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It's two a.m. My husband is sitting next to me playing on the keyboard. I'm blogging because I'm unsure of what else to do. I can't sleep. I'm not even tired. I had about 4 hours of sleep last night, I've been up since 8. You would think I would be sleepy. I'm not. I'm wide awake. I think I've gone into survival mode. Whenever I'm in his presence, I'm okay. Even slightly manic. Total social butterfly. But that's ALWAYS been my survival tactic. If I spent 3 minutes talking to this person and 5 minutes talking to that person, I don't really have to say anything to anyone.

On the inside, however, I hurt. I can't access those emotions, I just know they're there. I feel torn to pieces. My whole life has been turned upside down. I fear that around every corner he'll be there. Every time I lay down to sleep, my mind runs away with me. I keep trying to shut down. I am dissociating. My brain is just trying to survive. Literally. I hate it. I don't want to be numb. I want to feel something. Anything. How is this fair?

Part of me feels like I'm just whining. But I think that's the part of my brain trying to go back. Trying to convince myself, once again, that it isn't real. It isn't true. It can't be as bad as I think. That triggers me to go through the memories, just to prove to myself that it is real. It's a never ending stupid ugly cycle. I feel alone. And yet, I have so many people on my side. I know I'm not alone. I just hurt. Like there is a hole in my chest and it's on fire. I want to hide. I want to run away. I feel so weak. And I don't wan to feel weak. And yet, I want to curl up and stop functioning. I know. I'm so contradictory. Part of me wants to be strong. Part of me wants everyone to see how well I'm doing with this. I'm handling it. I'm taking care of things. And the other part of me wants to stand in the middle of a crowded room and scream and pitch a holy royal fit. I know there is no 'right' way to deal with this. I know that everyone copes and deals in their own ways. And I have had a lot dropped in my lap in a very short amount of time. I know. I just wish my brain could be on my side for a while. I can't cry. I can't be hysterical. I can't be anything. I'm just here. I'm okay. I shouldn't be okay. I don't want to be okay. And I'm still sitting here at 2:20 in the morning bc I know that as soon as I lay my head on my pillow, I'll be vulnerable, and I'll no longer be okay. And I'm afraid that if one tear falls, it'll all shatter. I don't want it to shatter. I need to hold it together for my family. For my sick, miserable husband. Want to know the kicker?

This morning in worship we couldn't sit in our regular seat. I was not at all dismayed by this. I was actually very glad to be nowhere near them. But my 5 year old daughter left her coloring book in our spot and wanted it. I said just walk quietly back there and get it and come right back (it's a small congregation with a LOT of kids, the kids pretty much run the show:)). She started crying and refused to go back there near him. I don't know if she's picking it up from me, or what, but it bothers me. A lot. I don't ever say his name around her unless she brings it up. I never ever say anything bad around either of them. So I'm very unsure of where she's getting it from and it just bothers me. I'm a mama, I can't help myself. Anyhow.

Okay I think I'm done rambling for now. My husband has lost his ever loving mind and I think I'll go join the insanity. Thank you all so much for your sweet words, and your prayers. They mean so much more than you'll ever know!
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  • I'm a wife. I'm a mom. I'm a photographer. I'm a lover of Jesus. My house is a mess, my kids are dirty, we eat take out more often than not. My life is loud, busy and crazy. And that's okay with me.
    This is Eric, the man you've been praying for. He's a paramedic. He quilts in his spare time. No, I couldn't make that up :) He has NASH (a form of liver disease, non-alcoholic) and diabetes, but those things don't define him. He's a man of God, an insanely wonderful husband, and the best daddy in the world.. Just ask these guys..
    Our daughter Ali, she's 9. She's fiercely opinionated and strong willed. She's a Daddy's girl, but the umbilical cord hasn't but cut from me, either. She's a gymnast, and proud of it. She spends more time upside down or turning flips than she does walking. She's crazy smart, and absolutely sure of it. She is my insufferable little know it all.
    Our son Dylan, 7. We lovingly refer to him as Chubs. Or Chubby. Or fat boy. Ahem. He is all boy, as you can see by his crazy wild energy. He has the highest pain tolerance of any child I have ever met. He plays soccer and does gymnastics, but truly he is a gamer, a nerd. He is an avid reader and loves to climb. Not to be outdone by his sister, he's a drama king, but to him, I'm the best mommy in the world.