My brain is mush.

I know I can't be the only one who is left with a mushy brain after quarantine. I told Matt I can't even enjoy the freedom of not being in quarantine because I know enough science to know a second (or god forbid, a third) wave is coming and I know we're going to be locked in again. 

Which is fine, don't get me wrong. I'm not trying to visit with folks only to get sick and die from something sharing the name of a beer when I don't even drink alcohol. Hard pass, people. 

So I don't know if I could tell you what is even happening in life because.. I'm just not sure. Maybe I can get it together for tomorrow.. we'll see. 

I guess I can do a health update, I suppose. Well, today I'm going to see my pulmonary doctor and we are going to check out my lungs and hopefully all is well there. I'm assuming it isn't a virtual visit because if it is I'm going to look REAL stupid showing up. I've got an appointment in July for Neurology for migraines. Those have made a real comeback and I'm pretty much over it all. The bummer is that my neurologist, the one who was there immediately after the AFE, has since retired so now I have to get matched up with a new one. Apparently, there are only two choices right now and I didn't even get a pick, I was automatically put with the more experienced one. I guess he is really big into Botox, and no, I definitely do not want Botox so I can already assume how this appointment is going to go. I'm also fairly sure this is the guy who did my test that they poke you with needles all over. That guy made me cry and essentially told me to buck up. 

I'm not even kidding. 

So if its him again I will have to just make a scene, I guess. I can't even say send me to Mayo Clinic because I have seen those neurologists a few time and they are just as bad, if not worse. 

I continue with therapy but I won't lie, I can't wait until I can go in person again. I have psychiatry next week and hopefully I can see him one more time before he leaves in August. It's a bummer to lose my neurologist but it's even worse to lose my amazing psychiatrist. 

Other than me, we've got a few things happening around here: 

Olivia started her first job! I maybe already mentioned this, I can't remember. She is doing office work at Matt's job so for awhile he would pick her up at lunch time and they would ride together. She starts Upward Bound this week so I'll get to drive her to work and she can ride home with him. She has been pretty excited about a job and she is actively saving for a car. Oh yeah, she turns 15 in the fall and we've already been talking about driver's education and seriously, how am I old enough to almost have a driver? Let alone a high-schooler?! 

I seriously promise by the end of the week I'll give you a tour of my craft/office/library room. Swearsies. It's been a bit of a bummer because I haven't gotten to have any real time in here. I set out a crafty thing to try and then all hell breaks loose and I have to take over upstairs. It is really nice to have a door, that locks, but it doesn't seem to matter when the only time I can come down is when everyone is in bed but then I want to be in bed too. 

One of my favorite things about this house has always been the backyard. It's pretty similar to when we moved in when I was just starting eighth grade. I don't remember a lot but I do remember thinking the yard made me think we were fancy now. It had an actual flower garden area and then all around the house had flowers and bushes. There are two huge trees in the backyard, a birch and a horse chestnut tree. There used to be a red maple but I think it was really damaged in a storm and it had to come down. But as a teen I used to lay on a blanket under the two big trees because it was always shady and perfect. I had forgotten all about it until last week when Lucy and Penelope were under there and I went over to bring them a drink and for whatever reason, the shade of the tree and the noise of the leaves reminded me of that. So I sit and stare at the trees a lot. 

I have a love/hate relationship with the wildlife here. We have rabbits, and I LOVE rabbits, and they are really quite large. There are two specifically that do their version of a cage right several times a week and last week one ran right on top of my feet. He gave zero cares that I'm standing there. Then there's THIS jerk of a squirrel. He will come up on the deck, right up to me and throw his scraps from whatever he's eating at me. I don't know if this is his silent intimidation thing or what. I was able to get a picture of the gangster squirrel. He just sits and stares at me like he's waiting for me to make a move. Or plotting my death, honestly it's still a toss up. 

Speaking of large animals, I have recently hit the 25 pound weight loss mark (I know, I kind of forgot to post all about that stuff, so I'll try to soon) so my reward was eating an entire box of Better Cheddars in one sitting. 

Nope, totally not good for you. And nope, I don't actually care. I remember these tasting way more cheesy as a kid but I don't care. They are still good and I want all of them. They are super hard to find though so when I do find them, I have to buy them. #noshame

How is your summer starting? Do you have any plans? We officially cancelled our road trip and I think we're all really bummed out about it .

Exercises in memory

One of the things I struggle a lot with post AFE is my loss of memory. Easily the MOST annoying things is when people try to pander to me about my memory. Or try to relate. I hear a lot of, "Oh my god, I know- I'm so forgetful the older I get!" or "I get that- I can't remember last week either." and I'll be honest and tell you in my head I'm envisioning punching people in the face. I'm not proud of it but it really is a testament to the strength of my medication because I'm able to smile and nod my  head and move on quickly.

Because it is absolutely nothing like age related forgetfulness or being busy and forgetting what you did for a minute there. If you had to you could stop and think back, recall what you did generally and be able to tell someone. You can recall stories with ease and when your kids ask you what they were like as a toddler you can tell them. When your doctor asks you if you have had any problems you can talk about some symptom that's bothering you. When they ask when your last period is you give the general month at least, be able to tell them when you ate last or when you took your pills that day.

