Better Living Through Chemistry

I have a chronic illness - Fibromyalgia. Fibro comes with a whole host of symptoms. Muscle pain, stiffness, fatigue, insomnia, forgetfulness. So most days I feel like I've been run over by a truck while suffering the worst case of flu I've ever had, only I can't remember the truck ran over over me so I wander around trying to figure out why I feel so lousy.

Good times.

There is no cure for fibromyalgia. In fact, there are a lot of doctors who don't really believe that it's even a real illness. So, because there is no cure, the best that Western medicine can do is treat the symptoms with a whole pharmacy of medications.

Muscle pain? Check. Here's a pain pill and some muscle relaxers.

Insomnia? Check. Here's a sleeping pill.

Depression? Check. Here's a happy pill.

Fatigued? Sorry. Can't give you a pill for that. But oh, by the way, all the other medications you take will probably make that worse, so you will just have to find time in your day to rest when you get sleepy.

Right.

Did I mention I'm also a single parent with two little boys? One of them is in school all day long and the other goes to half day pre-school four days a week. And I'm the only one there to make sure they're fed, have clean clothes, get up on time, have clean dishes to eat off of, have a home that's reasonably clean, etc., etc., etc.

And it DOES NOT MATTER how long I sleep at night or how much I get to rest during the day. I'm still DOG-ASS tired all day, every day.

And on the days when I do feel pretty okay, I try to do everything that hasn't gotten done and then I pay for it the next three days. And the cycle repeats.

I recently started taking Lyrica which also causes fatigue, dizziness and blurred vision. Oh yeah, and it may cause weight gain. Oh good. I'm a "curvy girl" already. So on top of everything else, now I have to worry about clothes that don't fit and muscle and joints that already hurt are going to be required to work that much harder and hurt that much more.

Sigh. Tears.

I remember a time when I felt normal. Every day now is a struggle to find some kind of balance between rest and getting done what I need to get done.

There are really bad days. Like Monday. I got my older son up and off to school and then went back to sleep until my other son woke up. I got him some breakfast and then went back to sleep for another four hours. And I didn't hear anything until the phone rang at 3:00. It was my mom telling me the school had kept my son off the bus because they thought Grandma was going to pick him up. And in the meantime, I had missed three other calls. And my little guy spent the day playing by himself.

That breaks my heart. And scares the hell out of me.

I really don't know where the humor is to be found. I can laugh sometimes about my scatterbrained-ness. But mostly it's just frustrating and embarrassing.

And I don't know where the positive is either. My faith tells me that God has a purpose for me. But I'll be damned if I can figure out what it is. People keep telling me to be patient, that more will be revealed.

But patience, humor and hope are sometimes in pretty short supply around here these days.

No Memory, No Life

So. I'm sitting there watching Monday Night Football last week and it hits me.

It's premiere week. (They've only been advertising it for how long now? And I STILL managed to forget?) All the shows that have been in reruns all summer are back with new episodes. AND there are all kinds of new shows on too. So now I have to decide which ones to watch and when.

Thank God for TVGuide.com or I would have missed everything.

Monday night, of course, is football. And right off the bat, we have a conflict because Monday night is a meeting night for me. Sorry, 12 & 12 guys, but if Minnesota or Pittsburgh play on Monday night and it's a cake night, someone else is gonna have to bring the cake. And, since "Baby" (Jennifer Grey) is on Dancing With the Stars, I will be flipping back and forth between the dancing and the touchdowns. She has been awesome the last two weeks, just so you know.

Tuesday night brings NCIS because Marc Harmon is really an oh-so-very-sexy older man. And I just love Abby - the Goth Princess slash awesome forensic analyst. If I had my life to do over, that's what I would do. Forensic science. Not as big a fan of NCIS Los Angeles but who doesn't love LL Cool J?? And then it's over to ABC for Detroit 1-8-7 which is basically NYPD Blue only in Detroit. It was okay. But I wonder why bother putting the F-word in the script when you know it's just going to get bleeped?!

Wednesday is a big night. I love, love, L-O-V-E  LOVE The Middle. I am SO Frankie it's not even funny. And Modern Family and Cougar Town crack me up as well. Wednesday gets tricky though, because there is more than one show on at a time that I want to watch. Since I don't have DVR, I have to do some creative scheduling. AND, because I can't remember anything past the end of my nose, I actually have to write it down. From 7 until 9 I'm on ABC for the above mentioned sitcoms. At 9 I'm over to NBC for Law & Order: SVU. On to CBS at 10 for Criminal Minds and then back to ABC at 11 for The Whole Truth. That's a new one with Maura Tierney (previously Abby on ER) and Rob Morrow (previously Fleischman from Northern Exposure).

