Day Twelve - My Journey Through A Mental Health Facility

It was Wednesday June 3, and time for my 7:00p appointment with Tonya. She opens with the typical "So how are you?" and each session I normally put a lot of thought as to what I am going to say. I foolishly think I set the tone. I mean, it isn't like she doesn't already know how I am doing! I truly suspect the woman is psychic. And I don't believe in psychics. Last session she asked 'the question' and all I said was, "I'm not." I had thought about what to say but really didn't care what answer to give that week, so I was just kind of flippant. The woman still got me to talk meaningfully for 60 minutes though. June 3, I thought and thought, but hadn't come up with the exact words yet. You see, I had a plan. I knew I had shut down and was beyond help. I had begun to willingly and quite easily lie to the people I love and count as my support group, or I just ignored them. I didn't want them to know. I didn't care anymore. It became none of their business in my mind. Why bother when I was failing so miserably? I haven't ever willingly lied to my support group. Ever. But Tonya was the only one left that I was being honest with (well, except she had no idea I was lying to everyone else, but in my defense, she never asked, so maybe she isn't psychic after all). I knew the choice of words was paramount to my plan. Anyway, I went to the session to slyly try and get her to help me figure out how to get permission from my children to die. Now, I think I am pretty smart, and was convinced I could fool the best therapist I have ever had in my life to get the answer I needed, even though she seems to see right through me with a single glance. Sometimes I won't look at the woman. She reads my mind! I thought I could trick her into slipping up and giving me a way to gain approval from my boys to die. I rationally know suicide is selfish. I know it permanently hurts those left behind. It is a huge reason I fight as a mental illness advocate. However, I had played my last card. I asked my children for permission to die and they said no. And besides, in my head, I wasn't suicidal. I just wanted permission to die.

So we sat down, she looked at me, asked 'the question', and I will be damned if out of my mouth popped the words, "I think I need hospitalization, but I can't afford it." I swear to you my mouth dropped a bit and I thought, "WHAT THE HELL DID I JUST SAY?" Tonya didn't immediately tell me how silly of a reason lack of money was not to admit myself, but thanks to her, I did end up admitting myself to Mesa Springs in Fort Worth, Texas, early afternoon on June 4. I agreed to it midway through the session and went home with a game plan to get things in order within 24 hours so I could go. During my 90 (I got 30 free minutes that night) minute session with Tonya, I kept telling her I wasn't suicidal, but I did have one heck of a fool proof plan I was happy to share and thought pretty highly of myself for thinking of it. Why not share? I wasn't suicidal. She didn't challenge me. Instead, she helped me to admit to myself that my preoccupation with gaining approval to die would eventually become greater than the need of my children's approval. And she isn't as smart as she thinks. I know now she made it seem like my idea, but she led me right to the watering hole. She never once told me, "Yes, you are suicidal." And, even though I just didn't care, I did obviously care enough to not want that preoccupation to become true. That is just how good she is. Or maybe she is the sly one??? Hmmm...

I was inpatient for 13 days. The first night home, June 16, I knew I wanted to blog about this, but had no idea how. How could I explain a journey from void to hope and make sense enough to touch someone else? I read a book that Tonya brought to me while there (told you she is awesome). The author tells the story of feeling inferior about giving a speech in which the other speakers are all CFO, CEO, COO types. In discussing it with her husband, she told him of a time where she failed miserably giving a speech that included other peer speakers instead of speakers she felt had more talent than her. I related to that. I felt like a failure and I felt inferior in life at the point when I read her story. All I could think was, here I am a blogger and mental illness advocate that just blogged about stopping suicide, trying to set an example and help people, and I am hospitalized! What else speaks complete failure? So, after reading her story again on my first night home, I made a terrifying decision. I decided to open up to YOU and publish my journal entries - word for word, grammar and spelling errors included (wow, that grates my nerves). The thought causes me to sweat even as I type now. BUT, in defiance of the shame, irrationality, doubt, self hate, irritability, psychosis, confusion, mania, hypomania, depression and anything else mental illness causes, this journey will now become yours if you so choose to read. My hope is you can see that 'broken' can become something 'much less than broken' again. I refuse to use the word 'fixed'. That implies 'works like new' and that was over the second I took my first breath with my childhood background. I won't use the word 'balanced' either. I still got some work to do. So, this is my journey. I do not wish it on a single person in this world. Even my two enemies. Though I say it becomes 'yours', your journey of hospitalization may (hopefully) never happen and if it does, it will be different. But I am now so convinced we ARE each other's best support system, that I am both nervous and excited to share.

