A secret confession of an obsessive addiction

I have a confession to make.  Actually it’s a confession on an obsessive addiction.  You know you want to know more.  I KNOW you do.  You are wondering even now what the heck I could mean!  Jump over with me to my “chocolate” blog and read more about it.  Maybe you can find a vice as colorful as mine!

It beats the heck out of dealing with stress the usual way!  That’s for sure!



http://moms.fortwayne.com/?q=blogs%2Fpost%2Fnostalgia-nose-how-beat-stress        <——————click here!


Failure. Simply not an option.

She stood in the kitchen with tears streaming down her face. Her hands were over her mouth and she tried unsuccessfully to stop the sobs before they began. A gut-wrenching cry escaped from her core and she melted down. The harder she tried to stop, the more angry she became with herself that she wasn’t stronger, and so the faster the sobs came. She loathed this part about herself. She hated when she did this. Angry hot tears burned her cheeks as she sucked in a breath that did nothing to cool her parched lungs. She could hardly take a breath in for all the emotions flowing out of her. She was terrified of herself.

She glanced at the dirty dishes on the counter and her eyes lingered on the long knife that lay there. No thoughts consciously went through her mind. Nothing said, “Oh, I think I will solve my problems by sinking that long knife into my chest,” but the reality was that the image was firmly in her mind and her will was being enacted in order to refrain from doing that very thing. She was horrified.

An unseen force was relentlessly telling her to do it, egging her on, but she didn’t want to, not really. She wanted to run, but there was nowhere to go. There was no where to hide from the voice inside her mind. She was angry with herself. She was so stupid and so pathetic. Why couldn’t she just be normal? Why couldn’t she just do what other girls did? Why was this a big deal? When would she be different? Why was she such a failure? She hated herself. She couldn’t hate herself more than she did right then, except when she thought of how her mom would react when she found her like this.

With that she began to sob uncontrollably.


This was the scene in my kitchen on Monday night. The fact that I did not have the reaction my daughter was dreading was good. Truthfully? I never know how I am supposed to react to the fact that my daughter battles weekly, even daily, thoughts of suicide. I don’t know the way a mom is “supposed” to feel about the fact that their child has been battling demons that tell them that ending life is a better choice than fighting through whatever there is to face at any given moment. I don’t know the right way to love my child through pain and torment that only can be experienced and understood from living on the inside of their life.

Her realities aren’t ones I can see nor even understand. Her mind does not allow her to see reality as most of the world out there does. It skews it and distorts it, twisting it in sickening ways that makes me ill just to see from the distance I am forced to keep. I am as close to her as I can be, but I can’t get inside her heart and soul and know her pain more than what she shares. I can’t make it better. I can’t make it go away.

How is a mother supposed to react to that? 

Let me tell you how. WRONG.

Most of the time I get it wrong. Don’t be nice to me and say that I am doing great and that I am doing the best I can. I don’t want to hear it. Sometimes the best you can is just frankly not enough.

I often get mad. I get livid mad. I am not mad at my daughter, but I am mad because she lives with bipolar disorder, OCD, and a host of anxiety disorders dictate more about OUR lives than I want to admit. I can’t change this and it makes me madder than hell. It makes me angry that she can’t just enjoy her life. She is so imprisoned by her mind and her mental illness that I am angry. It affects everything she does.

I don’t always say the right things. She needs to hear “it’s OK” one more time, and I am tired of saying it. Not because I don’t feel it’s OK, not because I don’t care, but because I am tired of needing to say it. I am tired of her mind telling her a lie that requires me to do battle with it daily.

I get impatient, irritable, frustrated and fragmented. I am tired, stressed, sad and alone. Most of the daily routine and battle against her mind falls to me. It is wearying. She feels responsible for this and she adds stress upon herself for this, guilt and anger of her own. It’s a vicious cycle. We both understand it and we talk about it.

I apologize a LOT. I flat out tell her I don’t know what the hell I am doing. I tell her I love her, that I do know, but that’s all I know. I tell her I don’t know how to love her through the pain the right way, but I love her. She gets it. She somehow manages to understand me. She somehow knows in her heart I am trying. And I am. I’m just not doing a good enough job. I’m not.

