To the guy at the grocery store...

While I am not a mind reader, I am an expert in reading nonverbals, so don't think looking away quickly excuses you. I saw the looks, the rolled eyes, & the grimace. I cannot be positive as to if your complaint was the electric cart I was sitting in or the multiple cards used to pay for our groceries, so I'll address both. 

Firstly, the cart. I don't want to be in this cart. I want to walk freely behind a buggie, so that I can maneuver through the crowds of people, instead of being trapped behind people. I want to be able to decide how quickly I walk, instead of moving at a snails pace in this cart. (Although I have been reassured by my husband that the cart moves more quickly than I do, even on a good day.) I want to be able to grocery shop by myself, instead of bringing children who cannot anticipate my move and often get run over or a husband who is exhausted from his 60 hr work week. You see, I have fibromyalgia, osteoarthritis, and degenerative disc disease--all genetic, all life-changing and all cause limited mobility--so I am doing the best I can, in this stupid electric cart and could do without your judge mental states. 

As for the debit cards... I'm sorry that my use of multiple cards frustrates you. Here's the thing... While you were unloading your grocery basket full of groceries and pulling out your single card, I was frantically calculating the funds available, as the cost of 2 days worth of meals crossed the scanner. You see, those same ailments that require me to ride in this damn electric cart, also require me to be on thousands of dollars of medication and limit my ability to work a full-time job. My husband works his ass off, but like so many people, we live paycheck to paycheck and the last week of every month is always a stretch. Add to that the fact that child support hasn't come this week and frankly, is never regular enough to be counted on. So what you saw tonight was me using what little was left from child support last week, what was leftover from my makeup sales, and what was in my checking account, to buy my carefully selected groceries. Groceries that will last a couple of days, and aren't especially what the children want to eat, but were on sale. 

You probably will never see this post and maybe I misread your stares, but I cannot unsee the loathing in your eyes and you aren't the first to cross those lines. Tonight, I respond with writing, because I found myself to be speechless in the store. 

What? Everyone doesn't struggle with this?

<I literally never stopped crying while writing this. If it comes off as rude, I'm sorry. If it comes off as whiny, I'm sorry. If it comes off in any negative way, I'm sorry. Blogging is therapeutic for me. I enjoy writing. If there are typos, or grammar problems, please ignore them. It's hard to remember commas when you are a wreck.>

The last two days have been rough.

Like cry every 3 minutes rough. I joked about having myself admitted right along with her, but I'm not suicidal, I just can't stop crying.

I wish I weren't a crier. I wish I could keep everything bottled up, like a wine bottle with the cork tightly in place. Unfortunately, this bottle is open, the cork has been lost and I never seem to reach the end of the liquid, which would be fine, if it were actually wine and not some metaphor for the liquid that is streaming down my face and the snot that is making it difficult to breathe.

If you know me well, you know that I get angry when I cry. So imagine how I'm feeling about losing the damn cork. I. Need. This. To. Stop.

I can do all of the positive self-talk that my counselor has taught me. This will all be okay. Take one step at a time. You are doing the right thing. This isn't your fault. Breatheeeeeeeeee.

And still, the tears fall.

I can even try to logic myself into a state of peace:

LouLou (her nickname since early head-start) will be fine. They will adjust her medicine, she will move back over to Intensive Outpatient and come home at night. I will watch her like a hawk, to the point of annoying her. We will get her caught up in school, even if it means homeschooling. We will get past this.

And still I cry.

I cry for medical diagnoses for both her and her sister. Diagnoses that are genetic. Diagnoses that are life altering and barely manageable.

I will try to keep myself distracted today. Clean a little house, overcome my SPSS brainblock, convince people that their life will be better with Younique products in it (I mean, it's awesome makeup and a way you can help me buy groceries!), and I will use panda pop as a way to distract myself. But I imagine, I will still cry. And that's ok.

I've had a lot of people ask what they can do for LouLou and for us. Um... I have no answer. She wants coloring books and waterproof crayons, these ninja turtle leggings from wal-mart, and fuzzy socks. But I can get all of those things for her. She can't really have visitors and she still hasn't read all of the cards from her first visit to UBH, because she said "Idk why I'm so sad when I'm clearly loved!"

As for us... Jasen, Megan & I. I don't really know how to answer that. I'd like some stoppers for my tears ducts... do they make those? We could always use food or money. I mean, let's face it, all of these medical expenses are starting to pile up and you all know I'm not cooking, if I can't even remember to eat. (I've had 3 meals in 3 days!) And if you realllyyyy want to help, you can come clean my house or mop my floor... anyone? anyone? Dangit! :) But mostly, just the support and love that has been expressed through texts and messages, has been great. We will all get through this, one step at a time.

I will ask that you not use this time to try to sell me things that helped your uncle's cousin's sister. I don't need oils, and I have plexus and no, it doesn't help my fibro. Also, if you need to talk to me, text me. I will text back. I won't answer the phone, but I will text back.

But finally, and most importantly, please don't judge. I know plenty about the lives of those around me and I know that we all cope differently. Some eat, some drink, some smoke, some shop, some pray... and at one time or another, in my life, I've coped in those ways.

But today, I cry.