Five Minute Friday: Slow

Hey friends! It's been a while since I joined in with the folks at Five Minute Friday. If you're just joining me, know that this is a little longer than the average FMF post and that's because I don't set a timer. Yes, I know, I know. That's supposed to be the point, but I just can't do it that way. So I kinda do it my way. If you're a fast to moderately fast reader though, this should take you five minutes or so to read (so there's your five minutes). If you'd like to join up with this week's posts on the prompt word SLOW, then hop over to this week's prompt at Kate's blog and click on the linkup at the bottom of the page. Without further ado...

SLOW

It's been almost two months since the last time I posted here and I wish I could say that it's because life has been moving really fast or that I've just been so busy that I didn't have time to write, but I can't say that. Life has been, as it happens, pretty slow. The very beginning of the year, from just after New Year's to about mid-March, tends to be a wonderfully slow time of year that follows on the heels of the whirlwind of activity that comprises daily life and the many family and faith celebrations from September to December.

And friends, let me tell you, I need slow.

I have always been a fan of this time of respite and slowed down activity, but this year, it took on a new meaning for me. I didn't really realise it until this past Thursday when I was sitting in Dr. D's office and we were wrapping up our session. It had been a pretty intense session of EMDR and talking and my emotions were pretty close to the surface. I don't recall the exact thread of conversation, but somewhere in the midst of our normal wrap up talk, he commented that he thought I was on the right track with what we were working on. I agreed with him and replied that although I knew it was, it was still hard. He said "Oh yes, I know it is. I think though, part of the reason it's hard is because it feels like your progress is coming so slowly right now, but once we get through processing a lot of these memories, you'll notice that your progress speeds up and goes much faster."

You see, through the past four years I've been wishing for fast. I've been craving for time and progress and everything to just speed up and get me through this pain I feel. It hurts a lot when you're going through severe suicidal depression and PTSD. You feel like it's a nightmare that will never end and because it's so painful and so exhausting, you yearn for the passage of time (and all the normal thing that come along with it, like therapy sessions and tears and the like) to speed up so you just don't have to feel it anymore. Slow is the last thing you want and yet, time moves along like a turtle in a swimming pool of molasses.

What struck me about what Dr. D said on Thursday is that I knew the moment he said it that it was true and that I had already experienced that. Back in November, we took a pretty significant break from doing EMDR (a traumatic memory processing technique) because of the fact that I had experienced a very intense trigger around that time that needed to be worked through. Trying to work through traumatic memories on top of dealing with intense triggers can be far too much all at once, so we stopped the EMDR and to focus on helping me cope with the intense trigger. What I noticed during this break of about 2 to 2.5 months was that my progress did, in fact, speed up. I had more energy, more ability to handle day to day stresses, lessened irritability, and my sleep wasn't nearly as fraught with nightmares as it had been.

At some point in January, once the holidays had passed and things were calmer, we started doing EMDR again. Some of the things I'd seen improve stayed, while others slowed, and still others came to a halt altogether. I found myself wishing that it would speed up again and stop with all the slow movement. I got very frustrated, but kept pressing on despite it. The more frustrated I got though, the slower it seemed to go because I was avoiding some of the things I needed to do for myself to keep moving forward. I wasn't really facing the demons of my traumas and looking them full in the face. I was only really doing the bare minimum because I wanted to get to the part where things speed up again.

When Dr. D mentioned the bit about "processing a lot of these memories" I realised that I not only had experienced this, but that the slowing down that was happening was a natural part of the process. I also realised that until the last couple of weeks, I hadn't been fully embracing that slowness or the process. I can't say what changed and made it so that I began to embrace it again, but in that moment last Thursday, I realised something very fundamental about my healing journey: I need slow.

I need these times of slowness and intense therapy where I look at these things under a microscope and plunge deep into these memories. I need these times when I am pushing forward through molasses and sobbing uncontrollably as I face the traumas of my past anew. I need the slowness of these times to allow me to really find and untangle the threads which are binding my mind in a feedback loop of reliving these memories because that is painstaking, complicated work that requires patience, determination, a great deal of help from others, and a very slow perseverance. I need the slowness of only being able to do the basics of self care and resting a lot so that I don't get overloaded. I need to feel the intensity of the emotions that surface so I can learn how to cope with them and better manage them. I need slow.

So things are slow right now. Things are really intense too. The stuff my brain has been dredging up the last couple of weeks has been so intense that I've felt weak physically and needed a boost of caffeine and food immediately afterward just to be able to drive safely. It's also needed a lot of unpacking after processing, so my sessions with Dr. D have run longer and I've been seeing Pendragon at least twice a week and almost immediately after I see Dr. D each week. You'd think that it would be therapy overload and sometimes it's pretty intense too, but it's keeping me on a more even keel than I think I would be if I didn't have that extra help. The great thing about having these two professionals helping me is that they both have different perspectives and help me find different threads of connection and understanding that I might not be able to find without them. Gray helps too. We often do a little debrief when I come home and very often, things come up that later get addressed with EMDR or in talking with Pendragon or Dr. D.

With all that intensity and slowness, I know I will be glad for a time when we break from things so that progress speeds and breathing is easier, but knowing that this slowness is part of the process and that it is moving me forward is helpful. As much as this slowness is hard, it is forcing me to look at these traumatic memories full on and really feel the impact of them in a way that allows me to understand them and move past them instead of repressing them or hiding from them.

It's very hard work and it's very painful and there are days, like yesterday, when the pain is so fierce that I want everything to end -- but I know that slow doesn't have to mean running away and death by suicide. I know that all this pain and agony as I face this stuff in the slow is shaping me into a better person who is stronger, braver, and better equipped to do the work that He has planned for me as a wife, mother, mental health/suicide prevention advocate, and child of God.

The mountain is steep and the climb arduous, breath-stealing, excruciatingly painful, and interminably slow, but I know the vista that awaits me at the top will be worth it all the more for the journey.

Quick Update -- November

It's been well over a month since I've written. I'm still alive and kicking, although more than a little bit busy. This time of year is normally very busy for our family (LOTS of birthdays, feast days, holidays, parties, school performances, etc), but it has been made even busier by an increase in therapy for me. I'll just suffice it to say that I was dreading the general election on November 8th for various reasons and then the results hit me very, very hard. I am, quite honestly, still trying to recover from that. That may not make much sense to many of you, but it is where I'm at right now. Perhaps one day I'll write more about what happened that day and what I'm currently feeling, but now is not the time for it.

