Sunday, November 2, 2014

Dang, I Missed It

So, because I haven't been paying much attention to my blogger account, I managed to miss when my count reached 13,000 views.

I know some people are thinking, "You've had this blog for 3 1/2 years and only just reached 13,000 views. Psh, whatev." (or perhaps you're saying this out loud. If so, please see a P-sychiatrist (Helloooooooo, Nurse) because I CAN'T HEAR YOU!!) If you think that, then stop being all judgy and stuff. 13,000 is a big deal to me. I've managed to reach a lot of people with this blog, and I hope they understand amnesia (and maybe now bipolar) a little better through my angsty/crazy/silly/giggly/serious/weird worldview.

I had someone tell me recently that I should write this stuff out for others to read because my life has been a bit crazy. I should have told them that I do write it out......for people to read......for free......because I'm awesome like that.

Enjoy the awesome.

Love Amber/Sarajane.

Monday, October 27, 2014


Okay, this is likely not going to make any sense to most people because sometimes the things that come out of my brain are nonsense to anyone but myself and a VERY select few people who get me, but here goes anyway.

I sometimes wonder if, in the face of adversity and diagnoses, medications and therapy, blogging about my life and living in it, I may be losing my me-ness.  Am I losing myself to everything that is happening to me and within me?

Even having put it here, I'm still not sure it makes sense to me. It's just that I feel like I'm dealing with a little more than I can handle, and, other than here, I'm not sure how to talk it out. It's so much harder to be honest to someone's face than it is on my wonderfully faceless blog. I know people who are close to me read it, but knowing that and seeing their expressions as they take in my craziness are two different things. One I can deal with, the other......well, not so much.

Back on topic, though. Y'see, I'm still dealing with my amnesia and all of the fallout from that, with an added twist. I still have gaps and gray areas, where I can see what happened in my life through almost a fog, most of it so out of focus I might as well not be seeing anything. However, now I am afraid of poking and prodding at those gaps and out of focus areas. I'm not sure I want to know. The last time I poked at my memory with a metaphorical stick, things turned out bad. Very, very bad, with me hurting myself in the worst way possible. Yes, that led to a diagnosis of something I was pretty sure I had, and a lot of revelations of what that means to my life, my universe, and my everything (42, people.) It also lead to revelations of bad things that had already happened to me, ways I'd been hurt and had caused hurt to others, people I know and don't know, that I'm having trouble forgiving myself for. The ripples in the pond that is my life from poking and prodding where I should have left well enough alone may never calm, especially if I keep it up. I don't like having amnesia and I'm not good at leaving well enough alone, but I don't like the intense pain associated with the truth that is my life.

Those ripples in the pond have lead to a new thing to deal with: a secondary persona. Whether she is always there, barely resting beneath the surface of me or was only a temporary/necessary thing I may never know. Once again, as with the fugue, I am faced with something huge in my life I may never know the answer for. I am less content to sit back and accept this than I was with the fugue because remembering a fugue is fairly unique (Possibly completely so. I know I've never heard of regaining ones memory of such a time before, but what do I know. I'm no P-sychiatrist (Hell-oooooooo, Nurse!) and can only go off the number of times I would never remember. Period.) I am less content simply because so many were wrong before, and my brain has this amazing ability to surprise me so very often. It's terrifying and mystifying and wondrous all at once that there is this new puzzle to solve.

Now I'm dealing with bipolar disorder. Sometimes I can joke and laugh at it. Sometimes I can revel in finally understanding why I am the way I am. Most of the time, though, I give in to the fear of the stigma of it, and worry that everything that could be taken as a symptom of it being worse than we first assumed actually is a confirmation of just that. I worry that my meds aren't strong enough, or are too strong. I worry that I'm not strong enough to overcome this. I worry that my relationships aren't strong enough to handle this, or if it gets worse that they will truly fall apart. I worry that I cling too much and simultaneously that I push people away too much. I have trouble with that little thing called a "middle ground" where things are good and balanced.

Just now I re-read what I'd written and now I worry that I worry too much. :-P  AARRRGGGGHHHHH!!

Sunday, October 26, 2014


I wish sometimes (like tonight) that someone had all the answers for all of me and just tell me what's what and why. I hate it when I don't make sense to myself like right now.  The things that happen to me because of my messed up brain are startling or horrible or slightly stupid or sometimes all of the above. I want to know why.

I want to know why sometimes funny is easy, and sometimes even just a smile is a struggle, let alone goofy silly (which is so much better than serious, it's shocking or maybe a bit alarming if you're in an especially serious mood.)

I want to know why I can't cry even when I desperately need to. People think tearing up is crying, but letting a tear fall seldom happens, and sometime I cry dry sobs and hurt my throat and make me want to scream to the world that something is wrong. Just because I can't get myself to cry so the world can see my red eyes and tear streaks doesn't mean I'm good.

I want to know why sometimes, when people really annoy me, I get unreasonably angry with them and yell, or unreasonably irritated and gripe about or snipe at them. It hurts people's feelings and I want to stop (wellllll......most of the time I want to stop. Some people live their lives to annoy others and I don't feel bad for the way I treat them in return. If you give me a reason to treat you with disrespect don't be a jerk when I do it. If you're a bully, don't try to turn it back on me and act like everything you do is my fault, and tell me to stop being so sensitive, because I will turn it all back on you and not in a nice way. KL, this is for you.)

I know, I know. "Because Bipolar" I said it myself previously, but why. What exactly happens in bipolar disorder that makes people act the way they do. My logical side is currently in overdrive and I'm dying to know AND understand all the stuff I already know. Plus, eventually I'm going to have to accept that I will likely never understand it all, since the way a person reacts to being bipolar is, from what I understand, highly affected by life experience and mine is unique to me, just like your's is unique to you.  We're all kinda stuck that way.

But, I still wanna know why. Why everything.....just EVERYTHING? (I don't say this sarcastically. I say this with a despair in me that causes me to pull my knees to my chest and rock back and forth. I'm a little antsy right now.)

Okay......maybe not EVERYTHING, but close enough. (Say that in my voice, but very whiny. I'll wait....................Theeeeere ya go!)

Thursday, October 23, 2014

Be Goofy, Because Serious is Not Good

So, yes I am trying to post more again. We all know how consistent I am with this, but I think the point is I am trying.

Today I've been looking at goofy images about bipolar disorder on the internet. If you know me, you know why. If you don't know me, you MAY be asking why (because you're nosy like that, I can tell.) Well, I'm gonna tell y'all anyway, so buckle in and deal, or shut your browser so you don't have to read my ramblings again. Either way, I'm good.

Just like with the amnesia, I needed to understand at first what it meant. That meant asking as many questions as my brain can come up with and research, research, research. That's the time for serious and angst and trying to wrap my head around something so big you can't really grasp it fully no matter how hard you try.

Now again, just like with the amnesia, I need to laugh and joke and find others with the same problems, but different because we are all human and like snowflakes, no two humans are exactly the same. The laughter is going well, and in the process the revelations keep coming. I'll look at a goofy picture and realize, "Oh my God!!! So I'm like that because Bipolar?"