I am so very glad that we get the Spokane channels here. Otherwise, I might actually have to (GASP) make a decision or something. Or you know, tear myself away from the TV and actually do something resembling constructive. Or something.

That brings us to Thursday. And if I had to pick one night to watch TV, Thursday night would be the one I would pick. And why is that, you ask??

Grey's Anatomy.

I admit it. I'm a RABID Grey's Anatomy fan. My secret shame? I have bookmarks on my computer for the voice-overs at the beginning and the end of each episode. Don't call me, don't text me, don't e-mail me (if you expect to speak to me or expect me to respond immediately) while Grey's is on. And don't come over unless you plan to sit quietly until a commercial comes on. I mean, c'MON people!! McDreamy almost DIED last season!!

And then there's Friday. I don't often get to watch TV on Friday and so I'm TOTALLY bummed that CSI:NY has been moved to Friday night. The only other one that interests me is the new cop show with Tom Selleck - Blue Bloods.

Yeah, I know. I'm lame. I have no life. I have no man (not that THAT'S such a big loss).

I actually have my "schedule" written down because along with not having a life, I have no memory, either.

Happy viewing!! And if I'm missing something that's totally worth watching, leave me a comment and tell me what I might be missing.

Happy Wednesday, Indeed

So, it's Wednesday. The one day a week where I don't have to go anywhere and I don't have to take anybody anywhere. Both the boys are in school so I have my house completely to myself from 11:30 until 3:00.

I could dance naked in my living room if I wanted to and no one would know. Hmmmm. Maybe I should look into getting one of those portable stripper poles.......

Anyway.

Wednesday. Nothing to do. So I have decided that since I get the house to myself everyday from 11:30 to 3:00 it's only fair that the children should have some time to run riot as well. I know, this could be a gigantic disaster, but we'll give it whirl anyway.

So. I am barricaded in my bedroom and the kids have control of the living room and all it's amenities. The DVD/CD player, the Wii, the big screen TV, everything. Right now they are jamming out to Collective Soul. Music blaring, air guitars going, dancing about and singing at the top of their little lungs. Only trouble with that is they only know a couple lyrics to every song. And a couple of them need a much bigger bucket.

In keeping with the nothing-to-do-on-Wednesday theme, I decided not to cook on Wednesdays either. Last week was the whole cold delivery pizza fiasco. This week we had roasted chicken from the grocery store deli. I had to get two so that everyone would have a drumstick. And a little sweet somthin-somthin for desert.

And everyone is happy. For the moment. I'm sure that will change, but for now....

In this moment....

Everyone is happy.

RedBird Wisdom

I was given this little nugget of wisdom from my friend, RedBird this weekend.

"Don't tell God how big your problems are. Tell your problems how big your God is."

I don't know why, but this one has stuck with me all weekend. It bothers me. And it's weird because lately I can't remember shit unless I write it down. But I remembered this.

Maybe it sticks with me because I'm guilty of the first part of that statement. I tell God how big my problems are.

I say in my description of my blog that I do a lot of bitching here. And now that I think about it, I do a lot of bitching to God, too. I like to think I'm praying, but when it comes right down to it, I'm really just complaining. I hurt. I don't feel good. My kids are driving me crazy. My roommate is an idiot. The woman he's dating is icky. I'm lonely. I'm tired. I'm sad. The dumb ass that I got behind in traffic made me late.

And I have this attitude like "Here's what's wrong. Now, what are You gonna do about it??"

That's the wrong attitude. I should be saying thank you for another day. Even though I hurt and don't feel good, I woke up this morning. Thank you for these beautiful, healthy, smart children who, even though they drive me crazy, also make me smile every single day. Thank you for my stupid roommate because he does pay his rent and who he dates is none of my business. And I am tired, but I do have opportunities to rest. I just need to take them! And even though I'm lonely, I do know that I am never alone.

God has a plan for me. And instead of bitching around about everything that's wrong, I should be praying for His guidance and care as I try to figure out what that plan is.

Stupid Warning Labels

Common sense has apparently become exceedingly uncommon. This fact is made clear by number of insanely obvious warning labels on EVERYTHING.

