Can't we just skip it?...

I hate my daughter's birthday. I would just as soon completely skip over that day. I know i'm not alone in that feeling, I'm positive that other mothers in the P.P. club (Preemie Parents Club) feel that way too. The day Bitty was born was far from being the happiest day of my life. There was no "honey my water broke" after 40 weeks. There was no "labor for hours, push out a squeling, pudgy little girl". There was no "leave the hospital WITH your baby". It was, simply put, the single most terrifying moment of my life. It was a miserable pregnancy filled with umpteen bloodtests, doctor visits, and ultrasounds in the very begining. Followed by migraines and spontainous barfing at the end. I HATED being pregnant. The only thing i loved and still am astounded by is the fact that i held life inside of me. And while just about every minute of being pregnant i hated, i will always, ALWAYS cherish the feeling of carrying a seperate life inside of me. There was no happy delivery. It was replaced with every drug to STOP it. Followed by every drug to stop the drugs that stop your labor, because the drugs that stop labor apparently make a select few peoples heart's want to explode. There was no cliche breathing. That got replaced with "we can't find her heart beat, you're having your daughter NOW." There was no loud wailing of a baby the minute it's born. There was instead the mousey squeak of a baby not ready to breath. There was massive blood loss and fluid filled lungs on my end, and tubes, wires, machines, and everything bit of technology used to keep people alive on Bitty's end. There was no spend 4days in the hospital get discharged with your baby. There was instead, 4 days of "Jesus Christ i can't cough up the fluid because everytime i do it feels like my stomach is gonna rip open and all my organs are gonna splatter on the floor, you can't hold your baby all you can do is look at her, your 4 days are up you need to leave while your baby has to stay behind". There was no bring the baby home and be greated by all those who love you. Instead it was go home to your empty house with a hospital braclet that serves as a constant reminder that while you are officially a parent you have no baby to show for it, spend hours lying awake at night waiting for that phone call that tells you your baby isn't gonnna make it come in and say goodbye. It's been 5 years now since Bitty was born, and i still can relive and feel each and every moment, from the time i went into labor until the day she was discharged, December 28. It was hell. I'm all about celebrating this beautiful life that i held in my body for as long as i could. However, i would just as soon celebrate that day on December 28, the day i finally brought my baby home. Sure, i became a mommy on November 11 2007 at 4:24pm to a 29 week old fetus (sounds crude i know, but in my opinion that's what i had) that weighed in at a whopping 2lbs 15oz and was an astonishing 16 and a quarter inches long. I was a mommy for 48 days before i finally got to have a baby to show for it. But on December 28, the day we brought our tinie tiny 4lb baby home from the hospital, the day i got to cut off my hospital braclet for good. THAT'S the day i had my baby. The day she came home WITH me. That's the day i want to celebrate, THAT was a happy day. The day she was born, not so much. That's a day i would just as soon be by myself. A day that i would much rather scribble off the calendar, atleast for now.

I wish i could wish you a happy 30th birthday...