Yup, it's become my new "because....." statement. When I'm talking 50 miles per hour and my brain is very distractible: because bipolar. When my mood is up for a day or two, then down in the major dumps (No, I'm not a rapid cycler, thank God!): because bipolar. When I'm screaming on the inside and "fine" on the outside: because bipolar. When I can't sleep because my brain won't shut up: because bipolar. When I see lights and movement out of the corner of my eye, but nothing is there (I didn't realize until recently that hallucinations that small and harmless were just as much bipolar as the big grandiose ones): because bipolar. When I impulse spend, big or small: because bipolar. When I'm super creative, writing like a genius (I wish), and can't stop moving/wiggling/wriggling: because bipolar.

Anyone else see how much it explains about me. It also, in a way, explains my fugue. People with a mental illness like bipolar disorder are more prone to episodes like that. It doesn't "explain" the amnesia, but it makes it easier to accept as just another part of my "crazy."

Just so y'all know, the amnesia will never not be a thing. I will always be an amnesiac because I will never know that I "remember it all." I will always wonder what I'm still missing. I wake up with that question every day and go to bed with that question every morning (night owl, work late shift, deal with it) and I'm just learning to live with the fact that the question will never go away. I still get the occassional surprise when someone says "Do you remember...." and I don't. It's a slight shock to the system, and not at all pleasant. I have to learn to deal with it.

Just like every other issue I've had, I also don't want to be ashamed. There's so much stupid stigma attached to bipolar. People think bipolar is all bipolar I, but we aren't all full of grandiose ideas and super manic episodes. Some of us are a little more mellow than that. It's called bipolar II. Look it up, people. Google is my friend, it can be yours too. I promise it won't bite.

And now, a gift for all of you:

Wednesday, October 22, 2014



I get it.

Crisis averted.

Because really, I've heard enough horror stories about people with Bipolar Disorder not taking their meds to last me a lifetime. No, two lifetimes. At least.

I will not stop taking my meds.

I don't think the point was ever that I would stop taking my meds, the point was the worry that the temptation was even there in the first place, and that bothered me big time.

Really the kicker for me was my therapist pointing out that it's all about trust. Do I trust myself? Ummmmm.......for those that can't read obvious-ese, the answer is a big resounding "NO."

I have major trust issues. If you know me, this is not a shocking thing. If you don't know me, well I don't trust people I don't know, and if you met me you'd figure it out eventually. Sure, I sound like I love people in general. I share just enough to make people THINK I trust them and will give them all honest information about myself if they want, but that's the people pleaser side to my personality. I do try to keep everyone happy all the time (you can just imagine how well that works, and how much damage it can do to my ego when IT FREAKIN' NEVER WORKS!!)

Ahem.....back to the topic at hand - Trust. Yes, capitalized in bold italicized letters. It's a big deal. Why, you may ask (if you're into talking to your computer screen and asking questions to a person who's not there. To each their own, my friend,) do I write a blog and share so much of myself in it. My answer is (because I assume anyone reading this must be a crazy as myself,) because here I am rather anonymous. Sure my friends know who I am, but we don't really discuss what I write here. I get comments and likes on Facebook, and shares on Twitter, but that still leaves me faceless to the masses.

Basically, for those that can't read Amber-ese (it's a hard language to learn, don't give up.) I have a false sense of "safe" writing things out to people I don't really know and, even knowing it's false, I'm good with that.

My trust issues started when I was young. It's one of those memories I wish I'd never gotten back. It may have a very empowering ending, but the beginning makes me cry. I hate crying. I don't even cry when I'm alone, unless the situation is really bad.  I completely refuse to actually cry in front of other people. It's embarrassing. Your nose gets all snotty and your eyes get all red and your face gets all blotchy.

Oh yeah, I'm talking about trust here, not crying. I forgot to take one of my pills this morning and my distractability is showing big time. It's the pill that slows down my 500 mph brain to a steady 75 mph. Without it, I'm basically ADD. Work is gonna suck tonight.

Geesh, back to trust. So when you're 8 and your best friend/cousin breaks your trust in the worst way someone could and the big people in your lives don't miraculously know what is going on and stop it and you are told no one will believe you by this person who broke your trust who is older and (obviously) would know because older = wiser, it's hard not to start the long spiral into a mistrusting soul. When the hurt goes on for years and years, and you scream as loud as you can on the inside, (but only on the inside because when you are still told every time you get hurt that no one will believe you or he will hurt you or he will hurt people you love even though they aren't protecting you from the big bad, out loud just doesn't happen) but no one hears your silent pleas for help, the little bit of trust you have left disappears a little at each family get together, each just because gathering. You also, through all of this, learn that crying is a bad idea, because crying leads to harsh pinches and painful hair pulling that makes you cry even harder than before when someone brushes your hair because you're afraid of the pain. Yeah, this whole period in my life pretty well screwed me up.

But, then 15 came. Then The Slap happened. (Bold and underlined because this is the empowering part.) Then you realize that the person hurting you is a coward, and once you confront them they will forever leave you alone. Bullies are like that. They will only bully someone they can keep weak, and, rather suddenly, you are no longer weak. You realize this, and you feel powerful, but unfortunately nothing can seem to break the old habits, and no one can really rebuild trust that broken.

Not stopping it for years, when it turns out it was that easy, made trust in self pretty much non existent. My own judgement is always in question. My ability to make the right decision (especially when I've managed to make so many wrong ones in my adult life) is constantly doubted. And so I worry.

Welcome to my crazy.

Monday, October 20, 2014

Fake Control and Contradictions

I'm afraid of myself.

When I say that, I'm pretty sure most people think that means because I tried to kill myself, or because I became someone else for all intents and purposes for 3 weeks several years ago. The thing is, not so much. Those are big things, but big things are easier to control and categorize in my head. What I'm afraid of is so much more, so much deeper, than those things. What I'm afraid of is truly me.

I'm a bag of contradiction. I'm afraid of my feelings and thankful for medication that helps me to control them, but I'm afraid of the fact that they are still there. They sit beneath the surface, waiting for the moment to emerge when my medication is weakest in my system or I'm just not trying as hard as I should. Then they rear up like a monster in a creature feature, taking over the silver screen that is my head, and I have no control.

It's then I remember how hard I had to work to keep those emotions in check. Keep them hidden inside where people didn't see them. I was screaming so loud in my head begging people to see the truth, but still afraid of what they would then think of me, how weak I am, how unable to just be human.

Then I realize that I'm losing that control, and I'm afraid of not taking my meds. I'm afraid of the me that is lurking beneath the surface of calm that is medically induced, because the exterior calm, the facade of control is slipping from my grasp, my actual control. If I don't take them I will lose the respect of those around me, because everyone who was surprised by my recent diagnosis of bipolar just never saw the me beneath the smile, and I'm not sure I will ever be that person again.

That's when I realize I'm afraid of continuing to take my meds. Two reasons for this. One is....because I am losing my control and meds should be a stopgap, not an end all be all to the issues I have in my head. Two is because, sometimes it physically hurts to have the feelings echoing beneath the surface and not feel them. I miss the highs. I miss the feeling of the smiles being real because they came from that place deep in my soul that knew I was invincible and nothing could really hurt me. I even miss the lows that were so all consuming that everything was dark around me. There was no hope and the smiles had to come from an even deeper place because they had to be physically pulled out for the sake of the world around me. I just don't feel things that way on my medication. Just the echo of what was.