How do you ever get used to having a child who battles a demon inside that says that suicide is a good option? At the age of 10 she gave it her first real try and it scared the hell out of me. She’d been talking about it since she was 7. She’d shown signs of issues and problems and we’d been in and out of counseling since she was 6. We did everything “right” and still we didn’t have a plan that was helping her, so she tried to end the pain. Now at 15 we have been at this more than half her life and somehow I am no pro, nor old hat, at handling it. In fact, I still sometimes wish I could wake up one day and it would all just be over.

There are days I lay facedown on my bed and sob into the feathered duvet, screaming at God that I’m not strong enough to do this anymore. I’m not strong enough to be her mom. What if I screw up? What if one day I get it wrong and she acts upon this demon of hers. No one will see a mom who tried so hard for half her daughter’s life; they will see that I failed on one random day when push came to shove and she couldn’t hold the demon at bay. They will see that no one was there for her. They won’t see years of trial, pain, torments; successes, victories and massive strides made. They will see the failure. They will see the death.

I live in fear of failure. Not because failure is bad in and of itself, but because failure isn’t an OPTION.

Do you see? Failing means I lose my baby. It means she’s dead and there was no better way out she could find. It could be as simple as I had the reaction she was dreading. A look on my face or word from my mouth that confirmed (in her mind) that she wasn’t worth it. That I was tired of HER, not just tired. That it was HER I hate, not the disease. If I get that wrong, even once…

This is real life here… One with no answers. This is what life behind my front door looks like. It’s raw, it’s real and it’s a hidden life that I don’t live alone.

There are many faces that you pass in the store or on the street that hide lives that live in fear of failure. Lives that are touched by mental illness. I am grateful for my network of support. Living without it is not an option.

If you or someone you love needs support, please get it.  Here is a link to some here in Fort Wayne:  http://www.nami.org.

I don’t have answers, but I can be real. Know that, while I will still share my silliness (like a week where a squirrel decided to move in with us because he mistook ours for NUT house versus a nuthouse…https://ditchingthemasks.com/2014/01/20/mistaken-for-a-nut-house/) I will still keep it honest here.  My guess is that is what someone needs.

Laughter is good. Honesty, needed. Prayers, crucial.


This blog, to anyone who questions, were written with full permission from my daughter. She and I are beginning a blogging venture where we will be blogging through the reality and pain from her eye and mine. My hope is that we will give hope and a needed look at reality to what is often an invisible battle waged in homes across the country, and worldwide. We are hoping to be “real “and open an honest dialog. Mental illness is not just school shootings and tragedy. It’s daily life on multiple fronts – including some amazing highs and powerful successes mixed in with the lows.




I’ve gone Live with CHOCOLATE!!!

I am now an “official blogger” over at Moms.fortwayne.com!  I’m as excited as a nerdy school girl with fresh notebooks and carefully sharpened pencils the night before classes begin.  I may or may not know this from personal experience.  I may (okay enough with the may not’s) have a thing for notebooks and cool pens and pencils.  I’m old school, okay?

That said, I am still a tech geek too, and love my laptop time and blogging.  It has come too far between posts as of late, but I will make up for lost time soon.  It will be colder than heck in Indiana and I wont be so excited about getting outside like I am now.  It sleeted on me today!  Yeah!  Snow would have made me happier than the nasty sleet coming at me sideways in the parking lot, making it hard to see where the car was.  It’s OCTOBER.  Stop that!

Anyway…I digress.

Come join me over at some new stomping grounds and see what my crazy blogging friends are up to while you’re there!

I’m up late – again – and tomorrow is a new day full of craziness I’m sure.  I’m gonna need a nap again tomorrow and chocolate is a given…  It seems the blog’s name is very fitting already!



Wants a nap, will settle for chocolate

moms.fortwayne.comMy life, the one I live on a daily basis, it’s a bit nutty. Anyone who knows me would laugh as this is severely understated. The one thing that is never understated, however, is my need for chocolate. It’s not a craving, here, people; it’s a daily prescription for my sanity. Honest!

Take this morning…  The boy-child was ready early for school. That sounds fantastic, but what that really means is that he is ready and actively able to annoy sisters all morning long. He’s 10. ‘Nuff said.

