Validation

We all go through life hearing many things about ourselves.  Telling ourselves many things about ourselves.  These little facts.  These little truths.  These little half truths.  These little falsehoods.  These statements that shape how we see ourselves and how we feel about ourselves.  These words are adjectives.  And sadly, all too many are negative.

People will take the time to tell you that you are: annoying, stupid, ugly, fat, crazy, failing, etc.  Whether it’s actually true or not.  (We usually believe it either way.)

How often do people take the time to tell us the good, great, amazing things about ourselves?

Those adjectives, especially when meant, are called validation.

And validation is really fucking important.

I have decided to raise my kids on validation.  Oh, they are by no means perfect, as no one is, but they are still going to grow up hearing all the amazing things about themselves.  They need to know that in an imperfect existence is still beauty, that isn’t even hard to find.

Also, I am known for a temper that I take out on those I love, so they at least need me to counter that with a ton of validation.

So all three of my kids, whether they roll their eye or not, get a regular dose of validation.  Some days I even make them repeat it back.

You are smart.

You are pretty/handsome.

You are silly/witty.

You are special.

You are important.

You are loved.

You are valued.

Of course, that sometimes bites me in the ass.

Like the time Sambam wanted some treat or such there was only one of, meaning her brother would be left out on.  I informed her she wasn’t special (opps mom!)  She called me on it and informed me she was too special!  So I paused, took a deep breath, and agreed that yes, she was special, but no more or less special than her brothers.

Also, there was this gem from tonight that while vain, tells me she is at least listening.

Me: See you tomorrow baby!
Sam: See you tomorrow momma
Me: I love you!
Sam: I love you too
Me: You’re beautiful!
Sam: I know

September Has Been An Asshole, But Really, 2014 Has Been An Asshole

Husband, Please Don’t Read This

And if you do, please just don’t use it against me.  I need to rant and this is the only ear I have.  I no longer have a best friend.  This is all I have.  So just turn away, or read but keep it to yourself.  Because I’m tired, and I’m stressed, and I just need to rant.

It is Friday night at 12:35.  I just told you you were better off going to the bedroom because I was getting angrier by the minute, and in a huff you asked what you’d done now.

Let’s go back in time a few hours where you’d given me the last of your kick-starts so I’d have the fuel to get through the next few days, saying you wish there was more you could do.

Why is it you wish there was more you could do, because after trying to get an incomplete in this current class due to circumstances, I found out that wasn’t the option I thought it was and decided my best bet was to buckle down and get two weeks worth of work done in one weekend.  Why two weeks worth?  Because the second half of next week I will be in Iowa.  Not on some much needed vacation but instead to put my very favorite uncle in the ground, not even a year after putting my aunt in the ground.

All this after months of on again, off again, of my sister and her failing liver in the hospital.  I’m very glad we’re fairly certain I’m not going to lose my sister, I just wish we were more certain she wasn’t going to lose her liver.

And then tonight, I come home after spending 12 hours away, mush of which you had the house to yourself while I did 7 loads of laundry at my mom’s house trying to prepare for a trip I thought was going to be sooner in the week, wanting to be very certain you and the kids would have everything you could possibly need while I was away so I could pretend I wasn’t worried about you guys, and I come home to what I’m guessing to be about 4 loads of dishes.  Which wouldn’t be so bad in itself if I didn’t open the dishwasher to find it still loaded with what I put in it over 48 hours ago.  Real nice.

So before I leave town in less than a week I need to:

  • Do all the laundry about 45 minutes away
  • Make sure all the dishes are washed
  • And try not to fail this damn class.

 

Yep I sure wish there was more you could do.

 

I just really hope my sister doesn’t lose her life, or even just her liver, while mom and I are gone.

 

Because September has been that big of an asshole.

Hear My Plea

We officially have the keys to our first house. It’s rented, but it’s magic. I have wanted a house for the kids for over a decade now. And this house… It’s a 4 bedroom ranch with two bathrooms. Finally enough room that we aren’t tripping over each other just to move around. (We’ve been in a 5 bedroom for the past 6 years. The 5 of us.) The backyard could be classified a park it’s so big and it’s on a non-active air force base. We’re in the old base housing. We actually got an officer’s house. And we’re a 5 minute walk from the airport itself, right down from where they park the Apaches. My boys think they’ve died and gone to heaven. Even the most hesitant of them, Lucas who has only ever know this house and is timid and sensitive, is in heaven. Sambam is just in aw. It’s like she’s been left alone in a candy/toy store. Her favorite part is her closet, she insists she’s going to sleep there. I share the sentiment, it’s been a long time since my clothes haven’t hung from a pipe in the basement. I asked Thomas what the best part about leaving this house was and he waved his arms around to indicate all of it. It’s taken us over 11 years, but Pat and I have finally been able to give our kids what we’ve always wanted for them. I don’t even care it’s rented; that means if shit breaks, someone else has to fix it. The neighborhood is safe, the schools are great, I want to die of old age in this house! We can rent to own so that might damn well happen!