So, I don't want to feel, but I do want to feel.

I don't want to lose control, but I do want to lose control.

I don't want to lose MY control, but I'm glad to have something that makes it okay to lose.

My logical side and my emotional side are having a daily argument, and I'm still waiting to see who will win out. Of course, since they are both full of contradictory arguments themselves, I don't really know what one winning over the other will mean.

Meds Are Hard

Have you ever worn headphones just for the sake of wearing headphones? No music. No sound ringing through them into your head. Just to muffle the world. Make it seem far away, less real, less overwhelming. I have.

Have you ever put on a blindfold to block out the light? Not because your trying to sleep or have a headache, but just because the world is too much to see.  Too much to take in a process. Too stimulating to feel okay. I have.

Have you ever taken a hot bath for the purpose of shutting off the stimuli of the air around you? Just to envelope your body in warm nothingness and stop thinking. Using it not as a chance to breath and relax, but as a chance to slough off the sensation of feeling everything just that too much. I have.

Sometimes, the world is overwhelming. I remember everything just a little too brightly. I remember taste, touch, sight, scent, and sound to the point where I want to scream and laugh and cry, but my wonderful mood stabilizers won't let me do that any more. Not that I did it before, but at least I did it on the inside. Now the feeling is there, but buried so deep in my soul that I get only the echo. That echo is more overwhelming than the feelings ever were. So I have to shut it all out. I can't make my memories go away, but they are far less overwhelming when I don't have brand new outside stimuli breaking me into a million more pieces than the past.

Sometimes it's harder to take the meds and be normal, than to leave off them and feel again. Be normal for me rather than normal for the world.

I will do the right thing, rather than the "right thing for me", but urgle gurgle is it a hard decision to make when it's time to take my medicine and I know I can make me feel like "me" again.

Wednesday, October 15, 2014

To Honesty

On my drive home last night, I was considering honesty. Recently I was lied to about something that majorly influences my job and, consequently, my life. This really upset me, and I ended up in a royal snit the last couple of nights. Sometimes life just affects people that way, I suppose. Especially if you let other people's honesty be that important to you.

Then I started thinking about all the times I lied. Lies of omission, lies of "kindness", lies of the most malicious and purposeful intent, unintentional lies, broken promises......the list goes on and on.

I find myself now wondering, when is it necessary to lie and how much honesty is too much honesty. Do I over share here on my blog, where it is easiest for me to be honest, and I hope it will help others? Do I not share enough to really make a difference or allow people a peek into my crazy mind? I know there are a lot of things I have yet to share, if I ever choose to. I assume you are all aware of that also. Does this bother those that follow me and read my blog? How much or little of myself do I need to provide to others for it to be enough, or too much?

Do I really care?

A large part of me writes this blog for me. I don't like talking about my feelings and deep thoughts, but they are there and this gives me a way to share. Whether or not anyone ever reads this again, it's a public journal of sorts. It makes me feel better that I put things I keep mostly bottled up out in the open where someone could stumble across it, and maybe understand a piece of me just a little bit.

But, am I putting too much out there? Am I opening myself up to being hurt beyond what I can handle, or can I truly not care, keep sharing, and assume the help outweighs the hurt?

I suppose I won't get any answers. All I can do is try to keep sharing bits of me with the knowledge that consequences of being honest will be forthcoming, because we live in a world where lies are acceptable and truth is punishable by hateful words, hurtful actions, ridicule and scorn.

Sunday, October 12, 2014

Nothing to Fear

As we all know, the saying goes "The only thing we have to fear is fear itself." However, I am living with a fear that is no less real because one US president decided that fear was harder to live with than the thing that we are afraid of. I actually agree with Sir Francis Bacon when he said "Nothing is terrible except fear itself."

So, what does a person do when what he/she fears is him/herself? How do you live with something like that? How do you function on a day to day basis? I am a ridiculously logical person 90% of the time. I need my logic to create a smooth outer finish for everyone to see, I need it to chase the chaos away, and I need it to keep the fear at bay. Now, I don't have anything to keep it at bay because logic is part of the fear.

Recently, I discovered that logic is not always a safe haven. Instead of logic saving me, logic nearly killed me. It didn't persuade me that hurting myself would hurt others. Instead, all it gave me was reasons why everyone would be okay without me. So, now I fear emotions and logic. What does that leave me? I have nowhere to turn to make sense of my life, except to others around me, and I have forgotten how to do that.

This is leading to some uncomfortable realizations about myself:
  1. I can't really handle emotions. I never learned how to as a child, and it's really hard to learn as an adult when you're in the habit of running from emotions or pushing them away from you. My therapist thinks we can work on my gut reactions to things, maybe we can work on this too.
  2. I have spent the last decade of my life pushing people away. I thought this was because I had to be strong and take care of myself. The truth of the matter is that I needed everyone to stay away because people generated real emotions, rather than the easily controlled fake emotions I conjured up to avoid curious looks from strangers, all pleasant of course. People want(ed) me to talk about myself, and that's horrifying to me. Unfortunately, now that I need people to replace my cold logic that was occasionally overcome with overwhelming emotions, this is definitely a problem. I feel so uncomfortable talking about myself that when I go to see a friend for that specific purpose I shy away and ask him to talk about himself. I'm so NOT OKAY with my own emotions that I feel freaked out after talking about myself to someone I PAY TO LISTEN TO LISTEN TO ME TALK ABOUT MYSELF.
  3. Due to pushing people away, I feel even more uncomfortable asking for help on something as intimate as sharing parts of myself I chose to pretend barely existed until 2 weeks ago. How dare I ask for help when I haven't been there for anyone for nearly 2 decades (I've only been pushing people away for the last half of that. You can deduce on your own what happened the previous half.) 
  4. No one in my life really needs me. They love me, yes. They want me around and to be able to call me up any time the desire arises, absolutely. They don't want me dead, HECK YEAH! But they don't really need me. I have not wanted anyone to need me, and effectively prevented that from becoming a thing with my friends and family, even my own children. I felt safer that way, right up until I wasn't safer, I was devastated. That's the reason it was so easy to believe it didn't matter if I lived or died. I wasn't NEEDED.
  5. I talk to no one. I feel just downright weird talking to people as much as I have the last couple of weeks. People want me to express how I am, but I don't know how to say anything other than my standard of "I'm fine." and really struggle with expressing things that I just recently let myself admit existed. If you are one of those asking, please be patient with me. Writing is easy, person to person interaction is just plain impossible most days. At least I'm trying now. You may think I sound easy going and fine, but trust me I'm usually not and I have to really work on that honesty thing. 
  6. It's probably better for me if I try for the sake of those that love me right now. I know you all think that's backwards, that I should want to do this for me, but it's so much easier to believe the bad stuff I've heard my whole life that I really don't like myself. So, trying for my own sake makes me feel hopeless and full of bad urges. When I think about the fact that others love me and I have a mission to be needed again, that is easIER. It's never easy. Even my good days are bad days.
  7. It is going to take me years to get through all the memories of my life. I feel like I've relived my entire life in the last 3 1/2 years and don't know how to file most of it away in my brain, so it's all scattered about on the floor and crammed into closets. Everything is clutter. The worst of it is the memories of the fugue. They fill my mind with so many confusing and terrifying images, I mostly really can't cope. I hope my therapist is prepared for a long haul with me.
  8. I am very, VERY afraid of myself. Mostly because, I heard all the others in the hospital say over and over "I will never do that again. I was so miserable after hurting myself I have no desire to even try again." But, I know I still could and frankly still would if I let myself spiral to where I was before. I have to tread lightly and stay open to everyone.
So you see, I don't have nothing to fear but the fear I live with, because I can't get away from what I fear the most. I live with it, breath in and out with it, I keep it in motion and it never shuts off. I am afraid of my own mind and how easily it will betray the vessel that it lives in because it's overwhelmed and doesn't want to try to live. I am afraid of myself, and I can't be ashamed any more about that. I just need to keep trying. For you!

