Time Will March On, Babies Will Grow Up, and That's Okay.

I seem to know a lot of new parents these days. It is strange for me as my children are both in school now, and even though these new parents are my peers, I feel somewhat like an old lady. Which of course leaves me wanting to hand out advice to all these new parents when they start to stress about this and that. I try to keep my mouth shut though. No one really wants un-asked-for parenting advice, and I respect that. I never listened to it when I was a new parent and I don't expect anyone to listen to it from me. But I do realize that I have a unique perspective on parenting sometimes, and I feel that it's worth sharing anyway.

It seems that the "correct way" to feel as a parent is as though we want our children to be dependent little babies for eternity. We stress ourselves out when it's time to bring them to day care. We fall to pieces when they get on the school bus. And our kids, no matter how young, pick up on this. What do they think? Do they end up feeling guilty for growing up? Why do we want our children to be dependent little babies their whole lives? And I must ask my self from time to time, am I a bad parent because I don't feel that way?

Maybe I am just not a "baby person". Maybe it's like being a "dog person". You either are or you aren't. But I never got all crazy about daycare, or all weepy about the first day of school.  I don't want my kids to stay babies and I don't spend a minute wishing they they would not grow up. I look forward to them growing up. Instead of hanging on to passing time in vain, because time is going to pass whether you like it or not, I enjoy each stage of my children's lives for what it is. My kids aren't babies anymore, and I am fine with that. My son is 11. I get to watch him start to discover his identity separate from me. That doesn't scare me. I know I've been a good and attentive parent. I have confidence that he will find his way and the less I impede him from that the better off he will be. I get to watch him figure out friendship, and relationships with girls, and what kind of person he wants to be in life.

My daughter is 5. I get to watch her develop her personality in a different stage. I get to watch her figure out what is socially acceptable and what is not (with my guidance, of course). I get to watch her try on different attitudes and figure out what works for her. I get to watch her take her very first steps of independence.

With both of my kids, I didn't cry on the first day of school. I didn't look at it as my children stepping away from me. They will always be with me in some capacity. I looked at it as them taking their first steps into the big wide world outside of the home, and I am excited for them.  I don't look to the past and wish to go back in time. I look forward to the future. I look forward to my son's first school dance, or helping him through his first heartbreak. I look forward to seeing my daughter's intellect develop as she gets farther into school. I look forward to being a constant and positive presence in their lives through all their developmental stages.

And I might sound like a bad parent now, but I enjoy not having dependent little babies. I enjoy that I don't constantly have a newborn laying on my chest, or a baby constantly on my hip, or a toddler constantly underfoot. I like that I can take some time for myself and not have to feel guilty over it. I like watching my children's independence blossom. I like that my son can help with the dishes and the laundry. I will like it when my daughter is big enough to reach the cabinet and get herself something to eat. Ok, maybe I really am not a "baby person".

But the point is, don't get so caught up in wishing time would stop and leave your cute little infants that way forever. Because for one thing, it's never going to happen. For another, when we spend our time in the past, we don't see the present for what it is and we don't look to the future for the good things time will bring. Get too caught up in wanting your babies to stay babies forever, and your children end up finding their identities and reaching amazing milestones right under your nose and you will miss it. And just like you can't get those "baby days" back, you won't be able to get those days back either.

The Reality of Our Health Care System for Those Who Slip Through the Cracks

This is the reality of our health care system under the changes of "Obamacare".  I write this blog because I know that I am not the only person going through this. Please share this post to help me get the word out there about the forgotten ones.  The people in the grey area who make too much money for government assistance, yet not enough money to have health care for themselves and their families.  Please help me tell my story because it could just as easily be yours.

In August I received a notice from the New York State Department of Health and Human Services telling me that my family would no longer be covered by the Family Health Plus program.  Family Health Plus is a state run program designed for people who are working, who are not eligible for other government assistance such as food stamps, but cannot afford the high premiums of health insurance through their jobs.  In anticipation for President Obama's health care reform, Family Health Plus cut their income requirement in half.  Under their new guidelines a family of four must have an income of $2,458 dollars (before deductions) or less to qualify for this program.  What family of four lives on that kind of income without government assistance such as food stamps and medicaid?  I was informed that as of September 1st myself, my husband and my children would no longer have health insurance.
At about this same time, I developed a pinched nerve in my shoulder.  No big deal, right?  Happens all the time.  It hurts, but it heals and people move on.  Only, for me it did not heal.  Over the span of one week it got worse.  Much worse.  During the last days of having insurance I went to an urgent care clinic.  After 2 xrays they told me that it was not a bone issue, that it was muscular.  They gave me some pain medication and a mild muscle relaxer. Their advice was that if the situation did not improve in 5-7 days to see a doctor.  I laughed and told them that by then I will not have insurance so that is not an option.  They shrugged and sent me on my way. 
I returned home and took my medications.  I was on hydrocodone with ibuprofen for pain and it worked at first.  I was not able to sleep in my bed, so I slept on the recliner in my living room. One morning about 6 days after my my visit to the urgent care clinic I woke up in excruciating pain.  Over a 4 hour span of time I took 5 hydrocodone pills that did nothing to stop the pain.  All I could do was sit in my living room and cry.  My husband, at that point had enough of watching me suffer.  He called in to work and took me to the emergency room.  After over an hour of sitting there trying not to make a scene by writhing and crying in pain I saw a doctor.  She gave me a shot of morphine and prepared me for xrays.  The morphine did not even touch the pain.
After 7 xrays I went back to the waiting room and sat there for a while.  Eventually the emergency room doctor came out and spoke to me quietly among all the other people sitting there.  She told me that I have degenerative arthritis in my neck.  This was putting added pressure on the already pinched nerve and that it would not heal on it's own.  At the very least I would need physical therapy, but more likely I would need surgery.  I needed to see a neurologist, but she knew that I could not because I had no insurance.  It seemed as though she might just start crying with me as she told me there was nothing else she could do for me. 
The next day a nurse called me to check up after my emergency room visit.  We spoke about my situation and she became somewhat alarmed.  She exclaimed "Well, you have to do something!" To which I responded that I was aware of this and I asked her what she thought I should do.  She had no answers for me.  She gave me a phone number for a clinic that helped people with no insurance.  I called.  They told me they were so inundated with patients that they could not help me.  They transferred me to an outpatient clinic.  The woman on the other end of the phone had no idea why I was transferred to her because she could not help me either.  She transferred me to another person who was equally confused as to why I was calling her.  She transferred me to another person who was not in the office.  Her voice mail stated that she calls people back within 24 hours.  Here it is 6 days later and I have not heard anything from her, because she could not help me either.
So here I am with no options. I am still taking my muscle relaxers and ibuprofen, but I am still in pain.  And by tomorrow I will be out of medication.  If I return to the emergency room, I will not be able to receive any more pain medications.  This practice of denying people pain medication is to keep pill addicts from being able to feed their addictions.  The idea is that treatment is the only thing that will solve the problem and pain medication is not the answer.  I get that.  But what am I supposed to do?
To get health insurance through my husband's job would equal the cost of our car payment.  My family is stretched to our financial limits. To cover this cost, we would have to give up our car.  I was waiting until both of my kids started school on September 4th when I would be able to get a job to improve our situation.  Now I physically cannot get a job.  But since I cannot get to a doctor for an official diagnosis, I cannot go on disability.  I am left with this pain and absolutely no options.
In order to get health insurance I have a few choices.  My husband can quit his job and we can go on full welfare.  I can get a divorce.  Or I can have a "welfare baby". 
People tell me that once "Obamacare" takes effect that I will be able to get lower cost health insurance.  With Family Health Plus I had no copays and a minimal cost for prescriptions.  With how financially strapped my family is, we needed that.  Now the best I can look forward to is $250 dollars a month for health care, and this is only after January when the health care law goes into effect.  So what do we do from September until January? And once these changes are in place, if we don't find a way to pay that $250 a month, we get fined.  If we don't pay the fine, they take it out of our tax return. 
It's not like we're sitting here with a bunch of extras claiming poverty.  We don't have cell phones.  We can't afford them.  We don't eat dinner in restaurants.  We can't even afford to go to McDonald's.  With my husbands bi-weekly paychecks, we spend two weeks of every month unable to properly feed our children.  And there is no help for us.  None.  We get no help with food.  We get no help with school supplies for our kids, or clothing for them.  Each of my children have 3 school uniforms and that is it.  Not even enough to get through the week.  There are now three classes in American society.  Upper class, below the poverty line, and screwed.  My family has never done so badly in our existence than when we made the jump from below the poverty line to the "middle class", otherwise known as screwed.
This is the true story of our economy, and the changes our president is making.  This is the true story of the families that fall through the cracks.  This is the true story of what has happened to the so called "American Dream".  And I know we are not the only ones who suffer like this.
Please share my story. Please help me speak up for not only my story, but the stories of so many others who are dealing with the same troubles that I am.
Thank you.

