Back in the fall I decided I was going to get in shape. I started running a little and doing mad amounts of squats. Then I added in planks and crunches.

At some point my back started to hurt. It started to ache when I lay down at night. I would lay there whimpering until it relaxed and I could sleep. I took medicine to deal.

I stopped working out and hoped if I rested it I would get better. It didn't.

I finally saw my doctor about it. An x-ray and MRI later I was sent to a neurosurgeon. He also did an x-ray. At this point I've been in pain for nearly 6 months.

I hurt my back, I have to take it easy. I am going to get a steroid injection in a month to see if it helps. Until then?

Ibuprofen and rest.

It sucks. I was so happy with my body.

And since I'm down for the count, I'm going to get my bunion taken care of, because that's also causing me more passion these days.

Getting old blows.


I am trying to avoid the dark places. I am trying to stay positive in our world even surrounded by awful things happening.
Just a few days ago, on the 2nd, a man was riding his dirt bike at dusk , just before 6pm, and collided with a Chevy SUV, the neighborhood came out and attempted to save his life, keeping the road clear, waiting on the ambulance, talking to him, telling him to hang on as he lay in the road bleeding.

In the end, it wasn't enough, and he passed away at the hospital (though likely was only kept alive by CPR on the way). He died, directly in front of my house, his blood, the fluids from his dirt bike, still stain the pavement. His family and friends put up a memorial for him. My heart breaks thinking about his children, especially his son, who was in a car accident a few weeks before where one of the passengers, a 16 year old, perished. My heart aches for the woman who was driving the SUV, because she didn't see his dirt bike, because it had no light. Forever she will feel the way her vehicle felt when the dirt bike hit it. I will forever remember that loud bang pop sound. The way I could ALMOST feel it. I have cried for him, for his kids, for his friends and family. The more I learn about him, the more I know he will be missed.

I mourn that loss of innocence my kids have, knowing that a man died there. And I can still see the EMTs working on him for so long, taking turns, trying to bring him back. Even though they knew that he was gone. I wish I could have done something. Anything.

But there is nothing.

And eventually I hope I feel better.



The way I feel these days.
My emotions are far too close to the surface and too easily changed.


The ripped open feeling that starts in my gut and rises to my chest and into my throat.



Strength is a good thing,
until it is not enough.
I feel like I am not enough.
I am not enough.
I am not good enough.

I have no control over my life.
I have no control over anything in my life.
not my emotions,
not my children,
not my husband.
not my parents and their health.
 I have no control.

Instead of  being able to deal,
I am breaking.
my walls, carefully built over years,
crumbling unable to support
unable to calm
unable to protect.

and I am
left vulnerable
vulnerable to thoughts
ideas and pictures
and I am not
in a good place at all.

The Darkness envelopes me,
covers my soul
lying, smoothly in my ear
whispering evil thoughts
and making me believe things
things a few months ago I would never have thought.
and I'm left with the Darkness's lies.
I tell myself they are simply lies,
I can't believe myself because the Darkness
it lies so well that I believe it.
I believe it.
I believe
the lies.


Dark places

I can't even describe the place I'm in other than to call it dark.

I feel lost, unsure, afraid, unhappy, overwhelmed. I have this huge rock in the pit of my stomach that's just growing every day. I regularly feel like I'm about to break.

I feel broken through, cracked, shattered.

I can't pull myself out of this, and I'm unable to turn to the one I want to.

Sometimes I am afraid of how I feel. I've felt this before, right before the life i was living ended, changed. There's so much hurt and fear. And most of it is just spiraling out of control.

The very worst part of all of this is that I think it's made up, messed up thoughts in my head. Crazy fears that I have no reason to truly believe. Stupid thoughts that swirl around because I just can't stop them.

Mental break down.
How can I manage.
How can I keep up with what's going on in my head.
How can I keep the kids from being effected by my mental break?
What happens now?
What happens next?
What am I doing?
How long will this last?
What is wrong with me?
What. Is. Wrong. With. Me?



She woke up Wednesday morning to tell me that she was having bowel problems. Her expression embarrassed, and also in pain. I told her to see if she felt better by the time school started, instead within an hour she was vomiting in the bathroom.
She spent the next 24 hours puking and moaning. She told me her stomach hurt, and wanted a hot pack. Rice in a sock, microwaved provided some relief. She couldn't keep anything down.
Thursday was the same. She slept fitfully, watch TV, wandered around the house, puked, showered, and repeated this over and over trying to find relief. But nothing really helped.
8pm, the younger girls were asleep (or at least in bed) and she came and sat on the couch to watch TV with us. We talked about her symptoms and noticed she was pointing mainly to the lower right side of her abdomen. We looked up appendicitis and after some discussion I headed to the emergency room with her 9:30.
10 pm we arrived and got checked in. The ride was miserable because every bump caused her to wince and grimace in pain.
Since she hadn't eaten or kept anything down in days, they almost immediately got her started on fluids as well as morphine and zofran. The doctor discussed her symptoms and agreed with appendicitis. It would just take a miserable ultrasound (since she's very thin) to show an enlarged angry appendix.
Antibiotics were started and we waited for a room in the children's hospital. We didn't get taken up until 3:30am.
At 7 the surgeon came and talked to us. At this point she was nearly at a 10 as far as pain. The medicine they'd given her was barely taking the edge off of the excruciating pain.
Daddy arrived around 8:20. And about 9 they took her down to the OR.
Her surgery took longer than we thought it would because when they got in to her the appendix had ruptured and was leaking into her back. There is a term for it, but I can't remember, basically her appendix was located behind her colon so it wasn't as bad as it could have been, but it was more than we hoped.
My mom and dad arrived while she was surgery, they were going to watch Abi, Natalie and Gwen so that Ray and i could be present at the hospital for Rhayn.
When she came out of surgery i chose to go home and shower and nap a little. Knowing that Ray was there for her and that she would be quite drugged for the rest of the afternoon and evening.
I came back to the hospital in time to bring Ray supper and talk to Rhayn a little. Before going home for the night.
This morning I got back to the hospital at about 8:30. Brought Ray breakfast but the smell made Rhayn nauseated so we ate in the parents lounge.
We were able get Rhayn up to walk around the room a little, but she is still in a lot of pain. She also hasn't eaten and they still haven't let her have anything by mouth.
In order for her to get to go home she needs to eating and drinking (in order to take her antibiotics by mouth) as well as able to get out of bed.
Right now she can barely get out of bed.

