Until That Day

It has certainly been a long time since I sat down and wrote out my thoughts. Between chasing a very active baby around, working, and living life, it seems like I have zero time to myself anymore.

I feel like life has been a major journey the last few months, and the train that used to ride smoothly, with maybe a few bumps along the way, has finally derailed.

My mom passed away on October 27th 2017, and since she’s been gone, life as I knew it, has forever changed. She was a wonderful person, tortured on a daily basis by a body that was riddled with sickness. Although we all knew her terminal illness would take her away from us, we never expected it to be so soon.

I wasn’t sure how I was going to approach this issue in writing. I don’t want to sit at this computer and focus on that day, at least not right now, but rather, I want to focus on the happiness my mom brought to my life before that miserable Friday.

Sharon Joan Bozic……where do I start?

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My mom was a beautiful soul, and an equally fantastic mother. She always put others before herself, and loved God, her husband, and children, with every ounce of her being. She wanted nothing more in life, than to spend every moment with her best friend, and husband of 35 years, and loved him more than life itself. She prayed for her family daily, listened to our problems, put up with our tantrums, and could dish out the sass of a thousand divas when pushed over the edge.

A daily fighter, she kept her feisty personality until the the end. She lived a hard life, a life of constant hospital visits, but rarely complained. She dealt with a body that was 10 times its age, but she fought hard, and she continued to have the perseverance of a champion, determined to make every minute count.

I am so glad you aren’t suffering anymore mom, and that you get so spend the rest of your life in peace and happiness, alongside those whom you have lead to Christ, but life sucks without you.

You were the first person I talked to on the phone every morning, you were the last person I talked to on FaceTime before I closed my eyes for the night, and you were the one I worried about every time I opened my eyes in the middle of the night, checking my phone to see if someone had called to tell me you weren’t doing well. Now, I find myself still picking up my phone to call you, but realizing I cannot anymore, and that’s what hurts the most, realizing you will never hear your mom say, “I love you,” anymore.

Momma,

Thank you for being a wonderful human being. Thank you for always being there for me when I needed you. Thank you for showing me how to be a good wife, and mother. I wish you could be here to spend just one more holiday with us, but I am glad you aren’t hurting anymore. I wish I could put my arms around you one more time, because I would never let you go.

Until we see each other again, I love you.

Bug

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Laughing Through the Pain

I must have woken up on the right side of the bed this morning, because my brain was quieter than usual, and although my physical body ached from sleeping in the same position for hours, (thanks tiny human for refusing to sleep in your own bed last night), my mental self feels pretty comical.

Just because I have a depressive disorder doesn’t mean I am melancholy from the start of the day, until my head hits the pillow; I do wake up with thankfulness in my heart, and at least attempt to have a purposeful/meaningful day. Things don’t always work out that way, and there are days, more times than not, that I wake up feeling like I am smothering, but even during the darkest days I try to find something humorous about life.

I don’t like to take life seriously, I never have, and this has often come with rejection, mostly from people who concluded my age didn’t match with my behavior at any given moment. Fuck em’, right!? I enjoy my snarky, sarcastic, smart ass sense of humor, and stifling the comedian in me is something I’m not willing to do.

Life is too serious already. We wake up to hectic work schedules, bills, illness, and massive amounts of responsibility of some sort, so why should we all walk around like uptight adults, trudging through the day with an occasional side smile, and a growing stomach ulcer?

I go through life trying to find the hilarity in things around me. I still laugh at farts, enjoy an embarrassing poop story, sing improper lyrics to popular songs, ( ie: Hold me closer TONY DANZA), and occasionally yell out random words in Walmart. WHY!? Because life is too short to not make a complete ass out of yourself in front of strangers!

My husband lost his grandmother last year, and although it was heartbreaking, and we had our sullen moments, we have one memory of her funeral, and it wasn’t death tears, it was the moment we couldn’t stop gut laughing, during the services, as the priest, who reminded me of Friar Tuck, busted out his acapella version of some catholic funeral hymn. I’ll never forget the way he belted out the chorus, like Kelly Clarkson during her audition for American Idol, I literally almost peed my pants.