I've been in this funk for the past few days now, and it just dawned on me why. In 8 more days, it's your (would be) 30th birthday. It's that time of year again where i think about you more often than usual, where i miss you like crazy. That time of year where, despite all the good things that June and July have occuring in them, each celebration is over shadowed by the memories, emotions, and tears i shed in disbelief that i had lost you. It's been comming up on what, 9 years now since you made the call to end your life, and all i have to do is write those words and i'm back in my house; getting a phone call at the ass crack of dawn; on my first day off of a week long vacation from work. I can hear my cell phone ring. I can hear my moms voice. I can hear the shake in her words as she told me that you had overdosed and you were at Ephrata hospital in the CCU.  That they suspected you to be brain dead. And you weren't going to make it. That i better get there. I had never and have never felt such a complete and udder sense of nothingness. Nothing. I never understood what people ment when they would refer to being emotionally numb, until that very moment. I hope i never feel that way again. Honest to God, i don't remember getting dressed, but i know i have never gotten dressed and out the door so fast in my life. I could barely mutter the words to the only other Jesse that's been in my life. The only words that would come out were, Jesse's o.d.ed, he's at Ephrata Hospital, I need to go say good bye. Damn you Jesse Lee, despite all the love i still have for you, you were and still are the closest thing to a brother i've ever had, I hate you for that moment. To this very day, it takes all my might when i close my eyes and think of you, to shove aside the image burned into my brain. The one of my "brother", someone who is litterally in some of my very, VERY first memories, frankly i don't have too many that occur before you walked across the driveway, i mean geez, we were what 3 maybe 4 years old. I can still remember standing in my yard in my swimming suit; as you came wondering on over. We were pretty much inseperatable from that moment on. I wish you knew how hard it is to put in place that memory right there, the one of the first time we met, to have to litterally use it to push out the memory of the VERY LAST time i saw you, the VERY LAST TIME i held your hand. For YEARS, all i could see when i would think of you, which was quite often by the way, was the image of you; laying lifeless on a hospital bed, with tubes and wires comming off of you from every which direction. Machines making obnoxious "breathing" noises. Nurses comming in and out constantly. I can still feel your hand, your lifeless yet warm hand, in mine. Though i'd held your hand too many times to count, though i had always been there for you through thick and thin. Through rehab, through withdrawl, through shooting up. Through thinking you'd lost everyone, through comming out with an illness that suddenly made everyone affraid to touch anything you might have. Who was always, ALWAYS there? Who never left your side? Who always, still does, and forever will, see you for YOU? But despite my always being by your side, somehow you were always the strong one, even when you would be dope sick, even when you were getting ready to leave to go to yet another rehab; but a rehab where the only contact we would have for what surely had to be months, would be in letter form. You still somehow managed to hold my hand right back. I hold very dear to my heart the memory of the day before you left to go to Manus House. We were sitting on your bed listening to music and talking. I started to cry, and ironically enough, "No Woman, No Cry" started playing. And though i know you had to be terrified, you looked at me and with that soft Jesse smile, started singing, "oh my little sister, don't shed no tears..." You promised me everything would be alright. Damn you. I know in that moment you could not have forseen the future. But damn you non the less. You know who helped me get through that time? Jerry and his then b___h of a girl friend. Jerry was my "light at the end of the tunnel". But given that we had burried him just a few short years before i was about to burry YOU. Given that YOU had been my saving grace when i had felt such indescribible guilt for feeling as though i had pulled the trigger that night. Given that YOU were the ONLY one who knew about the guilt i felt, about the last words i said to him just hours before he decided to end HIS life. Given that YOU knew how close we had become and the choice HE asked me to make. YOU held MY hand!!! Damn it, who was gonna hold my hand through loosing YOU????!!!!! This isn't how it was suppose to be. We were suppose to grow old. I made a promise to myself on the night of your funeral; when the first and only thing i could think about when i seen your brother, my other "brother", was OMG, i'm gonna have to burry him next, and i just simply cannot do it again. In that moment, i made a silent pact with myself that, no matter who it was that passed away next, i would NOT go to another funeral. I would not watch as another person i love was put to rest. You broke me. You were always and will always be MY Jesse. But something in me was burried with you that day.
On my way home from the hospital that day, just as everything was all at once hitting me, i got another phone call. My other Jesse's sister gave birth to her second son that morning. As i was saying good bye to you; as your life had come to an end, his had begun. I can't help but look at him and see you. We celebrate his birthday, all the while i quietly morn your loss. Every June 4th, i wish you a happy birthday, though now it's with tears in my eyes. Some people seem to think it might help me to actually go visit your grave. But, as i'm sure know, i haven't. I won't. I refuse. Because it would only end up being yet another memory it would take me forever to push out of my head. I carry with me in my camera bag, the little red metal heart that you had engraved with both our names on it. Hell, i carry you with me always, and you're right where you always were and will be until the day someone ends up burrying me, and that's in my heart. But i know you know that. You always did.
I can't help but think about you a little more right now, with all the things that i have accomplished over the last year, i wish you could be here, PHYSICALLY, to share in it with me. I want to tell you, but then it hits me, i can't. And even though it's been 9 years, it does still hit me like a concrete wall, that you're not right next door anymore. God knows in 8 more days, i would love to be able to walk across the driveway and wish you a happy 30th birthday. To ask you what it feels like. To give you shit about it. But now, this is all i got. I may have some of the most wonderful memories of you, but they're simply not the same.

