Picking Up the Peaces

Nobody's perfect. That's what they say. I get it. I can't be perfect, but that doesn't mean I can't try. In fact, we should all be striving to become perfect, "even as our Father in Heaven is perfect." Of course, some of us *ahem* might take this a little too far and become what one may call a "Perfectionist." I admit. In some instances, I am one of those. I am a perfectionist. Well, like I said, in some instances anyway. I was having a conversation with my teenage son the other day. We were talking about how difficult it was for me to turn in a group project, for school, that was full of grammatical and spelling errors. I only did it because I wanted to give my group members a chance to take be accountable for their own work. My son made the observation that I couldn't write poorly if I tried. I contemplated that for a bit and came to the conclusion that he was right. I take too much pride in the work I produce. I don't think I cou...

So often I hear people comment about how strong I am. My own sisters have told me how they admire how I can hold it together through everything I've gone through and am going through. Sometimes, I feel that strength. Sometimes, I can hold it together. Then, I crumble. Like the last cookie in the bag, I break in tiny little pieces. I lose faith. I don't have the strength to keep going. I don't have the desire to keep going. I want to give up. I want to be done. Can I just be through with this trial already? Through the tears, I ask God why. I ask Him how much longer I need to hang on through this. I don't know the answer. It rarely comes in that instant. Sometimes, I don't think the answer comes at all. So I get back up. I brush myself off. I wipe away the tears and put myself back together again. I gather my courage and go on. The most difficult part of all of it? Not knowing when the hopelessness will strike again. How long until I l...

Okay, I know this is an odd day for me to post, but this has been on my mind for a couple of weeks and I haven't sat down to get it out until today. Today, I am struggling to focus on getting things done that need to be done. Yesterday, I got so much accomplished. Today, not so much, so I thought I'd start with getting this out of my head. I'm not sure if I mentioned it, but a bishop once said that "All wives of porn addicts have anger issues." When I first heard that, I was livid (ironic, I know), but now that I think about it, I don't think it's anger issues, as much as we legitimately have the right to be angry. Who wouldn't be? For me, the man I thought I married wasn't the man that I married. The man who sat across the altar from me and made covenants with God, in front me and a whole bunch of witnesses, didn't keep those covenants. In fact, he pretty much broke every single one of them. The man I thought loved me unconditionally...

***CPAP MACHINE UPDATE: I got my machine on Monday. I've been trying to wear it not in bed so I can get used to it. That's one of the tips I got, "Use it while you're sitting there watching TV." Unfortunately, I don't really have time to watch TV, so I've been trying to use it for at least half an hour while I work on my school work.  Monday night, I was having a hard time catching my breath. Tuesday night, I tried using my inhaler before I went to bed. That didn't help.  Last night, I took two generic Benadryl. That helped me relax some. Then I listened to some sleep meditation with some music. That seemed to help even more. Sadly, I didn't get to sleep until almost 2:00 AM.  Tonight, I'm going to try something else to help me relax and get to bed earlier. I know I just have to get used to it, so I'm going to keep trying.*** Super Mom Breaks Down I'm a few days behind on pretty much everything but early on one thing. ...

Sleep? Dreams? What's That? People used to be skeptical when I'd say I don't dream. They would respond with, "You just don't remember them." I would say, "No, when I dream, I remember that I had a dream. I don't always remember what it was about, but I remember that I dreamed." Well, guess what? I was right. I don't dream much. In our almost 17 years of marriage, I've had, maybe, 15-20 dreams. Most of them, I remember vividly. The others, I just remember that I dreamed. Last August, I did a home sleep study. I never received a phone call regarding the results. I wasn't even sure which doctor had ordered the sleep study because it took almost four months for me to get a call about doing the sleep study. I had my suspicions, but they weren't confirmed until recently. I was finally able to get my results from another doctor, because it was done through the same hospital system as this doctor. I also found out who had ordered ...

Labels. There's such a stigma attached to labels. At the same time, we all want answers. Having a label isn't such a bad thing when it comes to diseases. Labels don't define us, but they can give us direction. What is in a name? Let's start by looking at food. When you go to the grocery store, there are labels everywhere. A lot of people read the label before they buy a food. Other people just see the label and choose that one or they another one. Why? To the consumer, the name on the label plays a role in their decisions. I, for one, can't stand any cream of chicken soup that isn't the Campbell's brand. It has something to do with the smell.  Cheese, on the other hand, store brand works just fine. To me, all the cheeses taste the same, no matter who makes it. I'll usually buy the cheapest brand of cheese because we're on a budget. Milk: Store brand Cereal: General Mills, Kellogg's, or Post (I do not like the Malt-O-Meal brand,...

I know it's been a while since I've posted. I've been thinking about all the buried feelings I have and trying to figure out how to dig them out. One night, I actually wrote this in my journal (I haven't been much of a journal-er): The mighty towers loom around me. The Redwood-thick walls protect me. I feel trapped. Every time I open the gate of the mighty fortress, a siege awaits me. I keep opening the gate and my wounds are multiplying. They start to heal and I open the gate again. The wounds are getting deeper. They start to heal so I open the gate again. The wounds become infected. I close the gate. I need time to recover and heal. I keep the gate closed. There's a gentle knock at the gate. I'm terrified to open it. The knock comes again. Dare I open it once again? I climb to the top of the wall and look down. It is The Physician. It is the Master Healer. It is the Savior. I know He wants to help me. I know He wants to heal ...