9/17

I had an epiphany yesterday and I feel like I should document my thoughts. This is going to sound super 'no-duh'-ish and I'm sad to say it took me twenty six years to figure this out but here it goes;

Being a 'good' woman doesn't mean that you must adhere to stereotypes. When I was a teenager I had an overbearing mother who tried to indoctrinate me on how a woman should be. I don't blame her for this; she did the best she could with me. I had bleached blonde hair, a super slim figure, and I dressed in flattering clothes for my stick skinny body type.

It took until about five years ago when I challenged myself to stop wearing makeup for the foreseeable future. It took me about a year, but eventually I became comfortable going out no matter what my face looked like. Now most days I leave the house without any makeup at all, when a decade ago you couldn't catch me dead at the grocery store without a full face.

Then came the way I dress myself. For the longest time I forced myself into form fitting clothes that looked nice, but I was horribly uncomfortable and I felt like I was in a full body sized cast. The first time I went out in one of Josh's shirts and basketball shorts was terrifying but I arrived home without even the slightest incident. From then on I was hooked on wearing tee shirts one to two sizes too large. It felt as though I could breathe and finally be comfortable for the first time in my life. Then my sister introduced me to leggings and the rest of my fashion was history.

The last thing to tackle was my hair. I've chopped my hair to a short crop five times in my life. Every time I've looked back at what I had done and realized I'd made a huge mistake; only to chop it off again two to three years later. Last January I chopped my hair off as a sort of search for control when I was deep in the bowels of depression. This did nothing for my lack of feeling.

A few months ago I chose to cut my shoulder length hair off into a short pixie cut. I told myself that it's okay to not have long flowing locks that are always curled and styled perfectly. I'm allowed to cut off my hair and enjoy it short. To feel confident with it short.

Two months ago I made the most radical decision yet; I took a pair of clippers to my head, cutting my hair all the way down to a #1 guard. It wasn't as shocking as if I had gone from waist length hair to that, but I have literally never seen my hair this short. I couldn't figure out why I felt such a strong desire to have a buzzed head until yesterday.

I was feeling jealous about all the women I saw every day who had long hair that could be pulled back, braided, curled, straightened, etc. I felt envious and couldn't help but feel vulnerable in my own femininity. That was the moment that the truth hit me like a ton of bricks. The length of my hair doesn't make me less of a woman. The style of clothes I choose to wear doesn't make me less of a woman. My deep seeded hatred of makeup doesn't change that either. I'm still a woman.

I have been thinking hard about my weight for the last week or so and I think I'm making baby steps in the right direction. If I have ten or twenty extra pounds on my body, it doesn't matter. If my brain is cooperating, if I'm doing my best as a mother, wife, and housekeeper, and I eat as healthy as I can with moderate exercise, I'm doing ten times better than I have in the last four years.

I'm going to embrace my larger body with open arms and thank God that I have a functioning brain again.

9/14

So my NP put me on a new drug that's typically used for people with schizophrenia. It's done wonders for my mental health and I feel like I've finally found the magic cocktail of drugs that helped me feel (mostly) back to normal.

However, I have been experiencing lots of hunger and near panic attack levels of anxiety the moment I realize I'm hungry. It's been a couple weeks and I can tell that I'm putting on weight. My first reaction to this was to try and clamp down on my eating so I can keep my current physique. I tried cutting back on the food and tracking it but that didn't help quell my anxiety triggered by hunger.

I used to be one of those people who would look at a fat person and think "Ew." I would constantly ask myself why they don't just get it together and lose the excess poundage. Well now I have been faced with my own reality check. I can keep taking these drugs and feel mentally well but put on a bit of weight, or I can come off the drugs, fall back into depression, and keep the body I currently have.

While I know what my healthy brain is saying (Push through the anxiety, it's just a feeling after all!) but I have some hesitations about following that. I have a whole new respect for those people who have taken medication only to be ravaged by obesity.

I was craving McDonald's this evening and on my way back, I had a realization. I've been praying and begging Heavenly Father to free me from the bounds of my own diseased mind, to let me feel better and help me to function again. But now that he's given me that, I am forced into a different set of challenges; my body getting bigger and my self esteem being challenged. I've known for my whole life that I'm pretty/attractive, and I have always had a solid self image at least about my face. But with this new trial coming my way, I need to reevaluate my set of beliefs. It dawned on me that being pretty/sexy isn't the end-all-be-all of life. I don't have to cling to my looks like a rosary and allow my ego, which was much more fragile than I thought, to take a back seat.