I cannot.

I cannot do any of those things.

Lately I am realizing that I forget that I forget. It's not so glaringly obvious every day to me anymore and for that I'm grateful. It's nice to forget that you forget. It's not so much of a problem then. And if I don't put any effort into remembering something, sometimes the memories is just there. Sometimes someone will say something and suddenly I have a memory, or a fragment of a memory, and I can join into a conversation like a normal person. Only the people closest to me can tell when the memory scatters away because I'll end a sentence with, "yeah... huh. I remember that." I'll abruptly end a memory as if I don't want to reveal all of it. I do. But I can't. It's gone, like I only get to borrow it as if it's not even mine.

Sometimes it's not so bad. Life gets busy and I have too much happening around me to remember what Olivia looked like when she was two. Then other times Jackson wants to see pictures of some trip he remembers and I have to desperately figure out when that was. I have tens of thousands of photos on my computer meticulously labeled but it doesn't really help most of the time because it's like looking at the life of strangers.

Then there are other times where I will try to challenge myself to remember and I start looking at old photos. I will ask the kids if they remember. I look back on old blog posts for an explanation of what we were doing, who are the people in the photos, where were we. 

Most of the time I cry. It's really hard to look through all of these memories and not have them in my mind. They are all so personal and I just want to be able to have them.  I try to imagine what I was feeling as I took the picture. Try to figure out why I chose that exact moment to snap a photo.

Sometimes it feels like having a house fire take all of your possessions. No  matter how badly you want those things back you can't have them. You can't replace them. All you have are what you can remember. 

I feel like everything has been stolen from me. It's actually pretty scary sometimes. When I forget where I live is really scary. I will often forget who I should call. How to make that call. How to ask for help. Where do you go for help. Did I have my kids with me? Maybe I forgot them somewhere and now someone has taken them and everyone is going to say I'm a bad mom. 

I worry that this is just going to get worse as I get older. I'm afraid the fact that it's not coming back isn't a good sign, like the longer I go without having my memory back means those memories are falling more and more into the recesses of my mind.

I know people try to compare their issues to mine to somehow try to make me feel better, make me think that it's really not that bad. I know it's bad. I know there isn't anything a person can say or do to make it better. You don't have to sugar coat it for me. It's OK to tell me when whatever it is that I'm experiencing isn't normal and it's damn sure not good, that it is really awful and you can't even understand it or how I do it.

It's OK to say it because I say these things to myself every day.

It's hard to look at pictures of the person that looks like me because I feel in my bones that person is gone. She really did leave and I feel like a fraud. I'm in the wrong body, the wrong life. These people think I'm this person and I'm not. I feel more disconnected than I already do. I try to think about what this mom would do in my situation. I hope I'm doing as good of a job as she obviously did. A lot of days I very much feel like I'm not up to par and my family is too nice to say so. I wonder if Matt feels a difference. I don't even dream anymore. Well, that's not true. The dreams I do have aren't ones anyone wants. It's just episodes of scary moments, a stereo playing a tape telling me I'm not supposed to be here and I need to go and all the ways I could do it, or me strapped to a table in a hospital actively dying. That's all that I dream.

It's a bizarre way to live.

But I do these exercises in memory often. I keep thinking eventually if I see these things enough my brain will come back online.

Sharing memories when you have none

One of the things about me, a good indicator of my OCD, is that I have to be even with all of my kids. My mom was even with my brother and I and I just never want one kid to feel more special.

They drive me nuts equally. Penelope a little more most days.

Each one of my kids have a scrapbook detailing their first year. I documented my pregnancy, how Matt and I felt, pictures of their siblings getting ready, labor and delivery, and then every month until their birthday, ending with their first birthday party.

It's a pretty extensive project but it was important to me that my kids know how they began. I want them to be able to look back and should they not have memories themselves, it's OK because I did it. I documented those big moments and maybe someday their spouses or partners will love it, or their kids will think it's cool, or they'll know how much I loved them when I'm gone.

Except Lucy.

Lucy doesn't have one. I'm just starting this for her and I've only got my belly photos done but it was then that I realized I can't remember my pregnancy. I don't know if I had morning sickness, when she moved, what I was feeling, Matt's reaction to her coming, nothing. I can't remember labor and delivery and each month? Forget it. I can't tell you when she walked, sat, ate solid foods, rolled over, none of it. Looking at these photos and having it driven home that I don't remember and those likely aren't coming back is a trigger, and it's upsetting.

I am so upset that Lucy is going to get the left overs, the crappy end of the stick, the lamest of everything because I just can't give any more. I am really angry that this has happened to me and I don't understand why. The greater purpose isn't here and I am so angry. I really want to get passed the angry phase but I feel stuck.

I am so tired of people comparing their normal memory loss and forgetfulness to what I've got going on. I know they do it to make me feel better or convince me that this is normal, but I have had countless doctors tell me it is not, it's not going to get better (most likely), and that I'll notice I'm losing memories I'm forming now, I just won't remember what I can't remember. It's frustrating. I can't remember last week, when I try it's just a weird void of blackness. I know I did something, but I can't remember any of it. How am I supposed to live like this? What's even the point of trying to find joy if I won't remember any of it when I need it the most?