this look… is the look my husband gave me when he asked me to marry him, 7 years ago.

and it’s now the look jackson gives me when he wants to eat cake.

funny how that whole DNA thing works.

this post really doesn’t exist. these words aren’t here. in fact, nothing on this blog is here. it’s void. entirely empty of any recorded thought, memory, photograph.

nothing is here that you don’t want to see. whatever you do find here, on any blog for that matter, is twisted and contorted… turned into something unintended.

because you’re looking for something.

for anything.

you’re hunting for scraps on a carcass that doesn’t exist.

**********

you’re disappointed that a post is sponsored by a company.

you’re sickened that family photos are shared on someone’s blog.

you’re outraged that people share information about their children and find the community that for some reason you cannot seem to find.

*this is when i start to laugh*

so you create.

and yes, in this medium, we all create.

we create and we share.

all for different reasons.

all for the same reason.

we want to be heard.

we want to be fed.

praise.

critique.

money.

connections.

sponsorship.

community.

place your order. select your dish.

**********

this post doesn’t exist.

this meal you’re consuming isn’t really here.

this message that you’re visually taking in is one of your own.

your interpretation.

am i talking about you?

or am i talking to you?

i’ll let you decide.

**********

you get unfollowed.

you feel unadored.

you are unhappy.

ultimately, all of this leads you to becoming unoriginal.

truly becoming anonymous.

giving you no authentic voice.

**********

i see you.

i sense your hunger.

you’re obviously salivating.

drooling on this blog and others.

dripping with anonymous sweat… and leaving your stench.

**********

go clean up.

i’ll have a seat ready for you at my dinner table.

and i’ll feed you.

you won’t starve in my house.

but you may not like what you taste.

so. this is a post about my current medication situation.

in other words, feel free to close the browser if you have nothing helpful or insightful to contribute.

here is what i love about the blogging world: readers and commenters have passionate opinions and are willing to share them in an open environment.

here’s is what i don’t love about the blogging world: readers and commenters have passionate opinions and are willing to share them in an open environment.

within the blogging world there is a sizable community of those who struggle/battle/are challenged with some form of anxiety. there are millions of theories as to why this is… however, that’s not what this post is about.

this post is about my current medication situation with regards to my general anxiety disorder and acute panic attacks.

again, feel free to close your browser. no hard feelings.

months ago, i wrote this post about having the baby bug. a couple of months after that, i wrote this post about having my IUD removed to get the party started on magoo 2.0. and then last month came, and i wrote this post about my baby bug being squashed.

paul and i have discussed trying for another baby this fall. DISCUSSED. i take this very seriously for a number of reasons… we have a lot to consider in terms of paul’s work and timing when it comes to expanding our family. that’s a biggie. we have a lot to consider in terms of jackson’s needs as a 2 and a half year old little boy who STARTS SCHOOL next month.

holy shit.

as for me, i have a lot to consider in terms of my mental health and well-being. anxiety disorder has always played a significant role in my life. i am medicated for it. there is a combination of drugs that work to keep the chemicals in my brain balanced and my panic attacks at bay.

i’m not ashamed of this. it’s not easy to relinquish a sense of control over oneself to a pill, or a combo of pills, but for me it is necessary and i have come to terms with that fact.

in order for magoo 2.0 to be conceived in the most healthy way, i need to be off my meds for the most part.

does this mean i’m going to go bat-shit crazy once i am sufficiently weaned off my medication??? quite possibly.

does this mean i’m going to go bat-shit crazy once i am pregnant??? most likely. hormones are nutso like that.

does this mean i’m not going to be safe in terms of my own mental health and state of mind??? i’m not sure.

so, i’m trying to find out what will potentially work best for me as i wean off my meds and continue to DISCUSS a possible pregnancy in the near future.

i want to be a good mom. we all want to be good parents. i’m not sure what being a “good” mom really means although i have been a mom for over 2 years now… but i know that my goal is to be a good mother.

being a good mom, in my case, means that i also need to be good to myself. i need to take care of myself in order for me to best take care of my child(ren).

i want to do this the “right” way. i want to wean off as much as possible, or change meds that are safe to take while pregnant.

so this is the part that i reluctantly offer to the blogging world… the one where readers and commenters have passionate opinions and are willing to share them in an open environment… yeah, that one.

this is the part where i ask you to share with me… not judge… share.

what have been your experiences in terms of weaning off meds and/or changing them?

how did it affect you?

in terms of anxiety-specific medications, do you have recommendations for me? ones that worked for you while trying to get pregnant or throughout a pregnancy?