One of my big goals for this year was to find myself. To let myself love the things I do, to have my own independent thoughts, and to do the things I feel like I should. I shaved my head a few months back and I wear as much black as possible and that has actually felt incredibly freeing.

I think the next step in my journey is to accept myself for how my body will change in the near future. I have vowed that if I ever become so heavy that it effects my mobility in any way (or if I no longer feel pretty when being intimate with J) then I will crack down and lose a bit. But as of right now, when my mood is finally stable, I can't force myself to hold tight to a diet plan. I will do my very best to keep moving around and I'll eat healthy when I can, but I won't force myself to not eat a treat.

I'm choosing this day to be grateful to Heavenly Father for lifting the yoke of mental illness off my shoulders. He's entrusted me with this new trial because it's the next step in my mortal growth.

I feel like this will be a great opportunity to get to know Him again and to be more regular in my worship.

7/7

Today is my dog's last day on earth. Tomorrow morning we'll take her to the vet to be put down. I've been anticipating this for about six months and I tried my best to mentally prepare for this but I'm not ready. I've had her since I was thirteen and she's thirteen now. She had four seizures just today and J and I both agree that it's time to let her go.

I wish losing a friend didn't need to be this hard but life isn't easy. Luckily the hurt in my heart doesn't feel like depression at all so that's good, I'm really hoping I can avoid slipping into depression because that would make the grieving process a lot easier.

I'm looking at her sleeping on her pillow and my eyes are filling with tears. It feels like someone tied a cinderblock to my heart and dropped it. She's miserable and although she's on painkillers I can still tell she's in pain. I can't be selfish and keep her here longer. I can't be selfish and let her go into the vet room to be put down all alone. I know I need to be brave to help her go to the other side in peace but I'm afraid I'll have a mental break afterward.

I'm going to ask L and N to help me find a good burial spot for her. I'm also going to invite them to help me decorate the box she'll be buried in so they can feel some peace too. I worry about L's well being because he seems to be more aware of the gravity of the situation than N is. I wish it was the 8th so all of this could be over, but that can't happen. This is something I'm going to have to go through and I'm praying I can find the strength to hold it together while she goes.

I love her so much and I wish she could live forever but we're going to love her enough to let her go. She's been such a great dog, she's been with me through everything, and I'm so grateful that she's been here with me for this long.

Chloe, I love you and I hope I can make your last day a great one. <3

7/3

I've been feeling okay health wise lately. I feel stupid for feeling like I was dying and what not because it was probably all just anxiety. Fuck you, anxiety.

We got a puppy last week. My mom bought a dog for 1.7k and three months later she messages me and asks me if I want him. Since Chloe is doing really poorly J said he was fine with us taking him in. We changed his name from Toby to Toshi.

I've been getting the minimizing itch lately. I went on a huge decluttering spree a couple years ago and I got rid of so much stuff, but now I don't have much to go through if I'm really honest. It's just that I feel like I'm out of control of my life and I'm clamoring for something to take charge of. I've gone through my drawer in the bathroom, my bedside table, the armoire in my room, and the medicine cabinet. I've found so much shit to get rid of and it's feeling very freeing. It's nice too because I'm able to really look at what I want to keep to invest in storage baskets and canisters to hold everything in an aesthetically pleasing way. I'm hoping it'll make my anxiety take a fucking chill pill.

Another thing I need to do is I need to read through 85% of my fiction section on our bookshelves. I have over a dozen books that are exclusively mine that I haven't started or haven't finished. I want to free up space for books that I actually want to keep for a long time. I haven't decided which book to start with though, it's an intimidating stack.

I'm trying really hard to not feel like I need to go shopping to fill the anxious void. That will just make me more stressed when it comes to keeping my house tidy. I'll write about my minimizing progress in my next post.

6/22

Today is a hard day.

I got my dog Chloe when I was thirteen. She was the teeniest puppy I'd ever seen; no bigger than a soda can. I have had her for her whole life and even though she's naturally kind of a brat, she's been a fantastic dog.

She's thirteen now and her health has been deteriorating for the last couple years. It started with a cough (turned out to be tracheal collapse), then her eyes got a little clouded and she started walking like she was sore. Her hearing lasted for quite a while but now we have to yell to get her to hear us when we're just a few feet away.