The Walking Dead, and the Daryl Dixon Fixation

So, it's no secret that I love The Walking Dead.  Like, I've never felt this way about a t.v. show kind of love.  I watch each episode like it's an event.  I wait with baited breath for every sneak preview, spoiler alert, or next season trailer.  I love the characters, I love the settings, I love the zombies and I even love the soundtrack.  But what I can't stand is this sexual icon Daryl Dixon (Norman Reedus) is becoming.  It's making the whole thing take on this cheese factor that quite frankly, I am not comfortable with.  Now don't get me wrong, I'm not blind, or a lesbian.  I know that Norman Reedus is an attractive guy, and that he makes Daryl Dixon a rather sexy character, all with his crossbow and motorcycle and shit, but seriously.  "Mrs. Daryl Dixon" tank tops?  Seriously?  Yes, those actually exist.  And there are massive amounts of my fellow females who comment that they would want one of these shirts. 

                                I think I would have to put real effort in not punching someone with this shirt on


Sexy magazine covers, and a hard core female following.  It seems that Daryl Dixon is the new main man of The Walking Dead. His popularity has well surpassed the intended front man of this apocalyptic scenario.  Where are the throngs of women lusting after Rick?  Now that Shane's gone and that conflict has passed has Rick lost his bravado?  When he had his mental breakdown, did he suddenly become damaged goods?  I will be interested to see how these two character arcs play out along with the obvious female preference for Daryl Dixon.  I wonder if he will get killed off just so we can all hear the collective "NOOOOO!" when it happens! 

                                                             Hey, baby.  Like my crossbow?

Trayvon Martin and George Zimmerman: A Trial That Gripped an Entire Nation

Probably the hottest topic in the news and the media right now is the George Zimmerman trial and subsequent acquittal.  I must admit, I fell head first into this one.  I ignored housework and skipped trips to the store as I sat riveted, on the edge of my seat through almost every day of this trial.  I watched the live feed from the courtroom during the day, and just because it was interesting, when court adjourned for the day I would catch some of the mainstream media coverage to see how they were spinning things.  It was very interesting to say the least.  Based on this dual coverage and what I have seen this is MY opinion.  This is what I think happened.  Agree with it or not, it's just the opinion of this humble blogger.

I think the acquittal was a miscarriage of the stand your ground law.  I believe that the stand your ground law was intended to protect people who have no other option than to use deadly force.  If it is proven that there were multitudes of options that could have been taken besides the act that resulted in the loss of life, that stand your ground should not apply.  This protects the general public from cases like this, where no one truly knows how things went down because the only other true witness is dead.  It protects the general public from the possibility of a over zealous home grown crime fighter going around starting altercations and shooting people over them. It protects anyone who is perceived as a threat when they are merely going about their daily business.

I think George Zimmerman lied.  He got tied into multiple lies during the trial.  The fact that the jurors appeared to ignore this is something I wonder about.  I think that he did start the altercation.  I think that he reached out and grabbed Trayvon Martin's shoulder in an effort to detain him until the police arrived.  I believe that he wanted to be the neighborhood hero and didn't want to let another one of those "fucking punks" as he referred to them, get away.  Trayvon, feeling threatened made just another one of the bad choices that ultimately led to the tragedy of him losing his life.  But this is purely my speculation based on what I have seen.  I think that George Zimmerman should have been held responsible to some degree for the death of an unarmed teenager that he profiled and instigated and then killed.  I think that the fact that those parents, friends and family members of Trayvon Martin had to exit that courtroom for the last time knowing that their son was officially ruled in a court of law as causing his own death is a tragedy.

Now, as many people in our nation struggle to accept the verdict the conversation of race takes the font page.  People are outraged at the way in which Trayvon Martin was profiled by George Zimmerman, and now it's as if every young black man has to be in constant fear for their life.  Perhaps there is something to that. Young black men are one of the most discriminated against groups in our society.  I think that youth in general is discriminated against in our society as the culture of violence becomes reflected in the children who grew up immersed in it.  But I don't think that standing somewhere with a sign in protest is going to do anything about it.  Just like any other social problem, the solution lies within.  The culture of violence needs to change.  The positive needs to outweigh the negative.  And maybe that's not fair, but like my mother always told me "life isn't fair".  Sometimes you just have to deal with it.  If you are a young black male and you are sick of being profiled as a criminal, then do things to help your fellow young black males from ruining your reputation through their behavior.  Do something in your community to help change the opinions of others.  No, it's not right to have to try extra hard just to make people think that you are not a threat to them, but if it's the way it is, how else are things ever going to change? Change comes from within.

