Sometimes the best intentions are simply not enough. For my mental health issues I have tried 17 different medications, and 4 different forms of therapy. I have tried. I have cried. I have given up only to pull myself back together and try again. This time, I'm trying Electro Convulsive Therapy - ECT. This decision has not come lightly or easily, it is not made without fear. It is made with some hope though. Hope that my brain will get a bit of a restart so that this next form of therapy I am going to be trying will have a better shot at working. In order to get the ECT I had to get a second opinion from another psychiatrist. You need two yes's before you're allowed to undergo treatment. In that appointment, I was reminded that when I was diagnosed bipolar, I was also diagnosed with borderline personality disorder. It's not that I had forgotten, it's that I had been dealing with the extremes of bipolar that the thought that the borderline could be affecting things never entered my mind. But it explains why the medications never completely helped me. This revelation has crushed another part of me. But, my original statement - good intentions not being enough - I told someone that I was trying to get ECT, someone close and who loves me a great deal, and who matters to me a great deal, and instead of support or encouragement I was shot with all the negative effects of ECT, how dangerous it was. After confronting said person about how unhelpful that was, I was merely told that she "hoped it worked out for me" and that I "get what I want". So passive aggressive. So annoying. So not helpful.
The kids are doing well. It has pretty much been decided that we will be homeschooling R next year. K will most likely be attending grade 1 at the school, and the little kids will continue on on their ECE journey. This decision was actually one of the easiest ones that needs to be made.
The pressing ones include the mortgage payments, the bills, where I'm working and how, when EI and disability will kick in, what we want our lives to look like. It's the huge stuff that's up in the air right now. We are deciding what our lives will be, what our goals and dreams are and how to best go about attaining them. This is not an easy thing.
J is 4 months old today. He is 16lbs 14oz and is 26.75" long. He rolls over both ways and has two teeth - he is already eager to get big - much to craftymama's chagrin. BigR is mopey, miserable and sad as a result of his current schooling experience. He has yet another new teacher. K is *still* 6-year-changing it up and is full of attitude and entitlement, it exasperates me every single day. M, well, M is so hard. All of his emotions are expressed as anger, but at his core he is so sweet. He is so affected by media and video games (which cableman allows them to utilize), as well as his bloog sugar level. Though we often joke that BigR needs routine and schedule because he is the most sensitive - M is really the kid that needs the most structure. Without it, he loses his place both within himself and the world. LittleR is still weird. She tells us she has an ocean unicorn in her room named Giraffey who cries chocolate tears. That pretty much sums her up. Craftymama and I are surviving. We are forging a path to happiness, and doing so takes its toll on us as individuals and as a couple. But, we will survive this.
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