Category Archives: Depression

Today you are You…

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Do you know what this is? This post is my 300th post since starting my blog on September 9, 2009.

When I started my blog it was more of an experiment to see if it would be helpful to me in my depression recovery. I never actually thought I would manage to write 300 posts, or even keep my blog going for this amount of time.

One of the things I promised myself when I began the blog, no matter how short or long of a run it had, is that I would always be who I am, and be honest in my posts. I think I have been able to do that, although at times it was really difficult. Just learning who I am has been a challenging task. It was also tempting at times to think about altering some things to show me in a better light.

In being honest in my posts and being who I am, I have noticed something about myself. “Who I am” is something fluid. It is a constantly shifting, and changing thing.

I can go back and read the things I wrote when I started the blog and I see how angry and bitter and out of control my emotions were. I can see how my perceptions were altered by my mental illness, and I see someone who was full of darkness and self loathing.

As I continue to read, getting closer and closer to the present, I can see a softening in who I am. Someone whose emotions are not so out of control, and even a person who has a little bit of hope.

In the present, I can see someone who has hope everyday, and someone with an inner peace. I see someone whose opinions and thoughts are valued by other people, but that person does not need other people to value them. I see someone who places value on herself.

Reading my old posts is like seeing a time line in my depression recovery. I can see what I was struggling with, my thoughts about it and progressing past it in an effective way. Constantly changing “Who I am”

When my depression was so out of control for those three years, nothing about who I was changed. I was stagnant. I think of stagnant things as dark, yucky and full of ick. There is no flow to them.

I think “Who we are” needs to be fluid. Always ready and willing to accept a new direction, a new way of thinking and looking at ourselves, if it is something that makes us a better person. I think of fluid things as light, airy, and full of life.

I believe who we are tomorrow will not be exactly like the person we were today, if we are being true to ourselves.

Today I am me, that is truer than true. There is no one alive, meer than me.

Are we fluid or stagnant beings? Can we grow and be true to ourselves if we are not open to change? Is who we really are something that can change daily/often?

Enjoy, Neighbors!

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Scariest Time Of My Life – Part II

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This is a reposting of a series of posts I wrote several months ago.  It is about my stay at a state run psychiatric hospital.  Several people had asked me what it had been like there, so I decided that it would be easier to repost what I had already written.  Please keep in mind that this was written several months ago, when I was in a different frame of mind. 

This is the next section of how I ended up in a state run psychiatric hospital and my experiences there.

After the crisis team and I arrived at the hospital, and the psychologist left me at the front desk, he went back and spoke to someone about me.  Very quickly, I was taken back to triage and then taken to a room in the emergency department.  At that time, no one seemed to be making a big deal about anything so, I started thinking again that a mistake had been made and it would be straightened out.  A doctor came in, asked me a few questions and then everyone’s attitude towards me changed. 

A nurse came in and told me I had been 10-13nd.  Where I live that means a doctor or a judge has declared you a danger to yourself or others and has committed you against your will to a psychiatric hospital.  Shock began to set in again.  My guess, is that the decision to commit me to a psychiatric hospital had been made before I even saw the doctor.  It had probably been made when the psychologist from the crisis team went back and talked to someone in the emergency department and had left me out front.

I was so mentally unprepared for the things that happened next.  That same nurse who told me I had been 10-13nd, handed me a hospital gown and told me I had to take EVERYTHING off and put their gown on.  I asked if this included underwear and she said it did.  I let her know immediately that I was leaving my underwear on and that was that.  She said that she would have to check with the charge nurse.  She also told me they expected me to be leaving for the psychiatric hospital within a few hours, once they found one that had room for me.  I was told that I would have to go in the hospital gown and not my regular clothes.

The nurse left my room, leaving the door open and within seconds a security guard showed up with a chair, which he stuck in the open doorway.   By this time some of the shock was wearing off and I was getting pissed off.  I really felt like I had been handed a bad deal.  In my mind, I was thinking that all I had done was realized I was in trouble, and called my counselor and some how that attempt at getting help before I took any more pills ended up with me being stuck and guarded, waiting to go to a psychiatric hospital.  In fact, that thought is all I focused on for several days.

