This past Saturday was a long one. Roger and I were up at 5am so that we could join his high school steel drum band at a festival for the day. The festival was pretty awesome and I'll share a link to the mass band performance at the end of this post, but that isn't what I want to talk about...I'm going to sit here and I'm just going to write about being a mom.

For the longest time, mom has been my primary title. It's been my world and my life. Those two boys have been my world and my life. It's only been in the past little while that I've started thinking about what I'm going to do when they're gone and living their own lives. I still don't really know but I am thinking about it.

On Saturday, I had expectations. I expected that this was an event that Roger and I were doing together. Except, the event really wasn't what either of us had figured it was. So, instead of spending the day with me, he spent it with his band and with his friends. He did pretty much everything with them. He sat with them. He had lunch with them. Since this wasn't my usual group of band kids, I wasn't invited to join them. I ate lunch alone. I sat in the bleachers alone. I watched them laughing and inside, a part of me hurt. I was happy he was having a great time, but it still hurt that I was on the outside looking in.

Still, there were those moments where he was completely my boy...he ran over to me to make sure it was okay that he spent $5 of the money we'd set aside for his band trip. During the concert, he was sitting on the opposite side of the gym from me and I realized that we were sitting in the exact same position. He'd make faces at me from across the room and I couldn't help but smile.

What's the point of all this you ask? Just that Sunday, after his dad had picked him up, I was sitting there thinking about the weekend and I realized something. The very fact that he was confident and comfortable enough to not need me on Saturday meant that I had done my job. He may not know how to sew a button back on but he's learned the skills that will help him become the man that he wants to be and the fact that he'll still make goofy faces at me from across the room means that no matter how old he gets, he won't forget he's my kid. With that realization, I was filled with peace and that, my friends, is a very good thing indeed.

If you'd like to check out the mass band performance, check out this video!


If you'd like to hear the HHS Steel performance, head on over to my YouTube channel where it's almost all kids, all the time.



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For the past few days, I've had this post in my head and yet, as I go to write it, that same mind is completely blank. This happens when the fog of depression begins to lift. The things that I had thought about while it covered me seem to dissipate with it. Still, I want to put down what I can and I hope that by sharing it, it will help those who care about me and those who may be having similar struggles or know someone who is. So...let's see what my brain wants to share...

Last week was absolutely horrible for me. You see, I was supposed to be spending the week near someone that means the world to me and a few weeks ago, that trip had to be cancelled. I'm not sure that I realized just how much I had been counting on that trip as a chance to recharge. At least I didn't until Monday.

You see, for as long as I can remember, I've set targets...points to get to...when I drive, I mentally break the trip down into little chunks so that it doesn't seem so long. When I have a period of time where I'm insanely busy, I find some point to get to. I tell myself that if I can just get to that point, it will be okay. It helps me keep going when I'm tired, rundown, and just want to give up. This trip was that point for me. If I could just get to the hotel, everything would be okay. I wouldn't have any responsibilities or anywhere I had to be.

Then, that was snatched away from me and I fell apart. That's the only way to put it. I woke up Monday morning and all day, my brain kept track of where I should be on the last stretch of the drive, of what I'd be doing in the hotel room, how long until I saw my friend...I mentally tortured myself and no matter what I tried, I couldn't stop it. Bipolar brain was fully in control and the more I fought it, the harder it got. I spent so much time in tears just wanting things to be different but knowing that there wasn't anything I could do.

Then, it got worse. When I wasn't thinking about what I "should" be doing, I started thinking about death. No, almost obsessing about it. I wasn't at any risk of killing myself then. I kept thinking about what would happen to various things if I were to die...my websites, my belongings...I became obsessed with the idea of creating a Death file on my laptop. I wanted to fill it with files laying out what I wanted to have happen...how I'd want Nick's original drawings returned to him because I truly feel that I'm only a temporary caretaker of them...how I'd want Geek-o-Rama offered to Brian and then if he didn't want it, I'd want a post placed on the site and left there for 6 months before shutting the site down. Every 30 minute drive in and out of town for 3 days, I obsessed over this.

Something changed on Wednesday evening...around the time that my friend would have been leaving me to go home...the fog started to lift. You see, in my head, the week had been planned out and when it reached a point where I would have been alone again, somehow it started to get easier. In some ways, it was as if I was living one week out loud and another in my head. At that moment, I came to some realizations and they've been floating in and out of my head since then.

Two paragraphs I said that I was at no risk of killing myself then, but that's not really true. I wasn't going to slit my wrists or take all of my medication at once, but I was killing myself...just slowly and in a way that nobody would realize what I was doing. I was going between starving myself and eating so horribly that it would eventually kill me. I stopped taking care of me and was so lost in the fog that I didn't notice. I was wandering blindly, desperately hoping that someone would reach out and give me something to hold onto.

It didn't happen though. Even though I pretty much disappeared from social media, didn't do the site's work for the week, or talk to anyone, nobody noticed or if they did, they didn't reach out. I was lost and there was nobody looking for me. Please don't misunderstand...I realize that other people are busy or just may not have been aware. I don't blame anyone. I'm not upset with anyone. It just hit home that the only people who said to me, "You matter" were on a Facebook post. It brought home just how isolating the fog is.

So here we are...a week out from the fog...and I'm not quite okay, but perhaps I'm no longer lost. I found my way through and I did it by myself. It was harder than if I'd had someone there to hold my hand but it shows that it can be done. I know that more dark times will come but I also hope that I can remember that I'm stronger than I seem and that I can be brave.




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Over the past few weeks, it's been pointed out to me that I've changed...the girl who used to be so open has hidden herself away, she's more careful with what she says and she doesn't really talk to anyone anymore. Sure, she posts on social media, but it's shallow. It's not what's inside her. It's just enough so that people will leave her alone.

Those people are right. Losing Reece changed me. It woke up every feeling of insecurity and worthlessness that I've ever felt. It took me to a place that I never thought I would see again. A few weeks ago, I planned on killing myself. While I'm glad that I didn't, living with these feelings has been incredibly hard. I've shut myself off to most people. People scare me. There. I said it. People scare me.

There are very few people that I trust right now and it's to those people that I turn. They're doing their best to remind me how amazing and awesome I am and while I don't argue with them, it's hard for me to believe them. What happened to the girl who was starting to believe that she could do anything? It's as if she got knocked down and then trampled on until there was nothing of her left but a battered and bruised shell.

The thing about bruises is that they heal. Some take longer than others, but broken bones, broken hearts, and bruises all heal. It's a process and for someone who constantly has a voice in their head that tears them apart, it can be a long process. Yes, I've hidden myself away but I needed to. I needed to focus on myself and deciding if I were worth the effort. I'm not ready to come out yet. I need this time with me so I can try to be okay again. I have doubts that I'll ever find happy again, but right now, okay seems like a pretty good place to be.

Yes, people scare me, but I know that over time I'll slowly start to stick my head out again. I'll find my place and maybe even love again, but right now, I'm going to be quiet. I'm going to protect my heart because it's fragile. The wrong thing said by someone I care about starts the tears flowing. Letting even a few in has been incredibly hard when all I want to do is hide. We're all built with the instinctual fight or flight response. Mine has always been flight. By letting even one person in, I'm trying to fight. I'm trying to silence the awful feelings of worthlessness, of being forgettable, of being a nobody unworthy of anything good.

I'm here...and I'm fighting...but for me, right now, it's a silent fight...



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