Lukey

These cuties are two of Ryan's nephews... both named Luke. I hadn't had the chance to meet them until a couple weeks ago at a family breakfast in Salt Lake.  Both of them are just adorable, and so much fun!  Enjoy the pics... I'll be posting more from this weekend in the days to come, I'm sure. 

This little guy has a ballplayers arm.  Watch out for him in the NFL as the star quarterback!

And this little guy is already following in his Momma's footsteps as an awesome photographer. Everytime I turned the camera sideways, he would do the same. He stood there taking pictures of me while I was taking pictures of him. 
Too cute!

 

 And here he is with Tiff... one of heaven's angels still on earth.

 Too bad my camera's not quick enough to catch this without the blur.

Two of my favorite people in the world!

 Luke's big sister Jaden and my son Taliesin were best friends when they were younger. Moving 8 hours away keeps them from seeing each other very often... but not from being best friends again as soon as they are together.  Taliesin was doing everything he could to stay out of pictures that weekend... and so this is Jade holding him down so he has to be in a picture.

Stuck!

"Will someone please get me out?!?"

The cries were coming from my 4 year old.  He sounded stressed, but not hurt.


"Will someone please get me out?!?!?"

The cries were getting a bit more frantic. At first, I thought he must have locked himself in the bathroom, but as I walked closer, I could tell they were from the kitchen instead.  What could he be stuck in?

I burst out laughing when I saw this...

Sweet Nothings...

Homemade Hostess Cupcakes. Best eaten semi-frozen. Mmmm...

Piped curlicues make them look like the ones from the store. But once you taste them, you'll never get them mixed up again :)

Homemade Hostess Layered Cake. So delicious and rich (and tall!), you can only eat a sliver at a time.

There is miraculously still a few Homemade Hostess Cupcakes and the remaining half of this beautiful Homemade Hostess Layered Cake sitting in my freezer, begging to be eaten. I made it for Amanda's birthday, and she requested I make it again for her last week so her friends could taste the cake she's been raving about. With luscious layers of moist brownies, covered with homemade chocolate ganache, and more layers of my special Homemade Hostess Cream Filling, it's quite delicious. But no, instead of indulging, I am sauteing up a pan of vegis with quinoa for a late night dinner. 

We've been at the lake with the kids and I've just changed out of my wet clothes and into a comfy top and some grey knit capris. You know the kind, with the University of Utah logo written across one side. So there I stand in front of the stove, seasoning the colorful mix of snow peas, carrots, and squash, stirring contentedly as I wait for the vegis to cook. Ryan walks up behind me, puts his arm around me, and leans his head down to my ear. "Rachel," he says, in a sultry voice. (I think he's going to whisper something sweet in my ear, like maybe how nice I looked in my bathing suit, or how delicious the pumpkin bread I baked for our treat at the lake was, or how much he loves me. Right??)

No. Not at all. Nothing of the sort.

Instead, this is what I hear.

"Rachel," he says.

"Yes?" I answer, smiling hopefully.

"Your pants are on backwards."

And then he walks away as my face turns bright red.

Four Questions...

Ry with his Mom.  Love you Nan! Thank you for your love and prayers, and for raising such an amazing son!

Sometimes, especially when Ryan isn't home, I sit up for hours and since I cannot sleep, I edit pictures, or quite frequently, read snippets of blogs. Tonight, is one of those nights. It's 2 am, and I am tired beyond belief but wound up more than I should be... and sleep is far from coming. I know - it's my anxiety getting the best of me. A downward spiral at its beginning. And yet, here I sit.

I've been reading blogs about this, that, or the other, but quite a few about postpartum depression, postpartum anxiety, and other postpartum disorders.  Why??  Because when you've been thrown against a brick wall, had your entire life turned upside down, been shaken loose from all that's holding you together, and still are dealing with the effects of it, you tend to want to understand why. And what to do. And how to help someone else dealing with the same thing. And so even though I feel mostly healed from the whole experience... I still read about it. I still am working through it. I still am making sure that I am not just getting the point of feeling better... but that I am getting past it, through it, over it, and conquering it.

