Back to reality… I think.

Ohio was a no go. My daughter had the worst time with it, so bad she actually was placed in a pediatric psychiatric unit two hours from where we lived. She was diagnosed with SSAD (severe separation anxiety disorder). With that disorder came meds, a lot of them. As well as depression, mood swings, auditory hallucinations and more therapy then either of us could handle.

I made the decision to come home to Colorado where we both belong. We’ve been back since the beginning of April. I’m proud to say the hallucinations are gone, the depression is gone, as are the mood swings. She’s happy and care free again. She’s doing amazing in school and best of all? No meds! My little love is herself again.

I have a lot of issues with social anxiety but I’m working through them. Slowly, but I am trying.


My most recent demon…

I was recently asked a question. This question caused thoughts, wicked thoughts.

“When are you having your next one?”


I died inside. I want another child, so bad. But, I’ve been told it will be difficult for me to conceive again. I was diagnosed with PCOS two years ago. Polycystical ovarian syndrome.


Multiple cysts that cover the ovary’s. Super right? Blah… one of those cysts turned into a mass. That mass was double the size of my right ovary… so like any doctor would suggest… unilateral oophorectomy. Only one was removed, but it doesn’t make it any easier to conceive.



My daughter wants a sister… or brother. She never understands how much it hurts me when she asks.

I hate this curse that is mine to carry. It is the one and only demon that I have yet to conquer. I don’t see it happening in the near future….

But they say it’s not impossible to conceive…. difficult. But not impossible.


I’ve heard stories… of multiple miscarriages, false positives due to hormones. It all sounds horrible.

PCOS in and of itself is horrible. I can’t lose weight, my cycle was so out of whack that I just wound up getting an IUD. I was already dealing with mental illness, but I’m sure the hormonal psychosis in my body didn’t help. Back to the weight… that in and of itself is its own demon. The PCOS is its sidekick. I’ve always been bigger, since age 12. Bigger and bigger, but never really smaller. I mean, I’ll lose 23 pounds. But you best believe it doesn’t stay away long, and when it does come back? It brings friends! Super, right? No. Not for someone like me who already has really bad body image issues.


My demon tortures me, and breaks me. It is unforgiving and two faced as hell. I worry for the future…. but I can say I’m trying to fight it. That I am trying to stand up and go for what I want. All I can do…. right?


Until next time I suppose….


I have concurred my demon! It finally took a weight of 237 pounds to get me to the right doc that did the right tests and prescribed the right meds. 6 months after my diagnosis, I now bounce between 196 and 206. Along with the official diagnosis of PCOS I was also diagnosed with hyper insulinemia. Meaning… my accelerated weight gain was caused by my insulin levels being in the 50’s. Normal for a woman my age is around 25. Crazy right? I still fight it occasionally but I’ve concurred it none the less.

Parenting and all of its insanity… I mean glory.

I’ve recently been introduced to the ever so amazing blogging skills of Kate Parlin. She is honest, and funny. But most of all she’s real about it. I will be following her blog from now on, a good laugh while you’re tearing your hair out can be nice, right?

Now, it was a particular post of hers that I truly did relate too.

I’m not breaking down. I’m breaking.

I can’t even begin to express how close this hit to home for me. I love my daughter, dearly. But I find myself extremely angry at times… at myself, at him… and I yell when I shouldn’t towards her. See, things are never as they seem on the outside. Haha.

I’m angry at myself because I should be doing better for her. At 30 years of age I have nothing to show but prescription bottles for psychiatric medications and an anxiety level high enough to give an elephant a heart attack. Usually I keep myself in check, usually I remain calm or continuing going about my business. But ever so often, my lack of patience gets the better of me. But at 30 I should have something to show for it right?

HIM – Complete and utter waste of oxygen, not even worth the flesh that covers his cowardly maneuvers. 7 years I’ve done this alone. He was there for a whole 5 months. Even then… it’s was partying, drinking, getting high, or trying to get laid. See we tried getting back together. So of course he’d try to get some, from both me and -ONE- of his other baby mamas. So I walked… especially when it came to finding out that he 1.) Had something. And 2.) Had four other kids that he didn’t take care of. I’m angry at him for a lot of reasons.

Needless to say I’ve got a lot to work on. But regardless, I will admit… yes I will sometimes raise my voice or yell at her. The amount of stress I’m dealing with would honestly cause Dr. Phil to check into a psychiatric ward. Oprah too maybe.