I think that the attention and emotion that became devoted to this trial is because somehow, those who were outraged by all this got it in their heads that if George Zimmerman was convicted it would somehow bring Trayvon Martin back.  Maybe not logically.  Most everyone logically knows that there is nothing that can do that.  But some illogical place in so many people's minds started to believe that if there was a conviction it would somehow undo what was done.  I admit that illogical part of my brain wished for the same thing.  Maybe it's because I am a mother.  Maybe it's because my son has brown skin.  But my heart goes out to this family, and I have shed tears for the loss of Trayvon Martin when I viewed the gruesome photos that were displayed in the courtroom.  Those last photos that will ever be taken of him. He was a kid.  He didn't deserve to be profiled.  He didn't deserve to be followed.  And he didn't deserve to lose his life. 

Some say that Trayvon Martin was a thug, but I don't think so.  I think he was a typical adolescent trying on different personas as all adolescents do.  I think the persona he was trying on at the time of his death was directly related to the culture he was living in as a young black male.  It may not have, and seemed that it would not have been the path he ultimately chose in life, but I guess we'll never know that now.

From where we stand right now, what's done is done.  The jury deliberated and decided that no crime was committed.  George Zimmerman walks free and there's nothing that can be done about it.  So we all kind of sit here with a collective "now what?" as the family and friends of George Zimmerman celebrate, and the family and friends of Trayvon Martin continue to grieve, and the rest of us go back to life as usual. 

The Zombie Apocalypse and The Appeal of Broken Taboos

So it's the 4th of July, and I have nothing to do.  Among parades, picnics, and parties I find myself with no car and no plans even if I had one.  What is left to do but to kick back and watch AMC's Walking Dead marathon and Season 4 preview weekend?  Of course, since it's my favorite television show, I have seen ever episode countless times.  But I still watch it anyway because even though it's nothing new to me, it's still better than most of the other pointless shit that's on every other channel.

And I think to myself..."Why do you suppose that the zombie apocalypse is such a popular theme in our media, such to the point that it is the subject of a mainstream basic cable network television series?"  Well, many from psychologists to fellow bloggers have speculated on this.  Explanations posed thus far have spoken of political unrest, global warming, and increasing idea that the end of the world is near.  These theories might explain the recent move of zombie themed movies and television shows from the usual low budget horror flicks, but the theme of the zombie apocalypse has been around long before the current social climate.  So some part of why we are fascinated with an end of the world scenarios where just surviving is not treacherous enough, but there are flash eating undead walking about has to be more primal than that.

I think that the idea of the zombie apocalypse is so fascinating because it breaks one of our society's great taboos.  Death ritual.  In the United States death is much different than in other parts of the world.  We take extra care to separate death from life.  We usher our dead off to strangers who prepare them for their last viewing, for their burial or cremation. We separate our dead in morgues, far away from the living as if death is somehow contagious.  We view those who deal in death for a living as strange.  We separate ourselves from death, even when it happens to our loved ones, as much as possible.  The zombie apocalypse breaks this taboo.

The zombie virus appears in many different ways. But the result is always the same.  Uncontrollable death.  The dead rise again, and turn others into zombies.  The virus spreads and is unstoppable despite medical and even military efforts.  Death overcomes us and becomes part of our every day lives.  Out in the open at all times. Death goes from something that happens to other people, to something that happens to you...repeatedly.  It becomes such commonplace that the death of a loved one no longer stops your world and becomes something that just happens.  Like the sun rising every day.  It becomes impossible to tuck death away in a corner as if it doesn't really exist.  I imagine it must be like Europe during the years of the plague when death was such a part of life that it reflects in much of the popular art of the time.

The zombie apocalypse is to fascinating to us because it breaks one of our most fundamental taboos in such a way that no one can ignore it.  The destruction of our death ritual taboo is both frightening and fascinating because it would change not only our world, but ourselves in irreversible ways.  There would no restoration of life as usual.  Not only the world, but human life would completely cease to exist as we know it permanently and the idea of that is attractive to a lot of people. 

Social Media Anxiety Disorder: How to Know When it's Time to Step Away from the Computer

Social media.  We are all involved in it in some way.  Some of us spend hours on end attached to sites like Twitter, Tumblr, and Facebook.  Others stick to email and chat rooms.  But no matter who you are, chances are that you participate in SOME kind of social media.  What is just now being investigated is how these forms of constant social contact effect not only those with predispositions to social anxiety but those who have no history of mental illness until they spend too much time on social media sites.

I mention facebook the most when I refer to social media because it is the social media site that I happen to use the most.  I also believe that it is one of the worst culprits of social media anxiety disorder.  Facebook literally lays out a timeline of perpetual one-upsmanship where each person can paint their life in the most wonderful light whether it really is or not.  If you are on the side of having that fabulous life to share with everyone, good for you.  If you are one of the majority of people out there who struggle in life, it sucks to be you.

But no matter what side of the coin you are on, it seems that many of us are powerless to fight the digital age of friendship where esteem is held in "likes" and "shares".  It drives me insane sometimes that people are no longer expected to practice basic social manners because so many of us do all of our socialization from behind a computer screen.

So how often do I participate in social media? Constantly!  I am a rather isolated stay at home mother.  I spend entire days on facebook.  Most days, it's my only adult conversation and in a way it is like having constant conversation with those I frequently interact with and I truly enjoy that.  These days I use social media as a method of furthering my goals.  To promote my Etsy shop, and to promote my free lance photography gigs. To post these blogs so someone other than myself reads them. Now I deal with a whole new social media dynamic and that is the self righteous anti-social media snob.  People tell me all the time that I am on facebook too much.  It's kind of like those people who are so much more enlightened because they don't have a television.  I don't know how many times I have heard someone exclaim to me "I barely even go on facebook anymore" as if their life has reached some kind of higher status than mine and they no longer have to deal with communication with all the poor schmucks who have such pathetic lives that they have to resort to facebook for social interaction.  I end up defending myself because people think of me as some kind of freak spending all my time in a dark room choosing not to live, but to be a pathetic computer addicted loser.  At least I know that this is not how things are at all. Social media has a purpose in my life, and I used it for that purpose.   But there was a time when I went through a serious bout of social media anxiety disorder.

It was just a few years ago, and I was living far away from all of my friends.  I was not making new friends where I was living and my only social outlet at all was on facebook.  Day after day I would look at everyone's pictures of their fun times.  I would read their statuses of how fun last night was or how they were looking forward to this event or that.  And I could do nothing but sit there and absorb it all knowing that I had no one to hang out with.  That I had no event to look forward to, or pictures of great times with friends.  Eventually it was like it started to literally eat my brain.  I had no social concept anymore.  I became morose and lonely.  I started to take it out on my own self-esteem.  Suddenly it was not that I was isolated.  It was not my situation.  It was me.  I was forgotten.  I was unliked. I was unworthy of the friendship that I saw everyone else having but could not forge for myself.  I came to believe that everyone around me was creating and maintaining these connections with their fellow human beings.  Connections that I had ceased to be able to make.