Don't Pick

Written 8/24/14, the day I started to feel myself spiraling out of control, the day my world really felt like it was falling apart around me and there was absolutely nothing I could do to stop it. I'm going through my unpublished posts backwards and choosing a few to let you all know where I really was/am rather than lying about what is/was happening to me. I say I don't want to hide or lie, but that's exactly what I've been doing.

You'd think I'd have learned a long time ago not to pick at my wounds. They will heal naturally. In the meantime, leaves the scabs alone. God will move things along in His time.

Well, if this is His timing, I have news for Him. I can't deal with this.

So, am I okay? No. I honestly may never be okay again.

Why? Mostly, because I remember. I remember it all. And I want it to go away again. Now that I know why it was gone, I don't know how to do this.

For the first time in my life, I have run up against a wall. This is something I just can't get through. I'm not saying I can't get through this without help. I honestly don't see how to get through this AT ALL.

I remember what happened that started this. At the time, that would have destroyed me. Now, though, what is destroying me is her. The switch was flipped and she came out. All she cared about was survival. My survival. Nothing else mattered. She's the part of me that always seemed to be missing. The part of me that should naturally want to protect myself. She was stuffed into a box, collecting dust, becoming stronger and stronger until she had no choice but to take over. However, the things she did in the name of keeping me alive, the things she justified to herself, the excuses she made for not just going to my parents/sister/brother/aunt/anyone who cared.....none of it is okay. The things she did are what are destroying me.....and trying to wrap my head around the fact that she is me, but not me.

I would never do what she did. I would never allow myself to become that. She is cynical, suspicious, terrified and mistrusting of all people, and so very angry. Then I realized that all the parts of me that are so strong lately, but I don't really recognize from before, those are parts of her. She left them behind on purpose. Not to hurt, to protect, but it hurts anyway.

There's a line in a song that really speaks to me about this situation, Breathe No More by Evanescence. It says "I know the difference between myself and my reflection" but now I wonder if there is a difference. Are we one and the same. Is she a reflection of who I could be? Is she even a reflection, or is she just me.

I remember that night. He was at the gas station, I dropped my receipt and he stopped me by grabbing my shoulder with his hand. Then he followed me, but I didn't know that at the time. I stopped in the parking lot at Meijer by the bank to figure out my balance and decide if I could withdraw anything. He knocked on my window, I recognized him, rolled it down a bit to ask if there was anything else I'd forgotten, but then he opened the door, you can fill in the blanks from there, I'm sure. Except, something clicked in my brain. It's a light switch was flipped and suddenly I was watching as a silent observer and she was punching him in the nose. Hopped back in the car, locked the door, he ran off, she got cash, and just kept saying "Mom and Dad. Have to get to Mom and Dad." She know they would make me feel safe. It changed after a bit, though. They were never there when I was young and it was someone else hurting me, only she was. Keeping me alive, not letting me cut too deep, she was always whispering to be careful when I cut, don't take those pills, don't jump, she was the one that kept me alive and that's what she was going to do this time too.

And, that's what she did at all costs. Got people to trust her with the pretty young thing routine then dumped them when they were no longer useful, she (I?) willing to do whatever they wanted to do in order to get what she, a roof over her head, food, anything.

It all came crashing down in Joliet, though. The money ran out, no more people to trick into trusting her and the one that brought her there unreachable all of the sudden. Time to flip the switch, but just right so I don't remember what happened. Keeping me alive because that's her only job in life. The only problem was, I lost everything. But, I was still alive. Now I wish I wasn't, but I recognize that she's there, still whispering, still telling me that if I cut, don't cut too deep. If I take pills, only take enough to make the pain better, not die. If I drink, don't drink stupid. Who cares about the pain, as long as that pain tells her I'm alive that's fine with her. Alive is all that matters. Sane, well that would be a nice bonus, but apparently not necessary!!

Now to just figure out, are we a we, or is it just me?

The Reflection

Written on 9/1/14, it has taken me this long to share, but I think now is as good a time as any. I feel there are some things going on with me that I need to not be ashamed to share and this was early in a not as long as it felt process of a horrid spiral that I almost didn't survive. I want to not be ashamed of my mental illness(es?) because I want others not to be ashamed. We need to be okay with who we are in order to get the help we need.

Most people who've been through traumatic experiences talk of being afraid of the dark. They are afraid of the images their minds will conjure up when their eyes can't fill their minds with the reality of the here and now. I, on the other hand, and terrified by the light. I want to just lay in the dark and avoid looking in the mirror ever again.

Who do I see when I look there? Do I see me? Do I see her? Are we one and the same, or are we truly separate people? Maybe all I'm seeing is a reflection of a side of me I hate to admit even exists. The person inside of me that feels everything deeply. A person of no in between. A person that feels extremely sad OR angry OR happy OR frustrated. Even worse, it's like there is another person that feels everything all at once. Worst of all, there is no one who is normal, feeling only to capacity. Not so overflowing with emotion(s) that she can't function, or so lacking in emotion she is completely numb and terrifies herself.

I'm also not afraid of sleep. I want to just sleep and sleep forever and do nothing else. When I fall asleep with music blaring to drown out the noise that creeps into my mind in my dreams, or fall asleep to a show that makes me feel I could be protected, I'm at peace. But, sleep is harder than you would imagine. I lay in my bed wide awake for days. Then a day comes when I can't stay awake any longer. Those are the good days. I sleep for 12+ hours and wake up feeling nothing new, and am able to function a little better. Then the cycle starts all over again. 

Sometimes, when I've been awake for days, I feel like my control is slipping. I feel emotions. I'm her. The one who feels one thing at a time with her whole being. I get angry, and am just ANGRY. I feel sad, and am just SAD. Happiness doesn't seem to be common with her. Not that it never happens, but it's not good happiness. It's joy over someone else's pain. Another reason to not believe she is me. I don't think that way. I am not a perfect person, but I don't live for the pain of others. I don't want to make the people around me miserable to make myself feel better. 

Again, I sit here wondering how to survive this. Not knowing was better. I can't live with the knowing. I can't live with the pain of the lifetime of emotions bubbling below the surface, harder every day to hide. It is impossible to get through a day without losing my control just a little bit. The cutting is more frequent and the cuts are deeper. More and more they are because of lack of numbness rather than the other way around. 

