One Goal at a Time

My therapist had suggested I don’t make to-do lists. Don’t write out everything I have to do that day. Don’t write out all the little (and big tasks), as that can quickly overwhelm me. She suggested that I write one thing at a time. Somewhere I can erase it, or delete it. Such as a white board, or a word doc on my computer.

I did really well with this strategy, actually. I flourished with it.

And then I didn’t.

Then I let my mind take over and pile on everything I needed to get done. I let myself get overwhelmed with each bit of housework that wasn’t complete.

So, today, I’m taking a deep breath and going back to the one goal at a time. It likely helps that I’ve been back on my medication for a few days, and that I’ve had coffee. Who knows.

I’m starting with dishes. Washing, and putting them away. The tupperware has been getting stacked on the counter to be put away for days. I have the dishes soaking in hot water while I finish up my coffee.

Between dishes, I write, and walk. Writing means so much to me, and yet I feel guilty if I write too much when I have housework to do. I refuse to let myself feel guilty for doing something that means so much!

Once dishes are done, I’ll decide my next project. However, I won’t think of everything I have to do until then.



Manic Days

Today didn’t start off all that well, really. Not even going down that rabbit hole.

Then, I snapped. A switch flipped. The manic set in. I set out to clean my 4 year old’s room. And did it all at once. I rearranged it, got rid of junk, organized her books, made her bed neatly, vacuumed, and organized her clothes. (as I hear the kids playing in her room, and I hope to hell it isn’t a wreck already!)

I’ve mopped, swept, vacuumed, did a ton of dishes, stripped our bed, started the laundry, and have no intentions of stopping. I’m just letting my phone charge up a bit before I switch the laundry, do more dishes, put the kitties in my room so I can open everything up…and then do some yard work.

I don’t know how long this will last, as there’s no formula for this. None. It could stick around until my psych appointment, or it could vanish the second I crawl into bed tonight. Who the fuck knows.

I’m feeling more creative. I signed up for a photography site and asked the other half to help me find a camera to save up for. I love taking pictures. I just have shit luck with things not breaking. Which I only have myself to blame.

I’m feeling more conscious about my impact on the world. I texted him about wanting to get more reusable straws, better water bottles (the ones I want give back- they donate profits to save the oceans), things like that. We buy in bulk, which I think is a good thing? Less packaging? Not sure. We also have a ton of reusable bags. Nerdy ones, of course! 🙂

I have some sketch ideas for tonight. Once the kids are in bed, and I can draw in peace. Or I’ll never get past the first line XD

But, today is certainly a manic day.

And that is a very odd feeling when you cried yourself to sleep the night before over who knows what (seriously, it’s like my body was crying just because….idfk).



Truth Be Told

The truth is, it’s my fault I ran out of meds on Saturday morning. It’s my fault because I miscounted. It’s my fault that I thought that my psych would actually get back to my pharmacy in a timely manner, and that I wouldn’t have to call them.

The past few days have been a steady downfall for me. And it is a huge reminder that I will be on medication for the rest of my life.

I will never go a day without taking medication for my mood. I will never be able to function without them. I will never be free. I watched a video on ‘forgiving assholes’, just to not be chained to them anymore. I wish that was my case. I wish I could sever the chain that binds me to the assholes of my past. Mainly one. However, the need for medication makes that impossible.

While I am not actually suicidal at the moment, that moment isn’t too far off. The urge to just…give up is in my reach. The hopelessness is setting in. That life won’t get better. That I’ll forever be crushed under the weight of my eating disorder. That I’ll forever look in the mirror and want to sob. That I’ll never escape this horrible relationship I have with food. I’ll never know what it’s like to truly strive for something, because my mind holds me back. Don’t do that, you’ll fail. Don’t even try, you’ll make a fool of yourself! Don’t try to think you’ll ever amount to anything, you’re nothing. My mind is my own worst enemy.

