Today is just not my day

I've had a few good weeks. Weeks without depression, weeks without tears. Weeks where getting out of bed was easy. Weeks where I didn't have to try to feel okay, it came naturally. (Or as naturally as it will ever come, when I'm on medication.)

I've felt it creeping back, that fuckhead depression. Didn't miss it. It could have stayed gone for ever, as far as I was concerned. I hoped it would. But no, it doesn't seem to listen very well. It's very inconsiderate like that.

I could blame it on the letdown of being back at home after a fun filled week. I could blame it on my baby girl going to kindergarten soon. I could probably blame it on the two year anniversary of losing a piece my heart and a bit of my mind.

But it's not really any of that. Mostly it's just today.

Today is one of those days. A day where getting out of bed took too much effort. A day where I don't care if I speak to anyone at all. A day where I am glad that my kids are with a cousin, because I don't have it in me to deal with them. If they were here, I'd deal. No question about it. But they're not today, so I'm allowed to just deal with myself. I don't have to pretend.

I keep hoping one day that this will all go away. That I can go back to being the girl who I used to be. The girl with no real problems, who'd experienced heartache, but not at the level in which I have now.

I don't think she exists anymore though.

I've opened twitter about ten times, but I haven't said a thing. I have read what others have written, but not found anything to respond too. I try, because I think if I can start a conversation about nothing, maybe I will start to feel better. But I don't.

I want to tell you how funny my girls are. How big Harrison is getting. About my SIL's wedding next week. I'd rather be telling you how much I miss my conference peeps. How lonely it feels to go and get coffee alone every morning. But I just can't today.

Today sucks. Today I just want to hide. Today, I may just hide. Hopefully tomorrow will be better.

This is where I start to get uncomfortable

I'm at the park with the kids yesterday afternoon and while the girls are taking turns pushing the baby in the swing, I decide to check in on Twitter. Yes, I am that person. The woman with her Crackberry permanently attached to her hand. Anyway, I'm reading tweets and something someone had said cracked me up and I laughed out loud.

Twitter or Facebook, this woman near me asks. I turn and notice this woman, who I hadn't even realized had sat down. Twitter I said, without thinking. But I use Facebook too.

Oh what's your Twitter name? I can follow you.

Uh, it's protected I said. We're from California and I use it to keep in touch with friends out there. Oh, okay was her answer. Then Harrison called out to me and I got up and walked away.

I lied. To a random stranger. She looked nice. She had kids. She was at the park in my neighborhood. I still lied to her.

Why?

Well that is a hard one. I am going to be dead honest here. I don't ever intend on telling my family or friends about this blog. (Yes my husband knows, but he wishes he didn't. He probably wishes what I said to her were true, that you all were old friends from California.) I don't use Facebook for realz. I mean, yes I have one. But not one that my family could find. Twitter? well the same thing there, although a few people know that I use it, but none of them seem interested in it at all. People like my mother for example could care less what Twitter is, although I have explained it to her.

I can't make friends with people in my area through blogging or Twitter and think I can keep it quiet. Or separate. My children have the biggest mouths in the world. I don't fault her at all, but Morgan is the one who mentioned my previous blog to my aunt, which caused HUGE family drama, because I was too open, too honest and she still won't speak to me.

My blog life, my online life, is separate from my life in many, many ways. I tried it the other way and it blew up in my face. People, my own step-mother won't speak to me because of it. Unless I am standing in front of her, I don't exist. My own father won't talk to me more than once a month because of it. (Well that and they are both asses.) Iit's been a few years. I don't have much family on that side and almost none of them really speak to me anymore because of the secrets they believe I shared with the world. They aren't wrong, I did. I said things I shouldn't have, because I believed I was safe. But hi, when you use your children's real names and they are not very common names, you are easy to find.

This is me. This space is my place to be me. I don't lie here. I've told you all straight out that my family and blog life are separate. This is where I can be brutally honest. More honest and open than I am in real life, I'll tell you that right now. This is where I say, I am struggling right now to maintain. I am struggling with my depression right now. I am unhappy right now. I am sad. My heart hurts.