I can't deal with this much longer.

Tuesday, September 2, 2014

Examine the Past or Ignore the Pain?

There are days when I have to force myself to look at my past. I have to look at the memories, like picking up a very fragile item at a specialty store. Carefully turning it from side to side, trying to view it from all angles, and not drop it in the process. I can't let anything shatter. The pieces would be so sharp they would slice me into tiny bits that can't be put back together. As it is, in the tightly bound, fragile bundle the memories feel like they are in my head, they still hurt me. They hurt too much to examine too closely. I don't hold those moments close to the eyes for every intimate detail to be viewed. Instead, I look at it from all angles, holding it away from myself, as if fearful it will explode while in my hand, injuring me beyond repair.

I wonder which is less healthy, being so afraid of the past that you don't want to examine it too close, tamping those memories deep into the recesses of your mind so you never have to deal with the majority of the most painful ones, or not remembering at all? At least when I didn't remember some of this stuff, I didn't have to be afraid of where my mind chose to take me when I fall asleep without distraction. Now, all the things that I push into the darkest most cobwebey (take note, Webster. That's totally a word. Stop trying to correct my bad English) corner of my mind are pulled out when my subconscious takes over. Faces, mistakes, hurts, and.....just so much more take over my mind and hijack my dreams.

The biggest problem with remembering, and still refusing to "remember" is I have to achieve a numbness to function. That's one of those not good things. Sure, it serves a purpose. It keeps me going. I get up, shower, get dressed, drink coffee, go to work, sometimes remember that putting food in my mouth is a good thing and actually proceed to do so, sometimes react in the emotional manner that people expect from a "normal" I said, I function. My lack of emotional response scares me as much as losing control of myself, like what happened last weekend. What if losing control means I hurt myself?

Since I don't have any answers to any of the questions in this blog, is this a completely useless thing to write? I'm obviously not actually dealing with any of these problems. I just continue to float from day to day, every once in a while I fall asleep and stay that way.  Every once in a while I manage to seem almost normal, even if the emotions aren't there. Sometimes my dog makes me giggle and actually mean it, because she's adorable and doesn't understand why mom is upset. Sometimes I take out one of those fragile, painful memories and look it over. I even let myself open a small crack in the dam (I have a name for it. I call it "control." It's my friend. Don't mock it, just roll with it. We all know I'm crazy anyway.) I'll cry a little, just enough to relieve a little of the stress on the storage room doors, close up the crack and move on.

One of these days, I won't be able to close up the crack. I'll drop the memory, it will shatter, and my world will fall apart. Until that day, here's hoping I can find someone to help me deal. Oh joy! I get to go to a P-sychiatrist!

Saturday, August 30, 2014

A Walk in the Rain

I went walking in the rain. It felt good to let it wash away the numbness and even a little bit of the pain that was hiding away underneath. The rain felt cold and clean. I just wanted it to make me feel new, but it didn't. No matter how much the rain washes over me and chases away the demons, there will be plenty more demons following behind to trample on any peace I may have managed to obtain.

I went walking in the rain in the cemetery. All I could think was "Lucky bastards". They don't care about their past any more, they don't have people worrying about their present, and their future is secure. At the same time I hurt to be alive, it helped to be somewhere quiet. Nobody to pretend that I'm normal for. No one to judge me when I don't react the way they want or expect. No questioning of how I really feel, how I really am. Just silent gravestones, standing vigil as I came back to myself again.

The walk cleared my head of the fog that gets me through my weeks at work. The fog that keeps me from breaking down and having to call in because I can't function. The fog that sometimes makes the laughter come out a bit loud and maniacal sounding because I misjudge what is acceptable and normal. The fog that makes me remember just a second too late to smile at cuteness and seem sad when a tragedy occurs, which causes the looks from strangers and friends alike. Looks of surprise then doubt that they saw what was actually lurking behind my eyes, they truth they saw for merely a moment. The fog that makes people believe that the truth is the lie and the lie, which is so much more commonly seen, is the truth.

The only way to function is to push the emotions so far away from me that I can barely feel the pressure of them in a box in the corner of my mind, but I'm so practiced at it that sometimes I do it without thinking. The numbness gets to me after a while. I desperately need an outlet, something to help me remember what feelings really are. Or maybe, what they would be if they were physically manifested. So, I clench my fist hard enough for my nails to draw blood, I press my leg hard enough against the corner of my desk to cause a bruise, I cut myself "while shaving" just deep enough for it to sting, etc., etc.

On the weekends I try sometimes to let my guard down. I try to just be me, instead of being normal. It hurts, though, to let go of the control, to feel all of that hurt I've suppressed all week. I can't do it much around other people, my mind won't let me, and if I'm not careful I let my guard down too much when I'm by myself. Once it's down, it takes time to build it back up again, because everything is too much for one person to contain or understand. . One person cannot hold that many emotions inside themselves. That's when I hurt myself for the other reason, to try to get it all out of my head. There's so much it buzzes in my brain and keeps me awake. When I DO manage to sleep, I sleep forever.....or at least it feels that way.

Music helps/hurts in so many ways. It helps me feel a little during the week, and it helps me express the feelings when I let myself go.  It hurts because sometimes it expresses it too well and I don't want to feel those things, I don't want to understand my thoughts, I don't want to go on with this, I don't want this to be normal for me. I don't want this any more at all.

Last weekend, my guard was brought down unexpectedly and violently, and I didn't think I would survive it. It wasn't a contemplation of suicide, just a realization that, even when I let myself feel, I don't ever let myself feel it all. Unless my control is taken away from me completely, I will forever continue to avoid a pain like that again. Except that, I can't actually avoid something that lives inside me. It's the serpent coiled up in the back of my mind, waiting to strike at every chance it gets, and although I stop it from poisoning me in one fell swoop, I can't help but to wonder if it's poison is killing me little by little in the doses I can't avoid.

So, maybe if it rains again later, I'll go for another walk in the rain in the cemetery. Maybe it will make me feel a little better for a little while. Or maybe I'm just crazy.

Friday, July 4, 2014

Things Once Stolen, Things I'm Taking Back

At age 8, someone stole my self-confidence. He stole my innocence and trust in others, but the worst thing he took was my faith in myself.

At age 18-27, someone stole my sense of self worth. Peeled back painfully layer by layer over the years until I felt like I had nothing left.

At age 32, amnesia took everything else away. My sense of self and what little confidence and self worth I had been able to build back up.

When I lost my memories, I thought things would never be the same. I heard stories about what was taken from me and how, but they weren't my reality anymore. However, the amnesia left me with a whole new set of doubts and worries to contend with. Plus, now I had to deal with all the people spreading lies about me, and how can I refute what I don't know. Now I had to deal with people saying I was only doing this for attention (that I knew was not true, but since refuting those claims only drew more attention, it left me in quite the catch-22.) Now I had to deal with people saying I left for this horrible reason or that horrible reason, again not something I can say is true or untrue as I just don't know.

Then my memories started coming back. Everything that had been taken from me over the years was taken from me again, only now it was reinforced by the cruel words of strangers and painful fears the fugue and amnesia had left me with. Everything I ever was that would have made me a better person, everything I ever had that would have made me strong, everything I ever could have needed to fight against the meanness of small minded people was stolen from me.