Funerals suck, and everyone thinks you have to sit around and be all seriously depressed, and crying the entire day, but knowing Grammy, she wouldn’t have wanted that bullshit! Grammy always got a kick out of my sense of humor, and I know she would have lost her shit had she heard The Pope’s right hand man in all his glory, because it truly was hilarious.

I don’t have a sad memory of her funeral. I can remember her for who she was before she died, and I don’t need some crusty funeral service to be reminded of what an awesome human she was! Instead, I can look back and laugh at that day, because if she was watching, she sure as hell was laughing too!

The purpose of this post is just to remind you to laugh. It’s okay to act stupid, and immature. Be prim and proper when it’s necessary, but when that time is over, just go overboard with the funnies. Who cares who is watching.

You can find humor almost everywhere. So if you are ever in Walmart, and you see a girl imitating the walk of velociraptor, with her pants pulled up past her belly button, shouting, “HEN,” in random aisles, stop and say hello…..I might be able to teach you some of my sick moves.

Hanging On Until Tomorrow

It’s 74 outside and I sit here bundled up on the couch with a blanket up to my neck, un-showered, and in no hurry to quench my thirst, or feed my growling stomach. My eyes can’t focus on one thing, my brain is moving like a locomotive, with an out of control engine, and every sound around me has me on edge.

If I could see the hypothetical thread I am hanging on by, would I choose to cut it, or would I attempt to make it stronger, as to hold me up longer? Sometimes giving up is easier than pushing through the same shit day after day; FUCK, who am I kidding, I’ve, “given up,” in the past, and where did it land me, the hospital……but damn it, the hospital was like an escape from hell, and I guess an escape is what I am aiming for right now.

Let me tell you something, it’s hard as fuck to fight through this bipolar shit, postpartum, AND deal with additional issues other than my own. Just when I think I am having a good day, some news bombards me, and ruins my chances of having a decent day. If it isn’t news that my mother has lung cancer, it’s a call that she fell again, or that something else fucked up has happened in her life.

You might think there’s a quick fix for this shit, but there isn’t! There isn’t a magic fucking pill that makes me feel better, because NOTHING changes. The pill might stabilize some depressed moods, but it doesn’t make me normal, and OH DEAR GOD HOW I WISH I WAS NORMAL!!!

What is normal? Normal is waking up without thoughts of dying, going throughout the day without anxiety about stupid shit, not worrying about every fucking thing that doesn’t even matter, and being able to properly cope with the massive amounts of family bullshit daily.

God, I hate this; I need a vacation from my own life. Sometimes the urge to die is so strong, but then the baby cries, and it’s like, “ok, hold off for now.” How sick is that crap!? How horrible is it that the one reason why I haven’t attempted to kill myself in the past few months, is because of the baby? Go ahead, judge me for that statement, but it’s the absolute truth. Sometimes I feel like my husband would be better off without me, so leaving him doesn’t seem as bad, but there is something about the way my daughter looks at me, and smiles when I talk to her, that makes me rethink living…..plus, I’ve seen my husband in action, the baby wouldn’t survive a week alone with daddy! Ha, even in the midst of feeling like shit, I find a way to make a joke, go me!!

All I Wanted Was a Shower

The house is quiet, and I am once again alone with my thoughts. I should be snuggled in bed, listening to the sound of my 2 month old’s little breaths, but I am sitting alone, in the dark, in my living room, wide awake, and wondering when my spouse will take the time to ask me how my day was, or stop for two seconds to realize that just because he worked all day outside the house, doesn’t mean his work ends at 5pm. It would be nice to feel like a team, but instead, I am captain, co-captain, and engineer of this ship, and it’s headed for an iceberg.

