Chronic Ama

Let me be honest today. I've been struggling with depression for over a month now. It's getting harder to hide. I don't sleep well. I've only dreamed once in weeks. I keep losing weight despite all the holiday food. Thankfully my make up does beautifully at hiding the dark circles under my eyes. They don't go away anymore. I've learned to put on eye cream before I even brush my teeth in the morning. Last night was rough. I started new medication that made me incredibly dizzy and then rashy and itchy at 3am. It's an extended release, so it's been coming in waves all morning. Running errands yesterday wiped me out. I've been dreading my upcoming surgery. I can't get it out of my head that I just don't want to do it. I hate the recovery time. I hate struggling for help. I usually end up sucking it up and not giving myself the time to rest. I end up hiding the pain from everyone just to keep going. I make myself believe I don't matter. It

I realized why my red bearded, Irish heritage, white boy husband needed a Mexican wife. How the hell else could he understand Cheech and Chong? What I'm getting at is that I need more nights like this. Outside. On the porch. 4pm. Fire going. Dinner in the oven. Spirits flowing. And the universe is spending her energy on me. I think she knew I needed this. I needed to forget that I have presents to wrap. And a stack of cards in my purse that need stamps. Fudge to be made. A craving for an attempt to make my own lemon curd. I'm focused on my son declaring he's drunk because he polished off an open bottle of ginger beer. Basically, he's sugar high. I improvised and toasted a pack of stale peeps that was pushed to the back of the pantry. Then we had to finish off the Dilly Bars that were a blast from my past. Don't, we filled up on lasagna before the sugar fairy paid us a visit. For every down, there's an up. It's hard to see when you're at the bottom, f

I have been both putting off writing and purposely not writing for the month. I'm afraid. I'm completely and utterly afraid of what's behind that noise in my head and I'm more afraid of the effect it will have on me than of the content itself. And then I get lost in the depth and expanse of said content. I'll just put it out there. I'll say it. And I'll talk about it. And maybe I can have some relief. My grandfather is dying. I have no idea how to process that. I put on my stone face and shoved down a throatful of tears to tell my kids. I don't think my son knew exactly what that meant, but he had a great sense of stoicism about him that night. I kinda looked up to him for it. And then my brain chimed in with so much more useless worry. My daughter and my husband wore their emotions so easily. I almost envied them for being able to just let it all out and not even needing to question their sadness. And then the pain in mother's voice on t

Bella was here ;)

Half way through December and I want to rewind to October already. I'm using every single atom of my being to find every fleck of silver lining the universe has given me. They feel so infinitely illusive right now. Maybe more out of reach than a Pulitzer. I miss writing. I had a busy week last week that I very much enjoyed. Of course, my body did not get the memo that we were supposed to keep going strong and have a good weekend too. I've been exhausted again. I have a head cold. I'm fighting a migraine that already kicked me down low this morning. My flare up that started Thursday has subsided, but the pain in my back and legs lingered. I'm trying to focus on getting things done one small task at a time, but I've fallen into guilting myself into submission to taking on large projects. I cooked a helluva lot of chile yesterday. It came out perfect. And instead of resting after, I started wrapping and got frustrated that I haven't bought much this year or finis

I never thought I'd be so nervous about discussing pain management with my primary doctor. I need some kind of pain management to help me between now and surgery. This is also at my specialist's request. But, I'm nervous and I'm here feeling like and addict, although I'm far far from it. This is what the opioid crisis has done to people like me. I know, I talk to other women with endometriosis who are in the same boat. I'm not the only one that refuses to go to the emergency room when my pain gets out of control. Dealing with unbearable pain is the lesser of two evils. I'd rather scream or cry than ask for help and be sent to a social worker again. I'd rather tough it out than be labeled a drug seeker. Because once that ink dries, it's there. It doesn't go away. I have plenty of medical evidence that shows I'm not a drug seeker, but that doesn't seem to matter. I am just person who needs some kind of pain medication to help me feel some

In the last 24 hours I have had some great conversations with two friends. Both have offered me the perspective I needed and both have let me speak my part, thus, further enabling me to let my ideas come to fruition and push myself to toward positive change. As a result, I had a wonderful day! I did housework, which is always so damn redundant, but is quite a necessity. I accomplished everything I set out to do today, which paved the way for the goals of the week. Remember, I did want to complete one gifty type craft as we are in Santa countdown mode. My paints are organized, my craft desk (yes, I have a desk dedicated to crafts) is cleaned and clutter free, and my task desk is also has order to it. I'm ready to make this week my bitch. But wait! There's more! I also had a relatively low pain day. I think when all is right in my world and I can focus on things one at a time and have my eye on a goal, I tend to focus less on what hurts. Yes, I am still in pain (and I will be