I have this daily struggle.
Get out of bed.
Get things done.
Do my work.
It is every day that I have this struggle. It has been 5 weeks and 3 days since I started my new medication. I think it is working a little bit, but not nearly as much as I had hoped. I miss the part of Pristiq that helped me to get out of bed in the morning. I hate getting out of bed in the morning.
Do you ever watch the show Hoarders? You know, the one with people who keep trash in their house and think that it is something that should not be thrown away? Sometimes, those people actually get their houses cleaned up, and they often say how much better they feel about life.
I can totally relate.
My house does not qualify for Hoarders, yet. But I have things strewn about. Things that have no real home right now. If Kale tears up a paper towel from my office trash can, which he seems to do weekly, I don't mind if it sits on the basement floor for a week. Eventually, I pick it up and throw it away, and then wonder why I took so long to do it.
We are in a transition stage right now. Workaholic is working much more than usual. Until he is done with his latest project, I feel lost. I have things that don't belong in my dining room in my dining room. I can't wait for him to be finished so I can get my dining room turned into a playroom, as it should be. I can't wait to get the toys out of my living room and into my dining room. I need to get the boxes of books out of my bedroom...to anyplace else.
Every time I get a space cleared, it stays that way for about a day. And then it is cluttered up again. I can't wait until things calm down. I need things to calm down. My mind has a hard time focusing on anything. I can't get my work done. I can't get a decent blog done.
Even though I know I need to get organized, I can't get myself organized. I keep telling myself that it will all be OK soon. In the meantime, days pass, and I hardly even notice. I hate that. I wish I had that fire in my belly to get me motivated, instead I have nothing. All I want to do is hide in my bed all day long.
I struggle.
Wednesday, July 27, 2011
Part Two...
I would like to update you on the rest of my Day One of Vacation.
3:30pm
Go into Charlie's room, where she is taking a 3 hour nap.
Reel backwards from the smell.
Peek at her, laying so cute in her crib.
With poop smeared all over the sheets, blanket, pacifier, and child.
Yell for help.
Wonder why my children have such a facination with taking off their diapers.
Fortunately for everyone involved, there were no more poop incidents for the rest of the weekend.
3:30pm
Go into Charlie's room, where she is taking a 3 hour nap.
Reel backwards from the smell.
Peek at her, laying so cute in her crib.
With poop smeared all over the sheets, blanket, pacifier, and child.
Yell for help.
Wonder why my children have such a facination with taking off their diapers.
Fortunately for everyone involved, there were no more poop incidents for the rest of the weekend.
Thursday, July 21, 2011
Day One of Vacation
I took the next 3 days off of work for vacation. Let's review real quick what I have done so far on day one... (It is 9:09am)
- Been woken up at 5:30am by Workaholic's alarm on his phone. That goes off every day. And doesn't wake him up.
- Been woken up at 6am by Workaholic, not sure if it was his alarm or him leaving or what.
- Been woken up at 6:30am by a whining puppy. Who doesn't understand what vacation and sleeping in are.
- Gotten up with the puppy. Fed the puppy. Medicated the puppy. Let him outside. Let him inside.
- Poured a 30lb bag of dog food into a plastic bin for Fonz. Fed and medicated Fonz. Let him outside. Let him back inside, but kept the puppy outside for a few minutes. This is key.
- Unloaded and reloaded dishwasher. Talked to new K for a couple of minutes. Decided to let the puppy back inside.
- OHDEARGODWHATISTHATSMELL??????
- Almost vomited multiple times when I realized that dear sweet mother-blanking puppy rolled in fresh poop.
- Bathed dear sweet mother-blanking puppy.
- Bathed myself.
Tuesday, July 19, 2011
Dear Charlie, What I Have Learned
Dear Charlie,
Since your sister is out of town for a couple of days, I have learned a few things about you.
I've learned that when you are screaming when in the bathttub, it means that you don't want to be there. And you will do anything, I mean anything, to get out of it. I have also learned that you know how to throw yourself over the edge of the tub, which means landing on your head on the ceramic tile floor.
I've learned that your pain tolerance has increased tenfold in the past couple of months.
I've learned that when you are quiet, it means that you are contemplating just how to get to the bottom of the stairs without going down backwards. Like we have taught you. I watched you ever so slowly lean forward and deliberately move your chubby little legs down to the next step without falling down. I was happy to see that you decided that was NOT the best way to go and went down the next two steps backwards. On your belly. Like we taught you.
