Time Heals All. Or Doesn't. Whatever.

Ten years. Ten yeaaaarrrrrs.

You'd think I'd be over it after 10 years. But I'm not. I'm so not.

I just spent a good hour re-reading a bunch of my content, and you know what? I'm a pretty damn good writer. It doesn't matter, though, cause A) that's my own opinion, and B) I'm too damn lazy to make anything come of it. Yes, my lawyers called me "prolific" and I'm a miraculously fast typist, but still. It's been years since I sat down and wrote a blog entry for good reason. I'm busy. I'm tired. I'm depressed. And I just got sick of talking about it all.

Seriously. SICK. OF. IT. Tired of examining my own life, my son's life, the "Why's" and the "What if's"... Tired. Tired of feeling like this. Tired of trying to be part of this community that I've been thrown into. Tired of being SPECIAL in a way that DOESN'T mean important, wonderful, or glamorous. Tired of being DIFFERENT.

My life was thrown into a tailspin 10 years ago, and it's never come back down. I say I'm over it, but I'm not. I say I'm okay with it, but I'm not. I'm NOT. I'm NOT okay.

I hate this time of year. Despise it. December to March are the worst months for me. It takes all summer for me to recover from those months, only to have a month or two of semi-reprieve before it starts all over again. I'm in full-fledged panic attack mode lately, with sleepless nights and uneasy days. I gave in, I'm taking the damn pills they pushed on me all those years, but they don't help. In fact, I think they made things worse from a panic perspective. But they take the edge off during the day. They make me slightly less of a moody bitch, so I swallow them down and pray for the best. Because after years of therapy and no cure in sight, what choice do I have?

This month, this year, things are so much harder for me... My sister-in-law found out she was pregnant, due almost 10 years to the date after Ethan's due-date. She was diagnosed with pre-eclampsia this week (CHECK), hospitalized for four days on bed rest (CHECK), and finally had a c-section to deliver the baby (CHECK).

Can anyone say Post-Traumatic-Stress-Disorder? Flashbacks and all around sadness, and I just want to go sit in a corner and cry by myself... Ten years. Ten years, and some days it's like it just happened.

Will I ever feel good again? I don't mean to sound negative; I have a lot of happiness in my life. My children are amazing, I love Ethan more than you can imagine, and I really do think he's happy most of the time. I have THE most amazing husband anyone could ever ask for, and I have to pinch myself most days to believe he's still here - with ME - by choice. But I don't feel GOOD. I feel like my brain has been permanently damaged along with my son's and I can't fix it. Will it ever be fixed?

I don't know the point of this post... It's been 3 ... 4... a bunch of years since I posted here previously, but something has been pulling me back. I guess it's this time of year, this milestone of double digits pressing on me, wearing me out, rehashing the past. It may be another 10 years before I post again, but still. I did it. I'm still here.

I'm still alive. Ten years stronger.