The charge nurse came into my room.  The guard left the room and shut the door.  The thought I had was that she had come in to take my underwear away.  That is what I was prepared for.  What ended up happening was much much worse, at least as far as I was concerned.  She told me she was going to have to strip search me.  A thorough strip search.  I remember staring at her for a few seconds because my mind could not fully comprehend what she had said for a few seconds.  I then let her know I am not a drug user, nor do I carry weapons, and that I was in here because I had called for help and I felt that things had gone awry.  I also let her know that she was NOT going to strip search me.  Her response was to let me know that all the security guards in the hospital were also sheriff deputies and she would have the guard outside my door arrest me and take me to jail if I did not let her search me the way she needed to.  I promptly burst into tears.  I sobbed.  I relented and let her do what she needed to do.  It was the most humiliating thing I have ever experienced.  My only consolation was she let me keep my underwear. 

After the charge nurse left my room and the guard was back in his place, the doctor let me know they were going to have to hook me up to some heart monitors since I had taken extra of my beta blocker.  Everything looked fine with my heart, but they did leave everything hooked up so they could keep monitoring me.  At that point, I found out that my husband had been out in the waiting room for quite some time and they had not let him come back to see me.  I asked the guard if he would let my husband come back and he said that he would.  My husband came into my room, I explained to him what had happened, and how I felt that if I had not called for help I would not be in there. I did some more crying.  He was great and stayed calm and calmed me down, and then the guard told him he had to go.  

During all of this time the emergency department had been working on getting me into one of the two psychiatric hospitals in our area.  The hospital that agreed to take me, said they wanted the medical hospital to monitor me for 24 hours, because of the beta blocker, before I could go there.  I was taken to the Intensive Care Unit (ICU), where they decided to start an IV and flush out my system to help get the extra beta blocker out of my system. 

I was getting angrier and angrier because I still felt that all of this was happening because I had called for help, and that things had gone awry.  I really was not pleasant to be around.  I knew I was only going to spend one night in ICU and part of the next day, and after that I was not really sure what was going to happen and when I would be going to the psychiatric hospital.  That also had me very worried. 

I have something called restless leg syndrome (RLS).  Basically, it means that my legs are very uncomfortable, especially at night, and with out my medication sleep is very difficult.  When it came time for me to take my night dose of my RLS medication, I was not given the correct dose.  I was given a much smaller dose.  I mentioned to the nurse that they should have a bag of all of my medication bottles somewhere and they could read it and see what my normal dosages are.  The doctor on call was contacted and he told them to give me the proper dose and I assumed that things had all been taken care of.

After the night medications were sorted out, I settled down for what I knew would be a sleepless night. 

To be continued…

Scariest Time In My Life – Part III

Scariest Time Of My Life – Part I

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This is a reposting of a series of posts I wrote several months ago.  It is about my stay at a state run psychiatric hospital.  Several people had asked me what it had been like there, so I decided that it would be easier to repost what I had already written.  Please keep in mind that this was written several months ago, when I was in a different frame of mind. 

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Not all of this story can be or should be told in one sitting.  There is too much that happens and is also very difficult for me to talk about to even attempt to put it all in here at one time. 

I have been on medication for my major depression and anxiety since I attempted to commit suicide at the end of May.  I also have been seeing a counselor once a week.  My counselor warned me up front that it could take several months to find the proper medication for me.  She was correct.  I took three different combinations of medications before we found a combination that we thought was working.  I was feeling very encouraged and thought that things were finally headed in the proper direction.
For whatever reason, there came a week when I was not seeing my counselor.  It was sometime in August.  I think all of her appointments were filled for that week or something and things had been going well, so neither one of us were worried.  She did say that if I ever needed her I could call her and she would work me in some how.

Without me realizing it my depression symptoms started sneaking up on me again.  I became very angry, too angry.  I was too sad, crying, and just was not able to maintain myself.  I had not experienced a set back like that so I did not realize that what was happening was that my medication was not working.  Things went on like this for four days.  Then one day things just seem to suddenly seemed to take a major turn for the worse.  I felt the same way I did when I tried to commit suicide.  It happened to be time for me to take my other medications, and I found myself thinking that I could just start taking extra medication, over a few hours like I did when I tried to kill myself.  Doing that way is fairly effective because the medication has tmie to get in your system and they cannot pump your stomach to remove it, also it prevents you from vomiting it back up.  I opened up my first bottle of medication, it happened to be my Beta Blocker.  I took what I was supposed to and then took ten extra.  I was getting ready to take my other medication and do the same thing, take a few extra.  Then in about an hour repeat the process. 

Suddenly it dawned on me what it was I was doing.  I mean really and truly in the forefront of my mind, I realized on every level that I was trying to kill myself again, that something was horribly wrong, and even though I wanted to die, I knew that I really did not want to.  I did not take anymore medication.  I made the decision to call my counselor and talk to her because I knew that she would be able to help me get side tracked onto something else so that I would not continue through with my suicide attempt and plans.  I was thinking as I dialed the phone and it was ringing that I was doing what she told me to do and calling her when I was having trouble and that everything would be OK. 

