Empty Chairs -- Stacey Danson's Biography of Overcoming Child Abuse

Imagine being a normal five year old girl. Your life probably revolves around your family, going to school, learning new things, and laughter. So much laughter.

Now imagine being a five year old girl and your mother, your greatest protector, decides to auction off your virginity to the highest bidder. No crying. No screaming. No struggling. Those were the rules. Your mother holds your arms above your head while the man took his prize with delight. Afterward, you black out. When you come to, your mother is there, replacing the bloody towel between your legs along with ice. Whiskey is offered to help numb the madness. How nice of her.Yes. At the age of five.  

It doesn't begin there. It begins somewhere around the age of three. Eventually enough is enough and you learn to fight back.

***

Empty Chairs is the story of Stacey Danson.

Stacey lived through and beyond horrific child abuse.

This book tells of her brutal beginnings, the streets of Sydney at the age of eleven were preferable to the hell she endured at home. She ran, and those streets became her home for five years.

She was alone, ill, and afraid.

Stacey also had an unshakeable belief that she would do more than just survive her life.

She would not allow her future to be determined by the horrors of her childhood.

She reached out for something different; there had to be more to life; if she could only find it.

She had a dream of a life where pain and humiliation had no place.

She was determined to find that life.

Empty Chairs is the beginning of the journey.

Now she is living the dream.

***

I stumbled upon this horrific biography on Amazon and at first I tried to look away, to simply click elsewhere. It kept coming back and I knew I was meant to read it. I took advantage of being able to read the first thirty-six pages of the book on fReado and I had to know what became of Stacey.

I went to the author's blog and sent her an email. She sent me a copy of Empty Chairs and its sequel Faint Echoes of Laughter. I finished both in a few days. I admit I had to put it down from time to time, catch my breath, maybe even get some fresh air. This is a hard book to read. 

It's also the story of courage and triumph and friendship and earned trust. 

Child abuse comes in various forms and doesn't discriminate. In Stacey's case, these were well respected community members and even leaders. 

Empty Chairs isn't for the faint of heart. It will leave you hanging abruptly upon the last word. You will want to know more and luckily you can with the sequel, Faint Echoes of Laughter. My review for it will be published soon. 

Follow the author on her blog Soooz Says Stuff, on her Facebook page for Empty Chairs and on Twitter.

Disclosure: I received a copy of each of the books free of charge from the author and the review(s) are that of my own words and thoughts.

Social Anxiety Anyone?

I think on top of being Bipolar II and having Generalized Anxiety Disorder, I may be able to add Social Anxiety to the mix.

I would be happy to never leave my house again; if that includes the general outside vicinity of my home. You know, the garage, mailbox, etc.

I am so antisocial it's ridiculous. I wasn't always this way.

This is how I look when I don't have to work. No make-up. Unwashed hair, it's in a bandana when I'm cooking or something. You can't tell but right now? One pant leg is rolled up and the other is down. I can't decide if that's because I'm too lazy to fix one of them or if it's because it's allowing partial air flow for my legs.

I actually started crying today because I had to go grocery shopping, where I had to see and speak to others. I got through it and now there's a weeks worth of food in the house and even shampoo if I decide to wash my hair. That's a really big if.

I feel like such a loser.

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Hope Can't Die

I'm working on it...

Plus? I have this to answer to...

Think Before You Speak & Mean it if You Say it

I came across an article about what to/what not to say to someone with Bipolar Disorder/Depression. It's a good list. A really good list. With that, I'm republishing it here and crediting it to HealthyPlace.com:

The worst things you can say (I've bolded the ones that really get under my skin):

