Compassion

yeah, so I grabbed an audio book from the library on Tuesday, It is called the five people you meet in heaven. If you have ptsd I do not suggest reading this book. The message of the book was spectacular, but the war stuff brought back too many bad memories. This may have been due to the added musical effects from listening to it on CD. All in all, I wish the author all the best, but wouldn't suggest this particular book to people in the beginning stages of ptsd recovery(survival).

There is a part in the book where the main character uses a stone to wash the burned skin of a small girl, who was a casualty of war. (the setting takes place in heaven) It was graphic, and I didn't want to listen, but at the same time I didn't want to turn it off. I wanted a happy ending even thought it was so hard for me to get there. Some of my war trauma is related to people who had been badly burned. I thought of people I encountered who died from their burns and how I think it would be healing to symbolically cleaning their charred flesh until it shown like new.

For a long time I wished that there was something I could do for those who crossed my path who suffered and died in pain. I wish so badly that I could somehow do something for those people.

My memories of burns was re ignited a few years ago when a friend of mine was terribly burned in an airplane crash. Her tragedy opened a door to my memories that I thought was only there if I wanted it to be there. My heart plummeted when I heard that she had been burned over 80% of her body. My mind thought, "oh, my goodness, I totally know what that looks like." I felt light headed, and like I couldn't breath. In a waterfall full of past emotions I felt as though I was somehow drowning in the sorrows of war. I was angry. And underneath anger was sorrow, and under sorrow was fear, helplessness and a host of other emotions.

She survived.

and is still healing.

She writes an awesome blog called the NieNie Dialogues. It has been so wonderful to watch her heal. I wish her all the love in the world. Her story has been amazing.



For any of the the patients who died....
I know that you are gone, but I want you to know that I cared.
I may not have been able to do anything, but your presence left a memory in my heart. And I hope you have....

~Peace

Donations of the Heart

Today I received a wonderful gift :) My heart feels happy because someone wonderful made me fry bread, watched my kids, and allowed me a free hour where I was able to socialize with some other women.

Thank You, Thank You, Thank You.

To some, this act of kindness may seem small, but to me, it was everything! It was perfect, it was exactly what I needed. It meant so much I could cry tears of thanks. The perfect gift.

I feel like one of those tender Mormon Commercials , or a cheezy Hallmark card. I wish I new the best way to say thank you for what you did.

Sharing is Caring, and I care about YOU

Sometimes....
especially at the beginning of a diagnosis, it's hard to accept the acronym that someone has branded you with. "PTSD, MDD, OCD, HMI, HWV, MICA, ADHD" and a host of other letters. Sometimes that's a lot to take in.

All in all, the letters only mean something if they mean something to You. It's hard to be labeled by another person. Just like it was back in high school. The band geek, or the Jock, the cheerleader and the chess player. The drama club and the gangsta. The nerd and the prepster, the stoner, the lifer, the untouchable. Many of us have been labeled with something.

Just as a side note during part of High school I was a band nerd, but in my heart I was a popular cheerleader. Only I never tried out for the squad.

Sometimes it feels so hopeless when someone labels you. You want to yell out. "That's not me!" Sometimes people may look at you like you've done something wrong, and just keep praying and it will get better.

No
let me caps that
NO
Nope, not the case! No ifs ans or buts about it. The letters only mean something if you ascribe a negative thought to it.

The nice thing is, it's not like you are a slave to these letters. The diagnosing clinician did not pick up sentencing gavel and say, "OK, now hold out your forearm while we brand these letters into the flesh of your upper arm for the world to see. We will press extra hard to make sure they sere into your soul." (sarcastically)

Ptsd may suck, Let me take that back. PTSD does suck, and it may feel like you've been branded. The scars on your heart are real, make no mistake about that! But the invisible ones we have branded on our self esteems are just that. Invisible. They may show up in red or black, but in real life they don't exist.

They are adjectives! A word used to describe something. These letters do not make up a noun. YOU are a noun!

Love heals everything. If you don't believe me, hold a peacefully sleeping baby on your chest and just breath. Feel their heartbeat right next to yours. The love practically permeates your skin. Through whatever defenses you've put up. Smile and CRY dammit! Let somebody hug you. it's OK to cry.
It's OK to feel something. It's OK to be loved!
You deserve to be loved.

and you are...

sharing is caring and I care about YOU.

Grumpy Mommy

Two Hours later....

and it's not so cute.
pray for peace...i mean sleep.
What a night.

