Family, Post Partum Depression, Surrogacy

Working On Writing Again…..

One of the many things I used to do was write Write to just write. Emails for work just flew from my fingers and so many times they were thoughtless. Not in a way that they were plainly rude and disgusting and offensive; but thoughtless as in I didn’t really need to think to write them. I just put my fingers on the keyboard and it happened. I miss writing, I miss having the mindset to be able to just think.


Everything’s so different based on the meds I’m on. Who knew that lifelong steroids would mess me up far more than the disease I’m taking them for? I thought that my brain would stay regardless of everything I was losing. It was the strongest part of me that has now become a pile of mush.

Someone recently told me I was by far the dumbest smart person that they knew. How did that happen? Oh…..I remember this one! Steroids, Addison’s Disease, Pituitary insufficiency, Primary Adrenal insufficiency, Xolair side effects from an infusion that’s required to ensure I stay alive. Anaphylactic reactions from everything and nothing made a medication that has more side effects than I care to remember a necessity. Avascular Necrosis eating at my bones, I swear the ringing in my ears sometimes subsides in a way that I can hear my bones being consumed. PTSD that I’ve finally come to accept as truth rather than running away from it. That’s another book for a totally different time.

A book, yes; a book! I’m starting and going to finish. Countless people have told me I needed to write a book about everything and nothing all at the same time. Yes, I realize I’ve said that odd statement many times lately. I need a before, during and after type of book.

Not a self-help type of book, but an informative type of what not to do in a situation that you totally lose yourself in. Who knew that trusting someone could cause the amount of pain that most should never even try and endure. Who knew that the one you were supposed to trust in life would be the one that would betray you in ways that made you start blaming yourself because there was no other way to explain it. This is so far off of the surrogacy track, but it’s what got me to the place of surrogacy.

Knowing, learning, loving. Self-deprecating days that I wished never happened to days that I was indestructible and at the same time self-effacing. Days that I learned it didn’t really matter what anyone else thought and being able to hide behind anything as not to be noticed/recognized for anything I was able to accomplish. I knew who I was and what I was doing and that was all that mattered at that time. It allowed me to become much stronger as a person, as a parent, as an independent, somewhat “in your face” confidence that sometimes was so real and other times was totally a front. I couldn’t let anyone know that things were still killing me from the inside out. I needed to be the strong one in every situation. I needed to be the “fixer” rather than the one that needed help trying to figure out how to fix the broken in me.

I think it’s important to write. That it’s important for people to see that their problems, fears, issues, hopes, dreams or whatnot are things that others feel on a daily basis. That things aren’t so farfetched that they should dismiss them or avoid them or feel less than they really are.

I started out in a town that I thought was stifling me to understanding that this small town showed me I needed protection from things that were insignificant at that point in my life. It was also the place that I came back to after the fiasco in NJ in which I felt safe. That no matter how small, no matter how much everyone wanted to know everything about my life; that they just let me be. They let me wallow without question. They let me fall apart without judgement. That one statement from one person allowed me to wrap my mind around needing to live again.

I always felt like the outsider when I was growing up, I needed to flee because there was never acceptance. It’s crazy how things feel different when you look at them with a totally different perspective. Maybe I was still the outsider when I went back, but I just didn’t see it in the same offensive way I did while growing up. Maybe I just felt like an outsider because I didn’t allow myself to fit the square peg into the round hole.  Anything’s possible…….


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