**********

thank you. truly. it’s not easy for me to click “publish” for this post. but i do respect this environment and the people in it… and i respect your input.

it should be noted that i am and have been in discussion with doctors regarding this and i’m not solely looking to the internetz to provide me with solutions. (i like you guys and value your opinions… but not THAT much.)

BOLD FACE DISCLAIMER: this post is not sponsored by any of the brands mentioned in it. i am mentioning the brands of my own will, so that those of you reading this post can actually know what it is that i use in my house in my attempt to rid myself and my family of the grotesque amount of dog hair we encounter on a daily hourly basis.

**********

this morning started out as any other morning, with me contemplating the current state of my hair. the lack of shape and cute style it normally has as we are cutting back on expenses. the taste of guilt, knowing that my parents will be here next week and i will grovel and ask them to pay for me to get my hair cut by my uber awesome stylist because i can’t just go to super cuts like some people. i have bipolar hair… it’s curly in the back, straight in the front and overall just a hot mess.

the one time i did go to super cuts, was 1 week after i had been married. paul and i had driven from atlanta out to texas, where he was finishing up flight school. it was hotter than the 8th circle of hell and i wanted to cut all the hair off that i had spent the better part of a year growing out simply for the wedding. i walked in to super cuts with long luscious locks tossed up in a ponytail… i walked out of super cuts with a diagonal bob and atrocious layers. then i proceeded to go “home” to a house with 4 male roommates, one of whom was my husband who i shared an air mattress with.

good times.

so… back to my hair pondering state this morning…

it was upon that moment of contemplation when jackson ran into my office to make me aware of something that was clearly of the utmost importance to him…

**********

FACT: i swiffer vac twice a day, every day.

we have an 85 lb labrador retriever. red. red sheds so much that i often find myself in a state of dry heaving. don’t get me wrong, i’m not OCD when it comes to cleaning (and if you are, more power to you… also, can you please come clean my house? i will pay you in hugs and wine.)

there are a few things that i am WICKEDLY OCD about… 1) the bed. only i can make the bed. if paul attempts, i will redo it. i make it every day and on the rare occasion that it does not get made, it’s because i am either ill and still in the bed, or it’s been one helluva day with jackson and i cannot bring myself to do ONE MORE THING. 2) the dog hair. it MUST be vacuumed up, swept up, or in my case swiffer vac-ed up twice a day. why twice? because that is how much our dog sheds. the hair that i suck up in the machine of glory returns upon the instant that red moves from room to room. so i suck it up once in the morning and again in the late afternoon.

since our home is all hardwood, we have a couple of rugs… one underneath our dining room table and another in jackson’s bedroom. red is not allowed in jackson’s bedroom LIKE EVER… NEVER EVER… however, the dog hair collects in there as it travels through the ducts of our air conditioning system and underneath his bed room door.

so, the rugs are vacuumed on average 3-4 times a week.

given how much of my life is consumed with disposing of red’s hair that collects around our home, i thought i’d share some shots of awesome with you just so that you can fully grasp HOW MUCH dog hair there is, and HOW MUCH this grosses me out.