I've been asked a few times lately "do you think this is PPD?"  and "How can I tell if I have PPD?" Tonight, I came across a post that said to ask yourself these questions to help you determine if you have PPD...


Has it been longer than 2 weeks since I have given birth?
Am I feeling worse as days go on?
Am I eating much more or less than usual?
Am I sleeping much more or less than usual?

As I read it, I remembered reading this same thing as I started to do a little research on PPD before I finally accepted the fact I needed meds, and as I remembered reading it, I also remembered getting a bit angry.

No, getting VERY angry. As in, want to throw the computer across the room and yell obscenities and then break down into very large sobs kind of angry.

Here's why.


Am I feeling worse as days go on?  I remember thinking.. my lower regions ache from giving birth. My head aches from feeling crazy. I have a piercing headache from not getting enough sleep. My arms ache from bouncing this baby and trying to hold it just the right way while I try to nurse and that isn't working either. My eyes ache from crying all the time. I haven't got enough cohesiveness of thought to figure out whether I'm feeling worse right now than I was 2 hours ago, let alone try to track how I felt a week ago. Am I progressively feeling worse? How could I possibly feel worse than I do right now?


Am I eating much more or less than usual?  I remember thinking... more or less than usual??? What is usual? Do I gauge that on how much I was eating before this kid popped out of me? It was Thanksgiving for crying out loud! I was eating for me, for the baby, and then some! Or do I look at afterward? I am crying so much, so exhausted, and not functioning well enough to get up and out of the room, let alone go make myself some food.  When someone brings me food and sticks it in front of me I eat. When they don't, I don't. And if there is a bag of chips or a box of cookies within reach, I will eat the entire thing without thinking about it. Is that more or less than usual?


Am I sleeping much more or less than usual?  I remember thinking... sleeping more than I was before I had the baby?  I got up every hour to pee and took another hour to go back to sleep because my hips hurt, and then dozed while reading books to my toddler.  Should I gauge it off that? Or am I supposed to remember back to after I had my last baby and gauge whether I'm sleeping much more or less than the average new mom not getting enough sleep because she has a newborn's poopy diaper to change or baby to feed every hour. I have small kids! I haven't had a full night's sleep in years!! Is that more or less than usual sleep for a mother?

What ridiculous questions, and yet, my very answers to the questions were telling enough in themselves.  I couldn't just answer "no"to any of them, so the answer was obviously "yes". Yes, it had been more than two weeks since the baby was born. Yes I am feeling worse than I want to be, need to be, and can handle feeling. Yes I am eating much more or less than usual, and Yes I am sleeping much more or less than usual. Yes, I had many, many things pointing to severe postpartum depression. Not being able to hold the baby without crying. Not enjoying when I had the baby near me. Not wanting to talk and play and laugh with the baby, kiss his tiny nose and marvel at his tiny fists.  Not being able to turn the thoughts in my head off, and yet not having rational thoughts - all at the same time.

Still, the questions - though they tried to be helpful, didn't feel helpful at all. And my poor husband had to bear the brunt of all of it until I got it figured out... and then, still took care of me for 2 more years as I began to heal.

One day, I'll write a real list of "how to tell" questions. Until then, I'll just say "Thanks Baby. I love you more than you can imagine."

 - Rachel

My Sweet Chili Peppers

It's amazing how much better the house stays clean when I'm not working 40 hours a week.  Hmmm... maybe I'm not as horrible a housekeeper as I've felt like for the past few months. It's amazing how much more I can get done too! In the past week, I've painted the girls room (cream), the boys room (butterscotch brown), the stairway landing (white), the front porch (sandy red), the front steps, back steps, back stairway and railing (forest green), half the picket fence (white), and touch ups all over the house.

I'm painted out, for the moment... and although I would love to be at the lake right now, soaking up some sun, someone borrowed my pass. So... I decided instead to edit some photos I took of the kids in May.

