I could handle hearing the name spoken just yet). Most importantly, while I'm still carrying my pepper spray in case of emergency, I no longer grip it tightly when I leave the house. I'm no longer watching my street for my former stalker's car. I no longer fear public places in town because he might show up. Truth be told, I don't even think about him anymore, unless it's as part of a reflection on how far I've come. He has officially lost any power over me.

I've made a new friend who lives a few hours away, but she travels to the area at least once a month for work. We've been chatting and texting for a while, and she's going to be in town this weekend. We have plans for lunch and shopping, dinner with Hubby and C, and even for C and me to stay with her when we go out to Shriner's in a couple of weeks for C's next scoliosis or spina bifida clinic (for the life of me, I can't remember which one this is). It's nice to have a new friend, even if she is a little bit far away. I'm not done shopping for new friends--especially friends who live nearby and are available to hang out more frequently--but I feel a sense of closure at having solidified one new relationship after feeling so geographically isolated from my friends back home.

Life is good. My only complaint would be that I'm ready for this semester to be over so I can get fully caught up on my work before the summer term begins! :)

Better, But Not Cured

After a few months of EMDR and therapy, my PTSD is remarkably well controlled. My triggers have a much smaller, more manageable effect on me now, and I can often breathe my way through a problem. My therapist has graduated me from weekly sessions to a follow-up in a month to see how I'm doing then and evaluate whether we need to continue treatment. I can finally think about my traumas without reliving them, without having panic attacks, and without losing control and running to the nearest bar for comfort.

That being said, one of my biggest triggers is a particular name. A man who assaulted me, who threatened me, who harassed me, and who tried to break into my home. Hearing his name, seeing it in print... It gets me all worked up and defensive. I can't even speak the name. I've tried, but the sounds won't come out. His name is my biggest trigger...

Sadly, one of the people I've met online who I'm supposed to meet in person (the one I was going to meet yesterday, although there was a last-minute change of plans, as neither of us felt well enough for the outing--it should be noted, I felt sickly because I'd been up all night/morning after a nightmare about one of my assaulters--further evidence I'm not cured), shares a name with that bad man of old. I see it every time I chat with him online. For the most part, it hasn't been an issue, but yesterday...

I don't know what it was. Perhaps it was that I just saw it so many times throughout the day. Perhaps it's because I could hear the name in my head when I read it on the computer screen. For whatever reason, it triggered an attack. It was very slow coming, starting with unnoticeable rise in heart rate and anxiety, and eventually culminating in full-body shakes and an inability to breathe normally. I actually had to take an anxiety pill last night just so I could catch my breath.

This was an isolated event. It doesn't happen every time I'm exposed to one of my triggers (unlike before), and it was very gradual. If I'd been paying more attention, I could probably have stopped the symptoms before they got so extreme. In any event, it's a sure sign that, while I'm much better, I'm definitely not cured. I may never be. I may be living with symptoms of PTSD for the rest of my life... The important part is that I learn to control them, so they can't control me. The men who hurt me no longer have the power in my life; I do. I've taken it back, and I refuse to let go.

What A Great Day!

Today was one of those rare days when I truly get to sleep in as late as I want. Of course, it didn't quite work out that way, because my phone rang at the much-too-early 10:30 and woke me up. How rude! ;)

I had some work to get done today (in fact, at 9pm, I still have a few minutes' worth left to finish), but that's no big deal. It's mindless work, done at my home computer, while sipping Starbucks and listening to music if I feel like it. I don't mind working a few hours a day, especially when I think about the paycheck I'll be getting at the end of the month! ;)

I left the house three times today. The first trip out was to go sell an amp that I haven't been using, so I started the day out by clearing a large item out of my house and getting a handful of cash in exchange. Nice!

The second outing was a total surprise, out-of-the-blue, last-minute trip for something WONDERFUL: We adopted a kitty! I was trying to look up whether it's legal to own potbelly pigs within city limits here (in furtherance of a drawn-out IM joke with a friend about what to give Hubby for Valentine's Day), and I stumbled across the local animal shelter's website with a listing of adoptable pets. I only checked the cats to see if our missing cats happened to be on there, but instead, I found this beautiful little guy, only a few months older than the kitten. I linked his profile to Hubby, who responded by saying he preferred this other (female) cat. I agreed that she was quite lovely, and he pointed out that there were only 30 minutes until the shelter closed for the day, so I'd better get going! Hubby's not the impulsive type, but I guess he sensed that the house has felt a little bit empty since our two adult cats disappeared... In any event, once I had the go-ahead from him, I immediately packed up C, jumped in the car, and drove to the shelter to meet this lovely cat face-to-face! She was just THE sweetest cat I have ever met, she took to C right away, and she seemed like she'd be a perfect fit for our home.... So I signed the papers!