So, before I let you loose, there are three things you need to know:
I was the victim of a crime on May 8, 2014. I can almost give you the time but I won't. It is etched in my mind and behind my eyes at random times during the day forever. It changed me. Laura was stolen from me without permission (not that anyone would have given permission).

Bipolar 2 and Generalized Anxiety are not my only diagnoses. I was diagnosed with PTSD December 2014, directly in relation to May 2014's events.

I made three consistent edits to my entry that were necessary:
- details of my suicidal ideation and plan are replaced with the words "-suicide trigger-".
- details of the event on May 8, 2014 are replaced with the words "-event trigger-".
- real names are not used, however, look to the top of the blog. There is a tab called 'Glossary' and it gives the name and relationship to me. Use it if you find the blog confusing. If I would have ever thought I would share this with the general public, I would have done a better job of describing each person!


DAY TWELVE SUMMARY - Just a few clarifications. I mention an internet service. We have an internet service here in Texas called Clear. My humor and thought process is fairly twisted like that. And I do crack myself up quite often! I have noticed over the course of the last few days that I started writing that again. I had a list of questions for Kennedy and wrote my answers next to them when we met, so I just included what was written in the margins of my journal in parenthesis. I write about crayons in this entry. I have since modified it and included it in my writings that I hope to eventually publish! It is simply named "Mental Illness In Crayola".


JOURNAL ENTRY - Monday, June 15
Release tomorrow? YEP! WOOT!!! This is very different for me and makes me think much. Have I ever been on a good med set like this before. I honestly don't think so. Kennedy is brilliant. I feel so different than any med set except how I was beginning to feel on the last one before -event trigger-. I feel so clear. A different clear than before. Is this happy? It IS different than hypomania. I'm not high happy. And I haven't been high happy outside of hypomania back in the day. I don't have any of the disillusions with hypomania. Nothing reckless. Nothing irritable. No ants crawling all over my body while I love every single thing about life and think I can do everything. I even love the ants because it makes me feel alive. They do make me really irritable though. My body wants to sleep - well thank you valium. I don't have my mind in a million directions thinking of all the things I need to start and do, or these brilliant ideas that I know can make a difference if I just start them, but really have no idea how to go about them, and try anyway only to abandon them when the next one hits. It is just different. It is ... clear. Dunno. Maybe I am the internet service. High speed. Occasional blip, usually when I need the service the most. But ready to process information at the listed top speed. Not faster. Not slower. Just regular 4g. DAMN DO I CRACK MYSELF UP. Jesus what if this one gives out? Ugh. Don't think that. Ha. Caught myself. How about please please please don't give out or I will cry? Meh. Go with it.