I hope you enjoy them.  My Chili Peppers are the highlights of my life :)

- Rachel

Visitors

A week ago, the kids and I came back from a long trip away from home. Anyone who has seven kids and has been gone for a week knows that you have a lot of clean up, sorting laundry, and work to do when you  finally get home. Well... we hadn't done all the work yet, and the house was still a mess. In fact, a little before we got home, Jonnie piped up in his carseat and said,  

"Mom, I'm pooped."

"Okay," I said, "We'll change you as soon as we get home."

"You're not going to throw me in the bathtub," he said worriedly. (He hates to bath!)

"No. We'll just change your diaper, okay?"  

Well, he was asking if I was going to give him a bath for good reason.  We went to get him out of his carseat and realized he had done more than just filled his diaper - he had a poop explosion!  It was everywhere!  We spent the next half hour cleaning everything up, and then I jumped into the van again and ran to a job interview. By the time I got home, I was exhausted. The kids were exhausted. I decided we would clean the house the next day.

BAD IDEA. The next morning I let the kids sleep in, and as I'm sitting on the porch couch enjoying the peace and quiet of the morning, here comes a big shiny suburban pulling into my long driveway. "Who is that," I wonder. Pretty soon, out pops our good friends Mark, Paul, Steve, and their Dad.

Now, let me paint this picture a little more clearly.  I'm sitting on the couch on the front porch, lounging while I look up job listings on my laptop. I have no bra on yet, I haven't combed my hair, brushed my teeth, or put my makeup on. The porch is crowded with furniture we are storing for someone as a birthday surprise, and EVERY room in the house is messy. Every. Single. One.  In fact, when I came home, I had dumped my suitcase on my bed frantically trying to find something I needed from it before I left for my job interview.  I came back from the interview and shoved everything onto the floor before I fell into bed, exhausted. The room was bombed.  I'm not the world's best clean freak housekeeper to begin with... but that day, every room looked awful.  The food storage we had relocated to the playroom while we were working on a project was all still sitting there. The huge beanbag full of foam squares had broken the week before we left and since I didn't have time to sew it up, the kids had them scattered everywhere downstairs.

Mark gives me a hug hello and walks into the house to see how the basement turned out, which he had helped us do the drywall on. He goes downstairs, where Amanda is still sleeping.  I awkwardly give the others a hug and excuse myself for a minute while I go get my brassiere on. When I come back, Steve says he wants to see the house so I start showing them around, cringing at every room we walk into.  We go upstairs, and meanwhile Amanda comes up to the main floor, oblivious that we have visitors. When we come back down, she is sitting at the dining table in her nightgown eating a bowl of cereal, totally unaware they were even here.  They all want to see the work Mark did down in Amanda's room too... and Amanda is freaking out because her room looks about as good as my room.

Ugh. Normally, I love visitors. But sometimes I think I need to get one of those signs on my door that says...

"If you come to see me, come anytime.  If you came to see my house, make an appointment."

I can just imagine the stories they had to tell their wives when they got home.

Oh well....

A good day...

A good day is when...

They fight like cats and dogs most of the time, but occasionally they find something in common... like when they both want to do something they shouldn't, such as trying to start Amanda's scooter and ride it.  Good thing she doesn't leave the key in it!  Notice Jonnie's hat.  He wouldn't take it off for weeks... it has now disintegrated completely.

• You find a bunch of money in your old wallet while cleaning your room. (Yay!!  I was trying to figure out how to buy paint I needed for the deck.) 
• You get to sing "Love Story" and "Crazier" with your five and seven year olds. (Daisy and Lina are adorable, if I do say so myself :) 
• Good friends stop by because they miss you and have been thinking of you. (Love you Sheila and Kelly!)
• You find pictures you forgot about while emptying your camera's memory card. (See below...)
• Your 14 year old helps you de-clutter your room. (Thanks Mercy!!!)
• You get a call in for an interview and your husband has one too. (Hmmm.... which direction will our lives take?)
• Your husband sends you a sweet text saying how much he misses you. (Miss you too Babe!)
• You fit into pants you haven't fit in for a very long time! (Just three more pounds til my next goal!)

Oh the joys...