This blog is proof that everyone goes through hell as a parent or single parent. And it also gives proof that there is light at the end of the tunnel.


So, my little Bugg has a Chalazion just under her left eye in the corner.



Started out as a hordeolum, then…. graduated! Not painful, though you would think that it would be with how purple it gets… We went back to the eye “specialist” as we tell Bugg. She’s really a surgeon. She said it could take up to 6 months to go away. 6 months!

Well, me being the mama that I am, and tired of getting asked if I punch/hit my kid when the damn thing has given her another famous shiner, opted to have the thing lanced and drained. So, it is surgery, very minor… but all the same. They will put her under, and as mom, I feel my baby should wake up to me next to her.

Thus… I am postponed temporarily.

Btw… it is really HOT out. Yup…. love the great state of Colorado. Lol.

Another chance…

So I moved out. Thought I had found a great group of friends to live with… and consequently hang our with. I was told I belong…. so I gave it a shot. I became an associate.


I thought things were great. But it came to light that I didn’t have the dedication needed to do the associate club. So I did what I felt was best. I pulled my “big sister” aside and explained it to her, then said I was pulling my candidacy and cut my front patch off of my vest.

Thought things were fine… I was back on the job hunt and shortly after found a job. I was kind of excited about the job. The night that I was hired, I was also informed of the “office saying only one of us could be claimed by the friend we were living with.” It was then that I was informed that it was me to go, because the other was “club.” So I figured whatever…. I mean yeah. I was upset. The only reason I was allowed there was because I was a candidate. But it was onward and upward. I assumed that I would get the typical 30 days to move on…. turns out I was only supposed to have 2 weeks. So after a rather intense conversation I decided to head to bed. I had also been told that the associate sleeping on the couch had to ‘move’ as well… turns out lies only work if you run em by everyone first. She was taking over the bedroom the kids slept it….


I decided to get a move on the next day. Woke up, smoked a cigarette, then started packing. 8 hours later I was loading my belongings into the back of a friend’s truck. I didn’t want to stick around where I wasn’t wanted. I left after that, and I did not look back. However, that still leaves me in limbo as it were. I know where I’m going and I know how I am getting there, I just don’t know when I am going. I don’t like that feeling.. but at least I have a fresh start ahead of me. A blank page and a new beginning. I try to surround myself with positivity now, I’ve spent this entire time with my daughter, my mother and my grandmother.


My plan from here is easy. Get to Ohio, get a job, find an apartment, and go from there. I wont be trying to make friends, or find a date. If those things happen, they will happen. But they will happen in time, I need to focus on me right now. My daughter will stay with my mother in Colorado, for now. Around Christmas time she will be joining me, I’ll more then likely drive out and get her. There are good schools where I’m going, and my father has horses. She loves the animals, and working in the garden with him.

This is good. It’s something that needs to happen, and it is a situation in which I can actually survive. I look forward to this new life. And honestly? It’ll be nice to get out of the jungle and back to the country. I fit in there.

Magic Vs. Magick

Living Boho

When curious people are researching wiccan practices they often find themselves reading about Magick, wondering why it’s spelled differently than they’ve known their whole lives. I know I had trouble adjusting to the extra letter at the end. Once I got further into my practices, I realized that the word “Magick” is a simple way to seperate definitions.

To be magical is to deceive for entertainment means (think magician). To be magickal is to recognize and accept the wiccan way and become one with the magick of nature. Put simply, Magick is the outcome of wiccan practices.

However, things can become more complicated because Magick can mean several different things to several different witches.


As an eclectic witch, my idea of magick may seem off to some people; but that’s the point. Eclectic witchery is gathering beliefs and traditions you relate to and creating something that suits you. That’s what…

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Adrian Blevins: My Mother’s First Husband

Vox Populi

My mother’s first husband, who was the first mentally ill person I ever met, rents storage spaces all over D.C. He saves in crate after carton after crate: paper towel tubes, his son’s second grade science projects and college term papers, broken air conditioners, hammers, screwdrivers, curtain rods, weights, spatulas, pots and pans, old cans of paint, drills, sandwich bags, magazines and books and paper clips, window panes and big, long rolls of pink insulation and leather gloves and half-empty cans of shoe polish and arm chairs and tube tops and baby aspirin and vinyl records as well as the files of the court records (as well as their Xeroxes) of what was said before the judge between he and my mother more than forty years ago. When I saw him a couple of years ago, he was standing in my sister’s dining room organizing boxes of National Geographic, which…

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