Speaking of writing, I don't know how much I'm going to be writing in the next month or so. I'm kind of re-evaluating what I want to write about in this blog and if I even want to continue this blog at all. I think it serves a purpose at times, but sometimes I'm not sure that it's what I want to keep doing. I have a lot of thoughts in my head and ideas for posts, but I'm struggling a lot to make any of it make sense or sound coherent. I'm also struggling to stay true to my goal of writing on a consistent basis. I'm not totally ready to give it up, but I'm trying to discern what the best path is for me. Right now, this blog is definitely on the back burner as my family and my spiritual and mental health are my top priority.

If you want to keep up with new posts, the best way to do that is to like my blog Facebook page (Tales From A Southern Catholic Momma). When I post something new here, I'll add a post there with a link. It seems the easiest way to handle things. For now, that's about all I've got.

Pax!

Just a quick update

This week has been a beast. I'm still alive and kicking, but a lot has happened. I had something for Five Minute Friday that was mostly ready to go, but just haven't gotten back to finishing it. I know that sounds odd given that it's supposed to be an exercise done in five minutes with no editing and using the week's prompt, but I stopped doing FMF like that several months ago. So I take as long as I need to write and edit if I feel it is necessary (although I try to keep it to a bare minimum and only do what is necessary for it to be readable -- inserting forgotten articles, changing verb tenses, etc). This week, that means that I'm likely not going to be completing my FMF entry. Tomorrow (Thursday) is going to be busy for me and I doubt I'll have time to get back to it before the linkup ends.

If you're not too busy, would you send up a prayer for me? I've got a lot going on in the next few days and week and I'm dealing with all of that on top of struggling with my illnesses too. Gray could use a prayer or two as well. Whenever I'm struggling, he invariably is put under a lot more stress as well and it's so hard for him. He's so wonderfully gracious about it though. I love him so much and want to support him in prayer too.

God bless y'all.

Pax Christi,
The Momma

Five Minute Friday: Grow

It's been a few weeks since I've joined in with the Five Minute Friday community, but this week's prompt got my creative juices flowing once again. If you'd like to join in the fun, just head over to our community hostess Kate's blog Heading Home for more info! Without further ado, here's my take on this week's prompt word:

GROW

This week's prompt kinda got me thinking about a lot of different ways I could go with this idea of "grow." I wanted to start writing about it on Thursday night after my shower, but it was already getting late and I was exhausted so it got put off until now. In the meantime, I kept sort of noodling over the idea and thought I knew where I was going with it.

Until this afternoon. When M2 and her sister AB got into a bit of a fuss over watching TV (the usual fuss of one wants to watch one thing and the other doesn't), my idea about this week's prompt went right out the window.

As it was a pretty afternoon, our front door was open with the glass storm door closed to keep out bugs and let in light. The fuss between my two eldest girls ended with AB getting what she wanted and M2 getting frustrated and then walking outside. I knew she likely just needed a bit to cool off, but then I looked up and realised that it had been more than a bit, so I went outside to find her.

I called her name and she answered immediately and came up to the front porch where I was standing. The conversation went something like this:

Me: You okay?
M2: Yeah, I was just playing a bit. I should get my shoes.
Me: Probably, but it's okay for a little bit. You sure you're okay?
M2: Yeah. (sighs and looks down for a moment) I mean I was mad at AB, but I'm not now. The higher road is justice, right Momma?
Me: (taken aback and not sure what she means) What was that last bit about justice?
M2: The higher road is justice. Justice means fairness. It would be fair for AB to only get a 30 minutes of her movie instead of the whole hour and a half since I only got to watch 30 minutes of Star Trek, right? (Author's note: Yes, we are that nerdy of a family)
Me: Yes, that's right. That would be fair. But the higher road would be being generous and allowing her to watch the whole thing instead of being nitpicky about what's most fair.
M2: You're right mom. It would be.

We hugged and then she looked at me and said:

M2: But do you think maybe since I'm letting her watch the whole thing instead of just a half hour that we could have a non-messy dinner in the living room and I could watch something I want to watch?
Me: Let me talk to Daddy about it, okay pumpkin?
M2: Okay, Momma.
Me: (hugging her tight and kissing the top of her head) I love you, M2. You know that?
M2: (her hugging me back and then kissing my cheek with a grin) Yeah, I know. I love you too, Momma.

Higher road and justice and generosity....how on earth did she get so big so fast?

My original plan was to write about how much I feel like I've grown in the last several months, but this little moment with my biggest girl caught me off-guard and made me realize with a start how much she's grown in the last year. It makes me think of that that ABBA song, "Slipping Through My Fingers" which I heard for the first time while watching the movie Mamma Mia several years ago. My eldest will be 10 years old this year and yet, it seems like only yesterday that she was a baby in my arms. Time keeps slipping through my fingers and she keeps growing -- not just in her physical body, but her maturity too. It seems like this last year has been one where she's changed a lot faster.

I'll admit, there's a part of me that wants to put a rock on her head and try to slow her down, but there's also that part of me that swells with pride and joy over the young lady she is fast becoming. Kids growing up truly is a bittersweet thing and while it's hard, I'm trying to capture as many of these moments as I can because I know one day, I'll look up and she'll be heading out on her own.

Love you, bug. ~ Momma

Psalm 16

Today's psalm is one about trusting in God. Gosh, there's that theme again. Trust in God. In this particular instance, it's about resting secure in God's protection and love. Can I be honest? I still struggle with this one. The last couple of days have been hard for me as my seemingly ever-constant companion depression has reared its ugly head. Whenever that happens, it makes it difficult to feel so secure and loved by God.

The Lord is my chosen portion and my cup; you hold my lot. The boundary lines have fallen for me in pleasant places; I have a goodly heritage. (verses 5-6)

This is about the most true part of this psalm for me. I have chosen the Lord and the place where I dwell is pleasant inasmuch as I know the love of family and friends. I am also deeply grateful for the heritage I have from my upbringing and the faith of my ancestors who guarded and passed down the flame of faith to each successive generation. Because I have chosen the Lord, I know He will provide for me and my family and there is -- despite my struggles -- security in that.

