Finally....

We've had several setbacks since I last wrote. 

The engineer that was going to approve our plans, so they could be taken to the building department to get the permit died. It set us back a couple of months, because there was no one else in his firm to approve it, and we got stuck in a line of hundreds of other people scrambling to find an engineer to approve the plans. Our inconvenience is nothing. Someone lost their life, and there are family and friends who are grieving his loss. We feel horrible for his loved ones! It did, however, change the course for us a bit.

The plans have been down at the building department for a month now. Apparently, new regulations went into effect on July 1 that are making things incredibly difficult to get things approved, so we wait. Just a few of the other things they needed that were a separate trip out to our house and back to the building department by the contractor: the size of the furnace - they needed to not only know the BTUs, but they also needed the physical size of the furnace-even though they approved it when it was installed 3 years ago! They also needed something having to do with the electrical system and a few more things outside the house that we didn't even realize until after the contractor had come and gone. At least we know it will be good to go when they are all finished.

But guess what?? The guys are in the garage right now working on pulling the walls down and putting in new floor joists as we speak!! We are FINALLY getting started on this! I can't even describe how exciting it is that we are moving forward in a way that we can see. I can't imagine how frustrating it has to be for the builder to have been put on hold all this time, too! I imagine it felt somewhat like a horse being restrained before the race started. The plans still haven't been approved, (hoping that happens in the next couple of days), but at least the gate is open! 

And we are chomping at the bit...

Well, that was unexpected.

Years ago, I was diagnosed with ADHD. I've known I've had it my entire life. It was incredibly hard to sit still in class when I was little, and my mind constantly wandered. I would often be out on the prairie with Laura, Mary, and Carrie in my mind. We weren't just picking wildflowers. We were building treehouses, fighting with riding horses, or surviving being stalked by a bear or mountain lion during math class. It hasn't let up. I still struggle with keeping my mind in one lane. The Fibro has made it worse. There are days the fog is so thick that I struggle to remember my own name. Okay. Maybe not my name, but definitely my birth year.

I had tried one of the name brands of ADHD medicines years ago, and I was amazed at how well I could put not only 2 thoughts, but 3, 4, or 5 thoughts, together at one time! Alsas, I was allergic to it. It raised my blood pressure and gave me horrible headaches, so I only took it for about a week. It was such a disappointment that I couldn't take it anymore. I was able to function efficiently for the first time in my life! However, being concerned about similar reactions to other medications, I didn't try anything else for my ADHD for another 15 years. Until recently.

Lately, thoughts bounce in an out of my mind at incredible speed. I try to focus on one thing and another thought pops it right out of my mind. So I talked to my doctor about my ADHD, and they agreed that I could try something else. I did really well with it for the first 9 days or so. I was able to have coherent thoughts without having to repeat what I was saying multiple times. However, on the night of the 9th dose, I noticed my upper lip was tingling. It felt like it was waking up from a trip to the dentist. However, it was gone in the morning, so I didn't think much of it.

The next morning, I had no tingling, so I took the medication again. An hour or so after taking the med, my lip started tingling. Then my left eyebrow. Then my chin was numb. Then my right eyelid, followed by my left cheek. An hour later, I was not only still struggling with odd facial tingling and numbness, but my scalp started playing Simon on me. Remember the light up game with the colors that would light up, and you'd have to remember their sequence? It was just a random pattern that pulsed, never made any sense, and could be dizzying to watch. Well, that's what my scalp started doing. It would jump from one patch to being numb, to another patch tingling, to yet another tightening.

It lasted for 7 hours.

Needless to say, I didn't take any more of the medication. And when I was still struggling with facial numbness and tingling a week later, I made an appointment with a neurologist. He talked about how migraines and a pinched nerve could account for the numbness and tingling, and we talked about an MRI I'd had done 11 years ago. (The neurologist at the time said that I had a couple of spots on my brain, but he also specifically said I did not have MS. However, he also signed me up with the MS Society to receive all the info on MS. It concerned me that he would do it, so I called and asked his office, if it said in my records that I had MS. It did not, so I asked them to remove my name from their mailing list. It was disconcerting to get requests to join clinical trials for something I didn't have!)

I had the MRI on the 30th and went in last week to find out the results. I had the CD in my hand, and the doctor asked me, if I'd looked at it yet. I hadn't. How unlike me is it that I wouldn't even look at it? Obviously, if I had been thinking clearly, the first thing I'd have done was pop it into the computer and looked at it. I certainly wouldn't have been thinking migraines and a pinched nerve had I seen it. The MRI looked like someone had spilled popcorn all over the film. My brain is full of lesions.

I have MS.

Stick a Fork In Me. I'm Done.

The last year has been difficult.

I've had to let the friendship of the 'dear friend' I wrote about the last time I was on my blog go by the wayside. I knew I had done something that bothered her, but she would never give me the courtesy of explaining what it was. Instead, she would 'punish' me by ignoring me when I would do something that bothered her, she would be passive aggressive, and just refused to communicate. It was exhausting and stressful. 

At first, it absolutely crushed me. It crushed my spirit. I was not suicidal, because I refuse to go down that path. I know what it does to family members and friends when someone chooses to end their life, and it will never be an option for me no matter how bad things are going. And since I've been there on the brink when I was in highschool and actually attempted suicide, I know when I start to go down that path, and I can avoid it. In spite of the fact that suicide was not an option, this past year has been a very dark year for me.

