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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Hi all! I realized today that it's been quite a while since I posted just a random update post. Since I have a bit of time before I need to go pick up the youngest, I thought I'd stop by and say hi! Hi!

Thing here are actually going pretty well. There are the usual concerns but for the most part, we're doing okay. I've been making slow progress on the house. Watch for an upcoming photo update post from the kitchen. It's been a long summer though. I've rarely been at home and it's very much taking its toll on me. I'm tired. How tired am I? So tired that I can't stop giggling over this darn image.

Surprisingly enough, my mood seems fairly stable. I'm incredibly appreciative of that fact. Usually when I get this run down, I'm a complete disaster. Right now, though I have my moments of melancholy, it's not crippling me. I'm doing okay and it puts a huge smile on my face to be able to say that. Ever since I went to Baltimore, I've been working on me. It was pointed out to me then that I spend most of my life hiding away and I realized that the person was right. I had gotten to the point where I was scared of most everything.

It hasn't been easy but one little step at a time I've worked on reclaiming me. I've started working on my weight. (You can read about that over on Welcoming Weight Loss) I've gotten back into working on the kitchen. I went out for drinks one night when I was invited. My biggest thing? I've taken on a co-author role on a series of books. The opportunity was offered to me over a year ago but I was too afraid to agree to do it. Now, even though I'm not as confident in myself as my partner is, I'm doing it - one word, one paragraph, one chapter at a time. I've also decided to further my education. Not with another degree quite yet (there's some serious financial mess to clear up before that can happen), but with an hour every other week during my writing time where I focus on something. Some of you may remember Caliban's website. I'm working my way from beginning to end of that. It's a bit of a journey of self-discovery. Once I finish that, I have a ton of blogging and writing tool pdfs that I'd like to go through. Once the boys are back in school, I'm going to increase the frequency for working on the book and for "homeschooling" myself. I do want to go back to college and most likely get a second bachelor's degree and then who knows, one day I may even become Dr Kat. I kind of like the sound of that.

For now though, things are going well. I'm doing well. Finances are always tricky, but I'm not letting that defeat me. I'm keeping busy doing what I can do and trying not to focus on the things that I can't control.

Eek! I just noticed the time! It's time for me to get changed and to head into town to pick up Roger. We have some grocery shopping to do and then home. I'll be back soon though. I have to tell all of you what the boys are up to!



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I don't know how many people read my post earlier today, but this is a follow up to that. What I wrote earlier was based purely on anxiety and emotion and was logical in its own way, but not in the way it should have been.

I want to start out this post by thanking people for either giving me hugs, coming up with options, reminding me of legalities, or in the case of one just plain telling me that I was wrong.

Was I wrong? Not entirely. Like I said, there was some logic in how I was thinking. I really do love it here and don't want to lose this house because of my own hoarding issues. I'm also proud of me that I know that I deserve to live in a house that has things like hot water, something most of us take for granted these days.

Was I right? Not entirely. I never should have let the anxiety take over. I should have taken a deep breath, looked around at the work I had already accomplished, created a plan to deal with the rest and then contacted the owner of the house. I have a problem with overreacting before thinking clearly. I usually come around to the right side, but it's not always my first response to something. On top of that, I'm still forgiving myself for things getting how they were. So my instinct was to go into a mode where I felt ashamed and didn't want to let anyone in.

Nick was right. I was letting the anxiety make decisions for me and that isn't me taking care of myself. It's not me standing up for myself, even to myself.  I guess I'm still learning. I've come a long way but the journey isn't over and I know that I'm blessed to have someone who is willing to say hey, you're wrong. Even if it makes me defensive, it usually makes me stop and think too..because who likes being wrong?

So what's next? An email will be going out to the owner of the house about the water heater. She's always been good about getting things fixed when I let her know something was wrong. I need to keep working on shutting down the anxiety I feel about being on a month to month lease. I know we've been good about paying rent on time, we're rarely a problem and it is her responsibility to make sure the house is in livable condition.

After that? Well, I've started tackling the dining alcove. Who knows, maybe by the end of the weekend, it will be complete and the boys and I can sit at the table again to eat and play games. Won't that be a lovely thing? For now though, I have about 30 minutes before I have to go pick up the boys and I don't have a shopping list yet! Time to create one!




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The plumber came. The plumber went. Nothing is repaired. Why? Because it's worse than anyone realized. Someone installed shoddy plumbing and pipes need to replaced. The good news is that it's only for the kitchen drain, not the whole house. The water heater wouldn't light and the gentleman who came out only does line snaking. The furnace and water heater vent together and the vent is rusting out. The water heater is ancient...and on and on it goes..

I'm not going to lie to you. I'm currently sitting on my couch with tears running down my face. Not because any of this is impossible to get fixed, but because I worked so hard to get the house to a place where I could let someone come in to fix these things and nothing got fixed. On top of that, I posted my frustrations to Facebook and while I'm thrilled that a few people jumped in to remind me of leases and laws, I feel a bit as if I'm being lectured as if I don't know that I ought to contact my landlord when something breaks...I do know..but I haven't and I won't. At least right now, I won't. I can't.