I can say this all here and much more, because this is my space. My space to be me, without repercussions from my friends and family. Logan does not read this blog. He has asked that I not discuss his personal life too much, but I could and he wouldn't even know it. He has left this as my deal.

But now I'm going to a conference. A conference with what like 1000 other bloggers? I am starting to wonder why I am doing this. Why I want to meet you all as much as I do, when I will come home and pretend I was elsewhere. Until the Keynote thing, I thought it would be okay. I can remain anonymous if I am 1 of a 1000. It's harder to remain anonymous when you are on a keynote with 15 other bloggers. I don't have the answers. I am going to go to the conference, read my post and have a blast. But I don't know what happens when I get back and it scares me.

Is that okay? Does it bother you guys? Are you okay with me, the me you know here, if you know I will most likely never introduce you to my husband, children or friends? Is it okay that this is my thing? My one place in my life, where it's just about me? Will you still be my friends despite the fact that I'd lie to a random stranger about being on Twitter, because it keeps the peace in my life?

The lines are blurry. I've let them get blurry, because I consider you guys my friends. True, real, friends. No question about that. But the blurriness scares me.

Yesterday was not the day

Father's Day is not the day to discuss my father. Yesterday was a day to celebrate dad's. As you can all see below, I choose to celebrate an amazing dad, Mike Spohr in my post below. I could have talked about my husband, because he, like Mike, is an amazing dad. However he really doesn't like being talked about in this space and that is a request, I can honor. Just so you all know though, my husband is an amazing father. In my wildest dreams, I could never have asked for a better father for my children. He's a keeper. But yesterday was for Mike. Because he deserved it. He deserves much more than that, but it was the least I could do to celebrate him in my space.

Also? I can't discuss my dad on Father's Day.

Not that I don't have one, because I do. But he's never really been much of a dad to me. Not since I was six years old and he met my step-mom. From that day forward, I was an inconvenience, not his only daughter. I am his only daughter, but because his wife has a daughter as well, he took her on as his and sort of left me behind.

It's complicated.

It hurts to write this stuff. Also, I have to be careful how much I say, in case they ever do find this blog. Don't know why I care as much as I do, but I just do. Let's just say, I am writing a post about them, for a guest post somewhere else, but it's taken me three weeks and I'm not even close to finishing it.

Yesterday I called my dad and he didn't pick up the phone. I called the house and I called his cell phone, but he didn't pick up. He won't talk to me if she is around. I talk to him once a month, occasionally twice, but he always calls me from work. Like I said, I don't exist to her. When we talk it is always forced. Maybe the right word is fake? The kids, the weather, the who is doing what in the extended family. Nothing personal, nothing real, no emotion. It's been like this for as long as I can remember.

Maybe once every three or four years we have a chance to have a real conversation in person. I hold onto those conversations like Bailey does her blankie at night, because they mean so much to me. I always wonder, what if this was the last one. I have to remember every word, ever joke, every smile, in case this was the last time I talk to him like this. We had a two hour conversation when I was out there visiting in April. We sat on his back porch and talked. Like really talked. The girls were shopping with my step-mom, the baby was sleeping, it was a perfect moment. Then it was over and we went back to fake.

But yesterday I didn't exist again. Yesterday, I didn't even get a phone call back. You can say, oh he was busy; this is what Logan said last night. But no, I know it's not true. (Logan know's it's not true too.) If I called my brother, he'd tell me that he was there all day at dad's house. Most likely at a BBQ of some form, because this is what they always do. He'd tell me that dad probably looked at the phone, saw it was me and said, out loud, oh I'll call her later. I know this to be true, because it has happened way too often. I don't call my brother and ask, because he doesn't like to have to tell me and I don't like to have to hear it.

I know that one day this week, I will get a phone call from him. He will call me at work, when he has exactly three minutes to talk to me. He will mention that everyone was out the house on Sunday and he missed me. He may even mention my messages to him.

