check my swagger, fool

Wanna know what I got on my Italian midterm?

Thought so...

sins of the mother

I need to clear up some vlogging disasters. First things first. My nutritionist did NOT come in 5th! He came in 4th. So if there was any googling going on this might clear up some stuff.

Secondly, I use the term "omelet" loosely. Please don't go out and eat a bunch of omelets thinking my guy has approved that. When I say omelet what I actually mean is egg whites and no cheese.

Yeah, I know, it just lost all appeal. 

I do fry up some veggies to add character.

Still no? All right. Moving on.

Thirdly, I owe my mother an apology. I burped in the video and did not excuse myself. I am sure she's appalled.

But you know what? Now that I think about it, I think she owes me an apology. I do believe she might be responsible for my love of pop. Yes, that's what we call pop addiction around here. 

A love of pop.

I burp because I drink pop. So therefore, by that rationale, my mummy made me burp. 

Excuse you, mummy. 

On a completely different note, I think it's time to hold a world wide seminar on how to walk the halls, turn corners and go through doorways when there is an option of two doors at the university. I swear, this generation of young people has been taught nothing by their mothers.

Stay on the right side, people. Stay to the right.

This is not rocket science.

the one where i talk at myself

Welcome to my first vlog. It's long. I don't apologize for it.

And yes, I burped.

all things awkward

It's Friday. Which I love love love. And I love it because it means that I survived another Thursday. I hate Thursdays, they are brutal. Yesterday I was gone from 8:30 am until 10 pm.

That's brutal, right?

Part of that was my fault. I showed up an hour early to pick up my sassy teeanger from her dance class. I had nothing with me to do or read so I was forced to play on facebook on my iPhone for an hour.

Forcibly forced. Against my will. Yes. I was.

You don't believe me, I can tell.

I had lots of time to think and this is what I thought about. My clothes. I thought about my clothes and how since I've gone back to school I have to wear big girl clothes every single day. I don't have very many big girl clothes and wearing the same thing over and over actually feels awkward, more than anything.

And a bra. I have to wear a bra every single day. And mostly all day. And how wrong this just seems to be. Bras are awkward. And awful.

I thought about how crappy my clothes are because I don't really have any. I have sweats and t-shirts and grungy, depressive, wear-around-the-house-and-never-ever-ever-in-front-of-actual-people kind of clothes. But real clothes??

This reminds me. Let's update my weight loss, shall we? It might explain some stuff. It was my birthday last Wednesday and some time earlier this year I committed to losing 30 pounds by my birthday.

What was I thinking? I don't know.

Did I do it?

Nope. No, I did not do it. Did I lose any? Yep. I did.

Twenty-six pounds.

Or ventisei. As the Italians like to say.

And you know what? I'm cool with it. Actually, I'm perfectly happy with it and very proud of it and it's 4 pounds short but so what? It's 26 pounds away from where I was 4 months ago. And that is 26 pounds of pure awesome, right there.

So back to my clothes. I want to go buy clothes but I really shouldn't until I can fit back into all the wicked clothes I bought the last time I lost a ton of weight.

Yes, we've done this before. Sigh.

Are you still all wondering how I am doing it? I know some of you are because I get emails asking.

Well, I'll tell you but not today because it's a whole post on it's own and I need to do it justice. Plus, this is not at all where I thought this was going.

I did buy a new pair of pants yesterday (two sizes smaller than the last pair I bought) to help get me through the awkward my-pants-are-too-big-but-I'm-still-too-fat-for-the-pants-I-already-own phase.

That was really hard to type.

So, raise your pop to smaller pants, a 26 pound weight loss, having no clothes and these here flowers I got for foster parent week which is so wrong considering I haven't fostered in 3 years.

Talk about awkward......

3 million percent. the running piggies and also, the end

Three weeks after I popped that little white pill I was walking through the University campus and I caught myself smiling.

I should stop here because really, what else do you need to know?

Except maybe the fact that I hadn't found myself to be happy in a moment for a very long time. Not that I am not ever happy, because I absolutely am. But never just on my own like that. Not for a long, long time. And never in a moment where I would normally expect to find myself feeling frustrated and annoyed. Snappy and rude. Wishing I was somewhere else, doing something else, wondering why I can never just be calm and feel at peace in a moment. This is the moment I seemed to be stuck in, living every minute of every day.

In this particular moment I felt happy and calm. Everything was easy, as it should be. In that moment.

And in that moment I didn't have the running piggies.

I felt 3 million percent better.

I thought that maybe, just maybe, the little white pills were working. And then it happened again and again and again. I found myself often feeling happy, and excited, and peaceful.

