These Days.

These days are unique. I am overwhelmed. The pure joy of knowing that Matthew is ours, always and forever and I never have to fear losing him again. The anticipation that Carlee will soon be our daughter. The unknown of what her life will bring. The hope, the happy hope of seeing her sign "more". She will be able to communicate with us! My nieces are finally safe and away from external forces that did not keep them safe or happy. My brother is doing well. There are so many emotions flying through my brain. So I was smart and decided now would be the best time to switch anxiety medicines. Not the best decision I've ever made. Some days are great, and I feel like I am getting used to the new meds and doing well. The next I'm down and out and crying for no reason all day long and freaking out my family.

I'm starting to try to listen to my body more. I've stopped watching shows I love because I know they make me have crazy dreams and I think on them all day. I'm more honest with people about what is happening so I don't always have to fake it with a smile. I'm praying this medicine will adjust soon and I can go back to feeling like myself. I wish this anxiety would  go away as quickly as it came on. I never had any anxiety before and then BOOM one week of craziness that led me to the ER and three different doctors, because I knew something had to be wrong. Sometimes it's hard to remember that it really is all in my head. I mean, I know I'm not crazy. But the symptoms are just symptoms. My brain is making the hot flashes, the cold chills, the intense nausea, and the rapid thought process. My brain is making physical responses, and it's really annoying to be betrayed by my own brain.

I feel guilty about it. That I'm taking away from my family. The days were I don't want to leave the house for fear of getting sick somewhere else. The nights where I want my husband to stay home with me instead of hanging out with his friends because I'm afraid to be alone. Having to run upstairs while my best friend is here because I just couldn't deal anymore. I try to hang on. I know. I know. If I had a disease I wouldn't feel guilty about asking for help. But because this is "all in my head" I feel guilty. I think about women in third world countries. Women who might be killed or raped just collecting fire wood or finding clean water. Women who waste away from Aids and know they are leaving their children as orphans. Women who are just young girls caring for their families. Women who put their babies to bed hungry, thirsty, and cold. And I wonder, what right in the world I have to complain about some nausea and hot flashes. These women don't have access to Zoloft or Xanax. They know nothing about paying a therapist to listen to you. What do they do?  I think about the foster moms I know who are having to turn over their babies to family members that they know aren't right. My friends who have seen horrors of Eastern Europe's orphanages and brought home 15 pound 15 year old girls. Children in conditions that we wouldn't put our worst criminals in. Who am I to complain?

I have a warm safe home that I can afford. I have a full pantry and fridge. I can turn my heat on and up to keep my family warm and turn on A/C to keep up cool in the winter. I can buy clothes and shoes for the comfort. I have a house overflowing with nicknacks and gizmos. I have a husband who has never laid a hand on me, and I know would die to keep me and our children safe. I have both my parents, married after 31 years, and in fairly good health. I have friends who run over Saltines and babysit my kids. Friends who listen to my ramblings during an attack. I am so blessed.  I look at my life through third world eyes and wonder what right I have to complain.

There are my thought processes right now. I can't wait until I can get back into my counselors office. I fear for her, at my last appointment I was doing amazing. She's in for a doozey of an appointment.