But he doesn't miss me enough to pick up the phone when I call. I don't rate high enough on the list, to even get to say to him on Father's Day, Happy Father's Day, dad. It sucks. It hurts. But I can't do a thing about it. I just get to live with it. At nearly 30 years old, I should be used to it and most days I am, but on day's like yesterday, it creeps up on me what I'm missing. I watch Logan be adored by our girls, I watch him adore them and I envy them. I envy my own children. how freaking sick is that?

They have this amazing relationship and it makes me thrilled. It also makes me sad.

I tried for years to make my realtionship with my dad better. Tried and tried and tried. But I failed.

I have friends who have no father. Friends, some of you included who lost your dads way before you should have. My heart breaks for all of you. I can't even imagine. I know my issues with my dad don't compare. Mine is still around. He lives in California. He's an awesome man. He's entertaining, a kind hearted person, he is a good friend, a good boss and a good husband. He's even a good dad to my brothers and my step-siblings. He just isn't to me.

Why it bothers me

You write a post about silly nonsense, the first real post in a month and get told that you are a sheep and should kill yourself. By a person with no name, but none the less, some person who felt that was the right thing to say.

As bloggers, we are supposed to not care about this. We should get used to it. You have enough hits to your site, you are bound to get some trolls. We are supposed to harden our heart and not let the stupid comments bother us. As a seasoned writer in a public forum, I am supposed to just let this roll off my back. It doesn’t matter, it’s just some asshat troll. Delete and ignore. We’ve even come up with the blogging terminology to describe these people; the people who attack in comments, the people with no names.

But it does hurt and it does sting. Even after all these years of doing this, it bothers me. Intellectually it doesn't bother me. But the heart and the brain don't' always feel the same way. You just don't say that to someone. That is something that I can't just brush off. The, you should kill yourself comment. The rest of it can be ignored, but that one stings. I'm not sure why. Maybe because I had a friend who did kill himself. In some ways it bothers me more when someone attacks a friend of mine, than when they attack me. I am always willing to defend a friend and luckily I didn't have to say anything yesterday, as all of you were kind enough to defend me.

After the multiple comments and then the attacks on all of my friends, it almost seemed funny in some way. This person who so wanted to be known as the troll of the day. It seemed less personal after that, which was nice. But that one comment sits under my skin and eats at me. Because I wonder why someone would say such hateful things to a stranger. I wonder what I said to provoke him. Did my talking about Disneyland or my kids last day of school, provoke such a hateful response? Am I just an easy target?

It's not me. I've been told that two dozen times, by people I adore. I know they are right, yet I still feel responsible.

I think in some way, they must be jealous. Jealous of our families, jealous of our friendships, jealous that they have no name. That must be really sad for them, to have no name. I doubt they’d walk up to a stranger on the street and spew such hatred, as they are apt to do online. I wonder what makes someone feel that this is okay? That the words they type are any different than the words they say aloud. Words have power, whether you type or say them. Maybe they don’t care, maybe I am such a horrible person and I deserve it. However, I doubt it, because I’ve never in real life, had someone attack me like this. You want to know why? Because I am a nice human being. I am kind to others, even people who don’t deserve it. I say please and thank you. I donate money and time to help the less fortunate. I don't tailgate, nor flip off strangers who cut me off in traffic. I've never taken a thing in this world that did not belong to me. I am a hard worker and a responsible human being. I take good care of my children. I am a good person.

But they don’t see that. They don’t seem to care to see that. They don't care that telling a depressed person to kill themselves is just plain wrong. He doesn't care, because it doesn't affect his life.

It bothers me, this lack of caring. The ability to spew filth and not care what you’ve put into the world. It makes me wonder about the world. And I don’t like that feeling.

This person, who taunted the blog world yesterday, doesn't care about people. Doesn't care about people's feelings or emotions. Most likely it was a ploy for attention. There have been others before and there will be more after. Eventually they move on, because truly, why would you continue to read blogs written by parents, if you hate parents and children? (And hi, don't you have parents, weren't you once a child?)