0. "What's your problem?"
1. "Will you stop that constant whining? What makes you think that anyone cares?"
2. "Have you gotten tired yet of all this me-me-me stuff?"
3. "You just need to give yourself a kick in the rear."
4. "But it's all in your mind."
5. "I thought you were stronger than that."
6. "No one ever said life was fair."
7. "As you get stronger you won't have to wallow in it as much."
8. "Pull yourself up by your bootstraps."
9. "Do you feel better now?" (Usually said following a five minute conversation in which the speaker has asked me "what's wrong?" and "would you like to talk about it?" with the best of intentions, but absolutely no understanding of depression as anything but an irrational sadness.)
10. "Why don't you just grow up?"
11. "Stop feeling sorry for yourself."
12. "There are a lot of people worse off than you."
13. "You have it so good, why aren't you happy?"
14. "It's a beautiful day!"
15. "You have so many things to be thankful for, why are you depressed?"
16. "What do you have to be depressed about."
17. "Happiness is a choice."
18. "You think you've got problems..."
19. "Well at least it's not that bad."
20. "Maybe you should take vitamins for your stress."
21. "There is always somebody worse off than you are."
22. "Lighten up!"
23. "You should get off all those pills."
24. "You are what you think."
25. "Cheer up!"
26. "You're always feeling sorry for yourself."
27. "Why can't you just be normal?"
28. "Things aren't *that* bad, are they?"
29. "Have you been praying/reading the Bible?"
30. "You need to get out more."
31. "We have to get together some time." [Yeah, right!]
32. "Get a grip!"
33. "Most folks are about as happy as they make up their minds to be."
34. "Take a hot bath. That's what I always do when I'm upset."
35. "Well, everyone gets depressed sometimes!"
36. "Get a job!"
37. "Smile and the world smiles with you, cry and you cry alone."
38. "You don't look depressed!"
39. "You're so selfish!"
40. "You never think of anyone but yourself."
41. "You're just looking for attention."
42. "Have you got PMS?"
43. "You'll be a better person because of it!"
44. "Everybody has a bad day now and then."
45. "You should buy nicer clothes to wear."
46. "You catch more flies with honey than with vinegar."
47. "Why don't you smile more?"
48. "A person your age should be having the time of your life."
49. "The only one you're hurting is yourself."
50. "You can do anything you want if you just set your mind to it."
51. "This is a place of business, not a hospital." (after confiding to supervisor about my depression)
52. "Depression is a symptom of your sin against God."
53. "You brought it on yourself."
54. "You can make the choice for depression and its effects, or against depression, it's all in your hands."
55. "Get off your rear and do something." -or- "Just do it!"
56. "Why should I care?"
57. "Snap out of it, will you?"
58. "You want to feel this way."
59. "You have no reason to feel this way."
60. "Its your own fault."
61. "That which does not kill us makes us stronger."
62. "You're always worried about *your* problems."
63. "Your problems aren't that big."
64. "What are you worried about? You should be fine."
65. "Just don't think about it."
66. "Go Away."
67. "You don't have the ability to do it."
68. "Just wait a few weeks, it'll be over soon."
69. "Go out and have some fun!"
70. "You're making me depressed as well..."
71. "I just want to help you."
72. "The world out there is not that bad..."
73. "Just try a little harder!"
74. "Believe me, I know how you feel. I was depressed once for several days."
75. "You need a boy/girl-friend."
76. "You need a hobby."
77. "Just pull yourself together."
78. "You'd feel better if you went to church."
79. "I think your depression is a way of punishing us."
80. "Sh_t or get off the pot."
81. "So, you're depressed. Aren't you always?"
82. "What you need is some real tragedy in your life to give you perspective."
83. "You're a writer, aren't you? Just think of all the good material you're getting out of this."
84. This one is best executed with an evangelical-style handshake, i.e., one of my hands is imprisoned by two belonging to a beefy person who thinks he has a lot more charisma than I do: "Our thoughts and prayers are with you." This has actually happened to me. Bitten-back response: "Who are 'our'? And don't do me any favors, schmuck."
85. "Have you tried chamomile tea?"
86. "So, you're depressed. Aren't you always?"
87. "You will be ok, just hang in there, it will pass." "This too shall pass." --Ann Landers
88. "Oh, perk up!"
89. "Try not being so depressed."
90. "Quit whining. Go out and help people and you won't have time to brood..."
91. "Go out and get some fresh air... that always makes me feel better."
92. "You have to take up your bed and carry on."
93. "Why don't you give up going to these quacks (i.e., doctors) and throw out those pills, then you'll feel better."
94. "Well, we all have our cross to bear."
95. "You should join band or chorus or something. That way you won't be thinking about yourself so much."
96. "You change your mind."
97. "You're useless."
98. "Nobody is responsible for your depression."
99. "You don't like feeling that way? So, change it."