When the receptionist answered the phone, I let her know that I needed to speak to my counselor.  That is when I found out she was not in that day.  I explained the the receptionist that I did not have an appointment with my counselor that week but I have run into some problems and would she please set up an appointment for me to see my counselor the next day.  I told her the truth about everything, I have told my family that I would always be honest during my treatment/recovery process, and the receptionist said that my counselor did not have anything available for the next day.  However, she could transfer me to their crises line and they would be able to get me an emergency appointment.  I was still feeling like everything would be OK, because I had called for help and that I would be able to see my counselor the next day. 

After a few minutes on hold someone from the crisis line picks up the phone on their end.  She asked me what was going on.  I explained to her that I had not been feeling “right” for several days, and that a few minutes ago I had taken extra of my beta blocker and had planned to take extra of all my medications and repeat the process in an hour and keep on until I had committed suicide.  I also explained that I had tried to call my counselor and get in to see her, but she did not have anything available, and that I was told that the crisis line could set me up an emergency appointment with her.  I believe the fact that I told the crisis line lady the whole truth, about my suicide plans caused her a great deal of worry. 

She let me know that she was very concerned about me, since I had already started implementing my suicide plan.  She let me know that she felt that I needed to have their crisis team come to my house and assess me.  Of course I told her no, that I was fine, I just needed that appointment with my counselor.  She then gave me another option, I can allow the crisis team to come to my house and assess me OR she could send an ambulance and a sheriff deputy to my house to take me to the local emergency room against my will.  I chose the crisis team. 

The crisis team shows up to my house.  There is a psychologist and a security officer.  My daughter is very confused and concerned about what is going on.  We live so far out in the country that we do not get visitors often and under normal circumstances I would not invite two men I did not know into my house.  I ask my daughter to go to her room, while I talk to these men.  I repeated the whole story.  I had been experiencing a bad four days, I took extra of one of my medications, and had planned to do that with the others, and then I was going to repeat the process again in an hour.  However, when I realized what I was doing I tried to call my counselor so that she and I could talk and figure out what was going on.  And all that I really felt like I needed was to be able to get in to see her the next day.  I was convinced they would see things my way, because after all, I had called for help before I finished implementing my whole plan.

The next thing I know, the psychologist is letting me know that he feels I really need to be in a hospital setting.  That he feels my medication is not working properly and that he is afraid to let me stay at home since I have a “plan”.  I gulped.  I said “no”.  I said “I am fine”.  I said “you can leave now”.  Then they pulled out their trump card.  They are obligated by law to make sure I went to the hospital and I could go one of two ways.  I could get a family member to drive me there, with them following, or they could call an ambulance and a sheriff’s deputy.  All the time they are saying this, I am thinking that all I had been trying to do was get help from my counselor, how in the hell can this be happening?  I was in shock and I really did not understand what just happened, except that for some reason these people think I need to go to the hospital.

I called my husband and told him just a very little bit.  I called my grandmother and asked her if she could take me to the hospital, I talked to my daughter and told her t
hat “these nice men were worried about me and think I need to go be checked out at the hospital”.  I still remember being in shock.

My grandmother got there as I was packing a few things in a bag.  I was still in shock.  She wanted to know what was going on and all I could say was that these men felt like I needed to be checked out at the hospital.  I could not articulate anything else.  I asked her to just drop me off at the hospital, and that I would be taken care of.  I was still in shock.

The  crisis team followed us all the way to the hospital.  I got out of the car and the psychologist got out of their car.  I remember my grandmother going up to him and telling him that he better take care of me.  I think she was crying or was very close to it. 

He walked me into the hospital and left me at the front desk with the lady there.  I guess I had to have someone supervise me.  He went back and talked to a nurse or doctor, or both.  Within five minutes I was called back to triage and then taken to a room in the emergency department.

To be continued….

Scariest Time Of My Life – Part II

Living With Or Suffering From

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Suffering from major depression or living with major depression? Is there a difference? Do they mean the same thing?

The definition for suffering is the condition of one who suffers; the bearing of pain or distress.

The definition for living is possessed of or exhibiting life.

From those two definitions alone, there seems to me to be a difference in those two phrases. On a more personal level, I think there is a difference. To me suffering from depression means that the depression is in control of all my thoughts, feelings and life. Living with depression means that I am doing what I can to take control of my depression and not let it be the thing that runs every aspect of my thoughts, feelings and life.