I bless the Lord who gives me counsel; in the night also my heart instructs me. I keep the Lord always before me; because He is at my right hand, I shall not be moved. Therefore my heart is glad, and my soul rejoices; my body also rests secure. For You do not give me up to Sheol, or let Your faithful one see the Pit. You show me the path of life. In Your presence there is fullness of joy; in Your right hand are pleasures forevermore. (verses 7-11)

I have to admit that the past three years have made this part of the psalm harder for me. I've been plodding my way along the path, trying to remain obedient and faithful, but depression clouds my ability to hear His counsel and the nightmares definitely keep me from resting secure. The struggles with these illnesses also tend to make it harder to stand firm and not be moved.

The hardest of all, when it comes to depression and the practice of faith, is that last verse. When the darkness drags you down so low that you just want it to go ahead and swallow you whole, it makes it even harder to experience what the psalmist seems to experience so easily -- joy. I'll be honest and say that for me, joy in the Lord is something that I haven't experienced in a very long time. Even with all the spiritual healing that has taken place, joy is elusive and appears absent. Perhaps one day I will experience that joy again. I suppose I just need to trust in God and His timing.

Until next time...

Pax Christi!

Five Minute Friday: Share

I'm linking up with the Five Minute Friday community again today to spend time writing on this week's prompt: SHARE. If you'd like to join the party, come on over to Kate's blog and link up with the rest of the community! Just click here to find today's post and scroll to the bottom to link up your own musings on today's prompt. Without further ado, here are my thoughts on....

SHARE

Some people probably wonder why I share so openly on this blog. In part, it's because I've always loved to share. I was always the girl who happily shared things with others when she was little. I would share my food, share my toys, and share my love through hugs, kisses, and kind words. As I grew older, I learned in some ways to be more selfish. I suppose that's part of growing up in this fallen world, although I'm ashamed to admit that I don't share as readily as I did when I was a child.

I'll admit that I don't share chocolate very easily. I find it very difficult to share my trust. I struggle with sharing my story at times because it's really hard and takes a lot of strength and courage to do so when the story is dark and difficult. I was reminded last night though of why I love sharing. It does something to me inside that I find difficult to put into words.

Yesterday was my 40th birthday and it was a really great day by all accounts. I think part of why it was such a great day is that I did a lot of sharing. I shared some time with an old friend and her daughter over coffee and cake pops at Starbucks and then as we meandered through Target together. I shared my popcorn (from Target) with my youngest daughter for an afternoon snack. I shared my discoveries about my family history and ancestry with my mother in law. I shared the remaining cake pop with all three of my girlies.

I shared birthday dinner with my family -- including a gigantic dish of fried ice cream that was brought out to celebrate my birthday (complete with 5 spoons to facilitate sharing). * As we sat there eating spoonfuls of frosted flake covered vanilla ice cream drenched in chocolate and strawberry syrups and mountains of whipped cream, I reflected on how much I enjoy sharing with them. There is something sweet about sharing moments of joy and a delicious dessert with those I love. I think it's beccause amidst the sharing of tasty treats and time spent together, underneath it all, what we're really sharing -- is love.

And isn't that what sharing is all about? When we share with others - be it joy, time, clothes, toys, or even sorrows -- what we're really doing is showing love. I think that's why sharing appeals to me so much. It's a chance to love on people and that is something that I've always enjoyed and believed that I'm called to do.

In the interest of sharing, I'll share this with you -- while I didn't write this in exactly five minutes, I did actually set a timer today! The little * above is where my timer went off! Until next time...

A Little Housekeeping

Hi friends! Just wanted to give you a quick heads up that while I'm going to be continuing to talk about mental health and fandoms and the like, over the next few months, I am going to be doing quite a few entries on faith. This isn't a promotion or a series (although it may wind up looking like one), but just to let you know that I'm veering a little bit more toward talking some about faith.

The reason I'm telling y'all this is that I need some accountability. As usual, I spent over an hour in the presence of Jesus in the tabernacle after my meeting with Fr. B this week. I spent it offering prayers for many people I know who have needs, praying for healing for me, and just being silent before His Majesty. When I pray like this, I find that I get little gentle nudges from the Holy Spirit throughout my prayer time directing me how to pray. It's like I'm somehow a bit more open to His leading in the quiet of the church. One of the things that I have felt led to do many times is lie prostrate as I'm praying.

Yesterday was one of those days when I felt led to lie prostrate and pray. As I was praying, the words of the prophet Samuel "Speak Lord, for your servant is listening" went through my head and so I offered that up as a prayer and then lay silent, listening and waiting to see if the Holy Spirit would nudge me or speak to me in some way. And so He did. I don't hear audible words, but the nudge of the Holy Spirit was very, very clear and very very strong. What I felt Him commanding me to do is to meditate on the Psalms each day. Start at the beginning and read one each day. I agreed readily enough and then there was another strong nudge. Write about it each day and put it in the blog. I agreed, although with some trepidation. Still, I agreed, so here I am, about to start.

Would y'all help keep me accountable? This is a big task and I'm, quite honestly, a bit scared. I feel like this is a LOT that is being asked of me, but I've never refused the Holy Spirit and I'm not about to start now. I know for a fact that obedience to His nudges always winds up with me reaping some good from it, so it's to my benefit to be obedient. Please pray for me. I need prayers not only for the task ahead, but also for the strength to persevere. I know He wouldn't have asked this of me if I was unable to do it, but this isn't going to be easy.

Thanks everyone! God bless you!

Five Minute Friday: Quiet (or is it Silence?)

I'm linking up with Five Minute Friday over at my friend Kate Motaung's blog, Heading Home. No, I didn't do this in five minutes, but that's because I learned that five minutes is just not enough for me. So I do Five Minute Fridays my own way. 

Today's prompt is QUIET and I thought I knew what to write, but it just didn't come exactly. This post is something I wrote but didn't publish a few months back. The prompt word is in the post, although it was initially written using a different prompt word which has the same meaning. Confused? Yeah, I know. Me too, friend. Me too. Want to join the FMF party and link up a post of your own? Check out the links in this paragraph for more info, write your post, publish it, and then go to this week's linkup and add your link! Easy peasy!

So without further ado, my post for this week...

****

 

I didn't do the Write 31 Days challenge as I had planned this year, but this post was written using the one of the prompts that my friend Kate Motaung had on her list of prompts for her series 31 Days of Five Minute Free Writes. I didn't write this in five minutes, but the prompt spoke to me and reminded me of a memory which I've recalled below.

2009

There is a hushed quiet here. Not even the fluorescent lights hum. The night outside is long since dark and getting darker as the wee hours approach. I am sitting once again in the perpetual adoration chapel of one of the local parishes in our diocese. It is a 30 minute or so drive from our home, but the distance is worth it.