The only downside to the adoption is that she hasn't been spayed yet, and the shelter won't release an animal until it's been altered, so I called up our vet and made a surgery appointment. They're going to spay her on Tuesday, so the shelter will drop her off to be boarded overnight at the vet Monday night, and, once she's recovered from surgery Tuesday afternoon, I get to bring her home!

Because Hubby picked her out, and because my rule has always been female dogs and male cats only, I let him name her. Lady Gretchen Jameson McFluffington, 3rd Duchess Poofyhuntershire. Yeah, I married a strange one. ;) He actually chose Florence, but I vetoed that in favor of Gretchen. The vet said her name was too long for the file, so they're simply calling her Lady Gretchen and ignoring her title of nobility. That's okay, I think we can forgive them for that!

Lady Gretchen Jameson McFluffington, 3rd Duchess Poofyhuntershire.

The third venture out of the house today was to have a rare, delightful dinner out with Hubby and C. We rarely go out because C tends to get overly vocal at the dinner table, and we don't have a sitter, so when Hubby offers it up, I grab at it with both hands!

The highlight of the day was absolutely adopting Duchess Poofyhuntershire, but that wasn't the only bright moment in my day. I also received the copy of the Extended Protective Order in the mail--documentation that my abuser cannot come near me or C for an entire year (after which point, I suspect he'll be in prison for his pending felony charges). Although it's been official for two days, it was really reassuring to get the paperwork in the mail. I feel like framing it and putting it up on the wall!

Yet ANOTHER positive thing happened today (I know, it seems impossible for this much good to occur in a single day!) when I contacted the Disabiliy Resource Center at my university. As it turns out, my mental health diagnoses qualify me for disability services and accommodations. Things like untimed tests, or taking tests in a room without classmates, things to help ease stress about assignments and exams... All of these are good things that I have struggled all my life without, but am finally self-aware enough to ask for assistance with. Maybe the next time I'm too depressed to go to class for three weeks, I'll get some leeway instead of a D in my dance class! ;) It will be nice to have my disabilities documented and respected for what they are.

OH, and I got the call today that C's custom wheelchair is ready and can be picked up Monday! WOOHOO!!

On that note, I'm going to finish up my work for the night and wrap up this wonderful day with some television in bed. I get to sleep in again tomorrow... Here's hoping the rest of the day is as great as today was!

At Last, Peace

I have suffered in silence for a month now, biting my tongue, afraid that anything I said might be somehow twisted and used against me. At last, I can speak freely.

This morning, I had a court date. A month ago, I had to take out my second Temporary Protective Order against a man I used to trust who became emotionally and sexually abusive. The first TPO was for stalking and the abuse, and the second was for harassment when he posted a brazenly defamatory profile about me on a website. As many of you read, I started carrying pepper spray with me to feel more protected. I was afraid every time someone knocked at my door.

For a month, I have dreaded the court date. I was terrified of what lies he might tell about me, how seeing him might affect my emotional strength and fortitude, and whether or not I had the guts to stand up to him in front of a judge and insist that yes, I needed the Protective Order extended a year so that I could feel safe again.

This morning, when I got to the court house, I scanned the parking lot, terrified of seeing his car. I didn't spot it anywhere. I walked inside and checked in with the court clerk, and there was no sign of him in the hallway. They sent me upstairs to wait with the Domestic Abuse Advocates, who would be representing me in court, and he wasn't up there, either. My spirits began to lift.

When they called me into the court room, I was overjoyed. He wasn't there! As I waited for the case before mine to conclude, I couldn't quite breathe easily, afraid he might saunter in at any moment, but he never did. When I was called up to speak to the judge, he wasn't there to defend himself against an extension.

The judge called it a "no-brainer," and said that he would gladly extend the protective order. He encouraged me emphatically to call the police if my abuser did anything at all to violate the order. He also told me that this person had been in jail for a felony criminal charge most of the duration of the TPO and was out on bail now, but that he's wearing a GPS tracker, so any violation of the restraining order will be well documented and supported by GPS data. This was very reassuring for me, knowing that they'd have evidence of it if he came by my house or by my daughter's school, and knowing that he can't skip out on bail, which he told me before his arrest he intended to do.

Because of the gravity of my sworn claims against him, and because he wasn't there to argue the motion, the TPO was extended for a full year. For the first time in months, I can breathe easily. I can't even begin to describe how much SAFER I feel, how much more comfortable in my own home. I celebrated the victory by taking a drive out to Lake Tahoe to snap some photographs and breathe in the fresh air. I feel like a new woman.