I nearly bawled while texting Daddy about my eating disorder today. It’s not something we talk about- because I hate it. I hate that it controls me. I told him I don’t think I’ll ever be much smaller than I am. I bust my ass, and don’t lose much. I gain .2 and I feel disgusting, fat, gross, and unworthy. I gain, and I gain a lot in a short time. Since last week? I’ve gained a good 5 pounds. It takes over, and I find myself hating myself while I eat.

Then I’m left with the guilt afterwards. The stomach ache. The urge to curl into a ball and cry. It’s nothing new to me, either.

It’s 7:15, and it feels so much later because of the weight on my soul. I want to go to bed, but the sooner I go to bed, the sooner I am forced out of it. When you deal with mental illnesses, and parenting, it’s even harder.

I’m holding back tears because I’m so drained. I’m so done with myself.

I don’t want to ‘die’, I just don’t want to ‘be me’.



How to Tell it’s Getting Bad Again- with Chimichangas


Decided starting off with my favorite anti-hero would work well.

You’re probably wondering why I’m talking about chimichangas, right? Getting there, I promise.

I’ll start off by saying that I don’t think I feel depressed, but then again, it’s second nature at this point. *shrugs* Sometimes I don’t even notice until I’m out of the fog, other times I know it the entire time and I’m like “well, fuck”. That’s how the cookie crumbles (which, I hate. I hate crumbles *shudders*).

Our freezer is shot. Yup. It’s not freezing anymore! Wonderful. He told me to move things from the freezer to the fridge, as that still works just fine. I started to, and got discouraged because I couldn’t move much. We just went shopping, so our fridge is pretty darn full!

Next thing I know, I’m sitting here eating my chimichangas with sour cream. I remember making them, but I don’t recall the actual decision to do so. If that even makes sense. I wasn’t even hungry!

Today was pretty good, too. So I can’t even say I was stress eating after a bad day. We played outside in the puddles, we colored together, I got some dishes done, there was no arguing over homework, and my son earned computer time! So, what gives?!

I doubt any of how my mind works makes sense, either.

I’m just going to get through what I need to do. I need to tape up my friend’s package to ship tomorrow, write a letter for my new little pen pal, and I should probably shower.

But, I don’t even feel like doing that. Another way I can tell it’s going down hill. I love showers. Love them. So, when I have to either force myself to take one, or it gets to the point where my legs are fuzzy from lack of showering…it’s bad.

Gold star for trying though, right?



About Me, Life

Little space, and parenting

Little Space means many different things to different people, but generally speaking it is a type of head space that allows an adult to regress to an almost childlike state. I’d like to stress that Little Space is not the same for every little, but here are a few words on what is commonly associated with Little Space.

In Little Space one may wish to partake in activities typically associated with childhood such as coloring, playing with toys/stuffies, finger painting, watching cartoons etc. These activities may be done alone, with other littles, or with a caregiver. Some littles may like to dress differently than they would during their public, adult life, for example in cute dinosaur t-shirts, or in cute dresses. Different littles may also have different little personalities when in Little Space; during regression one little may feel very excitable and hyper, while another is shy and sweet. One little may be downright naughty and bratty! This totally depends on what kind of little you are and how you feel.- DDLG World


Me writing about being a little really wouldn’t shock many. Not the ones closest to me. However, there’s this stigma, and negative mindset surrounding DDLG, and being a little. So, I’m writing about it. That, and my therapist was intrigued about the idea, and very enthusiastic about the entire thing when I opened up about it.

Many people think of DDLG (if they had even heard of it) as purely a sexual concept. It’s not. While many people in the lifestyle are sexual, some aren’t. Some use it as a therapy, and a stress relief. I also know that many people would cringe at thinking of a little as also a parent, let alone in the same moment. Yet, I do it.


Being a little has made me a better parent. As ‘big’ me, I despise messes, I don’t like getting dirty, I get bored with simple things, etc. It’s harder for me to relax. In little space, I paint more with them, I get messier, I’ll watch cartoons, and I play more games.