Now I'm taking it all back, literally one step at a time.

I am claiming myself for myself. I run not to run away from life, but to run towards a goal of becoming someone I was never allowed the opportunity to be.

I run for me, while I run for a cause, and I am a better person for it. Donate at the link below to help me follow my dream of running a half marathon and friend me on RunKeeper (link below that) to track my progress towards the 13 mile run. Give me a chance to be me again.

Tuesday, June 10, 2014

Overcoming All

I saw the above quote this morning while attempting to find inspiration to handle my current challenge in life with aplomb. I have to admit, I haven't been big with the graceful handling of life lately. I get angry because I feel like everything is a personal attack on my life and my character instead of seeing it as an opportunity to grow, handle the moment with calm dignity, and remember that I have a choice how I view it and deal with it.

Whenever something big has gone down in my life, I've been asked "How do you get through it? How are you handling this so well?" I never understand that question, because, well, how else am I supposed to handle it? However, when the little stuff hits, watch out world. I'm going to handle it like a two year-old. Throw a fit, cry, rage, wish it would go away, despair that it will ever get better, and basically hope someone else would handle all of life's challenges for me. It's almost as if the big things are easier to handle because the answers are so much more obvious. It's not like curling up into a little ball and just letting the world go on around me was ever an option for me. I'm WAY too stubborn for that. When little challenges hit, there are so many possibilities of how to handle it, and none of them really within my grasp 99% of the time, that I feel like my head is spinning. I feel like it will spin right off the screw that keeps it on my shoulders and roll away, just like in that Shel Silverstein poem.

"Mama said I'd lose my head
If it wasn't fastened on.
Today I guess it wasn't
Cause while playing with my cousin
It fell off and rolled away
And now it's gone.

And I can't look for it
Cause my eyes are in it,
And I can't call to it
Cause my mouth is on it
(couldn't hear me anyway
Cause my ears are on it),
Can't even think about it
Cause my brain is in it.
So I guess I'll sit down
On this rock
And rest for just a minute..."

So, someday, when you see me sitting on my head at the park, know it's because I finally lost my head. I forgot in all of life's everyday little challenges that I have a choice how to handle the situation. Just stand me up, put my head back where it belongs, and show me this blog. Remind me that it's okay to lose it for a minute or two, it's okay to cry and get upset, it's okay to not know what to do, but it's never okay to give up and just stop trying to figure it out. Partly because I'm a grown up and that's the way things are, partly because the world won't stop spinning just because I wish it would, but mostly because I'm better than that and far too stubborn to forgive myself if I were to one day just sit on a "rock" and stop trying to take care of myself.

Sunday, June 8, 2014

Can I Skip Sleep, and Just Do it All?

It's hard to be at a point in your life where you know you are capable of taking care of something, but you don't have the tools to take care of it. It feels like I've been there in one way or another for the last several years.  I know there are things I can take care of at work if I only had the time. I know I can make my own garb for Ren Fest if I only had the material. I know I could fix my car if I only had the place. I know I can defeat the depression and anxiety with the right counseling if I only had the money for a counselor. I know I could remember my life if I only had access to the people who know about those times my family and closest friends aren't as familiar with. I know I could do everything I ever wanted to do if only I didn't have to waste 6 hours a day sleeping.

It's all pretty crazy.

Wednesday, June 4, 2014

There is More....I Just Don't Remember it Yet

Over the last few years, I've concentrated a lot on getting to know who I am. I started out getting to know who I was, then I moved on to understanding why I was that person, and most recently I've concentrated on who I've become/want to be. All of this was wonderful, until I came home from work last night and decided to go through some boxes in my closet.

It would make sense to thing that there are no more boxes, journals, pictures, or anything of the kind left that I haven't already gone through or thoroughly examined to understand everything about my life before amnesia. That would also be a wrong assumption. I know it's been three years, but some things I just brushed over and some things I unintentionally ignored. After going through stuff last night, I realize how much is still missing. These are things that can't be filled in my my brain when mine isn't working, my most amazing of best friends, Runt. These are things no one currently in my life really knows about me. These are the things that made me realize how much of me is still missing.

Lately, I've been on this kick about wanting to learn as much about the world I live in and the country I reside in as possible. The library is my best friend in this endeavor. As strange of a mood as I was in when I wrote my last post, what I said there is true. I do wish I had the means and time to travel and connect on some level to the world outside of books.

The above paragraphs seem very disconnected until you consider the following.....I've been places that are just vague shadowy memories or only "memories" in the sense that someone else filled in the gap, my history tells me I lived somewhere, or I read a journal entry about it. If I could reconnect to those places, what are the possibilities of filling in those gaps, or making those shadows real? If I connected to the world around me, how much of what I learned growing up and into adulthood would I regain?

People don't usually realize, I didn't just lose my history, I lost almost everything. I struggled with reading and writing at first (not like a child learning for the first time, more like someone struggling to remember how to do something they hadn't done in a long time.) I had to re-read history books and watch things on the history channel to remember history lessons from my childhood. I had to relearn different maths and sciences. I even had to/still have to relearn pop culture. People will make references to something I haven't re-watched and I have no idea what they're talking about, but they just expect that I do.

I desperately crave and need opportunities to connect on a level to the world that will likely never be presented to me. I have to create these opportunities for myself. I had a thought that made me laugh, because I always assume any idea I have will fail, and made me wonder, because it would be awesome (for me anyway.) What if I pitched An Amnesiac's Journey as a documentary series to The Discover Channel or something. A physical journey to follow someone on a road of rediscovery of herself and the world around her.  Pretty easy to flesh out, visiting places I've lived, visited, worked, and then expanding on that, places in my family's history that could help me on my road to rediscovery.

Of course, I wouldn't even know where to start to pitch an idea like that, so it's a thought that died almost as quickly as it was born.

Tuesday, June 3, 2014

What if I've Already Done That

Please do not judge too harshly while reading this. I wrote this mostly on Saturday and last week I worked 41.95 hours in 4 days. Blech!! However, I had to post it as it is. Partly because I always swore that's how I'd roll with this blog and because, well going back and re-reading this made me giggle a lot! Enjoy!

A strange thought flew into my head last night while I was at work. Mind you, work is so crazy busy lately, the ability to have an errant thought is an accomplishment in and of itself, but I digress. A friend of mine said, "You really need to come out to Washington and see us" to which my response was "I really want to, I've never been to Washington." (No mother, not DC. I know I've been there. This is about the state of Washington. And who thought it was a good idea to name the nation's capital AND a state after our first president? Did they really not consider how confusing that would be? Or, were they just being jerks about it? Like, the thought process was, "Let's name this place on the opposite side of the nation the same thing as the capital, then sit back and laugh at all the confusion. It will last for decades at the very least. Hahahahahahaha!!!!" No, this is not the thought I had last night.....don't judge me for being easily distracted today. I'm tired.) Then, I found myself thinking, But what if I have?

