If I could write you a song...

If I could write you a song...

I would write a tune that stirs your soul and makes you remember that Beauty lives...

I would sing it to you everyday and every dark, dismal moment when the sun doesn't shine and sky is caving in...

I would compose some catchy lyrics, that ease your soul and lift your burden...

But in that long chorus would be the ones that capture your pain, reflect it back to you...like a mirror of validation to ease your troubled mind...

I would be able to belt it from the rooftops, unafraid of who might hear me sing it...

Unafraid of their judgments our criticisms, unafraid of allowing my Whole Self to present, instead of the pieces of my personality I use to make others feel comfortable...

I would make you feel it so deeply that your heart feels like it may just pound its way through your skin and charge outward into the deep, dark, wonderousness of the atmosphere....

If I could write you a song...

But I'm no songwriter. So the tune falls dead on this very page.

Where am I?

The great thing about the cyber world is that it is sooooo easy to disappear for a while. I didn't just disappear, I dropped off the face of the cyber-planet, I know.


But I did it for a reason.

I did it because I needed to make some changes. Big, Tough, Scary changes.
And do you know what Big, Tough, Scary changes did for me?
They helped.

They helped me find peace and joy.

They helped me cope on the days when absolutely NO peace and joy were in sight.

So why am I back here? Back talking to my proverbial shadow?

Well, there's 2 reasons really:

1) I went away because I, personally, needed to try some other mental health/venting exercises besides the blog....but when I did so, I deeply missed the input and charm and empathy of the wonderful people who somehow found me and joined me on this journey. If you are reading this, I missed you. I really, really did.

2) Much like a shadow, I will not ever be able to separate myself from this disease. It is a part of me. When I am standing in a place of light and knowledge is when I can see that most clearly.

So, I'm back. And though right now I desperately need to turn off the Olympics and just go to sleep, I promise I will come back soon and document all the BTSCs (Big, Tough, Scary Changes) I've been making.  But for now, if you want a feel-good, empowering moment, watch this:

I feel it in my bones...

Some days I feel: old.

When I was young people used to say that I had an "old soul". Now, I am not young, but my soul still seems to be aging away. Sometimes, I am grateful for this. This week has seen a lot of grief in my loved ones lives. There  have been loved ones lost in tragic and terrible accidents. So terrible, so sudden, that all I can think to do is cry and hold my babies tight, grateful and slightly ashamed that someone else, someone who I feel deserves more than me has lost so much more than she deserves.


There have been several research studies done about how depression/anxiety affect the personalities of those who suffer from them. One of the positive attributes that is typically seen in depressive people is an increased ability for empathy. This is a really beautiful thing that I have always been truly grateful for from this disease. Our trials shape us, they shape the people we become, and it brings me some measure of peace to know that this illness has helped me to better understand and relate the Dearly Loved Children of God that surround me.

Top of the World

I can't get a song out of my head...

Ah, the nights I hear these words echoing in my brain, and there is so much of it that I feel so keenly.
I wish I didn't feel like songs like this pour out of my soul.
I wish I could really be heard, could turn my brain inside out so I can explain this disease.
I wish this disease didn't make me feel such an intense need to be completely understood, and at the same time make that virtually impossible.
I wish I knew how to take my loneliness and your loneliness and make them meet and meld in the the middle so that we could all be UnLonely in our loneliness.

The Loss of Humanity...

It's late, I am exhausted. I had a really good day. I got a lot of things done, managed to do everything in fairly good time, and escaped with only minor meltdowns by either of my children. My Littles were so tired that neither fought going down for the night. My husband was also in that boat, and was snoozing peacefully when I went in the room to plug my cell in before it died. I thought that it was a really good day, and for once, I was tired enough to toss insomnia to the wind and fall into my pillow at a reasonable hour.

And then...


Sometimes, when the anxiety and the depression gets really bad, I feel like disappearing. And then I sort of do. I disappeared the last few months. I was just treading water, and to keep myself afloat sometimes I have to rid myself of anything extraneous that can bog me down. Not that the blog gets me down, but sometimes writing gives me more anxiety, like when I just don't feel like I have the words to truly suffice. I still feel like that a bit, so today I'm going to take the easy route and with a Friend of the Blog's permission, re-post her exact blog from a few days ago. She is affectionately known as Ladybug on her private mommy blog, so for your enjoyment:  Merry Christmas!...Wait...Happy Easter?

"Though I realize this may be a strange forum to do so, I have had something on my mind nagging me for the past several weeks that needs to find some form of expression.

This nagging discontent has to do with a time of the year that is the most holy to me, as a Christian. To my friends who I know read this blog and are of different belief systems, if you feel comfortable doing so bear with me and I will explain something that shaped the very core of who I am...and if that isn't at all interesting to you I will be discussing some details of Christian history that you may or may not find intriguing.

