It has been almost a year since I last posted. I am not sorry for the hiatus. I spent 2018 getting my mental health in order. I have made a ton of progress, but I still have a long road ahead of me. I am now able to put forth the effort into keeping my blogs and websites up to date-- which is what I am trying to do. So bear (two google searches later and I learned this was the correct "bear" to use with the phrase) with me. I am doing my best. 

Dysthymia, now known as persistent depressive disorder (PDD), is a mood disorder consisting of the same cognitive and physical problems as depression, with less severe but longer-lasting symptoms. The concept was coined by Robert Spitzer as a replacement for the term "depressive personality" in the late 1970s.
Synonyms are as follows: Neurotic depression, dysthymic disorder, chronic depression, persistent depressive disorder
 
So why am I giving you a vocabulary test? This is a new term that was given to me by my therapist. After evaluating me, this is now my diagnosis. So not Bipolar 2. I don’t get it. I mean, I’m getting to the point where I’m thinking nobody knows what they are talking about. My therapist says that Kaiser jumped too quickly to the Bipolar diagnosis based on the ridiculous medications (THAT I DON’T FUCKING NEED) I was put on by previous doctors. I should have been diagnosed with this in my teenage years, but my mother and her asshole were convinced I was being a drama queen. Instead of the issue being managed, I was left to suffer in silence. Drama queen?  No. I have an actual mental illness. Thanks, Mom. I have been depressed for so long that my brain chemistry has changed. We won’t go into the officially diagnosed PTSD. My anxiety stems from that. Even my sleeping issues are part of the PTSD. Growing up, I never had a good night’s sleep. My grandmother would get mad at my grandfather for something and a fight would break out. Loudly. At 2 am. Or better yet, getting pulled out of bed in the middle of the night by one of my mother’s assholes for something I did wrong. I was pulled out of bed once, in high school, for putting a fork upside down in the dishwasher. I had to unload and reload the dishwasher for an hour. So I’m always on guard. I can’t relax. It doesn’t matter that I know that will never happen again. You can’t get over trauma that easily. I just wish, for once, I was normal. No nightmares. No anxiety. I just want some peace. Is that too much to ask?

I’m not posting this for a pity party. I know I have a fair few friends that have depression and anxiety issues as well. I understand you guys, more than you know. People are all like, “oh you are so strong for going through all that”. I NEVER SHOULD HAVE HAD TO BE STRONG IN THE FIRST PLACE! I don’t want to be strong. I just want to be able to have a day without any form of depression, anxiety, or panic attack from a trigger. I’m just….tired. So very tired. I’m tired of not being interested in activities. I’m tired of cancelling events with friends because my anxiety is so bad. I’m tired of always thinking that my friends are mad at me for no reason. I’m tired of not being able to take a shower because I have no energy. I’m tired of spending days in bed, staring at the wall and ceiling because I can’t get out of bed. I’m tired of the crying. I’m tired of the panic attacks. I’m tired of being tired.  I’m just tired. I’m so very tired. But I get up, every day. I fight every day. I refuse to let my past win. I refuse to let those who hurt me win.  I fight for my husband who really, truly loves me. Never in my life have I had that much love. He is my smile. I fight for my siblings. I love them all with all my heart. I fight for my nephew. That kid is the apple of my eye. I fight. And I fight. And I fight. I will always keep fighting.

I will never stop fighting no matter how tired I am.

bleck and blarg


​that is about it. 

Yeah I knew that wasn't going to last. At least I'm only a couple of days late. 


Day 2: The Meaning Behind Your Blog Name

The Moseying Geek. I thought it was the perfect way to describe me. I like to take my time when walking or hiking and just enjoy the scenery. I tend to walk slowly and wander off. It drives my husband insane sometimes. I can't help it. There is a perfect southern work that describes it-- to mosey. It means to move in a leisurely or aimless manner. It describes my outlook on life. Most people are so focused on the future that they don't stop and look around at the present. Kinda like that scene in Pretty Woman where she tells him to take his shoes off and enjoy the feel of the grass on his toes. If you don't stop for a moment and collect your bearings, you are going to miss life. 

Geek is obvious.


Day 3: A Picture of Your Animals

I have a ton of these, but this topic make me a bit sad. I miss Abby. She was a wonderful dog. But, life moves on. Here are my current pets, Victor, FN-2187, and Lady Niblett of the Chubby Cheeks.  

Day 4: A Habit I Wish I Didn't Have

SODA! I drink so much soda it isn't funny. I have had to really cut that back. I didn't realize how much I drank until my doctor made me count each one. I am working on it. It is worse than when I quit smoking. 

​Happy New Year! I hope 2018 is a lot less of a hot mess than 2017. Seriously.
 