I can’t help but get emotional as I type this. I feel so lonely, even though I interact with others all day. I FaceTime my family, text my friends, and play with my beautiful daughter for hours, but I feel like I am walking this path alone, and it sucks.

My husband complains constantly about being tired, and while I understand he works a demanding job, and he genuinely is tired, he never stops to think that when I ask him to help me with something, I am running on minimal hours of sleep, and I don’t want to hear, “I’m exhausted.” I ask him to do so little, and yet tonight he can’t find an ounce of energy to do any of the things he’s been asked to do, in fact, he fell asleep, and left me alone to do everything again, which is beyond frustrating.

All I wanted was a shower!

Seriously….I told my husband when he came home that I really needed to get a shower, and would like for him to take the baby for a while, so I could freshen up, and feel like a decent human being for a change, so why, at midnight, am I just getting out of the shower!?…..I’ll tell you why…..because my needs come last!

I feel like I am a single mother half the time. It’s hard enough dealing with a fucked up brain, and forcing myself to get through the days on depression energy, but then to feel like I am doing things alone……it’s a slap in the face. I am the one who wakes up during the night, I am the one who is feeding, medicating, and doing all things baby related, (which is fine), and I am the one cooking the meals, doing the laundry, and making sure the bills are paid. I am not complaining about these things, I am just saying it would just be nice to be acknowledged for the job I do without complaining.

This isn’t a bash your husband post. I love my husband, and I know he loves me. It would just be nice to feel that love a little more. It would be nice to be hugged, thanked, and asked, “how can I help you?” It would be nice to have him offer his time a little more. It would be nice to feel appreciated, instead of feeling like a bitch for having an attitude when my slightest request gets forgotten, and I end up doing it myself. It would be nice to get a shower after dinner, rather than waiting until midnight, when everyone is asleep. It would be nice to have some help. It would be nice to be able to hand the baby to daddy, while mommy takes a much needed breather, but that rarely happens, and it’s overwhelmingly stressful for me.

I end this blog post with heavy eyes, restless legs, a crying baby, a snoring husband, and a shred of hope that things will get better soon.

The Bipolar Bitch

I have contemplated writing this post for weeks now, and every time I started, I would end up deleting it. I’m pretty sure I was just scared at the perception of it all, because I tend to pour my heart out when I write, making me vulnerable, which has always been a scary feeling for me.

I’m just going to say it…..8 weeks postpartum, and I still feel like shit!

Any new mom would most likely say that they take advantage of those hours during the night when their baby is sound asleep, and they can finally shut their eyes for a few hours and catch up on their own desperate need for rest. I do enjoy my sleep, but my brain has a mind of it’s own, no pun intended!

Four nights ago my body decided it didn’t need sleep, and I was wide awake, at 1:30 in the morning, scrolling through Pinterest, Reddit, and watching stupid videos on YouTube. I finally got up and cleaned the house, which included scrubbing toilets, doing dishes, doing laundry, and mopping the floor! At first I welcomed this burst of sudden energy, after all, it was about time I started feeling something other than extreme tiredness, but then I realized what the hell was going on, and knew this energy and happiness wouldn’t last.

My manic periods have never been insane. I don’t see or hear things, and I don’t think I can fly, or doing anything else grandiose…..I just have a lot of energy, and feel like I can conquer the world with my ambitions; I am super happy, positive, and full of life.  The high only lasted three days, and those three days where the best three days I’ve had in a long time. I cooked, the house was spotless, I had energy, I could laugh, I felt alive, and it was good to just feel, “normal,” for a change. I am just gonna say it….. I LOVE BEING MANIC!

Now I am back to feeling like the world is caving in on me. I feel like a horrible mom, who can’t even play with her kid, because I am too tired to function. My life has turned into a Groundhog Day routine, and I hate it. I wake up, just to repeat the same shit day after day, and it’s miserable. Oh how easy things would be if “focusing on the positives” could actually change anything…NOPE… I still wake up with the same fucked up brain chemistry, and a desire to feel an ounce of long lasting happiness day after day. 