You see, I'm a hoarder. Remember? Maybe my landlord can't remove me because an ancient water heater breaks, but she can if she doesn't feel as if I'm caring for the property and having to wade into a room isn't caring for anything. I've worked really hard these past few months and I have four rooms that are functional spaces (except for what's broken). That's huge progress and I'm proud of it..but it's not enough. If I call them and tell them there are problems, they'll send someone out...that someone could be a spy for them. I know that sounds paranoid, but it's happened before. Until this downstairs is 100% , I cannot let them in here.

And it's hard...it's so damn hard. Everyone is acting as if I can't take care of myself, as if I'm not taking care of myself and they don't understand. I'm trying to protect myself. I'm trying to fix things. I'm trying to undo years and years of trauma and habits to reclaim my world, to make things better. This isn't about the fact that I don't know the owner should handle these repairs. This isn't about me not knowing my rights as a tenant. This is about me. It's about me trying to fix me. It's about me having the space to do those things and I can't do that if I'm sitting here worrying that someone might report back to her that the place is a disaster. The bipolar brain looooves obsessive thoughts, after all.

So yes, if me paying a plumber god knows what to replace a section of pipe will buy me some peace of mind then I'm going to do it. Is it going to frustrate me that some owner in the past 100 years went with cheap fixes instead of proper repairs? Hell yes it is. I hate half assed done things. Are there going to be tears? Yep. Sometimes I just need to cry out the frustration and the feelings of being ashamed so that I can reset and go on to tackle the next thing.

I say this to remind myself ....I can do this. I am doing this. I am being the change I need within my own world and if people don't understand, all I can do is try to help them to. I know people think I'm crazy (and I am..it's been certified, check my medical records), but this is what I need to do for me. Who knows...maybe I'll whip through these last 2 downstairs spaces and then be comfortable contacting the owner. Maybe I won't. I need to do this in my time to prevent setbacks.

I'm working hard at this and what I need is for people to try to be understanding that if I don't do things the "normal" way, there's probably a reason for it. I haven't been as public about some of my issues as I have about others, but one by one, I'm knocking down mountains and support is always appreciated. Remember those goals that I posted yesterday? Today is another day to chip away at them.



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Three posts in one week! We're all going to get spoiled if I keep this up! It's been a while since I posted here about the house and what it's been like so I decided that it might be time to give y'all a bit of an update.

I'm not going to lie. I haven't done much over the past couple of weeks. I had hopes of a massive kitchen clean up over the boys' spring break, but life just plain got in the way. Their grandparents were in town (at their dad's house) and then I went out of town for the convention at the end of that week. In the middle, it was just plain busy. Then, when I got back from the convention, I had a bit of an emotional crash that took a bit to recover from.

That all sounds super negative, doesn't it? I promise that I'm not writing this post to bring you all down because absolutely nothing got done. Things have, just slower than I had hoped. Ben went into the kitchen one day and just did 5 minutes of tidying up. Both boys made a conscious effort to make sure that trash went into the trash and that things got put away. I've been incredibly proud of them for how they've jumped on board and are working with me to keep things going.

As for me? Well, I have a tiny bit of news. Tomorrow we have a plumber coming to look at the kitchen drain. It hasn't drained properly at all for over 2 years and not at all for the past 6 months or so. Some of you may recall that I was doing dishes in my bathtub. Then, the hot water stopped working a few months ago. I've been snagging showers at the community center and we've gone to all paper products for eating. It's also meant that I haven't been able to properly cook because I couldn't do dishes afterwards. It's been rough on all of us, but there hasn't been anything that we could really do about it due to finances and the state that the house was in.

Well, two days ago, Justin called and found a plumber who could come out to the house tomorrow. For me, that meant that the living room, kitchen, and laundry room had to be in good enough states
that the plumber could come in and access anything that he needed to and that I wouldn't have a complete meltdown over having him in the house. I'll admit it. I looked around and had a minor panic attack. Everywhere I looked, I saw something that needed to be done. The living room needed cleaning, the laundry room needed to be swept and to have the litter boxes changed and on and on and on the list went in my head.

But, guess what! It's just before 2pm the day before the plumber will be here (between 8 and 10am) and I'm relaxed on my couch, a candle lit, and Deadliest Catch running off the dvr. Why? Because I walked into the kitchen and in 5 minutes had the left side sink cleared and the new bookshelf box moved out of the way. I walked into the living room and in 20 minutes had everything tidied up and the floor swept. I walked into the laundry room and in 15 minutes or so had the floor swept, the litter boxes changed, and any/all litter mess cleaned up. I even cracked open the window in there and lit a candle to help with that icky cat litter smell that happens sometimes.