I was going to do the whole “my year in review” thing, but then I realized that I don’t really want to remember 2017. Let’s just redact that whole year.
Then I was thinking about posting resolutions, but does anyone actually keep those? A new year! A new me! Yeah no. I’m going to be the same bat-shit crazy woman I am. Please let me know in the comments if you actually kept all your resolutions last year.
 
So what to blog about? I had no clue. So I went to Pinterest—the home of electronic hoarding. I found one of those “Blog Challenges” things and decided to say, “fuck it”, and go with it. So here we go. 30 Days of Blog.
 
Day One: a recent picture of you and 15 interesting facts about me.
 
Okay, first of all, I’m not posting a picture. Y’all don’t need that. Secondly, 15 facts? 15? I’m not that interesting. I can try.

1. I was named after a soap opera character.
2. People bug me about my middle name. It’s Kay. K-A-Y. I’m not being difficult and giving you the first letter. That is my middle name.
3. I can tie a knot with a cherry stem and my tongue.
4. I hate wearing socks. But when I do, I refuse to take the time to actually match my socks. Life is too short to match your stupid socks.
5. I am a soda addict. Seriously. It’s a problem.
6. I don’t have children. I don’t want children. But that doesn’t mean I hate children. I just like my sleep and space more.
7. I hate goat cheese. I would rather starve.
8. I’m not allowed to knit anymore. In fact, I’m not allowed to handle knitting needles over again after piercing my shin so hard the bone dented.
9. I spend a ridiculous amount of time at Panera.
10. I hate school but love to learn. School is too rigid.
11. Feral children irritate the hell out of me. Not like real feral children. I mean the children that are allowed to run in restaurants and act like fools while their parents are too busy on their phone.
12.  I love to edit papers and novels. I freaking love it.
13. Uggs may be a horrible fashion choice, but, Damn!, those boots were wonderful. I’m just not shelling out for them.
14. I love playing video games. I suck at FPS but amazing at platforms.
15. I have $400 worth of makeup and brushes that I paid pennies for since I have a subscription it Ipsy. Seriously. Ten bucks a month.

Aaaaaand I think we are good. Night all!
.
 
 

I can’t believe it is December already. Mid December at that. This year has zoomed by. I have been a bit of a recluse here recently. I have had one medical thing after another and I’m still trying to cope and process. I think it will be easier to list them.
 

1. Bipolar II- My doctor at Kaiser up and left with no warning, so I had to change doctors. The first one refused to fill my medications, with no explanation other than the fact I needed to see a Behavior Health specialist because of the Seroquel. I was under the impression I needed the medication for insomnia. I understand in the higher doses it is used to treat Bipolar and Schizophrenia. The pharmacists had to fight to get me a month dose. I can’t stop taking this medication. The withdrawal symptoms would put me in the hospital. I felt judged. I have been fighting this battle for over half my life and the last thing I needed was my doctor to make judgements about me. I was depressed and anxious, not Bipolar. The thing that upset me the most is the fact that she made this decision without discussing it with me. I understand that this medication is an anti-psychotic and rough and not one that a doctor would be comfortable prescribing to a new patient without meeting them. I get that. But I put my refill in three days before. Some one could have contacted me and told me to make an appointment or tell me that she wanted me to come in and discuss the medication or SOMETHING. I changed to a different doctor, and I’m really glad a did. She is amazing. I made an appointment and she is everything I need in a doctor. One of the first things we discussed is my medications. When I told her why I was on Seroquel, she was really confused. She told me I was on a high dose, any higher and I run the risk of serious health issues. I was on the dose that treated Bipolar. Wait….what? I wasn’t bipolar. I was depressed. She needed my medical records from PWC Family Medicine. The girl there was wonderful and printed my records for me instead of making me wait for three weeks. I made a copy for myself and started looking through them. I was pissed. I took a psych evaluation to rule out bipolar. The results were ADD, Generalized Anxiety, and Moderate to Severe Depression. After that point, my doctor there used the term “bipolar (unspecified)”. Not once was this discussed with me. Not one single time. She was treating me as having Bipolar and telling me it wasn’t bipolar. I went ahead and made appointments with the Behavior Health and spoke to an actual psychiatrist about my medications and the concerns I had. It was then that I got the official diagnosis of Bipolar II. It made sense and explains my behaviors. I also started therapy. My goal is the get me off the large dose. So that is that.
2. Therapy- as I just mentioned, I started therapy. I have great therapist. I adore her. She was appalled that I was still on the waiting list for PWC. I explained to her that I was not a priority since I was not suicidal or self-harming. FOUR YEARS LATER. She has helped me greatly in the two sessions I have had with her. She has given me great coping techniques when it comes to the PTSD and anxiety. So that is a bonus.
3. Diabetes- I have an official diagnosis. Thankfully, my A1C is 6.6 and is elevated because of my Seroquel. I’m not actually diabetic, but because I’m on a myriad of medications, a couple of them that does cause elevated blood sugars, we are treating it as if I’m actually diabetic. I need to keep close watch on my blood sugars. If we can’t control them with Metformin, then my doctors and I need to reevaluate my medications.
4. Cholesterol Issues- yeah, see above. I have an ever so slightly elevated bad cholesterol, but I don’t have enough good cholesterol to combat it. Stupid meds.
5. Back Issues- yeah this has been ongoing, but it is starting to cause nerve damage and fibromyalgia-like symptoms.