Not such a happy new year...

Not doing too hot. The DH started full-time school on top of full-time work again. This means I am tired, exhausted really. It's All Babies All The Time, which makes me feel less like a person and more like a full-time food dispenser. When the DH gets home he's so tired and I can see it in his face, so I try to let him take care of himself, but somehow this leaves me feeling like I never get a break. I never stop being Mom and get a chance to be Me for a minute. My depression existed long, long, long before my children, and I NEVER say that they by any means cause it, but sometimes the exhaustion that follows caring so intensely for someone else's life, just leaves me too exhausted to fight that ever-present negative psychology.
And then there is just the fact that I feel so lonely....

A NEED to be grateful...


Whew, had to get that digital scream off my chest.

Why is Christmas time so crazy? Crazy enough that I feel so crazy that I have to neglect my crazy blog, where I document my life of crazy and therapeutically vent the craziness out of my soul! It's absurd.

Tonight tonight, when I should be sleeping (seeing as I've been exceptionally ill for a week and a half and my children are both finally asleep) I have to say something of the inner turmoil I feel about this Christmas.

TODAY...sucked today....

Depression Pills, Mother's Little Helper?
I watched this episode this morning while I was getting my Littles ready. It really pissed me off. Watch it, tell me your thoughts. We'll discuss...

Insomnia and Inspiration

My depression began as a child. I grew up very poor, in a very violatile home. Tonight, as I do many nights, I'm having trouble falling asleep. It's strange, but more than the sadness and loneliness as an 8-year-old, the thing I remember most about my depression in that stage was the Insomnia.

Fast forward a couple of decades and here I find myself, stuck in the same old pickle. Except....

PART 2: Redemption Song

We got our Christmas Tree.
We had our magical night.
It is, Enough.

I started this blog because I couldn't keep in all the crazy chaos that I truly feel in my life. I don't know how to be a picture perfect Mo-Mo-Mo (Molly Mormon Mommy, for those of you outside the Mormon culture). Hell, I don't know how to be a picture perfect anything. I take that back. I DO know how to be a picture perfect basket case, and that is exactly the problem.

Let me explain, my last post was right, I do Suck At Life, sometimes.

PART 1: So tonight I lost it...

Sometimes I think that it isn't so much life that lets us down as expectations.

I expected tonight to be a great night.

Tonight we were supposed to continue a tradition that my husband and I started a couple of years ago for just us. A special tradition created just for our family. Maybe I'm old-fashioned, or perhaps naive, but some part of me still believes that there is magic in specially created traditions. I wanted tonight to be magical. I was so looking forward to it that I had one of the best days I've had in weeks.  I managed to clean my entire bedroom and get myself and my Littles up, dressed, and fed before 10 am. I got all of the endless loads of laundry not only washed and dried, but they actually managed to get folded and put away properly. I finally tackled the daunting stacks of dishes that were slowly taking over every inch of counter space in my kitchen. I finished wrapping all of the Christmas presents. I made a vegetarian lunch of angel hair pasta, squash, zucchini, red bell pepper, and a balsamic shallot sauce and had it ready when my hubby came home for his 30 minute break before heading back to his internship.

All of this, all of it I did because I was so excited about our Christmas Tree tradition.

Ten minutes

There are so few distinct memories I have of my own childhood. I know my own history, the chronological unfolding of events that made me who I am, but sometimes when I think back on it all I feel detached from it. It's almost like a sort of saga that I've told myself over and over until I'm not sure if the details I recall stem from the actual event or simply the last time I rehearsed the story. The early memories are hazy, at best, and blurred beyond recognition in the years following my parents divorce and several years of tough living that I know my mind blanks over to protect itself.
But today, a memory...

A gem pulled from some recess in my mind that hasn't felt an illuminating light in years.

The memory: a pot. A beat-up, dinged silver pot spotted with water and wear. 

The Beginning & the Epoch of Honesty

I am cheating on my other blog. Yes, this is my second blog. The other blog and I, we keep up appearances, for the sake of the kids. All of my family, my in-laws, my church acquaintances read my other blog. They comment on my syrupy posts and pictures; they tell me how cute and big my kids are getting. I hate the sound of my own narrative in my other blog. When I write in it late at night, I start out one way and before the post is finished I've erased, edited, and deleted anything I find emotionally or intellectually stimulating. Then I lay in bed dejected because I didn't get where I wanted to go. There is no revelation, no release, no "Ah, Ha!" moment. It's the ultimate blogger frustration.

I've been thinking about doing this for months, toying with the idea of exposing myself to a new audience. Tonight, I couldn't seem to stop myself. I was caught up in the raw, aching, primal desire to write something that I actually felt. I hate my other blog. I hate the fake family portrait it paints. So instead, I find myself here letting it all hang out with complete anonymity. Thrilling, isn't it?