I feel free in little space, and I feel like *me*. As I’m writing this, I’m watching Rugrats. I watched all 3 movies in the last week, and it’s helped me a lot. It keeps me from thinking of the crap that brings me down.

I have a tote full of coloring supplies and I pull it out and set it up and go to town (although I’m always on the hunt for more coloring books). I put one of my stuffies on my lap, suck on a lollipop at times, and focus on the colors. I have a chore chart (which I have been neglecting…oops). I have stickers galore, stuffies (all named!), and have kids’ plates/cups/eating utensils. Today I had a Kids Cuisine for lunch. The other day I had dino nuggets and mac and cheese. Sometimes the simplest foods are the tastiest.

My best friend gets my little space talk all the time, and has never judged me for it, which is awesome.

I do call my other half ‘Daddy’, in the cute sense. Not the kink way. He’s under “Daddycakes” in my phone<3 I text him about stuffies, princesses, Disney, and more on top of the usual boring stuff and weight loss stuff. Sometimes little space and parenting texts combine (like when the kids got hot sauce on my favorite stuffie!!! and he saved the day).

Yesterday I let myself slip into little space and have a sing and dance along with Lilith. We danced and sung around to Beauty and the Beast, despite me having laundry to fold. I get very into PBSKids. Mainly OddSquad. I squealed when the Kratt Brothers were on OddSquad today. And then proceeded to text Daddy about it.

I will sometimes share my special cereal (it’s limited edition, so I don’t eat it too fast, either) with the kids to watch them get all excited over it. It’s cupcake flavored cereal, so the excitement is warranted.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I has a headache. I’m gonna go watch Rugrats until bedtime.


About Me, Life

The blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb.

Growing up, family loyalty wasn’t something that was mentioned. At least that I can recall. I was taught that respect was earned, not given. And yet, I was constantly in trouble for not respecting the very man that uttered those words often. He didn’t earn my respect, so I failed to see the reasoning behind acting like he got it. I was taught many things when I was younger, many of which I still struggle with to this day.

I watch a lot of reality television. Not the romance crap, either. More power to you, if that’s your thing. I mean things like 600lb Life, a lot of true crime, Family by the Ton, and Hoaders: Buried Alive. It’s been therapeutic in many ways for me. While I await my own actual therapy to start, that is.

A constant theme in many of the shows is working through things with family, and that family is very important. They talk about repairing relationships, forgiveness, and the like. “You can never heal until you forgive.” Is one thing that I’ve heard. I’ve never forgiven the man who ruined my life, and my mind. Why should I? People would say it’s for my own peace of mind, but that wouldn’t give me any peace of mind. Not even close. It would give me peace of mind to be told he died, or is unable to hurt anyone else. Nothing shy of that will give me ‘closer’ or whatever the fuck people talk about.

I’m not close to many family members. I can likely count on one hand those that I speak to. I don’t have contact with any of my father’s side of the family, or my father himself. I don’t keep in touh with many from my mother’s side, either. I’ve never had a mother daughter relationship like many you see on tv. I’m not close to either of my brothers. One I haven’t spoken to in 12 years. And it gives me no pause. There’s no desire to suddenly reach out to him. There’s no want to establish something of a sibling relationship with him, either.

I don’t do emotions well. At all. I don’t know how to allow myself to be vulnerable. Being vulnerable leads to more pain in my mind. While I’ve gone through enough pain in life, I have no desire to endure more. Yet, even keeping walls up, I allow myself to be hurt.

The thought of opening up like I see people do on these reality shows fascinates me. I think of discussing something difficult and I will tear up, become anxious, and shut down. I avoid it at all costs. I don’t know how to deal with my emotions. I don’t know how to work through things like most people. I wasn’t taught how, and therefor, I am like a child at times.

In many ways, my two young children are more emotional mature than me at times. I encourage them to express themselves, and to use their words. I am hoping to give them a better outlook in their lives than I have for mine.

How do people change their actions, and thoughts after 30+ years? How do people overcome their own anxiety? Because it baffles me. There’s so much I want to do, but I can’t even bring myself to talk about something as important as my emotions? When I can’t even have a normal family relationship?

