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My problem.
I have this huge fear. Of losing weight.
The same weight I sigh and lug around every day.
It makes no sense to me. But they got it, so whatever.

What do I fear?
I fear it will make me very vulnerable.
It has something to do with my scar. Beyond that, I don't know.
I am scared.
Terrified in fact.

Repost

Changes in my brain. I have had tons of probems trying to talk. Either the totally wrong word come out or nothing at all. Both are frustrating. But even bigger, they are very tiring. At my worst in the last year, an hour converstion would absolutely wipe me out. Even though during that hour I did far less than half the talking, and lots of single syllable words. It was that much work to think. That same difficulty carried over into other things. Like Typing. And sewing. And reading. And cooking. And some days I could hardly walk. My foot or feet would drag and I tripped on nothing. I am to the place that I can sew, but I am pretty slow. And wear out pretty quickly. I can type fairly well. Please don't judge ANYTHING I send right now bc we have an ad on keyboard and it is hard to type on. But I donthave the problem of typing everything one letter off like I did. I have been working on cooking. Reading is a loong way off. Depending on how tired I am, I can read a paragraph to several pages till the words just become letters that swim on a page. My comprehension goes to zero. In fact some days the words truly become letters. When I am tired or stressed, I feel like I have a glass wall in my head. Imagine being in a store with glass walls to the outside. If you walk into the glass at a "tearing up jack speed", you would probably bouce backward. And be in pain. But if you want to go out you have to go through that wall so you try again. And again. Till you find the door or break the glass. That is how my brain physically feels. Like I hit a glass wall (don't see it coming), bounce back and have to keep trying. I could give up but that means I would be stuck with whatever I was doing. This happens most when I am trying to articulate and problem solve. I rarely have the anxiety attacks with it anymore, but getting through requires pateince from the people around me. The physical translation of all this is: when you experience PTSD, your brain literally fries a curcuit. Or 2 or 12. When you are trying to move forward and heal, that glass wall is connections trying to go through the old pathways. Getting up and trying again is how your brain build new pathways around the dead/injured part of your brain. Some days I wish I could take my brain out and watch t work. It is so painful in very specific spot. I wonder what it looks like. All of this has gotten so much better. But I still have a ways to go. Reading my Bible is almost impossible. I see the print of the page behind showing through and it registers as "words" although obviously you cant really read it. I feel like someone is stirring my brain with a spoon - as Lynnelle puts it. I finaly found a bible that has a bit thicker paper but you can still seee through them and it is hard beyond words. Plus the format is so busy. I just cant assimilate it. I have one bok I can read the best of any. It is good sized font and most pages have a fair amount of spacing. That book has become my go-to book when I want to read. Thank God it is interesting and useful info. It is about how to use common herbs medicinally. From a very practical and commonsense standpoint. :) Probably the worst part of all this is how it affects my kids. That is what has made the last year so hard. I could not think to do what was most basic much less take care of my children. Now it is still lingering in the disclipline realm. It is hard to know when the boys are just being bad or if they are pushing bc I am not on top of my game.

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I have problem. I can't tell you about it because it is more a picture in my head than a sentence i can say, type or tell you. Ultimately, I know that I have to get over it before I can go forward in an area of my life.

Gone but not forgotten

I got locked out of here. I have several things to explore. But I have been so busy. Since Labor day i hvehad extra to do bc of my sister being so sick. Then when the LittleSister came we started painting in the house. That is nearly done but there is still a lot to do.

Overall my head feels likeI have put birth work on hold till there is more space - literally and figuratively.

What Makes It So Bad

She asked a simple question. at least 2 weeks ago. We never got to the answer - which is anything but simple. The whole scenario has been free-floating in my head. Will tomorrow be the day when it comes up again? I don't know. But I feel compelled to put this down.

"So, what makes it so bad?" (it refers to the boys births - BBB in particular. at the moment I cant bring myself to tell you how they got here)

For me to tell you the answer to that, I have to go back to MyFirstborn's story. In fact, I have to go back farther than that. I had been married for a whole blessed month when The Child was conceived. I can't say it was a birth control malfunction, but neither did I screw up. I guess I have always felt he was meant to be - though I still wonder why. It 5 days after conception - read: long before a missing period - that I first felt like throwing up. I was shocked and yet not really. I was horrified and yet kind of excited. I "knew" I had conceived and so I was far from surprised. But so not ready.

The months of throwing up were awful. In retrospect, I should have been hospitalized at least twice. But the OB said I was just a normal preggy. And furthermore, I was a first-time mom so maybe the whole morning sickness thing was more than I realized. I never looked back after leaving her practice.

The whole sickness thing overran my life. I did nothing fun for ages on end bc was so sick. I turned done lots of invitations bc I was so sick. It is not fun to go somewhere and be unendingly dizzy and nauseous. By the end of my allotted 9 months, I was READY to have this baby and be done being sick. I was retaining fluid at the rate of 5 lbs a week. My blood pressure was rising in equal proportion. I felt awful.