What if I've already been to all of these places I desperately want to visit and see, and I just don't remember? What if I've been to the Louisiana Bayou, the Statue of Liberty, the Grand Canyon, the Hoover Dam, etc, etc, etc? What if in those 3 1/2 weeks I had the most amazing adventures, and I just don't remember? I haven't been this haunted by these thoughts in a long while. Partly because I've been working 2 jobs and too tired for thoughts to even really exist in any substantial form, and party because, now that I'm down to 1 job again, I have time to build my bucket list, but no money to live it.

It's a horrible catch-22. You either work too hard to enjoy life, but have the money to do so if you desire (not that it worked out that way for me, since I have bills coming out of my ears that will never get paid off at this rate) or you have enough time to do the things you really want to do and live a life outside of the experience books an provide you.

On a side note (yes, I know, another one. I said don't judge), I went to the library this week for the first time in.....well.....I don't know how long and two people at work walked by my desk, saw my library book, and said "I didn't know libraries still existed." Such a sad commentary on society today. Just sayin'!

So I'm seeking help. I need to find inexpensive ways to travel. looking for suggestions. I want to go places I know I've been to try to trigger memories, and go to places I don't think I've been to see if the same happens (and if not, still get a thrilling moment out of it.) I want to start crossing things off my bucket list. Obviously not as fast as I'm adding things to it, but still cross some things off.

No, I'm not dying. Don't be melodramatic. I just want to live ever day remembering that today could easily be my last.

*I actually had to go back and reread everything not in parenthesis multiple times while writing this to remember what I was talking about. 

Sunday, May 11, 2014

Celebrating Mothers

Today is a day for celebrating mothers. A day to remember all the things our mom did right, all the ways she made us feel loved, all the times she was there for us.

My mom is one of the greats (IMHO.) She takes care of us still. When I don't know how to handle a situation, or just plain don't feel well, she's the first person I want to call. When I need a shoulder to cry on, she is that shoulder. It doesn't matter the distance we are from each other, she will always be that person.

But what about all my "other" moms. The ones who have taken me in when I need a mom who is physically here, but mine can't be. I have more of them than I know what to do with sometimes. I love every single one of them. They are my friends, parents of my friends, people who love me and love to watch out for me.

Then there is celebrating my close friends who are wonderful mothers to their children. Children who I love as deeply as if they were my own nieces and nephews, and I love seeing them taken care of. I love seeing the joy in the eyes of my friends when they talk about their children. The pride in who those children are and who they are becoming. The hope for the future when we talk about those children.

Saving the best for last, there are my own children. They are the reason I get up every morning, breath in and out all day, go to work, smile, laugh, have hope for the future, and enjoy looking at the past. They mean the world to me, and I love them with all that I have in me. They are everything a mother could ever hope her children would be. Loving, kind, smart, and even as teenagers (or almost teenagers) they love me unconditionally. I could never ask for better people to have in my life and thank God for them every day.

Even when I didn't remember any of you, you all never stopped thinking about, praying for, and loving me. When I didn't remember my mother, she wanted nothing more than to hug me and make it all okay. When I didn't remember my friends, they wanted to make sure their children understood what a wonderful person they all saw me to be (even, or maybe especially, when I didn't see it myself.) When I didn't recognize my own children, they hugged me and loved me, they missed me and wanted me back in their lives. No matter how much I've hurt those around me, I've never stopped being and feeling loved.

For all the mothers out there, and all those with a "mother's" heart, I want to wish you all a HAPPY MOTHER'S DAY!!! Thank you for all you do.

Saturday, May 10, 2014

Dumbest Question Ever (to pose to an amnesiac)

I've been having some severely incapacitating headaches lately. Bad enough that I actually dragged myself into the emergency room Thursday night/Friday morning. For those that know me and wonder if I'm suffering some sort of brain damage, it will make you feel better to know that I completed a 10 hour shift at work with that awful headache before I went to the hospital. So, y'know, still normal (I know, I know. Fine, normal for me.)

I'm in the hallway on a bed, because they are so packed that they don't have a room for me, with my coat over my head to block out the glaringly bright lights, and the doctor asks me "Have you ever been hospitalized for any headaches like this before? Have you ever had a CT scan? Have you ever had a lumbar puncture?" Ummmmm....question #1: I don't know. The rest I'm pretty sure they did 3 years ago in the hospital in Joliet. "How can you not know if you've ever been hospitalized for headaches?" Sigh. Where's my medical history expert when I need her. 

At this point, I realize I have to go into a somewhat detailed explanation of what happened. After I was done, he asked me the dumbest question I get asked all the time, "What all do you think you don't remember?" REALLY!! You're a doctor and you're asking me that. Honestly, I thought I was doing really well lately, until he started asking me questions about my medical history that I just couldn't be sure of. But, that does not mean I will ever have an answer for that question. How can you know what you don't remember? Think about that for just a minute. Let it sink in, nice and deep. Now, look in the mirror. That confused expression on your face....add a little bit of disgust and that's what I look like when people ask me stuff like that.

Back to the matter at hand, I have to wonder, will it be this way for the rest of my life? Will people ask me questions and I have to answer with something ambivalent, like "I don't think so", "maybe", "it's hard to say", or my favorite "I don't remember"? (The expression people pull with that last one is priceless.) Or, maybe we can put our head together and come up with something classy and clever. Got any suggestions, people?

I have now had nurses, insurance consultants, friends, family, non-friends/family, and A DOCTOR ask me a question about amnesia, that if you took 10 seconds would realize will get a look from me of the "are you kidding me? That's a really bad joke right?" variety. The doctor was the most shocking of the bunch. If my neurologist pulls out a question like that, it will trump them all. (And, I may have to fire him, because I don't want you in charge of diagnosing my head if you ask something like that. I'd be questioning everything you tell me from that point forward.)

Le sigh!!

Thursday, May 8, 2014


So, my recent foundiversary post made me think of all the things that I faced in the early days of my new existence. As I sit here an write this post, I think of the biggest, most profound change of all.....computers.

When I was still in the hospital, part of my memory therapy was looking at pictures. Of course, in my brain, looking at pictures was having a big box of photographs with names and dates (sometimes events) written on the bottom, gotta love those old polaroids, or back to remind you what you were actually looking at. Not so much. My parents walk in with a laptop. I didn't even know what a laptop was, let alone how we were supposed to look at pictures on that thing. To me computers were a rather foreign concept. What computers I did vaguely remember, were not sleek, little, one piece devices. They were big bulky thing, with big bulky screens.

Still, once I got the concept, I enjoyed looking at pictures.....until my mother invited me to touch the computer. I was sure I was going to break the darn thing. She showed me how to use the mouse pad, I touched it, the screen changed, and I jumped like a killer clown had stepped out of the shadows or something. It was pretty strange. Still, obviously over time I grew more confident with computers. Once I got my own stuff back from the police from the investigation, I got my laptop back and promptly taught myself how to use it, all the software already installed, how to type (so I could do things like this), and basically how to survive in today's society where nothing is done without computers anymore.

Then there was the cell phone. Oh the dreaded device!! I'd seen my parents talk in their phones and asked them about what they were. I knew there would have to be a day when I would talk into one of them since, apparently, no one had regular sturdy house phones anymore. You know the kind, with the cord that you play absentmindedly with while you talk to the person on the other end, or that annoyingly tangles up the second you try to walk anywhere away from the base that it's attached to. The first time my mother put her phone in my hands, all I could think was "So......breakable...." I didn't even want to touch it to my face for fear it would snap in half. That wasn't a phone, it was a teeny, tiny, fragile piece of plastic that voices magically came out of.

