Word Vomit | Finding a Therapist…. again

Just a brief back story;

About a year ago my mother in law attacked me on Facebook saying I was a bad mom cause I had dreams and mother’s shouldn’t have dreams; she should either give up her dreams or give up her child. This COMPLETELY came as a surprise to me considering she had been so supportive prior to this. I was dealing with trying to cope with postpartum depression and the loss of my dad. My husband spent years stressing that his family will always accept you but once again my gut was screaming “told you so,” for trusting any of that mess. She went on to attack my 2 close friends who were defending me, respectfully by cussing them out. Yes, this grown ass adult woman was opening saying “fuck you” to 20 year old’s who didn’t even dare to cuss at her back. And tbh, that said a lot about my mother in law’s character. I realized A LOT that day.

My depression spiraled beyond me trying to even both controlling it anymore that day. I was just so tired of fighting it. No one cared anyway. Everyone apparently had something shitty to say about “my behavior”. I’m so lucky that the real support system I have, and have had for the last 20+ years are always there when I need them, no matter how near or far. It was the first time I ever let my PPD get away with thoughts of hurting my child. It was the first time I thought if I got rid of her, everyone could just leave me the hell alone.

And that was unfair to her. My child was there for me when I lost my dad. When I didn’t want to do anything but lay in bed all day and cry. She would squeeze my hand and make me laugh. I’m just so freakin sick of people who refuse to get to know me and have the audacity to drag who I am. And this is why I didn’t want to get married again. I didn’t want to deal with shitty in laws again. I already went through a whole freakin decade of that shit, I refuse to waste any more time with it.

My spiral got really bad and I felt like the little progress I made to heal was just undone in that one day. So I called an OBGYN and requested to be evaluated for Postpartum Depression.

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National Suicide Prevention Week

I’ve always been pretty vocal when it came to National Suicide Prevention Week. Or The Lines Project. I worked on To Write Love On Her Arms street team for years long before I even moved to Florida.

Suicide in the recent years have become more of a public issue than it ever was. Claiming the lives of Robin Williams and Chester from Linkin Park. And yet people still refuse to change the conversation or even have the conversation. And as long as their a stigma to it, the problem will never be solved.

I was 13 when I leaned my head back against the wall during lunch with my two best friends at the time; Amanda and Raven. I blurted out “sometimes I just want to die.” Raven thought that was a weird thing to say and Amanda just slightly nodded. I was always painted the fuck up in the family. It didn’t matter what I did, said or tried to fix things. There was always something that made someone mad. There was always something that made someone feel to compelled to tell me, a small child, that I wasn’t smart enough. That I wasn’t going to make it. That I was a failure. And so I kept those word burned in my ears for a very very long time. I slept in class frequently in middle school and high school. I just didn’t care.

What was there to care about when everyone thought you were a fuck up anyway?

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Monday Mindful Manifestation

I stumbled on this quote on Pinterest last week. I’m not sure if this is actually something I can manifest but it’s something I can definitely consider. Well I guess I could manifest it too.

I use to be a pretty open book; I don’t add people to my FB unless I know them or know I can trust them. When I added my in laws my mom told me to either delete them or to stop talking about my mental health. She was afraid they’d think I was crazy. I told her not to worry and they don’t judge like that. Not to mention one of my husband’s sisters works in mental health.

What I didn’t know was that they were pretty selective lurkers. It seems like they’d catch a gist of my post but now the whole thing. So in January when his mom and sisters targeted me, his adopted sister in law and his adopted brother in law, his bio sister who works in mental health and his mom had a lot to say about my mental health. Saying I was full of shit and I was crazy and basically everything my mom warned me about.

Granted this is the second time in laws have done this to me.

Don’t you just hate when your mom is right?!

But there are so many of my friends that message me thanking me for being so honest and transparent about the things I struggle with because it helps them feel less alone. Because it helped them sort out their own feelings about a similar situation. And I end most of these posts on a positive note.

Ever since I was diagnosed with OCD, depression and mild anxiety I wanted to change the conversation. I hated how my ex husband thought I was “making it up”. I hated how hard it was to find info on OCD and anxiety back then (think the days before Google). I read every article I could find, every book. To try and understand why this was happening to me. If it was cureable. If it would ever go away.

How could your brain just break and how do you unbreak it?

I didn’t like how alone I felt, and I don’t want anyone else to feel alone. Anxiety is already a very unkind friend living in your head. Just be fuckin kind to other people. I’m pretty sensitive when someone attacks me because of my anxiety. And I’m most likely going to cut them off forever because they are literally not my type of my people and definitely not my audience.