Boy-child runs around annoying his sisters, stirring up the dogs and making our morning routine a bit of a ruckus. The girls, ages 13 and a month shy of 15 both are in full meltdown mode for multiple facts. A.) Laundry did not magically do itself.  (I’m mean and make them do their own laundry so they can be self-sufficient adults later in life)  B.) Someone, aka the annoying little brother, is taking too long in the bathroom doing nothing in particular. And C.) Hair is not cooperating with the desired style of the day.  It’s tragic and life changing stuff.  Seriously.  It is, so I’m told.

This is a normal and typical day. It’s truly a no-big-deal-it’s-gonna-be-fine kinda daily life sorta thing. It’s teenagers-and-a-household-full-of-chaos kinda thing.

Then our personal goofiness begins to twist it up. The boy is sitting on the couch in a somewhat forced manner. Not quite a time-out, but a, “Calm-down-before-Mom-loses-her-cool” kinda thing. The dogs are running amok and one jumps up on the couch, turns to the boy and pukes all over him. It’s not a little bit; it’s a crazy lot for a little dog. Suddenly we are not ready early for school; we are going to run late.  It’s five minutes before the bus comes. There are clothes to change, a boy to wash, a couch to clean, mess on the floor and all those puky clothes. He’s traumatized to boot. It’s hairy but it’s not abnormal. Not really.

The girls are battling it out and one is storming around slamming things. Lunch money is an afterthought and breakfast was not even a consideration. One slams herself into her room and the other storms out. Somehow we’ve managed to get two out the door to the bus just in the last seconds of the squeaky bus wheels grinding to a halt and its loud exhale coincides with mine. I’m weary and it’s just now 7a.m.

The third child you ask? Why is she not on a bus too? Well the 4th and 7th graders both ride a morning bus. The freshman in high school is staying home. I am very ungracefully traversing the waters of home-schooling her. Truthfully? I am kicking and screaming all the way. I just am not one of those amazing moms who can do this with flair and fantabulous style. I am not a teacher and I don’t fake it well. I struggled to get through school myself. I’m a fraud adult and I’m about to be found out. I can’t do the algebra and it’s painfully obvious that someone else needs to help with that area.

So why am I doing it? In our house, we struggle with a host of hard things. One of the biggest of which lands my eldest child at home learning to manage her issues as life reveals them to her. I hesitate to even put them on the page now because there are such negative connotations to them. But it’s time that families who have hidden lives were not hidden. Time to let someone know that they are not alone. There are a lot of us out there living these hidden lives — and they are hard and odd looking to most others, but they are OUR lives to live, and truthfully, while I TOTALLY WOULD trade all the issues with someone, I wouldn’t trade my kids or my life for anything.

Two of my three kids struggle with ADHD, two struggle with mental illnesses, one with dyslexia, one with OCD and one has so many issues to contend with it’s been paralyzing; changing the entire structure and dynamics of our family. For every situation, every interaction, each issue and every parenting task, we have to view it in light of each of their various diagnoses. Then there’s the whole normal growing up stuff and (cue scary music) hormones of puberty to contend with.

We have issues here. Heck, our issues have issues. It makes for an interesting life behind the front door. I shut that door tightly to most people and let the mask of what I want people to know of our life be what they see. I like keeping our Facebook family picture life be what people believe of us … but that truly helps no one. It makes me lonely, and it lets others believe the lie that I have my act together and that they should, too.

Just about every day, at any given moment, I say, “Seriously…  I need some chocolate.” I let out a huge sigh and try hard to gain composure and rational thought.

Right now? Today? I could really use a nap. BAD. I have insomnia on a regular basis. You’d think as exhausted as I am usually I would simply fall into bed and crash easily. I can sleep anywhere, anytime, as long as it’s daytime. As soon as it’s kid-free and quiet and it’s dark outside, nope, not gonna happen.

So naps and chocolate are a constant desire. I crave them both.  But in truth, every time, I’d settle for chocolate.