Compiled by bw@cv.hp.com

The best things you can say (I've bolded the ones that make me happier):

1. "I love you!"
2. "I care."
3. "You're not alone in this."
4. "I'm not going to leave/abandon you."
5. "Do you want a hug?"
6. "I love you (if you mean it)."
7. "It will pass, we can ride it out together."
8. "When all this is over, I'll still be here (if you mean it) and so will you."
9. "Don't say anything, just hold my hand and listen while I cry."
10. "All I want to do know is give you a hug and a shoulder to cry on."
11. "Hey, you're not crazy!"
12. "May the strength of the past reflect in your future."
13. "God does not play dice with the universe." --A. Einstein
14. "A miracle is simply a do-it-yourself project." --S. Leek
15. "We are not primarily on earth to see through one another, but to see one another through" - (from someone's sig.)
16. "If the human brain were simple enough to understand, we'd be too simple to understand it." --a codeveloper of Prozac, quoted from "Listening to Prozac"
17. "You have so many extraordinary gifts; how can you expect to live an ordinary life?" --from the movie "Little Women" (Marmee to Jo)
18. "I understand your pain and I empathize."
19. "I'm sorry you're in so much pain. I am not going to leave you. I am going to take care of myself so you don't need to worry that your pain might hurt me."
20. "I listen to you talk about it, and I can't imagine what it's like for you. I just can't imagine how hard it must be."
21. "I can't really fully understand what you are feeling, but I can offer my compassion."
22. "You are important to me."
23. "If you need a friend..... (and mean it)"

Compiled by bw@cv.hp.com.

Do you have anything to add?

"I talk to God but the sky is empty." - - Sylvia Plath

I can't remember where it's buried. Was it in the garden or near the shed? They're coming. After all these years I'm going to be caught....

The dream is always the same. I killed and buried him. Sometimes the dream consists of the never ending event of taking away his life. Other times, the dream is about not remembering where I buried the body. At present, I've been found out.

The people in the dream are always different. Accomplices. Mostly I'm alone but when I'm not, it's an old friend from high school or other family members.

Everyone acts the same; like he deserved what he got. They're always willing to help me relocate the remains, if only I could remember where they were buried in the first place.

I hate this dream. More often than not, I awaken with tears in my eyes.

It's a constant reminder of relationships lost, never again to me mended. How do I know? Because I've tried. I've tried until I've bled. I can't bleed over this anymore.

He got sick. He passed away. I visited him in the hospital. Just once. Only once. That will forever be branded into my skull. One visit only.

I can't take back what is. I can't undo what wasn't.

The dreams exhaust me from within.

I'm not a religious person. I've sort of banished this being known as God from my life a long time ago. But last night, I spoke out. I guess you could say I prayed. I was speaking more to the deceased than to God but a prayer nonetheless.

I was seventeen years old. I was working nights. I had a baby. I was finishing up high school. I'm sorry I didn't come see you more than once. I made it there, baby in tow, miles from my house along the snow covered streets. You reached out and mouthed "Help me" when I looked into your eyes. I was at your side while you lay still and unmoving beside your coffin. I wept over your peaceful body. I wasn't invited to the funeral but I made it to say good-bye before it was to take place. I will forever love you but please, make the dreams nightmares stop. What do I have to do to make them go away?

I'll always be your little girl. I'll always love you. I'll always refer to you as my Daddy.

What I'm Reading

Here's a sneak peak into what I've just finished reading. I'm in the process of reading the sequel now. Reviews to come!

Empty Chairs: Much more than a story about child abuse by Stacey Danson

Faint Echoes of Laughter by Stacey Danson

Sexy Side-Effects

Damn you to hell Google

Day 7.

No Prozac.

I'm beginning to feel some of the withdrawal symptoms, which I didn't know were Prozac withdrawal symptoms, until I consulted Google.