It is here in this absolute silence that I am finding the strength to stay alive.

I come here to the chapel at this hour -- 10:00pm on Sunday night -- to adore Jesus in the Blessed Sacrament, to pray, to pour out my heart to Him, and to drink in the silence of this place which is such a 180 degree difference from the chaotic noise of family life. Over these past several months I have been coming here to renew and re-anchor my spirit so that I can fight through another week. I am a committed adorer. That is to say that I have signed up with this parish and committed to come each week at this time and spend an hour with Jesus. There is a married couple who share my hour, but they too enjoy the silence and while we wave to one another or say a brief, "hello" our words are few and the silence is plenty.

It is here in this place that I come to kneel at His feet and adore Him alone. It is here in this place that He meets me and through the silence speaks peace and love back to me. Each week I drink in this quiet and His voice and His face.

Until tonight. Tonight I come as normal and after the adorer before me leaves, find myself totally alone. The couple who shares my hour are out of town, so it is just me and Jesus. The silence is made complete and in it, despite His Presence before me in the Blessed Sacrament, I am struggling to hear Him or see Him. This week has been more than a fight and I have come to this place with fresh cuts on my skin, my emotions raw and ragged, and a head full of darkness. I have come to ask His forgiveness for what I am about to do. But the words don't come and all that comes out is me kneeling and crying aloud, my sobs and wails breaking the silence. There are no words for all that I feel and all I know to say to Him is, "Please Jesus... please... please... please..." Over and over again, my prayer goes up, begging His mercy on me.

As the hour slowly comes to a close, I dry my tears and gaze upon Him in silence as I wait for AB's godfather to come and relieve me. He is a committed adorer too and has the hour after mine. When he enters, I say hello quietly and instead of answering when he asks how I am, I gaze one final time upon His face as I genuflect and make the sign of the cross and then leave in silence.

The car is quiet but for the thoughts racing through my head. The tears that fell so swiftly during the last hour threaten to come again, but don't. The numbness has set in and I am driving away from the chapel and trying to think of where to go and what I need to accomplish the task of ending my life. I drive down the street, my hands and feet going through the motions independent of my brain. Just two blocks from the church, I approach a red stop light and my foot makes the car stop. As the car stops, I am suddenly thunderstruck by what I can only describe as a powerful gut punch in my spirit.

"Come back."

What? My brain stops racing and my heart begins pounding. I look up and the light is still red.

"Come back to Me."

I swallow hard and suddenly feel as though I can hardly breathe. What??

"Come back to Me."

Lord? No, this is madness. I look up at the light again. Why is it still red? There's no traffic coming the other way.

"Come back. Come back to Me."

I can't, Lord. I can't do this anymore. Please don't make me do this anymore... I gaze at the light in a panic. Still red.

"Come back to My Presence." 

Gulp. I am shaking all over, my heart racing and breaths shallow and quick. I am surely losing my mind completely. I'm at a red light, for crying out loud! But the powerful gut punches to my spirit keep coming. The light turns green, but I can't move. I sit there frozen and overwhelmed, my brain's former path toward destruction now derailed and confused.

"Come back to Me."

Okay, Lord...help me Jesus...please... My hands fumble with the steering wheel, but I eventually manage to turn off on a side street and turn around to go back.

When I enter the chapel, I drop to my knees on the closest kneeler and sob aloud, not caring that AB's godfather is trying to pray or that I am meant to be silent. I am so caught up in this moment of pouring my heart out to Him, that I don't even hear AB's godfather get up and come to kneel beside me until I feel his hand on my shoulder. I look up and see that he is praying. He says quietly, "I've been praying for you since you left..." and that unleashes another torrent of tears. He hands me a box of tissues and when I've finished cleaning my face, we pray together in silence and somewhere amidst those prayers, the idea of ending my life fades to a more manageable distance.

After his relief arrives for the next hour, we stand outside the chapel under the silence of the darkened sky and talk about what has been going on with me. He asks if I am going home and I say yes. Then we hug goodbye and he says he'll keep praying for me and for Gray too.

I drive the 30 minutes back to our house, turning over the events of the last couple of hours in my mind. The car is quiet and I find that I am grateful for gut punches that come amidst the silence.

99 Bottles of Beer on the Wall...(A Holiday Recap)

It's a new year and believe it or not, it's already the 13th of the month! Half of January is gone and I've been slacking. Well, not exactly slacking, just not really writing. Part of that is because of something that happened last week just after we returned home from visiting Gray's family for Christmas and New Year's. I'm working on a blog post about it, but it may be a few more days before it's ready. As I've been on my computer this evening, I actually ran across something on Pinterest that might evolve into a blog series. I'm going to noodle over it for a bit, read some more at the blog where I got the idea, and with any luck, something interesting will come out of it. I actually felt a little bit of excitement when I first saw it -- which is kinda rare for me these days. Who knows?

In other news, we had a pretty good Christmas as these things go. Made the two day drive to my in-laws house, stayed about 2 weeks (from just before Christmas until just after New Year's), and made the two day drive home -- and NO ONE got sick.

Y'all. That is so HUGE.

We have been married for 10 years now and in that amount of time, we have never been able to go to my in-laws house and have everyone well when we leave, well on the road, well while we're there, and well all the way home. The usual culprit is Miss AB (our middle girl). She gets kinda pukey sick and it has the potential to be very very bad. Put it this way, we've visited the local hospital near my in-laws house TWICE because she was vomiting and we couldn't get her to keep anything down. We've also had sickness spread through the family too. Last year (Christmas 2014) while we were there, Gray got sick twice and the second time around was bad enough that we had to stay an extra day so he'd be well enough to travel! This year, I made sure we all got flu shots well in advance of the trip and on the advice of my mother-in-law, picked up some Dramamine for AB on the off-chance that her sickness might be motion-induced. It worked!

The visit itself was pretty good. We enjoyed time with Gray's brother and his wife, Gray's sister, and the girls all had fun with their cousin E-beth. We also did a studio portrait session with the whole family and got some great prints of our immediate family, one of our three girls, and a couple of others. After the portrait session, I enjoyed some girl time with my two sisters-in-law.