I became a stalker because on facebook it's hard not to be a stalker.  It kind of comes with the territory.  I started making note of the people who would "like" my posts and those who never did.  I started making note of those who would comment and those who never did.  Eventually there was this sick kind of tally in my head where I started to measure who really cared about me and who didn't by who was present, not in my real life, but on facebook.  Maybe it was because there were so few people in my real life.  Living in a town where it seemed impossible to make friends didn't seem to help much.  I would run into old friends from high school.  New people through my kid's school and in our giant apartment complex.  But none of them ever wanted to actually hang out with me, or talk to me.  The only time we interacted was on facebook.  Of course this only furthered my feelings of inadequacy.  My old friends weren't talking to me in real life, and my new ones weren't either.  I remember sitting there in lonely desperation thinking "What the hell is wrong with me?!"

The worst part became when I started to use social media to express my extreme loneliness and despair.  In my mind I was desperately reaching out for companionship.  Or at least for someone to acknowledge my loneliness.  In reality I was coming across like a whining needy fool.  And then people started to defriend me.  Of course, since I had all these running totals of facebook social interactions in my head, I knew whenever someone defriended me, and it made things so much worse.  What?  Did I have some kind of social plague that sent people running for the hills?  I guess in a way I did.  But it was a self induced plague.

Eventually I ended up losing my two best friends for good.  Although we are trying to repair our friendships now, almost 3 years later, they will never be the same.  We may never even get past the acquaintance stage of things.  Social media anxiety disorder cost me my dearest friendships.  And it cost me myself for a while there.

Social media anxiety disorder is a real thing.  As the years go on, I hear more and more people describing the same things I went through when I was in the throes of it.  The best way to describe what causes social media anxiety disorder is that you are judging your everyday life compared to everyone else's highlight reel.  Sometimes it's like facebook is just one giant contest to see who has the best life.  And the more people post those fabulous highlights, the more we forget that they have bad times too.

So if you are going through any of what I have described here.  If logging on to social media websites causes you to feel worse about yourself and your own life, find something off of the computer to do. Find a different hobby.  Instead of facebook messaging your friend, call them.  Make plans to see people in real life.  The most important thing is to acknowledge that it exists, because only then can you make efforts to change it.

Because in the grand scheme of life, social media is just words on a screen.  There's so much more to life, but sometimes we forget that.  I know for a long time I did.

Why Do I Keep Writing an Unsuccessful Blog?

Part of being a self proclaimed "Type A Underachiever" is the underachiever part.  Despite any talents and motivations I may have, my life thus far has not held much success for me.  I know I want to write at least one book in my lifetime, but I have yet to even zero in on a topic.  Although I have been mostly successful as a student, I have no career.  The last job I held was at a gas station about 5 years ago.  This blog now makes my 3rd unsuccessful blogging venture.  Unless I post my entries to facebook I get about 4 views per post, and I have yet to inspire a single comment out of any viewers.

I used to get upset about my lack of internet success with my blogs and such things.  I think of one guy on the internet who appears to be the "go to guy" when it comes to psychology.  I am not being critical of him, and in fact I have found many of his ideas worthy of further examination.  But in some comic book style alternate universe, this guy is like, my arch nemesis.  He is more than 10 years younger than me.  He has a successful blog, he writes books, he has a strong online following.  He has all the success that seems to be perpetually out of my grasp despite my best efforts.  For a long time I thought I was just doing things wrong. 

But today when I was in the shower, where I do some of my best thinking, I started to realize that I was looking at things completely wrong.  I am not successful on the internet, because it is just not my thing.  I am not about reaching faceless masses on some grand scale, and my success or lack thereof in my online endeavors says absolutely nothing about my ability to help people.  I was not meant for it.  I was meant to reach people in real life.  I was meant to get out there, and make real connections with real people. 

Part of what comes along with big internet success is that it makes you more of an "armchair psychologist" than anything else.  It removes you from the origin of the field- working closely with people on a one on one basis.  One thing that I can say I did not like about that internet counterpart that I previously mentioned, is how he reacted to me when made a comment on one of his posts.  He automatically took the stance of a teacher.  I could not help but feel (I will admit, perhaps unreasonably so) a little insulted.  I was sharing some of my life experiences in hopes of sparking a conversation about the topic, and this young guy who could not have studied psychology any longer than I have, reacted to me as if I was just another lost soul looking for advice.  I speculate this is also because of the nature of internet success.  When you sit atop a mountain of faceless names who follow you, support you, and give you endless positive feedback it must be really easy to think of yourself as the perpetual teacher and every person you meet in that forum to be a willing student. 

You see, to me it does not matter if I reach 4 people with this blog or 4,000.  I am not out to be a great teacher.  I am just a person like everyone else.  And just as everyone has certain "gifts" in life, one of mine is the ability to communicate.  Even if I never achieve some great internet success (which at this point it is pretty clear that I won't, and I am totally fine with that) if I can just reach that one person who needs words for their own feelings but cannot find them.  If I can reach that one person who no longer feels alone because of what they read here.  If I can reach one person, even if I never know who they are, who is helped in any way by my efforts, that is what I am here for.  That is what is in my heart.  That is my purpose in this life.

So no matter how many, or how few readers I have here, I will continue to share my thoughts and ideas.  Because for me, success is not measured in the numbers of people you reach, but in the quality of the connections you create with people you touch.

A Return of Schoolyard Anxiety

There's no denying that things change as you age.  For me, when I turned 35 it was like I hit some kind of mileage limit and all these crazy things started happening.  I found myself getting aches and pains more often.  My hair, much like it was when I was a teenager, is a dried out mess that hangs around my face like a bad thrift store picture frame.  It seems there is now a never ended rotation of new lumps and bumps.  These "skin tag" things.  I find myself looking in the mirror and for the first time in my life, realizing that I actually look my age.  I think "Who the hell is this person looking back at me?  What the hell happened?" 
In addition to the alarming body changes that I have only begun to list here, that happen as a person ages, I can't help but feel the social effects of aging.  It gets harder to make and keep friends as you get older.  When you have careers, kids, car payments, etc. it gets harder to maintain a social self.  Maybe it's because when you realize enough people depend on you that you require insurance that makes sure that people are paid in the event of your death, you also realize that perhaps you should be more careful with your life.  Maybe it's because life slowly loses it's vibrant color, and things start to wear us down.  Maybe it's just that our interests change in our ever fluid persona's.  But gone are the days when I always had a friend to call on, or a place to go with a group, or even enough friends to have a party on a Saturday night.  Gone are the times when social interactions were seamless and natural.  Now everything is awkward, and the world is more full than ever of people I don't know. 

