Car Accident

Got in a bad car accident with my kids two weeks ago.  Everyone was okay.

I was traveling westbound and the person stopped in the eastbound lane suddenly jolted out in front of me with the intention of making a left-hand turn into a driveway.  There was no time.  I shouted and then boom!  we collided.  The next thing I remember is lifting my head from the airbag, smoke was everywhere, there was glass, a ringing in my ear, and I immediately called out to my kids in the back seat.  Nothing.

In that single moment, my whole world stopped spinning.  In that single moment, I’d thought I’d lost them.

Then I heard screaming and crying and I crawled out of the car and scrambled to the back door and pulled out my son and all three of us met at the back of the car and just held each other and checked on each other and made sure each of us were okay.

Then we moved to the side of the road.  Everything that happened after that felt like those parts in movies when they speed it all up – officer came, paramedic talked, tow truck arrived, I got cards and information and stuffed it all in my purse – but the whole time I was just entirely focused on my kids.  I just kept hugging them and asking them if they were okay and they were asking me if I was okay and I was reassuring them that we were all okay and everything was going to be okay and we were going to get home and we are safe.

And we were.  No one was injured, we walked away from a 55 mph crash into a non-moving object, and we were okay.  It took me days to realize that.  To accept that the kids were okay, that they weren’t traumatized, that they were walking and playing and fighting just like they were before the accident.

I’m so grateful.  So grateful to be safe.  So grateful to have my boys.  The loves of my life.  And that one second, that moment when I thought they weren’t there, I’ll never forget how that felt.

 

Go For a Walk

I took a walk.

I strongly resist taking a walk.  I make excuses, I avoid it, I focus on distractions, anything and everything to keep myself from doing what’s best for me.

But yesterday, I did it.  And it was glorious.  I rage-walked for the first 15 minutes, just piles and piles of anger diffusing with each step I took.  I cursed out loud at people I was mad at, yelled about my kids, my ex-husband, my job.  Stomping my feet, kicking the dirt.

Then I got to the half-way point and I suddenly felt much lighter.  I started to think about enjoyable things that had happened that week, happy thoughts carrying me back home.

Sometimes it’s hard for me to do things that are good for me.  I’m just glad I finally did the right thing.  Now it’s time to keep it up.

Bringing Mom Home

“I know you’re going to do what you want to do.  But I worry about Mom’s health and yours.  I fear we’re going to be in the same boat we were 6 months ago.  I just want you to know that.”

“I don’t want to talk about that just yet.”

I told my Dad how I felt, and I left it at that.  I knew he was bringing her home from the nursing home.  But I wanted him to know how I felt.

She’s home now.  My mom has chronic Lyme Disease.  It’s a nasty, vicious disease that simulates various symptoms of MS.  The CDC is unwilling to acknowledge it nor identify it as a legitimate disease.  This translates to:  no funding for a cure, treatment, nor management of symptoms.

What does this mean for Mom?  A slow deterioration of her nervous system.  The inability to walk.  The inability to move her hands.  Some brain deficiencies.  And it only gets worse and worse.

Mom’s been sick since I was five.  To say one gets used to it is not hitting it directly.  I’ve only known her as a sick person.  When I was five, playing with Barbies and watching cartoons, she was lying on the couch with a nurse inserting IVs into her arm.  I watched her lose the muscle control of the left side of her face.  It was scary.  I was sad for her.

Now we’re on the path that leads to nowhere.  Day-to-day, Dad uses mechanical contraptions to help her go to the bathroom, to help her get in bed, to help her live a life.  I help, but feel helpless.

There’s no happy ending to this story.  She will eventually become a paraplegic.  It’s just going to be hard times ahead.  On good days I  find hope in the belief that God gave me struggles to become a better person.

On bad days, I just don’t feel anything at all.

 

Bipolar Me

There are two parts of me.  The happy me is talkative, loves to be around people, loves to encourage and motivate others, loves to be the life of the party.  The happy me loves the color of the sky and the smell of flowers and loves to touch and hold and feel.  The happy me loves to be me.

The other me is dark.  The other me likes to be underground, living unseen, hiding in corners and down dark alleys.  The other me doesn’t speak, doesn’t move, doesn’t blink.  The other me likes cemeteries and darkness and death.  The other me hates me.

There has to be a balance to survive.  Neither can go on for very long without some of the other.

Why Are You So Weird?

Time goes by so slowly; minutes feel like ages. Impatient waiting for ANYthing, like i want to scream and pull the hairs from my head.

Want to talk talk talk talk talk to anyone who will listen.  It’s really hard to not interrupt – i just want to tell all my stories cause i have so many.

Irritable for no reason. 

Wearing tight clothes, revealing clothes.

Want to give away all my money to other people.  Really strong urge to give away money to people who need it.

Interrupt interrupt interrupt.  Talk talk talk. Can’t listen. Don’t care.