Utterly useless random facts about me (because i'm bored)

I'm texturephobic, and i'm pretty sure that's not the correct name for it. LOL For instance, i like pumpkin pie, but won't eat it because, to me, the texture of it doesn't match the taste. LOL I LOVE coffee, but can't stand it cold; to the point where i have to spit it out, i can't bring myself to swallow it. LOL Same goes for touching things.

I am one of the least observant, uncoordinated people i know. LOL

I have a metal plate in my chin and i can feel the screws from the inside of my mouth.

Though i don't consider myself to be clostrephobic, i freak the hell out if something is against my nose.

I swear. ALOT.

I'd love to move to the midwest and buy a big ranch with a bunch of horses.

I'm suppose to wear glasses when i read but haven't since i was in elementary school because i can't stand that my eyelashes are long enough that they rub against the lenses. I don't wear sunglasses for basically the same reason.

I remember the stupidest shit, but if it's something WORTH remembering, sure as shit i'll forget. In other words, i'm full of useless information. Atleast that's what my husbands says. LOL

I am horribly impatient.

I have an eating disorder.............

Well, that didn't help make me feel better about the weight i've gained since i quit using drugs. LOL I'm a pretty open person, obviously, but that's one i tend to keep to myself. Frankly, (up until this moment) unless you know me know me, like a close friend or close family member, chances are you didn't know. While i've learned to keep it in check, it doesn't make it any easier to gain weight. And it certainly does nothing to help deal with the weight once you gain it. Just because i am fully capable of seeing myself as too skinny, as i did 33 weeks ago, doesn't mean that i can accept myself at what most everyone else would concider to be a healthy weight. If i were to be asked what is harder to deal with; quitting drugs cold turkey with no rehab of any sort, or dealing with anorexia, the eating disorder wins hands down. When you become addicted to drugs of any sort and decided to quit, the physical withdrawl is the worst kinda hell you can fathom, the mental withdrawl is almost as bad. But they both pass. Especially if you have the mind set that i did and still do have; that you're done with it and there's no going back. I can be around the same people, be around drugs, be in pain, and have zero desire to go back. But with an eating disorder, it's hell everyday. A better version of hell, but then again it's a different hell all in it's own. The best comparison i've ever seen goes something like this; having an eating disorder is like having terminal cancer, it may go into remission, but it's always there. Most people who have an eating disorder (i'm just gonna call it an e.d. from now. LOL) have issues with needing to be in control of EVERYTHING, which is why alot of people with one; will resort back to it durring times of stress. I feel safe in saying all of us who have one, have had horrible self esteem since before we can remember. And i also feel confident in saying that those of us who have an e.d., keep it to ourselves. Because for someone who doesn't have one, there's no sense in even remotely bringing it up, because they don't stand a chance in remotely understanding. Matter of factly, most people without one, are pretty quick to judge those of us who do come out and say something about it. In my experience, most people either think you're lying, trying to get attention, or should just not feel the way you do. Like there's some magic switch you should be able to flip and *POOF*, not see yourself as fat. Believe me, if that was the case, if there was a magic switch, every last one of us would flip it. And don't get me started on trying to raise a DAUGHTER in a way that you do everything in your power, to not let her see what you struggle with everyday; hoping, praying, crossing your fingers and toes, that she doesn't grow up thinking about HER body, the way you think about yours. Although, in that department i'd be inclinded to think i'm doing a damn good job.

