Update: I know I haven't updated you guys, and for that I'm sorry. It's been a really hectic crazy day. Our PNP looked at Ali's neck and says it appears to just be a swollen lymph node. She doesn't think it's anything serious, but wer'e to keep a close eye on it. Keep praying that there is no infection, etc. Love you guys!
Original Post: I haven't posted in a little bit. I was going to post a picture for the i heart photo contest for this week, but I got a bit sidetracked. It was a good picture too. Sigh. I don't know why I'm blogging. I guess I just need to talk. I've been riding the fine line that is the mixed state of bipolar disorder. I'm manic. My thoughts race, I can't sleep, I feel this panic in my chest at all times. I equal this feeling to what Bella describes in New Moon as a hole in her chest. She often has to clutch her arms around herself to hold it together. I feel that way often. But with my mania, there is no euphoria. There is no elation. Just that panic in my stomach, that hole in my chest. I am depressed. I want nothing more than to sleep. I often find myself in a daze, aware that I am in that daze, but completely incapable of focusing on anything. I can't focus, I can't break the gaze. I just can't. I feel like I'm on the edge of falling to pieces. I'm a walking, talking, emotional contradiction.
I've been in a state of panic for two days. On the night of the 21st I could not sleep. My thoughts were racing, I couldn't shut my head up. I lay in bed reading until almost 4. I decided I had to try to sleep, but I lay there in the dark until 5:30. When I finally fell asleep, I dreamt. Soon it was time to get up and take Ali to school, but as soon as I got home, I went back to sleep. When I woke up, the mania was gone. In it's stead was depression laced with panic. I couldn't figure out why. To be honest, nothing big has happened in weeks. There hasn't been any tension, no big fights or whatever that happens ever so often with my family. No new flashbacks, no new accusations. Just life. But here I am, depressed and panicked and I have no idea why. I went to therapy. I hadn't taken anything for the panic bc to be honest if I went to therapy in that numbed state it would have been totally pointless. So I held off on the meds. In fact, I've only taken them to help me sleep. Anyhow. I made it through therapy, which was fun, let me tell you. We talked a lot about how I struggle with really knowing that it was abuse. I get in these moods where I feel like I was just a co-conspirator in this naughty little secret, and calling it rape or abuse is just blowing everything out of proportion. That's how I survived my teen years, btw. Grand ole denial. One of my best friend for a very long time, denial was. But alas, I can't deny it any longer. When things get too heavy to handle my brain starts to go into that denial state, but intellectually I now know better, and it causes nothing but conflict. Sigh. Anyhow. At the very end of therapy we were scheduling for next week. I looked at my calender and it hit me. Like a ton of bricks.
Ten years ago, on February 22, 2000, I drove my aunts Lexus into the back of a front-end loader going 75 mph. I didn't brake. I didn't hesitate. I didn't even flinch. The car spun 180 degrees and landed in a turning lane. It immediately burst into flames, and eventually burned to nothing but a crisp. I wish I had pictures of the car. It was a beaut. The Lexus emblem off the back of the car hangs in my room to this day. Yeah, I'm cool like that. Ahem. Two men stopped their cars and came to my rescue. They pulled me out of the flaming car and carried me to the safety of someone's van. I don't remember much. I was in and out. I remember using someones phone to call my aunt. I remember the ambulance showing up and being so embarrassed bc they knew my mom. I remember wanting the oxygen mask off. my. face. I remember my grandmother hauling into the ER like hell on wheels. I was x-rayed and bandaged up. The highway patrol came and talked to me, but no one ever asked the important questions. Ever.
Why didn't you brake? Why didn't you even slow down, or try to get over, or anything? Did you fall asleep at the wheel? Were you changing the radio station? How did you not see that enormous tractor driving down the highway. How? Why? Never.
No one asked, so I didn't offer the information. My memories are sketchy at best, anyhow. What I do remember is this. My parents were in Hawaii. They were to be flying home the 22nd. In fact, they were in the drive way about to head to the hospital as we pulled up the drive way. I was staying at home alone with my brother. I was 16 and a half. I was skipping school to babysit a friend's daughter. Her name was Courtney. That's a whole 'nother post altogether. We had a party the night before. My brother's friends were there, I think. Maybe. I don't know. That's just it. I have no clue. I know we were drinking Malibu and Pineapple Juice. But I really don't remember who was there or what happened. In fact it's one of the only times in my life that I was drunk and I don't remember. I remember the first time I did cocaine. Heck, I remember EVERY time I did cocaine. And Ecstasy. But this? I have no idea. It bothers me. A lot. In fact, it bothered me so much, that the next morning I came to a cross roads.
