The Coast is Clear....

Phew....  it's been awhile.

I just checked the last time I had actually blogged. It was last August. Being that August is just around the corner, that means it has almost been a full year since I have done this. I might be a little dusty. Yet, part of me is happy. The lack of blogging and interaction between other blogs has left this place a graveyard. Excuse me while I dust off the cobwebs. However, in return, it has also left me a place where I can speak truthfully and very few people might actually drop by to read it.

The truth can sometimes hurt. Admitting to ourselves what is wrong, can be the hardest thing we have ever done. For me, I escaped from what is normally my escape - writing. Don't get me wrong... it isn't that I haven't been writing. Instead, I have been doing a whole lot of other writing. Boring writing! Better off called school work. Hopefully, if all goes well, that will be done by next May. Yet, even with all this writing I have found that something has been missing. It has been my writing. This kind of writing. My ramblings, so to speak.

I have been thinking about my blog a lot lately. Yet, I always turn the other way. Part of the reason is because I have a lot on my mind. It's about were to start, what to expose, and who is going to find out. Sometimes I like keeping things to myself. But right now, it is killing me. Let me explain.

In February of 2013, I had reopened a claim with the Veteran's Affairs office. It was a claim I had opened previously in 2004, but had been closed. This meant I had to start over. The claim was for PTSD for MST. I can tell you what it means, but that might open a big can of worms that I am still working on. All the issues from this claim had been buried... pretty deep... and I was pretty happy. Then something happened and they all came flooding back. I hit my head - pretty hard. The doctor says there is no relation so maybe it was just coincidence. Maybe it was just time for it to resurface. If you look at the date, I have now been dealing with this for a year and a half. Still no acceptance from VA - they take forever.

Needless to say, I have sunk into a pretty severe depression. I never smiled, unless it was fake. I never laughed, unless it was forced. I was doing pretty bad. Still am. Getting out of bed was a struggle. The nightmares kept me up at night, but made it difficult to wake up in the morning. I can barely focus. If you can only imagine, this makes life with three kids pretty darn difficult. As if that wasn't hard enough, I am in school full time and last November I went back to work full time.

There is a positive and a negative to both of these situations. If I didn't have school or work, there is a good likelihood I would lock myself in my bedroom and never leave. I probably would be debilitated by this... completely... and a part of me would be ok with that. I am not even in the mood to function. But my sense of responsibility always takes over. No matter how much I want to fail the class because I can't focus on the assignments... or how much I want to skip work, not because I don't want to be there, but because I feel like I can't move... I move on. I have to. I know this.

Yet, each day it gets worse and worse. My focus is less and less. My body aches. I want to get back to my obsessive need to work out and the will to just go to the gym or even put in a yoga DVD is not there. I don't want to move. This depresses me even more. Back in 2011 I had lost a shit ton of weight. Over the last year, I have been on the steady climb up. I am back where I started. This angers me. My clothes are uncomfortable. My skin is uncomfortable. I feel like shit.

I can't pin point why I am getting so bad. I can be sitting there and I can feel the tears welling up in my eyes. It's like I can cry on demand. Part of me wonders if it is the constant rehashing over everything. I have been in therapy, as well as working on documentation for my case. Ironic since I state that I am the "undiagnosed mad woman!" I might actually be closer to be diagnosed sooner than later. I cry daily, even if it is only one tear drop. No one knows. Last week as I was listening to the radio on the way to work, the DJ stated a survey that said 1 out of every 5 woman cry every single day. I am one of those 5, and it sickens me. I am not supposed to be a weak person. I have always prided myself on my strength. But it is gone.

When you look outside and you see the beauty of this world we live in... it is something we should breathe in deep and reveal in. The world is bigger than us and it is amazing. I struggle to accept that. I find difficulty in finding the beauty; of being able to take a deep breath; of just letting my guard down long enough to even enjoy it.

I can't do this anymore!

This morning, I went back on my medication. I hate the way medication makes me feel. You are not happy; you are just not sad. I am ok with that. The problem is I have always been forgetful when it comes to taking it. If you don't take it  regularly, it doesn't work. Who knows - maybe skipping a dose here and there can make it less effective... making it not do what it is intended to do. I didn't want to take the medication. It gives me the shakes. There is nothing more irritating the completely being unable to control your shaking hands. But here is the reality.

I can't do this anymore!

So I took that tiny white pill. My husband insisted. At first, I didn't feel any differently. Yet, as I was driving to work, I actually felt the drug kick in. I don't even really know how to describe it. My arms got kind of heavy, but in an uplifted way. I felt calmer, like my body relaxed. I finished driving to work. The same routine with the radio blasting. As I turned down the street to my final destination, I felt something I haven't felt in a while... a smile. And suddenly, I didn't feel so bad anymore.

Maybe I will be ok.

It wasn't a miracle pill. I don't feel great. I just don't feel like bawling my eyes out right now. I feel like I am a little bit more in control, at least compared to yesterday, and the day before that... and the days before that! I haven't been well for awhile now. This kills me because it seems that no one has really noticed. I guess this is my own fault. I wear a pretty tight fitting mask. Partially because I don't want to expose myself. And I push people away. So in a way, I don't let anybody see the true reality that I have become. Part of it is because I don't want to talk about it. I can't explain why I feel this way - I just do. I don't want sympathy, but in the same sense, I don't need to be judged. Telling me that I am being stupid and I just need to cheer up is the wrong answer, and frankly, it makes it worse. This is my own battle and I have to find my own weapons to fight it.

But today, I feel like a I made a good decision. I took my antidepressants. It doesn't make me weak. In fact, it probably means I am stronger because I can admit that I need help. Maybe this will help get me back to being able to do the things I enjoy in life. Maybe this is what I need to be on the road to recovery.

It must have done something. After all, look who swung by the blog and wrote.