Common sense tells me that if I order coffee, it's probably gonna be hot. And, also, if I get a Slush Puppy, it's gonna be cold. And yet, there are apparently people in the world for whom these are not obvious facts and so the words are printed on the cups.

WARNING: CONTENTS MAY BE HOT!! No! REALLY?

and

WARNING: CONTENTS MAY BE COLD. Ya THINK?!

I even found one on my cat litter. Well, not so much a warning as an assurance, but still, seemingly, painfully obvious.

THIS PRODUCT IS SAFE TO USE AROUND PETS. No kidding!

I heard a little tid-bit on the morning news the other day that got me thinking on this subject. Apparently there is a question out there as to whether or not there should be warning labels on cell phones stating that texting while driving may be hazardous to your health and the health of others. AND, apparently we also need to have a discussion about whether or not it is inappropriate for train engineers to be texting while driving the bleeping train.

Are you kidding me? We really need to DISCUSS that? Let me answer that for you. YES. IT IS ENTIRELY INAPPROPRIATE. Never mind dangerous and stupid and negligent and about a thousand other things I could list.

Naturally, I had to know more so I Googled "stupid warning label." Here are some pearls of obvious wisdom that I found especially entertaining.

Bayer Aspirin: Do not take if you are allergic to aspirin.

Sleeping Pills: May cause drowsiness.

Midol (you know, the "special pills" for GIRLS): Do not take this product, unless directed by a doctor, if you have difficulty urinating due to enlargement of the PROSTATE GLAND (only boys have those, just so you know.)

On a jig-saw puzzle: Some assembly required.

Hair Dye: Do not use as an ice cream topping. (WTF?)

Lawnmower: Do not attempt to remove blade while mower is running.

Chainsaw: Do not attempt to stop chain with hands or genitals.

Pudding: Will be hot after heating.

Frozen Pizza: While cooking, place crust side down.

Deodorant: Use on underarms only.

At McDonald's: Parking for drive-thru customers only.

There were way too many to list them all. Here's the link if you would need a good laugh.

http://www.dumbwarnings.com/

Like I said, common sense is shockingly, exceedingly, woefully in short supply.

The Art of Complaining

Sometimes it's good to complain. In order to get results though, you have to do it right.

And I'm not usually one to complain very often. Okay, so I'm not one to complain very often to anyone who can do anything to fix the problem. And if I do, I'm more likely to be completely bitchy about it.

But last night I did some complaining and managed not to be a total bitch and was actually pleasantly surprised with the results.

The kids wanted pizza and I happened to have a tiny bit of cash so I decided I would treat them to delivery instead of the sauce-on-cardboard frozen variety. I placed the order on-line (a handy little feature, by the way) and the estimated delivery time was 5:52 p.m.

Twenty minutes after the estimated delivery time, almost an hour after I ordered it, the pizza finally shows up and it's barely even warm.Usually it's so bleeping hot that you burn your mouth off trying to eat it.

So, I call the pizza place, fully prepared to rip someone's face off. But something interesting happened. Instead of ripping the poor person who had the back luck to answer phone to shreds, I took a second, took a breath, and simply stated the facts. We ordered a pizza, it arrived 20 minutes late, it was cold. And then, instead of firing off some smart ass comment that was entirely inappropriate and would have pissed the girl off, I just waited for an answer. And instead of being snotty to me because I had been bitchy to her, the young lady offered to either send us out another pizza or post a credit to my account.

So, even though I was boiling over on the inside, because I was able to be civilized, we get a free pizza next time we order.

Progress, not perfection.

Stupid Shit #4 - The Jersey Shore

Please. Really?

I have to admit, I have not watched this show very much. I tried a couple of times but couldn't finish a whole episode.

Snookie was on Letterman last night. Smart girl, that one. (Once again, I wish there was a "sarcasm" font.)What is that thing on her head? What the hell is a Guido and a Guidette? And what is a "gorilla cheese pie?"

And there are eight of these idiots living in a house for the summer whose greatest ambitions are to sleep until noon, have a cocktail, get ready, go out and have many cocktails, fight amongst themselves, do each other and anyone else they can get their hands on, and have more cocktails.

I just don't get it. Maybe I'm too old to get it. Maybe I'm too intelligent to get it. I don't know. But I just don't get it.

Or, maybe I do get it. Maybe it reminds me of a time in my life when I acted like that - sleeping until 1 or 2 in the afternoon, getting ready to go out, going to the bar and drinking until closing, partying at the house until dawn, passing out and sleeping until 1 or 2 in the afternoon and so on and so on.