Did you do the math? In less than an hour, I had those three rooms at a level that I don't care if he walks into them. Sure, the dining alcove is still a disaster and we haven't touched the office/studio.
Oh well. I will. This is a journey..and each and every step counts. Each and every step is a step towards reclaiming this house, reclaiming my life and making a better world for myself and my boys. The best part? I've proven to myself that the work I started 4 months ago has been mostly maintained. I didn't backslide to a point where I wasn't 15-20 minutes from clean.

Earlier today I told a friend that I was ashamed to say that I hadn't been properly cooking for my family because of how I'd let the house get. I realize now that I was looking at things from my as usual skewed bipolar lens... Even when things are at their worst, nobody went hungry around here. It may not have been the healthiest food, but I made sure there was food and even if it was just throwing it on a cookie sheet, I "cooked". Two days ago, I looked around this living room and felt horrible about the way it looked. Turns out that it really wasn't all that bad. I need to remember the hours that I've put in and the changes that I've made. I'm happy to report that I'm doing okay and to give you a little sneak peek at my upcoming house plans...

Upcoming Goals:
1. Finish the dining alcove
2. Build/get the new bookshelf into place
3. Put the old bookshelf out by the curb for trash (unless someone snags it)
4. Clear the front porch & paint it
5. Repaint the front porch benches
6. Mow/trim the lawn and pick up any brush/trash that has arrived during the winter (this weekend!)
7. Repaint the tire planters
8. Refill the tire planters
9. Reclaim one flower bed
10. Start my seeds
11. Get a start on the "wall" aka the office/studio

Those are my goals for between now and the start of June. Will they all get done? Maybe, maybe not but we'll be doing them as we're able and before you know it, I'll have some new pictures to share with everyone! Keep your fingers crossed that the plumber can get the work done for $300 because that's the budget! If so, dishes will be on the agenda for this weekend too!



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Every once in a while someone will ask me when my struggles with bipolar disorder began. I never really had an answer but for whatever reason, the question popped into my head last night and I spent some time actually thinking back over my life and the answer surprised me.

Most people with bipolar disorder start showing symptoms in their mid 20s. I'm not sure if that's the case with me. I would say that I was showing warning signs a good decade before that. I was in high school when I sat on my bike on the side of the highway where we lived. Now, to most of you, that wouldn't be a big deal. If this were an infomercial this is where the sales guy would say, "But wait! There's more!" Let me tell you about that day...

It was a typical sunny day. There was nothing majorly wrong in my world. I had decided to go for a bike ride around town so I was sitting at the end of our driveway, waiting for the traffic to clear when it happened. I looked up and saw my school bus coming down the highway. She must have finished her route and was on the way back to the bus garage. With a sort of cold detachment, I looked down at my bike, back up at the bus, and wondered what it would be like to ride in front of it and get hit. Without a second thought, my feet were on the pedals and I was racing through the gap. I made it to the other side before she hit me. She told me later that I'd nearly given her a heart attack.

It should have been a warning that perhaps my brain didn't work the same way as everyone else around me, but nobody noticed when I would do these sorts of things. The only thing that was ever noticed was that my grandmother used to comment how I was the least compassionate person that she knew. She never noticed that it was only in certain situations.

Even now, I know that people are puzzled how I can be the woman that people say has the biggest heart and who is always there for people and yet at times, I am completely cold. It's not an uncommon symptom of bipolar disorder. Emotions can be crazy, no pun intended. They're always intense but sometimes they just disappear and you're left just feeling numb. As hard as it is for those around me, it's harder on me. I know I should feel something and the fact that I don't, even over something big, scares me. It makes me wonder if I'm not slightly sociopathic during those times.

There have been other times throughout my life where I've had that same detachment when it comes to pain or death, but there have only been two times that I have gotten to the point where there was no detachment and I had planned out how I was going to kill myself. I think that perhaps it was with that first time that I never truly recovered and the bipolar had set in. It was always there, but that emotional break gave it a chance to become something I no longer had the strength to fight against.

It would be another 15 years before I would get a diagnosis. In between I would watch my marriage fall apart (and always wonder a little if this played into at all), move away, be diagnosed with depression (which happens far too often because people with bipolar disorder seek help when they're depressed and doctors don't always think to ask about the other side), have my heart broken into a million pieces, move back to Michigan and lose at least one other person I loved intensely due to this disorder and his inability to deal with what it did to me.

So, if you asked me when it all started, it's still hard to say. I've lived with ptsd since I was a toddler so I will never know if those early days were that or warning signs there would be worse to come. I can only say that once you've been through hell and back and lost track of how many times, you realize that deep down you're a fighter and you will fight until you just can't anymore and you pray that when those times come, you have those who love you who will hold you up until you have the strength to stand again.