She works with the girls at the day program they attend. In order for them to receive the funding they get, we have to have a staffing with the day program and the social service organization that controls the funding. I would be asked what was working or wasn't working with the girls, and I would stupidly gush about all the wonderful things that happened when she was with them. She apparently got in trouble for it at work, but she wouldn't tell me what it was that I said that was the issue.

She didn't want her name brought up with anything to do with the girls, because she said it wasn't fair to her to get in trouble, if I mentioned her name. But that makes no sense at all. Me mentioning something that she had done shouldn't have gotten her in trouble. Then it dawned on me recently that she got in trouble for it, because it was something she wasn't supposed to do. It wasn't me. It was her,

But it took her refusing to meet to discuss things like adults after I'd repeatedly asked for a meeting. And while I believe they were worthy causes, she'd contact me out of the blue asking me, if I wanted to donate to a fundraiser or something. I did. I know. It was stupid. I wanted the friendship so much that I supported whatever it was that came my way. It didn't happen often-only every few months, but then she'd get mad at me again, and she would withhold her friendship. 

Did I mention it was exhausting?

The last time, she contacted me while she was at work and asked, if I wanted to buy one of the fundraising cards that the high school was selling. I said sure, and I sent a note in with the cash pay for it. Yep. In the communication notebook, I wrote what the money I was sending in was for, because I wanted a record that it had been sent in. If it was lost, I would have ended up spending twice the amount, and that was what was on my mind when I wrote the note. It wasn't that I wasn't trying to maintain boundaries. That was the last thing on my mind when I wrote the note. I just didn't want something to happen to the money.

Of course, it was followed by the silent treatment. Punished. Again. She was trying to hold me to a standard that she wasn't holding herself to and then punishing me when I failed to realize it. 

Several months earlier, she said that I liked getting information from people to use it against them when the time was right. I'm not like that. At least I certainly never set out to be that way. I don't intentionally hurt others. I've hurt others and not had a clue as to how I did, but I haven't set out to intentionally hurt anyone. But she did. She got to the point where she would not tell me what had happened during the day when she was with one of the girls. She would purposely not write in the communication notebooks, and then would only respond, 'good' when I would ask how things went during the day. 

I know she was trying to hurt me, but she wasn't. She was hurting the girls. The last time she did it, I wrote her a very professional note and explained exactly why we needed the communication notebook and sent it in a message to her. Her response? 'Ok. Thanks'. That was it. 

In the meantime, we had another staffing for one of the girls. Her name came up. I found out weeks after the meeting that she blocked me from the messaging app. It's always about punishment for her. For us, it's about what has worked for the girls, and it has never been about intentionally hurting anyone. Ever.

Thankfully, my eyes have been opened, and the last few things she pulled didn't hurt at all. I realized months ago that I don't want to be friends with someone who is intentionally punitive to someone instead of being an adult and actually talking things out. 

I take responsibility for my part in things. I did fall into gossip with her about some things that were happening at the day program, but I also never would have known about any of them, if she hadn't brought them up. (Not excusing my behavior, but hopefully, she will realize she was to blame as well). And I don't know that I have Austism or that I'm codependent. I might be. But I will be returning to counseling, so I can figure it all out. 

As much as I didn't understand before now why outside friendships shouldn't happen between medical staff/patients or teachers/care providers/those that care for your children and a parent, I get it now. She used her position to manipulate me into things I wouldn't normally have done. (We have gotten those stupid fundraising cards 3 years in a row and never used them once). I won't let it happen again. I've learned my lesson.

I honestly do wish her the best. But I'm done.

Motoring

Four and a half years ago when I started this blog, after watching my first episode of Hoaders, I remember looking for other hoarding blogs. I know I've written about it once or twice and how disappointing it was that they didn't keep up with their blogging. It made me think that perhaps they weren't successful with dehoarding their homes and getting their lives back together. Had they stopped blogging, because they had fallen off the wagon, so to speak, and were just embarrassed to come back and admit it? It saddened and concerned me. It made me wonder, if I'd ever be able to get it all done myself. 

It didn't dawn on me that perhaps blogging got to be too much for those who had started their journeys and that life won out. At least it didn't dawn on me until it happened to me.

The last several months have been full of, well, life. That, and my computer died on me. So I'm actually borrowing Bugster's computer for the day, so I could peruse the internet for awhile and drop by for a quick blog post.

Since Hubster had his gallbladder out back in March, our lives have been filled with all sorts of everything. 

Scooter's had some health issues that caused liver and spleen enlargement, (We never did find out the cause, but she's doing much better now.), she graduated from high school, and she's now going to her day program 5 days a week, and is thrilled she didn't have to start school last week with the rest of the students in the district! 

Hopper has done very well. A year ago, we took her in for a surgery consultation. The doctor was willing to do the surgery, but she wanted Hopper to lose some weight, so the insurance company would be more willing to approve the surgery. She's lost 29 pounds, (12 of which she'd gained in the previous year due to some medication she was taking), and the surgery is a go. We just barely got approval for it a few weeks ago, but we are beyond thrilled that she will be able to have this surgery! It will be life-changing for her. The downside of this is that her anxiety is quite high while she awaits the surgery scheduled for the end of October. 

I definitely added to her stress level. The last 2 weeks of July, I was in class for 8 hours a day to become a CNA. Hopper doesn't do well at all with change, so for me to not be home during the day was very difficult for her, in spite of the fact that I was always here with the girls in the evenings. The days were long, though. The girls' hours were extended at the day program for those 2 weeks, and it just took its toll. It was wonderful getting out of the house, being back in the school setting, and meeting people, but it was also exhausting. Still, I would do it all again in a heartbeat! 