Questions for Kennedy:
- will Prazosin make me completely dreamless cuz that sure would be nice (no, you will still have good and bad dreams. Dreams are essential for proper sleep. You will still have nightmares, you will be unable to remember until they stop when you come to terms with what happened)
- I had bad side effects from resperidol. Am I more susceptible to side effects from Latuda. A lot of them are the same (no)
- are there other drugs like resperidol or latuda - same family that don't have those side effects. Abilify did nothing. Lithium didn't. Zyprexa stopped working. (yes)
- had a nightmare about Lenny last night but don't remember it except I found Valentine presents - the same ones but in different colors - and wondered who they were for and then found out he had been recording my phone conversations because he wanted to prove I am a liar and everyone knew but Ian and Daniel and Ian found out and got really mad and upset with Lenny and I felt like it was all my fault because I wasn't good enough for Lenny to believe I don't lie and I felt like it was my fault that Ian was upset. I cried really hard in the dream. Ok, so I remember but ask this question anyway. Will those nightmares get better (that is a dream not a nightmare - see above)
- Latuda says side effect of bruises. 4 on right arm, 1 on left elbow, 3 left knee, 1 left shin, 1 right knee. All new since here and I don't remember hitting anything. Is that a problem? (no, you will just bruise easier but it is not dangerous. You will just bruise easier as the side effect)

The heart of compassion is really acceptance. The better we are at accepting ourselves and others, the more compassionate we become. - BB

Ok, so compassion meant to suffer with. So stop blaming myself and shaming myself and suffer or maybe a better word for me is to mourn bipolar and my childhood. Stop trying to stop it and stuff it and prove my failure. Accept it. Accept myself. Accept bipolar. I am angry about it again. Stage of grief over loss of health. Stop trying to be the perfect bipolar. Stop trying to be the perfect child that is over a bad childhood. Allow or agree that I am allowed to be sad about it and bipolar. Then, have the courage - speaking from my heart - to move on. PROFOUND FUCKING PROFOUND

Connection - the energy that exists between people when they are seen, heard and valued; when they can give and receive without judgment; and when they derive sustenance and strength from the relationship. - BB

Still think this can apply to me personally. Especially the judgment I put myself through. Be real with myself and don't deny bipolar. Let myself hear myself. Become valued to myself. Accept myself even with bipolar. Derive strength from that real. Connect to myself - my bipolar self.

One of the greatest barriers to connection is the cultural importance we place on 'going it alone.' Somehow we've come to equate success with not needing anyone. Many of us are willing to extend a helping hand, but we're very reluctant to reach out for help when we need it ourselves. It's as if we've divided the world into 'those who offer help' and 'those who need help.' The truth is we are both. - BB

We become more adept at helping graciously each time we graciously accept help says Brene. Why do I feel such shame at accepting help? LaShonda helping almost killed me. Think think think. I really need to figure this out because if I am to become a real advocate, that means I will help and I can become a better advocate logically if I also graciously accept help. Lots to think about on this. Lots. I hate getting help because I have bipolar and think it shows failure. But is that true? What if I ask for too much help? Am I fooling myself that I need help when I am just not wanting to do something. Am I fooling myself? I am always doubting myself. I really need to think this through more. I must change to become a better advocate.

Until we can receive with an open heart, we can never really give with an open heart. - BB

Ouch. Because asking for help shames me does that mean my heart isn't open??? Ouch. Hope she goes into this more. Lay this one aside as important but don't think about this one just yet.

If connection is the energy that surges between people, we have to remember that those surges must travel in both directions. - BB

When we spend a lifetime trying to distance ourselves from the parts of our lives that don't fit with who we think we're supposed to be, we stand outside of our story and hustle for our worthiness by constantly performing, perfecting, pleasing, and proving. - BB

Wow did she just describe me. I think I own bipolar, but I don't!!!! I have to own my story. Does this mean I should blog this journey I am on right now. YES! But how? How do I get a story across of going from broken to something less than broken??? I HAVE to do this. I have been thinking about what direction to take the blog since I have written three while here. I want it to do different. Could this be the start? I really have to think about this. I want want want to touch. Passion to touch. Bipolar is so livable. For others. BUT FOR ME TOO. How do I own my story and move forward. I want to advocate. We all need so much. I want change for others more than myself. Is that not owning my story? Hmmm.