For me, some of my most awkward social experiences happen now where they happened many years ago.  On a schoolyard.  Perhaps it's a testament to how awkward social interactions become as we get older, or perhaps it's a testament to how socially awkward I have become, but these interactions fill me with anxiety. 
Recently my daughter made a friend at school.  Great for her, awkward for me.  The kids spend 2 and a half hours together 5 days a week.  We parents only see each other in passing for a few minutes and a lot of times, not even every day of the week.  These girls have become great friends, and are so funny together!  They could not be more opposite in looks.  While my daughter is pale complected, short in stature, blonde and quite petite, her friend is very dark skinned.  She has black hair which is always neatly done in a number of matching barrettes and hair ties.  She is at least 2 inches taller then my daughter, and although she is not overweight at all, she is just built all around bigger than my daughter.  Every day when my daughter goes to enter and exit the school, this girl hugs her tight and lifts her into the air!  When you see this, you want them to be able to spend more time together and forge a genuine friendship.  But when it come to interaction between the parents, something gets lost.  What do you do?  Do you immediately exchange numbers?  I have exchanged numbers with plenty of parents before, but we never actually call each other.  Do I have this girl over to my house?  I don't know her, or her mother.  How do I know how this kid will behave?  Do I bring my daughter over there?  I don't know what these people are like.  Are they mean?  Are they indulgent and kind?  Are they religious?  Will they think ill of my children if they find out we are not?  My daughter is not yet at her appropriate age level with speech.  Will they be able to understand her? 
Ok, so how about we all get together moms and kids.  What do we talk about?  What if we don't have anything in common.  What if she is a zealous republican who hates women's rights and gun control?  Why are these possibilities so much more frightening now than I can ever recall them being before?! 

Although one or both of these girls asks about getting together outside of school almost every day, who knows if they actually will or not.  Right now, this girl's mother and I are trying in vain to get to know each other over 2 or 3 minute interactions as we usher our daughters out of the crowded entryway of the preschool, and rush through the cold to our cars.  There's no upcoming event like a birthday party that would make this any easier.  I guess I have always felt silly about these school related anxieties. As adults we should have left school related anxieties behind long ago, right?  But it occurred to me today that I am probably not the only person who feels this way.

Critical Thinking about Gun Control

Apparently in this country, there are only two sides of the gun control issue.  You are either on the one where you want to take all the guns from all citizens unconditionally, or you are on the one where you absolutely need your high powered military style assault rifles with 30+ ammunition clips in them.  And there is no in between.  Seriously?  Has the entire nation lost the ability to think critically on even a most basic level?!  Some people, like myself are looking at the mass shootings that have happened in this country just in the past year alone saying "We have got to do something about this." while others feel the need to cry out in protest over their Second Amendment rights.  But I can't help but wonder, how many of these people, on both sides, even know what the Second Amendment of the constitution really states.  Let's go back to elementary school social studies, shall we? 

The Second Amendment states:

A well regulated militia, being necessary to the security of a free state, the right of the people to keep and bear arms, shall not be infringed.

Ok, a "well regulated militia, being necessary to the security of a free state..."  States need security, right?  Is this "well regulated militia" dedicated to the security of any given state a gang of armed civilians which patrol borders and neighborhoods avenging evil like some kind of superheroes?  No.  That "well regulated militia" would be what we know in the present day to be the state police.  But the true issue that has everyone's panties in a bunch is the second half of the amendment.  "...the right of the people to keep and bear arms, shall not be infringed."  Some people consider this unconditional.  People should be able to bear arms, no matter what kind or how many.  Well, let's look at when this was written.  It was 1791, and you had to defend yourself.   There were no state, or sometimes even local police.  It was a different time, and there were different guns.  Back then, you would hope and pray that your attacker did not take you out while you spent the minutes that it took to load one round into a musket and fire it.  And if you did fire it, unless you were a very good shot, the person on the other end of that musket was more likely to die from infection in the wound or lead poisoning from the ammunition, than from the gunshot itself.  It was not like it is today, in the year 2013, when you can buy an assault rifle and shoot 30 rounds in barely the blink of an eye.  Other parts of the Constitution have been accepted as outdated and irrelevant by today's standards.  But oh no!  Not that Second Amendment!  In some people's minds it is just as relevant now as it was in 1791 and should never ever even be considered for change.  Even in the wake of an event that removed 20 first graders from this planet forever. 

But what I really don't understand about the gun control debate in this country right now, is why no one is actually listening to our president.  No one wants to take guns away from the decent, law-abiding citizens who choose to own them.  Keep your hunting rifles, your pistols, and shotguns!  The only legislation that is being proposed at this time is a ban on military style assault rifles and magazines which hold more than 10 rounds.  What is so wrong with that?  I have yet to hear this from any gun control opposer.  I have yet to hear someone who is so vehemently defending the Second Amendment tell me why those guns and that kind of ammunition are necessary.  Do hunters go out in the woods and mow down deer with these kinds of guns?  Are you such a bad shot that in a situation where you had to defend yourself with lethal force, you need a goddamn machine gun to get your point across?  These guns are not designed for hunting, or for defending one's personal property, home, and self.  These guns are designed to shoot as many people in as short of a time as possible.  They are designed to be weapons of war.  And last I knew, there has not been a war on American soil since 1861.  So what is the big deal?  Please, someone who is convinced that this is the death of the rights of every American citizen, tell me?  Tell me how regulating these guns which have been used countless times to kill people and destroy not only individual families but the psyche of the country as a whole is such an infringement on your personal rights and freedoms. 

How can we live with ourselves when the next time this happens, we stand aside and say "Well, sorry folks, but we can't go back on that holy Second Amendment!"

If you think that this is such an infringement on your rights, what would your solution be then?  Armed guards in every school, mall and movie theater?  Mass institutionalization of the mentally ill?  Do nothing and just accept that these kinds of things are going to happen in our world? 

I think that instead of just jumping on the uninformed bandwagon waving the "Don't Tread on Me" flag, if some of these people took the time to get informed about what is actually going on in this country and the legislation that is being proposed, they might find that no one is trying to storm into their houses and forcibly remove all their guns.  I think that most people would realize that these are called "common sense gun laws" because they are just that.  Common sense dictates that if people are taking these assault rifles into public places and killing as many people at a time as they can, that those assault rifles need to be made more difficult to obtain.  Common sense dictates that if there are laws regarding criminals and the mentally ill and their ability to obtain guns, that they should not be able to bypass those laws by buying guns from a gun show rather than in a store.  Common sense dictates that the way we are doing things now IS NOT WORKING, and something has to change. 