We've been staying at Joe's place the last few days and when we're there, Jonnie sleeps in the same room as we do.  Unfortunately, here is what our night consisted of last night.

Cough, cough.
Cough, cough.

And a little later...

Cough, cough, cough.
Cough, cough, cough.

Being away from home without my medicine cabinet is NOT my favorite thing, and I normally always bring a few basics with me when we travel north. The climate and elevation change always seems to get the kids with one sickness or another. Who wants to wake up your hosts at one in the morning asking for some Vicks?

All night long it was the same thing.

Cough, cough, cough, cough, cough, cough, cough, cough, cough.

Needless to say, I'm tired.

Good thing I can take a nap :)

Bawling My Eyes Out

My sweet chili peppers.
7 times I have gone through PPD, with each baby it became progressively worse.
They're worth it. They're definitely worth it. I'm glad I'm their Mama!

I've been crying uncontrollably for the past 5 minutes and decided to write it down instead of keep on crying all night. Good idea right? Getting it out on paper always seems to help me.


So... the bawling. What is it from this time, you ask.

Tonight I happened to look on www.ksl.com and noticed a link to a story on postpartum depression. I clicked on it, watched it, and from there went to a good website on postpartum depression called pospartumprogress.com.  It is not a good website, it is an excellent website.  I've been there before, I vaguely remember, but tonight I clicked on this link talking about the 6 Stages of Postpartum Depression, and as I read it the tears started falling and I couldn't help but sit and bawl my eyes out.

The first five stages were fine. I completely related with each and every one. The sixth stage is where I lost it. I have for a very long time known that my postpartum depression had been tainted with an extra shot of PTSD (Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder). I have come to a sane enough point to be able to identify that, and also identify most of the reasons behind it, but it has always baffled me why I still feel so traumatized when most of the things that traumatized me really have been dealt with by now. I had always attributed it to things that happened during the pregnancy and a short bit of extreme trauma in the weeks after the baby was born. Step number 6 really helped me understand why, and I can completely see now that a part of my PTSD has been caused by the trauma of dealing with the PPD and the changes it brought with it.

It just feels so good to know that I'm not the only freak in the world who has dealt with this to such an extreme level. It feels so relieving to know that there is an end, somewhere. There is healing. There has to be if others have healed.

One of the big things that brings me immediately back to the pain and trauma that I went through and opens the wounds up fresh and raw again is hearing that another woman is dealing with the same thing and going through postpartum depression.  I want to help, and hopefully I have been able to help a few. But I know I cannot erase the hurt and take away the pain for them. I know I cannot shield and protect them from everything they will go through. I cannot help and support them in all the ways I wish I could, and it breaks my heart. It is one of the reasons I am so open with this issue on my blog, because I don't ever want anyone else to feel as alone and isolated and hurt and hopeless as I did, without them knowing that someone else understands, someone else has been through this, and someone else cares.

So, for you fabulous mothers out there going through this little piece of hell... please know my heart is aching for you. Know that you are in my prayers, and know that I am only a phone call or email away.  Also, please take a moment to look over this website.  It really has an enormous amount of valuable help and information, both for you, and for your family.
 
One of the things that jumped out at me as I went through several of the pages of the website tonight was this sentence.

 ...the most common symptom of postpartum depression is not sadness at all- it is anxiety and agitation … and while many women who struggle might have periods of sadness, depression and tearfulness, the overwhelming symptoms that cause them great pain are difficulty concentrating, excessive worry, high level overwhelm, racing thoughts and difficulty sleeping. 

And I will expand on this... that the agitation mentioned frequently involves frustration, irritation, and lashing out at your children or husband. 

One of the difficult things is identifying that yes you HAVE postpartum depression, especially if you aren't feeling particularly sad or "depressed" in the way it is often depicted. You may not have an Eeyore face or a constant raincloud over your head... not everyone does. But if you are even wondering if you have PPD... there is a good chance you do. And a good chance you will NOT be able to just "get over it" on your own without a bit of understanding and support.

I'm here for you. Please call or email. It is the ONE thing that I can feel good about from the whole experience... helping someone else who may be dealing with it. 