Worthy now. Not if. Not when. We are worthy of love and belonging now. Right this minute. As is. - BB

Yes! Bipolar makes you feel unworthy. If you aren't balanced, you are embarrassed and ashamed of depressive and hypomanic states. So not true. Right this minute - worth. Depressive or manic!!!! Wow.

...fitting in and belonging are not the same thing... Fitting in is about assessing a situation and becoming who you need to be to be accepted. Belonging, on the other hand, doesn't require us to change who we are; it requires us to be who we are.

How has this woman gotten into my head and seen my life story?????????? Crack myself up.

We are biologically, cognitively, physically, and spiritually wired to love, to be loved, and to belong. When those needs are not met, we don't function as we were meant to. We break. We fall apart. We numb. We ache. We hurt others. We get sick. There are certainly other causes of illness, numbing, and hurt, but the absence of love and belonging will always lead to suffering. - BB

Part of what makes bipolar so hard. Think of cancer Laura. Have cancer and you instantly get loved and supported. You belong. People adopt you. Pray for you. Bring you food. Mention you at church in special prayer. Call you. Check up on you. Accept your 'sick' behavior as part of your illness. Mental illness. Not so much. Too much stigma. People don't understand mental illness. It isn't their fault. WE don't understand mental illness as a society in whole in truth. Not enough known about it yet. It is the brain. The best supportive people are ones with mental illness only because they live it too, but every bipolar is different and has different reactions and different states and so much different so even that support isn't exactly right. Society knows so little that they can't understand. Tell someone you have cancer and it is a different story. Say mental illness and the reaction is all over the fucking board. Not their fault. Brain. Not enough known. Inconsistent diagnoses. Inconsistent treatments. No cure. Relapses will happen. No I feel better and so they think it won't happen again. So, depressive and manic effects the ability to love, be loved, and belong. Interesting.

Loving yourself means trusting ourselves, respecting myself, and kind and affectionate to ourselves. - BB

The name of this book should be The Gifts of Imperfection for Laura M. Culross! Ha. Crack myself up. I just realized I don't respect myself though, so maybe this woman is good like Tonya.

Do not allow professing love and practicing love to be incongruent. To profess is feeling. To practice is action. Your feelings of love must reflect how you practice your love - honor, trust, honesty, authentically, compassionately, and with courage - both for yourself and in return. So that is what I just got out of that part. I need to love myself as bipolar. It is lovable! And, if someone can't love you with bipolar, then they are the incongruent one. See ya. Don't let the door hit ya.

If you feel you can love others but not yourself, remember that others can see the amount of love you have for yourself and it is like second hand smoke. Yikes. I kill people??? LOL. I can become a better advocate by loving myself. I can manage bipolar better by loving myself. Accept me. Right at this moment. As is.