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I've been struggling since Sunday night and while this wasn't what I had planned on writing about, I find myself needing to get this out of my head and out into the universe. You see, I'm not sure if my reaction to something is "normal". In fact, I'm fairly positive that it isn't and since a friend of mine has been trying to hard to understand what it's like to be me and live in my head, I thought maybe, just maybe this might be a good example for not only him, but for anyone who wonders what bipolar disorder can be like.

Some of you may know that for the past six months or so I've been absolutely blessed to be editor on a series of all ages comics. It's been so good for me. I've felt as if I have some value and perhaps more importantly, as if I'm a part of something. The group who works on these books is pretty set... the writer/letterer/owner, a cover artist and an interior artist. I thought that I was part of that group too, but now I'm pretty sure that I'm not. The writer was texting back and forth with me about upcoming deadlines and there wasn't one for me on the new book. To say I was crushed is putting it lightly. I cried myself to sleep and even now, two days later, I'm crying writing about it.


I haven't spoken to him about it because I'm afraid that he'll tell me that he doesn't need me or want me working on this or any other project. It's been a long time since I've allowed myself to get so wrapped up in the anxiety. Still, I keep remembering how I was once told not to ask the question if you don't really want to know the answer.


Part of me is 100% sure that I'm overreacting. Then there's the "dangerous" part that can list sign after sign that I've never been a valued part of things. It's so hard to have an ongoing battle within your own head and yet even harder to just put the fears into words to another person. I so badly want to be a part of this and I know that I've told him more than once how wonderful a thing it is for me to be allowed to work on the projects.

The reality is that I know that my work has value and has been valued. Still, I've allowed this insecurity to ride along with me since the very beginning. I respect the man in charge, but more than once, I've felt as if he lets me work on things as a favor to me and not because he truly wants me on a project.


I don't want to thrust my insecurities on him and so I sit here trying to decide what a reasonable reaction is...a reaction that won't chase him (because he is a dear friend) out of my world. I always worry about people leaving me. It's ridiculously hard for me to trust someone enough to let that guard down. Maybe I should just lay my "crazy" line of thinking out before him and run the risk of him getting upset with me. Maybe I should just stay quiet and convince myself somehow that I was never a part of things and that this amazing thing is now no longer a part of my life... or maybe somehow I could find a reasonable reaction..




Quotes taken from: Bipolar Burble

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I'm tired and not the normal kind of tired. I call this depression tired..this unnatural need/desire to sleep all of the time. I feel as if I only have the energy to be up for tiny pockets of time and then I want to sleep again. It's hard to function when all you want to do is sleep and even though you battle, there's no real winning the war.

I know what triggered this, but like the battle for energy, there's nothing I can do to change the cause. I went to a convention last weekend and it was good. It was wonderful being back out among people and not just any people, but people who love indie comics as much as I do. I even helped do a panel which was amazing. It felt so good to talk about things that I knew and to have zero doubt that I knew what I was talking about.

I have to admit just remembering that experience has put a smile on my face. You see..I had planned on writing a personal post about my time in Columbus, but this wasn't it. It is now. You never know where things are going to go when you sit down to write, or at least I don't.

So, here's the thing...Columbus was a test for me. For the past year, I've shut myself off more and more. Some have noticed, most haven't. It's easy to hide when you don't live near anyone and everyone is so busy with their lives that they don't notice when you quietly slip away. Very few reach out and say hey, where did you go? I'm lucky that very few doesn't equal zero. Still, I needed some answers.

As I shut myself away, I slowly convinced myself that my other site would be better off without me. I wasn't sure if I still had the passion to do what needed to be doing. After all, the best person to run a site is someone who feels passionate about what the site does. With the struggles I've had over the past year, I wasn't sure if that person was me anymore. So, I decided that I needed to either find out or hand the site over to my second in command.

The test? Take myself off to a convention that is strictly 100% tiny indie comics..no vendors, no larger indie publishers that we already work with, just tiny indie guys. I figured that by the end of the weekend, I would know just how I felt about the industry and my future with Geek-o-Rama. Turns out that I was right. By the time I got back to the hotel room Sunday night and had a chance to reflect, I had my answers. I still love what I do. I love meeting new people and hearing about their passion for an industry that isn't the easiest to break into. I love being able to give bits of advice (though seriously, I may need to start charging consulting fees) and being able to share what I (and my amazing staff) do with them. Don't get me wrong, I still love working with the bigger indie publishers, but my heart will always lie with the underdog.

Honestly, it came as an incredible relief. I was afraid that this was one more thing that had been taken from me. It wasn't though and over the summer, I plan on diving back into the pool and working harder than ever.

To close out this post, how about a Top 5 list of random things from SPACE 2016?

1. Spending $5 to purchase an 11 year old's first comic and an art print from her is something that will never stop bringing a smile to my face. It's important to support our children's passions.
2. Having towels in your hotel room is really a good thing and hotels should be on top of that.
3. There's something great about making random connections on the road with people you'll never see again, but in that moment, you connected.
4. Waffle House post con with two really fun people is an experience that I hope to have again. One of the toughest parts of conventions is the sitting alone in a hotel room with takeout afterwards.
5. I really do love what I do and I need to stop letting anxiety get in the way of getting out there. 