Then came the day when I risked out of the birth center. I was so sad. I cried the whole way home. I had fired my OB and gone on to more my style of care, only to end up back at the beginning. Or so it felt.

So after a relatively easy labor (except for the PIT - that stuff is evil), I nearly killed myself pushing. I pushed for almost 4 hours. And when I collapsed bc I was so worn out, The Child had not moved a whit. I begged the midwife to help me. I don't consciously remember asking for a c-section, but I told her I "need help. I can't do it". She offered me 2 options. In my gut I knew that one would not work and that the other was death to a dream. But I forged on and signed the papers.

I will never forget those papers. They changed my life. Sure, they "brought" my baby. But they brought so much more with them. The pain of surgery lingered till I thought I would just die. The pain of healing was so. so. hard. It was long and arduous journey.

One day I thought maybe I could see the light of being well. Then the pain doubled. And cycled. and redoubled. I hurt so badly I could hardly pick up my baby. He was a blessed 12 weeks old. The reason for this new pain? Ovulation. Or something like it.

The best answer they had for helping my body get back on track and do its thing, was the mini Pill. Now I had always sworn I would not use it for birth control bc I am so freaking sensitive to meds. But, It seemed the right thing to do. So I did. And all was well. Well enough that I got lazy about birth control and just stayed on the Pill bc it was truly easy.

Then came the odd symptoms. The welts. The old lady skin. The heat flashes. The reaction to my hairpins. The itchiness. The need to wash the sheets everyday. I shed so badly, you could scoop skin out of the bed. It felt like salt in the sheets. Finally, the answer to where this was coming from came. And I abruptly stopped the stupid mini Pill. Every hour was a relief. Literally. Day by day, I felt better and looked better.

When the day came that we tried to conceive, I felt even better. Every day of being pregnant was helping undo what that Pill had done. I had morning sickness but nothing like the first time.

But this time, it had been 2 years since we began this journey. It felt like one sickness led to another to another to another. That is the key to remember.

When Labor - that sweet relief - started with BabyBoyBlue, I was so glad. The pressure I was under was about to go away. All big baby scare tactics and VBAC struggles were about to be gone.

Yet, in my heart I knew this was not going to work. I wrestled with what was wrong. I wrestled with what exactly "was not going to work". I did not know. So I gave it my all. I labored like a warrior woman. I was in so much pain. I had never felt anything so strong. I did it until I knew what was wrong. I labored till I knew I had given it my all. I worked till I knew it was out of my hands.

I knew it was a boy. I knew he was a big baby. My intuition was alive and well. So when that moment came that he breathed and cried and looked around, I was done. I could do no more. I could control nothing. I had nothing to look forward to. In that moment the horror of all the pain of the last c-section experience washed over me. It had been nothing but misery from beginning to end and now I was to face it all over again. It was more fear and horror than I could wrap my brain around. Internally I backed away from the moment until I was completely gone. So gone that I have a memory lapse. So gone that my brain is forever changed. I was gone. I could not fathom having to do it all again. Even now - almost 16 mo later- I shudder at the feeling, memory.

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So how do you tell her what made it so bad?
How do you...
How?

Too Helpful

I wish they would go away.
Tonight I discovered that the reason they are so concerned about me and my being on medicine is because of the increased risk of suicide.
(Can any one point me in the direction of proving or disproving that?)

I just cannot let that keep me from doing what I know is best for me and my body and my family and my marriage and my life.
Do they know what kind of thoughts I had BEFORE meds?
Do they know what kind of picture torture your mind?
Do they know that even now, off meds and doing really well, I still have a rare " picture thought" that is not condusive to health?
I know that it is not bad.
I know how to stop that video that can so quickly play out in your brain.
I had one tonight.
They would be horrified if they knew the picture I had to put out of my mind.
Of course they would blame it on the medicine.
But once again, I choose to believe that it is the voice of ignorance that speaks these things.
I have to believe it.
If they were not ignorant and said such...
I chooose to believe they are ignorant.

Back to the suicide.
I was never suicidal before meds.
But I came to understand how depressed people can so easily, ruthlessly, disgustingly end their own life and think nothing of it.
Or seemingly think nothing of it.
I have not been suicidal since being on meds.

Why do they continue to try fixing what aint broke?
Why can they not open their ears to the true pain?
Why can they not be okay with the fact that their help is not helping?

Reaching Out

I opened up and put a tiny bit out there. I was dubious that it would be okay.
Would I regret it?
I quickly went to bed before I could change my mind.
The answers that came were gentle.
The answers were kind.
Most of all, they felt real. Well, one really did not apply but nevermind that.
I wonder how many people walk around hiding the stuff that weighs them down thinking that no one would get it.
How many people keep all the horror to themselves because they fear repercussions for not having a big enough faith.
How many should write a book in large font and plenty of spacing (so reading is easy) to give the next disconsolate soul.