Cave Rock State Park, Lake Tahoe, Nevada. February 8, 2012

In much lighter news, I got some blue-tinted cosmetic contact lenses, so I currently have blonde hair and blue eyes. For a brown/hazel gal, it's quite the novel change! I got some green lenses, too, but right now, I'm having too much fun with the blonde/blue combination. It feels like I'm wearing someone else's skin! Talk about feeling like a new woman... ;)

Loaner Chair

Yesterday, I got a call from C's PT saying that they had prepared a loaner wheelchair for us to use until the new custom chair comes in. It's the same model and was previously used by a little girl with a latex allergy, so everything on it is latex-free (yay!). A representative from MedTech had to come down and fit the chair with a new seat cushion, new lap belt, and a new chest harness, but now it's essentially the same thing as the chair we ordered. C rode home on the bus in her new (temporary) chair yesterday, and sources say that she loved being able to look out the window and watch everything go by. I also found out yesterday that our insurance has approved C's new chair and all the customizations, and it will be ready in the next 2-3 weeks, meaning we'll have it in time for our next flight to Austin next month! I'm super excited. The only thing we need now is to hire someone to build a wheelchair ramp so I don't have to lift C over the two steps up to our front door every day!

In other news, my PTSD has kicked into overdrive the past few days. Knowing that there's a pending court hearing to extend my Order of Protection for a full year has me thinking more and reliving more. It's uncomfortable, but I'm pushing through. My weekly therapy sessions help, as do my body's survival instincts, such as not being able to cry because it makes me feel more vulnerable. I'm afraid I may come off to hubby as a little bit of an ice queen right now because I can't seem to let my guard down, but he's very understanding and knowledgeable about PTSD, so he gets it. I don't know what I'd do without him.

I understand that several senators decided to oppose SOPA after yesterday's internet-wide protest of the pending legislation, including several of the original sponsors. I hope more follow suit, because internet censorship is not what the world needs. It's dangerous and flat-out wrong, and I am hoping for the best.

Going Home

My parents are great, and it's hard for me living half a country away from them. I hated not having my mom around during the pregnancy and not having my parents at the hospital the night C was born. I hated that, while I was singing with the band, they were only able to make a trip out to see me perform once. I hate being too far away for a weekend trip every now and again.

Fortunately for me, I have parents who are willing to fly C and me halfway across the country to visit when I tell them I'm homesick! :)

I have a day off of school in February and no Saturday class the weekend before, so I thought it would be nice to fly down to Austin for a week-long stay. Yes, I was just there for two weeks and got back exactly two weeks ago today... But I'm potentially flying in a friend for Spring Break, so this would be my only chance to visit between now and summer break, and frankly, I don't like being away from Mommy and Daddy for that long. So I'm going to visit!

Going home is always interesting. My mom borders on hoarding, so I never go home without a bag full of new things to bring back with me. There are only a few people in Austin that I feel compelled to see when I visit, and several others who I see every third or fourth visit, so there can be as much or as little socialization in a visit as I would like. My parents are always willing to babysit so I can have dinner out with friends, which is not a luxury we have here.

Then there's the comfort of sleeping in my old room, where I used to use AIM to chat with my then-friend-now-husband, where I daydreamed about the future, where the biggest problems I ever had to face were acne and getting grounded from the phone. Lying in bed in that room, staring at that oh-so-familiar ceiling, gazing out the windows onto my old street... It's like going back to a simpler time, long before I had to struggle with juggling medications, PTSD, or the trials of parenting a child with special needs. I feel somehow freer there, more at ease, like Mom and Dad will take care of anything that comes up, and I'm safe under their protective bubble of a roof.

I love going home, even if it's only for a week at a time, and even if it only happens a couple of times a year. I feel very fortunate that my life is blessed with the opportunity and the means to make the trip as often as I do. So yes, I've only been back for two weeks... But I'm happy that I have less than a month to wait before I'll be back there, in the safe haven of my parents' house, reconnecting with my innocence and youth.

Starting Over

In today's mail, I received a DVD with a slideshow of pictures taken the day Hubby and I renewed our wedding vows in October. After a tough EMDR/therapy session and a long, emotional afternoon, seeing those images was just what I needed.

The hubster and I hadn't been getting along very well for a while. We were teetering near the brink of marital disaster, and I wondered what life would be like if I took C and walked away. All around me, marriages were crumbling, and family members were just walking away from years of commitment without any obvious troubles, so it was easy to imagine that I could do it, too.