Unfortunately, it's brought out the worst in my fibromyalgia. I've been in the worst flare I've had since I was diagnosed with it 6 years ago. It doesn't help that I ran out of some of the things that help when it gets out of control. Thankfully, they should be here tomorrow, so I will, hopefully, be fully functioning again soon. And thankfully, we haven't had any major wildfires this year, so my asthma is under much better control than it was a year ago. I'm still on a small amount of daily oral steroids, but I should be done with them shortly, so things are looking up.

I'm looking forward to taking my state test, so I can get my license and be hired on to be the girls official caretaker. It will be really odd to have an income for the first time in our 28 year marriage. It's not that I wasn't allowed to work outside the home. Hubster's not like that. I'm not, either. If he had said that he didn't allow me to work outside the home, my first stop would have been to flood the market with job applications. But I can't think of a single job where I'd have been able to call in and say, "Yeah. I need the next 3 weeks off... Hopper and Scooter have another cold." So this will be a life-changing thing for our family, and I'm looking forward to the freedom it will allow us.

Now to answer my original question. Have I left my blog, because I'd fallen off the dehoarding wagon and was too embarrassed to admit it, or has life just been overly full?

I'd like to think it's mostly that life just got in the way. While the dehoarding has taken a backseat to life, it's still in the car, and we're still putting along.

I'm Going Back to School.

Kind of.




I'm doing homework again. The other day, I started watching Hoarders all over again, starting with season 1. I realized I've been slipping into some of my old hoarding behaviors, and I just don't want to go backwards. I think the habits may be surfacing due to stress, but I'm not entirely sure. I know that my dehoarding has definitely slowed over the last few years, but the last few years have been very stressful, too. And while the dehoarding had slowed down, I wasn't actively hoarding anything. I just wasn't getting rid of things like I had been there for awhile.


But last week things changed.

I'd gotten the last yogurt out of the case, and as I was tearing the box up to fit it in the trash I noticed that there were Box Tops for Education on the carton. I know I've got a gallon bag of them floating around the house somewhere, and I know that they could bring in a few dollars for a local school, so I figured I'd start saving them again. So I tore them off the carton and figured I'd just go back and trim them down with scissors, so they'd be neat. That old perfectionism thing rearing it's ugly head once again. 

But when I'd torn the one off the carton, I'd torn the corner of the BTFE off. If I was going to trim them to be neat, I'd also need to tape that one back together. So I just tossed them on the counter with the thought of getting the scissors and going back to them right away. But then the phone rang, or I had to help one of the girls or something else took my attention, and I forgot about getting the scissors. I'd remember the scissors every time I went in the kitchen, but I'd never actually get the scissors. So they just sat there. For a week. And in that week, I noticed every other BTFE on every other item we buy that carries them. And I found myself searching them out with my eyes, so I would remember which products had them, so I wouldn't forget to cut them off and save them.  

And I found myself getting stressed over it, because I noticed some of them had expiration dates on them. And what would I do, if I spent time to save them up and then dropped the ball by letting them expire. And was it worth it in the long run? Yeah. I think they're probably worth it for someone who doesn't have a hoarding problem, but I realized it wasn't worth it for me. Heck. After this year, we won't even have anyone in school anymore. So after a full week of it sitting on the counter calling me names, and calling my name, and making me feel guilty for not getting the scissors and tape, I gave myself permission to throw the Box Tops For Education in the trash. I gave myself permission to not be responsible for saving the local school through little coupons on boxes. 

Twas small victory, but a victory nonetheless.

But while I was basking in the glow of snatching that small victory from the jaws of defeat, I was snapped out of a fog that I hadn't even realized had descended upon me. I noticed a light bulb I'd set aside last week when I changed the one that had burned out. I'd seen a couple of cute little crafts using old light bulbs that I thought would be fun to do when I ran across them, and I'd set the bulb aside. You know. For when I could get to it in my spare time. I mean, I could make all sorts of adorable Christmas ornaments out of them, but the one I really thought was inventive was where you take the filament out of the bulb and turn it into a vase. Cute!

And then I realized I didn't have just one light bulb set aside. I had 3 of them that had burned out at roughly the same time. Except one was on my kitchen counter, and was on the big television armoire we'd turned into a pantry a few months ago. And all of the sudden, I saw really sharp shards of glass cutting Hopper and Scooter, and I decided that light bulb crafts are not in my near future. They take up too much space to save at this time, so they're gone. If Bugster wants them for crafting, she can have them and can pick them up this weekend. If she doesn't, they will go in the trash. 

And then, out of the blue, I remembered the laundry basket of unmated socks that was still sitting downstairs waiting for me. It's been waiting for me for 3 years. That's long enough. So I tossed my hoarding issues aside and went through the basket. I found about a dozen pair of socks, saved a few socks that we'd purchased relatively recently that I knew the other half of the pair was around somewhere, and then I threw the rest in the garbage.  I think there had to have been between 150 and 200 single socks in there. I didn't take the time to count. 

There were 2 socks - 1pink, 1 light green - that still felt new, and soft, and unworn, but I didn't remember when we'd gotten them. There were actually 3 different colors, but I'd found one full pair of blue ones, and for some reason, I didn't keep the 2 singles. I tossed them out with the others. And wouldn't you know it, but a few hours later, I came across the other pink sock under a piece of furniture in Scooter's room. 

Crap.