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Today isnt a good day and I question my own judgement in writing this here, but I swore that I would live my life out loud, where people could see that others go through maybe what they're going through....and so here we are...

About ten minutes ago, I posted this to Facebook...soon it will go onto my other site:

I want to apologize in advance that I may be scarce in the coming weeks/months. I have some mental and physical health problems that I need to take care of and really focus on. This may mean me taking more time for myself so that I can get well enough to tackle life head on again. I've been trying to juggle so much that I'm not giving my best to anything and the guilt and stress of that are adding to everything and are taking their toll. I know that I owe things to people and I will get them done. I just can't say when. All I can do is apologize and hope that you can understand that right now I need some time away from things that aren't directly helping me get better.

 I promise all of you that I will get better and I will come back stronger. I'm not disappearing but taking a step back. Call me, text me, email me, message me...it all helps but please understand that right now my focus is on fixing myself and my world. I love you all very, very much. That will never change. I just want to be okay and that's going to take some work.

I wrote that last night and waited about ten hours before posting it. I had hoped that sleep would change how I felt, but it didn't. I feel as if I'm falling apart and nobody sees me anymore. Oh sure, the rational part of my brain knows that isn't true, but as so often is the case with the things I suffer with, the rational side isn't completely in charge.  Instead, I find myself in this place that I don't understand and I don't like. For 90% of Valentines Day, I was okay. It was just another day and then suddenly a post was made by a friend of mine and I got angry. I got angry that he's with someone and I'm not...and yes, a bit that when he was single, he didn't notice me. Please, don't mistake this for jealousy. It could easily be seen that way and it's not. It's not just certain people being in relationships. It happens when a friend had a story published in an anthology and I saw him give a ton of credit for it to someone else even though I was his cheerleader and his editor. It happens when someone tells me I have no idea what I'm talking about even though I've been doing something for years. It's just that right now, I'm having these knee jerk reactions...I'm reacting and it's taking every last bit of energy that I have not to lash out. I'm living in a constant state of stress...my chest feels as if it's ice cold and burning at the same time all the time. I'm breaking apart and though I know there are others struggling too, all I seem to be able to see is everyone else's joy...new babies, new relationships, happy relationships, etc. More and more I feel like an outsider and it allows my fears to get a stronger grip.

Things that I thought I had gotten past...like my family and their pure jackassedness ...are popping up and instead of walking away and shaking my head, I'm struggling with the desire to just tell them precisely how I feel about how they're behaving now and in the past. My blood pressure is up, my body is one stress reaction after another...
 
How many of us have seen this image on places like Facebook? I'm sure a lot of us. I saw it again last night and it hit me...I'm not getting better. I had been getting better, but something shifted and now I'm getting bitter. When I feel as if nobody sees me or nobody appreciates what I do, I'm getting angry. I'm getting frustrated. I just want to throw my hands up in the air and walk away from everything. I want to say "fuck off" to everyone and just live a life of seclusion where I can be alone...except, I'd be alone with my anger and everything else. It wouldn't help. 

There's so much more to this....how I've become afraid of the outside world, why I hoard people even those who have been nasty to me, how I don't feel as if I'm worth spending $35 on....and I know that I'll write those and maybe a few of you will read them and maybe it will resonate with one or two of you and somehow help. If it helps even one person, it makes the fight a little more worth it. 



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I never wanted to go back and yet here I am. It's been about six weeks since everything seemed to fall apart and in those six weeks, I've slowly been trying to piece my world...myself...back together again and all it took was a couple of pictures and I'm on the floor, curled up, crying all over again.

PTSD can be a bitch like that. All it takes is one little thing and suddenly you're reliving everything all over again. I thought I was getting better. Sure, there were rough moments, but I'd kept going. I'd fought. Even in the worst of it, he told me that I would get back up again and go on kicking ass like I always did.

I'd been trying to condition myself for things that might come...things that might hurt...things that might trigger, but I didn't expect them to come the way they did. I didn't prepare myself. I have this cold spot. It's right in the middle of my chest. If you touch it, the skin is actually colder there. It's as if seeing what I did sent an ice arrow right through me and it's so cold that it burns. It'd been weeks since that had happened. I was stronger. I was ready to move on.

Now, it's as if everything just happened. I want to hide. I cry. I sob. I pant trying to stop myself from hyperventilating. My skin feels like there's something crawling and I have to fight not to scratch. Every single awful thing keeps running through my head like a movie reel. I stare at my screen...at pictures of friends...and I whisper help me, someone please help me. Take me from this hell...but they can't hear me. I'm alone in this awful place.