Here is a link for those who may choose to get informed, and maybe, just maybe, think critically about what is going on here:

http://www.npr.org/blogs/thetwo-way/2013/01/16/169508482/obama-unveiling-plans-on-reducing-gun-violence

On A Mission

The old saying is "Into each life a little rain must fall."  Well, if you live in the city of Rochester it's more like "Into each life a little violence must fall."  I knew it would happen eventually, even though I hoped with all I had that it wouldn't.  My son got attacked in the bathroom at his school yesterday.  It was not a headline making instance of school violence.  He is not the first person to be attacked in this way, and he won't be the last.  But it symbolize a kind of loss of innocence for me.  He has no bruises, on the outside anyway.  A couple of kids followed him into the bathroom and called him names, and one of them smacked him in the face.  The school nurse called me to tell me what had happened.  I was expecting a sad child to arrive in my house that afternoon, but he appeared surprisingly upbeat.  I talked to him about it, and he said that it really upset him when it first happened, but that he was not really upset about it anymore.  I am assuming the support he received from the school faculty (with whom he is incredibly popular) helped in this.  But as every good parent should, I opened the dialogue, and my son knows that if he has issues with this he can come to me.  I was informed that the kid who hit him was suspended.

At first I was angry, as any parent would be.  Here I am sending my child to an institution every day where he is supposed to be safe, and he obviously is not.  I was angry with the school, with the faculty for not protecting my son, with the children who did this to him, and with the parents of those children.  When I was told that the child who hit him got suspended, my first reaction was to think "Good.  He deserves it."  But I had trouble reconciling my vindictive thoughts against a 10 year old.  At first glance any parent would be mad, and might consider storming the school in some kind of effort to gain justice for their child.  I was no different.

However, after a little while the anger subsided and I felt sad for those kids.  After all, children don't become thugs on their own.  It's the parental guidance, or lack thereof that usually lead children down the wrong path in life.  

Fast forward to today.  I arrived a little early to the school to pick up my daughter.  It was about 11:30 in the morning.  I could not help but notice a child, that was about my son's age, walking down the street.  Something about him struck me.  I realized that he could be the very child who hit my son and was suspended from school.  As he walked he stared at the ground.  He looked so sad and lost.  I sat in my car and watched him walk by.  As he walked away from where I was sitting I could see that he was wearing pants that were way too small for him.  He was sagging them, but I could not tell if it was in an effort to look tough, or because had he pulled them up the way they were supposed to be the cuffs might have almost reached his knees.  I don't know what it was about him, but it almost made me cry.  I wanted to reach out to him.  I wanted to ask him if he was ok.  I wanted to know why he looked so sad. I wanted to help him.  Of course I didn't, because more times than not other adults would look at me like I was trying to do something bad to him or something.  You just can't trust anyone these days, especially when it comes to kids, so even with the best intentions you can't just go up and start talking to someone else's kid without being thought of as a possible bad person who is up to something.  I thought "So what can I do?"

This city is quickly becoming a cess pool of violence and wannabe gangsters.  I remember recently hearing a story on the radio about a guy who was at a Taco Bell when some teenagers started throwing hot sauce packets around.  They hit this guy, so he spoke up and asked them to stop.  One of the teenagers lifted up his shirt and showed a gun and said "You wanna ask me that again?"  The guy telling the story had called into a national radio show that is closely linked with Rochester.  The morning show personality said "You, sir must be calling from Rochester, because stuff like that happens every day in Rochester."  Yes, he was calling from Rochester.  The morning radio show went on to talk about how violent Rochester is for another 20 minutes.  It made me feel sad, and guilty at the same time.  Is this really what I brought my own children to live among?

About a month ago, I went to an interview for a volunteer gig at the Center for Youth Services here in Rochester.  I was telling the woman who interviewed me about how we had lived outside of Rochester for about 5 years and then came back.  She gave me a surprised look and said, "Most people don't do that."  I thought about those words and I realized that she was right.  Most people don't do that. Most people make a goal to get the hell out of this city and when they do, they don't look back.  It started to make me feel guilty.  How could I do this to my kids?  How could I bring them back to such a violent place?  I felt guilty when I found out about what happened to my son, because maybe if he had still been in that little hick town, this might not have happened to him. I had to bring myself to the realization that it might have.  Kids get punked in the bathroom at suburban and rural schools too.  

But when I saw that kid today, walking down the cold street, looking at the ground, his sadness palpable to me as I sat in my warm car, I started to think about it differently.  What if I was meant to come back to the city?  What if I was meant to be here to help do something about kids like him?  And to protect kids like my son by  helping address the issue of violence among the kids who perpetrate it.  What if I was meant to be that one person for that one kid who helps keep him or her from going down the wrong path when the rest of the world seems to be sending them on a fast track down that path?  

I have a feeling that my volunteer gig at the Center for Youth Services is just the beginning.  I feel that I was lead here for a reason.  And that reason will bring me to making a difference in the lives of kids like the one I saw today.  I might not have been able to help that one kid, on this one day, but the memory of him and the feelings I had as I watched him aimlessly walk down that wet snowy road is something I will take with me throughout this journey.  And I will always hope that one day I might see him again, and get the chance to make a difference in his life too.

My Humble Opinion on Psychiatric Medications and their Prevalence in Today's Society *Revised*

I have been watching a lot of documentaries lately.  I have recently discovered the joy of Netflix, and the ability to watch movie after movie after movie of your choice.  No longer am I subject to what the television channels want to show me, I am in control.  Although I have been watching documentaries for days, few of them have inspired a blog entry.  Until I watched one called The War on Kids by Cevin Soling and Spectacle Films.  This film investigates how schools which have always been called "institutions of learning" are increasingly becoming just mere institutions. Now, there could be any number of topics that I could address from this documentary, but one thing inspired me to write and this is the prevalence of psychiatric medications being prescribed to children and their long and short term effects.  Did you know that in every school shooting that has occurred in the United States, the child(ren) involved were either on or withdrawing from some kind of mood adjusting psychiatric medication?  Why aren't we putting this together?  We blame the parents, we blame the media, we blame movies, music, and video games.  We don't take one second to think about the medications that these kids are on because those medications are supposed to be part of the solution, not part of the problem.

In our society, drugs are big business on both ends of the spectrum.  Millions of dollars are spent every year on ineffective programs which are designed to keep children away form street drugs.  Millions more are spent getting kids on legal drugs that have equal or even greater risks of the same negative effects of those street drugs.  And what are we setting these kids up for?  A lifetime of drug addiction.  Because once you are diagnosed with depression, anxiety, or things like ADD and ADHD it is a life sentence.  It never goes away.  These children will be on some sort of medication for the rest of their lives.  What we see more often than not is that a child goes on medication A, and this medication causes side effects.  So they are put on medication B to control these side effects.  As side effects wax and wane medications are adjusted, added, or subtracted from the equation.  Meanwhile there is little research on what the long term effects of these medications are.  And no one questions it.

