So, I wasn’t really going to write about this, but seriously, my entire life has been janked by it so, yeah I kinda have to.

My dad got very, very ill last month, including a nasty infection. It scared the shit out of me. We got home, and I was so busy being caretaker that I never processed it. Before all of this happened, I was having a lot of panic attacks, especially in my sleep. Now, they are happening less and less, night has been an unmitigated hell for me. Oh, yeah, also, for the first nine days of being home, I had to give my dad an antibiotic infusion. I had to set an alarm an hour before said infusion to pull the antibiotic out of the refrigerator. Including the three syringes, one having to be given slowly over a five minute time frame, getting bubbles out of the syringes, clean up, the process took about 30 minutes. I never slept.

Also, when I’m under stress, my body retains water, especially in my ankles. My edema was so bad I was only able to wear flip-flops, and my feet and ankles would change color when I flexed and relaxed them because of all the pressure on my skin. I also had a couple of gouges and scratches on my ankle that turned a huge patch of my ankle bright red.

So, this weekend I finally get some time with my Viking. I only got to see him for a few hours in June when he came to the hospital to see me.  I spent from Thursday night until tonight there.Thursday night I woke up twice with terrible panic attacks. I also woke up approximately forty times to go pee. My body feels safe and relaxed at his house with him and sheds all that water.

Friday, we went to his Tina’s house for a 4th of July cook out. He lives in Mustang, Oklahoma. Mustang, Oklahoma loves their fucking fireworks. Now, I realize I was probably having a low to mid level panic attack, then I just felt like I understood why animals hide in closets and shit. At one point I felt taking my cue from a cat and scrambling under the Viking’s truck.

I had tried to rationalize this by telling myself I lived most of my life in a town that did not allow civilian fireworks. I’m pretty sure it is the ONLY law my town really enforces (along with yard upkeep codes, stupid dick crystals.) (Also, I really need to google dick crystals.) BUT, my friend, my very first friend when I moved here actually, is dating the Viking’s Tina, and she was all normal and ‘oooohing’ and ‘awwwing’ and taking pictures. I decided to rationalize my buckets ‘o crazy by telling myself fireworks are meant to be symbolic of war, and it is TOTALLY not silly to be freaked out by explosions and flaming chemicals. I personally think it says something about my survival instincts.)

Quick sidenote, I did have fun Friday, even though most of it was an anxious mess, and two things happened that made it special for me. First, I think the Viking realized I was having issues and tried to take care of me by telling me when to cover my ears and letting me squeeze the shit out of his thumb. Honestly the man deserves a damn medal for how he dealt with me this weekend, actually, since my dad went into the hospital. Second thing, the Viking and I set up his Tina and my friend. I need to give her a nickname. Anyway, His Tina had her giggling so hard she was almost snorting. She was so happy with him. That was the thing that finally helped me relax enough to have a good time. I still smile when I think about it. Also Friday night, I did not have panic attacks, just seriously emotionally painful dreams.

Saturday, I napped. It was glorious. I took two friggin’ naps, and I felt better than I had in ages. My leg looked noticeably healed. I took the second nap in the living room where The Viking was doing homework. He tried to talk me into moving into the bedroom or something, but my sleepy brain told him that I wanted to be in the same room with him. I felt good when his family came over to visit and had a genuinely good time. I realized I really liked them. I think the bonding really began when the Viking’s little brother’s girlfriend and I tried to blow up a creepy ass statue but failed miserably. His mom finally won and took the statue home.

After they left Saturday night, we played video games. We were having a good time. I went to the bathroom and came out crying. I, once again felt batshit insane, but he didn’t even blink at the development. He’s my safe place. He’s the place I can stop holding everything in and feel all the fear (sheer fucking terror) I had been pushing down since the middle of June. The nightmares and panic attacks are all because of all the stress and emotions I throttle to survive. So, when he walked into the room and found me crying again, he didn’t bat an eye again. He sat down beside me and listened. He took care of me in his own way, like he always does, by reassuring me of my ability to handle it.

I needed to stop feeling stupid for all the emotion I felt. I just needed to allow myself to feel them when I was safe there with him. He can handle any crazy I throw at him. I also have to realize it is going to take me some time to get through all of the gunk in my brain, and it is okay.

Also, I have my lovely ankles back.

P.S I googled dick crystals. Never do that.

When I was little I might have been a *little* stubborn. Shocker right? My mom caught a lot of flack for not making me do things or letting me do things like dress myself terribly. My mom is a smart lady and knew to pick her battles. Peas were just not a battle worth having, so she taught me to say ‘no thank you’ and left it.

When I was about six, my sister and I went to stay with my aunt. My aunt didn’t understand the whole picking your battles thing and served me peas.

These fuckers right here

I said ‘no, thank you, I don’t like peas’ very politely like my mom taught me. This was not acceptable. At about 6pm, my aunt told me, like adult people do, I couldn’t get up from the table until I had eaten my peas.

At about midnight, my aunt snatched the plate from out in front of me, threw out the peas, and yelled at me in pure frustration as she made my pallet on the floor.

I have stayed that stubborn. It isn’t malicious or even to be a trouble maker. It is just who I am. My aunt learned my mom’s lesson about picking battles. Also, to this day, frozen peas only exist as fantastic ice packs for injuries.

The mother person had her gallbladder removed last Thursday, and then we had a three day weekend which meant Dad was out needing stuff more than normal. I’m fucking exhausted.

Last week was crazy because I so much stuff to do for other people. The week before that was crazy, too. Add to that I’m trying to adjust to new medication. I am so fucking tired.

I sneaked off yesterday evening to the Viking’s house and slept. Seriously, I hadn’t seen the man in three weeks, and all I can do is sleep. I need four more days of that.

I hear my mommy friends talk about all the shit they do to be mommies, and my brain liquifies. I do about 75% of the mommy stuff, maybe 60%, and it is damn near killing me. On bad days you hear mommies screaming at their children to get in the freaking car, or they tell you have it so easy as a childless adult. (We really do.) If you mention being a parent being to much work they all tell you something deep about you changes and you need less sleep and your entire soul naturally becomes okay with devoting itself to another tiny, human-like being. Some times their eyes glaze over a little and they get a faint distant look in their face like I imagine a heroin addict would when they get a fix.

I know for a fact holiday weekends are a stressful, clusterfuck of extra work for mommies. I’ve seen it and even tried to help. THERE IS NO HELPING. Shit is going to go down no matter what.

I don’t care what mommies say. I’m an asshole. I want a rest. I don’t want to fight with a tiny-sized almost human about sharing or hair styles or why they can’t stab their younger siblings. SHIT IN THE TOILET. Seriously little human-like being. You’ve figured out all the remotes, the cellphones, and the Ipads, but shitting in the toilet after you’ve reached a certain age is too complicated?

I want sleep. I love sleep. And sex, I’m a big fan of sex. This is why I’m sticking to dogs. At least when they shit on the living room floor they don’t know how to take a picture of it, use filters, and put it on Instagram.