Why do I write this? I write this to save myself. Maybe if I share this with the world then maybe there's a chance I can survive this. Maybe I can tap more into the anger that's deep inside of me...anger at myself for giving anyone this kind of control in my life and anger with him for letting his cowardice lead to cruelty. The fact that it's in there means there's hope. I'm not totally lost to this. Maybe if I share this, someone else will realize that they're not alone when it happens to them.

So what's next for me? I don't rightly know. More and more I'm starting to think that therapy is something I should seek. There's also the voice of someone I love in my head telling me to fight, not to hide...I don't know what I'm going to do. Hiding keeps me safe from the world and the scary things in it. Nobody can hurt me if I don't open myself up to them.  I feel as if I don't really have anyone that I can talk to about this. The platitudes don't help a lot though the thought behind them is appreciated. Those who try to intellectualize this just make it worse. My support network has gone eerily quiet, even when I've tried to reach out. I don't judge. I know life gets busy and that there's not always the time for things like this.

For today, I'll make some lunch...and wish that I weren't always the one reaching out to those I love...and maybe let the cat have her way in her desires to sit on me.



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Early after being diagnosed with Bipolar 2 and all the rest of the mess, I said that I would be as transparent as possible with things. One of the things that I deal with is a combination of ocd and hoarding tendencies. What does that mean? When I get really low, I surround myself with things. I'm poor as all get out so I'm not really buying much, but I also don't get rid of things. I just sit things down and leave them there. I build a protective nest/wall around myself. Then, the ocd kicks in and my brain says if you can't make it perfect right now...with every tiny project finished, you shouldn't even bother. The lower I get, the worse it gets and it doesn't take long before the house becomes a representation of the chaos that's in my head.

As if that's not bad enough, this starts a vicious cycle because as the mess builds, my mood sinks further and further because the voices in my head pipe up telling me how useless I am, what an awful mother I am, etc for letting it get this way to begin with. My mood drops, the mess grows and I get stuck in this awful cycle that feels impossible to break.

It isn't impossible though. It takes a lot ...a lot of emotional energy, a lot of physical energy, a lot of deep breathes and a lot of support... but it isn't impossible to break the cycle. It took every bit of brave that I had, but I posted before photos of my living room to a private group on Facebook. The support that I've received has kept me going on days when I just want to hide. Only a couple of people outside of that group know how I've spent my time offline. I want to share it now with all of you. Maybe it will give hope to someone who is stuck in that same cycle. I know that I'm not alone in it. When I wake up and feel like I'm useless and can't do anything, I look at these pictures and can see that it's just not true. Sometimes there's no better reminder than physical proof.

Roger got to the door first and all I heard was "Holy shit, mom...are you some kind of wizard?" Ben got to the door and his response was "Oh my god, mom...this is amazing!" They were proud of me and seeing Roger sprawled on the floor doing homework pretty much made my weekend. That helped fuel me to work on the bathroom this week...


It's only been 2 days in there, but progress is happening. This isn't all of the bathroom in photos, but it is the areas that I've worked on so far. I'll take more tomorrow to cover the rest of the room..and maybe I'll continue to share them here.

Things have been wiped down, emptied out, organized, purged, and put back. I have an entire grocery bag full of extra bathroom things that I'll be donating to the Homeless Angels once I also collect up outgrown clothing and spare blankets to go with it.

Today was a very emotional day for some reason and I told myself that it was okay to not do anything and to just have a self love kind of day. Instead, I found myself changing over the laundry..folding the dry, hanging the wet (my dryer died), and putting in another load to wash. I told myself that was enough..then when I went into the kitchen or the bathroom, I found myself doing a bit of tidying. I needed a tote for part of the bathroom project..and realized I had one in the laundry room full of fabric I would probably never use. So, I grabbed it..after all, it's not doing much and I could relax on the couch while doing it. Three totes later, I'd purged 3 trash bags full of fabric (already posted and picked up by someone who lives locally) and only kept 1 grocery bag with some crafting things and fabric in it.

This whole thing is important. As I reclaim this house, I'm reclaiming myself and I'm reclaiming my belief that I have control in my world. I'm showing myself that I can do things. I don't have to be stuck. There will be good days and bad days, but like I said before...I'm still here and I'm still fighting...



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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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I should probably apologize for falling off the face of the Earth, but all I'm going to say is that the past few months took on a life of their own and everything came to a head last Tuesday.

I'm not going to get into a lot of details here because on some level, they just don't matter. What matters is the end result.

As most of you know, I deal with a multitude of mental issues every day...bipolar 2, ptsd, anxiety, ocd...and most of the time, I manage. This time, I didn't. In the midst of a depressive cycle, the man that I had fallen in love with decided that he wanted to pursue a relationship with someone else. It was too much. I've been fighting my own demons for months and I was emotionally exhausted. I had nothing left.