I've learned that you can cross the living room in about 3 seconds flat. To get to the stairs.
I've learned that you know that your sister's room is your sister's room, and you take every opportunity you can to mess with it.
I've learned that you really love ice. And that you will get what you want. (see above regarding the bathtub incident) In fact, your first steps were taken while on a boat ride. You were standing next to me, and you really wanted to get to the ice in the cooler. So you took 2 steps to get there. On a moving boat.
I've learned that you know a heck of a lot more than I think you do. Your babblings mean something. Especially the ma-ma-ma-ma-ma one. That means mama.
I've learned that you are a happy kid. I mean a really. happy. kid. You love sleep and walks and playing in your crib with dirty laundry and using the dogs as step stools. I think you just noticed Sampson today. You love him too.
I've learned that while you and your sister are for sure different kids, you are most definitely my kids. And I love you.
Since your sister is out of town for a couple of days, I have learned a few things about you.
I've learned that when you are screaming when in the bathttub, it means that you don't want to be there. And you will do anything, I mean anything, to get out of it. I have also learned that you know how to throw yourself over the edge of the tub, which means landing on your head on the ceramic tile floor.
I've learned that your pain tolerance has increased tenfold in the past couple of months.
I've learned that when you are quiet, it means that you are contemplating just how to get to the bottom of the stairs without going down backwards. Like we have taught you. I watched you ever so slowly lean forward and deliberately move your chubby little legs down to the next step without falling down. I was happy to see that you decided that was NOT the best way to go and went down the next two steps backwards. On your belly. Like we taught you.
I've learned that you can cross the living room in about 3 seconds flat. To get to the stairs.
I've learned that you know that your sister's room is your sister's room, and you take every opportunity you can to mess with it.
I've learned that you really love ice. And that you will get what you want. (see above regarding the bathtub incident) In fact, your first steps were taken while on a boat ride. You were standing next to me, and you really wanted to get to the ice in the cooler. So you took 2 steps to get there. On a moving boat.
I've learned that you know a heck of a lot more than I think you do. Your babblings mean something. Especially the ma-ma-ma-ma-ma one. That means mama.
I've learned that you are a happy kid. I mean a really. happy. kid. You love sleep and walks and playing in your crib with dirty laundry and using the dogs as step stools. I think you just noticed Sampson today. You love him too.
I've learned that while you and your sister are for sure different kids, you are most definitely my kids. And I love you.
Monday, July 11, 2011
Parrot
Because I am an awesome mom, I am teaching my daughter the best way to speak. And by teaching I mean that she repeats everything we say. Especially everything I say.
"Actually, mom, I'm going to go play outside now, actually."
"Oh shit."
"Darn it!!"
"Go away, puppy, GO!"
"Why don't we sit down and think about it?"
"No, it's not time for bed (or lunch, or anything mom wants to do). Not yet. Maybe later."
Yes, she is our little parrot. I am scared for what she says when we are not around.
"Actually, mom, I'm going to go play outside now, actually."
"Oh shit."
"Darn it!!"
"Go away, puppy, GO!"
"Why don't we sit down and think about it?"
"No, it's not time for bed (or lunch, or anything mom wants to do). Not yet. Maybe later."
Yes, she is our little parrot. I am scared for what she says when we are not around.
Tuesday, June 28, 2011
To My Sam and Charlie
Dear Sam and Charlie,
Sam, a week from Friday you will be 2 1/2 years old.
I am amazed daily at you. When you do things like this.
If you can't tell, you love your pacifier, which you only get at bedtime, and you despise clothes. Well, that isn't entirely true, you like certain clothes. And usually only for short amounts of time.
You love playing in your sandbox and climbing on just about anything. You love dogs, or puppies as you call them, and want to stop and greet each one that we pass. Especially in the car.
Speaking of the car, you are a master of getting your arms out from under your car seat straps. And when I look back at you and tell you to put them back in, you tell me, "Or you'll stop the car, and that will be bad? Very bad?" For the record, I have never stopped the car. Yet.