Also discovered that I like spicy bourbon. My brother-in-law suggested that I try Evan Williams Fire as it's very smooth. It is delicious! I bought a fifth of it and enjoyed the entire bottle over the course of the two weeks, a finger or two at a time. The only bad thing is that I am pretty sure that it's not available in my state (we have strict limits on what can be sold w/regard to alcohol) and it's illegal according to state law to bring any alcohol across state lines. Oh well! Something to look forward to when I go back! Got to go to my favourite local fabric store with my mom-in-law and snagged some Doctor Who, Star Wars, and Star Trek fabric and something that made me think of Firefly as well. Geek fabric for the win! 

New Year's Eve was a quiet evening back at my in-laws' house. We basically watched the BBC America Doctor Who marathon all day long. The only break was when we five left to go to the local parish to attend the Vigil Mass for the Solemnity of Mary the Mother of God. It's a holy day of obligation (meaning you have to go to Mass) and you can either go on the day itself (January 1st) or the evening before at the Vigil Mass. Since we knew we were going to stay up late to ring in the new year, we elected to go the evening before. I'm kinda glad we did. It was very calm and quiet in the church and to be honest, my nerves were a little bit frazzled. The church was still decorated with all the beautiful candles, Christmas trees, and the Nativity scene and there was a sort of hush as we entered and settled ourselves into a pew. I can't say that I felt a deep sense of God's presence (although I know He was there), but there was a peacefulness about being there that I've missed. After Mass, we returned to Gray's folks' house and the Doctor Who marathon continued. Dinner was yummy pot roast with mashed potatoes, carrots, and broccoli which was very comforting on such a chilly night. The rest of the evening was spent drinking hard cider (and bourbon after midnight) and snacking on chips and dip and other yummies while watching Doctor Who. I spent part of it working on my final blog post for the year. When midnight rolled around, we had only our middle daughter AB who was still awake. After kisses and hugs to welcome the new year, everyone but Balinda and I went to bed. We enjoyed some more snacks and chatted while watching TV.

M2, AB, and I had a mommy-daughters date just before we left to come home. We hit the local mall, grabbed pretzels at Auntie Anne's, browsed and bought sale items at Bath & Body Works' semi-annual sale (LOTS of yummy scented hand soaps for cheap!), and enjoyed looking at all the fun stuff at Five Below. The girls had an impromptu lightsaber battle in the store while I looked at grown-up colouring books and funky magnets. In addition to all our smelly soaps, we came home with 2 colouring books for me, 1 each for the girls, and an Inside Out magnet for our ever growing magnet collection. That night as I began the task of packing to come home, Gray and his mom and I watched the special Sherlock episode "The Abominable Bride." SO good!

We got home a couple of days after New Year's and I think we were all glad to be back in our own beds and surrounded by the familiar things of home. Vacation is nice, but it's always good to get back to the regular routine of life too.

Hope you and your family had a good Christmas and New Year's! God bless you in 2016 and always!

Advent series update

This month has flown by like a blink and despite all my best laid plans to do a series of Advent meditations, I only managed to eke out a grand total of 4 posts. Funny enough, when I had the idea to do this series, I wondered if it wouldn't be better to just do posts for each Sunday of Advent. Then I reasoned that if I kept things short, I should be able to churn out a little something each day.

I failed to remember just how busy of a month December can be. I don't know why I forgot this. It's not as though I haven't been through several Decembers in my life. I think I was just feeling overly ambitious! Whatever the reason, I think this year I have learned my lesson! If I decide to write on Advent next year, I'll confine it to Sundays. Y'all hold me to it, okay?

Christmas is almost upon us and the time for preparation of our hearts is almost at an end. Until Friday, we light our candles and wait beside the still empty manger, breathless with anticipation of the arrival of the Word Made Flesh who comes to dwell with us until the end of the age.

Five Minute Friday: Weary

This chapter of Psalms gets me every. single. time. It is SO true to the experience of despair and the weariness that comes from fighting a mental illness. It's one I have prayed many many times.

This isn't something that is easy for me to talk about and that's saying something. I talk about a lot of things on this blog that are universally considered hush-hush and things that are difficult at best to talk about with someone you trust -- much less publishing them for the entire world to see. The thing is though, if I don't talk about it, then the likelihood that someone else who is struggling with these things will start talking about it becomes less. Don't get me wrong. It's not that I like talking about depression, self-injury, PTSD, suicide, therapy, etc. It's that I need to talk about these things -- for myself and for the benefit of others who might need to hear it or find some solidarity in my words.

I have been kinda quiet with my writing of late and haven't participated in the Five Minute Friday community much at all in the last several weeks. Just haven't been able to summon the words to talk about bacon (gasp!) or dancing or anything else. This week's prompt though, just hit me where I live in a big way.

WEARY

There's a lot I could say about this word, but as I said, I need to say something that isn't easy for me to say, so here goes....

I struggle with suicide.

Five Minute Friday: Try

Note: This post is my weekly contribution to the Five Minute Friday community that is hosted by Kate Motaung on her blog Heading Home. Click here for more information about Five Minute Friday and how you can get involved! To link up with all the other entries for today's prompt word, click here.

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July 2009

"No."

"Why not? Why not try it?"

I look around the office at the book case, the desk, the carpet and window and swallow. There is a fear stuck in my throat and I don't know if I can give voice to it. I look at Pendragon again.

"H-h-hospital. You said hospitalisation program..." I manage to stammer.

"Yes, it's the partial hospitalisation program, " he says. I look down at my lap.

"I don't want to go in the hospital.." I reply.

"It's not like a real hospital. It's an outpatient program. You go during the day and then you go home at night. Actually, it doesn't even look like a hospital." Pendragon tries to explain it more fully for me.

I am wary, skittish, and very afraid. It is early days in our therapeutic relationship and I'm still learning whether or not this man sitting across from me is trustworthy. And now he wants me to stick my neck out and try something new and scary? Something that probably won't work?

"No, I don't think so."  My answers are short and to the point, something that is very unlike me, but it is anxiety creeping in and an unspoken fear that this is something that he will somehow force me to try eventually.

But he doesn't. He nods. "Just think about it, okay? I really think if you give it a try, you'll benefit greatly from what that program has to offer. There's a great program therapist, Samantha. She's really great."

He's hit one of my hot buttons. I stare at him with daggers.

"She???" I query, wondering if I've heard him correctly. He knows how I feel about women and my past experiences.

"Yes, she. Actually, she's a lot like you," he says. Unlikely, I think, inwardly rolling my eyes. Despite my attempt to keep my disgust to myself, he senses it and continues, "No really, she is. Your personalities are very similar. I really think you'd like her a lot. And all that aside, the information is good stuff and I think would be very helpful to you."