It hurts me as much as it does, not really because of the 23 words this person said, but because I am still fragile. I am the first person to admit, I’ve had a hard ass month, which has come after a hard ass eight months, following a rough couple of years. I have my good moments and my not so good moments. Yesterday was the first time in a month when I hadn’t been depressed and this is what I get. Yesterday, by the way, was the four week mark. I lost the baby four weeks ago, last night.

I have been depressed and trying to be okay (and doing a dam good job of it) for a month. I’m fragile and I can’t handle this without talking about. I can’t ignore it like I should probably do. I can’t just let it go.

Which is why I'm writing this. Not because I want to give this person more attention. I have deleted and will continue to delete all of his comments. I am not going to link to his site, nor will I ever click on it again.

I am writing this, because I have to. I have to say all of this. I have to write that this isn't okay. That I am not just some random stranger behind a computer screen. I am a person with feelings. I am a wife, mother, daughter, sister, friend and dog owner. I am a good person.

I am taking a stand. I am saying to the world, to all the trolls out there, that this has gone on long enough. Go find a life and stay the hell out of mine. Leave my friends alone. No one cares what you have to say. Shoo.

The elephant in the room

I knew right away. Some women don't know for weeks, a few for months, but I knew the very next day. Weeks before a test would ever show me a plus sign. The tell tale nausea, the kind that lasts all day. Morning sickness my ass. The sore boobs, the dizziness, the inability to eat anything besides bread, pineapple and ginger ale. I was pregnant.

There are next to no pictures of our vacation in Hawaii; no funny stories or great date adventures. There is none of that because I (well we) spent our entire vacation in the hotel room. And not in the fun way. (Trust me, there has been no fun in that way lately.) I have been sick for a month. Just waiting for the day that I could take a test, post a picture of it and tell the world. Because I was beyond thrilled. I told more people than I should have, because the excitement was overwhelming. I also thought it good to mention to a few people why I was never around, why I never posted anymore, why I rarely made any mention of being around. So people didn't forget about me I guess. That day, was Tuesday of last week. I peed on the little stick and it confirmed what I knew, what I had known for a month; I was pregnant. Excited, I told everyone I came across.

Late Wednesday night, I lost it. The baby, my baby. Gone as quickly as I told people. Just gone. One day after confirmation that it was true, it was all over.

I went on vacation anyway, this past weekend, because I needed a distraction. I slept a total of an hour and a half Wednesday night, but I went to California anyway. In the moment, it seemed like the best option. Maybe it was. But now I'm home. And I hurt. There are no more distractions now. There are no more family members to act fine around. No more places to go. Nothing, except me and my head for company.

I am writing this, because I can't speak. Not past the: please don't hit your sister or the, yes, sure have another piece of candy, I don't care; type of speaking. I am here, going through the motions. Changing diapers, doing dishes, playing along on Twitter; but I don't feel it. It's not real, it's fake. I am pretending. Pretending I am not crushed. Pretending I want to do anything besides get in bed and pull my comforter over my head for a week. I feel like a shadow of myself. Like I am watching myself do these things, but not really doing them. I am not sure I can explain it, not sure I need too. I will be forced to speak tomorrow, to my shrink. But I am not ready. I just want time to grieve. However to appease my husband I will at least go to the appointment.

Every time I open my mouth, I feel like I offend people. And it's true, because I have offended a few people. I am spewing on others, my lovely friend told me today. She is right and there are very few people I'd let say that to me when I feel like this. But I am, spewing and making asshat statements. So, now....I am not talking.

I hurt. I am sad. I want my baby back. I can write this, but I can't speak it.

I am not crazy, despite my jokes about it. I am just a woman who lost a baby. A sad, depressed woman who lost a baby. A baby that made me sick like a dog for a month. I would be sick for the next eight months, if I could have my baby back at the end.