This is my last night here. I spoke to Kennedy today and Mesa has done all it can for me at this point. Medically, I feel stable. That is all inpatient can do for me. The real work starts now. So many things have raced through my mind while here. So many changes. I know I came in broken. Shattered, really. I really hated bipolar and myself again when I came. It feels good to be out of that again. For me, it is a combination of a lot of things. But those things happen to anyone. I just so happen to also have bipolar. But I don't want to minimize that. Living with bipolar is hard. So many things happen to make it difficult. The biggest thing is that the very organ designed perfectly by God to help humans through a chronic or possibly terminal illness is the very organ sick. And mental illness is both. Chronic. Possibly terminal. Everyone is imperfect so we all operate in imperfection. But with bipolar, it just becomes so much more difficult. Mental illness as a whole is ignored by society. Even within the mental illness community I see division. Some do not want to recognize PTSD. Well, I am here to tell you Laura, never discount PTSD again because of what you read. This is a serious thing. But I also recognize where our community is coming from. The day I admitted I had PTSD, Tish piped up and said she had it too. So later I asked her from what and she didn't know and didn't remember. Yeh. For me, it is nightmares that are ugly beyond belief. Don't touch me if I don't see it coming. Rage. I feel like I cant even talk to a man because I am so scared. Although Matthew may be different. I don't know. I get scared in my own house so much because they still know where I live. I have to move when I can because I don't think that will ever end. I am literally afraid to open the curtains or go outside sometimes. I cant stand to see black trucks. All black trucks cuz I can't remember what specifically he has. I am afraid I am being followed. It is so much more, so yeh, PTSD is real. It needs help like other mental illnesses. Anyway, girl stay on point. We are ignored as a whole by society. Like we are going to go away if ignored??? And, having bipolar, NOT schizophrenia, but bipolar is thankfully ALL I have. I think schizophrenics are the most ignored. They scare people. And they need the most help. BACKWARDS!! Let's ignore brain cancer because it scares us. But I am definitely ignored at a personal level and a societal level. People just don't understand. But having bipolar becomes such a problem because you want to function, you want to be accepted, you want no one to know because they treat you differently and shit, you want to be a part of society, but lets face it...you can't be a member of society like it dictates at times. So, you hide, you shame, you can't help nor even sometimes remember how you act. And it becomes this vicious cycle that can destroy you. This vicious cycle of wanting to be productive so not wanting help but needing help. This vicious cycle of needing help but either denying it - ME!!! I RAISE MY HAND FIRST!!! - or not realizing it so you get worse...sicker. This vicious cycle of wanting to be productive, but you can't at times or you think you are, and really aren't, and then just feel like giving up because it never seems like you accomplish anything but riding waves. It's like fuck it. Fuck trying to explain. Fuck trying. Fuck everything. Just throw me in the sea and I'll ride the waves til I can't anymore and it really doesn't matter. This vicious cycle of wanting to be rational but unable to be rational and then shaming yourself. This vicious cycle of people not understanding, seeing you happy and thinking it will stay that way, and when you fall up or down again, they begin to tire of you because they just don't understand. So many vicious cycles that lead us, in part to more mood swings or longer mood swings. We are self destructive and don't mean to be. We are our own enemy without meaning to be. Society is our own enemy without meaning to be. How do I change this? I can't. But I can certainly be a voice. How can I grow? How can I start to impact. I want to. I want for me. I want for others that are alive with mental illness right now. I want for our future community of those with mental illness. I just WANT. I have to take care of myself better so I can do the best I can to help those that are suffering. My brain is my enemy but damnit, I am fucking strong and I will prevail. I will prevail during balanced moods and I will do what it takes to make those mood shoes that drop of shorter duration, and then while balanced scream from the top of the highest building in my loudest voice til I am hoarse for needed change. To help. To touch. I cant do it all the time, but when I can I MUST. I have bipolar and I am not going to be perfect. I can't be fixed. Fixed implies 'works like new'. Not possible. I just know I came in here very broken.Shattered into millions and millions of