My fingers just wander over the keys; it's like I can't control myself.

One week down. Two to go.

Until this shit is out of my system completely.

Until then....

Headaches
Nervousness
(Increased) Anxiety
Agitation
Fatigue (I'm sofa king tired)
ANGER
Yawning like a mofo
Joint pain
Restlessness
Leave me alone attitude

I don't even want to mention some of the shit on that list that makes me go hmmmmmm....Drooping of the skull anyone? Yeah, that.

Axe smells like poop

Cute but often smelly

It's no surprise that my house is overrun by the sperm, you know, blog title and all. These boys? They're growing up and they're starting to ask for things.

I get the want of skateboards, clothes, anything shiny and new...

They used to want cologne for birthdays and holidays. I'm talking the good stuff like Eternity and Cool Water. Now a days? It's Axe. Axe people. 

I'm choking on the shit when I step out of my bedroom in the morning after I've showered. Like, totally gagging. I sprint for their bathroom whilst holding my breath to turn on the exhaust fan. It's fucking disgusting.

I've been well known to speak my mind here on my blog, at home, the office...I tell it like it is. Naturally, I've told them how to go about spritzing themselves in the stuff to avoid people stepping away from them at the bus stop (for all I know, the whole crowd reeks of Axe, who am I kidding?).

BUT....the oldest has the Axe spray, Axe deodorant, AND Axe bodywash. The hell? He ended up deciding he was sick of the Axe bodywash (passed it down to his younger brother, yay!) and so now I'm treated to a mixture of Axe AND Old Spice bodywash on the daily. This excites me to no end.

I'm serious y'all.

The toddler? He uses Suave's watermelon shampoo/bodywash combo. I dare Axe to make a tear-free version of their shit. I'll be picketing like whoa. 

What do your kids own or do that you despise beyond all recognition?

Three-3-Tres-Trois

Why the number three?

That's the amount of time, in weeks, it will take for my antidepressant to make its way out of my system.

Three weeks.

I met with Dr. M yesterday for the first time.

I was nervous, anxious, my blood pressure was up, emotions were high...you name it.

Then he came out to get me and shook my hand, gently. We walked back to his office and he asked me to sit on the couch in his thick Hispanic accent, which I adore (sidebar: last night my 12 year old asked me, "Do you lay on a couch while you're there?" To which I giggled and shook my head. "Well, is it leather?"). I took my seat; and rather than take a seat behind his computer? He sat in a comfortable looking chair directly across from me.

He looked me in the eye the entire time I spoke. He took notes after I finished my sentences. People, he paid attention to me. That alone made me tear up.

After digging up a bit of the past he asked if I was willing to play around with my medication. I wondered what he had in mind.

"I want you to come off the Prozac altogether."

"Like...no anti-depressant. At all?"

"Is what you're taking working?"

Hmmmmm....What a question.

"No, I guess it's not."

"So we move forward and we go slow. Three weeks. The Prozac will exit your body over the course of the next three weeks, on its own."

Then we discussed mood stabilizers and how much they seem to despise me. Lamotrigine (Lamictal) was his choice.

"But I was on that already for about 9 months. It worked in the beginning but fizzled out."

"That's because you were taking it with Effexor."

"But I was told it was to boost the Effexor into action."

And he just smiled. This older gentleman with his legs crossed, he smiled.

For three years (almost), each psychiatrist I've met with seemed to think they're a God of sorts. I get that. They like to think they know the ins and outs of their profession. Dr. M wasn't stuck up or belittling his colleagues in any manner. The way he spoke to me and explained each facet of Bipolar disorder made so much sense. It clicked. And I cried.

I cried because I confessed to the suicidal thoughts making a comeback but more so, I cried because Dr. M got me. He gets me. He does. After one session and I know I'm in the right place now. He may not be able to take my brain apart and put it back together the way it should be, but he's damn well going to try with this new plan. And? I trust him.

Three weeks.

Low and slow with Lamotrigine.

Patience. That's what he asked of me. Patience; that which I do not possess.

