I should have known better than to go after the hang nail on my finger. Stuck between knowing I should leave it alone and carefully ripping it off I always go for it!

Ugh, It’s terrible. The pain of snagging the little bit of skin on EVERYTHING! and insisting I can make it so it won’t hurt. NO. Don’t touch it!!

How is it the hang nail feels like one big “F” YOU! Pain and tenderness, More pain when the now exposed skin is reads every contact as a violation of the epidermis layer.

I should know better. Put a bit of skin really won’t hurt that bad.... @dezcan

The truth escaped me for the majority of my life. Now approaching 40 I know. I know that my Mother is toxic. I am hurting that I was made to be her self esteem, her approval, her value, her constant companion in thought and action. I am hurting, the pain is far reaching, and even further in depth. Like a duck caught in a oil spill. It all feels so consuming and raw. I am hurting because I won't ever be able to talk to her about it. She plays the martyer well and with ease. It will be tourned around on me or dismissed. That's gonna hurt too.

This season has me in the twilight zone. The demands upon me. The responsibility that lays me flat out. I never considered it was an option to show up or not. I birthed these 3 children. Only as I have been living the last several years in constant state of flipendulous. The men whom chose not to be here. These men have done nothing for their daughters except set them up to live their lives Filipendulous. How can one be anchored in who they are if they do not know half of themselves? The questions thrown out at rapid pace and sometimes just with their eyes. The questions they somtimes strengthen this thread. Other times the questions only ware on various spots of the thread. Just when I think I will lose my grip on the thread, I am bolstered by compliments from a stranger, hugs from the kids, an offer to be an answer to a question mark or a reslove to do better than a constant state defind by Flipendulous.

Day after day I see you. I see you fighting to be here. The unwanted cocktail of symptoms that have led to one diagnosis after another. Fighting my own depression and anxiety to stand in the gap for you. I willingly do this every day and will for the rest of my life . Days when the outside world is too loud, moving too fast, the air too heavy and your lungs too tired to breath deeply. I hold you, sit near you, watch from a distance whatever you need of me, I do. My child, I want to be mad at these illnesses. How dare they plague you so relentlessly. Mostly, I am determined. I am sad as I see activities and moments stolen from your childhood. I am proud of you and the Mike Tyson kind of way you fight for your mental health. You are so much more than Bi-polar, ADHD and autism. You are creative, funny, strong, inquisitive, loyal and smart! I will stand in the gap as long as you will let me. I will continue to love you, to believe in you and punch mental illness in the face with you. #EvelynDawn #mentalhealth

Standing infront of one another. We have shared so much. We hold eachothers hands. I look into your deep brown eyes; searching for my forever. Our hands fit together with ease. Fingers laced. My grandfathers ring on your left hand and my wedding band and engagement rings on my left hand. This picture is not lost on me.

Now so many years later. My left hand is bare. The ring that symbolized our love has been gone for longer than it was there. Yet, when I close my eyes and remember the hopes and dreams I had for us; the ring, its still there.

My mind wanders and I refocus quickly. The burning lump is forming in my throat. I work hard to keep the lump down, to keep the warm tears in. My ears ring with the intense and deep emotions just below the surface.

I am awash with "what if" and "I wish". Sitting in the moment an acknowledging these feelings is brave; or is it?

The question goes unanswered as I stand again to carry on.

It's a little dorky. Ok, a lot dorky. My birthday is 10/04. Every since I was a kid and had to write down my DOB I always say to myself "10-04 good buddy" I must have picked that up from a tv show; maybe M.A.S.H? It never fails. When I had my children and filled out the hospital paper work, yup, I recited "10-04 good buddy" silently. It makes me happy; which I am fully aware is odd in and off itself but I am ok with that.

#birthday

I found myself wondering through Barnes and Noble looking for a book, any book to make me a better Mom, daughter, friend, girlfriend. I looked for a new Bible, a different version than I have currently. Something else to to give me answers to the unknown questions. And then.... it hit me... I don't need any more books. I need peace and quiet. I don't need anymore advice from authors I don't know. I didn't need a new version of the Bible. I needed more of just me and Jesus. The pressure was off. I took a deep breath and felt my heart beat return to normal pace. Thank you anxiety.

No, I can not force myself to forget some one. Intially, out of sheer emotion I might be successful but not for good. Time and experience has a way of weaving itself in and out of lifetimes. Memories come up, driving down the street you see an individual who looks like the object of your wanton forgetfulness. Watching Tv, a voice, a storyline, the emotional climate of the scene; something triggers a memory. A special time of the year, a song, a sweater. Completely forget? NO, but hopefully the memories will soften and not feel so sharp.

I have one child who is disabled and 100% dependant on me. She is soon to be 13. My sleep is interupted by thoughts of the future. Hers, mine, ours. Unable to work outside the home I think about what will happen to us when my parents pass away? We live with them. I can't support us on the little bit of disability my daughter recieves. Will I be able to find us a support system? Others who will love and care for my child when I die? Placing her out of my care is that last thing I want to do. I don't have anyone close to me who has experienced the same. The stories I hear of the very few places she could go are not good. I think about what will happen as we both get older and I won't be able to lift her by myself, or transfer her to and from bed.

I find my self thinking of how we could afford a remodel on the bathroom so it is accesible to her and I when she needs a bath. Will her sisters resent her? Will they worry too much about her? How will they mainatain their lives with habing a sister in a facility? Maybe they would want her at home with them. I wold love that but I don't want to put pressure on the kids. I think about having my own room one day. One that I don't have to share with my youngest child. I would really like my own space.

I think about my other two kids and all that they have to give up because I am only one person with alimited income. I pray they remember more good times than bad as they grow up and have families of their own.