Archive for October, 2011

She’s Coming Home

Posted October 25, 2011 By kmarrs

When I was 2, my daytime babysitter had another little girl, younger than me, that she also watched (plus a few others) named Samantha.  At the age of 2, I decided that was the perfect name, latched on, and never gave it up.

At the age of 4, my parents made me a big sister.  When they brought Rachel home from the hospital, they brought me, my own baby.  She, of course, became Samantha, Sammy, and no other name was considered.

Through the years, there were a few more Sammy dolls in my life.  No other name held any real meaning to me.

As I grew into a woman, and my future family was considered, I knew it wasn’t just about finding a man I loved who wanted to create a family with me, it was about finding someone who would be willing to give me my real life Sammy.  Pat considered no other name once he knew.

In the past 9 years, we’ve gone from home to home.  Sometimes we were only a step or two above couch hoping.  And our belongings have scattered.  At some point, when we were living with his Grandmother and co, Sammy (the doll), in a box full of her belongings, came to live with us.  But in our rush to move out when drama hit, some things got left behind where we thought they were safe.  Sammy, was one of those things.

As years passed, I somehow forgot she was even moved there to begin with and I grew to assume that Sammy was safe and sound packed away in my mom’s garage or attic or someplace equally safe.  I never gave it a second thought.

Meanwhile, as family members moved in and out of that condo we vacated in a rush, our belongings weren’t treated the way they should have been by people either too young or too uncaring to give respect to other people’s property.

We came to terms with it.  We accepted our share of the blame for leaving stuff to begin with.  And there was some honest flooding anyway that destroyed stuff that was no one’s fault.  Between what was lost, it was hard to say who did what and it no longer matters.  It simply doesn’t matter.

And then my daughter was born.  After 25 years, I finally had my Samantha, living, breathing, and loving, in my arms.  And my world became complete.  The only thing missing was the original Samantha who was to be passed on to her namesake.  For while the doll came first, she was indeed named after my future daughter.

So, first I searched my basement.  I had moved most of my boxes, if not all, out of my mom’s garage and stacked them in my utility room.  Never really had the drive or time to search through them.  Never had a reason.  I needed that doll though to complete the circle, so I searched.  I didn’t just open boxes, I pulled everything out, and put it all in bins.  Nothing was missed.


But no Samantha.

So I sent my mom on the hunt on her end of things.  So she searched.  Then when she came up empty-handed, I searched.  The thing was, there were only so many boxes left at her place.  And only so many places to put them.  So it was official without a doubt that Sammy was not with me or my mom.

So that left…

Tonight, my husband and his brother, went to that condo.  Abandoned.  Trashed.  No electricity.  And looked the only place she could be.  Not even knowing for sure she was there.  Not knowing if she was intact even if she was.

And I’ve sat here for a couple hours now hoping.  I couldn’t get my hopes up.  I wouldn’t get my hopes up.  I shouldn’t get my hopes up.  But how could I not.

Then I received a photo text.  “Is this her?”

And the tears came.  There was no stopping them.

It was her

And she was more beautiful than I could have hoped, though not as beautiful as the living breathing name sake snoring beside me.

And while I have not yet lay hands on her, she is coming home in what my husband describes as “good shape for her age”.

And that is more than I could have ever hoped for.  That doll is 24 years old, grew up with me, lived through total chaos in that condo, and she is coming home.

But this time Sammy is coming home to her true mommy.  She is coming home to my Samantha.

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Just A Quick Meds Update

Posted October 25, 2011 By kmarrs

Before pregnancy, my anti-depressant was at 90mg of Cymbalta.  After Sammy was born, we started at 60 knowing we could up it at any time.  I’m officially put in the request for it to go back to the 90.  I’m not in bad shape, by any means, I just feel I could be doing better.  I’ll be fine a few days and then I’ll have a low.  It’s almost playing out like rapid-cycling bi-polar, though my lows and highs are way too close to baseline for it to be that.  That’s just the best way to explain it.  And when I’m up, I think I’m crazy for wanting that extra something.  But when I’m down I’m well aware that while yes, I’m still ok, I’m very capable of being better, and I’m also very capable of a sudden crash that these ups and downs are sometimes a prelude to.  So since, it’s a simple matter of increasing something that’s already in my system, back to my original dose, might as well.  And my mental health team agreed.


However, I’m currently enjoying a healthy, natural sex life with my husband that my meds usually kill all interest in.  I’m even, apparently, a cuddler atm.  Should this increase lead to any signs of that disappearing, well, I’d rather the enjoyment of my husband than the extra 30 of Cymbalta.  No second thoughts.