All of this was made more complicated by her having a cold and her lung function is a little compromised. But she's a healthy young girl and in a few weeks I am sure she'll be back to normal.


Less Fear, More Joy

Maybe I have too much time with my own thoughts.
Too much time to think about things that I don't need to think about. To worry about things. To ponder every relationship I have.

Maybe I regret too much. I regret the crap place my relationship with my husband is in. Wondering how in the world we got here, and how to get out of this hole.

I'm terrified that we won't make it to the other side of this rut together. I'm scared that he thinks it's not worth it to wait for me, while I'm picking up pieces of myself because I've shattered all over the place, like a dropped wine glass.
He always seems to put together and I feel like a giant mess. I used to be a fun person, now I'm not. I have withered, into a bitter, sad person.
I still see the good in those around me, but the weight of the world is crushing me.
For so many years, I've been touched out and now I feel like I need more. More hand holding, more snuggles, I can't get enough simple hugs. My body aches for it, lonely feeling. Sad. Sad. Sad.
I don't like myself, unhappy, unlikeable, unable to get out of my funk. It's affecting my kids, because I don't want to leave the house, I make plans but break them. I try to be someone I'm not, fake it till you make it. Bull shit. I can't carry on like this.
Stupid depression.
Stupid anxiety .
Stupid sadness.
Stupid messed up mental health.

Not that I expect every day to be sunshine and roses, you know. I just want more days to feel happy, and less days that feel like my heart is pounding too fast, my brain is making up scary scenarios of doom and gloom. Less fear, more joy.


Our summer vacation is quickly coming to an end.
All of the things we wanted to do, never got done.
With only a few weeks left, and one of those weeks, our at least part of it, dedicated to our family reunion, I'm staring to panic a little.

Today I received Natalie's school list and teacher name. I'm excited, but it hit me that she won't be mine at home any more. She'll go to school, with the big kids, every day. I know she's excited and I'm happy for her, but this part of my life, the life I've been living for over 15 years, is ending quickly.

Soon Abi will go off to school as well, and I am not ready. OK, it's a few years away, but, is coming.

I know that this is part of life. I love watching my kids grow and become these people, but at the same time, I'll miss the silly words, the fabulous outfits, the songs and drawings.


Heart break

Heart break, at any age, is rough. But when it's your first real heart break, and you don't know yet that you can survive this, because you've never felt this pain, you can't see the light at the other end.
When your heart is shredded into a million pieces and feels like there is no way you'll ever be able to put them back together, you can't imagine a time when you won't feel this way.
When someone you thought was your best friend shatters your heart, makes you feel less than special, it is a sharp kind of pain that you can't imagine that pain ever dulling .

But, so many of us have gone before, so many of us have made it through that pain and we've made it to the other side. We promise, you, too, will make it.



This last week has been a whirlwind.

Thursday night Abi woke up coughing. She had trouble settling back down so we went the couch and I held her. She woke up every so often, and would cry out. Neither of us was sleeping. She was struggling to breath so I gave her a nebulizer treatment. It was 4am,i gave her a second one at 6am. Then at 8am called the dr and took her in to her pediatrician, we had just gotten her established at a new office in Monday and I'm so glad.

In the office they gave her another treatment as her o2 level was only 88%. It didn't help for long, in fact we weren't even able to get her o2 above 94 even with oxygen and a nebulizer treatment. During this time I also dropped my phone in the toilet, and that was terrible.

At around noon (I'm not even sure, i was so out of it) she was transported to the hospital by ambulance. I followed behind and Daddy meet us there.

At the hospital she looked so tiny, hooked up to all of those machines. But she needed to be there. She was so tired from trying to breath, she couldn't sleep because she was having trouble breathing and all she wanted was sleep.

She slept after we got there, because she was hooked up to oxygen, she was getting breathing treatments every hour, and she finally want gasping for every breath. But she looked so tiny. So frail.
She stayed over night. She saw so many doctors, so many albuterol treatments.

A diagnosis of asthma.
An action plan.

An exhausted mommy.

Seriously exhausted. I am having a hard time coming to terms with the whole experience. I keep going over what happened and feel like I should have been able to help her sooner. She shouldn't have struggled as long as she did.

But (hopefully there never is a next time but) next time I'll know what to do. Next time, if she's struggling like that, I know what to do.

Please, let there never be a next time.

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