I left in tears but I wasn't upset. I left in tears because Dr. M and I have a connection like none other I've ever experienced. I'm placing all my trust and faith in this man. Hope has become a positive four letter word for me once again.

Then on my drive to work this morning, I was blessed with this view:

And I know the path I am now walking is the right one. Hell, I may start skipping.

i really am sorry

I'm a complete asshole when I'm rapid-cycling (basically, going from extreme highs to lows in short periods of time).

Sometimes I say shit I don't mean.

Sometimes I say shit I do mean but in a way that makes the other person feel like shit.

Sometimes I isolate myself.

Sometimes I throw attitude toward people who realize I'm in a "low" point who take notice and try to make me feel better.

Sometimes I act like a baby when I don't get my way.

I hate that life keeps going when all I want to do is freeze time and sleep until the cycle passes.

I hate that I was denied disability benefits before the state even took the time to look into my medical history. I make too much money "they say". Well duh. I'm not going to quit my job before I'm approved. Who do I have to talk to, to set that record straight?

I'm an angry person right now and mood stabilizers don't agree with me.

In about three hours I get to meet my new psychiatrist, Dr. M. I dread this. Reliving the past. Having to explain myself from the beginning; the hospitalizations, etc.

I'm sorry to those of you I hurt while I go through this. I don't want your pity. I know you don't know what to do and you're just trying to help. I wish I knew what to tell you but all I have is, I'm sorry.

Starting Over

I mentioned before that my psychiatrist, the one I actually like, is leaving to start his own practice. Today I called as a last ditch effort to see him before he exits. No available appointments. I waited too long. My bottom lip started quivering, but I was calling from my car and all three kids were with me. I had to stay strong. I couldn't lose my shit.

Then I was told his replacement just started. Replacement? I was under the impression that I was stuck with the leftover doctors, both of whom I don't like. I made an appointment with Dr. M for tomorrow.

I hate starting over. Having to tell my story that began nearly three years ago is scary. It means there's a lot I have to relive. A lot of moments I buried deep in the Earth.

I was feeling quite good lately. I was even getting my funny back on this here blog.

Then my alarm went off this morning. I snoozed the hell out of it. I could already tell I was on my way back down. I finally dragged my ass out of bed and made it to the office.

My plan was to bury myself in work, right up to my eyeballs. I was interrupted multiple times and when this happens while I'm rapid cycling, I lose interest in what I'm doing and grow angry.

I powered through.

I gave the baby a bath through tears when we got home and lost my mind on my husband's shoulder. The thoughts are back, I can't keep them tamed.  I don't want to die, I just want to live in a stable manner. I want to be happy. I'm pretty sure I deserve that.

So tomorrow. Square one. I'm nervous, scared, anxious, skeptical...

This is happening for a reason, right? I often wonder if I'll ever find out what that reason is.

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Relief

I can't remember a time when I was little when my mother didn't post a list of what room my siblings and I were to clean that week. It didn't matter if we traded or paid each other off to do it, as long as it got done.

For several years now, my older boys were in charge of dusting their rooms every other week, which is how often I deep clean the house.

A few months ago I showed my oldest the ropes of doing his own laundry so that was another thing taken off my plate.

Today I stepped it up a notch. There's no reason why the kids shouldn't be cleaning their rooms on a weekly basis. I also hovered over my oldest and showed him the proper way to clean the boy's bathroom.

Every time he rolled his eyes I added another chore to the mix.

It feels really good to have finally stepped up. I should have done this a long time ago.

I'm pretty sure one day he'll be thanking me versus cursing me as he scrubs the toilet.

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Do you want your head to explode from laughter? Watch this...

A friend of mine posted this on Facebook and I had to watch it twice. My head was pounding from laughing so hard.

Thanks Brianne!

Stop me if you've heard this one....

Allow me to preface this by saying I'm not an animal hater. I don't own animals because I have enough kids to take up all my free time. So while the following story cracks my shit up, I don't think animal cruelty is okay by any means.

I was driving to work in the morning, listening to the radio (which blows in my section of Florida, let me tell you, and will someone fix my car CD player please?). This station has a segment called "Worldwide news", which basically consists of what the idiots of the world are up to.