I've been struggling with anorexia since i was about 14/15 or so. There were days in my teens when my daily calorie intake came from saltines and cough drops mixed in with nicotine. I vividly remember almost passing out in 8th grade gym class. I stopped religiously weighing myself when i got down to 100lbs. It wasn't until i broke my jaw at 16 and my doctor told my mom that if i lost weight, any weight at all, he'd admit me back into the hospital, that my family came to see what i thought i was doing a good job at hiding. Kinda ironic that some people resort to getting their mouth wired shut to LOOSE weight, and there i was; told i couldn't loose any at all.  The thing with having an e.d. is, while it  changes your mindset; you still know what you're doing and that you shouldn't be doing. You know you're not necessarily fat and that you need to eat, your eyes see something completely different. While your mind often will flip flop back and forth, your eyes and what they see are forever changed. While your brain can be telling you that you look just fine, your eyes see a fat blob. And it doesn't matter what anyone says, you see what you see; and that's the only thing that matters. I aplaud Husband and his tenacity in the way he deals with me. LOL In soooo many ways, he's my rock, i wish i could just get him to understand that it doesn't matter what he thinks, it doesn't matter what he says, what matters is what I think, feel, and see.  And even though i get frusterated and pissed that in 12 years, he won't let me have a scale, i'm thankful for his willingness to stand firm. I'm also glad he doesn't even try to understand. LOL