Last night she had her first seizure. She cried out in a way that I'd never heard. When I picked her up she was limp. I genuinely thought she was dead for a few seconds. I snuggled her until she was able to hold her head up again.

This morning she had her second seizure, about twelve hours after the first one. She acted exactly the same as she did last night. I called the vet not long after and I got an appointment for earlier today. When I went in I was told that she has a stage 4 heart murmur, a clicking sound in her lungs, severe arthritis, and now she's having seizures. They offered me a bunch of tests but J and I decided she's old enough. She doesn't need a bunch of invasive tests just to extend her life by maybe a year. I feel like if we did do that, it would be selfish on our parts. Pets get old and die. It's something I feel like too many people refuse to accept and then they let their dog get to a point where they have no quality of life left. I want to put Chloe down when she's enjoying life as much as possible.

She's in pain and I did get a prescription for painkillers. I'm going to give her some in the morning tomorrow.

I got back from the vet and started cleaning my house. Chloe came into the living room and was contorting and falling all over even though she tried a couple times to stay upright. Her body tensed and she rolled over her back which she hates to do when she has the choice. The vet told me to call her name to see if she'd respond during the episodes to determine if it was a nervous system misfire or a seizure. She didn't look at me at all when I called her so that confirmed the seizure diagnosis.

A little bit ago I fed her her dinner and immediately after finishing it she ran outside and puked all over. She ate some of it again but I know that when your dog has a hard time keeping food down that's not a good sign that they'll be here for a lot longer.

These will be her last few weeks with us. If she keeps seizing we'll put her down sooner. J and I told L and N about her condition and what's going to happen in the near future. We told them to spend a lot of time with her while she's still here and that they can give her as many treats as they want.

She's been a fantastic companion for me through the years. When I was dealing with the bullshit my parents did when I was younger she was there for me when I was sobbing in my room, feeling incredibly lonely. I will always remember her curling up her tiny body next to mine when I went to sleep as a teenager. She's been snotty at times, she used to pretend she couldn't hear you when she didn't want to go outside to go potty in the winter. She has turned picky in her old age and she doesn't eat half the people food scraps we've given her. I just hope that we can give her a lot of love in the coming days and that she can go in peace.

6/14

Surprisingly I'm feeling pretty damn good mentally today. I spent some good quality time with J last night. My intimate relationship with him has been flourishing and I'm enjoying sex much more than I did this time last year. Maybe I have been improving in the last twelve months, I guess I may just be like a tortoise instead of a hare in terms of recovery.

I'm frustrated that my attorney still hasn't gotten back to me about my settlement. My paralegal said they were expecting to hear back from the defendant's insurance by the beginning of the week but it's Friday and we still haven't heard anything. I don't know if my legal team is just dragging their feet or if the other insurance are being assholes, but I just want this done and over with.

In better news, we invested in a purple mattress. It arrived today and I hope to write up a review about it probably in the next few weeks, after we've been able to sleep on it for a while. I have chronic neck pain and J has chronic low back and hip pain. I hope this new mattress will help us improve our sleep.

J just finished his midterm testing and we're cautiously optimistic about how he did. Calculus is kicking his butt. He's got a good math brain but the course is living up to it's reputation by being like learning a whole new language. Luckily, as with learning a new language, one day you'll wake up and all of your practicing finally pays off when you don't even have to think of what to say to communicate properly. He'll get there. It may just take a bit more time than we maybe hoped.

Shockingly I've been able to start writing. It's been nearly three years since I've been able to be creative at all, but I decided to take a leap this past week. I bought the basics to start recording my voice to make YouTube videos. I don't know if I will do original role plays, podcasts, music, or maybe recording some fiction. I think I'll play around a little bit to see which type of upload speaks to me the most. And if I can't decide, I'll just make and upload what I want to. It's my channel after all.

I've been debating how to name my channel. I don't know if I should choose a pseudonym or use an ordinary word(s). I struggle so much in this aspect. I thought I knew what I wanted to use as my pen name for my novels but I can't decide on that either.

If I narrow down a list I'll list it.

6/1

I may have had a breakthrough in what's wrong with me. A guy in one of my groups on Facebook chimed in about my post explaining my health struggles lately. He said that he was diagnosed with something called Postural Orthostatic Tachycardia Syndrome (POTS). It would explain literally all of my seemingly unrelated symptoms. It would explain why my heart has been so stupid since I was a teenager. And it's often misdiagnosed as anxiety and depression. So it fits the bill pretty well. I'm going to be off my parent's insurance in a month and once I'm on J's, I'll look for a GP that I like better. The lady I went to seemed so annoyed that I was coming in for treatment, so she can fuck off.