You speak very well for your age. We can carry on full-blown conversations with you about your day, and you are quite honest. Most of the time. You have told people that you did not behave for new K. You have also told me that you are going to be shy when meeting new people. The things that come out of your mouth amaze and entertain us. You love to call your daddy and I by our first names. Just last night, you came down to the office and said, "Gail, pizza is ready." You love to yell at the dogs, but also to walk them. They are usually pretty good about not pulling you down. And if they do, you just run after them yelling at them...just like I do.
You do love your little sister, even though you beat up on her most days. If we are telling you that you are too rough, you just get more rough. And then we have to pull you kicking and screaming off of her. And both of you are crying. You know when I am putting Charlie to bed that you need to be very quiet, and tell me so. And then proceed to leave the room and SLAM the door. And then giggle...so I know you do it on purpose.
Charlie...poor, poor Charlie. Between the dogs and your sister, you are turning out to be one tough little girl. You have developed your personality a LOT in the past couple of months. You went from barely crawling to zooming across the floor. You also have decided that crawling just isn't good enough and you are PISSEDATTHEWORLD that you can't walk yet. You can pull yourself up on anything, can stand by yourself for about 5-10 seconds, and can cruise along furniture. Or the fireplace. But you can't walk yet. And everyone knows it.
You talk a lot. While you are eating. While you are crawling. While you are supposed to be sleeping. You can say uh-oh. And the rest we have no idea what you are saying. We love it when you smile, your smile just lights up the room...just like your sister's. You have a cute little scrunch face that you do, mimicking your daddy. You also love stuffed animals, and the little red piano...
Your uncle T is amazed at how much you have changed in the past month. I say it started 2 months ago, but whatever. You have developed quite a personality. You are not afraid to demand what you want, you are not afraid to try new things. You think nothing of charging full force at something new...even if it means a possible trip down the stairs. You love to crawl over obstacles, but yet every. single. time. you pull over the dog bowls it scares you and you cry. You cry when you get scared. OH! You don't like new people. Aunt B came over today and she greeted you. You started crying and crawled away, towards me. Once you were safe and eating though, she didn't seem so scary. So at least you seem to warm up quickly.
You have also decided that getting up before 7am is the cool new thing to do. Let me tell you...it is not. But I think that you just like hanging out with me and watching me shower. You LOVE the bath. You splash and splash and splash. You don't mind getting water on your face or in your eyes. You don't even mind when your sister washes your hair or your back. Not your face though...you draw the line. You also think nothing of pulling yourself up on the side of the tub, and then show off you mad standing skillz by just standing and playing with a toy.
You have nine teeth now. We wondered why you were so fussy and a little warm...turns out there was a molar coming in! Who knew? You are just growing up so fast. I don't even realize half the things that you can do...like eat solid foods, open the drawers with the knives in them, and use Fonz as a step stool. (Actually, that one didn't turn out so well.) Ten and a half months really have flown.
I think one of my favorite things about the two of you is your diaper habits. Sam, you can change your own diaper. (We talk a lot about potty training, but you apparently don't think that you are ready yet, or just don't want to. Who knows. I am not pushing you, because I don't want to be cleaning up pee and poop from clothes and the floor. I just finished housebreaking Kale.) Every morning, you get up and change your diaper and then come sneaking downstairs. Sometimes you even throw it in the trash can in the garage. The good thing about this is YAY! You can change your own diaper! The bad thing is when I NEED to change your diaper, you want to do it. And sometimes it is in everyone's best interest for me to do it. (You kind of want to do everything on your own. Shoes, clothes, pushing the stroller, strapping yourself into your car seat, you name it...you want to do it BYMYSELF!)
Charlie, you and Sam are wearing the same size of diaper. She is small for her age, and you are completely average. Yours are actually too big, but close enough is good enough. And last weekend, you figured out how to take yours off. I am REALLY hoping that it was a 2 time fluke, because I do think that 11 months is a tad too young to potty-train. Otherwise we will have to resort to putting your diaper on backwards or using duct tape...both of which I had to do with your sister.
There are just so many more fabulous things about the two of you. I love you both dearly, more than there are words. I know that sometimes it may not seem that way...especially when we are driving in the car, or there is a diaper involved, or when I am trying to get you in the car, or I am trying to work, or I am trying to get you out of the car. I wish I felt better most days so I could give you more of myself. You two definitely deserve the best we have to give.
Keep growing, keep learning, and I'll update the world again on where you are in a few months. That way, when you are 16 and 15 and arguing over who did what first, we can just look back and see what I said. I love you little girls!!!
