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I'd like to think I can keep it clean but that's just not where I am. I have mental illness...I cannot say it enough lest someone forget that fact. It affects every single thing I do and everything I don't. It is an extremely heavy burden at times and this is one of those times. I'd love to spare everyone what will surely be like upchucking my insides which are oozing with black, ugly negativity but.....
I went to the og-gyn. to have a well-woman to have her run blood work just to see if my thyroid and Vitamin D and all that are okay, just checking all the underlying factors to be sure they are not contributing to my junk. She told me, as all doctors do, after reading my health history, that perhaps it is raising a child with a disability that is causing my depression and anxiety. Well, what caused it the ten years I had it before he was born? I have a chemical imbalance rude lady with a bad wig, not a bad hand in life. Perhaps your wig is too tight. Now finish determining that those two lumps in my breasts are in fact my breasts and let me put my paper "gown" back on! She wasn't too happy when I told her I had eggs for breakfast. Turns out I didn't get the memo that says you can't eat before having blood work. That means I have to go back in a week. I'm starting to detect some circumstances in my life that could be causing depression and anxiety!!! She will check it for all the things I asked her to if she can read the little bits of chicken scratch she wrote on my chart while she was pretending to listen to me. "No Miss Piggy, I really do think you should check my thyroid, and my iron levels and.....oh yeah, you must be right. I'm tired cuz' I have a child with a disability. That must be it."
"Doctors are no damn good!"
adapted from a quote by Mamaw

Feel it?

Harris had a stomach ache this morning. He kept grabbing my hand, lifting up his shirt, and putting my hand on his tummy and saying,"Feel it?" "No, buddy. I can't feel it from the outside, it's on the inside. But I believe you when you tell me it hurts."
So true, so true.

Mental illness. It's a funny thing. People think if they can look at you and you seem happy or look good, or are "functioning" that you are not really ill. Like you can tell by looking who is wearing sunblock and who isn't. We are all standing in the sunshine, but some of us can absorb it, and for some of us it is "blocked". The joy is blocked. Mental illness is like wearing joyblock all over your soul. And no one else can see it, but you know it's there. Don't ever tell someone who has mental illness that they "seem so happy" or that you think they have a great life. How can you decide that it is great, when they are the one who lives with little to no joy? It's a problem with the brain, not the life.

"A child embarrassed by a parent, is just a child who hasn't lived long enough."
I'm going to keep this in mind. Faith is coming into the age, and the other two are never far behind her, that I embarrass her. She rarely likes what I have to say, how I say it, or that I'm saying anything about "it" at all. It is hurtful and sad, and yet, just part of life. We aren't parents because we get thanked profusely for it. We don't love them because they love us (although they do) we would parent and love them no matter what. I will continue to keep this in mind as well. There are some answers I really want from Heavenly Father right now. I want those answers desperately. There are some things in my life I really need help with, and changing things that aren't working for me is something I want to take place immediately...I don't like to wait on anyone...least of all He who I know holds the best answer, the only real answer. But I am deciding to choose faith. I choose to believe that he is a loving father who does not withhold things from me to be mean or to torture me. he loves me and wishes to help me succeed and so I choose to believe that those answers will come in His own due time. And until then, I will submit with patience to all he sees fit. I choose faith.

clinic day

Not too much to say. Today was Spina Bifida Clinic for Harris and he got a good report from all 2 million doctors and specialists who he sees on this fine annual check-up. The dietician reports that he needs more calcium (tums will work) and the orthopedic doc added ten minutes of stretching to his daily list of to-do's cuz his ankles are getting tight.
His tests all went well except he lost his religion when they drew blood...this is something new they do to check for renal failure since a couple of their kids suddenly went into renal failure with no warning. He seriously lost his damn (pardon me) mind and couldn't really get over the offense. Long after the blood was drawn, while Harris continued to lament his pain, my mom said, "Harris, maybe it still hurts because they wrapped that gauze around your arm too tightly?" To which he replied in a bitter tone, "Or maybe that lady stuck a needle in my arm!"

Joy

Life is always about finding that balance between what you want to do, what you have to do, what you should do, and what you feel you should do. It is a tricky business. Mental illness significantly complicates that business. And just in case anyone is rolling their eyes thinking every thing I say is about mental illness, well, it is. Just stayin' true to my reality here people. Mental illness makes it so that whether you are doing something you want to do (if you can even figure that out with your sicky brain) have to do, or should do, you don't get to feel what most others feel when doing it. You don't feel the regular happiness or satisfaction that is the effect of living a certain kind of life. That can be hard, when normal cause and effect stuff is missing. You find you are just managing...your anxiety, or depression, or OCD, rather than really living a life.
I layed with Harris today and read a book. I should do this, because he really struggles with reading and we try to do at least a little of it every day (let's be real and say every other day) As we were hammering out the task, and it was quite slow with fussiness and frustration (on both our parts) to boot, he started using this really funny voice. It made me laugh...hard. He started laughing hard too. You know, that really deep, from-the-gut laugh that your kids do tons as babies and less and less as they age? It was a moment of pure and utter joy. And I felt it. It felt good. Laughing really is my most favorite feeling.