I knew I could go out to the garbage and retrieve the mate and nobody else would ever even know. Besides, I knew it was the last thing I'd put in the bag, so the sock would be right on top. And just like the Christmas tree tin that called my name from the trash that cold winter night over 4  years ago, the little pink sock was trying to get my attention. From outside. In the trash can. 

:::sigh:::

I've been fighting the urge to dig the little pink sock out of the trash and reunite it with its mate for the better part of the day. It was so unfamiliar to once again feel those physical symptoms I felt that night 4 years ago when I threw that tin away. And then I remembered that it was just a crew sock. And Scooter doesn't like that length of sock nearly as much as she likes knee socks. And she has plenty of socks in both lengths. And I realized that we can always buy another pair, if she needs some. I mean it's not like it would bankrupt us.

Besides. I need to do the homework. It's worth the cost of a pair of socks or two, and it's way cheaper than therapy. I just don't want to slide backwards down that slippery slope I so carefully climbed a few years ago. 

Granted, I still have a long way to go before our home is completely dehoarded, but I'll get there one day. 

I just have to do my homework.

I wonder how much overwhelmed weighs.

So I've been busy not being busy. Well. Sort of. I've been busy selling some stuff on eBay for a little lady who just lost her house to foreclosure. She needs the money, and frankly, so do I, and I am not doing this for free. Still, it's taken quite a bit of my time, and I've found I've neglected other things that I really should be working on. 

It wouldn't be so difficult, if I hadn't had to relearn how to sell on eBay. I've been away for long enough that almost everything had changed. I'm tempted to open up an eBay store, because I could list up to 2500 items per month for free, where now I can only list 50 for free. It costs about $15 a month for the store, but where listing fees start at 30 cents a pop after the first 50 being free, it would only take 50 listings to get my money back. It makes sense financially, and if I could just get them all listed at the same time, instead of having to wait for days where they have offers for free listings, it could save me a lot of time. I'll probably kick it around for a couple more days and then end up opening a store. :::shrug::: It will either happen, or it won't.

I've been dealing with back spasms in my lower back the last couple of weeks, so that's been fun. Even though it's been on the verge of spasming again today, I threw caution to the wind and worked outside a bit. I need a lot of bits to get anything accomplished, though. The front yard is a disaster after having it dug up for the sewer line replacement back in February. The backyard is a disaster full of downed trees that need cut, split, and stacked, so we can sell it this fall to someone who has a fireplace. Either that, or we need to just get someone back there who will do it for the free firewood.  Then the garden dreams I dream each night have to find their way into the plans, too. 

I'm trying not to get too overwhelmed. We have a ton to do, but we've also gotten a ton done. Let me rephrase that...we have at least a couple dozen tons to do, but we've gotten a ton done. I just have to remember that the ton we've already finished was finished one pound at a time. 

Off to go do a few ounces worth of work and trying not to calculate how many ounces there are in a ton. 

Unsettled

Today has been ... unsettling. That all-day-long-sort-of-unsettling that keeps a person from being able to concentrate on anything for more than a moment or two.

The thing is, things have been going along pretty smoothly, and I really can't complain. Hubster's layoff has been one of the best things that have ever happened to us. My back has slowly, but surely, been getting better, and my hips aren't killing me all the time anymore. I haven't lost anyone close to me, and except for the occasional cold or ear infection, we are healthy.

But I had a nightmare right before I woke up this morning that has had my head in a tailspin all day long. I'm sure it has to do with the recent terror attack in Boston, and the death and dismemberment of so many people and the fertilizer plant explosion in West, TX. My heart aches for all of those affected by it, whether they were direct victims, families of those injured or killed, or those who had to see unspeakable things when they rushed in to try to help those who were hurt.

I didn't really think I was gravely affected by it, since I didn't personally know anyone who was hurt or terrorized. I've shielded the girls from watching the news, and I've personally tried to stay away from it myself. I've found in the past that I can so easily be sucked into a great abyss of darkness, if I focus on tragedies like this too much. And my kids don't need for me to live in an abyss. They need me to be their mom.

Normally, I don't repeat bad dreams, because they're usually a distant memory by noon. But today, I need to write about my dream, because it will let me forget it and will let me sleep tonight above ground. Now is the time to x out of this post, if you are affected negatively by other people's dreams.  

In my dream, Hubster and I had taken a trip of some sort to a large city. I don't know what city we were in. All I know is that it was large and unfamiliar. It apparently had some good shopping though, and we'd stopped at some mega store to look for something for the house. I only remember that it was small, because we kept turning it over and looking at it and one next to it to determine, if it would be a good fit in our home.

After looking at the thing for 10 minutes or so, we realized that Scooter was gone. We were frantic. We started calling her name in a panic and panicking, because we knew she couldn't let us know that she heard us. We saw some checkers near the front registers, so we asked, if they had seen a young girl and described Scooter to them.

The gal we spoke with said, "I haven't seen her, but I know a young girl died outside the front doors a little bit ago!" She went on to say that the girl died on the tracks...I don't know, if they were subway tracks or from a trolley car or what, but they were apparently right outside the front doors of the store. 

Our hearts sank. We instantly felt guilty that we'd let her out of our sight pictured her tripping onto the tracks. I remember going down to the morgue and trying to identify the body, and being relieved that it wasn't her but being absolutely terrified that we'd taken the time to go to the morgue. That meant that we'd wasted precious time that we could have spent looking for her at the store. 

The dream then morphed into me telling Hubster's niece that I was so incredibly sorry that I had dreamed that she had died. She didn't want anything to do with me because of the dream. I think that even in my sleep it was too much for me to actually dream that something had really happened to her, and that I somehow convinced myself in my dream that it was a dream about someone else.