Sam, a week from Friday you will be 2 1/2 years old.
I am amazed daily at you. When you do things like this.
If you can't tell, you love your pacifier, which you only get at bedtime, and you despise clothes. Well, that isn't entirely true, you like certain clothes. And usually only for short amounts of time.
You love playing in your sandbox and climbing on just about anything. You love dogs, or puppies as you call them, and want to stop and greet each one that we pass. Especially in the car.
Speaking of the car, you are a master of getting your arms out from under your car seat straps. And when I look back at you and tell you to put them back in, you tell me, "Or you'll stop the car, and that will be bad? Very bad?" For the record, I have never stopped the car. Yet.
You speak very well for your age. We can carry on full-blown conversations with you about your day, and you are quite honest. Most of the time. You have told people that you did not behave for new K. You have also told me that you are going to be shy when meeting new people. The things that come out of your mouth amaze and entertain us. You love to call your daddy and I by our first names. Just last night, you came down to the office and said, "Gail, pizza is ready." You love to yell at the dogs, but also to walk them. They are usually pretty good about not pulling you down. And if they do, you just run after them yelling at them...just like I do.
You do love your little sister, even though you beat up on her most days. If we are telling you that you are too rough, you just get more rough. And then we have to pull you kicking and screaming off of her. And both of you are crying. You know when I am putting Charlie to bed that you need to be very quiet, and tell me so. And then proceed to leave the room and SLAM the door. And then giggle...so I know you do it on purpose.
Charlie...poor, poor Charlie. Between the dogs and your sister, you are turning out to be one tough little girl. You have developed your personality a LOT in the past couple of months. You went from barely crawling to zooming across the floor. You also have decided that crawling just isn't good enough and you are PISSEDATTHEWORLD that you can't walk yet. You can pull yourself up on anything, can stand by yourself for about 5-10 seconds, and can cruise along furniture. Or the fireplace. But you can't walk yet. And everyone knows it.
You talk a lot. While you are eating. While you are crawling. While you are supposed to be sleeping. You can say uh-oh. And the rest we have no idea what you are saying. We love it when you smile, your smile just lights up the room...just like your sister's. You have a cute little scrunch face that you do, mimicking your daddy. You also love stuffed animals, and the little red piano...
Your uncle T is amazed at how much you have changed in the past month. I say it started 2 months ago, but whatever. You have developed quite a personality. You are not afraid to demand what you want, you are not afraid to try new things. You think nothing of charging full force at something new...even if it means a possible trip down the stairs. You love to crawl over obstacles, but yet every. single. time. you pull over the dog bowls it scares you and you cry. You cry when you get scared. OH! You don't like new people. Aunt B came over today and she greeted you. You started crying and crawled away, towards me. Once you were safe and eating though, she didn't seem so scary. So at least you seem to warm up quickly.
You have also decided that getting up before 7am is the cool new thing to do. Let me tell you...it is not. But I think that you just like hanging out with me and watching me shower. You LOVE the bath. You splash and splash and splash. You don't mind getting water on your face or in your eyes. You don't even mind when your sister washes your hair or your back. Not your face though...you draw the line. You also think nothing of pulling yourself up on the side of the tub, and then show off you mad standing skillz by just standing and playing with a toy.
You have nine teeth now. We wondered why you were so fussy and a little warm...turns out there was a molar coming in! Who knew? You are just growing up so fast. I don't even realize half the things that you can do...like eat solid foods, open the drawers with the knives in them, and use Fonz as a step stool. (Actually, that one didn't turn out so well.) Ten and a half months really have flown.
I think one of my favorite things about the two of you is your diaper habits. Sam, you can change your own diaper. (We talk a lot about potty training, but you apparently don't think that you are ready yet, or just don't want to. Who knows. I am not pushing you, because I don't want to be cleaning up pee and poop from clothes and the floor. I just finished housebreaking Kale.) Every morning, you get up and change your diaper and then come sneaking downstairs. Sometimes you even throw it in the trash can in the garage. The good thing about this is YAY! You can change your own diaper! The bad thing is when I NEED to change your diaper, you want to do it. And sometimes it is in everyone's best interest for me to do it. (You kind of want to do everything on your own. Shoes, clothes, pushing the stroller, strapping yourself into your car seat, you name it...you want to do it BYMYSELF!)