So yeah, it has been fun. I’m dealing with a lot right now and trying to not go crazy…well crazier than I already am. I’m just tired. My body is at war with itself and I’m just exhausted. My ability to function is dwindling. I am running out of spoons quicker as each day goes by. I’m just so tired.  

 
Ah, Halloween. One of the best times of the year. My favorite actually. So I decided to do a brief history on the subject. Here goes:
 
Samhain (pronounced /ˈsɑːwɪn/ SAH-win or /ˈsaʊ.ɪn/ SOW-in, Irish pronunciation: [sˠəuɪnʲ]) is a Gaelic festival marking the end of the harvest season and the beginning of winter or the "darker half" of the year. Traditionally, it is celebrated from 31 October to 1 November, as the Celtic day began and ended at sunset. This is about halfway between the autumn equinox and the winter solstice. It is one of the four Gaelic seasonal festivals, along with Imbolc, Bealtaine and Lughnasadh. Historically, it was widely observed throughout Ireland, Scotland and the Isle of Man.
Samhain is believed to have Celtic pagan origins and there is evidence it has been an important date since ancient times. Some Neolithic passage tombs in Ireland are aligned with the sunrise around the time of Samhain. It is mentioned in some of the earliest Irish literature and many important events in Irish mythology happen or begin on Samhain. It was the time when cattle were brought back down from the summer pastures and when livestock were slaughtered for the winter. As at Bealtaine, special bonfires were lit. These were deemed to have protective and cleansing powers and there were rituals involving them. Like Bealtaine, Samhain was seen as a liminal time, when the boundary between this world and the Otherworld could more easily be crossed. This meant the Aos Sí, the 'spirits' or 'fairies', could more easily come into our world. Most scholars see the Aos Sí as remnants of the pagan gods and nature spirits. At Samhain, it was believed that the Aos Sí needed to be propitiated to ensure that the people and their livestock survived the winter. Offerings of food and drink were left outside for them. The souls of the dead were also thought to revisit their homes seeking hospitality. Feasts were had, at which the souls of dead kin were beckoned to attend and a place set at the table for them. Mumming and guising were part of the festival, and involved people going door-to-door in costume (or in disguise), often reciting verses in exchange for food. The costumes may have been a way of imitating, and disguising oneself from, the Aos Sí. Divination rituals and games were also a big part of the festival and often involved nuts and apples. In the late 19th century, Sir John Rhys and Sir James Frazer suggested that it was the "Celtic New Year", and this view has been repeated by some other scholars.
In the 9th century AD, Western Christianity shifted the date of All Saints' Day to 1 November, while 2 November later became All Souls' Day. Over time, Samhain and All Saints'/All Souls' merged to create the modern Halloween. Historians have used the name 'Samhain' to refer to Gaelic 'Halloween' customs up until the 19th century.
Since the later 20th century, Celtic neopagans and Wiccans have observed Samhain, or something based on it, as a religious holiday. Neopagans in the Southern Hemisphere often celebrate Samhain at the other end of the year (about 1 May).
 
As with all Pagan Holy Days, the Christian church stole them to convert everyone. History folks. 

So I just realize I haven't posted anything since April when I was doing the blog challenge. Yeah I failed. Actually, I decided to turn my S story into a book. Hashtag writer problems.
I have been on Awesome Con prep and I will go into to how.....Awesome....that was in the next post. For now, I have news to share. Really crappy news.


The Friday that Awesome Con opened, I received a call from my husband. He was taking Abby to the vet because there was something really wrong. She couldn't move. She looked like she was in pain. She didn't want to go to the bathroom. She was just not doing well. I had to wait until 1 o'clock before he called since that is when her appointment was. That sucked. He called and the news wasn't good. They did an ultrasound and discovered that her abdomen was full of blood. She had and undetected tumor on her stomach and it burst. A blood clot blocked her spleen. We had no other choice but to... I was on speaker phone during this time. I didn't have time to get from DC to Fairfax in enough time. We knew this was coming. She was a 12 year old lab. She was smiles and tail wags to the end. She was really sweet. Brian was there holding her head like he normally does when he is loving her. He told her it was okay and to go to sleep and she would feel better and she went quietly. And that was it. 12 years stopped right there.