Right now, my heart hurts. It hurts so bad that I feel it cracking. It hurts to breath, it hurts to smile. I have to make myself eat. If you don't believe me, ask Maura how little cake I ate when I met her on Saturday night. I know in a few days, I will feel better. I know in a few weeks, I will feel even better than that. I know one day soon, I will laugh at a joke, tell a joke even; it will feel good and natural. I will one day find myself smiling, drinking wine, or enjoying a moment. I have felt this way before, I know how it goes. Truly it's not as bad as last time around. But today I pretend.

I wrote this so you all know why I haven't been around, why I may not be around or be very pleasant for a bit. I wrote this for me, because I had to get some of it out. I had to say what I can't say, if that makes any sense. I had to write that I am crushed, because I am. Because it hurts to breath and it hurts even more to think. Because one day I won't feel like this, but I need to own it right now. To honor it; my grief and loss. To share my love for a baby I will never meet. My baby.

Writer's block, I has it

I open up this page and look at it for twenty minutes before just closing it down and thinking to myself maybe later. I open my email and want to respond to people; I open each email and read them and think, I know I should respond to this, but I don't. I open Twitter and can't think of a thing to say. I get text messages from friends that I don't answer. I "lost" my phone yesterday just so I wouldn't have to talk to anyone on it.

I am blocked. I am lost in my head right now. Maybe it's Spring fever, seeing how its freaking snowing. Again. Maybe it's trepidation at the thought of visiting my dad and step-mom this coming weekend. Maybe it's, well who knows. All I know is, I'm just not in the writing mood, nor the talking mood. All my words are used up in talking to my children.

I know, you all say, just don't post when you don't want to and in theory that is great. But BlogHer Ads has a post requirement. Also, if I don't post, I feel worse. The longer I go, the more I wonder if I ever will find my voice again. I know this blog has sucked lately. I know I haven't written anything worthwhile in a month at least. I am thrilled any of you come back at all.

Here's what I'm going to do: I'm going to use the old blogging standby. Ask me any questions you want. Anything you want to know, anything you think I haven't told you. Whatever you want. I'll do my best to answer them in a few days. Maybe this will help me find my voice again.

Uncertainty

Some days I wonder why I keep doing this. Why in the world do I continue to write in this space when it seems like no one reads it and I can't see why it's interesting enough for anyone to care. My days of this feeling tend to pass and they don't come that often. Mostly it has to do with my mood in the moment, which frankly sucks right now. I am in a funk, have been for two days at least. Plain and simple, I am just a bit of a mess.

It makes me question everything. Question things that I know to be true. Question who I am and what in the hell I am doing with my life. I wonder if I am putting too much out into the world, too little maybe; is this blog not worthwhile, because I refuse to put pictures of my children on it? Because I don't join everything there is to join, to get my name out there? Do I want my name out there? Too many questions and no answers. I am full of uncertainty today.

Then this morning, two things happened, which have changed my mood a bit. A lovely friend asked me if she could submit a post of mine to BlogHer for a community panel. I was shocked. I was thrilled. Frankly, I'm a bit terrified. But it made me think about this place and what I write here, what I share with you all.

I also read the most beautiful letter over at AMomTwoBoy's place. It made me realize why I do this. I do it for all of you, this community that I am a part of. This community had joined together these past few weeks. In the face of tragedy for a family, we've all tried to make a difference. I've seen more love and support in the blog world in the past month, than I have seen in the past few years. Two weeks without trolls, two weeks without arguments, two weeks filled with love and grief. Love for Heather and Mike, for Maddie and for each other. Grief at the loss of a beautiful angel, grief for her parents left behind; grief at the uncertainty that is life.

This is a small part of the email at Meghan's place, which please when you have a second, go read it in full. It is very moving.

Through that reading, I’ve quietly (except when I comment) gotten to know so many… strangers. People that for the most part have no clue that I’m reading and getting to know them, but these people are an important part of my day, my thoughts, my values and ultimately – my life.

Today I needed to see this letter. To remind myself why I continue to do this. I do it for all of you. For people who are, to an outsiders point of view, strangers. To us though, it's not like that. We are friends, family, community. This community is a huge part of my life. For every friend I've met (or well, will meet), for every blog I read, for those of you who comment and those who never do; I consider you my friends.