Charlie, you and Sam are wearing the same size of diaper. She is small for her age, and you are completely average. Yours are actually too big, but close enough is good enough. And last weekend, you figured out how to take yours off. I am REALLY hoping that it was a 2 time fluke, because I do think that 11 months is a tad too young to potty-train. Otherwise we will have to resort to putting your diaper on backwards or using duct tape...both of which I had to do with your sister.
There are just so many more fabulous things about the two of you. I love you both dearly, more than there are words. I know that sometimes it may not seem that way...especially when we are driving in the car, or there is a diaper involved, or when I am trying to get you in the car, or I am trying to work, or I am trying to get you out of the car. I wish I felt better most days so I could give you more of myself. You two definitely deserve the best we have to give.
Keep growing, keep learning, and I'll update the world again on where you are in a few months. That way, when you are 16 and 15 and arguing over who did what first, we can just look back and see what I said. I love you little girls!!!
Monday, June 20, 2011
The Big D
Lately, I have been a little...on edge.
To put it lightly.
I have been on medicine for depression since Sam was about 6 months old. I had to go off while I was pregnant with Charlie, and was able to start taking it again when she was 6 weeks old.
A couple of months ago I decided that my medicine just wasn't cutting it and I needed to be on something new. Something that wouldn't hurt a baby if I accidentally got pregnant, something that I could stay on while pregnant. (NO...we are NOT trying anytime soon. Just planning out the future.)
My doc wrote me a new script, and I have weaned myself off my old meds and will begin taking my new ones tonight.
This past weekend...I realized why I am on medication.
People often look at me sideways when I tell them I am on anti-depressants. They blame it on being postpartum, although I think it goes way before I had kids. PPD was just the fire that was lit under my ass to get on meds. I didn't want to bring up my kids with me being depressed.
I wouldn't wish depression on anyone. I will, however, try to explain what it is like, for those of you who are like my husband, and see life through rose-colored glasses.
In the morning, when your alarm goes off, you physically can't get out of bed. You don't want to, your body hurts, even though there is no reason for it to. You dread your day. There isn't anything in particular to dread, but you dread it all the same. All you want to do is stay in bed, and hide from the world. This isn't just one morning every once in a while. It is every. single. morning.
Little things annoy you, more than they should. And your reaction to those annoyances are a tad more...violent. People at work say, "Good morning", and you want to slap them across the face. (Why do people insist on talking to each other before lunch, I could never understand.) I have a maintenance light that came on in my car, right after I got the oil changed. Looking at that light is like hearing fingernails on a chalkboard. I really want to take a screwdriver and stab it through the plastic cover on my dash and poke that light out. But I won't because I know that I would probably hurt myself in the process and not even get the light to go out. Which would lead to my next thing...crying.
Anything will make you cry. Getting caught at a red light. It isn't the fact that you have to sit a red light for 30 seconds. It is the voice in your head telling you that everything in this world is conspiring against you. That light wants to make you late to where ever it is that you are going.
Speaking of voices...they are the worst. They are thoughts that constantly are in your head, and make you cry even if you just drop something on the floor.
They tell you that you are not able to do anything right.
Why even try to do something, because you will fail miserably at it. (And probably very publicly as well.)
You are a terrible person, an awful wife, a marginal mother. (I mean, your kids aren't dead...so that is a plus.)
They tell you how fat you are, and there is no point in trying to lose weight or eat healthy, because you will probably fail at it. And even if you do lose some weight, your thighs will still rub together, so really...what is the point? (And at that point, you eat pizza and ice cream and chocolate, because it tastes good. Which doesn't really help out your thighs.)
There are times when the voices are constant. Any little thing can set them off, and then they don't shut up. They are thoughts running through your head at breakneck speed, reminding you that once again, you have failed. Once again, you have let someone down. Once again, you should not have gotten out of bed.
If you do go out on a limb, and try something new, something that takes a little bit of kahunas, the slightest bit of criticism is crushing. For example, I remember when I was in high school I wrote a short story about a girl who moved to the projects in Chicago from a middle-class, small-town lifestyle. My English teacher very gently suggested that next time, perhaps I could write about something that I knew more about. Let's just say that was the last short story I wrote for a very. long. time.
Depression is a bitch. I hate it when people who have never experienced it think that you can just "snap out of it." People who think that "if you put your mind to something, you can beat it."