This night needs to be celebrated,
but not now. now I need to sleep.

Sleep

I've been surfing the web for the last little while

Just killing time before the kiddo's go to sleep.

It's almost eleven
Eleven PM
!!!

Why are they still awake at 11pm?

Riddle me this!

I gave them a Popsicle,

we called the grandparents,

we read stories,

we read scriptures

we prayed

I tucked them in

got the sippy cups,

Then..

They wanted to Snug

And me being the softy that I am said sure

come snug me in my bed.

after an hour of giggles and odd questions....

I decided it was bed time.

I closed the door to their room.

Now it is totally eleven, and I better go put and end to the endless energy.

It's kinda cute listening to Bug read a book to Bear

(even though he doesn't even know all the letters in the alphabet)

They are talking of eagles

power rangers

dinosaurs

They are clearly having a blast.

What did they eat over at dad's?

It must have been something good.

I'm ready for sleep.

Home

While my kids have been with their dad this weekend, I have been working on making our house(apartment) a homey touch. The curtains have been hung, the laundry is done, and everything has a place. I love order and cleanliness. It's hard with kids and depression. I even painted my toes. I love it!

Comfort

Two hours later, and I feel better.

Life Isn't Fair

I'm tired,
My heart is hurting, and I feel like I don't fit in.

I feel especially sad tonight listening to my children call their dad's new wife mom, and me by my first name. My first name is Kimberly and I love it. I think it's a beautiful name, but from my children I want to hear mommy, not Kimberly. I am their mother. I know they are small and don't know the difference, and usually it doesn't bother me, but tonight it stung.

maybe..

Because I'm emotionally exhausted,

I'm lonely,

I miss my family,

I'm tired of parenting alone,

I'm tired of crying into a pillow with no shoulder to cry on.

I'm tired of putting on a happy face.

I'm tired of feeling like I don't fit in.

I don't want to feel depressed.

I don't want to jump at loud noises.

I don't want to panic when I hear the sound of a helicopter.

I don't want this.

This is what PTSD feels like to me.

As I sleep at night I may be reminded of blood, fear, pain, and suffering, but in my heart of hearts I dream of....

Magestic mountains, A peaceful old farmhouse with a big back porch. A chicken coop where I take the little ones every morning to discover natures art of egg laying. A huge comfy chair for reading. A tree with a tree house and tire swing. The smell of the wholegrain waffles with fresh strawberries and whipped cream that I make everymorning for breakfast. A small stream with a little bridge. Tadpoles and fish, butterflies and lightning bugs. I want to see these things in a jar on my kitchen table. Enough room for guests, and yet cozy enough to be close and snug. I dream of a sky so clear that it draws us to nightly stargazing and eternal pondering. Enough land for children to embrace a childhood filled with discovery. A porch swing to chat with friends and have moral discussions with my children. Enough pets to teach responsibility, enough laughter to drown away our sorrows, and enough love to last a life time. That's what I dream of. A place of peace, a space of love, My little slice of heaven on earth.

Cry

Lonely

PTSD is lonely.

Overcoming Fear

Earlier this week a girlfriend of mine invited me to go to Sedona with a group of her family on Thursday I LOVE Sedona, and the thought of taking my kids to slide rock sounded awesome. But as the week progressed I began feeling more and more hesitant about going. I told myself that it would just be too hard with two little ones, but after doing some digging into my ptsd symptoms I really found out that I was avoiding the whole idea.

(avoidance is a major contributor to ptsd) just so you know.

So I decided to ask why?

and I answered myself because it's not safe and it will be too hard.

What's not safe?

Being around all those people.

Really why not?

Because I'm uncomfortable, and what if I can't easily leave if I start to panic.

So what?

uhhh....because I feel safer when I am in comfortable surroundings.

Of course you do.

The conversation went on and on until I realized that I was avoiding something that I knew deep down could be fun. Still not wanting to go, I committed to my friend and my kids that we would be going.

I could argue all day with reasons why my ptsdfriend didn't want to go. (driving is stressful, what if something happens, what if the kids get away, what if something happens in the canyon or someone gets hurt, what if there is a rock slide and on and on and on.)

So I Went.

With anxiety in my heart and determination in my head, I was going to beat it.

And you know what??? It was stressful. I was right. The drive was stressful, being around the crowds of people was stressful, and even watching the kids venture into the water was stressful.