Today, instead of doubt, I will remember how important this space is to me. I will remind myself why I do this. Remind myself that I am okay, that my family is okay and that is worth it's weight in gold. I will try my hardest to not be the complete spaz who considers taking down a blog for absolutely no reason.

I have no title

Just when I think I've got a handle on this lovey depression, it come to pay me a visit. I've been a bit weepy the past few days and I thought I knew why. Turns out it's just PMS. And my little friend, depression. At least I'm starting to notice a pattern. Not that it makes it any more fun, or makes me feel any better. But at least it's consistent.

Melancholy, it's such a pretty word. A word out of a novel. A dramatic novel, but still. It's such a nicer word than some of the others that could be thrown my way this week. Words like spaz, pain in the ass, whiny, crier, asshat. Although the one person who could throw some words my way, won't. Because he's not that dumb. He likes his cups not thrown at his head, thank you very much.

I don't really want to blog, I don't really want to talk, I don't really want to feel. I just want to curl up in a ball for a few days and sleep.

I force myself to do the things I don't want to do. I've noticed I feel better faster if I do them. This works for me and me alone. I can't say it would work for anyone else, nor would I bother to try. But this space helps me. If I come on here and say, I'm having a suck ass couple of days, I feel better. If I call my friends or chat with friends online and say, I'm sad; I feel better. Yesterday I had to force myself to play with my children. Was I short with them, yes. Did I yell at my dog last night for acting like a dog, yes. Did I make my husband want to throw a cup at my head, yes I did.

So here I am. Me, putting myself out there once again. Showing my insides to the world, just hoping that writing these words help in some way. If you haven't seem me around these past few days, this is why. If I'm not around for the next few days, know this is why. I am okay, I truly am. I'm just feeling kinda blah.

At least it wasn't Friday

My extended family has begun to dread Fridays. With good reason, as every death in the family has happened on a Friday. In September it was my Grandfather, in December my Grandmother, two weeks ago, my Uncles Father-in-Law, last week, my Aunts Father-in-Law. Each one on a Friday.

Today my Uncle Mark passed away. My brother called me a few hours ago and told me. My dad is on his way to LA from San Fran and wasn't able to call everyone. My other uncle found him this afternoon. Most likely it was a heart attack. Three family members in two weeks. It may be an all-time record. But hey, it was on a Thursday, which although is not any better, we were starting to think Fridays were cursed.. Then again, there is still time.

I am, by nature, an optimist. Once I was even called an insufferable optimist. I have always been the, it's gonna be okay type of person. These days though, I'm having trouble not being a huge freaking pessimist. I had this feeling that it wasn't done, this pattern of people dying and I was right. I find myself wondering who is next. I was not prepared for who it would be. My fifty-four year old uncle; not someone I thought to say good-bye too.

Tonight I've talked to friends and family and each time I've told them all how much I love them. Life is short people. It's so short and there are no guarantees. I could live to see a hundred and God dammit, I want too. I want to watch my babies grow up and have babies of their own. I want to meet my great-grand babies. I want to dance with my husband at weddings for many years to come. But there are no guarantees in this life. This, my friends has become painfully clear too me this past six months. I am very painfully aware.

Hug your babies close, dance with your spouse, tell everyone how much you love them. We have to live like we will live to see 95 years old, because it's the right way to live, but we need to love like we won't. I am going to go all sappy and sentimental now and tell you all that I love you. I do, truly. You guys mean more too me than you know. I am so glad that you are all in my life.

To my uncle Marky, I will always love you and remember you. I hope you rest in peace.

nope

Yesterday, it wasn't the day not being Friday that bothered me. Not really at least. Yesterday it could have been anything that made me sad, or angry, depending on the moment. It not being Friday made me sad all day, which really isn't all that normal. It's the depression. I don't talk about it much on here, because it bothers me to discuss it. I like control and I have no control over my depression. I have no control over it and it sucks. Big time sucks.