I won’t lie and say I’m not envious of those that are close to their parents and siblings, because having that would be something normal in my warped life.



It is what it is.

I meant to write a post last week about life after CPS. I had planned to write how the experience has changed our lives, mainly for my kids. But, I can’t. Life after CPS isn’t here yet.

Backtrack, right? I don’t think I’ve ever written about why CPS is even in our lives to begin with.

Back in October, we took my son to the doctor for something on his gum. It was sore, and didn’t look right. We got antibiotics and moved along. Then, just two days before his 8th birthday, CPS showed up. Apparently, they were called in because he seemed unhygenic, and ‘smelled’. First of all, this was our main doctor, who we have seen 2-3 times since switching to her office. We generally deal with one of the nurse practitioners. Our son still has accidents now and then, and face it- he’s a little boy! Sometimes, they stink for no apparent reason.

We had been fighting an uphill battle with roaches, as well. That caused us to lose our kids for 16 days. We busted our asses, trying to get our babies home. I was at a loss. One of my worst fears as a parent was coming true. Never did I imagine that I’d actually hear the words telling me my children could not remain in my home. They are well fed, happy, always have clean clothes, and are cared for.

After 16 long, dreary, depressed days, we got the okay for them to come home.

Since, our 4 year old has anxiety. She is completely terrified of sleeping in her own room. She’s terrified of waking up somewhere else, and even a simple weekend trip to my mom’s makes her worried. “You’ll be picking us up soon, right?” “Are we getting taken again?” Words that no child should have to utter.

In November, there was a followup, and I was told that our caseworker was looking to close the case. Awesome. Months passed, and then my husband told me that on January 2, they would be back. Family services would be here to check on the kids, etc.

It was during that visit that we were told we would now get weekly, unannounced visits.

I was floored. They also finger printed my kids, and counted my son’s Ritalin. This weeks visit is over with, thankfully. I don’t have to feel the daily anxiety that they’ll randomly show up.

Logically, I feel I have nothing to worry about. However, feelings don’t always listen to logic. If ever, really.

I grew up dealing with CPS- until into high school. I can’t recall my brothers ever being taken for any reason. In high school we were never threatened with it, either. My step-father was a pot head, a major one, and our apartment more often than not smelled like it. Yet, they never said a word about it. He’d slap on a smile, and they would just eat it up.

Is it because a well off white female doctor called us in?

Is it because I don’t meet what they view as mother material?

Is it because of the age difference between my husband and myself?

Is it because of the area we live in?

I can’t say for sure. We are looking into buying a house in March, and I hope that if they are still checking on them, that they see we are trying to better their lives as much as we can. We took this house because no one would rent to us when we moved to Florida. Despite my husband being retired military, we were turned down by everyone. Spending hundreds on application fees.

We were backed into a corner. We had two young kids to think of, so we took what we could get.

I finally asked my doctor for a referral for therapy, knowing I need it so badly. She referred me to my psych, who only does medications. It took them from back in November to even do this one, and now I’m forced to wait even longer. Having Tri-Care, I have to have a referral. I can’t just call up a therapist and make an appointment.

It’s very discouraging when I’m trying to better many parts of my life at once, and I hit a road block.

I hope to get my learner’s permit next week, and my goal is to have my license by the end of May. We are driving out to Indiana to see my step-daughter and her little family in June, so I think that’s a good place to start.

I’m trying to eat healthier, and get in better shape, as well.

It’s hard when I’m stressed out by the kids, by CPS, and my mental illnesses piling on at once. I’m doing my best to push through them and not let them control my life anymore, and it’s hard as hell. It was hard letting them lead my life, but at least this has the possibilities of me living my life, as opposed to just barely surviving.

I can’t say whether I’ll finally lose the weight that has piled on. I can’t say whether I’ll ever be comfortable about cops or CPS. I can’t say that I’ll ever live a normal adult life.

All I can do is run with what I got.