One of the stories involves a guy. And a swan. This dude's name is John Wynne and apparently he was hanging out around Lake Eola, in the Orlando area. He probably arrived there in a stolen vehicle, the article isn't quite clear. Anyhow, this swan was just swanning along, doing what swans do, and Mr. Wynne took it upon himself to grab the bird by the neck and choke it. Like, why would you ever do that to a swan? A crow I can understand, but a fucking swan?

I'm not condoning the strangling of birds in any way. The article doesn't specify if the swan survived, I can only assume that he/she/it did because he was arrested for animal cruelty and grand theft. I would think killing the bird would involve some other title.

This particular newscast made me chuckle because it reminded me of a story involving my husband, our first apartment together (14 years ago), our bed being under a window, late night, a tree outside said window, and a loud ass muthafucking bird.

I was sleeping, this I know because I can sleep anywhere at anytime. The hubs has always had a case of insomnia. Back during this time, he must have been turning in, which means reading a book until his eyes become heavy. Well, his eyes were droopy, out went the lights, and he was awaiting his slumber when the loud ass muthafucking bird outside the window in the tree decided to caw or scream or lay eggs...I don't know WHAT it was doing.

Grumble-Grumble-Mumble-Mumble-from the hubs turned into full on yells. He opened the window at one point and shouted at the loud ass muthafucking bird to can it. It did. For as long as it took the hubs to get cozied up again. This was the last straw.

Hubs put on his shoes and possibly a pair of shorts (hell, he may have gone out into the parking lot in his boxers, I don't know) and proceeded down the stairs to face the tree loud ass muthafucking bird. I could hear him from the window. I could also see him because, I wasn't going to miss this shit, no way in hell.

He yelled obscenities at the bird, attempted to shake the tree and when that didn't work, he kicked it a few times. The tree y'all, not the bird, sheesh.

By the time he made it back to bed he was wide awake and I couldn't stop laughing. He? Was not amused in the slightest.

Remind me to tell you the story someday when we were living in a different apartment, this time in Colorado, and hubs was in the bathroom, I in the bedroom down the hall. After hearing something quite strange (and loud), he ran to the bedroom, hands in the air, and was all, "Did you HEAR that noise?"

It took everything I had in me to hold back my laughter and shake my head no. It wasn't until some time later that I confessed to that being a fart. From me. My ass. I love to fart.

Well I guess I just told you the story. You got a three for one today.

Don't hate on me for sharing stories about annoying birds today, okay?

Quenching the Thirst

I'm not from the South, but now that I live in Florida, I can make one mean pitcher of homemade sweet tea (tagless teabags are the way to go, in case you were wondering).

Thing is, I have three sons and a husband. Each of them likes something different to wet their pallet. 

In my refrigerator at all times:

• Cans of Coke for my husband (the kids and I drink it too)
• A pitcher of Kool Aid brand lemonade for the middle son (the baby and I also enjoy it)
• A pitcher of homemade sweet tea for the teen and myself (I think I get like a sip of it, he drinks the rest)
• Two gallons of Brita filtered water
• A pitcher of fake iced tea (because it's way quicker to make than the homemade version)

I have a problem with the makers of said fake iced tea mixes. The fucking scoop. Why can't y'all just put that sucker in plastic wrap and tape it to the outside of the container? No. You have to place the scoop in the container and THEN pour the fake tea mix on top so when it's time to open a new can of it? I basically have to dive in to find it. Last night was such a moment.

Side Note: I was pissed upon purchasing the tea mix because Walmart didn't carry my usual brand (that's a whole separate post in itself: Walmart! They con you into liking certain items then stop carrying them altogether!). 

So I peel back the foil and instantly get dusted with the mix, that's a given, right? I keep my eyes closed because when I open it, I just know the scoop will magically be on top. Wishful thinking. So I take a regular ole tablespoon and begin fishing around for it. It's tricky because one flick or sudden jerk in the wrong direction and you're cleaning up fake iced tea mix off the floor for a week! Finally, I give up. I turn the can to see how much I need to make a two-quart sized pitcher. Two-thirds of a cup. I scan the drawer of measuring spoons and cups and wouldn't you know I have every size but THAT one. Fuck!