32 Weeks and counting....

If you woulda asked me 33 weeks ago where i saw myself in 32 weeks, i wouldn't have been able to answer you. Because 33 weeks ago, i was more worried about keeping myself from going through withdrawl, that was my first thought and last though everyday. I didn't want it to be, i hated it, loathed it, i was living in a horrible version of hell. But things change. People change. And when people change for the better, live's all around them change. 32 weeks ago i made a conscience effort to go through something much worse than the hell i had been living in, with 100000% faith that the person i was, was not the person i was suppose to be. It wasn't the person my daughter needed. It wasn't the person my loved ones needed. It wasn't someone i could be proud, so how on earth could i expect anyone else to be. I couldn't even look myself in the eyes anymore. I'll never forget the first time i experienced withdrawling from the pain meds for my back. I couldn't believe it. I couldn't even say it out loud. I made myself believe that i was, what i called, an "accidental addict." It was the only way i could manage to face each day. I blamed my doctor. I silently blamed my husband for making me help him lift up the piece of flooring that ended up blowing out my back. I had had a job, worked labor intensive positions from the time i was 16 until i hurt my back at 26 and was told i'd likely never be able to work again. I had nothing in my life that was soley mine. Nothing to give me a sense of pride, of accomplishment. Of self worth. I was stuck in a never ending spiral of self pitty. I thought it was everyone else's fault, but mine. It wasn't until 32 weeks ago, it wasn't until watching numorous Intervention shows, reading countless articles, and thinking of the loved ones i lost to addiction. It wasn't until facing everything that i had ran from for 3 years, that i realized there's no such thing as an "accidental addict". I've come to the conclusion that everyone who becomes addicted to any type of drug, it's not an accident. There's hurt there, severe unresolved emotional pain. A hollowness that nothing can seem to fill, but drugs can cover up. Some of us never reach a point where we can see a light at the end of a tunnel, a light that shows up out of no where; precisly when we need it most. Some of us take our addiction as far as one possibly can, and that's dying from it. However, i believe with all my heart, every addict is shown a light. A way out. The hardest part is having faith. Not so much the faith that things will get better, that withdrawl is only temporary. More the faith that you are worth more, ment for more, deserve more. And that you will do it, that failure is no longer an option. Is being drug free worth it? Hell yes. Is having to deal with the unresolved hurt, worth the tears that get shed? Damn straight. Are there things just as scarey about being clean as what there were being an addict? Most certainly. I will be an addict until the day i die. Do i worry about the fact that i will need back surgery, and not be able to take pain meds? All the time. The knowledge alone that no matter what, no matter how much physical pain you're in, you cannot take ANYTHING that is narcotic based or has any addictive factors, is overwhelming at times. Frankly, this winter was hell. The cold, dampness puts me in a world of hurt, that i've had to learn to deal with, on my own. Everyday, unless i have to go somewhere, i'm in my p.j. pants because honestly, it hurts to wear jeans. I'm no where near as active as i was 33 weeks ago, because i actually feel the pain i'm in. Quite often i feel like such a bad mom because i can't physically do the things with Bailey that could 33 weeks ago. The biggest, hardest realization came to me on Valentine's day, when i was; more or less (LOL), forced into having to buy running sneakers. Not because i go running. But the Converses that i adore so much, kill my back. I'm not too proud to admit i cried a little. I felt like i was losing part of my identity. But then again, i've litterally been wearing the same pair for probably going on 4 years now. They sit along side my Puma's now, and more often than not, i still go for them. I know it's only a matter of time until Jesse either throws them away, or hides them from me. LOL
33 Weeks ago, if you woulda asked me if i was on cloud nine, it woulda been because i was high as kite. But today, 32 weeks later, i'm beyond on cloud nine. For the first time in a long time, maybe even that i can remember, i have a sense of peace with myself. Sure, there are still somethings i'm not happy with, but then again, it's only been 32 weeks since i got my ass clean, and quite frankly if i were a more patient person, i wouldn't be bothered by them. LOL For the first time that i can remember, i know i have a purpose. I may not be where i want to be, YET. But all be damned, i'm working hard to get there. I can't think of an apropriate word to describe how overly enthusiastic i am about having the confidence in myself, and what it is that i want for myself, to have accepted two offers of photographing weddings. For the first time in a VERY long time, my ADHD brain is working overtime on something i actually want it to. It's filled with visions of photographs, poses, things to do and get. I wish i was more artistic when it comes to putting those photo ideas on paper, because frankly, they're pretty freaking cool and it's a shame they're stuck in my brain until May. Though i was extreamly hesitant to take either offer, due to the fact that i am EXTREAMLY introverted and hate a change in my routine or doing a damn thing that steps out side of my itty bitty comfort zone, i am SO happy i did. While i'm slightly nervous, it feels so right and so......natural; that the moment of hesitation i had, is gone. It's odd really, i can't recall ever feeling quite so at ease about something. Although, i do believe the peacefulness about it might be going to my head a bit as i am thinking and planning WAY into the future of what this, whatever it is, is. I've always felt that every person on this planet has a natural gift. Something they were put on this earth to share. I thought that about everyone, but myself. I believed that i was good at nothing, that i had zero talent and was pretty much just taking up space. I refused to see what other people saw when it came to what i could do with my camera. Well, hell i still don't really see it. But i'm obssively critical about myself and don't take compliments well at all. Which i am working on, and it's slowly changing. I don't argue NEAR as much when someone tries to tell me i did something right or good. LOL Everyone and their brother gives me either hell or advice when they hear that i positively can't just tell someone what i want paid to take their pictures. And honestly, it's hard to explain, but i wish people would just get it. 33 weeks ago, i couldn't have given a price to someone because, frankly, i believed I, not my photography, but ME wasn't worth a dime. Today, i know what my photography is worth, but more importantly, i know MY WORTH. I now realize and understand why i can't put a price on taking pictures. To me, it feels wrong. It's not that i don't think my time or effort is worth it. It simply doesn't feel right to me. I didn't buy a camera so that i could be a photographer. Shit, i'm surprised i wasn't born with one in my hands. My first camera was a hand me down 35mm that was old when it was handed down. I think i might have been about 16 or so. I used that camera, i LOVED that 35mm camera. I REFUSED to buy a digital camera until someone came out with an SLR. So, my second camera was a hand me down point and shoot, that was old when it was handed to me when i was about 27. And i didn't buy my Canon until Bailey was born. I've used 3 camera's in my life. 3. Since she came 11 weeks early, we were able to claim her on our taxes for 2007, which was another surprise we hadn't planned on. I bought my camera with that extra tax return money. It was a good camera 4 years ago, it's still a good camera. But i wanted