Sigh. I hope it doesn't take them 20 years to realize that there is so much more to life than that.

Like Letterman said, "People like to watch the show because it makes them feel better about themselves."

Counting Blessings - My Mom and Dad

I am fortunate to have great parents who love me and never hurt me and who still do more for me than I will ever be able to thank them enough for. I was reminded today that not everyone has that and my heart breaks for her.

When we're little, we love them without question. They are our heroes. They can chase away bad dreams, slay the dragons in the closet, kill the spiders. They tell us not to stick our tongues on the wrought iron porch railing or the metal screen door when it's 30 below, and when we do anyway, they kiss away the boo-boos. They are Santa Clause, The Tooth Fairy, The Easter Bunny and The Great Pumpkin all rolled into one.

We get a little older and they might still be our heroes, but we start to get this feeling that they're not invincible super-heroes; that they're human and the do human things. Our boo-boos get bigger - broken hearts, broken limbs, broken promises. We do dumb things - like, backing the LTD through the garage door. (The door had windows at the time, the sun was going down and was level with said windows and when I checked the rear view, I swear the damn thing was open.) Dad wasn't happy.....wasn't happy to such a degree that he couldn't look at me. (And then over the years, both Mom and Dad have both taken a turn at backing through the door. WITHOUT the excuse of the sun blazing through the windows.)

A little older still and it seems we can't WAIT to get away from them, get out on our own where we have no rules, no curfews, no "stay away from my daughter" bullshit. (By the way dad, you absolutely knew what you were talking about.) And the boo-boos get even bigger. Sometimes, the boo-boos land us in the hospital for a week because sleeping pills and whiskey.....not a good combination.

And then we grow up, get married, have kids of our own and our parents get to say "I told you so!" because our children act just like we did and drive us just as crazy. And our spouses do dumb things and break promises and break our hearts.....sometimes even break our spirit.

But through it all, the one constant, the one thing that never changes and never goes away is their love and support. That love and support doesn't always look like or sound like what we want it to. My dad rarely says "I love you." But he comes and mows my lawn or brings the snow-blower and clears my sidewalks and my driveway. Love you too, Dad. And thanks.

My mother gets angry at the things that hurt me - my illness, my Former Supposed Spouse - and sometimes I get angry back because I think she's mad a me. But I know that she just wants the best for me. It hurts her to see me hurting and she gets frustrated when she can't "fix" me like she could when I was little.

So even though they drive me stark raving crazy sometimes, I honestly don't know what I would do without them. I don't know what I would do if my mother was like Maxine (my best friend's supposed mother) and was so wrapped up in her own miserable, minuscule, and unbelievably selfish little life that she couldn't be bothered to spend some time with her grandchild.

So, yeah. I'm counting Rex and Kris among the many blessings in my life.

Stupid Shit and Simple Joys

As promised, there is more stupid shit!

Stupid Shit Thing #3: Court Shows on TV

Judge Judy. Judge Mathis. Judge Pirro. Judge Alex. Judge Joe Brown. The Peoples' Court. Divorce Court. And now, Swift Justice with Nancy Grace.

Setting aside the fact the I find Ms. Grace even more obnoxious than Judy, do we really need another court show? Really?

I think not.

Judge Pirro: Did you know that in some states an engagement ring is considered a "conditional gift?" It's yours on the condition that you marry the guy. If you don't marry the jack-ass, you are required by law to return it. Not pawn it. Not throw it away. Not stick it in a drawer and lie about having lost it. AND, if you are really dumb enough to buy your gold-digger girlfriend Brazilian butt implants, don't count on getting your money back. She doesn't have it. That's why she's a gold-digger.

Go figure.

Judge Mathis: "Dope fiend" dad won't pay his child support. REALLY? You're KIDDING?

Oh and this was the best nugget of the day: "It ain't hearsay if YOU tell her about it!!"

Moral of the story, if you don't want your ex-wife to know that you are snorting coke and shooting heroin with your mother while your son is spending the weekend with you, DON'T TELL HER!!

It's like watching a train wreck. You can see it coming. You know it's going to be horrific. You're powerless to stop it but you just can't look away. It is at least comforting to know that someone else has a life even more screwed up than mine.

Think I'll go count my blessings now.