FUCK YOU BIPOLAR DISORDER, YOU NO GOOD PIECE OF LIFE ALTERING SHIT, I WISH YOU WERE A PERSON SO I COULD MURDER YOU!

I know postpartum depression can rear its ugly head even worse for those who have prior mental health issues, but for some reason I continue to always think those statistics don’t apply to me. I am also stubborn, so my goal is to always deal with things on my own, even if I know how it’s going to end.

I am agitated, angry, irritable, numb, and have lost pretty much all enjoyment in anything. I’ve lost my appetite, find it hard to climb out of bed, and snap at my husband for every little stupid and annoying thing he does.

The only solution….FUCKING MEDICATION!!

I was on medication prior to pregnancy, and weaned off when I found out I was pregnant. I was doing great during pregnancy, and had no issues, other than the normal pregnancy hormones. My doctor assured me that my issues would return once I had the baby, thanks for that ounce of confidence doc! I was hoping that my brain would be so mesmerized with all the chemical changes postpartum, that it would forget all about how messed up it used to be.

I hate taking meds. It’s a constant reminder that you’re sick and can’t handle shit on your own. It’s a visit every 3 months to the doctor, where they ask you the same annoying ass questions:

Q: have you had any thoughts about hurting yourself?

A: Yes No

Q: how are you feeling now?

A: Numb inside  Good

Q: you would tell me if you were having trouble right?

A: No! Of course

It’s a constant adjustment in medication doses, which increases the already annoying side effects, which then in turn makes you need another medication to counter act the first medications bullshittery! Oh and my favorite are the judgemental nurses who do their intake questionnaires and ask you about why you are taking said medication, and you have to say the fucking word BIPOLAR to them, which is nothing far from horrifying, because then you feel the need to have to explain that you don’t have the kind that makes you go bat shit crazy, or homicidal, but rather the milder version that makes you just feel like shit 24/7, with an occasional, short lived, Mary Poppins moment.

I’m just tired! I am tired of my brain’s inability to filter out the noise, especially when I could use a quiet moment. I am tired of the intrusive thoughts that constantly flood my brain like Hurricane Katrina. I am tired of being broken, and feeling hopeless. I am just simply, TIRED!

Postpartum

As I sit on my couch, juggling a laptop on my legs, Criminal Minds on for background noise, a newborn snoring in an awkward position on my chest, and a overfilled bladder, I can’t help but think to myself, “I don’t know if I can do this!” 

My hair isn’t brushed, and hasn’t been washed in a few days, mostly because once I step in the tub, and wash the necessary smelly bits and pieces, I’m either too damn tired to wash my hair, or the baby starts screaming bloody murder, and I need to jump out to deal with a starving baby vulture. The tiny human knows mommy will come to the rescue, when daddy starts to panic because he can’t figure out what’s wrong, and small baby cries have turned into blood curdling screams, a red face, and breath holding.

Making bottles has turned into an agitating process, not so much during the day, but most definitely throughout the night. No one tells you how much more difficult it is when your child goes from being content with two ounces, to now demanding three at every feeding. One would think an extra ounce wouldn’t be challenging, but when formula only has directions for even ounces, and some genius in the powdered formula lab assumed babies like to count by two’s, mixing bottles like a chemist at 3 am is exhausting, and just takes away from that precious sleep I strive for.

There’s something about the way my body looks now that repulses me. I had stretch marks prior to pregnancy, so it’s not that at all, I couldn’t care less about the battle scars of life….BUT….the flubber around my abdomen, extra jiggle on hips/legs, and the way everything just hangs down like a depressed inner tube being sent to the recycle factory, has my self-esteem waining slightly. It also doesn’t help that my scalp is flaky from the hormonal oil slick that has made its home on my head, and my face is so dry that it looks like the texture of a cats tongue.