So, last Wednesday, while driving into town to do homework with the kids, my brain wouldn't stop ticking. It wouldn't stop thinking about everything and suddenly, I had this moment of clarity..the kind where everything seems to fall into place. I didn't want to live anymore. I wanted to die. This wasn't just one of those passing thoughts. It was as if a lightbulb had gone off in my head. There's no reason for me to be on this planet. I could die and life would go on for everyone else and it would be okay. Everyone had someone. They didn't need me.

I did homework with Ben. I tried to spend time with Roger. I tried not to cry. The one person who I had trusted more than anyone on this planet reached out to me and I told him. Even though just seeing his name caused me physical pain, I told him. He reached out to others who tried to contact me. I ignored them all. I didn't want to be talked out of this. The decision felt right.

When it was time to leave the school, I sat in my car saying goodbye to my children, to those that I love. I sat there crying for a while, the pain raw and consuming. Then, I started my car and headed out of town. As each car passed me, I prayed that it would hit me and I would die. I scouted places where if I drove my car off fast enough, it might roll or hit a tree or cause enough damage that I wouldn't live. As I got closer to home, a truck stopped a ways up in front of me and for a few moments, my foot didn't reach for the brake. I thought if I ran into him, it might kill me and I almost didn't hit the brake. In the end, I did...simply because I wanted to come home and finalize some things...then, the next night, I would do it. Some would say this was me looking for a way out, but it wasn't. I wanted to die. I just didn't want to leave more chaos behind me than was going to happen anyway.

In the end, I made it home alive and since I'm here writing this, you can guess I didn't go out the next day and off myself. Some tiny thing shifted and while every day has had its battles, I'm still here. Still, I'm tired and I'm fragile. Sometimes I'm living minute by minute, not day by day. Mantras that worked in the past are now contorted by what has happened. My brain changes you are loved to you are alone. The battle with myself is one of the hardest that I've fought.

Is there a moral to this story or even a point? If there is, I'd say that it's a simple one. Take care of those you love. Don't accept I'm fine as a response to how are you? Get details. Care enough to listen. Be there for one another and if nothing else, hold someone's hand so that they don't feel as if they're alone as they struggle simply to survive.



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Yesterday, I wrote about my friend dying on Tuesday. Sadly, he wasn't the only person who died that day. The internet was filled with people mourning the death of author Terry Pratchett. I know numerous authors who write touching tributes, including how it was his fearless writing inspired so many others.

That got me to seriously thinking (a 30 minute drive all by yourself is great for that!). My friend is gone. Mr. Pratchett is gone. What legacies did they leave behind? What legacy do I want to leave behind?

If you talk to me on any sort of regular basis, you've heard me say that I don't want my boys to remember me for having hoarding problems or any other number of negative things. I've never really stopped to consider what positive things I want to leave behind for them...so today, I'm going to.

I want them, and anyone who knows me, to say she wasn't afraid to do things, even when she was afraid. You see, fear is a natural response to the unknown and as someone who has found stability to be essential in her life, rocking the boat with some unknown is a big deal. I want my children to see that even when things get uncertain, I didn't give up. I kept going and was all the better for it.

Really, that's it. That's the legacy that I want to leave behind. I want people to say hey, her life was crap at a lot of points, but she not only survived, she created a life where she thrived. So, to honor both my friend who lost his battle to cancer and a prolific writer, who even when diagnosed with Alzheimers, never gave up, I'm going to do more things afraid.

I know that it won't always be easy. Depression will try to slow me down and at times will slow me down. Life will get in the way. The universe will throw an amazing amount of crap at me (like this past week, for example). That's the way things work.

I'm going to be honest...and this may be a bipolar upswing talking...but as sad as I am, I'm also happy. I'm happy that I get the chance to seriously dive into life. I still have life left to live. I have the ability to sit down and write and create. I have the ability to record my stories (which has been a request). I've been sitting on my butt and making buttprints in the sands of time. It's time that I make keystrokes and roads and love and all of the good things.

What are you going to leave as your legacy?

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.
As part of my doing it afraid, I've decided to seriously dedicate myself to my writing. It's time that I stop fearing what may happen if I try to publish and just do it. Unfortunately, my laptop has literally started melting and it badly needs to be replaced. Yep, sometimes the universe just throws things at you. Instead of sitting here and using it as an excuse to not write, I'm asking for your help. I've setup a GoFundMe and the funds collected will go towards buying a new laptop and getting some much needed repairs to our only vehicle. If you're interested in donating, please check  out the link below.

A Hand Up, Not a Handout



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By now, you've probably seen hundreds of posts about Robin Williams committing suicide. Personally, I've walked away from social media because every time I see one, I find myself sinking lower and lower. Why? Because it's too close to home.

I've been there. I've stood on the edge of that abyss and even though that I know that there's no coming back from it, I've stared into the abyss and listened to the demons that whispered that the world would be better off without me, that my children would be well cared for and loved by their father and others, that those who love me most would be better off not having to deal with the ways my mood would swing. It is only by the grace of the gods that I've never taken that final step.