Simple Joys: Watching My Children Play

Much of the time, my boys don't so much play together as much as they try to kill each other. I'm told this is a phase they will eventually grow out of. Here's hoping they live that long.

But last night - last night was one of those rare, almost magical nights where they actually did play together. And it was a thing of beauty to behold.

My mom cooked dinner - roast beef with all the trimmings - one of my favorites. She knew I've been sick and would not feel like cooking so she called us up and invited us over. Thanks mom. (You're one of those blessings I will be counting.) And everyone actually cleaned their plates without too much of a fight. Yea!!

After dinner, I went outside to smoke and I sat on Mom's front porch and watched the kids run up and down the sidewalk. It was such a lovely evening. It was cold (it actually snowed here yesterday, but I've decided it doesn't count since it didn't stick) but the clouds had cleared off a little and the wind had stopped. It was so still I could hear the cheering from the softball field by Taco John's (mom's house is right next to the high school).

And they weren't fighting over toys, or bikes, or who goes first or who won the race....they just raced. From our driveway down the block to the black bench and back. From the end of the driveway up to the front step and back. From the driveway around to the garage and back. Ethan had a little trouble because he was wearing his cowboy boots so Bryson slowed down a little and actually let his little brother win a couple of times.

Wow. I'm speechless.

And when we got home, everyone went to bed without too much of an argument.

Again, speechless.

The Thing About Addiction....

Here's the thing about addiction - it never really goes away.You can stop using your drugs. You can stop drinking your alcohol, but the addiction remains......disguised as longing.

Longing for the pain to go away. And it DOES NOT matter what you were addicted to - booze, drugs, food, sex, shopping, self pity, swinging from the ceiling - the longing is ALWAYS for the pain to go away.

A very good friend of mine in recovery tells me that SOBER stands for "son of a bitch everything's real." And yeah. It is.

And I sometimes get swallowed up whole by the longing for the pain to go away. The pain of loss. The pain of love that leaves. The pain of a child who's hurting that you can't do anything about. The physical pain that doesn't let my body work as well as it once did. The pain (and I can't quite figure out where this one is coming from) that makes me cry because I couldn't buy a bag of ice at Sinclair tonight because there was fresh-poured concrete in front of the ice chest. The pain of the mundanity of life. I start thinking that I just want the pain of all those things piled on top of each other to go away. (That's probably why I cry over ice - all those things piled up on top of each other.)

And I start thinking about what would most effectively do the job. Drugs. Food. Sex. Booze. Maybe all of the above. And I remember a time when I would use all of the above to do just that. (That's how I know they will work!!)

But here's the thing. Here's the thing that's different this third time. Here's the thing that let's me know I'm really, truly, in recovery this time.

It's ALL temporary. The relief those things would bring. The happiness I may (or may not) feel while using those things. Even the pain that causes me to consider those things in the first place.

It's               all               temporary.

In the past, I've never been able to get to that little tidbit. All I could think about, focus on, long for.....was the relief.

Today I can go to the thought that I might feel better if I drink a bottle of Crown and get past that to the thought that says the relief would be temporary and get past THAT thought to the one that tells me it will only make everything worse. That's the cycle of addiction. We drink (or use, or shop, or eat, or fuck) to make the pain stop and it does and then it comes back worse and brings his friend guilt so we drink more to make the pain stop and it does and then it comes back worse and brings his friends guilt and anger....and so on and so on and so on and so on until we end up in the abyss.

I'm lucky, I guess. I found the bottom of my abyss and at the bottom of my abyss was the door to Alcoholics Anonymous instead of the door to the afterlife. I've made it to "the long run" I think. I have tucked some things away "for future reference" as my mother is so fond of saying.

I've learned some things, maybe. I've grown up a bit. And I can still look back at all the fun times I had (yeah, it definitely was not ALL bad ;-}) but I can continue with the thought process that brings me to the knowledge that it is SO MUCH BETTER NOW.

Even when I don't feel fabulous.

Dyson Vacuum Cleaners

So, I loaned my somewhat-better-than-average-but-nothing-spectacular vacuum cleaner to the FSS's ex-wife (can anyone say chump?) so that she could clean up her nasty, filthy, dog-licking-ass-faced, disgusting PIT of a house so that she could I don't know, feel better about herself?

