Little House in the forest

Just like you, I was born. My mom likes to joke that I was her April Fool's baby. She went into labor on April Fool's Day but did not have me that day. I made my grandparents the very next morning. Yes, that makes me an Aries. I thought you may need to know this little tidbit to piece together the madness that follows.

My earliest memories are of this Shack of a house that was green tiled roof and green tile around the outside of the walls. There was a room for a bathroom but no indoor plumbing in that room. We had a lovely outhouse that had to be relocated every so often you know: dig another hole and move that house take that dirt and throw it into the previous pit. Gross I know. However we did have a very nice Garden out there every year in the years to follow. I remember all the way back to win my first brother was about 2 years old which would make me about 4 years old. I remember that my mom's mom lived with us and she and I shared a queen size bed. It had one of those old antique metal not wrought iron But Metal headboard and footboard and bouncy spring platform that the mattress goes on. Oh and it was in the area that's supposed to be the dining room. I remember one night I went to bed hungry and had a dream that I was reaching out to grab a roll to eat it and was putting it to my mouth in my dream. My grandmother woke me up from that dream and I was really sad to see that it wasn't real. I remember the kitchen sink had one of those pumps well pumps. And when I had to go potty my grandma would take me in there and she would sit on the five gallon bucket and I would sit on the little pea pod and I guess probably somebody dumped all that out into the Outhouse later on I don't know it's just the whole place smells like pee I remember that smell. I remember one day my mom sitting in the chair by the front door crying because my step dad hasn't come home yet. That was a frequent event. But I remember standing in front of her kind of between her knees and I was telling her don't cry mommy every thing is going to be okay. Yeah I remember he came home staggering I think he'd been an accident probably one of those times when you wrecked a car one of many cars that he has crashed from drinking and driving. I remember when I was going to school I had to walk down the street to catch the school bus with my neighbor who is a few years older than me. And I never questioned it at the time but once I became an adult and would think back on that it blew my mind that none of the adults had to order child go to the younger child's driveway to wait for the bus. It was about a quarter of a mile. Sun, rain, snow, sleet... and when I was in kindergarten probably towards the end of that year I was six and my step dad's brother who was in the Air Force managed to get the money together from all the siblings and they built us a new house behind the old house. The old house got demolished. The new house was a Jim Walter home. Which means it was basically chalk. They built a new home with two bedrooms knowing that we had a boy and a girl in the family and they may need to have their own room have their own room eventually. No that did not happen. Maybe about a year later my second brother came along making that 900 something square foot house even more cramped.

My step-dad had a very low IQ because he stopped school in about the fifth grade to help with the farm. My mom had a very low IQ as well. She quit school in the 9th grade when she got pregnant with me. She was 17 and in the 9th grade. I think I will go more in-depth with that later. I'm starting to get depressed about all this so I will pick this back up hopefully tomorrow.

Renew

It appears that it takes me a couple years between blogs. That's a shame. I really want to write more often. There's so much in my head that I need to put down and work through and kind of like do self therapy with. Now that I have voice to text  I have a feeling things are going to change around here .

So I am making a resolution to blog much much much more often. The first of which shall be in the next post

Do you REALLY care?

"I'm fine, really!"

That's what people really, truly want to hear when they ask "Are you ok? Do you need help?"

Because, in my experience (on both sides of the question) is that if you truly want to help.... you just jump in and help.

I read a mom blog very recently that was inspirational... "Do what's yours to do today."  Sounds easy enough... until you find yourself 46 years old, with three kids ages 9-16 years old, living with your early-stage dementia mom and intellectually disabled 39 year old brother.  And, oh yeah... you are on medical disability for fibromyalgia and neuropathy, just to keep the list short.

We just moved to a new low-income apartment.  A blessing, yes.  But the move.... oh, boy.  I still can't get my ish arranged or organized 16 days post-move-in.  I feel so incredibly disorganized and pathetic.  However, if I do too much at once, I'm in a lot of pain.

Oh, and
Calls to make, food to prepare, kitchen to clean, bathrooms to clean,

mister mohammad

Im still on eid mreak eid is when we celebrate hajj,eid is like Christmas,thanksgiving and easter rolled into one.We visit family and friends,mostly my only friends are online with my friends on my xbox360.




Im not really good at drawing.


This is me.

writing a book

I recently mentioned to my roommate, in front of my 8 yr old son, that another friend suggested that I write an auto biography.

Mohmammad said, "Mom, whatever you write, you just HAVE to start it off with: 'Oh my FEEET!'"

Neuropathy sucks.

It's hot in here!

A/C repair guy tells me on the phone that he doesn't need to come back out again. It's hotter in here than outside cuz, you know..... Body heat. Really? Are you kidding me right now?

73 degrees OUTSIDE & 83 INSIDE and, no.... I havent had the stove or oven on.... in longer than I care to admit.

Depression. Truly silent.

People want to see your Facebook, Twitter, YouTube, blogger, tumbler, whatsapp.... About anything and everything. Except. When. You. Are. Sad.

Post your dog pooping, your kid walking, dental exam, intimate details of anything at all. Even "GoPro" your simple drive to work.

Some posts are boring, some stupid, some confusing, and (granted) some are outright hilarious.

But if you show the slightest bit of TRUE depression, people don't know how to respond.

You WE really should come to terms with that. We are the stick in the mud. The party pooper. The Debbie Downer.

We can't let their ignorance or (inability to reply with helpful words) make us worse. We also don't have to suffer alone. At this very moment I'm conjuring the courage to call the help line. I have once before.

Join me

Oct 6 (Today) there are several online and phone help connections.

Facebook "the plucky procrastinator"
Twitter  @mentalhealthccs
#texttalkact
Bit.ly/texttalkact