Then I get creative by grabbing my glass measuring cup. I pray it will fit into the container and I can scoop out a bit more than I need and just pour some back. Fucker's too big. The hell?

That's when my teen's all, "Ma, why don't you just use a spoon and put it in the measuring cup that way?" So I mumble, grumble, and snap off a few obscenities in return. Then he's all, "What was that?!"

And I'm all, "Great idea, son!" 

So I do. But the trick to doing this is holding your breath. Because seriously; if you take small spoonfuls to the measuring cup you'll be there all fucking night. So you gotta go medium, not heaping scoops. I have to admit, I didn't spill a drop. Last night anyway. 

So now I'm golden, right? Wrong. Do you know how much of this shit these kids drink? And no, I can't allow them to make it because I'll be stepping in ant piles for weeks because of the mess they'll make because I live in mother fucking Florida where bugs flock to live FOREVER.

So fake iced tea mix makers? Put the damn scoop on the top or tape the bitch to the outside. I don't want to get three-quarters of the way through your freaking mix and then hit the scoop with my spoon I'm using to measure your shit out into my measuring cup and get a face full.

By the way? You should pay ME to buy your shit to cover the extra water bill. I mean hell, this creates MORE DISHES THAN IT'S WORTH.

End rant...

Rosie Red Cheeks and Sparkly White

Waking up to a quiet house as the heat kicks on, perhaps a fire aglow.

Children rubbing sleep from their eyes.

Drawing the blinds open to a sheath of white.

Untouched by man.

Smiles spread wide on chubby faces.

They stumble over each other to dress for snowball fights, sledding, icicle searching, and snowman making.

After hours of playful activity and limbs that can no longer be felt, they make their way home.

They strip down and cup warm mugs of hot chocolate with squeals of who got hit the hardest in the war of snow.

Giggles are heard into the night as the magical dust free-falls; creating new mounds for play.

^Written by a Floridian girl who is homesick and yearns to take her sons for a tube ride down a snowy white mountain.

Hiding Out

My eyes fluttered open later than usual for a Sunday morning.

Rather than go about the usual ritual of making coffee and tending to the toddler, I silently prayed that he was still asleep. The older boys can fend for themselves but I'll admit, I tiptoe around in the morning so I can have a bit of alone time.

Just enough time for me to get a quick shower and drink my first cup!

The warm water felt heavenly as it washed away my favorite scented body wash. I slathered on lotion afterward taking in the fragrance and paid special attention to my skin. I dressed in comfy yoga pants and a  t-shirt and oh-so-quietly opened the bedroom door to make the escape using my ninja moves.

To the kitchen I went. I switched the coffee pot to its "on" position and grabbed for my phone to catch up on emails while it brewed. I was like one of those thieves who break into museums to go for the diamonds and make it out without sounding off the alarm.

Then....

"Momma!"

No that was just a bird.

"Momma, come here!"

After acting like a toddler myself and jumping in place with my cranky face; I cracked the door open to see my boy still on his stomach, blankets wrapped around his tiny body, stuffed animals strewn about (I don't know how he has any room for himself), and his head popped up.

"Hi momma! I peed!"

I smiled, unwrapped his mummified body created by blankets, and our day was off to a running start.

Trucks were grabbed by the armful; one can't eat his usual breakfast of yogurt and applesauce without a fleet.

"Turn Christmas lights on!" 

I cringed a bit because I knew in the few short hours to come, I was to disassemble the tree and pack it away for Santa's arrival next year. I appeased him. One final time.

I poured my coffee and he allowed me to take my first sip without interruption. I've trained him well.

Then I spent the remainder of the day running errands and doing chores with the little guy underfoot.

The only way to do it...

^Banana^Sombrero^Ninjas^Hypo-Mania^

One of these things is not like the other.....

Wait...