Around noon today, something the clerk said came back to me. When she was telling us that someone had just died out front, I'd asked her when it happened. She said that the girl had fallen 2 or 3 hours before, but that she had died about 20 minutes before we asked her about it, so I  have no idea why the timing didn't dawn on us in my dream, and we went to the morgue instead.

All I know is that this nightmare has clung to me like the smell of a bad cigar all day long. I haven't been able to shake it, and even recounting it to write it down has caused my stomach to lurch with anxiety. We've had a couple of close calls over the years with losing her for a few minutes, once when she decided she couldn't wait to use the restroom, and we found her in one of the stalls in the mens restroom at the zoo, and the next time when she decided to go visit the neighbor when we thought we had all the doors locked to the point that she couldn't get out. 

Both situations caused untold anxiety and worry, and rightfully so. Neither situation should have happened. At the same time, a parent can easily be distracted by one of their other children, a phone call or a conversation. We are fallible. After all, we are only human. Still. I think it's time we find something to aid us in finding her, if she's ever separated from us again.

It's a jungle out there.

I am a little surprised that I feel the way I do tonight. Maybe it's a bit of emotional and physical fatigue. I just thought that finally getting through the guardianship process would have had a bigger impact on my state of well-being. 

We met with the judge on Tuesday and finalized guardianship. It is such a huge relief to have it all done, but I also can't help but wonder, if the relief is why I'm so exhausted. I'm. just. Tired. Really, really tired. 

The judge was very sweet. The whole process took about an hour. We will get the official documents in the mail next week sometime. Once we get it, we'll have to get copies to the doctors' offices, day programs, school, etc., and keep a copy on hand to bring to the hospitals, should the girls ever need to be treated there again. 

The day itself was a bit stressful, though. Hopper started getting anxious when we kept having to drive around the block to find a parking spot close enough for Scooter, since walking long distances is a bit rough for her. We were hoping she'd settle down once we found a place to park, but no such luck. It only got worse.

I'm assuming all courthouses have security similar to the one here in town, but I don't know for sure, and you know what they say about assuming. It wasn't as rough having the TSA  get us through security, but I think Hopper thought it might end up in a strip search. 

OK. I'm exaggerating a little. She doesn't even know that happens, and I'm SO thankful she doesn't! She'd have really freaked out!!

The way it was, we had to empty our pockets and put the contents in a bin that went on a conveyor belt and through an x-ray machine. She did fine with that part, but when the metal detector beeped because of the underwire in her bra, she sort of flipped out. She was afraid to go back through it again and started getting worked up, sporadically yelling, "no!"

The water works started and the "NO!!'s" got a lot louder when the uniformed policeman had to use the wand to make sure she wasn't carrying any weapons. She was having a huge panic attack, and he was very sympathetic, but he was struggling with getting her to stand still long enough to pass the wand down her back and then her front. After multiple attempts, he was finally satisfied that she was not a threat and continued on with checking the rest of us. 

The only thing we can think of is that poor Hopper thought that once he was done he was going to frisk her. And we all know what comes after the frisking...

handcuffs! I wish we'd have though of explaining that part of it before we went in, but both Hubster and I were nervous enough about the whole thing that we didn't even think of it. 

I've been absolutely exhausted since Tuesday. I think it's just relief that this enormous monkey is off our backs at this point. 

I think the headache I have is from him holding tightly to my hair as he jumped off into the jungle.

Stupid monkey.

 

Putting things in perspective.

Most of the time, I'm not the only one on my mind. It may come across from time to time that I'm really self-centered, but I'd like to think that isn't the case. I just sometimes get caught up in what's going on in my own little world to the exclusion of anyone else's. Typically, it's nothing but survival and usually comes about as a result of overwhelming stress.

The other day I was completely snapped out of my reality and realized that my stress is nothing compared to others'. I fully understand that what someone else is going through does not negate the stress I am feeling, and that I shouldn't ignore that I have struggles of my own. But it does help me to not focus on my own stresses and build them up in my mind any larger than they should be...

I've known Ella for the last 10 years or so. She's a beautiful young lady with a heart for God. I've seen her grow from a precious child to a capable woman in what seems like a blink of an eye. She and Jacob, a young man on his first enlistment in the United States Marine Corps, married in December. Shortly thereafter, Jacob deployed to Afghanistan. 

She got the call a couple of days ago that Jacob was severely injured in combat. She was told that he had broken his hip, had a compound fracture in his wrist, and that he lost one leg at the knee. Horrible injuries, no doubt. But today she got more of the story...

Her husband not only has a broken hip and a compound fracture to his wrist, but it appears he has lost both legs and is much more severely injured than she was first told. He's on a ventilator and is, according to Ella's brother, "pretty much injured all over his body". 

Jacob is at a hospital in Germany. Alone. No family over there to help him through this. My prayer is that we can find Ella a way to go to Jacob and be with him. To pray with him. To support him. To love him. To hold his hand. To bring him home. 

This has definitely put my problems in perspective.

They ain't nothin' but a thing.

I wish I'd learn to listen to myself.

Over the years I've really struggled with drinking caffeinated pop. A lot. Daily. As in a 2-liter bottle every single day. A few years ago, I stopped drinking it, and I stayed away from it for 3.5 years. Then I started drinking it again, because the caffeine helped with my asthma. I eventually stopped again, because the caffeine was bothering the neuropathy associated with the fibromyalgia. It felt like I was being used as a pin cushion from the inside out, and it just wasn't worth the pain. 


