As per usual, the title has nothing to do with what I am about to write. They rarely do. If I ever get to write my book, I will need a person for that. The titles bit. My children are lucky, their names are acceptable and they have both told me that they like their names very much.
Now, my little dog, Puppy... the cat with no claws (not our doing) is kitty, or Tesla. The thing is the cat is the one that did the fucking cha cha on my laptop screen. Fucking Kitty he shall be until he is forgiven and I assure you that is going to be a while. Sophie Dog came with her name. Thank goodness. The only thing, other than my kids, is a mud dobber.. a fish with legs.. I named him darwin..
As always the opening lines have nothing to do with what I am about to talk about. I can promise a couple of things.. I do re-read my writing. However, I think that the way that I write is the way that a person fighting some fucked up shit might think. I no longer think linearly. I think second to second and depending on how hard I am flaring I go on a 15 second loop, I will be in the middle of the sentence and BOOM, nothing. Don't even remember my name. It's horrible and it fucking sucks dirty tits.
However, even teenagers are understanding if you are able to explain. Just explain your damn self. My boys all tried to get me to stop talking about it, but as patients we have to realize that YES, talking about it too often is too much. Not saying a word to anyone about your condition? Not really an option in some situations. I had a house full of teenagers directly following a funeral that I was flaring too hard to attend.. I swore that by the end of the afternoon they were ready to run out of here. Quite the contrary. They said that they are comfortable in my house. Just explain. "Nervous condition, words are hard"
I have felt down lately. I had my mom tell me that if I just got my teeth fixed that maybe I would get better. Slightly better than being told if I go to her church that her pastor can cure me? In reality, that is annoying but I am angry. I am pissed because I am starting my life and I am starting to get really bored. I have worked and worked to make myself better. My husband and my boys all say they can't tell. It kills me that they can't tell because I literally cannot try any harder. I have to realize that their noticing or not cannot deter me from my goals. I love proving people wrong.
However, at the end of the day this mental pain gets me to my next step. The step that tilts a little bit to my corner. I raised two sons. I was an Army wife, after I was a Marine. I have this disease that has caused me to re-write everything that I am and everything that I want to be. Out of those ashes rises a new person. Someone who challenges herself, for herself. Someone who can be a partner again, instead of another child needing constant care and support. Someone that can be a mom to men and help them through these next years, they are so important.
I am broken, but I am re-made. I built this shit from the ground up. Of course every day isn't going to be rainbows, roses, glitter and sunshine. Silly to think that I can be all "love everyone". There isn't enough cannabis in the known world.
Positive note on that. Some religious folks were asking real questions on a pray for me thread, about medicinal cannabis. These are suit wearing, church going, Tennessee boys. But his dad has a thing, and cannabis is known to help and it felt really good to have a nice chat about it, instead of it needing to be this huge debate. It was nice.
It has also been nicer here (where I live) for me too. The people that were freaked or scared or just turned off by the type of person that I am have slowly started to show signs of cooperation. I don't need their approval, but a nice conversation while were waiting for kids sure feels good after 7 years of nasty looks and people ignoring me.
Basically folks, we are fucked up. We know we are fucked up and we know that it aint going away any damn time soon, so we need to buck the hell up. Of course you aint shitting rainbows. There are going to be days that you just can't be nice to anyone because FUCK... you just give yourself 48 hours to snap out of it. If that doesn't work try step two.. go out in the woods. Go sit beside some water. Count your damn blessings cause you have more than you think.
Now that I got this off my chest I feel better already
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