I thought about it for a long while, and I realized that I had everything to lose and nothing to gain by walking away. I saw that I had turned my back on a love that I cherished, and I had cut myself off from the best friend I had ever known. I resolved to work th

ings out for myself so that we could be happy together, like we had been in the beginning. Then we hit rock bottom. For a week, it looked like there wasn't any choice. We were absolutely doomed. But then... Out of nowhere, hope! It started with a simple, "I love you." It involved many tearful hours of intense conversations about where we were, what we wanted moving forward, and how to get there. Somehow, we fought our way out of the darkness and back into the light.

Love may not conquer all, but it sure can conquer a hell of a lot! We decided that, coming out of our darkest hour, the best way to move forward was to start over, in a sense. We decided to renew our vows. We planned a small, casual event on our alma mater campus and invited a handful of close friends to witness. Then we went to a favorite pub and hung out with fabulous people as a very happy re-married couple. It was truly one of the greatest days of my life. We wrote out our promises to one another and read them in front of the people we loved, while C happily roamed around and played in friends' purses. ;) Honestly, it was beautiful. The only thing about it I would change is the minor hair dye disaster I experienced that made my hair look rather like a Jolly Rancher on our special day!

One of the conditions of our blissful reunion of souls, suggested by myself and agreed upon by my darling, was that I seek out therapy for the PTSD that had been lurking in the shadows and secretly running my life for nearly a decade. He, of course, had always seen it there, and had done everything he could to nourish and support me. I, on the other hand, had been in hardcore denial, because being a victim seemed to mean being weak. As it turns out, it's quite the other way around. Being a victim and identifying yourself as such gives you the strength you need to start to undo the damage of your traumas. Hubby knew this, and he quietly and gently nudged me along until I was ready to realize it for myself.

I do not write about my PTSD or my mental health issues in seek of pity. In fact, the very idea that someone would pity me for any aspect of my life seems ludicrous, because everywhere I look, I see blessings. I write about these things because expressing them helps me to empower myself, to overcome the obstacles in my life, and because there have been countless times when I felt all alone in the world, and I want others out there like myself to be able to stumble across this blog and see that nope, they're not the only ones struggling to make it in this world.

This blog is about a journey. A journey to reclaim my life, reclaim power over my life, and reclaim the unbridled joy I felt before a few jerks cruelly yanked it away. I'm taking it BACK, and how! I still have a long way to go before I'm fully healthy, but I make incredibly progress on a daily basis, and I can't remember ever having felt more loved, more special, or more fulfilled.

To Carry, Or Not to Carry

Living with PTSD, you develop a certain... shall we say paranoia? Walking down the street, through the crowded aisles of the grocery store, in your own living room when someone knocks on your door, you are surrounded by perceived threats. As I have become more aware of my PTSD, those feelings of being threatened have become more intense.

Recently, a friend invited the hubby and me to go out to a shooting range and fire off a wide array of guns, from the very humble handgun to the very high-tech sniper rifle. It reminded me of shooting rifles at camp as a kid, but there was a greater sense of power and control, looking down that scope, knowing I could hit the tiny metal animals that were so far away, I couldn't see them with my naked eye. That got me started daydreaming about carrying a gun for protection.

Now, before anyone goes crazy on me... I don't own a gun. I will not own a gun. I will not allow a gun in my home or near my daughter. I am not anti-gun, but I wouldn't feel safe with one in the house. Accidents can always happen, you know. That aside, I'm not exactly mentally STABLE, so arming myself with a deadly weapon just doesn't seem like the best idea. So what was I going to do to get back that sense of power and control in my life? What's a girl to do to feel safe in the world if she's afraid of the risks of carrying a gun?

My therapist supplied the answer yesterday. He told me that he felt protective of me, almost fatherly... And that I should pick up some pepper spray right away.

Pepper spray! Now, why hadn't I thought of that?? I shared the suggestion with hubby.... who supported it 100%.

After confirming that pepper spray is legal to carry in all 50 states, and, more specifically, legal in containers of 2oz or less in my home state, I started browsing the internet and found a cute little keychain canister--pink--for under $10. Perfectly legal, will provide a sense of self-protection, and is cute, to boot. Who would've thought--aerosol weapons as a fashion accessory?

I'm going to wait until after Christmas to order it. Goodness knows I've spent far too much money online in the past six weeks, preparing for Christmas! I may not ultimately go with the pink one (although the real appeal wasn't that it's pink so much as that it claims to support Breast Cancer Research), because I really don't care what it looks like. I don't intend to ever use it. I just need something for those *just in case* moments, something to make me feel like I can protect myself, like I'm not entirely helpless or at the mercy of another.

