So yeah, had an awesome post about this that and the other and my computer took a shit on me. I've screamed and cried and really freaked out my kids. Thank every religious figure and the tomato plants in the backyard that I have my appointment tomorrow. This crap medication they have me on is doing nothing for me and I feel like a shittier mom everyday. I actually said to Monkey Boy that I just did not want to hear his voice today and could he please just go up to his room. He cried at me. I can't do this to my kids. I can't do this for 3 or 6 months while we dick around with what meds are gonna work. I know they can't just give me something and say we promise this shit's the bomb but they could certainly try. I won't mind. I really am so disappointed in myself that I've turned out this way. This is not who I am, not who I aspired to be and I'll be damned if this is anywhere near the kind of mother I intended to be to my children. I cry every night when I look at them because god damn I'm a lucky woman. I have two beautiful children that love me unconditionally and came from me. ME. I really never thought it would happen. I don't want them to grow up resenting me like I did for years with my mother. I'm fully aware that depression runs in my mom's family. She is, her sister is and the motherload of depression was riding in my Gramma's head. She was a decent and loving person but damn was she screwed up in the head. This shit gets passed on through generations. I'm a believer that it's hereditary. That scares me more than Peanut coming home pregnant in high school (though THAT ranks up in the top 3 with Monkey Boy coming home saying he knocked someone up).I'm so scared and tired of crying about it, tired of worrying how my kids are going to end up. Tired of wondering if someday I'm gonna snap and have literal nervous breakdown. People think it's easy staying home all day. They see us out at the store and all is good (mostly) but I don't talk about how we are at home. How there's way too much frustration, sometimes too much yelling. Gah. I'm not a whiny person. I don't like admitting that I'm weak, ever. I don't really care if anyone reads this or not, I just needed to get it out. I know others are suffering worse than I am but for me, this is my worst. Thanks for "listening" internet.
I haven't blogged in 8 months. We bought a house, still unpacking, school started. You know, life. I felt the need, the urgent need to blog about the Adrian Peterson situation today. I am full of all sorts of feelings and had to write about it. I would love to hear your thoughts on this whole thing. No really, I would. I don't feel I was a douchebag in my writing so all I ask is you not be a douchebag in your response. Thanks. My thoughts on the Adrian Peterson situation (but first, some backstory): I was spanked as a child. I'm pretty sure most of us that grew up in the 80s were. Until the summer between 5th and 6th grade I lived in Charelston, SC and from 6th to 11th grade, North Chicaco, IL. I have seen every form of discipline doled out on a child. I've seen spankings, beatings, hairbrushes smacked into heads, spoons hitting the tops of heads, whips, belts and even switches. I've seen it all. Most of you know that my son is named after a little boy who
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