You know, even though we knew it was coming, nothing actually prepares you for the actual event. Patches was difficult because we lost him so suddenly. Same with Shippo. We knew Bert was going to go. He was ready. We were there for each of them. But it was different with Abby, I think. When we lost Patches, she was still there. When we lost the cats, she was there. But this time, she went. I didn't really hit me until I came home from Awesome Con. I was able to put it out of my mind and redirect my focus. I came home late. I asked Brian to help me with my stuff since I can't lift heavy things. When I got to our door, I had to stop. It was then it came crashing down on me. First the first time in 12 years, she was not going to be there to greet me with a wagging tail and a toy in her mouth. It hit me, and it hit me hard. I channeled my inner Disney princess and began to weep on the stairs. I had a good cry and was as okay as I could be.


I miss her. It is a bit difficult, though. For the past 12 years, our lives have revolved around having a dog. We are still kinda deprogramming ourselves. It is just really weird having just the cats. We will adjust. We aren't planning getting another dog until we buy a house in the next year or two. We just aren't ready and won't be for a while. This is the crappy part of pet ownership.

Quiet please. I am trying to come up with a clever idea for a blog post. 

There was once was a girl named Ashley and she loved dogs. She had a puppy named Abby, but she wanted maybe one more. But she and her husband, Brian, lived in an apartment and one large breed dog was enough.
One day, they decided to take Abby to the local pet store. There she was introduced to animal rescue and her life was never the same. She became a foster mom and a volunteer with the rescue. She and her husband fostered many puppies and loved every minute. But there was one breed she was not so keen to foster—pit bulls. She grew up in an area where this breed was considered mean and vicious. She believed this all her life and stayed away from any of the pit bulls the rescue saved. Little did she know, that would drastically change.
Enter the Pit Bull Girl. Her real name was Danielle. She started to volunteer with the rescue at about the same time. One day, at the weekly adoption event at the pet store, Danielle walked in and headed to the table. Ashley noticed a woman with three pit bulls in tow. One was tall and leggy, one was shorter and sweet, the other... the other was a colorful puppy jumping around and barking. Naturally, Ashley strayed away from this woman. She didn't know that Danielle was actually a volunteer. The president of the rescue introduced her to everyone and everyone loved her dogs but found the puppy to be...excitable. It was hard to pet him. He was wiggly and wanted to lick your face. Danielle introduced her dogs as The Monster Trio. The leggy one was named Chaos. He was very friendly but very large. All he wanted to dog is lay one top of you and kiss you. The shorter one was named Daisy. She was shy at first but warmed up to you. Once she liked you, she liked you and wanted pets and snuggles all the time. He hyper little one was named Capone. He was noisy, hyper, noisy, excitable, noisy, energetic, and noisy. But what he lacked in manners, he more than made up for in love.
Ashley told Danielle that she was always afraid of this breed because of all the negative press and the fear-mongering media attention. The two women became fast friends and soon Ashley would go over to Danielle's place to hang out and visit with the dogs. Every time she came over, all the dogs were happy to see her, but none more than the little one. He was especially happy to see her. He knew that Ashley gave great belly scratches and loved to snuggle. Before she knew it, Ashley had bonded with Capone. Chaos and Daisy loved her, but it was Capone she was drawn to. Every time, she would visit, Capone would be the center of her attention. She was even able to calm him down...slightly. Danielle and Ashley bonded as well.
But Ashley had a secret. She suffered from severe depression. She didn't want her new friend to know about it, so she kept it a secret. She would always smile and always wanted to hang out, but on the inside, she wanted to cry and curl up under a blanket. Some days were better than others. She and her husband adopted a foster dog named Patches, who became her unofficial therapy dog. It really helped her get past the bad days. But when she was in a bad place at her friend's house, it was Capone who always helped her. He knew when she was sad and gave her kisses. He knew when she was anxious and would try to sit in her lap. It didn't work most of the time. He was too big. So he lay down next to her with his head in her lap. He just knew and he helped her. He was still hyper and noisy at times, but she loved him and all his flaws.
There came a day when Danielle announce she was having a baby, but she couldn't keep the Trio since she was a single mom. Chaos, Daisy, and Capone found really great homes with her friends. Ashley was incredibly sad to see them leave, but her heart broke when Capone found a home in North Carolina. Thankfully, the home was with the Dennison family. Ashley and Danielle are unofficial members of his family and would visit at least twice a year. Capone fit perfectly in this pack and was happy. He would run out and jump up and down when they came to visit. He was older and not as hyper, but he was still noisy. He loved the Dennison family, Carrie, Larkin, and the kids. He had his own bed and his own blanket and a ton of space to run. He managed to help Carrie through some of the toughest times in her life just like he did with Ashley.
As the years past, he mellowed even more but was still the happiest, and noisiest, pit bull of them all.