**********

it should be noted that jackson really likes to help vacuum, so he follows me around while pushing his toy golf bag as though it is a vacuum. he also likes to say “CHEESE” when he sees me pull the camera out. and lastly, red is very embarrassed that i have written this post about him, letting the world know about the foul amount of dog hair he creates. oh and… he licks his ass… A LOT. that should sufficiently explain the shame on his face. red then decided to pay me back with what i call “the money shot” in the last photo. my apologies in advance.

so, what should i do with my hair? cut it? grow it? shave it all off?

i took jackson to the doctor yesterday. he had a rash on the back of his neck, in between his shoulder blades and it was spreading fairly quickly. he itched at it a bit, but for the most part, he was his same old maniacal self… sprinting from one place to another, “jumping like a kangaroo, mom!”

but i watched him and i worried and i wondered.

he’s had a lot of congestion for over a week.

the dark circles under his eyes… that can’t be right.

and as i thought these things to myself, as i mentally recalled each item of food that had been placed in his mouth and possibly caused a reaction, i began to scare myself, to panic and worry.

you would think i would know better by now, that after almost 28 months of being a mother, i’d have the hang of this parenting gig.

*whispers* somedays… i don’t.

so we went. i woke him up from his nap to take him to see the pediatrician because i needed reassurance.

the waiting room was packed and i watched jackson run to the fish tank to tell me, to tell himself, to tell anyone who would listen to him, the colors of each fish in the tank.

i watched him “jumping like a kangaroo, mom!” over to the table of puzzles and start to place pieces where they fit.

and then i watched an older child approach the table.

jackson panicked and ran back to me. he stood in between my legs, gripping on to the left one and repeated, “i’m ok mom? i’m ok?”

“yes baby, you’re fine. he just wants to play too. i can see you. go play.”

and upon receiving reassurance, he did.

so once we were called back to see the doctor, i was ready to receive mine.

i ran through the list of symptoms he has shown recently… the sniffles. no cough. saline drops and humidifier have helped but not cleared the congestion. dark eyes. sleeping more during the day. no temp. the rash that i can’t seem to explain. could it be heat rash? we haven’t been outside hardly at all with the heat index being in the triple digits.

and finally i just said it out loud…

“i don’t know and it scared me.”

the rash was minor… probably some “contact dermatitis,” meaning something he had on him or was in contact with was an irritant to his skin.

“he’s a sensitive kid,” the doctor told me after explaining her diagnosis and watching him play with her “orange hammer for the knees, mom!”

she examined jackson with care and he was so obedient and sweet with her that we celebrated with popsicles after the appointment.

and while we enjoyed our ice cold snack in the air conditioning of our home, i couldn’t help but wonder when the watching and worrying stops… if ever… because i know i am a worrier.

to my detriment, i am a worrier.

i’m not always going to be able to protect my son… or be there for him to grasp hold of my left leg. he’s going to fall and get bruises and scrapes all while “jumping like a kangaroo, mom!”

but sometimes i just want to pick him up and put him in my pouch.

some 9 + years ago, i found myself on a plane bound for tampa.

my grandmother picked me up at the airport. i was alone.

it was spring break and i was going to spend 7 days at her condo on the beach.

it was only 7 months since i had been raped.

i don’t remember much from that trip. i couldn’t tell you if i even set foot on the beach or not.

what i do remember is a nap.

my grandmother’s condo sits directly on the beach. upon arriving to her sanctuary, i remember dropping my bags in the hallway, walking out to her balcony and laying face down on a lounge chair.

i slept for well over 3 hours. that entire afternoon had been spent in peaceful slumber.

i woke up to the sound of seagulls, watched them with squinted eyes and wondered where the hell i was.

it was the best nap of my life.

still is.

**********

a year ago, i told my story. to more than just my family and a close friend.

i shared with you all the intimate meaning behind the tattoos that i have… the significance of the color teal.

i shouted it from the roof tops… purging myself.

and i felt incredible. it was a high. i was riding the awesome wave of release. and damn, it felt good.

so last november, i got another.

my story continues to evolve as i continue to evolve as a survivor.

my life continues to evolve as i continue to evolve as a woman.

and while my tattoos share the common thread of rape survivorship, they each stand for something unique… something i choose to honor and remember forever.

because i get easily distracted.

though i’m moving forward, somedays are harder than others.

somedays the steps are miniscule and other days the steps are the length of a mile.

with my 10 year approaching next month, i find myself wanting to propel forward more than ever… carrying with me the good, the bad and the unfortunate.

because all of it… ALL OF IT… is me.

and i want to soar.