Doctors are compensated by drug companies for prescribing these medications, and down playing their possible side effects to parents.  Parents look to the doctors as the reigning authorities on the subject, and so they give these children the medications without question.  And the children, who have no real say in the matter, are subjected to this as a means of controlling undesirable behaviors.

Now, there are some cases where medications are necessary and perform their intended tasks.  But our over-medicated society seems to think that there is a pill for everything, and every medical or psychiatric issue has it's treatment in the form of a pill.  There is no tolerance for people who suffer from things like depression and anxiety, because there's a pill for that.  If you suffer from it you take a pill, and if you choose not to then you should not expect others to accept you for who you are.  I know this first hand.  I suffer from depression.  I have never had any kind of brain scan that displays chemical imbalances that cause this depression.  I know I suffer from it, but I don't know the cause.  It could be some kind of defective wiring in my brain, but it also could be caused by being raised by a single mother who was profoundly depressed.  Here we can get into parenting styles, attachment styles and many other factors that could have lead me to this life of dealing with severe depression, but that is not the subject of this blog.  When looking at the answer to depression in the frame of psychiatric medications, one must ask themselves "Do the ends justify the means?"  In my experience, no.

I can remember suffering from depression in one form or another for my entire life.  For me, it was not until I was a teenager when I was prescribed my first depression medication.  Zoloft.  I was put on it because my mother was on it, according to the doctor who prescribed it, if it worked for her it should work for me.  I cannot recall if it ever worked for me because the side effects from it were so strong that they ruled my life.  I slept constantly.  It seemed that I could never stay awake.  I slept at home, I slept at school, I even would fall asleep at work.  I worked at a pizza shop at the time, and sometimes when there was a pizza in the oven and no new orders I would sit down. The next thing I knew I would awake to a burning pizza in the oven.  Eating was another issue that I struggled with.  I would feel so ravenously hungry that I imagined I could eat a 4 course meal straight away.  I would prepare some food, eat a few bites, and feel full to the point of nausea.    I suppose if taking my mind off my depression by giving me other problems to deal with was the goal, then it was effective.  But I cannot recall ever feeling any relief from the root problem.  Of course, this being medicated did not go along with any kind of counseling or psychotherapy.  Just put me on a medication and shuffle me out to make room for the next paying customer.  Within weeks I stopped taking the medication and resolved to deal with the issue on my own. 


The second medication I took was Paxil.  This time I was an adult, and going through probably the darkest time of my life thus far.  I was running out of options and the depression was reaching a critical point.  I reached out for help by seeing my primary care physician.  I could not even get the words "I get a little depressed" (which was a gross understatement) out of my mouth before a prescription pad was out and a prescription for Paxil was scrawled across it.  At that point in my life I was willing to try anything and felt as if I really had nothing to lose by going down the medication road once again.  I began taking the medication.  It did work, I remember that.  I remember times when I felt so good that I was almost giddy.  But what I did not notice were the neurological side effects that were taking hold.  I was constantly fidgeting.  Other people around me started to notice and I was asked more than once if I was okay.  My reply was always "Yeah, I am doing great!  Why do you ask?"  To which I usually would get no further questions.  It was not until one person mimicked for me the fidgeting that I was doing that I realized that this may be a problem.  I returned to my doctor and explained to him what was going on.  I was immediately removed from Paxil because these neurological side effects had a high instance of becoming permanent.  Again, this medication was not prescribed with a regimen of counseling or psychiatric assistance.  It was prescribed to me by a primary care physician at a 15 minute appointment, during which the doctor looked at his watch at least 3 times as if to say "Ok, tell me your problems and get the hell out."

I was put on medication with no kind of psychotherapy because at the time general practitioners went by the reduction model and treated only the brain in the control of emotions. Chemical processes in the brain are either overactive or lacking and a medication is needed to adjust them. There is no need to attend to the "mind" as a because the brain as an organ has the problem. Only in recent years have different models been accepted in the medical community. The interactionist model states that the mind and the brain contribute to emotions. The transactional model states that the mind and the brain contribute to emotions, but emotions also contribute to the mind and the brain, for good or for bad.


My better judgment has always told me that I can get through this without medication.  And for the most part that is what I have done.  When I go against this better judgment and try a medication, I always regret it.  But the pressure is always on.  I don't dare speak of depression in a physician/patient setting anymore.  And when I express my negative feelings to others outside of the medical profession, I cannot count how many times I have been told "Wow, that is really not normal and you need to take a pill for that."  So I don't bring it up at all anymore, really.  

It seems as if those who fall outside the norm of what we think a human being should think or act like must be corrected with a pill.  Some sort of medication which quells their undesirable behaviors and makes them easier for the rest of the world to deal with.  So who is the medication really helping?  Is the ADHD medication helping the student to succeed? Or is it making it easier for the teacher to deal with a student who may not learn in the same way that other students do?  Is my being on some kind of antidepressant helping me to not be depressed, or is it helping the other people in my life to be able to handle my personality more easily?  I cannot even count how many friends I have lost because of the way I am.  But I would rather feel the great joys, and the great pains of life no matter how good or bad they are than to be pharmaceutically well adjusted.

The fact of the matter is, that we are all different.  Some of us are hyperactive while others are not.  Some (like myself) are empathetic to the point that they feel the weight of the world and who carry that weight into their daily lives and sometimes get lost in the negativity.  Still others can go through life being able to say that they have never been depressed at all.  Is the goal of psychiatric medications to make us all fall into what has been determined for us as "a normal range"?  One of the markers for a psychiatric disorder is whether or not it interferes with your life.  Depression interferes with my life.  It makes me less productive.  It makes me lazy.  It makes me lost interest in things.  But being happy interferes with my life too.  It just does it in positive ways.  What if someone is excessively happy?  We don't give them a pill to bring them back down to "a normal range".  Are we on a quest to eliminate the negative parts of our emotional being?  If we take a pill every time we get a little depressed, how do we learn to overcome such things?  I can say that I have learned exponential amounts by getting myself through my bouts of depression.  This learning helps me not only get through future bouts of depression, but helps me advise others on how they can do the same.  No medication involved.

Today, I accept my depression as part of who I am.  I see it when it is happening, I know what to expect.  I know ways in which I can get out of it, whether I choose to do those things or not.  Depression is one of my "demons" much like everyone else has "demons" they must acknowledge and deal with in their lives.  Would I be better off if it didn't exist?  Possibly.  But the fact of the matter is that it does exist, and no amount of medication is ever going to make it go away.  Expecting a magic pill to take it away for me removes my ability to deal with it in my own way and to learn from it.

