History Repeats Itself

I’ve decided to overshare, because if I don’t, I’ll go bonkers.

(Too late?)

My neighbor started using heroin again and he won’t be coming back once he’s done with detox and the group home, according to his heart-broken father.

I am sad. I’ll miss my young friend. All I can do is pray for him now, but I can’t allow him back into my life.

My daughter is really struggling mentally and I am scared. It seems as though history is repeating itself. I know that I worried the hell out of my own mother practically my entire life.

History repeats itself. Hand drawn dry brush lettering. Ink proverb banner. Modern calligraphy phrase. Vector illustration.

Mental illnesses are not to be fucked with.

I’m having a hard time right now, but I have no choice but to wait until Sept 11th to see someone myself.

My daughter has a therapist and she’s on medication, but it doesn’t seem to be helping much. It’s just this continuous fucking battle and I honestly don’t know what to do for her. I do understand how she is feeling. I’m above her slightly only because I’m so much older and have more experience with these fuckers.

She has the exact same problems as I have.

I handed this shit down to my baby girl.

The catalyst? Her boyfriend broke up with her because they weren’t “growing” as a couple. I’d love to punch the little twit right now, but that’s not an option.

She misses her grandmother so much and she keeps asking me why she had to die.

How do you answer that?

Because that’s what humans do. We die. We all end up dying, there are no exceptions to this rule.

Because it was her time to die. God wanted her back. She had a good life and I reminded B that she brought her so much joy and love. My mom wanted B to always remember her and she certainly will. She made that dream a reality.

I was planning on going on a trip to visit a friend for a few days, but last night my daughter asked me to please not leave her alone right now. As much as I was excited about taking a break from reality for a spell, I can’t go. I had to break the news to my friend, who I know is disappointed, but I’m pretty sure that she’ll understand.

History repeats itself.

My mom spent 44 years of her life taking care of me and now it’s my turn to do that for my child.

I only hope that I can keep her safe from her demons.

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Mental Health Is Like A Teeter-Totter

When I called this past Monday about making a psych appointment, I was given two options.

Option A: Go to the main campus of the hospital system I’m currently using for my healthcare and wait for many hours in the ER. 

Option B: Wait until September 11th, the first available appointment for a psych evaluation at the smaller and much closer office building.

Since I’m not currently experiencing a mental health crisis, I decided on option B.

Mental health is a precarious thing. It reminds me of a teeter-totter. It goes up and it goes down, sometimes so quickly that you’ll lose your balance and fall on your ass with a loud thud.

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Look, a therapy dog!

It’s not that simple getting help, as you can see from my options up there. Either I am in serious trouble and need assistance right NOW or I have to bide my time until I can be evaluated.

I can tell you what I need, a decent therapist.

I need to talk about what I’ve gone through the last few years with someone who isn’t too close to the situation. This time around, though, I won’t follow any doctor(s) or therapist blindly like I have in the past.

Perhaps I’ll even allow the doc to give me a booster med that is specifically used for major depressive disorder. I know that I want to stay on Effexor, because without it, I’d be curled up in the fetal position on I-71 South towards Columbus.

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A strange thing happens when your trust has been broken numerous times by people you once thought had your back; you begin to follow your instincts and tap into your own shitty experiences instead.


I’m hanging in there.

I miss my mother dearly and I cry often. It hurts not having her to talk to and share news with her, good and bad combined. I’ll start to think about those last few days before she died and how she didn’t even look like herself lying in that hospital bed on comfort care. The sound of her breathing, erratic and desperate. Even while actively dying, she didn’t want to let go.

All I can do is continue to move forward. I want to make her proud of me and keep on living my life.

And that’s why I need to fight back hard to stay put on that teeter-totter and try not to fucking fall off.