What's that? What are the running piggies, you ask? Well, let me tell you all about them. The running piggies is what my acupuncturist calls that awful feeling around your heart when you suffer from anxiety. It's that heaviness, that pressure, that gathering sense of panic that fills your lungs and consumes your soul. There was a team of little piggies (or is it a herd? or a flock? or a gaggle? or maybe a murder?) Yes, there was a murder of piggies running around my soul. Like someone fed them only sugar. Upheaval. They were trying to get out. Or ruin me. They were always there.

It was constant.

I didn't know how badly I suffered from anxiety until it went away.

It has now been almost two months since I took that dreaded first pill and I have stabilized. There is still a titch of anxiety, there's supposed to be. Feeling too good is a red flag. But the running piggies are gone and if you suffer from anxiety you know that those running piggies are exhausting and have the potential of keeping you from your life.

I've been reinserted back into my life, which is such a good thing because my life is so full and busy. Someone needs to be in it, living it.

So, what does medicating for anxiety have to do with PMDD and insomnia? Good question. And this here has been my experience:

If you get rid of the anxiety you'll sleep better. That just makes sense if it's anxiety keeping you awake at night. Am I sleeping better?

Oh, yes, baby. I am sleeping better.

Now the PMDD can be a real nuisance. And the meds do not take that away, except for the running piggies, of course. Well mostly, but you can't have everything, can you? Actually, maybe if I started heroine I could have everything but...

Wait...no. That isn't right. Heroine is bad. Don't do drugs.

My point is, what is my point? Let's see...my point is...I feel great. The anxiety is gone for the most part and the part that isn't gone can be dealt with with some deep breaths because there are no more running piggies. The dreadful insomnia induced headaches are gone, which as it turns out are also completely exhausting unto themselves. My energy is through the roof. I can just go and go and go.

Me now compared to me a year ago are two totally different people. And trust me when I tell you this is a good thing.

I believe there is a moral here somewhere and I don't believe it's if you aren't feeling happy you should pop pharmaceuticals because I am not a pill pusher nor do I have an aversion to feeling.

Everybody should be feeling something. It was the lack of feeling anything that kept me from trying the meds in the first place. I was afraid I would never feel anything. That I would be numb. It's important to feel. This I know.

But now, I also know that sometimes in life we need help with not being sucked into an abyss of feeling bad all the time. That it's okay to explore your options and to take your time to do that. It's okay to trust the people you love and your doctors and maybe try something new even though you're terrified.

But more importantly, you need to know you. And if you feel that you don't know you then you need to spend some time getting to know you because you are the bomb and bombs are awesome.

Huh?

All right, time to wrap this up. I'm sure I have a bazillion more things to say on the matter and I'm sure that over time I will say them. But right now I need to get on with life because life will only hold off for about 30 minutes when I am trying to blog something. After that it starts screaming in my ear for attention.

"I'm coming. Hold your horses!!"

That was me hollering at life. Good day.

And the end.

3 million percent. part 3

"You'll take the drugs. That is what you'll do." The man said this to me like it was a no brainer. How was he so sure? How could he be so sure when I was so unsure? He is just a man after all, what does he know of hormones?

Only that he's lived with me for 17 years. Whatever.

"I don't know..." was my response as it usually is when I am riddled with capricious and vindictive hormones.

"Well, I know. I'm telling you to try them. If it doesn't work then it doesn't work. But you're going to try."

And with this I began the pondering that led me to unload and seek advice from some very smart and wonderful friends (you know you are!) who backed up what the man said.

Do it.
Do it.
Do it.

Why was everyone so against me?? I did not want to medicate. Why was everyone so on board with the idea? Are they wanting to watch me ruin myself? I couldn't figure it out.

Oh waiiiiiiiit a sec......they aren't against me. They are pro sanity. And I am insane. So therefore, if I take the meds I might find sanity and I won't ruin me by refusing to get better which might just be...ruining me.

Okay, now I get it.

I am the one who is a sleep deprived, hormonal hurricane of irrationality and unreasonable-ness. I'm the one who has no clue, everyone else gets it.

Sort of.

And just like that, I gave up the control I thought I had of an issue I actually had no control over. I decided to take the pills. And with the promise from the man that if I turned into a zombie or a homicidal maniac he would take me off the pills I popped the first little white magic maker.

Or so I hoped.

Fast forward three weeks, I am mostly over the stomach upset I was told I would experience. I am waiting and waiting and waiting for any sign that the pills are taking away my anxiety.....

3 million percent. part 2

Sooooo, where were we? Oh yes, the sleep doctor.