Not having depression before a few years ago, I never really understood. I never knew how powerful it was. How it could take over. How a person could be fine one day and an absolute mess the next. I knew about it, I'd seen it in others. I even knew how one treats it, as my mother is a therapist. But I'd never experienced it, besides a few weeks ten years ago when we lost a friend. But that was situational and it went away pretty quickly. That was probably just grief. Now I have experienced it in all of it's glory and I'd gladly give it back in a heartbeat. I just don't know how to give it back. This bothers me as well.

After I lost the baby, I sank. That's the only way I can describe it. It was like drowning in quicksand, but you're still alive. You are there stuck, but you are still breathing. PPD is what my shrink called it. It took me three months to be willing to see anybody about it. I spent three months in this shell inside of my head. I barely ate, I slept more than I'd ever slept in my life and I basically ignored my family. I was not a nice, fun human being. I was a complete mess. I lost myself. Then the meds started to help and therapy started to help. I started to feel like a person again, I started acting like a mother again, a wife. Then Harrison was conceived. I'll be honest, it was not planned, nor exactly wanted. Not because of him, but because of me. I wasn't ready. It was way too soon for me. We'd lost the baby in July and was having another by the following September. The first few months of pregnancy, I sunk again. Maybe not as far again, but I did. I was afraid. Afraid to loose him, afraid to love him, just plain afraid. It made me anxious and sad. But I managed to keep living anyway. I was a little crazy, but I could deal with it. Plus, I was still medicated and that made it easier. Some people are against medication. I have no problem with that. My own mother is a big fan of healing through therapy and vitamins and herbal supplements. For me, I need the meds.

I have this husband who I adore; he's amazing and the greatest man one could ever hope to meet in their life. Of course he has faults, but they are livable. I have two beautiful, amazing, big girls who make me insane, but are an absolute joy as well. Then there is this baby boy. The one I wasn't sure I could ever love. He is an absolute miracle. I can't imagine my life without his drooly little self. He is pure light and joy.

However, I expected to be miraculously healed by now. PPD isn't one of those things you have for life. It's supposed to go away. It has, but it left a little moving gift when it left.A little consolation prize, if you will. It left the depression. It comes and goes;, it's not constant. But it lingers. Maybe it will stick around for a time, maybe forever, I really don't know.

Days like yesterday happen though. Days where I hate the world. Days where people talking bothers me. Where people who drive too slow or fast bug me. Where people who chew need to be shot. Where the dog barking makes me want to send her packing. Where something as stupid as me thinking it was Friday and it not being, make me cry. Once I start a day like that, I am not good at not falling into it. I haven't figure that out yet. Hopefully in time I will.

I am lucky in that I have a supportive family. A supportive husband who holds my hand and lets me scream about the world. One who will listen to me rant or cry. One who will take the kids out to dinner and then put them to bed, because he knows I am better left alone for a bit. And friends, I have amazing friends. Ones in my real life and ones online. Friends who will keep my girls after school and after five minutes of listening to me cry, came over to get the baby for awhile yesterday. I am also lucky that these moods don't last long. Also on bad days, my kids are not bothersome too me. Unless they are too whiney. This is a good thing, because I'd hate it if I felt about them the way I feel about everything else, on bad days. I couldn't stand it, if they thought it had anything to do with them. I have noticed patterns for when it comes. During my period for one, which is probably the cause of yesterday. After too many cold and dreary days in a row. Besides that, it's a toss up. Like I said, it comes and goes.

Today, even though it is grey and cold outside, I feel good. I showered and dressed and took snack to Bailey's class today. I feel normal. Today there is no darkness. But it is a part of me now, one that I'm going to have to come to terms with one day.

My depression has a first name. It's name is asshole.

I'm sinking

I'm having trouble with this loss. Losing her just hurts. One more on top of so many this past couple of years. You'd think it'd get easier, but it doesn't. Just harder. It just hurts.