Because of this I have scaled back on posting on FB at all. I don’t even know the last time I posted a picture of the kiddo. And tbh, that’s unfair to my mom.

So I could remind myself that writing about what hurts helps people.

And all I ever want to do is make people feel less alone. Less misunderstood. It’s just so hard to write when I’m constantly wondering if they’re lurking my stuff for more shit to talk about me. And yes, it shouldn’t matter. But it makes me so uncomfortable.

Last time this happened it was the final straw that made us consider a divorce, it got so bad I tried filing for a restraining order against my then mother in law and sister in law.

But this is something I struggle with every day and it fuckin sucks.

Happy 51st Anniversary Haunted Mansion

The Haunted Mansion celebrated its 51st anniversary this week and I figured maybe I should write down my lifelong experience and struggle with this attraction; that I absolutely hated then grew to love.

When I was little, like maybe 7 I went to Disneyland with my cousin’s family. And my cousin made me promise to keep my eyes open the entire ride and if I didn’t I’d go to Hell (legit, that’s what she said). I looked around not knowing WHAT this ride was but saw that there was “creepy” music, a freakin graveyard that my little 7 year old mind thought was  real and workers that looked like if I sceamed for help they sure as hell wouldn’t help me.

So I get on the ride, sharing a buggy with my mom and she’s like “look!” and I had my eyes covered SOBBING cause I was so scared. I knew at some point a ghost pops up behind you and the freakin narrator and his “and a ghost will follow you home” shit wasn’t helping. We met up with my brother who I think was with my dad or my other cousin and he was like, crying.

And I never spoke about that ride or EVER got back on it.

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Monday Mindful Manifestation

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Okay ya’ll, I know by now you probably see a theme in the affirmations I’m picking. I’m struggling through some stuff but I’m working on it. Or well, trying to. Writing has always been my therapy but I don’t feel safe or comfortable writing what I’m trying to get through. Besides, healing is a journey not a destination.

A few good things that happened this week (I have pictures this time)!

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“Make sure you take care of yourself,”

It’s officially been a year since the last time my dad called.

A year since the last time I heard his voice.

And it’s so hard to write this. I feel like my chest is going to cave in. The phone call was only about 4 mins long. I still have the call logged on my phone and I make sure it doesn’t get pushed off.

I use to get so annoyed when my dad called. Cause he’d always say the same thing. But he did also always ask how I was doing, I just hated telling him if something was wrong cause he was a massive worrier. I firmly believe if he was still here during this pandemic he would lose his shit. So I would dread picking up the phone.

And of course now that he’s gone I regret every single time I didn’t want to pick up the phone.

The thing about his passing is that from where I am it looked like it was something that happened overnight. My dad was constantly telling me he was “fine, just tired.” and suddenly he wasn’t okay and a few days later he was gone. Just like that. To my mom and brother it wasn’t overnight, but they were there with him. I wasn’t able to go to his funeral cause I had no idea he was having one until the day of.

My dad knows flying is painful for me (doesn’t stop me from flying and wouldn’t had stopped me from going to his funeral had I known about it) and that Tums was too small to fly yet. He was always worried that Tums might have what I have but tbh I messed up my own tissues.

Long story short: I stuck a peanut up my nose too far (my mom is an RN and I wouldn’t eat a lot as a kid and she said if I didn’t start eating she was going to feed me through my nose like her patients. She failed to mention WITH A TUBE.) so my mom had to take me to the hospital where they had to remove it. And in the process I had somehow messed up some tissue in that area. I was suppose to have surgery to fix it as a kid but that never happened. It just feels like my left ear specifically is going to burst out of my head when the plane lands, no biggie. Sometimes I can manage to “keep pressure out of it” and it won’t hurt as bad when the plane lands… but you know what, this is meant for another blog post.

So that’s why I wasn’t told about his funeral; because he didn’t want me or Tums to have to deal with that. But in exchange, I still haven’t said my goodbye’s. I still haven’t come to terms with the fact he’s gone and sometimes I’ll even forget. And think it’s been awhile since I texted him a photo of Tums (he LOVED getting photos and videos of Tums every single day); and I’ll remember he’s gone and it’s like that day all over again.

I’m seriously surprised I haven’t burst into tears yet writing this.

His death anniversary is coming up and I honestly don’t know how I’m not gonna lose my shit that day. August suddenly has become really really hard.

Sorry there isn’t any photos or anything, I just really needed to write.

“Never mind that, just make sure you take care of yourself,”