Here's one I'm sure no one thought The one in the hospital wasn't too bad, lots of channels (way more than we ever got with OUR antenna) but at least it was a tube television. My tv was the one that boggled my mind. Flat screen, super clear image, extra bright colors, and cable was awesome!!

Lack of manners was horrifying as was the price of...well, everything. Most shockingly was that people had to be reminded to get up and move, including kids, and eat healthy. Having grown up on a farm, fruits and vegetables were a staple and I realize I wasn't exposed much to how unhealthy people ate even back then, but the fact that healthy was expensive and hard to afford for most was challenging to accept. Light bulbs were oddly shaped sometimes, cars were fascinating (and far more numerous than I remembered), and anything I wanted to learn about, I could. Just ask Google. The internet was a wonderful thing to learn how to use, because it allowed me to learn about nearly anything else and connect with people on a level that never existed before.

So many changes, both for the better and the worse. I periodically lose my fascination of the world and how much there is to learn, see, do, taste, experience, etc., etc., but whenever I get that passion back I go crazy with it. Mostly because Google is still my friend.

Monday, May 5, 2014

3rd Foundiversary

Happy Foundiversary to me!! Oddly enough I couldn't find any foundiversary songs on You Tube. Shocking, I know. I may have to bend my talents to coming up with one.

Yesterday I had a milk shake from Steak and Shake and I remembered my first trip out after getting out of the hospital nearly 3 years ago. My parents asked if I wanted to go to McDonald's and I, of course, said yes. To me, food was food. It never occurred to me how something as inconsequential as a visit to a restaurant could throw me. I ordered a cheeseburger, fries, and a milkshake. What they gave me was a cheeseburger, crispy things they called fries, and this pink swirly thing in a clear, plastic cup. WHAT WAS THIS?!? WHERE WERE THE SOGGY, OIL SOAKED VAGUELY FRENCH FRY SHAPED STICKS OF MY YOUTH? AND.....YOU CALL THIS THING A MILKSHAKE?!? I was horrified.

Milk shakes from McDonald's were supposed to be perfectly blended masses in a white paper cup so hard to suck through the straw that it collapsed in on itself with the force of trying to draw a minuscule amount of deliciousness into your waiting mouth. Not prettily swirled color/flavor syrup pseudo mixed into the vanilla base, in a clear cup, with whipped cream and a cherry like they thought they were a fancy ice cream parlor, and so soft it came up through the straw without any effort whatsoever. AND IT TASTED TERRIBLE. Well, in comparison to what I was expecting anyway. They were just trying too hard, and it was just one more thing that had changed.

McDonald's broke my heart that day. They proved to me that nothing was safe from the huge changes that were life now compared to the childhood I was forced to relive. Sadly, the only thing that was the same was the cheeseburger, and quite frankly I never liked them much, but the chicken nuggets growing up were worse so I chose a cheeseburger that day. Oh the woes of not knowing better at the time.

Oh the deliciousness of my youth, sorta.

 Well, close enough.

Tuesday, April 29, 2014

We are Mortal

I've been thinking a lot about mortality lately. About what it means to have a finite existence on this earth. I find myself wondering lately if I've done enough to make a difference. It's a bit crazy how much I want to do. I never want to stop learning, seeing, and trying new things. More than anything, though I really want to make a difference. Not just in my corner of the world, but IN THE WORLD as a whole. I want other people to make a difference because of the things I do.

That's not to say I want to be known for the things I do. No, that' not it at all. I just want the things I've done to be known. My face, my name.....they don't matter. What matters is caring enough to get others to care more.  It's more than proselytizing on the internet about what's right and what's wrong. It's more than talking about what you know to be true and untrue. It's living what you believe, so that others can see that you care, and hopefully start to care in return.

Do we have to be under a death sentence to make a difference? Can't we make the decision now to make the memories that will carry forever? I want to give the people that love me so many happy memories of my life that my funeral is more full of smiles and laughs than of tears. Tears are for grieving, saying goodbye to someone with regrets. I don't want to die with regrets. Not even for mistakes already made. I want my send off to be something amazingly wonderful for those I leave behind. 
I don't want to be mourned, I want to be celebrated. I don't want to be missed, I want to be remembered. I want to be such an inspiration to those around me that they choose to live life to the fullest because I did. The only way to do that is to not be afraid to grab life with both hands and run with it.

Impassioned speeches aside, I now need to come crashing to reality of the hot mess that is my life and the realization that I will likely die never having the opportunity to move completely past the regrets of the past. Not enough new memories will be made to move past them unless I force them.

That being the case, I am hoping that everyone who read this won't wait . Realizing that today could be the last day to make those memories. The ones you want people to celebrate and cling to when you're not here to remind people who you really were. This may not be a funny or fun post, but it's honest. An examination of who I need to become. And also.................

Maybe later. ;-)

Thursday, April 10, 2014

Anniversary 3 and Counting

Today is the day.....and I made it here again in one piece, physically at least. I guess it's been pretty noticeable how stressed and emotional I've been lately. More than one person has mentioned it to me. I have high hopes that it will get easier again. Hopefully next year it won't hit me so hard.

I'm glad to have the support of so many wonderful people.


Today will be a great day, because of what happened not in spite of what happened.

Monday, April 7, 2014

Sleep is Only a Necessary Evil

Actually slept for a while this afternoon. You'd think that was a good thing, but instead I woke up freaking out from a horrible nightmare. That feeling of being trapped, of being out of control, is bad enough when I'm awake and can put some effort into tamping it down. When I'm unconcious it takes over, it puts me into situations that I would never find myself in.

Today it was waking up on a beach. Beautiful, but unfamiliar. Yesterday it was waking up on the streets of.......who knows where, all the more frightening because, beyond not knowing where I was it was dark, dirty, and crowded with others I knew but didn't know.

Always in these dreams there are faces of people I know, but they are distorted so they are unfamiliar in their familiarity. Always in these dreams I feel like I've been gone forever, but only for a few hours at the same time. It's something I've felt before, and repressing that memory does not stop me from being familiar with it when I experience it again and again.

Sunday, April 6, 2014

Meanwhile, Someplace Dark and Dreary.....

I've restarted this post about 20 times. I was just sitting here, chin in hand, staring at the blank screen when I realized that I'm not sure I can do it anymore. I can't deal with the anger of people I don't know that I don't deserve, the bitterness of people I do know that I do deserve, and the love of people I care about that I REALLY don't deserve.

I'm doing it again. I'm putting on my happy face, feeling nothing but fear and unworthiness beneath. It's all come full circle. My anniversary is in 4 days, and I keep realizing I'm only making it through for other people. As I write this down, my brain is screaming "Keep it light you Idiot!! You'll worry people." But I want you all to know, you don't need to worry. I'm not going anywhere. Not for me.......for you.

I'm sure the darkness will ease after April 10. 

GROUP HUG!!!! Friends make everything better.

GROUP HUG!!!! Friends make everything better.