Depression isn't something that can be willed away. Trust me, I have tried. And failed. I have tried faking my way through life. Sometimes I succeed, which is why people look at me sideways and tell me that I am not depressed. OK...you get in my head then tell me I don't suffer from depression.
I have high hopes for my new medication. Hope that it will get me out of bed. Hope that it will make the thoughts go away. Make the tears stop. I have hope that it will help me get back to a life that I love and can enjoy. My girls, my husband, hell...even my dogs deserve that. So I have hope.
To put it lightly.
I have been on medicine for depression since Sam was about 6 months old. I had to go off while I was pregnant with Charlie, and was able to start taking it again when she was 6 weeks old.
A couple of months ago I decided that my medicine just wasn't cutting it and I needed to be on something new. Something that wouldn't hurt a baby if I accidentally got pregnant, something that I could stay on while pregnant. (NO...we are NOT trying anytime soon. Just planning out the future.)
My doc wrote me a new script, and I have weaned myself off my old meds and will begin taking my new ones tonight.
This past weekend...I realized why I am on medication.
People often look at me sideways when I tell them I am on anti-depressants. They blame it on being postpartum, although I think it goes way before I had kids. PPD was just the fire that was lit under my ass to get on meds. I didn't want to bring up my kids with me being depressed.
I wouldn't wish depression on anyone. I will, however, try to explain what it is like, for those of you who are like my husband, and see life through rose-colored glasses.
In the morning, when your alarm goes off, you physically can't get out of bed. You don't want to, your body hurts, even though there is no reason for it to. You dread your day. There isn't anything in particular to dread, but you dread it all the same. All you want to do is stay in bed, and hide from the world. This isn't just one morning every once in a while. It is every. single. morning.
Little things annoy you, more than they should. And your reaction to those annoyances are a tad more...violent. People at work say, "Good morning", and you want to slap them across the face. (Why do people insist on talking to each other before lunch, I could never understand.) I have a maintenance light that came on in my car, right after I got the oil changed. Looking at that light is like hearing fingernails on a chalkboard. I really want to take a screwdriver and stab it through the plastic cover on my dash and poke that light out. But I won't because I know that I would probably hurt myself in the process and not even get the light to go out. Which would lead to my next thing...crying.
Anything will make you cry. Getting caught at a red light. It isn't the fact that you have to sit a red light for 30 seconds. It is the voice in your head telling you that everything in this world is conspiring against you. That light wants to make you late to where ever it is that you are going.
Speaking of voices...they are the worst. They are thoughts that constantly are in your head, and make you cry even if you just drop something on the floor.
They tell you that you are not able to do anything right.
Why even try to do something, because you will fail miserably at it. (And probably very publicly as well.)
You are a terrible person, an awful wife, a marginal mother. (I mean, your kids aren't dead...so that is a plus.)
They tell you how fat you are, and there is no point in trying to lose weight or eat healthy, because you will probably fail at it. And even if you do lose some weight, your thighs will still rub together, so really...what is the point? (And at that point, you eat pizza and ice cream and chocolate, because it tastes good. Which doesn't really help out your thighs.)
There are times when the voices are constant. Any little thing can set them off, and then they don't shut up. They are thoughts running through your head at breakneck speed, reminding you that once again, you have failed. Once again, you have let someone down. Once again, you should not have gotten out of bed.
If you do go out on a limb, and try something new, something that takes a little bit of kahunas, the slightest bit of criticism is crushing. For example, I remember when I was in high school I wrote a short story about a girl who moved to the projects in Chicago from a middle-class, small-town lifestyle. My English teacher very gently suggested that next time, perhaps I could write about something that I knew more about. Let's just say that was the last short story I wrote for a very. long. time.
Depression is a bitch. I hate it when people who have never experienced it think that you can just "snap out of it." People who think that "if you put your mind to something, you can beat it."
Depression isn't something that can be willed away. Trust me, I have tried. And failed. I have tried faking my way through life. Sometimes I succeed, which is why people look at me sideways and tell me that I am not depressed. OK...you get in my head then tell me I don't suffer from depression.
I have high hopes for my new medication. Hope that it will get me out of bed. Hope that it will make the thoughts go away. Make the tears stop. I have hope that it will help me get back to a life that I love and can enjoy. My girls, my husband, hell...even my dogs deserve that. So I have hope.
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