But guess what? I made it, and I even had a pretty good time after a few hours to get settled in. It was fun to see the boys venture off and play in the water. Bug really liked going down the natural water slides. Bear did lots of hiking in and around the water. I even did a little cliff jumping. (I even took both boys off of a ten footer). I was feeling adventurous and climbed over to the high cliffs and jumped off of a 35 foot cliff. I didn't stand and hesitate, I waited for some people to move, and then off I lept. It was a rush and it was totally fun. I haven't done something like that in a Long time. After that jump I felt much better and really enjoyed myself.
.
.
.
.
.
because I wasn't afraid.

All that piddly stuff I was afraid of wasn't even real fear. Jumping off of a 35 foot cliff into snow melt river water should give some cause for fear. Not a fun afternoon with family and friends!
And so, something switched for me. (and I'm grateful)

I enjoyed myself.

and part of me healed.

To anyone who may be reading, "Good luck on your Journey!"

Puzzling Questions of my Childhood

As a young girl growing up I didn't understand the term Hero. At the beginning of the school year there would often be questions like Who is your favorite sports star, what are your hobbies, what is your favorite song, and who is your hero?

I was often puzzled by the term Hero. What is a hero? The typical answers were the fireman, rescue team, and others who have saved another's life. I always left my space blank, because I didn't have a particular Hero.

As I ponder my thoughts on heroism I have come to the following impressions, and have come to the conclusion that I know many Hero's.

A hero is:

The home or visiting teacher who persists in their contact.

It's the infantry soldier who reaches out to a support group and gives a voice to his demons and realizes that he is not alone.

It's the mother who selflessly caries a child in her womb giving constant nourishment to a growing life.

It's the one person that answers the phone when you really need a talk, or who opens the door and gives you a shoulder to cry on.

It's the lonely soul that cries to God with the faith that He will answer.

It's the mother who leaves an abusive marriage in order to give her children hope of a future free of violence and control.

It's the callused Vietnam vet who holds his new grand baby despite the memories that flood his mind as the child begins to cry.

It's the person that doesn't say, "I understand what you're feeling." It's the person who acknowledges that you are hurting.

It's the leader who shows the moral courage to stand up for what is right.

It's the person who looks for a human connection when they are suffering, not a drug, porn, alcohol, cutting or other destructive behavior to dull the emotions.

It's the woman who drops everything and drives across the country in search of purple and yellow pansies to fulfill a dream that she has had.

It's the addict who makes a commitment to work a program. (Even if it is their 17th time starting a 12 step cycle)

It's the servicewoman who acknowledges how difficult it is to be a woman in the military.

It is any person who is able to change when the odds feel completely impossible.

It's the one who prays in faith for a miracle.

It's my Mother.

My Grandmother,

And my Great Grandmother who taught me by example how to love, how to serve, and how to sacrifice.



And above all my Savior Jesus Christ who has shown me the way.

How do they do it?

I am totally amazed by these people who can write a blog post EVERY day.

It feels like forever since I've written anything.

Updates:
The kids father is moving back to GA in 6 weeks
I might be able to move closer to my family :)
Little Bear has pink eye (probably from the pool) Yuck!
I found a really great site for service dogs that help with PTSD
I have gone to the singles ward a couple times
Got a personalized license plate to raise awareness of PTSD
That's about all I can think of for now.

Oh, wait....

So this morning I didn't want to take Bear to the Dr's office for pink eye.

So I googled natural home remedies for pink eye.

I found THIS

I figured I would try a couple things out.

I didn't have any fennel seeds, chamomile flowers, turmeric, or boric acid.

but I did find a few items.

I went out side and broke off a small piece of an aloe plant.

Have you ever smelled that stuff?

It's like bitter B.O. and there was no way I was using that on my kid, so I tossed it in the trash.

I decided to go for the potato method, honey, and baking soda.

So I washed little Bear's eyes with the baking soda and water solution,

Then I applied potato slices to his eyes, (we did not wait the suggested 20 minutes)

and then for the honey.

I gooped up my finger with some of deseret's finest cannery honey

and ran my finger across his left eye followed by the right.

Bad idea...

"Ah!!!! Mom I have Fire eyes!!!"

uh oh

Fire eyes is not a good thing.

So we blinked and wiped the goo away.

Later in the morning I decided to wipe some honey in my eyes so I knew what it felt like.

Bear was right. It totally gave me "Fire Eyes", but went away quickly with a little blinking.

needless to say...we made it to the doctor this afternoon. Enough home remedies for today.

I hope to write more soon, but by the end of the day...
I feel like this.