I'd been off it for right at a year again when Hopper broke her leg last summer and ended up in the hospital for 10 days following surgery. I felt like I couldn't keep up with the physical demands of going back and forth from home to the hospital every day, because I was ready to drop from exhaustion. It at least gave me the energy to make it through each day. 


But then life sort of exploded, and I figured I'd just stop drinking the 2 to 4 cans of soda I was drinking each day when things settled down. Except that they didn't really settle down. In fact, they got worse, and I started struggling with anxiety like I've never experienced before.


I started anxiety meds several months ago, and although they're helping me, I'm needing another dosage increase. It's getting rather frustrating. I don't know, if the caffeine is adding to the anxiety or not, but I'm giving it up again, anyway. 


I'm on day 3 of withdrawal. 


Again. 


For the umpteenthed, and hopefully final, time in my life.

Do you believe in the Easter Bunny?

Mom went in for a procedure today on her heart. It absolutely killed me, because I couldn't make it up to be there, and I've been a nervous wreck all day. Thankfully, the procedure worked so well that Mom is doing amazing tonight, and there is much relief and much rejoicing. 


But today has been rough on me. Heck, the last several weeks have been rough, but the last 2 days has been particularly difficult. Unfortunately, my regular anxiety medicine hasn't been enough to deal with all that is going on internally, and I've had to resort to taking Xanax from time to time. I could probably take a whole one and just be done with the anxiety for awhile, but they tend to knock me out pretty well, so I only take a half. I need to be completely aware of all that is going on with Hopper and Scooter, and if a half a tablet takes a bit of the edge off but keeps me awake and aware, I'll stick with that. 


Anyway, I was texting back and forth with Bugster about how Mom was doing when I decided to check out the microphone function on the text messaging. I said, " I really like this. Right now I am writing a text by talking it." into the phone. It came out like this, "I really like this but right now I am writing a text by talking with it." I figured it was pretty close, so I left it alone.


Bugster asked me, if I was playing with it, because I was lonely. I said, "No. I'm just waiting for the Xanax to kick in."


The phone, in all it's infinite wisdom came up with, "No. I'm just waiting for the Xanax chicken."


I'm thinking that the Xanax Chicken must be related to the Easter Bunny on some level. 


I believe!

It's all downhill from here.

I don't know, if it's hormones, (I am approaching *that* age), Bugster turning 25, or everything that's going on with Mom and living so far away, or all of the above, but I'm a mess. The last couple of days, I can't seem to keep from crying, and I rarely, if ever, cry. I'm the queen of emotion stuffing, remember? 


It's driving me nuts. 


It's time like this I fall into ruminating about all sorts of stuff. The thoughts range anywhere from past slights from people who proved they weren't the friends I thought they were to how I feel unloved. I really struggle with turning off the negative thoughts, and I'm exhausted from it all. Most days, I never give those people who have hurt me a second thought. And even when I am feeling unloved, I know in my heart that it's not true. I have absolutely no doubt that I am loved deeply by my family and many friends. But it's really hard to get that through my thick skull when I'm in the middle of an episode.


I get that my feelings are valid. I know I'm entitled to feel negatively about certain people either in my current or past life. But I can't handle it when the thoughts, the churning in my gut, and the tears don't stop. I hate living like this, because it's not really living.


Hoping the anxiety meds kicking in a bit and hearing how much better Mom is doing has helped a bit. It's just that when it all starts, it's like I'm trying to race down hill to catch a ball in front of me to try to get it to stop. It takes awhile to catch up to it and get it under control, and by then I'm out of breath.


Trying to catch my breath now.

Scattered thoughts.

Besides getting some more laundry done today and hanging out with the family, I haven't been all that productive in any measurable way.


I was able to toss a few pair of socks that I think I've had since I was in high school. The girls wore them a time or two, but they're not really worth saving. So even though they were clean and were still usable, I threw them away. I have to admit that I was surprised how easy it was to do. A year ago, I'd have had a mild panic attack over throwing them. In fact, I probably did struggle with anxiety over getting rid of them back then, and that's probably why they were still here. 


Over the course of the last couple of years, I've found that, if I just walk away from something and leave it until I'm ready to deal with it that I'm more often than not able to let it go. It may have once been high on my list of anxiety-provoking things to deal with, but by the time I get back to it again I'm ready to say goodbye. There have been numerous things that I've not been able to make a decision about getting rid of in the past, like the socks I threw away today, and I've been able to get rid of them without a second thought just weeks after the last struggle. 


I think a lot of it has to do with allowing myself to feel the anxiety with making a decision instead of pushing it down. Even if the decision I make is to not make a decision right away, feeling the anxiety allows for me to actually make a decision about the item when I come across it again. Most of the time, I am ready and willing to part with whatever it is, and I find that I'm looking forward to tackling those decisions I've put off in the past. 


Some other thought work I did today has to do with a project I'm working on for Bugster's 25th birthday that's coming up in a few weeks. Because she's been known to read my blog from time to time, I won't be mentioning details just yet. But I am thrilled I have a really good idea of what I'm going to be doing with it. I'll be taking pictures and post them when I'm done. I'm really looking forward to working on the project, and making it special. 


I'm also looking forward to bed. Once again, I'm up entirely too late. 

How do I know, if I'm a hoarder? Pt 6 - What do you think?

So far, I've covered several things that I have in common with those with hoarding issues. The last two things that come to mind are obsessive negative thoughts and trouble communicating.