POTS is also known for getting worse around your menstrual cycle. I wonder if that heavy feeling in my chest and legs is just a POTS flare up? Hopefully I'll be able to see someone to either confirm/refute my idea of having this condition.

I've done a lot of reading up about it and a lot of people say that using mobility aids helps conserve their energy a lot. I don't know if J would be okay with it, but if I get the diagnosis, I'm going to invest in one or two aids. I'd probably start with a cane and then possibly invest in a rollator for doing work around the house. I wonder if it would help me not feel so shitty all the time.

Since having this realization my mood has surprisingly been a lot better. I don't feel a surge of joy which I'm assuming is because my period is on its way any day but I think this diagnosis fits so so well.

My OCD has been running rampant lately. I keep looking at houses online that are for sale in my nearby area over and over even though we aren't planning on moving for 4-5 more years. OCD can be a real bitch sometimes.

I posted on Reddit today about my mom. I've been focusing so much about what's shes been doing in the present which annoy me (but don't directly effect me) that I haven't been addressing the things she did when I was a kid that effected me so negatively.

My mom yelled for practically my whole childhood. And if you yelled back you were punished. Yes, I mean punished, not dealt appropriate consequences. I can't handle the noise of people yelling. It stresses me out so fucking much. I remember being so upset at her multiple times that she wasn't willing to hear me out or compromise that I would scream my lungs out over and over and over again until it hurt to even whisper. I would make my own throat raw and tender because of my anger of not being heard.

I remember being thirteen or fourteen and my mom was in her bedroom on her computer. She never shut that thing when I was talking to her. She didn't seem to want to spend time with me. I explained this and the first thing she does is snap at me. She said "I'm not always on my computer, I'm entitled to some alone time!" What she didn't ever explain to me until I was about to leave home was how she had hypothyroidism which zapped all her energy by about 2 PM. I felt sad inside for all those times I asked her to go out and do things with me, but after that I felt so angry that she didn't feel like I deserved to know. If she'd just told me what was going on with her maybe I would have been able to be more considerate and expect less of her.

Another thing she did was lie about why we moved so much. I counted fifteen different homes in between my birth and leaving home. When I was 8 or so I asked her why we move so much and she told me it was because she prayed about it and God told her to move. Well about five years ago I sat down and asked her frankly if that really was the reason. She said no, she just got bored with the house and it's layout so she wanted something new. Fuck that excuse. I was robbed of having any long term friends because of moving so much. I never developed close relationships with anybody in my neighborhood because I wasn't allowed to put roots down anywhere. I attribute her behavior as a huge trigger in my house-hunting OCD behavior.

Another thing was that she favored my sister all growing up. Whatever M wanted she got. My parents bought her a new dress for every school dance, guess how many I got to pick out? ZERO. My sister got a 9k budget for her wedding. My budget? 1.5k. And then in the weeks leading up to the wedding, my parents did a shit ton of updating around the house. That's when I realized that I wasn't a priority. Something my parents told me was that they would only pay for one wedding. If I got a divorce I'd have to foot the bill for my second set of nuptials. My sister got a divorce and found a better man to be with. Guess what happened? They paid for a top of the line venue, the meal was catered, and she got to design a custom dress. My wedding gown was on sale at the bridal shop. My mom convinced me to not to a veil or headpiece, to do my hair myself, and my makeup too. My sister got all of these things in addition to real hair extensions, a limo rental, and my parents footed the bill for their honeymoon. I'm convinced that my mom only didn't want me to get those things because they wanted to put in new can lights and granite counter tops. Fuck that. Also, my sister wrecked two cars and they were replaced with one of the same value. One that was a few years old with maybe a hundred miles on it. What did I get? I turned sixteen in 2009 and I got a shitty Honda Accord that had paint chipping, the seats were all stained from my brothers using it, and then my oldest brother took the radio and subwoofers out of it (that my dad paid for, BTW) and my parents did nothing about it.

I never had things that were just mine. I would go to school and come home and find out my bed had been swapped with my brother. One time I remember that I left my bedroom messy and came back to a spotless room, with a catch. She'd gone through my things and threw out at least half of it. Without consulting me about it first she would announce that we were switching bedrooms. I switched a bedroom with my sister and not long after my dad took her out to pick out what color paint she wanted for her new bedroom.