it to take pictures of my daughter, and nature, and people, and whatever the hell else i thought would reflect me. I had finally broke down and bought a digital camera. The VERY FIRST camera that i had ever bought. It's still my only camera. I've still only ever bought one camera in my life. It not a means of making money. It's not a way to get attention. It's truely an extension of myself. I've taken photos that look like shit with it, but i've also taken many that are truely priceless. And whether they're photos i've taken of my family or photos i've taken for someone else. To me, they're one in the same, with the exception that i take more time and put in more effort when taking them for someone else. When my other laptop crashed, i was crushed. I was convinced that i had lost every single picture that i had taken. Not just the ones i had taken for myself, but the ones that had taken of other people, for other people. Perhaps i put too much value on a photograph. But to me, they're something entirely different. I don't see a picture. I don't see a moment caught on "film". I look at photo that i have taken and ones that i haven't taken, and i am there. In that memory. I see it, i can feel it. I smell it, hear it, and feel it. I suppose that's why i place such an importance on pictures. Because to me, they're tangable memories. More than memories, they take me back to any given place with people whom i cherish. I've lost a few photographs over the years, between moving and getting damaged in storage and just flat out disappeared, photographs of people whom i loved but are no longer here. I did recently find one that had been missing for a long time. One of me and two people who have long been burried. Needless to say, it's now locked in my safe. Though, the one i cherished the most, the one that i would give my right boob to find, is one that i took of my "brother", how i remember him. Before he became a herion addict, like most people remember him for. I can close my eyes and see it crystal clear, even 14 years after i took it, we're 15/16 on his porch, laughing about me wanting to take his picture. But it's not the same. Over the past 32 weeks, i've gotten back to taking what it is that i do, seriously.
3 years and 33 weeks ago, i had no idea who i was,, nor what my purpose in this world was. And i hadn't for very long time. I was coasting through life and not playing my part. Someone was, but that girl wasn't this one. She looked alot like me on the outside, but no where close where it truely matters. Most of us know the difference between what feels wrong and what feels right. They're not exactly feelings that can be put into words, but we all know what it feels like. Never before, that i can remember, i have done something, wanted something, WORKED for something, that feels so undenibley right that it gives me an overwhelming sense of peace, a feeling of worth. A sense of pride. That feeling like, this is right where i'm suppose to be and this life that i have been given, this SECOND chance at life, is gonna be alright. I am certain my purpose, my gift to this world; corny, cocky, and arrogantly as it may sound, is to take photographs. And at this very moment, i could careless if i never, EVER recieve a dime for it. I get how that sounds, i get that for most people, they'll never get it. But i don't really care. Because it makes perfect sense to me, even if i can't put it into words. I've been told my views on that will most likely change. But i highly doubt something that feels wrong to me now, will ever feel right, no matter how much money it could make me. 33 Weeks ago, money was a big deal, because the lack of money, sent panic through my mind and body. Today, i've learned what it means to be happy, what it really feels like. I found that part of me that i had a long time ago, the kid. The one who gets happiness, from seeing the things she does for someone else, makes them happy. Brings them, maybe just a little, joy.
I used to be, litterally, my own worst enemy, and in many ways i still am. But i'm catching on quickly to what means to be proud of yourself, and not need anyone elses validation. That i don't need someone else to tell me they're proud of me, or that i'm doing a good job. Would i positively LOVE to hear my mom say it, yes. Very much so. But, i no longer need it. Because for the first time, i'm proud of myself. Proud of where i've been and what i've gone through. Proud of the honesty i set in motion 32 weeks ago. Proud of where i am and where i have yet to be. While i'm still my biggest enemy, most days now; i'm my biggest fan. I still have issues that will never go away. I will always think i'm fat and will always have body imagine issues. But, today i'm heavier than i've been in years, but i'm still eating; not starving myself to fit back into my favorite jeans, instead i bought a new pair, that fit. And while i may have a horrible body image, i am proud of the fact that my daughter doesn't see it. That for 4 years i've sucked up my feelings about how i think i look, and have not projected my self esteem issues, onto her. In my house, the word fat when used in association with a persons body, is a gihugic no no. Matter of factly, the word itself is almost never used. I'm not even sure she would know what the word ment if someone said they're fat. For people like me, girls with eating disorders, severely low self esteem, whatever, that's a giant task in itself, it may not seem like much to you, but go a day and really watch what you say about the differences in others, or the little things you may say about yourself, or even say to your kids. I find it humbling that for all the time i spent keeping her away from Barbie stuff and princessy stuff, that she likes those things anyway. But it makes me proud that of all the Disney princess's, her favorite is Ariel. And she's technically not a princess, atleast not to Bailey, to her; Ariel's the girl with the red hair. These last 32 weeks have been a mish mash of 60% uphill-bothways-had- to- walk- 4- miles- in- the- snow -with- bare- feet, and 40% easy sailing. Though it's been unbelievible hard, if you're in the same place i was 32 weeks ago, it's not nearly as hard as i thought i woulda been. You just gotta want it. With every fiber of your being. It's hard to say what has been harder for me, the week or so of hard withdrawl i went through in the begining, or having to pick up the pieces of your past and figure out how to put them back together, having to answer for the wrongs that you did, having to put yourself out there and come clean, not just litterally, but figuratively. Having to face your family, friends, and in my case, all of you, and tell them what your are and that you not only need help, but want it. Letting go of the what if's and seeing who you really, truely mattered to and having to be faced with the reality that some people, some people who you thought would still be by yourside, were the first to leave. Working hard to over come the stigma that comes along with comming clean, earning back trust. Afterall, the withdrawl's long been over, but it's been 32 weeks, and i'm still faced with everything that i was on day one. Jesse laughs because we have this running "joke", say I won't and God damn it i will. If i had to bet, i'd say more than a few people never thought in a bazzillion years that today, March 2, 2012, i'd be saying i got 32 weeks clean. But i do. And i know that next Friday, i'll have 33, and the Friday after that, 34. I done marked week 52 on my calendar. I don't for a single, minescule second doubt the fact that some Friday 30 years from now, i'll be saying "HAPPY 30+ YEARS TO ME". Somethings in this life you just know. Like, i know i'm gonna do great things in this world, even if it's just take pictures. And that 30+ years from now, i'll be celebrating 30+ years clean. I thank those of you who have been there through the thick and thin of it. Who didn't judge me. Who were proud of me. Who stood by me. If we were ment to go through the darkest of times alone, there wouldn't be so many people who keep their light on for us.