The “BREAK” in Spring Break

Stormtrooper BunnyI thought this Easter was going to be different because it was to be the first year that we had no kids in the house that believed in Magical Easter Bunnies that come bearing chocolate yummy stuff and treats.  (Which Dad rocked it with a Stormtrooper Easter Bunny!)  In fact, all the magic is officially gone as we now know the “Tooth-i-nator” (boys don’t do “fairies”) is Mom and “Santa” is Dad.  But no, that was just a side note this year…

I knew when I got a call from my daughter on Friday that it wasn’t going to be a good “different.”  At first I thought Alli was hysterically laughing, but my gut told me otherwise.  A mom just knows when something isn’t quite right.  I couldn’t understand a word she was saying except “It hurts REALLY bad”.  Oh no…

The mom who had offered to drive my daughter to a skate party at the local roller dome confirmed it, Alli had a broken bone.  When an adult tells you in coded words that it’s definitely broken, there’s this sinking feeling you get in the pit of your stomach that leaves you feeling like YOU want your Mommy… but then you remember you ARE the Mommy.  It took me till i set eyes on my girl to get the nerves worked out of me and be ready to be calm mom for her.

482889_4689781798783_1185693169_nDerek drove up to get Alli at the rink, while I was coming from another part of town. I began making calls to get her in at the last minute to a family friend who happens to also be an orthopedic doctor.  As luck would have it, he was still at the office on this Good Friday afternoon and he’d stay to see us.  When Derek met up with me at the office, we both felt helpless.  She was in so much pain.  It was obvious to all that she needed to be seen.  The timing was perfect really, since they had just closed and we were ushered into X-ray and the exam room and then onto casting for a splint with zero wait time.

Tomorrow morning, after the weekend has had time to calm the inflammation and pain a bit, she will go in for surgery to pin the wrist most likely, but they will definitely need to do some adjusting to get her bones in alignment and then into a more permanent cast for the duration of healing.

My kids seem to be one-upping each other with the broken bone thing.  We’ve seen Dr Eddy three times inside of 9 days.  Now while we like him a lot, a BBQ is a better way to say hello than broken bones!  We’ve decided to wrap Lindsey in bubble wrap so that we can avoid the next round of ANYTHING.  WE are not going to go 3-for-3 here!

I hope you have had a less eventful Easter than we have.  This is only the second Easter of my life I’ve missed church.  It was very hard on all of us not to go and to have our family time and dinners, but Alli needed to take her medicine to keep her pain at bay, I decided to have a go around with a migraine or two, and everyone else has had their share of issues here and there as well.  God know how grateful we are that He came and died for us.  We’ve been close together as a family in prayer through this, and there is no way that does not honor and bless Him today.

May you each be blessed as well.

cat_broken_arm_doctor_vet_veterinary_sticker-rf6b0cc183e614020b4ef374b80bb9206_v9wth_8byvr_512🙂  If you think of it, say a extra prayer for my girl tomorrow.  She’s pretty scared about the coming surgery about 11am Monday.  This Mama wouldn’t mind the extra support either.   Thanks!

Happy Heart Day!

Today was the day I always dreaded when single and loved when with my honey, and treasure now with my kids.

20130214-221531.jpgI began their day as any good mom. I sent them off to school with chocolate chip waffles in their tummies and a soaring good mood and sugar high for their teachers. Grin. Okay so that may not be the exact definition of a good mom, but I dare you to make my kids believe you. I can assure you that today, they bounded out of bed happily for the same reasons as I did, the lure of chocolate. What they dont know is that I’m sneaky and i sometimes use things like chocolate to turn ordinary mornings into treasured family moments. Today as all five of us ate our fill,with zero fights, (you have NO idea how huge this is) and our “happy heart day” chocolate breakfast tradition continues to thrive, it’s my hope that they will tuck away the sweet syrupy smiles and sticky melted chocolate messes that have molded us together in ways that can only happen around a kitchen table, laughing as a family.

Later on, I scooted over to the retirement home where I visit my Grams weekly. I was her Valentine for lunch and I brought her goodies to munch on.

20130214-221444.jpgLindsey apologetically gave a card to us and kept wishing she had money to buy us something “nice and special”. Mom, I understand now. I do. I used to say the same thing to her. But now I get it. You can’t buy the kind of love that’s in a hand made card, made from whatever a girl finds when moms not looking. There isn’t enough gold or treasure to use that could buy. These kind of gifts are far better than anything I could ask for on some wish list.

My only wish list is that someday you get a card made with this kind of love. Because everyone deserves to be so loved like I am. 😉

Love you friends!!