My brothers scared me on purpose every chance they got and I can only remember a handful of times where my parents defended me. Most of the time they'd just say that I needed to lighten up and learn to take a joke. Now as an adult it doesn't surprise me that I have intense generalized anxiety.

Another fucked up thing that happened is that my dad got a memory foam king sized mattress from a mattress store when they were going to throw it out. He came home, cut it in half, and put one half in the guest room and gave my sister the other half.  I was promised that once my sister left home I would get the coveted mattress. I was sleeping on a decades old twin mattress so I looked forward to getting a decent mattress. Well my sister moved out just before my brother got married and I was pumped. I stripped my bed and moved the frame to a different spot in my bedroom. I went downstairs to grab the mattress my sister left behind only to see my parents storing it in the garage with the other half. I asked what was going on and they said they were giving both halves to my brother and his bride. I reminded them of their promise to give it to me and they merely shrugged and said sorry, too bad. They gave me a 'new' mattress but this one was thin and it had spaceships all over it. It didn't dig into me like the old one did but it was uncomfortable nonetheless because of how little spring back it had. It was like sleeping on a sad rectangle of concrete.

One of the most fucked up things my parents did was they would buy us kids a pet and then get rid of it a short while later without asking us or explaining why. I counted twenty one pets they did this to. The most notable was when I turned 9. I had been begging my parents for my own dog for months and months and on the morning of my birthday they gifted me a white poodle. I was thrilled and I became attached to him within minutes. Four weeks go by and Radar is nowhere to be seen when I got home. I asked my mom where he was, wondering if he'd run away. She sat me down on the sofa and told me that she'd taken him to the animal shelter to be put down. Apparently this dog was fifteen years old with three paws in the grave when we took him home. My parents gave me a dog and then killed it a month later.

I know I didn't ever have to wonder if we would have food or clothes or shelter. But I'm still extremely bitter about it.

6/10

I returned my holter monitor a few days ago. I kept looking for it and wondering if I'd left it somewhere, but at least my hives are healing up nicely. Right now I'm worried about how long it'll take for my doctor to review my test results. I would love to go see a cardiologist about my results but I'm 99% sure you need a referral which fucking sucks. My doctor is dumb because she has too many patients right now (as admitted by the receptionist) so it takes her 2-3 times longer to go over any information she's given. Once July 1st comes I'll be on J's insurance so I'll be able to look for a different GP.

I'm very worried that nobody will take my arrythmia seriously. When I was in high school I had the exact same problem as I have now (the heart problems at least) and they said it's just anxiety. Bullshit. That's the excuse I'm expecting from my hack of a doctor and I can almost guarantee that I'll be seeking a second opinion about this. I'm not just going to sit on my hands and wait like a good little idiot while she doesn't do her fucking job.

Another thing that's been on my mind is the return from my accident last year. They notified the other insurance that I was finished with treatment six weeks ago and we still haven't heard back from them. I just want to finish this up so I don't need to think about it anymore.

My period is a day late so I took a pregnancy test. Thank goodness it was a clear negative. My heart was racing while it was developing. That would literally be the worst thing to happen right now since my health isn't great and my mental health is iffy too. It's still frustrating though because my exhaustion is super high and my OCD has been out of control. I never thought when I was younger that I'd be looking forward to bleeding every month, but here I am at 26 anxiously awaiting the visit from Aunt Flo.

Depression has been a real bitch lately. I'll be in the middle of having a decent day and then all of a sudden depression Falcon Punch's my mood right into the gutter with Pennywise. FML

5/28

I've felt depressed for most of this week. It feels like right when I get into a situation where I'm supposed to be having fun my depression creeps back up on me and injects me with despair. I'm 25. I'm supposed to be enjoying my youth. I'm supposed to be trying new things and loving my boys, watching them grow up and soaking up every moment with them since they only stay little for so long. But depression is a bitch. It hurts you all the time but then at the same time makes you feel like you'd be nothing without it. 

I turn 26 in a little more than a week. I know what I need and want lately, it's just a matter of deciding what to pick. I'm on a low cholesterol diet still but since my birthday only comes once a year, I think one non diet friendly dessert won't kill me. I don't know what I want for that either though.

I got my hypoallergenic electrode pads last week. They're a huge pain in the ass. The ones that make me break out stayed on no matter how much the cords were pulled on but the hypoallergenic ones have the worst adhesive I've seen. At least I'm not breaking out in a disgusting rash anymore, but it's super annoying when the phone they loaned me beeps because one of the electrodes fell off. 