I don't ever remember a time in my life that I haven't struggled with negativity. It often consumes my thoughts for days at a time. I can  just be minding my own business and boom! Something creeps in and takes my thoughts captive. 


I never know when it will strike, what will set it off, how long it will last, or what the topic will be. I just know it's incredibly discouraging. Most often, the thoughts I can't get out of my mind have to do with someone hurting someone I love. Like when I was preoccupied for several days with  the way my in-laws had treated our family. 


It's absolutely exhausting to relive the hurt over and over again. I'd rather just forget it, put it in the past, and leave it there never to be thought of again. But the thoughts aren't always about someone hurting me or my family. Sometimes, it's worry about things that I have done wrong. And believe me. I've got plenty of fodder for the thoughts that dance in my head.


When I was very young, (maybe 8?), I remember hearing someone in church saying that humans are in a constant state of sin. I took it very literally, and I couldn't sleep, eat or breathe for days after I heard that. I thought it meant that every single breath I took, every bite of food I ate, every thought I had, everything I did was a sin. I specifically remember breathing in and thinking, "Oh my goodness! I just sinned!" Breathing out and thinking, "Oh no! I did it again!" And I remember feeling very, very guilty.


The thoughts eventually stopped, but I'm not sure exactly how it happened. I don't know, if I asked Mom, if I was understanding it correctly, or if I mentioned it to one of my older brothers and sisters, and they explained it to me or what. I do remember feeling relieved when I was no longer struggling with the negative thoughts. They would, however, still come rushing back when I would get in trouble for doing something naughty. 


And just to be perfectly clear, my parents had nothing to do with the negative self talk. I firmly believe it's something I was born with. Something in my personality. I don't blame anyone for it. Not even myself. At least I don't blame myself when I'm actually thinking clearly. I still fall victim to my pointing fingers when I'm in the middle of a mind assault, but I believe it is how my brain is wired. It just is who I am, and I need to learn to deal with it, so it's not a debilitating thing.


I've also struggled my entire life with communicating my thoughts. I've written before about how I've struggled with talking too much. I've been told more often than I can count to 'get to the point' or to hurry up and say what I had to say. I always feel so belittled when it happens, but I can't find the words at the moment to say, "That hurts my feelings, and I feel belittled. Please let me finish my thought." 


And there are certain topics that get me riled to the point I feel like I can't put two words together and make any sense. I have definite thoughts or feelings about the subject, but it's like they get stuck in my head and can't make their way out of my mouth . If I go ahead and try to address the issue right then and there, I come across as being in attack mode, because I can't get the right words out. My frustration level increases, my voice raises, and I go right into a fight or flight response. I am rendered completely ineffective to defend my thoughts, and my anxiety level increases dramatically.

It's maddening. 


I've come to the conclusion that these will be lifelong struggles for me, but I also am hopeful that I will learn strategies for circumventing both situations before they get out of control. 


I am more than my struggles.

How do I know, if I'm a hoarder? Pt 3 - Perfectionism

I'm a perfectionist. You may not know it by looking at my home, but I am. In fact, I've been working on this post for 4 days now trying to get my thoughts into words. Trying to make it perfect.

Once again, I think I'm trying too hard.

Growing up, we were taught to do the best we could at anything we attempted. To give it our all. If you do your best, you can take pride in your work. You can be proud knowing you gave it your all, and your effort will be rewarded. 


You know the old adage... If you can't do something right, don't do it at all. 

When I was a kid, I thought that meant I had to be perfect. And when I wasn't perfect, when I didn't get something right, it meant that I was wrong. And I equated 'wrong' with 'naughty'. With failure.


My parents wanted me to apply myself, and rightfully so. Kids should apply themselves. Thankfully, my parents were not stage parents who pushed and pushed wanting me to be perfect. I was the one who wanted to be perfect, and I made things so much harder on myself as a result.


Even though I got good grades in school, I would be so disappointed when the grade on my paper was less than an A-. When I would get a B+, I always chided myself for, if I had only applied myself a smidgen more, I could have gotten an A. Disappointment doesn't describe what I felt, if I got a C on a paper. I was traumatized. Report cards were even harder to handle, because I could never quite get straight A's. I'd get all A's and 1 B one quarter and the next I'd have brought the B up to an A while in a different class my grade slipped to a B. It was maddening and disheartening.


School wasn't the only area where I had perfectionism issues. I didn't like art, because I couldn't seem to draw or paint anything that resembled what it was supposed to. As much as I loved to sing, I couldn't carry a tune in a bucket with the lid duct taped on tight, if my life depended on it. So I didn't sing where anyone could hear me.


Shortly before Bugster was born, we bought my sewing machine. I loved it, but I was so afraid of making a mistake and having my project not look good that it took me months to sew the only baby outfit I ever made. I made plenty of baby blankets and curtains and the diaper bag and bumper pads, but they were fairly easy things to sew. They were straight lines for the most part. Plus they stayed in the nursery. If I messed up on a baby outfit, people would see it when she wore the clothes. People would be able to see my mistakes, so I just never made clothes.


The list goes on and on. 


It carried over into my life as a mother. I needed to be a perfect mother. It felt so personal when one of the babies cried. I just knew that it was, because they didn't love me, because I wasn't a good mother. I would be so embarrassed, if one of them spit up on their new clothes. I mean, if I was a good mom, they wouldn't get their clothes dirty, because I would have kept them from getting sick.


By the time life became so overwhelming with hospitalizations and the different medical needs the girls had, I was exhausted. Not only couldn't I get ahead on the laundry and housekeeping, I couldn't keep up on the daily stuff. It didn't matter that what I was going through as a mom was not typical, and that the only way for anyone to really keep up with what I had going on was to have extra help. I felt very, very imperfect.