Here is this problem: This very first month, with the costs of moving, and some new financial sources not yet kicking in, we are in the biggest financial pickle we have ever been in. I am asking, hoping, wishing that those who might be able, to kick a buck or two or whatever you can our way. We are desperate. This money wouldn’t be covering shit and giggles, but the essentials of life. If you can help, please visit the donation button to the left which will go straight to my paypal. It’s always been there as a thank you for running this site, and as a little extra something which people have very kindly occasionally offered. But now, I really need it there. If you can’t give, please know we understand and love you all the same. We accept happy thoughts, crossed fingers, and blessing of good luck on this next stage in our family adventure, just as gratefully. There is also the option of sharing this cry for help with those you know? Only if you are comfortable with it. But sometimes, just sometimes, magic happens. And we really could use just a little more. (I’m not lying, this house is pretty magical.)

Photos you ask?

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The front of the house, which needs some work but we’re happy to. Thrilled to!

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The back yard! I assure you: Sambam and I have already twirled barefoot in that grass. Skirts swirling, heads dizzy, hearts, glowing, mouths laughing.

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Ah there she is, exploring our first ever covered parking. We’ll finally be able to keep the kid’s bikes at our place, chained to those pillars. But the neighborhood is perfect for afternoon bike rides.

I truly love you all who come here. Please know that. And I thank you all for every visit. For every comment ever left. And for any outcome from this post.

A Girl and Her Protector

My Samantha and her “Lou-Lou” have always had a unique relationship.  It is a step beyond your typical brother-sister relationship.  They are buddies, but it’s more than that.  It’s almost like a twin bond, but they are years apart and that still isn’t it.

A recent example of this is the recent discovery that when she wakes in the early morning light, but isn’t quite ready to face her day, she breaks out of her room (There is a baby gate up that she can get past easily but it’s there as a visible boundary that all children need.) and crawls into bed with him until the day begins.  Last night there was a fierce thunder-storm and I fully expected her to land into bed with me, but she didn’t.  So I went to check, and sure enough it was Luke’s bed she sought safe haven in.

 

I have always believed that we all have more than one soul mate.  Some are meant to be life-long lovers.  Some are meant to be life long friends.  Some are meant to come in like a force and leave just as fast, but having played an important life changing role in the eye of the storm of their coming and going.  I can name a few of mine, I assume I have more to come.

I have truly come to believe that my Lucas and Samantha are soul mates.  In a way, they way they act around each other it’s like they are in love, but in a strictly non-sexual way. (Come on, don’t go there.)  They just have this love and need for each other that is fierce and knows no ends.  They find comfort in each other when scared.  He protects her like it’s his sworn duty, not caring that mommy and daddy would be just as happy, nay honored, to protect her.  His patience with her is a patience my Lou-Lou is not well-known for.  She can get away with things their big brother could never dream of.  When he is in deep need of his personal space, and quiet not letting anyone in, there she is by his side.  She doesn’t seem to have to ask to be let in, she’s just in.  Sure, she may not know the worries of my troubled little boy, but she seems to know how to treat them.  Hell, maybe she does know.  They’ve shown signs of being able to read each other’ minds.  You jest, but we’ve made the hive mind joke more than once around here and it’s eerie at times.

I am curious to see how their relationship forms over the years as they mature, and it matures.  However I’m willing to bet it will only get stronger.  She may not always need to crawl into his bed when the midnight storms scare her, but I’m betting if she does need to, he’ll simply role over.  Then as they’re grown and separated by more than a hallway, well… I can honestly say that thought breaks my heart.

My Sambam and Lou-Lou are one of a kind.

I’m Attempting to Work Magic Here – Help Me?

Legacy of Love

My name is Karen Marrs and I am a long time survivor of Borderline Personality Disorder, Bipolar Disorder, General Depression, General Anxiety, and Life.

Suicide may be selfish, but for those who have felt that pain, it is hard to see it as such. Robin Williams spent his entire life fighting depression, mania, and addiction (addiction being one way of hiding from the pain of mania and depression). The degree to which he made all of us laugh, he was hurting inside. His humor was the best (addiction free) way he had to escape his pain, which in turn brought upon a mania that can be just as painful and dangerous. Robin Williams fought to get past his pain for 63 years and that is impressive. So please, instead of shaming the man who finally lost the battle against his demons, please let us thank him from our understanding hearts for fighting those demons for so long and for as well as he did. He made us laugh. He made us cry. And for that we are forever grateful. Please let that be this wonderful man’s legacy. Not the way he left us.
In his honor I would like to initiate the raising of funds to be donated to the National Suicide Prevention Hotline.  Could they have saved his life?  I don’t know.  But I do know they work magic for thousands that need them.  With the pure heart Robin Williams had, please let his legacy be love.  Let’s make this donation in his name.  I’m asking for 2000$.  Pocket change if we all chip in a little.  Do you have a few dollars to spare to save a life and let the Robin’s legacy be one he deserves?