I actually struggled with this decision. It's not something I took lightly, and obviously I'm not jumping into it. I looked up the laws first, I took hubby's input and my therapist's input and weighed the pros and cons of carrying any sort of weapon, and I decided that this is something that I need in order to regain control of my life--a control I haven't felt for over 8 years now. This is a good thing. It scares me a little, but it's a good thing.

So I'll be ringing in the New Year by arming myself with pepper spray. I feel good about this.

Inadequate

Some days (most days?), I feel inadequate as a mother. Here I have this amazing little girl who needs so much from me, and I always feel like I'm coming up short. Am I her therapist or her mother? There simply aren't enough hours in the day to work, take care of school stuff, clean the house, cook dinner, and take care of her every need... So sometimes I skip out on one the therapeutic activities I had planned, or I let her play in her room alone too long while I write a paper instead of playing with her, or I can't do much more than feed and diaper her because my head and my emotions are in too much turmoil, and I can't function at a higher level.

C's overall "umbrella" problem is that she has an unbalanced translocation of chromosomes 7 and 8. She has a partial trisomy (extra material) of 8, and she's missing genes on 7 that are crucial in spine and brain development. Because of that tiny little chromosomal mix-up, she has a whole slew of medical problems encompassing every major system in her body, and those have resulted in physical and developmental disabilities. There is no name for this particular genetic anomaly because it's incredibly rare--something like 15 recorded cases in all of recorded medical history, and 4 of them are in my family. I was told by doctors that there was no way I could be carrying the anomaly that my older brother carries, and yet, after C was born, BAM! Reality smacked us in the face. I had defied all odds and brought into the world a little girl whose chromosomes are all out of whack, and we have no idea what to expect from that, medically or developmentally.

In short, it's MY FAULT that my daughter has disabilities. MY chromosomes were the ones that were screwed up and passed on this anomaly. It wasn't just this pregnancy, it was the two pregnancies that miscarried (presumably because they were missing a huge chunk of genetic material), and it's 75% of any pregnancy I could conceivably carry. I didn't choose to carry this or to pass it on, but it's really hard not to feel responsible when it was your body, as a mother, that failed your child. Then there are the added bonuses like C's bilateral colobomas, which happened during fetal development and don't appear to be linked to the chromosomal situation. Just a fluke because, yet again, my body failed her.

Being bipolar is a daily struggle. With the right combination of medications, you can go days or weeks without even remembering your diagnosis, but then a day comes along where you're just disproportionately sad for no reason, or you have a manic episode and spend too much money and can't sleep and talk too fast because your brain won't slow down. Those days, it feels impossible to keep your head above water, much less take care of a completely dependent young child. The PTSD hits even harder, hurling me into flashbacks or keeping me up all night with night terrors, leaving me walking around in a raw emotional state and a complete mental haze. I just pray that my screwed up body didn't pass along the mental illness along with the crummy chromosomes. I wouldn't be able to take knowing that she suffered emotionally in addition to the many other challenges she faces.

Then there's the anxiety. I know I have to be her strongest advocate in healthcare and education, but it's tough to be assertive when calling a doctor's office triggers a mild panic attack and pushing people has never been your forte. When people aren't cooperative in getting my daughter what she needs, I have to fight every instinct in my body and, against my nature, insist that they listen to me and take care of my daughter. I have to hold my breath and pray sometimes that they won't see me shaking, because I have to appear calm and tough when fighting for her. It's really difficult!

She's an awesome kid, and I love her with all my heart. I treasure her every action and sound, and I melt when I watch her sleep and listen to her slow, steady breathing. She is my baby, the love of my life, my world... But sometimes the outside world steps in and makes showing C what she means to me a nearly impossible task. I don't want her growing up with a mother who is sometimes emotionally vacant or distant. I want her to feel loved at all times and to know she can count on me for anything and everything. But can she? I doubt my abilities as a parent, because I made her this way and can't fix her, and because I'm struggling with so much of my own, it's more difficult to be the mom that she needs. Of course, her needs always come first... But sometimes, I just feel I don't have enough to give. Sometimes, I feel like I'm failing... And that's a tough burden to carry.

People

If there's one thing I've learned in my life, it's that there are wonderful people, and there are horrible people.  Then, of course, there are those who fall somewhere in the middle.  My personal experience has been that there are far more wonderful people than horrible people...  So why do the horrible people seem to hold so much of the power?