Three and a half years of knowing that this could be the last visit, the last phone call, the last I love you. Somehow you are still never prepared. I know she's someplace better. This, I know I believe in. I know she's with him; the love of her life. I know she was in horrible pain. Doesn't make it hurt any less. Doesn't make me not want to fold into myself; lie in bed for days, weeks even; alone with my head.

They're gonna have the service tomorrow afternoon. Try and make it as painless as possible, so people can get home for Christmas. Christmas, I don't even want to think about Christmas anymore. If it were up to me, I'd take it all down and pretend it didn't exist. I can't and I won't. I do want to. How do you find the holiday spirit when your spirit feels beaten and broken? When your heart has been shattered into so many pieces that no one can find all of them.

I can't handle much more drama and pain. I don't know what I'll do if one more thing goes wrong, one more person I love, gone.

As a child of divorce, the holidays were never the amazingly fun experience that my children have. It was filled with hard feelings and worry about the other parent. It was each of them, in their own way, trying to out do each other. It was filled with, whose turn is it, you had them last year, like we were shoes or a kite and not small children. The years we went to Grandma and Grandpa's house with my mom, those were my favorite Christmas's. Christmas to me, it was best with them. They always did it at their house. Any child was welcome, along with their family, even their in-laws if they wanted. But they never, ever, didn't do it at their house. They had a massive tree, tons of treats and gifts. Christmas Eve we walked through the college and ooohed and awed at the lights. Dinner was at 2pm and gifts were opened after. It was the same, it was tradition. I am trying my best to do that with my kids. Make traditions for them, lasting good memories. For Christmas to be about our family, no matter what everyone else thinks. But Christmas is not Christmas without them. They were the rocks of this family. Now they are both gone. Three months and a week apart.

Yesterday would have been my grandfathers birthday. But he's been gone over three months. I'm not over this one yet. I haven't gotten to the point where I don't cry when he is mentioned; where I don't smell a man with his aftershave and a hint of listerine and it not make me weak with grief. I don't hear a song that reminded him of me and not break down, no matter where I am. It's hard to look at his pictures, to think about the places we were when they were taken. I didn't name Harrison after my grandpa, because I wasn't to the point that I thought I could say his name all the time. I wanted too, but I just couldn't. I pray that one day, when I'm ready, I get the chance too have another boy and name him after him. I'm just not ready to go through this again. I don't know how to lose people gracefully. How do you say good-bye for good?

I'm sinking. I feel it. I've eaten all day, but I can't tell you what any of it was. I haven't been hungry. I was angry at stupid stuff earlier, because it was easier to be angry than too feel. Now, I could care less about plane tickets, spilled ice tea or anything else so trivial. I am feeling the loss and it's eating me up inside. I have to get up at 3am to go to the airport. Fly two hours, drive three hours, go to a funeral and then turn around and do the same thing on Sunday to get home. I'm not taking the kids. Logan thinks it will be too hard on them, too much for me. He's right, I'm sure. I wish he was going. I need him, my babies. Mostly right now, I need him. He knows and it's killing him too. But our kids need him too. They are grieving too and they need one of us here. We have people. People who offered to keep them, the dog, stay here even. But I'm going alone.

I should sleep. But I just can't. I can't go to sleep. If I go to bed, I won't get up and go at 3am tomorrow. If I go to bed, I will stay there. Maybe in a few days, when I get home, I'll feel different. But this is how I feel right now. I feel like if I go and lay down, I won't make myself go and say good-bye, because I don't want to say good-bye. No matter what though, she's gone and she's not coming back. I'll never forgive myself if I don't go. Put flowers on her grave and his too, say good-bye.

I am sad. This week has put me through the ringer.

Ok, I'm going to bed now. My husband swears he's making me get up in oh 4ish hours or so. He says to trust him and I do. More than anyone in this world, I do trust him. He's my person. I'll be better in a few days, I will. For my kids, for my grandparents who would want me to snap the heck out of it. In a few days I'll come back and tell you how amazing my grandmother was.

For now, I'm just gonna be sad. I'm trying so hard not to sink. My head is just above the water. But I can swim.