We need to understand that people are individuals, with different personalities, coping mechanisms, and tendencies to either be happy or unhappy depending on their life circumstances.  Sometimes the answer does come in the form of a pill, but it doesn't always have to.  And just because you may exhibit behaviors that fall out of the "normal" range, that doesn't mean that the answer comes in a bundle of chemicals that are swallowed with a glass of water.

A Timeline of Insomnia

Definition of INSOMNIA

: prolonged and usually abnormal inability to get enough sleep

(http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/insomnia)

Day Number 1:

It starts with a racing mind.  Sometimes due to the stresses of life, and sometimes for no reason at all.  Thoughts spin wildly.  I think about what I have to do tomorrow, the next day, the next week.  I close my eyes and try to quiet my brain.  Only to open them again, and sigh.  Here comes another bout of insomnia.  I toss, and I turn as I try every conceivable position to try to get some sleep.  I sigh again.  I turn on the computer to see if anything is going on on facebook. There isn't. Everyone else is sleeping. I turn on the television.  I look for something that I don't particularly want to pay close attention to.  Sometimes the background noise helps to quiet my racing mind.  Sometimes it works.  Sometimes it doesn't.  I usually am able to fight it out for 3 or so hours of fitful sleep.

Day Number 2:

Feeling annoyed, but generally still fine I fight to stay awake during the day.  I have kids to take care of, places to go, things to accomplish.  Around 4 or 5 p.m. I start to run out of steam.  But there's no rest for the weary.  Literally.  Because fast approaching is dinner time. Time to make the food, serve the food, clear the table, do the dishes, make sure the pets are fed, the children are bathed and to bed on time.  "Finally!"  I think to myself. "It's time for me to go to sleep."  I am tired.  But as I lay my head on my pillow, my mind starts to race again.  Repeat day number one.

Day Number 3:

I am exhausted. I wish for nothing but a day off where I don't have to deal with the responsibilities of life.  No such luck.  I drag my ass out of bed and get on with it.  I sometimes end up falling asleep at random points in the day, just to wake up a few minutes later realizing that it is the middle of the day, and I cannot sleep. I repeat day number two, except at the end of the day I take some diphenhydramine.  I know what I am in for, but I don't know what else to do.  For some reason which has not ever been explained to me, diphenhydramine gives me horrible leg cramps.  After an hour or so they start to kick in.  I am uncomfortable.  I stretch and stretch and stretch my legs to no avail.  Sometimes my husband tries to help by rubbing them for me.  This generally does not help.  But he, as frustrated as I with not being able to do anything to help me, tries anyway.  After what seems like an eternity of tossing, turning, and stretching the diphenhydramine wins, and I am able to sleep for 3 or 4 hours. 

Day Number 4:

These mornings are generally really rough.  After I am finally able to let the diphenhydramine take effect for sleep, I have to wake up only a couple of hours after I have fallen asleep.  I am groggy, and have a sort of diphenhydramine hangover.  At this point I spend my day too much in a daze to really feel anything else. I take more diphenhydramine at night, but it no longer works.  After one day it's as if I build up some kind of tolerance.  My mood starts to be affected further.  I am impatient, irritable, and have a lack of ability to deal with even the slightest life disruption. As the night wears on I become angry and frustrated.  I listen to the silence of my house and the snoring of my husband next to me, and I get jealous.  I envy other's ability to sleep.  By this time the two, three, or maybe four hours of sleep I had been getting don't occur.  I toss, I turn, I stretch, I sigh, and I watch the clock.  As the time gets to a certain hour of the morning I know that I cannot sleep even if I tried because there's no way I would be able to wake up and function.  This is usually the peak of the insomnia spell, and I get no sleep at all.  

Day Number 5:

This is the worst morning yet.  Usually I am upset, irritable, and like a child who needs a nap.  I feel like everything is unraveling.  I look around and realize my lack of productiveness has taken it's toll on my house.  Things are disorganized, and this furthers my frustration.  Many times I actually break down in tears of frustration.  After I am able to pull myself together and move on with my day, I feel energized.  I feel as if I did have a good night's sleep.  My mood is still poor, and my eyes burn, but I am awake.  It's at this time that I wonder if I will ever sleep again.  My brain starts to attack me.  I think of all the negative things in my life.  My inner voice says nothing but mean things.  I feel inadequate and socially inept.  Guilt builds from my lack of productiveness around the house, and my lack of patience with my family.  My self esteem hits the floor.  I fantasize about disappearing.  Life seems bleak and hopeless.  I isolate myself which only makes it worse.  No one I know understands what this is like.  When I try to explain it people tend to look at me like I am a little crazy.  I am currently in day five of my latest insomnia spell.  I am exhausted and depressed.  My stomach is perpetually upset from the diphenhydramine.  My eyes burn.  One would think that by now I would surely fall asleep if nothing else, as an involuntary survival mechanism.  Yet here I am at 2:00 a.m. writing this. (the time stamp on this blog is for Pacific time and I don't know how to change it yet)

I have suffered from this type of insomnia on and off for about 18 years.  It started occasionally when I was a teenager.  Over the years it only becomes progressively worse.  I have tried every over the counter sleep aid both medical and homeopathic and nothing works.  I wonder sometimes if I will reach a point in my life where I just don't sleep at all.  I have brought it up to every doctor I have ever seen.  Mostly they tell me not to take naps during the day.  I laugh and say "Ha!  I have children.  When do you think I have time to sleep in the day?!"  Most give small snipets of common sense advice.  Turn off the television, turn off the computer, turn off the phone, etc. etc.  When I explain to them that those things are not my issue and describe the problem I have with sleep, I am either assumed a liar or otherwise not taken seriously.  My longest insomnia episode occurred about a year ago.  I did not sleep for more than one hour for 8 days.  It was so bad that I thought about checking myself into the emergency room at the local hospital out of desperation and frustration.  I just didn't know what to do.  Luckily the episode ended before I had to do that.  But I can't help but wonder, as I sit here awake, will this ever go away?  Will it only get worse?  Will I ever get a medical professional to take me seriously and help me?  I assume that I will only get help for this when some secondary conditions arise from it.  Surprisingly that has not happened yet.  

It will end, I hope, just as it usually does and I will be able to sleep again.  In the meantime I just do what I can to get through it with my sanity intact.  It's not easy though.  People take for granted their ability to sleep.  The other night my husband did not sleep for more than a couple of hours from a random insomnia episode.  In the morning he looked at me and said "I have no idea how you put up with this like you do.  I would go nuts."  People complain about their busy lives and how tired they are all the time.  To me, you don't know what tired really is until you walk in my shoes.