I'm not talking political power, though there are certainly some extremely horrible people in politics.  In fact, all we ever seem to hear about politicians are the horrible things.  If there are wonderful people in that field (as I'm sure there are), they are virtually invisible.  We can't see them through all the muck and the grime.

No no, what I mean is that the horrible people seem to be the ones who GET to us.  The ones who hold power over our emotions, our experiences, and our lives.  They're the ones we think most about, the ones whose presence seems to be felt most often when they're not even around.  The horrible people are the ones who leave scars that we have to stare at for the rest of our lives.  They're the ones who send us to therapy, get us hooked on anxiety and/or sleeping pills, and drive us to our nightly glass of wine or that one-too-many-shots night out with the girls.  The horrible people are after power, and we hand it right over to them without even thinking.  We LET them darken our skies and lengthen our nights.  We let them in, and then we're too weak or maybe too polite to kick them out when they start to do damage.  Instead of kicking them to the curb, we cling to them, we dwell on their evildoing, and we let them wreak havoc on our lives.

Why don't we, instead, give that power over to the wonderful people in our lives?  The people who show us unconditional love, the people who are always supportive or encouraging, the people who volunteer and spend their time helping others instead of hurting them?  Those in-between people don't get the power because they don't want it or seek it...  But the do-gooders!  They're trying to take back the power in the world, trying to make a change for the better, trying to bring joy and love to anyone they touch, and yet, we just don't let them.

Dear readers, I challenge you all to start taking back the power from the horrible people and giving it to the wonderful people instead.  Don't let some jerk on the subway bring you down; instead, go talk to a friend about the good things in life and let them lift you up.  If you've been scarred as I have, seek out help so you can take back that power for yourself and give it to those YOU choose, not those who took it from you without your consent.

Let's all try to be a little more positive in our lives.  Let's try to stop and smell the roses, to gaze at a rainbow, or to make a wish upon a star a little more often.  Let's rid our lives of the horrible people--just cut them off cold without ever glancing back.  Let's put the power of the world into the hands of the people who want to make the world a better place.  It shouldn't be too hard, because I'm quite sure there are more wonderful people out there than horrible people, and the wonderful people just need a little extra support.

A Bad Thing...

I have OCD and PTSD.  It's a very bad thing when the lock on the front door sticks in the unlocked position.  >.<

My First EMDR Session

This morning was my third visit to the new therapist, but our first time actually giving EMDR a shot.  We started with what I had rated the least emotionally disturbing of my past traumas.  I started out with a lot of trepidation about the therapy, anxiety and stress about the trauma, and a whole big ball of negative emotions in the pit of my stomach.

Now, somehow, after only an hour, I feel empowered.  I feel like I rewrote the ending to that disaster, like I told the *** what I felt about him and what he did, and like I walked away and never looked back.  None of those things actually happened, but we tricked my mind and body into believing they did, and now I'm breathing easier and can think about the experience without reliving it or experiencing profound anxiety.  It has no more power over me than any other memory now...  It's not an ongoing trauma that lives on in my brain.  It's over, it's been resolved, and I can move on now.  After six years.  /whew!

The most interesting thing for me was that, at times, watching the therapist's fingers move back and forth, my mind would actually start to play back memories like a movie between the two ends of his finger movements.  His fingers would slide across my visual field, and I'd get a flash of a black-and-white movie image, and it would slowly move and change with each pass of his fingers.  It wasn't frightening or anxiety-provoking; it was like watching everything from a safe distance, through a protective lens, where I was in control and could change the outcome, or just blink twice really quickly and shut off the film altogether.  It was truly fascinating!

When it was over, my body was relaxed, and I felt exhausted.  Like, go home and take a 3-hour nap without the need for a sleeping pill exhausted.  I also felt like crying, but part of my PTSD prevents me from crying in front of anyone but my husband and daughter (it feels too vulnerable and opens me up for attack), so I just swallowed back the tears and smiled my way out of the office.  When C gets off the bus in twenty minutes and goes down for her nap, I'll probably sit down on the couch under my electric blanket, take a few deep breaths, and have a nice, cleansing cry.  It's still welling up in me, just below the surface, but I can't risk a teary meltdown before I get C off the bus, so I'll just keep pushing it down until she's in bed.

The doctor assured me that he's doing the paperwork to get my future visits approved and that I will qualify for more than 3 visits, so I'm a little less stressed about that now.  It will all get sorted out, and I *WILL* get better!  I just wonder how long it will take...

This first one was the tip of the iceberg, the very least upsetting in a fairly long list of traumas.  It took an hour to sort out.  How long will the harder ones take?  How difficult will it be to trick my brain with those?  How much longer will they have so much power over me and my every thought, move, and breath?  There are a lot of questions...  But today gave me a lot of hope.  I turned one tragedy into a meaningless, powerless memory, so who's to say I can't do that with the rest of them?