In my mind? They fit perfectly together. I can eat the banana and do ninja moves while dancing around the sombrero. Because that my friends? Is hypo-mania. At least my version of it. And I'll take it any day of the week.

It has been months since I've had this high. Oh how I've missed you.

It's so unpredictable. It creeps up without notice. I could be zonked out on the floor of a car (blackmail shit right there) and suddenly my eyes pop open and I'm ready to do the Cha-Cha. And I don't dance, yo!

So today....I'm working. But I'll answer the phone with names like "Taco Shack, would you like fries with that?" and "Help! We're being invaded!!" JUST to fuck with people's minds. And? Because I can.

So have a great day y'all. I'm just gonna sit back and enjoy the ride. It could last mere minutes to weeks. I'm hoping for the latter.

Beautiful Skin on the Cheap

Years and years ago, I belonged to this online calorie counting community (I lost a bunch of weight too!). There was a message board and there were often times when topics weren't about weight loss. On a particular day I saw a thread about skincare and I had to click. When I did I couldn't believe what I read. It seemed so ridiculous.

The Oil Cleansing Method - I know what you're thinking....If I put oil on my face, my pores will clog and I will have the worst acne of all time. That statement holds true--if you use the wrong oil.

Direct from the method's site: "Getting right down to basics, when cleansing and moisturizing your skin, it is imperative that you keep in mind that oil dissolves oil. Your skin naturally lubricates itself with oil, and as we are creatures of adaptation, one can believe that if this weren't the appropriate built-in care for ourselves, our bodies would have adapted to suit the need. If you've been battling your skin for long, you're probably recoiling at the mere thought of applying oil to your face. You can imagine the slick, greasy, clogging feeling of smearing sludge all over your face."

Back when I initially started using "The Method" I combined 50% olive oil with 50% castor oil. By going to their website, you'll see other oils listed as optional such as sunflower seed oil, tea tree oil, etc...as well as how much to use for your skin type.

What I personally do is keep a combination of the oils mixed in a travel sized shampoo container. At night I take about a quarter size drizzle of the mixture and rub it through my palms then begin massaging it all over my skin. I focus on areas such as my nose and chin, which are prone to blackheads. The longer you massage, the better. Sometimes I'll do it for just two minutes and even as long as five. It's a funky feeling at first but after some practice it'll become a relaxing routine.

After the massaging takes place, run your water as hot as you can stand. Take a soft washcloth and saturate it with the water (you don't want to burn your skin but it should be steamy). Then wring out the water and immediately place the cloth over your face and allow it to sit until it returns to room temperature. Repeat this step as many times as you like. I do it 3-4 times. Then I keep the water running and remove any excess oil with the cloth by saturating the cloth in water and gently wiping the rest away.

That's it. No moisturizer is needed following this method. After just a few times you'll notice a soft, dewy glow and a more even skin tone. It's recommended to do everyday but who has that kind of time? I attempt to go for it daily but if I do it every other, I'm a happy girl.

Look at my skin!

I wish I had a "before" shot for you.

I've been back at it for about two weeks and can already see the diminishing blackheads on my nose (ick!). For the life of me, I can't remember why I stopped doing this. It's so inexpensive but best of all? It works.

Disclaimer: I wasn't compensated in any way for this post. All opinions are that of my own. For more details on this method, visit their website for a more step by step approach. This? Was just my way of doing it! Let me know what you think!!

Once upon a blog...

Once upon a time, over two years ago, I started this blog to connect with other women suffering from postpartum depression. My following grew faster than I could blink. I got better and relapsed more times than I could count. I began to feel like a fraud. This was more than PPD.

Then I landed in the hospital and was diagnosed with bipolar disorder. Bipolar II. August 2011 to be exact. My life hasn't been the same since.

I started a new blog dedicated to my updated diagnosis and have come to regret that. I wish I would have found a way to integrate it here rather than separating the two.

In the next few weeks I've decided to transfer my posts here and eliminate that blog.

This is me. Bipolar and all. There's no reason to put up a front here anymore. Things change. I've changed.

2011 was the most challenging year of my life. I'm not saying 2012 is going to be some big turnaround but a girl can dream.

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