May you find peace,
Rachel

Cream Puffs, Eggs, and Nests

Here is an update WITH PICTURES can you believe it? In no particular order, here are some recent pics!

Easter was fun! We decorated eggs with the chili peppers on Friday and Saturday was spent making yummy Easter treats.  I let each of the kids choose a treat to make and by the end of the day I was beyond frazzled. Thank goodness Eric and Eliza rescued me and took all the younger kids to get french fries and hamburgers and play at the playland while I basked in the calmness of the quiet house.

I get to be a proud mama and brag for a minute here... Mercy wanted to make cream puffs and as you can see from the pictures, they turned out beautifully!!  Now, cream puffs are not the easiest thing in the world to make. The dough is finicky and if you don't bake them just right they either turn out dry and crusty or fall flat.  Mercy found the recipe herself, made the dough herself, baked them herself, and WOW.  They were perfect!! Then she proceeded to make the Bavarian Custard from scratch and followed THAT recipe by herself too :)  I am pretty proud of her.

Eliza and Eric moved in that weekend (we have LOVED having them here!!) Jason and his girls surprised us with a visit Easter weekend too and it was awesome to see them and having them stay.  And then, the day after Easter MOM surprised us with a visit too.  Taliesin and Mercy had fun playing tetherball with her.  It was fun to see her enjoying the grandkids for a bit.

Anyway, enjoy the pics!!

Daisy's Coconut Jelly Bean Nests

Tyler's Chocolate Cereal Jellybean Nests

Taliesin's Cupcakes

Kitty Kat riding the wiggle car :) 

Someone

I'm like a puddle on the floor
I'm giving up on you.
I have melted more and more
I'm giving up on you.

You're never here.
You don't come through.
I'm giving up on you.

I've tried to be a calm and comfort.
Giving up on you.
I've tried to reach you through the storm
I'm giving up on you.

You never know.
You don't come through.
I'm giving up on you.

Somewhere. Some day.
Someone. Will blow it all away.
Sometime. Some how.
Someone. Won't give up on me.

Like the calm before the storm
I'm giving up on you.
Like the dark before the dawn
I'm giving up on you.

You don't come through.
You're never here.
I'm giving up on you.

You broke my heart so many times
I'm giving up on you.
My tears have rained upon the floor
I'm giving up on you.

You'll never know.
You'll never know.
I'm giving up on you.

Somewhere. Some day.
Someone. Will blow it all away.
Sometime. Some how.
Someone. Won't give up on me.
They won't give up on me.
Won't give up on me.

Recipes

Recipes make sense.  You add this to that, you mix these with those, you stir, you steam, you cream, you bake... and at the end you have something that is real. Is good. It makes sense. There are certain scientific evidences in cooking and baking that are the same every time.  Butter+heat = melted butter.  Baking soda+vinegar will produce the same results every time.  And my favorite... chocolate+coconut=yummy!  (Okay, not everyone will agree with that, but it is a constant for me at least.)

Life, is a little different.  There aren't recipes, or at least they don't always make sense. Crying babies+rocking in a chair with mommy doesn't always equal a soothed baby.  Working 40 hours a week plus overtime doesn't always equal all the bills getting paid. And eating healthy+working out doesn't always equal the weight you want to be, at least not as fast as you want it to come.

Perhaps there isn't a recipe for everything, but there are constants. And for this I am grateful. God's love is constant. Certain friends are constant. Love is the better way, that is a constant. 

And for everything that isn't constant... I guess we'll have to substitute a yummy recipe instead.  Here's the recipe for today :)   I made it for the recent cake auction, and I hope the people who paid $65 for it were as happy eating it as I was making it.  And to Mackenzie's family, I hope you enjoyed the one I made for her birthday, and understand the love we have for you in our hearts, and the hope we have for the future.