I'm feeling positive.  Like I said earlier, I feel empowered.  I can do this.

Back on Track!

Well, the holiday long weekend is officially over, C is on the bus on her way to school, and I've got an appointment with my trainer in just under two hours.  I have to clean and vacuum two rooms before C gets home (asleep) at noon so the steam cleaners can clean those rooms (a little gift from the hubby!).  I also have a paper to write and an online final to take by Wednesday.  /whew!  Life is always just a little bit hectic around here.  :)

I am eating nothing but Nutrisystem today, because I need to get back on the dieting wagon ASAP if I'm gonna look good by the time I go home for Christmas in 3 weeks!  Going home means running into old high school acquaintances at restaurants and stores and clubs, which means being sized up to see who's got the better life, the better figure, and the better clothes now.  Well, I'm going to lose the clothing competition hands-down, and those who don't know better will think my life isn't perfect because my daughter has special needs (how very wrong they are!), so I really have to fight on the superficial front and at least have the better figure!  ;)

I'm nervous because my therapist hasn't called me back since the insurance company limited my visits to 3, so I don't know yet if we can start up with my EMDR, which I desperately need.  I feel pushed aside and insignificant because he couldn't even be bothered to return my call and say, "We'll work something out."  It's been nearly two weeks, and I just haven't heard a word from him.  I'm a little angry.  I feel marginalized.  He's supposed to be on my side, supposed to be helping me limp through recovering from my PTSD, and he can't even make a phone call when I'm in crisis?  That's just not cool...  But I'm not writing him off yet.  I need his expertise and experience too much, and he may have worked some insurance magic behind the scenes that I just don't know about yet.  We'll find out about that at tomorrow's appointment.  I won't have to fret much longer.

This was a great weekend for me on Twitter.  I found a whole bunch of great new people to follow, and I have several new followers, myself.  I'm building a network of people who have experiences with special needs, particularly autism (I am LOVING the autism crowd!), parenting, and teaching.  I view these people as companions, peers, and resources...  I am learning so much about parenting a child with autism, which will help me teach children with ASD in a few years when I'm finished with school, and it helps me parent my own little girl, who doesn't have ASD but isn't NT, either.  I am meeting people whose lives are as hectic and emotionally challenging as mine is--people who GET IT.  And then, on top of it all, I'm meeting other teachers who can help give me tips as I enter the world of Special Education.  All of this is huge for me, but I appreciate the companionship most.  It's a lonely, isolating world when your child isn't typically developing, and it's that much lonelier without people on your side who have been there and know what you're experiencing.  Invaluable.

It's Cyber Monday, so I should stay off the computer as much as possible today.  I am completely out of money and can't afford to get sucked in by the online specials!  Boot Barn and Kohl's have been bombarding me with emails, and I'm more than a little tempted...!  Excessive shopping can be a symptom of a manic episode, and those often end in me spending ~$4000 I don't have, so  I have to sit back, relax, take deep breaths, and try to keep my mouse away from the Add To Cart buttons so I don't put myself in financial trouble.  Ahh, the joys of being bipolar!

Alright, time to eat some Nutrisystem breakfast and hop in the shower.  After all, it's just rude to show up at the gym smelly--you're supposed to at least start out smelling fresh!  ;)

PTSD and Parenting

For 8-1/2 years, I have been battling Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.  The thing is, I didn't know I had PTSD until a few months ago.  It has colored everything in my life for nearly a decade, causing me to make some questionable decisions, making me keep the people I love at arm's length, and creating a very high anxiety situation in my life.  I can't sleep without sleeping pills, I have to take two anxiety pills a day, and I suffer from violent night terrors that result in me beating my husband in my sleep (though, in fairness, he probably deserves it. ;) )

C is nearly 4 years.... Which means I had PTSD for years before conceiving her and for the entire time I've been her mom.  On a scale of 1-10, my standard stress level is an 8 or 9.  I am constantly clenching my jaw, my knees, my toes... SOMETHING.  I am incapable of relaxing.  So how did learning my daughter had multiple disabilities and health conditions contribute to this?  Well, it certainly didn't HELP my anxiety, that's for sure!

How do you face the world head-on, advocate for your child, and remain positive and supportive of them when you constantly feel like the world is a terrifying place full of life-threatening dangers?  How do you focus on creating learning opportunities for your child through play when you can't stop thinking that you have no way to protect yourself if and when someone breaks through the front door?