pieces. I came in not caring about anything anymore. I cared about absolutely nothing. Especially myself. I came in at such a low point that I literally hated myself just because of -event trigger- and that I have bipolar. How can I hate the disease I fight against as an advocate. I can't help people that way. I came in a liar. To myself especially, but to others, too. Those others, I lied to them. They are my support group. I can never lie to them again. It isn't fair to them. IT ISN'T FAIR TO ME. I can always redefine my support group. I HAVE TO LET ME BE ACCEPTED FOR ME. ALL PARTS OF ME. The good, the bad, the ugly. I cannot stop fighting...managing...surviving. I want. I came in in shame. Shame that yet again I had failed. FAILED? Hell no. I was a warrior to come here. I am a fighter to be so broken and irrational and incapable of thought that I came here and accepted help. I didn't want help at first. I was so ashamed at first. Shame I was here. Shame I was failing my own disease. Shame I was failing others. Shame I haven't held a job when I have always succeeded at jobs. I feel no shame now. How can I help others to not feel shame? My blog HAS to change. My focus HAS to change. I don't care what the community says about peer counselors. I can do it. I can make a difference. I can learn more than a peer support is required to know and help. Let people judge me. Peer support isn't an answer. It is a supplement to what is really needed for our community. I believe in it. I want to use peer support to speak. Speak at mental health facilities. Speak at NAMI - good god do they need help. Speak to high schools. Think of the help that our young ones need at that age Laura!!! I want to speak. I want to blog. I want to write a book. I want to motivate. I want to help. I want to give. I want change. I want. I want. I WANT. My head is clear and now work can begin. Meds have cleared my head. I feel content. I want. I know I am not hypomanic. I don't have the symptoms. Not the I feel happy in that hypomanic way. Not euphoria. I just want. I know I am happy because I am safe here and no stressors of reality. Well, except having to wait so fucking long between smoke breaks. Ha. Crack myself. Anyway, stay on point girl. I know reality is going to hit me when I walk out that door. And that is why inpatient is just the beginning. You don't walk out of inpatient and everything is fine. It is but a beginning. Just a scratch on the surface. NOBODY without mental illness realizes that. Inpatient just stabilizes you so you can work towards a new balance. And balance is fucking hard work to get to, let alone retain for any amount of time. Such is the life of bipolar. But it isn't THAT bad. I am blessed. Insurance. Proximity to have a place like here, a therapist, a psych, support groups. A roof over my head. Food. What about all of us that don't have that. I have to fight for them. I want. SO, no I am not fixed. UGH. Strike that word from the mental illness dictionary. While we are at it, strike recovery. I am ready to walk out, nervous as shit, but ready to go. Ready to face. The good. The bad. The ugly. Especially the bad and ugly. I can do it. I can do it and use it for my advocacy. I can help others to see that no matter what, they have worth and they can do it too and they should seek support and stay on their meds and it is OKAY to fall either way, depressive or manic. It happens. Like when you have cancer and go through chemo, do you say I don't accept that my hair is going to fall out? Of course you don't cuz it is GOING to happen whether you want it or not. SHIT HAPPENS. WE MUST MOVE ON. If for nor nobody but ourselves. WE MUST MOVE ON. Did I already say that? Ha!!! I want. Life. Breath. Love. SELF LOVE. Job. Good. Bad. Ugly. Ok, maybe stretching it with the bad and ugly, but hey, what did I just say Laura. I am strong because I face the bad and ugly. Back slap. SLAP! Ouch. I feel fire. Life. Advocacy. Me. ME. Me. I feel me. The good. The bad. The ugly. And I am still beautiful. There is joy, minute, but joy in having bipolar. That silver lining. That sliver. I have patience. Compassion. A true desire and purpose to help. A nurturing nature. Mercy - unless I am an ignorant fuck and I am trying not to be an ignorant fuck anymore. Will I fall? Yep. But God Damnit, I will rise and fight yet again. If I can they can too. iamCULROSS and still am even with bipolar. Mesa has made me understand I deserve those things for myself. Mesa or meds or does it even matter? Hence the ignorant fuck comment, right girl. I know I may need hospitalization in the future. But so what. It is an opportunity to yet again grow. Ok, so I don't want hospitalization again, but I have to mark this place in my journal to remind myself to seek it out hella sooner than I did. Stop wasting my life with denial. Embrace bipolar life. It sucks. It fucking sucks. It is demeaning. It messes you up. It destroys your brain. It really fucking sucks. But