Level 10

I think everyone has those moments in their life that are on constant repeat even decades later where they are like, “Omg did I really say/do that?” In most cases, I think we blow them out of proportion and we feel this undying mortification or regret for things that we are, in fact, the only ones to remember.  We are, after all, our own biggest critics.

I do also think, however, that someone with BPD who is at their most unstable adds a whole new level to this.  Because while everyone says things that they wish they could take back, we are far more unfiltered and reach astounding heights in our ability to be uncensored, unaware of consequences, and incapable of impulse control.

There are things I have said and done, mostly inadvertently, that I just can’t help wonder if things could be different if they hadn’t been said or done.  The relationships I have destroyed that I held so dear, that I didn’t realize until it was far too late what was happening.  I was that far gone, that unaware of the situation, and that trusting that the other person would understand I was at my worst and didn’t have the skill set to really control my impulses, my thoughts and my situational awareness.  And clearly, that was misplaced trust.

And please don’t get me wrong in that.  The fault is my own.  Everyone realistically has their limits on what they can turn a blind eye to, and me at my worst can push past the limits of even the most patient of people.

I just…

While everyone reflects back on the time they put a foot in their mouth, and mostly with needless worry…

My regrets run deep.

And some wounds, I truly fear, will never heal.

They were wrong

Been Thinking

I know.  I don’t call.  I don’t write.  Yet here I am wanting to talk school?

Alright.  My duel major for my Bachelor’s in Business Administration and Applied Psychology are already in the works.

From there I was planning my Masters in Psychology.

But.  Out of the schools I’m looking at, most don’t even offer a masters in psychology.  Even if they do, you need a specific quantity of credit hours from your undergrad to be in psychology.  My current undergrads just aren’t going to cut it.

But a third Bachelor’s in general psychology would.

And I can get that at the local really good university I plan to get my Psy.D. at.  It’s one of the best schools for psychology in the country, even. (But they don’t offer a master’s in it.)

But then.

If I’m doing that, and I’m already planning to get the Psy.D. in the end, none of the school I prefer even offer a masters in Psychology, and you don’t need the masters for the doctorate, why am I trying for the masters?  How much debt do I want?  How many degree do I intend to collect?  (The answer is now and always will be: All of them.) (Did you know federal student loan debt gets discharged when you die?)(Guys!  If I’m a student until the day I die, at a very old age or of any other natural causes, I won’t ever have to pay my loans back!)(Just saying: I could be a professional student.)(I mean, it IS looking that way anyway.)(Gotta catch them all!)(It took me a decade to get to school, I’m never leaving!)(People that like, I don’t know, chase down to get money from people who actually do this, please know I’m joking.)(I intend to use my degrees.)

I’m still toying with the Masters in Business Psychology which is the follow-up to my B.S. Applied Psychology.

But if I do that I might as well just drop my B.A. in Business Admin.  I’ve always argued business is a great foundation to anything, but at this point, I’ll pay someone with a business degree if I actually have a private practice. (Plus I think I’m just holding on tight because in my decade long fight for school, this has been the planned degree.  But I’m in school, I’m pulling noting but A’s, and I’m in the National Society of Collegiate Scholars.  Fight is over.  I can let it go.  Please don’t start singing that song.)

So that means I’m looking at the following for my full degree set:

  • B.S. in Applied Psychology
  • B.A. in Psychology
  • M.S. in Business Psychology
  • Psy.D. in Psychology

Then possibly med school which would involve pre-med and then the M.D.  It would have its advantages but it also time-consuming, expensive, and involves cutting open/up dead bodies.  We’ll see.

This makes sense?  I mean, I can always change my mind as I go, as long as I’m not mid degree.  Right?

Wait, I did tell you all I got invited to join the National Society of Collegiate Scholars, right?  I accepted.

 

To Whomever

To whomever is trying to break into my wordpress account,

Look, you’re either going to have to figure out my password, or give up.  Simply trying to request or change it won’t work.  The request to change is tied to my email and my email is fairly secure.  So unless you track me down, mug me and steal my phone, you can’t get into my email.  And no, the email that shows in my wordpress profile, is not the actual email that’s tied to my sign in.  So you don’t actually even know what email address you need to break into.  But keep trying, I have unlimited text messaging.

Really, all you’re accomplishing is that you’re alerting me to your presence and telling me I need to keep an eye on things.  Oh.  And you’re giving me a much needed chuckle.  So thanks.  Really.

 

Sincerely,

Someone who wasn’t born yesterday




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