Happy 4th Due Day Bitty.....

This Friday will be Bitty's 4th Due Day. It's the day i was suppose to be scheduled for a c-section. It was suppose to be her birthday. Now, it's just a day. The day she was suppose to be born. She could care less really. LOL But i always get a little sentimental. And as Friday grows closer, the more sappy i feel. In general, it takes very little to get my mind thinking philisophically, for instance; while riding her bike this afternoon she asked me how i wanted her to ride "fast, slow, or normal?" Carefully. That was my answer. I don't care if you go fast or slow, i don't care if you go normally, just be careful. And that one word led me to one conclusion. There's a difference between carefully and carelessly. Duh, right? LOL So, here it is, my letter to Bitty for her 4th due day:
   I want you to be carefully careless. Love everyone you know and meet, carelessly. Let everyone you let in, take a piece of you with them when they leave, more than likely, they've already left a piece of themselves with you. Never, under any circumstances, stop questioning everything that you think you know. When you close your mind, you close your heart. Expect nothing short of greatness from yourself and everyone you let close to you, and when they fail to live up to those expectation, as they will without a doubt do, you'll be pissed. But, get over it. Don't hold it over them and don't let it define them or yourself. We are all greater than the sum of our failures, unfortunately some people see only those. Don't be one of those people. Find the good in everyone. Trust me, it's there. If you fail to find it, just keep looking. Sometimes, the good in someone is the lesson you learn when you walk away. Be careless. Just, please be careful. Be careful when you look in the mirror. Because i am certain that the only person who can possibly hurt you the most, is the one that looks back. Be careful when you point your finger and place blame on someone else, rarely are our mistakes a result of someone else. Be careful when looking behind you, you will miss what's always been right in front of you.

Merry Fuckin' Christmas......

my mom loses her health insurance at the end of this month. She's still is suppose receive chemo until January/Feb. Each round of chemo costs about $12,000. Her solution? Quit receiving chemo when Medical Assistance drops her. Husbands's work ...is raising their health insurance to about $140 a WEEK, durring the time of year when they're lucky if they work enough hours to cover the cost of their insurance. Coincidently, they're off on Monday and IF they work the rest of next week, it will most likely be the last "week" they work until after the new year. And believe me, i could keep going on but honestly i really don't care to. I don't do sad and miserable with anyone, i prefer to do it alone. I don't go seeking for a shoulder to cry on, or an ear to listen to me. I don't reach out in hopes someone will hold my hand, I don't freely talk about what bothers me and rarely cry infront of anyone, including my husband. I deal with my shit on my own, it's my shit. And right now, i don't give a rats ass about anyone else's miserableness.