Pumpkin Cake with Chocolate Chips,  Layered with Chocolate Fudge Icing and Maple Cream Cheese Frosting


1 box spice cake mix
1 box yellow cake mix
2 teaspoons cinnamon
1/2 teaspoon cloves
1/4 teaspoon ginger
1 29 oz can pumpkin puree
4 eggs

Mix them up, add chocolate chips. Pour them into well greased round cake pans, half as tall as you'd like them to end up. Bake according to cake mix directions, testing when done by lightly touching the top and seeing if it springs back.

Meanwhile, melt 1 cup butter and add
2/3 cup whole milk
2/3 cup dark cocoa
2/3 cup regular cocoa
3 cups powdered sugar
When smooth, add 12 oz bag of chocolate chips

And with your mixer, whip up
1 stick butter
1 8oz package cream cheese
4 cups powdered sugar
1 tsp maple extract

Whip for 5 minutes at least.

When the cake is cool, cover it with the chocolate icing. Stick it in the freezer to cool for a few minutes, frost with a thick layer of cream cheese frosting, layer another cake, cover with chocolate icing, cool, and frost again with a thick layer of cream cheese frosting.

Twas the Last Sunday Night...

Ha.  I forgot I twittered this little poem so long ago.  I am looking forward more beautiful Southern Utah weather this year!!

The children are nestled all over the porch,
while visions of ice cream dance in their heads.


The baby is crying again for his bottle,
or maybe it's nightmares of Brae holding him in a throttle.


Mercy is eating peaches and cream,
she's adjusting pretty well to school, it seems.


Momma is ready for some quiet tonight,
the kids have been good but she's glad it's GOODNIGHT!


We're all missing Papa, he's jolly and merry
but his belly doesn't shake like a bowlful of jelly.


With great anticipation we are all awaiting
the next time Papa gets some needed vacation.


Come Friday the 4th, what will we hear?
A big blue Ford - sometimes used as a hotel.


And what to our wondering eyes shall appear?
Papa himself and his laugh and good cheer.


And so now you know what the Jessops are doing
down Hurricane way where a storm has been brewing.


On the last Sunday night before Daddy comes home
to see his Sweet Peppers and Mama Bear again. 


The End.

The best picture...

One street down from where we live is a dead end road circled in pomegranate bushes, and at the end of that road a walking trail begins.  It winds along the old canal and then turns into a small canyon where in the rainy season, there are three small waterfalls.  These are the namesake for Three Falls Elementary that my kids attend, and it is a favorite hike for my kids anytime they have guests down to visit. There are multiple caves along the canyon walls, and Taliesin's last scout camp used some of them for sleeping in last time they camped out.

Yesterday while the weather was beautiful we went on a family hike up the canyon, and while there are many good pictures that could have taken, my favorite was one of Ryan kneeling on one knee by his daughter with a small scrape on her knee, making sure she was okay and giving her a kiss on her forehead.  Too bad I didn't bring my camera.

I cannot tell you how wonderful it has been to have Ryan home for a couple weeks. To see his face and feel his touch and hear him singing has been truly a much needed comfort to my soul.

I love you Ry.  Thanks for loving me.

Bricks

It's no secret, I get depressed. Have for years. Had a hell of a time over the past couple years fighting it and dealing with it. You probably get sick of reading about it on this blog. Guess what. I get sick of living it.

I was diagnosed as "clinically depressed" 9 years ago. And for 7 years, I fought that diagnosis and fought the reality of what I was facing. I fought and fought and worked and worked and took the herbal remedies and the natural solutions and the vitamins and the oils and the homeopathics and the advice and helpful suggestions wherever I could. I changed my diet, I ate this instead of that. I cut out sugar. I ate protein at every meal. I balanced my electrolytes, my iron, my vitamin C. I got vitamin b shots. I took vitamin b drops. I pounded omega 3's, 6's, and 9's. I had lavender baths. I worked on the contributing factors where I could recognize them. I read books and took walks and worked out. I exercised daily, and put more miles on my stroller walking around the small town I lived in one summer than I did on my van.  I took supplements of this and supplements of that, vitamins and minerals and calcium and got lots of sunshine and breaks from the kids and took time for me. I sought help and solutions in every way shape or form I could find them, except for the drugs that the doctors offered.  I did mental reconditioning and surrounded myself with positive reinforcing statements and affirmations posted all over my house and even inside my cupboard doors.  I prayed and I prayed and I prayed and I read and I did everything I knew how to do. For seven years.