If I was to wrap up that visit without boring you to death with all the gory details it would be this:

I walked in exhausted, beside myself with fatigue and an inability to make my own important decisions. I walked out with a mood disorder and a prescription for anti-anxiety medication.

Yep. I did. I walked in tired and walked out tired and crazy. At least, that's how I felt at the time. Just another crazy girl roaming the earth.

I was mad.

Who are we kidding? I was down right pissed off. I would be damned if I was going to be another drugged up, zombie-fied Mormon housewife who is so overwhelmed, or bored, with life that she needs to pop a pill just to get out of bed in the morning.

I wanted to lament and cry to the world about how everything is so hard and why can't I just ask the doctor, "Why can't I sleep?" And have him respond with, "You will, after I wave my magic wand and click my heels together three times."

PMDD. Ever heard of that? I had and for many years I thought I might have it. I googled the crap out of it and denied myself help because I am so anti-labelling.

Premenstrual Dysphoric Disorder.

That's the new me. Just a girl, a mom, a wife. A woman with raging, uncontrollable PMS and.......

.....and that's not all.

"You have anxiety," he said to me.

"Um, yes, I know," I replied.

"No. You have an anxiety disorder. And it's keeping you up at night."

"Yes........I know."

The realization that this was in fact what was keeping me up at night finally being said out loud, by me, was the scariest thing I think I have ever done.

Besides writing this all out, of course.

That doesn't mean anything though when I sat firmly upon my pedestal and announced that I refused to be medicated. "There has to be another way," I said to him.

He shook his head no. "Take this prescription. Go home and talk to your husband. Take some time to let it sink in. If you decide not to take the pills then call me and we'll talk. Otherwise I'll see you in a month."

I took that prescription out of his hand, shoved it into my bag, walked to my car, closed the door and screamed.

I screamed at him. I screamed at the world. I screamed at stupid Willacy, I screamed at my kids and the man, I screamed at God. At life. At messed up menstrual cycles and messed up heads...

If mind over matter could have triumphed that day I would have minded that matter right in the youknowwhat.

I have always wanted to use the word gobsmacked. I think this is as good a time as any.

The drive home was long and confusing. I needed to talk to the man. And later that evening I complained about how silly the whole thing was. "What do I do?" I asked him. You see, I had PMS that day and felt completely incapable of deciding what to make for dinner never mind whether or not I should start pumping anti-anxiety meds into my system.

"Well," he said, "I'll tell you what you'll do..."

3 million percent. part 1

Oh mercy, where do I start? So much to say, so much to catch up on. I think I'll start filling you in and when this post gets too long I'll throw in a cliffhanger and you'll be dying until I come back and tell you more.

Yep, that's what we'll do.

So, here we go.

Telling you this feels a lot like peeing with the door open. Youknowwhatimean? I'm putting it out there. All in. Totally honest. I prefer to be that way, it's easier than trying to keep things that I really don't mind talking about to myself. Hopefully this doesn't make anyone uncomfortable. Even if it does, you'll keep reading, because that's what people do. They take solace in other people's dysfunction.

Amiright?

I have hesitated saying anything for a variety of reasons. At first it was shock and then it was denial and then it was acceptance. But I was too busy to give it the attention it deserves.

I have some time now, so...shall we?

Remember when I would blog about how I never slept and then I took that goofy sleep test? The results came in. And those results sent my life down a completely different path than anything I could have possibly anticipated.

On August 21 I went to meet with a sleep doctor. Did you know that sleep doctors are psychiatrists? I didn't know, until half way through our little discussion that he was a psychiatrist, and I was shocked when I found out.

I don't know why.

He told me that I did not have sleep apnea but that clearly something was causing my insomnia. He then proceeded asking me 1000 questions and with every answer I could see him pulling thoughts from the inner recesses of his mind. Changing courses of questioning as we went. I spent the most of the time wondering where the heck this was going.

After 45 minutes he told me I had three options.

1. Come into the clinic and do the $800 over night sleep test that would confirm I did not have sleep apnea.

We both agreed this would be a waste of time and money.

2. Allow him to diagnose me. Allow him to treat me. Meet monthly until we both agree that we are treating the right thing and go from there.

3. Do nothing. Live a tired sleepy life. Attempt to cope.

I asked him what he would do. He said he believed he could help. He said he wanted me to let him try.

I was too tired to argue...

the mysteries of the universe

My latest pieces are up at Art a la Carte. Good thing too since I've been so neglectful of this here blog.

I'm writing a paper on the mysteries of the universe and I'm having a dickens of a time since I find the universe to be so confusing and all.

So, go read these for now and remember to hug your people after. Tell them you love them because apparently one of the mysteries of the universe is cancer.

The Loneliness 

and

And So Am I...