In the meantime, I still had to make sure the clothes were all folded and put away without wrinkles. (Wrinkled clothes have always made me feel like a failure). The towels and sheets had to be folded exactly the same way each and every time. The dishwasher needed to be loaded, but it didn't get the dishes clean, so I had to pre-wash all the dishes before they went in the machine. 


When I started getting so overwhelmed I couldn't keep up I stopped trying. I started living the, 'If you can't do something right, don't do it at all' to the fullest, because I didn't know how to do it any other way. As a result, all sorts of stuff piled up. Papers didn't get filed. Clothes didn't get sorted out of the main laundry when the girls outgrew them. Forget about getting the clothes sorted. I couldn't even keep up with keeping them clean. Dishes didn't get done in a timely manner, if I didn't have time to wash them all before the dishwasher was run.


I couldn't do it. I was a bundle of nerves, and depressed enough that I struggled with daily life.


And once again, I was a failure.

Stop the ride. I want to get off.

I've been trying to get a post done for the last couple of days, but I'm struggling with my concentration. I just keep getting distracted. It's so frustrating. So instead of trying to force myself to think in a way that I can't right now, I thought I'd go in a different direction.

We got the reports from the court visitor in the mail yesterday. They are the ones she filed with the courts. She did a good job of representing the girls and made it very clear she felt like we should be awarded guardianship. It helped take the pressure off a bit. It feels like we can breathe a little better now.


We expect the attorney will be calling in the next week or two with a court date. We feel fairly ready. Hopper and Scooter did so well when the court visitor came out that we're hoping they'll do as well when we visit the judge. 


In spite of feeling confident that everything is going to go smoothly for the guardianship, my stomach still flips when I think about it. Once again, I am very thankful for anxiety meds. 


I just hope the anxiety takes a leave once all the legal stuff is finished. 


My stomach is ready to get off the merry-go-round.

Me and my hangups.

When the court visitor was here last week and looked in Scooter's closet, she said, "Wow. OCD much?" She thought Scooter had arranged the closet, but I told her I had. I explained that it just made things so much easier for Scooter to find what she needed at a glance. I had all of her clothes sorted and hung neatly. Starting at the left were the long-sleeved blouses followed by short-sleeved blouses, short-sleeved t-shirts, long-sleeved t-shirts, pants, dresses and skirts, and each section was arranged by color. To me, it just looked nice and neat. It makes things much easier for Scooter to see what's available in her closet and to pick out what she's going to wear for the day. 


I was thinking that her closet was the only one that looked like that, when I realized all of them do. Hopper's closet has one of those wire closet organizers installed, so it's organized a bit differently but even the coats in the coat closet are organized by who wears them with the winter coats to the left and lightweight coats to the right. And the linen closet looks amazing, if I do say so, myself. Everything is folded neatly and in its place, and looks great. Best of all, things are very easy to find. 


When any of the closets start to get messy and disorganized, I find my anxiety level goes up. It's just disconcerting. Maybe it's because they're the only truly finished areas in the house. All I know, is that I have to have them looking neat and organized as much as possible.


It can be a real hangup for me. 


Almost 2 years ago, I wrote about the struggle I was having with my hangers. I had so many different types  of hangers that I was compelled to sort them every time I passed them by. I had to have a different color for each person in the house, and it drove me absolutely nuts when the colors were mixed up in the closets. I wasted so much time and energy on them.


At the time, I realized that the best thing for me to do for myself in regard to the hangers was to start over from scratch, and I gave myself permission to buy all new hangers for our tops. It was hard for me to justify the expense, but I'm so glad I felt I was worth the small cost. It has helped tremendously. 


At the time, I thought I could get away without doing anything about the pants and skirt hangers. Well, that's not entirely true. I did get rid of a hodgepodge of pants hangers (at least 4 different styles and 4 different colors), but I still had 3 different colors and 2 different styles left. I've found that it's still too many choices for me.


In the last 2 years, we've had black, opaque and clear hangers that had the pinch things on them that opened like a clothespin to hang the pants or skirts. The clearest ones were supposed to only be used for Scooter's clothes, because her pants and skirts are the lightest weight, and they'd be least likely to break the hangers. Then the black pinch ones were Hoppers, and the opaque pinch ones were Scooter's. Hubster's hangers were black, but instead of pinching open and closed, there was a little part that went over the clothing and then a silver piece slid down over the plastic to hold the fabric in the hangers.


It's bothered me over the last 2 years, but it hasn't bothered me enough to do anything about it. 


Until today. 


This past week, I realized I've been wasting a lot of time and emotional strength and energy on these stupid hangers. It was frustrating when one of Hopper's was used to hang my clothes, because none of mine were available, or when some of Hubster's clothes were hung on Scooter's hangers and were heavy enough they snapped the hanger in two. Never mind the amount of time waste looking for the 'right' one to use when I had something to hang. 


I've tried for years to make the hangers work. But now that I've come to the conclusion that they aren't working for me, I've decided to do something about it. I realized that it was worth it to buy pants hangers in bulk on eBay, so I'm not obsessing over the mismatched hangers anymore. I will donate the old mismatched ones. The new ones will take the stress over who is using whose hangers away completely, and they'll cut down on the time looking for the right hanger to nothing. The choice will be gone. 


I'm already looking forward to their arrival next week. It will just be one less hangup for me to deal with on a daily basis.


I can deal with that.