And then, I snapped.

There were definitely a lot of contributing factors. As much as I did to try to reverse the situation and make sure that with each baby I wasn't going to have to deal with postpartum depression... in the end, real life kicks in. The icing on the cake, of course, was the new baby and all that came with him.  And while it helps to define the factors involved, the end result is what I have to deal with on a daily and consistent basis. This new me. This me post-baby-number-seven. This me post-mental breakdown.

I was forever changed.

I needed help. I knew it. I could feel myself at the edge of a cliff and knowing that if I didnt' get help soon there would be no more Rachel. There would be no more me. At the time, I was inexplicably terrified of driving, or I would have gotten in the van, drove off, and never come back. I don't kno were I would be. I have no idea. And I don't ever want to find out.

I couldn't handle the baby. I couldn't handle the kids. I couldn't deal with the stress. I was shutting down more and more and more. Like quicksand, it was surroundg me, pulling me farther in, and every effort to not surrender to it sunk me farther and farther.

My last ditch effort to have Ryan finally understand where I was at, was a miracle that at that point I could even express it to him adequately.  I knew that if I didn't get help, I would die. I knew I was cracking, splintering, and that if I didn't get help I would be in a million pieces on the floor and there would be no way to fix what was wrong. I had been bad off before, but this was nothing like I'd ever experienced.

I remember just bawling and bawling and saying over and over "I need help." It was three in the morning, I think, before he realized the extent of what I was saying. And to his credit, he got me help. He drove me to the doctor's office the next day. He filled my prescription, and held me as I went through the rollercoaster from hell that comes with getting on, and off, those drugs.

He has been amazing, and I rely on his strength and fortitude. It is no wonder I miss him so much when he is gone working.

Now, it's two years later, and I still hate the drugs.  I worked hard, and with the help of my husband, my family, and my friends, and especially with the help of beautiful priesthood blessings, I was able to get off the drugs and stay off of them. It has been 11 months since I last took my prescriptions, and I'm proud of it. But I still can't throw the rest of them out. They are expired, and I don't ever want to take them again, and yet I can't throw them away. I panic.

Partly why I panic is because of days like today. Days when I should be fine, when there is nothing "wrong", and definitely nothing to be crying about. And yet I do. Even more than crying, I sit, with a weight upon my back, like forty tons of brick pressing down on me. I curl up and tears stream down my face and my head swirls round and round.  I can't move. I can't vocalize. I don't function.

What I've found I have to do is label the bricks. Try to identify them. And visually, forcibly, remove them from my back, off my shoulders, out of my lap, and set them down. Sometimes I can set them aside. Sometimes I don't know where to put them, and I have to give them to Father in Heaven and ask Him to take care of them for me. I have to recognize if I'm carrying the bricks that belong to someone else, taking on their stress or responsibility.

Sometimes the bricks are fragile and whe I go to pick them up, the bricks in that particular pile will break apart and fall back down on me, and I have to pick each piece up carefully and set it aside gently, because those feelings are so real and so raw.

And if someone comes along and asks "how are you?" I smile cheerfully. I answer the phone as though nothing is wrong. Even if they could see the bricks, they would not recognize what I was doing. I just try to shrug and make it look like there is nothing wrong.  I'm quite good at it actually. There probably isn't anyone I came in contact with today that realized just how much I was struggling. 

At least, until Joe called. Somehow he could tell, even before he called.  Maybe he read my last post, maybe he was just prompted.  I don't know. But I hope he also knows how much it means that he did call. That he does care. That he listens to me and doesn't make me feel bad for being weighed down by my load of bricks today. That he doesn't remind me it's all just in my head. That he doesn't make me feel like I'm just wrong for how I feel.

Thank you Joe. And thank you Father, for a brother who loves me so much. And for helping me to know...

I will be okay. One brick, one day, at a time.