I hate everything about the way my brain is making me feel. The crying for no reason, that lasted a week, and I was glad to see it go, but to be honest, I would rather cry than feel the way I do now! It’s so weird staring into the eyes of your perfect little miracle girl, thinking how happy you are that she is here, and at the very same time feeling so depressed. It takes everything I have to get out of bed, and mostly because I can’t crawl under the covers, die to the world, and be a good mother at the same time.

I’m healing from a second degree tear, wearing depends, taking Colace like candy, constantly leaking from the baby feeders, feeding a newborn every two-two and a half hours, cooking, cleaning, taking care of poopy blow-outs, filling syringes with baby Simethicone…and in between…trying to grab something remotely edible, before the hunger gremlins strike the baby like she hasn’t eaten in years…MEANWHILE…the hubs complains he’s been “extra tired today, and needs more sleep.” It takes all I have not to grab a weapon, (not for murder, just for a sincere beating about the head and shoulders), when I hear him complaining about things I consider minute. He is very helpful, and I know it’s just my current mood that makes me want to slap him with a board, but it doesn’t help when I am exhausted from the day, and still have to manage to repeat the entire process throughout the night, without a complaint, yet he is, “exhausted!?!?!”

The dog next door is barking again. The landlords won’t do shit about the fact that it never shuts the fuck up, but they have no idea that I am dealing with extreme anxiety, and I am two seconds from throwing a rock through the neighbors window, and strangling the fuck out of that damn dog, with my bare hands!

I feel so alone.

I feel trapped in my home.

I feel stressed, and overwhelmed, but perfectly capable of handling things at the same time.

I feel like I am letting my daughter down by just going through this daily routine, without a smile on my face 90% of the time.

I feel guilty because I get annoyed and agitated with the 4 am, 45 minute gassy scream-fest, that seems to be in our nightly schedule lately. I feel guilty when my baby wants to sleep in my arms, and I just want to put her down in the crib so I can lay my head down on the pillow by myself. I feel guilty because I say things to my husband like, “I will be glad when the newborn stage is over.” I feel guilty because I waited so long to be a mom, and now I feel like a failure who can’t even get a grip on my emotions. I feel guilty because I should feel overjoyed, but feel so dragged down.

Right now, what gets me through the day is a little angel I call Averie. I also realize that, just like my tattoo says, “every storm has its end,” and I’m hoping the turmoil I feel now is temporary.

Dear Daughter

I’ve never met you, held you in my arms, or kissed your little face, but I love you so much already, that I can’t even imagine what it will be like to actually see you for the first time.

As I sit here typing this message, I am flooded with thoughts of my own mother, and how she must have felt while pregnant with her first baby. The  joy, fears, and all those other wonderful emotions that come along with pregnancy, must have been raging, because they most certainly are for me.

What started as a 5 minute shock session, a pee stick, and two blue lines, has turned into intense anticipation for your arrival, and an overwhelming joy that I have only ever experienced one other time, when I married your daddy.

I’ve watched you grow, and felt your movements, and I must say that although I am so ready to hold you in my arms, I’m going to miss all those moments. Each and every experience, great and rough, has been something I wouldn’t trade for anything else. Pregnancy isn’t easy, but the end result is worth the minor struggles.

As the weeks get closer and closer to your arrival, I’m getting more nervous. I’m not nervous about the responsibility, the finances, or even the stressors of raising a child, I’m nervous about you being happy, safe, and always feeling fulfilled in this crazy life. I want you to know that you can do anything, be anyone/anything, and the world is yours for the taking. I want you to know that no matter how much heartache you might face, there is ALWAYS happiness on the other end. Be brave, courageous, loving, kind, and helpful, and you will always succeed in this life.

I can’t imagine what it will be like to hear you cry for the first time, see you look into my eyes, or even smile, but I know that it’s a feeling I won’t be able to contain, and might not even be able to put into words.

Soon enough, you will be in our arms, and we can all start our new journey together. I know it’s going to be a wonderful theme park adventure, and I’m so thankful for our little blessing..YOU!

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