I shift in my seat, glancing down at my hands, biting my lower lip as I think. "No, no, I really don't think so."

"Okay, okay, it was a thought. If you change your mind, and decide to give it a try, there's some fliers in the reception area about it and all you have to do is let me know," he answers and turns toward the computer on his desk. I can see by the clock on the wall that our time is almost up.

"Okay," I answer. We make another appointment for two weeks later and he ushers me out of the office.

In the reception area, I pass by the fliers in their little bins on the wall and wander over. My eyes flit over the various group therapy fliers and just as I'm about to walk toward the door, I happen to spy the one marked "Partial Hospitalisation Program."

I freeze for a moment, my breath catching in my throat. Then without another thought, I reach out, grasp one of the fliers and fold it in half with my appointment paper as I walk to the car. I don't know why I took one, but now it's burning a hole in my purse and I feel like I've made some kind of decision, although perhaps only subconsciously. I open the paper and read the information on it. My stomach is in knots and I am tempted to crumple it up and toss it out the window, but I don't. I keep that paper in my purse and look at it several times, reading the information over and over again.

A month later as I am sitting in Pendragon's office for another regular appointment, I take a deep breath, trying to steady my nerves. I am sitting cross legged on the little sofa and am trying to think of how to respond to his usual opening question regarding how I am. With a tremor in my voice and feeling as though I am about to step off a ledge, the first thing that falls out of my mouth is, "Okay, so I've decided I want to try it..."

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Five Minute Friday: Free

 Note: This post is my weekly contribution to the Five Minute Friday community that is hosted by Kate Motaung on her blog Heading Home. Click here for more information about Five Minute Friday and how you can get involved! To link up with all the other entries for today's prompt word, click here.

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Maybe you're tired of me talking about it, but that's okay. I'm good with that. It's my experience and my passion and something I think more people need to talk about. Of course, I'm talking about mental illness and mental health. For this Five Minute Friday, I want to talk about something that is related and something that REALLY needs talking about. I'm going to try to do it in 5 minutes.

Self-injury.

Yeah, it's a kind of scary thing to say aloud. I'll be honest. It's not the easiest thing to talk about with regard to my own experience. So why talk about it today, with this prompt?

Because I'm free of it.


It's something that plagued me on and off from about late middle school through my early 30s. Then I went through an intensive outpatient mental health program and using the education I gleaned from that, the coping skills I learned, and the help of my therapist Pendragon (who helped me uncover the reasons why I did it), I broke free of the stranglehold this habit had on my life.

This August will make six years of freedom from self-injury. And I'm pretty stinking proud of that.

One thing freedom from self-injury isn't: easy. It takes incredible effort and it takes vigilance. Freedom also isn't being free from thoughts and temptations to self-injure. The freedom is in resisting those thoughts and temptations. Every time you resist, you get a little bit stronger. I've had some fierce temptations. I've come very close to losing the fight with those thoughts a few times, especially in the early days.

Eventually though, I got to a place where one year became two and then three and at some point, I realised that when I'm tempted, the part of me that has become stronger with resistance says, "It's not worth it to throw all this hard work away and have to start again at square one." And the part of me that's fighting yet another temptation says, "You know? You're right." And the temptation loses and I win another victory.

I am free from self-injury. If you are struggling with it, know that there is hope for you to find freedom too. If you need a friend to encourage you along the way, email me at the link in the sidebar. I promise I'll listen and be there. You can do it! You can be free too!

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Join in the Five Minute Friday fun and link up at Kate Motaung's blog!

The Other Man

Strip courtesy of peanuts.wikia.com.

Two people that I mention on a routine basis on this blog are my husband, Gray and my therapist, Pendragon. I've talked a lot about Gray's support and our story, but I haven't really talked much about Pendragon. I know some people might think it strange to go into much detail about their therapist, but he is an important person in my life and I wanted to share some of my thoughts about him.

In the last 2.5 years, I've seen him so frequently (due to the intensity of this episode of depression) that I have jokingly referred to him as "the other man in my life." Outside of Gray, he knows me better than almost anyone on the planet. It's very rare these days that I pull something out that totally surprises him. I've gotten to know a little bit about him too as he's shared different experiences he's had with similar things to give me a new perspective or encourage me that I'm not alone in something.

More Than Medication

In 2008, I was going through a particularly severe depressive episode, complete with self-injury. It began about 11 months after the birth of our second daughter, AB, but it wasn't until about 4 months later that I finally managed to make an appointment with a psychiatrist at a large psychiatric group near our apartment. I had gone off my antidepressants when I got pregnant with our eldest daughter, M2, but never got back on them postpartum because AB was conceived so soon after M2's birth. Gray suggested I might need meds again, so I made the appointment.

At the appointment with Dr. Alt, I gave him the basic history of my illness and waited for his assessment. He asked some questions about the current episode, looked back over his notes, and finally said in his pronounced German accent, "I am going to give you a prescription, but I think you would benefit from talking to someone."

My heart sank. I wasn't expecting that.

In retrospect, given that I was cutting myself and severely depressed, it was silly to think I could get away with just taking a prescription, but I didn't feel ready to talk about stuff. He continued, "So I'd like to set you up to see someone. Do you prefer a woman or a ma--”

"A man." The answer came flying out of my mouth before he'd even finished his question. He raised his eyebrows and looked down at his notes before addressing me again.

"Are you sure? You wouldn't prefer a woman?"

I shook my head and replied, "No, I wouldn't."

He continued, "The reason I ask is that in my experience, women are usually more comfortable talking to a woman."

I shook my head more firmly. "Not me. I would prefer a man, please."

He bent his head over my patient file, scribbled something down, and looked up again. "Well, in that case, I think I have just the person for you. I think you'll like him. His name is Pendragon." He made another note, then turned to look at something else on his desk. After a few moments consultation, he asked, "would next week be okay for an appointment with him?" I nodded mutely. After a bit of writing, he stood, handed me both a piece of paper bearing my new prescription and a larger one with instructions for the front office to make that appointment with Pendragon and with that, ended the appointment and ushered me out of the office.

The First Appointment

Time has a nasty habit of speeding up when you want it to crawl and the time between my visit with Dr. Alt and my first appointment with Pendragon flew by like a gust of wind. The day arrived and suddenly I found myself sitting in the parking lot, steeling myself to go inside. I finally got myself together, went in and checked in at the front desk. I sat down to wait. It must have been a few minutes, but it seemed like I'd barely sat down when I heard a pleasant sounding male voice call, "Therese?" I looked up and saw a rather tall, very young looking man holding a file folder and looking around. I stood up and we made eye contact. He repeated my name, "Therese?" I nodded quietly. "Hi, I'm Pendragon. It's nice to meet you."