My aunt had asked me to take her daughters to school. They lived 45 minutes away with their dad, but had spent the weekend with their mom. I said I would take them if she would keep the baby while I went so I didn't have to wake her up. She agreed. I was ten minutes from home. I was thinking about the night before, wondering why I couldn't remember what the heck had happened, and checking out my new dye job in the rear view mirror. I know, I'm deep. I wasn't really hung over. I've never really been hung over in my life, to be honest, and I'd never, ever blacked out. I'd been drinking for a while by this point. I would say on a regular basis for 18 months, and I knew my limits, and I hadn't ever blacked out. So why couldn't I remember the night before? It just didn't make sense. As I got ready to round the curve that heads into our sleepy little town, I realized that I had essentially two choices. I could go back home where he was. Or not. I knew my parents would be home that day. In fact, I can't tell you what happened that night, but as I recall, the abuse was over. I think that's what scared me. I couldn't remember. It didn't make sense. I think I had just had all I could take. So I chose to not go home. God had me that day. I didn't have my seat belt on the entire way to the school, but just as I was leaving a friend made me put it on bc we had recently lost her boyfriend in an accident. It was early in the morning on a stretch of highway that is lined by cane fields, but there were two strong men there to pull me out of that burning car that day. I walked away with a broken hand, some cuts and scrapes, and glass in my arm. I was essentially uninjured. Explain that, folks. God is good.
I don't know why I'm writing all of this out. It certainly wasn't the intention when I started writing. Goes to show if you just start sometimes things just won't stop. And here I am 10 years later, and I still have the occasional 'I just won't go home' thought. But I'm fighting, and that's worth something, I suppose. None of this is why I'm typing though. None of it really even matters to me right now. I got drunk. I probably either did things I would really regret, or was taken advantage of, or both. I wrecked a car, someone else's car, the day after they got it. I know, a real winner. But... it doesn't matter.
I'm here because the panic welling up inside me has taken on a new form. A new meaning. There's a new reason. Today when I picked Ali up from school I wrapped my hand around the back of her neck to tickle her, and I felt a lump. I don't have any idea what it is. It's elongated, like an oval. It's as long as two of my fingers are wide. It moves. Like, it's free floating, maybe. IDK. She says it doesn't hurt. But it's there, and I can't stop the panic as a mother. I'm trying desperately to not panic. I know that God knows what this is, and he has it under control. I realize that there is nothing I can do by worrying about it. I realize that whether I sleep tonight or not is not going to change what that lump is. So I'm trying to give it to God and let it be. We're not broadcasting this to our IRL friends yet. We've told my mom and our closest friends (Amanda, sorry if you read this before lunch, I was going to tell you then) but really we're just keeping quiet. Tomorrow night our PNP is going to look at it. She goes to church with us, and often examines the kids before I haul off to the Children's hospital with them, which is almost an hour drive one way. If she thinks that it requires more attention then we'll head straight to the children's hospital and go from there. But right now I'm just asking ya'll to pray. There are so many thoughts in my head. I refuse to say what I'm thinking, I can't say those words. I can't utter my biggest fear, but i can say it to God. And he knows anyhow. I'm asking that you pray that it's nothing. That it is just a swollen lymph node from an ear infection or something small that can easily be fixed. And pray for my peace. Eric felt it, said a little prayer, and immediately told me it was nothing to worry about. He has the faith of a child. He's sure it's nothing, though he does want me to have her looked at, just in case. He is certain that God will take care of her. As am I. But as her Mommy, I'm having issues with this. So I'm asking that you'll pray for my peace and comfort until we know something more concrete. I'll let ya'll know something when I know something and even if I don't blog, I'll tweet. Catch me @forevereve. Okay, it's late, like 2. Eric's still working on a quilt but I really should be sleeping. Tomorrow is another day. Love to all.
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.
I'm here to use my voice. So many people can't. In a world of darkness, I just want to help God's light to shine through. I pray that my words are His, and my love is His, as well. This is my journey through the darkness. To start are the beginning of the story, click here.