About a month ago, I started seeing a new therapist who specializes in EMDR (look it up; it's interesting and effective for PTSD).  We laid the groundwork for the therapy, creating a prioritized list of memories that are intrusive and cause great emotional disturbances, as well as a mental "safe place" (my childhood bedroom) to which I can retreat if therapy gets too difficult and I need to feel protected.  Then my insurance company sent me a letter saying they were only approving 3 visits (2 of which I had already used) to the new therapist.

I went into a panic.  I cried, I shook, and I curled up in bed for hours, unable to function.  I had finally found someone with a technique that could actually help me and change my life for the better, and now the insurance company is threatening to take that away from me??!?  It was a nightmare, and it sent me into an emotional crisis.  I went into my daughter's bedroom to sit with her for a minute, and I emerged 45 minutes later without having uttered a sound or made a single move.  I can only imagine what her little brain made of that!

Sometimes, it seems nearly impossible to take care of another human life when you feel so out of control over your own life.  When the world is just too big and too scary and too dangerous to function, how do you prepare a child--especially a child with special needs--to enter that world?  Wouldn't it be better just to lock her in her room for her entire life and spare her the pain and anguish that lurks in the world beyond the front door?

Most days, I do just fine.  I wake up, I get her ready for preschool, and I put her on the bus without any major anxiety.  I don't fret while she's at school, and I'm excited when the bus drops her off and I have my baby girl back in my arms.  I remember that play is educational and therapeutic, and I play with her.  I try to teach her new words, new ways to play, and new skills.  I am a good mother.

Then there are those days when the walls come tumbling down around me, and all I can do is sit among the rubble and mourn the evils in the world, the way in which I suffer daily, and a general sense of hopelessness that interferes with my ability to see past my daughter's challenges and makes trying to raise my expectations and overcome the obstacles nearly impossible.  I am a good mother, but I am not a perfect mother.  I am broken, and sometimes I just don't work correctly or as intended.

Parenting with PTSD and mental illness is a constant struggle.  Sure, there are pills and therapists and online support groups to help you through it... But I never feel like I'm good enough for C.  I'm not whole, so how can I be the exceptional mother her disabilities require?  At least I'm healthy enough to know I need help and to seek it out.  I don't give up on my mental health any more than I would give up on C.  On the hard days, I fight and I keep my head above water so I can be and do all the things I need to be and do.  Then there are the easy days, when I can simply enjoy the miracles in my life and the wonder that is my little girl.

I'm looking forward to getting the insurance company on my side so I can get better and have more of those easy days.

While We're Getting Situated...

I feel like I should post a brief comment about what I foresee this blog being.  I'm going to chronicle the life of a parent of a child with special needs because, well, that's what I am.  This will not, however, be a blog about how to be a parent or why you're a bad parent or what a great parent I am.  This blog will also not be an online shrine to my darling daughter.  I'll also try to keep the "icky" talk to a minimum, because, c'mon, no one wants to read about dirty diapers or vomit.  Let's get real here.

I intend to post about life as I see it, through the darkly-colored glasses of Bipolar II Disorder and Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, but also through the rose-colored glasses  of a tireless optimist who finds the beauty in life's darkest moments.  Which isn't to imply that my life is dark.  Actually, my life is pretty amazing, but I won't rub that in your face.  I'll let you decide for yourself, fair enough?

Sometimes, I will post videos or pictures of my animals being cute, because who doesn't like cute animals?  Sometimes, I will grieve the heavy burden that's been placed upon my shoulders.  Other times, I will rejoice in life's many blessings.  (Am I allowed to say blessings, or does that make me sound religious?)

When I want a new tattoo (which is virtually ALL of the time), I will post about that.  When I bleach out my hair in an insane decision to go blonde or dye my bangs turquoise because I feel like a rock star, I will post about that.  When school's got me a little bit insane, I'll be just another grad student blogging about schoolday woes.

This will inevitably have some of the markings of a mommy blog, because I'm a mom... blogging.  However, there is so much more to my life than being a mom, and I intend to let all of it find its home in this safe little nook of the internet.

I encourage comments.  Comments are good.  Tell me if I'm posting about inane, drab stuff that no one wants to read.  Tell me my hair looks awful in that last picture or that I need to pick a different color eyeshadow.  Ask me questions.  Tell me your stories.  I would love to see this as more of a community and less of a diary... So speak up!  Let me know you're out there, and let's talk about what's on YOUR mind!

For now, it's 10pm, and I'm lame, so I'm gonna go take a pill and hit the hay.  Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!  I'm celebrating with sushi, because I'm not the greatest cook in the world.  How are you spending your day off?