I think I muttered something like "Nice to meet you too" but I can't be totally sure. My heart pounded nervously and I felt like I was barely breathing. He motioned toward the double doors that led back to the individual offices and invited me back. As we walked, I glanced at his face again and was struck by how very young he looked. Is he even old enough to be doing this? How old is he? As these thoughts went through my head, I suddenly realised that he was about six paces ahead of me. Dang, long legs! Hold up! Wow, he's tall!

I don't recall much of that first session. I do remember being surprised that he sat across from me rather than having a desk between us. I also recall that he didn't push me for details or pressure me to tell him anything more than I wanted to tell him. As a result, I didn't mention the self-injury or suicidal thoughts. I wasn't sure how he'd take it. My experience in the past had been very negative with doctors and therapists who just didn't understand self-injury and I'd only ever admitted suicidal thoughts to one other person. I wasn't sure if I could trust him with those darkest of secrets. Despite my reticence in that first session, I did find myself warming to him. He had a kind face, a relaxed approach, and my initial impression was that he wasn't judging me. At the end, we made an appointment for two weeks later. In retrospect, he must have sensed I was in more distress than I was letting on because as I was leaving, he told me that if I needed to talk before that appointment I could call during office hours, leave him a message, and he'd call me back. It was a small thing, but it made me feel a little less alone in my struggle. I decided in that moment that I thought I liked him and that this just might work out.

These Days...

Well, six years later, he still has a baby face (for real y'all, he looks like he's barely out of college), but I have since learned that he is, in fact, older than me by about 4 years. I've also learned more about him which has strengthened my ability to relate to him, be myself, and do the work of trying to recover and make positive changes in my life. These days I don't have to gallop to keep pace with his long legs, since he is now in private practice and the walk from his waiting area to his office door is only about four steps.

Because I trust him implicitly, I also, very rarely, hold anything back. He knows me well enough now though, that he can tell if I am. He still doesn't pressure me to say things I'm not ready to say, although he has perfected the art of helping me find a place where I feel able to say those things. In fact, there have been days when the depression has lain so heavy on me that my tongue was rendered silent and I couldn't bring myself to speak at all, but somehow, bit by bit, Pendragon has managed to help me find my voice and speak many difficult things aloud.

He doesn't judge me -- ever. No matter what kind of insanity falls out of my mouth or how much I sob and use half a box of tissues at one go. He doesn't care that the moment that I come in his office I kick off my sandals, tuck one foot underneath me, and plop down on his comfy sofa with all the grace of a paraplegic hippo. His office is a place where I feel safe and able to truly be my authentic self -- stripped of masks and defenses, totally honest, raw, vulnerable, and exactly who I am with all my good, bad, and in between. I've come in his office exhausted from too little sleep, in need of a shower, wearing clothes that were dirty, half out of my head from not eating for days, and so darkly depressed that I was silent as a tomb and have found deep concern, a lot of patience, and and a determined perseverance to help me find my way to a better place through self-care, coping skills, and changes in my thinking. I never feel like I'm under some kind of judgmental scrutiny.

Despite the lack of feeling scrutinized, Pendragon is keenly observant and is able to glean an awful lot about me and the kind of week I've been having before I've said the first word. I first noticed this two years ago when I had an appointment after one of the most traumatic days of my life. I know therapists are trained to be observant, but I think he is particularly so and it's very helpful as he has used those observations to point things out to me that I wasn't even aware of previous to that moment.

Lest you think that our sessions are all gloom and doom, we do laugh. In fact, there have been several moments where both of us were shaking with laughter. It's a darn good thing too, because the nature of mental illness is that you really need that kind of pressure valve to release tension and help ground you a bit. Pendragon also encourages me in the good things in my life like my marriage, my kids, and most importantly, my faith. He is, like me, a Christian (although not Catholic) and understands the vital role my faith plays in my life and in my mental health. His encouragement of the pursuit of my faith has been especially important as I've struggled mightily over the past 2 years with feeling connected to God and wanting to remain faithful in my walk with Him.

I am immensely grateful to God for bringing Pendragon into my life. To be honest, I do not have adequate words to express my gratitude. I am thankful for his listening ear, outsider perspective, professional expertise, and immeasurable amount of compassion, gentleness, and caring with which he has helped me through many a difficult situation and some of my darkest hours.

And so with that, I will wind this up and say "Thanks be to God for His merciful gift of a compassionate healer who helps me be just pensive enough to fight and slay my dragons."

Update - June 24, 2015

Life has been moving along pretty quickly these days. I haven't been writing a whole lot, but I've been trying to keep up with the Five Minute Friday posts as often as possible (along with joining the #fmfparty on Twitter on Thursday nights!) and post the odd thing as I am inspired. To be perfectly honest, depression has been kicking my tuchus of late. The last week or so has been a bit better, but I've been in trip planning/packing mode so blogging has been lower on my list of priorities.

Trip, you ask? Why yes indeed!

I'm headed to Boston this weekend for the Out of the Darkness Overnight walk which raises funds for suicide prevention (<---- click the highlighted link to donate to my fundraising efforts). It's organized by the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention and the funds raised go to support their programs which help educate people about suicide prevention, help those in crisis situations, advocate for better mental health care, and provide support programs for those who have lost a loved one as the result of suicide (those people are often called "suicide survivors" which is not to be confused with people who have survived a suicide attempt). They have a very ambitious, but I believe doable, goal of reducing suicide by 20% by the year 2025. Given that approximately 112 Americans die by suicide every day, that's saving just over 8,000 a year! What a huge difference that would make!

So to help achieve this goal, the AFSP does local walks and national walks. The walk in Boston is one of two national walks this year and will take place this Saturday night. It starts at dusk and you walk a distance of about 16-18 miles through the night and into the dawn of a new day. The journey is a symbolic one in that for those who struggle with suicidal thoughts, often the darkness seems to go on forever, but the reality is that the dawn does come if you hold on long enough. The reality is that the dawn is hope and there is hope for those who are struggling with the kind of intense mental illness that leads one to contemplate or attempt suicide.