it is SURVIVAL. And I did grow. Sundance was great. But I am so much more real this time. So much more honest about me and my disability. And maybe one day I will have to get realer. REALER? NOT A DAMN WORD I THINK BUT IT WORKS FOR MY JOURNAL SINCE NO ONE WILL SEE. Thank God nobody sees my journal or they would think I am crazy. Wait I am crazy! Ha! Crack myself. I do not control bipolar. It does not control me. I live with it like I live with migraines and my neck. Push through. DIG. Deliberate. Inspired. Get Going. My new goto. And Get Going can be med changes and hospitalization if needed. It is definitely going to be therapy for the rest of my life and continual reassessment. Courage. Compassion. Connection. No more thinking I can't be bipolar and be successful and happy. I do it better than some and a hella worse than others. But bipolar is part of life. NOT LIFE ITSELF. So push. I want. So, med changes and hospitalization throw it at me bitch. I am not a failure. I am making the most self loving strongest decision I can. Fight. I deserve it even though bipolar. I have tried my best, and need help. Is it a Culross thing to never want help? But remember, Gifts says you cannot truly help unless you ask for help. So stop seeing bipolar for myself as black and white because I am a perfectionist. Oh shit. I need to really work on that in php if I can go. Or if not, with Tonya. You know the days in the life of mental illness are like that big box of crayons you always wanted when you were a kid, except the crayons never get used all the way up. And yes, they may break. But you can still use them. Our days aren't black. Our days aren't white. They are every single, separate color in between. Some are pretty. Some are ugly. Some are bright. Some are dull. Some look hot. Some look cold. Some are very dark. Some are very light. Some look a lot like other colors. And you will go through phases were you get to use the good colors a lot. Then you will go through times where you are forced to use colors you hate. Sometimes your favorite color will change. Sometimes you may have to unwrap the paper a bit to keep using your crayon. And sometimes, it gets so worn from so much abuse and use, ya gotta take a step back, a deep breath, and sharpen that fucker!!!! MEDS!!!!!!!!!! Daniel and Ian have been the biggest blessing that life has ever allowed me. Can a mother love her children this much. Everyone says that a mother thinks that. Fuck them. I think I still love my children more. They love me. ME! Bipolar and all they love me. They cheer me. They believe in me. How many times has Ian told me how strong I am and how much he believes in me! They kick me in the ass when I need it. Daniel is excellent with that. He is a great ass kicker!!! And they are such good young men. Both are so smart and talented. The best gift God ever gave any woman. I can't survive like I do without them. I love them. I love their touch. Their smile. Their laugh. Their smell. Oh god, Ian is with going to be with Lenny to pick me up and I can't wait to smell him and feel his arms. He hugs me so good. Can I love Josiah more? He has gotten the brunt of me in the last year even though I hid so much from him. I love that brother. MY brother. MY soul. My identical twin that is three years older than me. I mean, you know, I love him like an identical twin. OF COURSE I KNOW WHAT I MEAN!!!! Crack myself. Would anyone think it is strange that I talk to myself in my journal? I am weird! I love it. Stay on point girl. I never want to lose him. I cant wait to move closer to him. And thank God the surgery has seemed to go well. Ha. He IS a Culross. I just love Josiah so much. How can I ever get across to him how much? And Jonathon. That is one nephew I wish I could tell him what he means to me. Again. He loves me! I LOVE THAT CHILD. Not because he loves me. Part because he is like Josiah so much. So I was instantly fond of him for that reason. It was just the beginning tho. I remember when he came down here all of a sudden I just knew he was special. I just knew that I instantly loved him no matter what. He is a very special young man. He is sweet and loving and intelligent beyond his years. He is wise. He makes me laugh. He makes me feel special. He checks on me. He always is there. I love him so much even if he doesn't love the Cowboys! He is my Jonathon. BUT, I am so mad at him that he probably wont be in Indiana when I move. I secretly hope he is. Ha Ha Selfish. Hell yeh! And Charles. So wonderful to have him back in my life. I missed him. It hurt. So comforting. So warm. So good. I love him so much. I really want to open up to him more. I need to. I trust him. I have good people in my life. Not very many compared to some. But enough that I can't name them all. All of them positive and good and something to inspire me to fight and be a better person. I just want. I WANT. Yep, I, me, Laura, I WANT. I am happy for what I have done here. Good job Bitch!