And it came back to me broken. And I mean not just broken, but broken to the extent where I could not fix it, broken. There was so much carpet string and pieces of plastic bags and crap (and yes, I do literally mean CRAP) wrapped around the beater brush that it would no longer turn.  And even if it had turned instead of burning up the belt, the little piece of hose that runs from the beater bar to the big long hose that runs to the canister was so stuffed with - well I'm not entirely sure what it was...maybe pieces of the inside of a bed that one of the cats had shredded in order to get inside the mattress and have her kittens?? - that it would not suck.

Mind you, I did not discover any of THIS until after I had pulled the big long hose out of it's spot to see if it was clogged up and discovered that it had a sizable GASH in it. Yeah. I was just a little pissed off.

And this was just the latest in a string of events with this woman. In fact, it was the very last straw on the very last lame-ass camel's back. I was, and remain, so done trying to help her out. She, and her house, are in God's hands now.

So I call my mother in a fit of tears because the whole reason I needed my vacuum cleaner back was so that I could clean up a mess the children had made with Itty Bitty Kitty's food. It was all over the floor. I asked if I could please borrow her vacuum cleaner. I did not remember at the time that she had purchased herself a Dyson for Christmas this past year.

Let me put it this way - I would perform sexual favors to anyone willing to purchase one of these machines for me.

It is really all that AND a bag of really delicious chips. I vacuumed my floor, I vacuumed my drapes, I skimmed the corners between the walls and the ceiling and quite efficiently removed the cobwebs. I EVEN VACUUMED MY TEXTURED CEILING AND THE TEXTURE IS STILL IN PLACE!!! Dust and cobwebs, not so much.

So, yeah. Dyson vacuum cleaners really do do what they say they do. Just thought you should know.

Stupid Shit

There is so MUCH stupid shit in my life right now that I have to write. I have to vent. I have to purge. I have to get it out or it will eat me alive. So for today, here are a couple. I am certain I will have more.

Stupid Shit Thing #1: Sex Inventories

For those of you not familiar with the 12-Step process, the Sex Inventory is part of the 4th Step (Made a searching and fearless moral inventory of ourselves.) In the Sex Inventory, one makes a list of people with whom you have actually had sex or ever wanted to have sex or ever even thought about having sex.

And I used to have a list. I was proud of the list because I could look at it and say, quite sanctimoniously, that I never had sex with anyone that I didn't know their first and last name. I don't know what happened to the list. But it's gone. Along with my sanctimony. And a good deal of my self respect. What is left is a list with many of the names intact, but there are a few that escape me.

Maybe that's for the best.

In the inventory, we list the person and the reason and the circumstance. While there are lots of names, there is really only one reason and one circumstance. I was drunk and I wanted someone to love me.

And I'm fairly disgusted with myself.

And guess what - It was hard. It was scary. It was painful.

But here's the thing - even though I put it on my "Stupid Shit" list, now that it's done, I recognize the value in having done it (no pun intended). I can't move forward until I am willing to look at where I have been. There's no room for a sane future until I "clear away the wreckage of the past." So, here I am, clearing away.

Stupid Shit Thing #2: My Former Supposed Spouse

My Former Supposed Spouse (FSS) is currently incarcerated and so along with everything else, I am also a single parent to two beautiful little boys, ages 6 and 4.

The FSS does not believe that his unfortunate incarceration has had any effect on his children.

I beg to differ.

When the 4-year-old and I got home from his first day of preschool, he told me we were going to play a game and the game was called "Jail." He was the cop. I was the bad guy. He put the fake handcuffs on me and led me to my room where he informed me that I was now in "jail" and had to stay there until he said otherwise. He did take the handcuffs off and did tell me I could still use my phone, smoke my cigarettes, and use the bathroom when I needed to.

No effect, huh? Yeah. Whatever.

I'm trying REALLY hard to find a positive way to spin this so that it doesn't drive me crazy. My child has an AMAZING imagination. He tells me the MOST amazing stories. This is the first time this particular tale has played out and it just about broke my heart.

Get to Know Me Getting To Know Myself

Ok. I will be the very first one to admit it. I don't feel FABULOUS every day.

In fact, most days, I feel far from it.

I am a sober alcoholic. This is my third try at it. It's scary. It's different. It's hard. It's painful. But it is. Maybe just for today, but it IS.

I am living with Fibromyalgia. And most days, that really, really, really sucks. It's painful. It's scary. It's different. It's hard. It's exhausting. But it IS.

I remember a time when I felt normal. And I MISS it.

But here's the thing. Even though it's scary, painful, different, hard, exhausting....it's worth knowing. I am worth knowing. Even if I'm the only one who knows that!