For me, this is both a journey of solidarity and also a personal journey. If you've read much of my blog, you'll know that I am no stranger to depression and suicidal thinking. Both have been with me for many years and will likely be with me most of my life. For me, this walk is something I want to do to show support to others who struggle but also as a means of healing for myself. It is my hope -- and it makes me a bit nervous to use that word -- that this experience will help heal some old wounds and some more recent wounds and greatly diminish the struggle with suicidal thoughts that has plagued me so intensely for the last couple of years.

I'm not expecting a miraculous sort of healing to take place, but I know that these kinds of things do have the potential to cause certain things in us to shift, to get us thinking, and perhaps prompt us toward positive change. I know one change it has already wrought in me and that's that I feel a definite pull toward becoming more involved in mental health awareness and advocacy. I'm not sure where that's going to lead, but this walk is a good place to start, I think. During the walk, I am going to take lots of pictures and I'm going to try to blog some of those either during the walk itself or just before I crash post-walk, so be on the lookout for that!

For now, I need to start a load of laundry so that tomorrow I'll be ready to get my bag packed. Please say a prayer for me as I take this journey and pray for Gray too. He's going to be home with our three wild little women for the whole weekend while I do this. I know he's up to the task, but I also know how energetic and sometimes trying they can be.

Pax Christi,
TM

Five Minute Friday: Blue

Note: This post is my weekly contribution to the Five Minute Friday community that is hosted by Kate Motaung on her blog Heading Home. Click here for more information about Five Minute Friday and how you can get involved! To link up with all the other entries for today's prompt word, click here.

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The very blue sky of twilight silhouetting the bare branched oak in our front yard.

Have you ever had a blue day? You know what I  mean. A day when you felt down or sad or just in some kind of a funk? I think we all have.

As you may have noticed, I write a lot about having blue days and that's because so much of what I deal with on a daily basis is depression. But depression isn't a blue day. It can be a blue mood, but depression is much more than that. For me, when my depression gets very very bad, it's much closer to inky black than blue.

The fact is that depression is far more than just a blue day. It is a diagnosis of a particular mental illness. It's much more complex than just feeling down or even feeling hormonal because it's "that time of the month." It's more than just getting angry because someone hurt your feelings. It's more than the heartbroken feeling of having a boyfriend break up with you or a friend be unkind. It's not just feeling a little less hungry or having such a rotten day that you feel like you need a slice of chocolate cake.

Depression is all of these things at once and multiplied by 100 or more. Truthfully, these symptoms are just the short list and 100 is a conservative figure. I've had days where it was so heavy that it felt like it was closer to multiplied by 1000. It's a complex and often puzzlingly arduous disease to deal with and one that I wouldn't wish on the most evil person in the world. It is a fight and a struggle -- sometimes one that is so intense and difficult that it becomes a matter of life and death.

So I say this to say this -- please remember when life gets you down and you're having a blue day that it's not the same thing as feeling depressed or struggling with depression. Please don't say that you are "so depressed" when the reality is that given a few hours' good sleep, a long chat with a good friend, or even a slice of that chocolate cake, you'll find yourself feeling much better. Blue days are blue days and exaggerating them into something they are not diminishes the real struggle of mental illness.

For more information about what depression looks like and how to help and support those you know who are struggling with it, read 10 Things To Know About Depression (part 1 and part 2).

And since today's prompt word is blue....my new pretty blue fingernail polish! Ta da!!!

It's hard to tell in this picture, but it's sparkly too! So much fun in such a tiny bottle!

Join in the Five Minute Friday fun and link up at Kate Motaung's blog!

A Little Something Different

The next couple of weeks are going to be a bit on the busy side with various things of life, so to that end, I am going to be using some prompts. I found a wonderful set of word prompts for April courtesy of a fellow blogger I found on Pinterest whose blog is called The Habit of Being. The full set of prompts for April can be found at http://thehabitofbeing.com/writealm/ if you're interested.

I'll still be participating in the Five Minute Friday community on Fridays and will try to post some other things as inspiration strikes and time permits. One project that is in the works for this Easter season is my conversion story. I have mentioned several times that I'm a convert to Catholicism and that I want to share that story with you, but have yet to put it all down. My goal is to have that finished and posted by Pentecost Sunday.

Finally, a brief update on my #oneword365 words for 2015. So far, I have managed to write at least 1 entry per week and most weeks at least 2 per week. There have been a couple of weeks when I've missed writing an entry, but for the most part, I've managed to "follow" through with my goal to "write" more consistently. The other part of "follow" is that I wanted to continue to follow through with some goals, follow up on some things that have been neglected for a while, and continue to follow Him with perseverance despite my struggles of mental health and how it has shaken my faith. The last one has been a real test for me, but I have managed to continue to do what I need to and have even had some moments where I feel as though my following Him hasn't been in vain. I suppose that's a positive thing.

For now, I need to move my feet and follow them upstairs to bed. It is the wee hours of the morning and my bed is calling me.

Celebrations

I've been a bit busy since Friday the stuff of life and with some celebrating too. My birthday has come once again and I've been treated to fun dinners, shopping with my mom, and all manner of nice things. Saturday night was our family's night to celebrate and then Monday was my day with my mom and our three girls (M2 and AB had the day off school), and tonight was dinner out with my best girlfriend, Sif. I have been blessed by lots of well-wishes on Facebook and text messages and the like from friends. It has been a lovely, lovely birthday. Thanks to all who wished me well. Here's to another year and to quote Colonel Potter in MASH, "May she be a damn sight better than the old one."

Tomorrow, I'll get this week's Daybook Online Journal posted and start work on something for Theology Thursday.

Peace to you and yours!

Just a quick update

I haven't posted anything in the last couple of days because I've been kinda horribly sick. It's just an upper respiratory infection, but it's a particularly nasty one that if left untreated, could become walking pneumonia. It made me feel a bit like this:




I've had no speaking voice for two days (other than a really sad sounding high pitched barky rasp) and started losing my voice about four days ago. All of this prompted me to go see a doctor yesterday where I got diagnosed, got some meds on board, and a prescription for more to take at home. Thankfully, that seems the injected meds I got yesterday and the one dose I took orally last night seem to be helping as I opened my mouth this morning and it still sounded raspy, but not nearly as bad. I still feel pretty weak and run down by this thing too, so I am trying to rest as much as possible, drink lots of fluids, and take my meds as prescribed.

It may be another couple of days before the fuzzy headed feeling that accompanies this kind of thing clears enough that I can write something meaningful, but I'll be back when I'm feeling better. Hope all of you have a wonderful Friday and a blessed weekend!