I was very productive today. I got half the house cleaned, did three loads of laundry, and did four days worth of meal prep for J and myself. But not long after I finished depression wrapped around me like a blanket on a cold night. 

I don't hate life all the time, but it's times like these where I wish I didn't have to exist. Maybe for just a little while so I can rest without anyone else depending on me?

5/20

I was at Costco today grabbing just a few things before I went to L's school to pick him up. I had N with me and I had gotten him into the car and then all my stuff. I couldn't find a parking spot near a cart holder so I left the cart next to my car and I made sure it wouldn't roll anywhere. A few spots away, there was a woman in a $80k car, she had bleach blonde hair, wearing a white denim jacket and cheetah print leggings. She approached me just as I was about to get into my vehicle and asked me if I was just going to leave the cart there. I replied yes. She said in a disapproving tone that I shouldn't do that because it might ding someones car. I told her I had my son with me so I couldn't take the cart to the stall. She dramatically rolled her eyes and grabbed the cart, furiously pushing it to its proper place.

I was proud of myself in this moment for two reasons. I didn't explain the full reason why I wouldn't be returning the cart and I also stuck to my guns when in a confrontation.

I have a crippling fear that someone will kidnap my children and I'll never see them again. I'm probably a helicopter parent, but I'm actively working on allowing my boys to have more independence.

Last week, L was given a permission slip for a class zoo trip. I agonized signing that paper for three days before taking a deep breath, filling it out, and stuffing it into my son's backpack. The morning of the trip, I reminded him to stay with the chaperone he was assigned to and to not leave with someone he doesn't know. I kissed him, told him I loved him, and sent him on his way.

I waited the four hours before I was supposed to pick him up at home in my favorite chair with my phone. I didn't do very well interacting with N during that time, but he gladly played on Minecraft so I didn't worry too much about that. My heart felt like it had migrated to my throat.

N and I went to his school and waited for him to come out. I gripped the steering wheel while breathing deep. My OCD threw abusive comments at me saying, "He's not there, he's gone, you won't see him again." But to my relief he was skipping out the door while holding his teachers hand on the way to my car. He had a great time and made a couple new friends from the PM class that were in his group.

My health is struggling right now. I've been wearing my holter monitor for a week now. The weight of it doesn't bother me too much but I've developed a horrible rash on the spots of skin where the adhesive electrodes attach to my body. Three of the four places look like a rash ridden bulls eye, and I have hives too. I called the company on the package that my monitor was given to me in and the operator on the phone said he would have hypoallergenic electrodes sent directly to my house. Hopefully that'll help with the itching and tenderness.

My doctor said I have extremely high cholesterol levels and somewhat high triglyceride levels. My vitamin D is only about 20% of what it should be too. My doctor put me on a very strict low cholesterol diet and I have to take a prescription strength dose of vitamin D for the next three months and then they'll check my levels again. My chances of my cholesterol going down on its own is slim though. My paternal grandmother had high cholesterol, and my dad and aunt have high cholesterol too. None of us are obese or even overweight. We just have a fucked up gene that makes our bodies hold onto cholesterol easier. I'm expecting for them to tell me I'll have to take anti-cholesterol medication for the rest of my life, in addition to eating as clean as possible and exercising more. Neither of those things are bad, though. If this condition makes me make healthier choices, then I'll do it. I won't have much of a choice.

My arrhythmia is back with a vengeance. I have tachycardia mixed with shortness of breath and chest pain. It's been going consistently for about a month now. The chest tightness and pain happen more if I'm stressed. I think it's partially an anxiety response because after that argument with that woman at Costco, the whole time I was driving home it felt hard to breathe and my chest felt like it was being crushed on all sides. The last time I had to wear a holter monitor I was told that my arrhythmia was just an anxiety response. The difference now is that I'm medicated for my anxiety and depression. I'm hoping that they can get to the bottom of this issue.

Last week was the first anniversary of my second miscarriage. I was pregnant for a week before we lost it. I started bleeding on the day after mother's day. I wonder if that's the reason I've been feeling so depressed this last week. I've been sluggish and the weight on my chest was debilitating.

N's fifth birthday is tomorrow. We had a party with grandparents last night and N designed his own cake at our grocery store's bakery. He got Lego sets and he's been building with them all day. J and I bought the boys Minecraft for the PS4 so they can play together at the same time easily. I hope this next week will be better than last.