What I have done though is hide. I have hidden my passions, my desires and so much more because I have a disease. I've written about it here in my braver moments. There are times when I tell myself that my story could help others and just because I have this it doesn't mean I'm any less of a person than anyone else on this planet. Then, without fail, I hear someone make a comment like, "You just need a positive outlook." or something along the lines of suck it up, you can choose to be happy. That's when I go back into hiding. Sure, those things might be true for a person who is sad or unhappy but not for someone like me. I can't just suck it up. I have Bipolar 2.

For a long time, I didn't know what was wrong with me. I just knew that sometimes I was miserable and sometimes it was like I felt nothing..I was in a void. I would put a smile on my face and fake my way around people because I didn't want anyone to know that I wasn't like them. I always knew that I wasn't like everyone else. I just didn't know why.

It wasn't until someone who I loved accused me of not having any passions, of taking on those around me, that I realized that somewhere along the road, something had stolen my life from me. I was living more in survival mode than I was living in the world. It took losing someone I loved to realize just how far I was gone. Granted, he wasn't right about most of what he said..I had passions, I just wasn't living them, but it was my wake up call. It was then that I looked for help.

I don't know if Robin Williams was truly diagnosed with Bipolar, but it wouldn't surprise me if he had been. You'd be amazed at how many brilliant people suffer from this disorder. Perhaps it's the universes way of "making it up" to us. You can be absolutely brilliant, hysterically funny, but you have to suffer for it. Perhaps it's just an unlucky draw of the brain chemistry. I don't know, but I know that he was brilliant but that he struggled. His addiction issues have been spoken and written about. If you looked in his eyes, there was a sad, haunted look about them. He was a man that I feel knew great joy and great sorrow. He was a man that so many looked up to, but in the end, his demons won and the world has lost a great man.

It is because he is a great man that I hope people don't stop talking about this for a long time. I want attention to be drawn to mental health.  I want people to become aware of the fact that depression and things that have depression as a symptom are diseases and not just a case of the blues. I want people to understand that just because we may have these things, it doesn't make us less human or that our feelings don't work. The problem is that they work overtime. Something that might make a "normal" person sad, might knock me down...and sometimes, when I'm knocked down, it's very hard to get back up again. It takes a lot of energy to live with depression, bipolar or any number of other mental illnesses. We are some of the strongest people you will ever meet because of this. The other side of that coin? Sometimes we will be some of the most fragile.

So, the next time you notice that I'm a little more down than usual, please don't tell me to pull myself out of it. Stop and give me a hug. I don't need your advice. I know that my brain is overreacting. If I choose to vent things out to you, realize that it means that I trust you because I still hide this side of myself. I've had my diagnosis for over a year now and I've still not told my children or my ex-husband. I've put it on Facebook and I've put it on here, but I don't tend to mention it otherwise because there is still such a huge stigma attached to it. I'm hoping that by slowly coming out of my own shell and writing about it, people will come to realize that I'm still the same me..I'm just showing you more of who I am.




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It's been a long time since I wrote about anything personal here. I bet some of you have noticed that. Others of you may just be used to coming here for book reviews. Tonight though, I write about myself and my life and I hope that you'll read it with as much love as you do my other posts.
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I love quotes. Even on my worst days, it's not uncommon to find me looking for new quotes on a variety of subjects. Tonight, I came across the one posted in the graphic and it made me stop and think about my life and my daily struggles. It was just about 14 months ago that I was diagnosed with Bipolar II disorder. Let me tell you that those words brought the strongest combination of fear and relief that I think I've had since Ben was diagnosed with Cerebral Palsy.  I finally had a name for what I was going through. With a name, maybe I could find a battle strategy..

Battle..seems like a word that's saved for things like cancer, doesn't it? I guess I was just gung ho about reclaiming my life from something that had been stealing it from me. It took me nearly a year to come to terms with the fact that it would never go away. There is no cure. It is and always will be a part of my regular life. It's taken a year, but slowly I'm taking back my life.

For the first time in probably about four years, my kitchen is nearly scrubbed back to immaculate. My bathroom and laundry room are both about 15-20 minutes away from company ready. My living room is still cluttered, but I'm making progress on it. If you remember, hoarding tendencies came along for the ride so the fact that you can easily navigate the downstairs is a huge deal.

Is life perfect? Oh goodness no, but it's so much better than it was. I've accepted that daily medication is going to be a part of my life for a long time, if not forever. Yes, there will be time when we have to adjust it and yes, the weight that it's helped me to put on will be a fight to get off. However, neither of those things are end of the world things for me anymore. I can accept them, take a deep breath and get back to my life of being a mother, a writer and an editor.

Want to know the best part? I'm feeling strong enough these days that I've reached out to a friend in the blogging world about getting back into writing. I've also reached out to someone in the comic industry about potentially doing some show travelling this next year. Who knows...I might even start getting a small income to help us catch up and get ahead again!



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