Anyway, still a long ways off of needing anything else.  This extra Cymbalta should do the trick, and if it doesn’t I’m at healthy enough of a place to just leave it be.  There really is a comfortable point of good enough, if you’ve given better an honest try and it simply doesn’t work out.

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Who Me? Oh, I’m With The Band!

Posted October 24, 2011 By kmarrs

Band Back Together is amazing.  Simply. Put.

How can I even begin to describe the wonders of the band?  So we’ll start by stealing their words.

Who are we? We’re The Band.

We’re a band of survivors. We’re here to put a face to everything once kept in the dark. We’re here to show the world that you can go through hell and come out the other side. Some of the stories may be difficult to read, but they are your stories and they are important.

Please, pull up that old tattered leather chair and make yourself a drink. Pull your skeletons from their closet and make them dance the tango. Alone, we are small. Together, we are mighty.

Join us.

It is a group blog.  Kind of like post secret, really.  Only instead of mailing a postcard to Frank, you are submitting a blog post to Aunt Becky and her Merry Band of Pranksters. You can write about anything, really, but the usual focus is loss, illness, overcoming hardships, etc.  Basically the things no one wants to talk about or think about.  Well, The Band is there so that when you are ready to talk about it we can listen and offer you hugs, tears, and help.  And it comes from our hearts because we’ve all been there too.  So your pain is our pain and we share it.  And then we pick each other up and carry on hand in hand.  Because we are The Band and together we are strong!

I’ve been a groupie of the band for a while.  Reading, encouraging, pulling people in to join Aunt Becky’s cult of pranksters.

A few weeks back, I submitted my first (I assume there will be more) post.  And it was beautiful.  Fine.  I’m biased.  But weeks later the finished piece still gives me goosebumps.  I can’t wait to link you all to it!  (scheduled for publish 11/11/2011)  And I’m fighting the urge to post it here, though there is no reason I can’t.  The Band knows you have to do what you have to do and they are there to support!

So I’ve been helping and now officially contributing to The Band here and there for a while now. “Hey, check out this person they might be of use for information.” etc.  Then today I got what I never imagined.

These words:

You REALLY need to work with us behind the scenes.

Really?  I mean REALLY?  Cuz FUCK. YEAH!

Right now, my work is simple.  I have a full plate so taking on more is not wise.  But I’m doing what I can to help out.  I’m stumbling posts.  Retweeting tweets.  And well, this post too, I guess might be considered help.

But really?  While I do this for The Band, I’m really doing it for those who need The Band but don’t know it’s there for them.

We could all use a little Band in our life.  And our Aunt Becky is a force to be reckoned with, in the best way imaginable.

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And It Was So

Posted October 23, 2011 By kmarrs

Every email I get asking for help/guidance/advice/whatever has me that much more determined that DAMMIT!  I WILL DO THIS FOR A LIVING EVEN IF IT DOES TAKE ME 20 YEARS TO MAKE IT SO!!!!

Then of course I’ll also continue to help people the best I can through my site and email.  Only, without the disclaimer that I’m not a professional, etc etc etc.

And while it breaks my heart that this week has seen 2 people who are in a place they feel they need to reach for help, I am happy that they both felt comfortable to reach out for it.  And I’m always honored to do the best damn job that I can to help.

It gives me purpose.  An identity and reason that is all mine and not dedicated to my kids.  I’m not just mom, wife, daughter, etc.  I have an identity all my own that I’m trying to do good with.  To create positive change with.  And while I HAVE to be there for my kids because I created them, I choose to be there for you who read these words.  And feeling that I’ve helped someone, however much, gives me meaning.  And it gives my BPD purpose if it means I can use my experience from it to help others.

All that was to say, please never hesitate to shoot me a line for whatever your need is.  I can help track down DBT, give basic advice if you just need an unbiased opinion, or simply listen and hold your hand in spirit.

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You Know…

Posted October 22, 2011 By kmarrs

If Herman Hesse were to come back as a zombie, that would be one zombie I’d consider marrying.  Brain-eating and all.  #worthit

Have I posted/tweeted this before?  Maybe?

Is it weird I’m tagging this as marital strife?  I mean, my groom eating my brain would count as strife, yes?

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Walking the Dalekline

Posted October 21, 2011 By kmarrs

I did this one as a slideshow. You’re welcome.  This was about 3+ hours of my Thursday night. Best night ever!  I could have done more, but I met the daily tweet cap set by twitter…

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