I try very hard when I talk or write about my depression to use the phrase “living with major depression”. If I can say “I am living with major depression” it means that I am being hopeful about my ability to keep heading to a healthier frame of mind. Not to mention major depression is depressing enough, and “living with major depression” just sounds so much more positive than “suffering from”.

I know that this is a game of semantics and in the grand scheme of things for most people, it really would not make a difference which phrased they used. However, for me the phrase I choose to use is a very clear indicator, to me at least, where my mind is at that moment.

I think overall for me the use of positive words is part of my recovery process. It is part of finding the positive in all situations and an attempt at seeing the glass as half full rather than half empty.

Do you think the use of words can influence your state of mind?  What positive phrases do you like to use?  

The Isolated Woman

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Dark. Alone. Sadness. Tears. Isolated. Not too long ago those words could sum up how I felt. I felt so alone in my depression. It felt to me as if I was the only one who had those feelings. Because I felt isolated by my major depression, believing no one could understand me, I felt too ashamed to tell anyone about it. I was an isolated woman.

Dark. Alone. Sadness. Tears. Isolated. The more my major depression developed, the more I became consumed by my feeling of being isolated.  I would look at other people, and they seemed so happy.  I would wonder how they could be so happy and I was so sad.. I was an isolated woman.

Dark. Alone. Sadness. Tears. Isolated.  I felt so isolated from everyone, even myself.  I could not stand to look at myself in the mirror.  My reflection was more human contact than I could handle.  When I caught the occasional glimpse of myself in the mirror, I could not recognize the person looking back at me. That person looked beaten down, and very lonely.  I was an isolated woman.

Dark. Alone. Sadness. Tears. Isolated.  I felt boxed in by my depression.  Way back in the early days of my major depression, I would struggle against the isolation I felt.  However, after a short time I lost my will to fight what the depression was doing to me.  It surrounded me on all sides, boxing me in.  I was an isolated woman.

Dark. Alone. Sadness. Tears. Isolated.  I lived in a box.  Not in a bubble.  Or even in a room by myself.  It was a box.  Boxes are dark on the inside.  I was surrounded by the darkness that I felt was inside of me.  The box limited my movements.  It kept me from interacting with others. I was an isolated woman.

Dark. Alone. Sadness. Tears. Isolated.  I became an isolated woman, who was incapable of functioning except for the simplest of tasks and even those were difficult to accomplish.  Even when I was surrounded by people, even family members, I still felt isolated.  I was an isolated woman. 

Dark. Alone. Sadness. Tears. Isolated.  The day I tried to kill myself, I felt as if my box of darkness was closing in on me.  My sadness had reached a peak where something had to be done.  I chose the pills, and the insulin to try and achieve the ultimate darkness of death.  I failed.  I became even more isolated.  How do you tell the people that love you that you really did try and end your life?  I was an isolated woman.

Dark. Alone. Sadness. Tears.  I was an isolated woman….

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My Lack of Self Esteem

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I enjoy it when I find a blog post that is discussing something I have been thinking about.  That happened this morning.  Chere Michelle wrote an awesome article on self esteem called Self Esteem Why Does It Seem So Hard To Keep Hold Of.?

In it she wonders why people, women in particular have such a difficult time with maintaining a healthy amount of self esteem for themselves, as well as getting respect from others.  She indicates that the amount of respect we get from others is directly tied to the respect we give ourselves, how much self esteem we have. 
For most of my life I have lacked self esteem/self respect.  For me it is partially caused to some extent from learned behavior.  (Mom if you are reading this please know that nothing in here is meant to intentionally hurt you, it is just the truth, and I am over being angry and hurt by it)  From the time I was very little, my mother said very negative, insulting things to me.  As I child I took the things she said for truth.  I internalized what she said, and it became a running dialogue in my head.  I felt I was unworthy of love or respect. If my mother could say those things to me, then they must be true.

I went through my childhood, especially my teen years with a very negative outlook on myself.  Because of my own feelings of not being worthy, I looked for love, or what I thought was love, in the wrong places.  This got me in trouble more than once, mostly with the type of men I usually “settled” for.  
In my first marriage I settled for a man who could not/would not take care of his family.  My second marriage I settled for a man that I knew there was something “off” about him.  I would say for sure something was off about him, he broke my nose and stalked me for a while.  Plus there were the various men in between.  
My lack of self esteem has led to me not having a voice and speaking up with my opinion about something.  It has led to me being resentful because I did not like how the situation turned out, but I also had failed to speak up.  I have let friends, family and strangers walk all over me because that is what I thought I deserved.  
I am sure that on some level these people picked up on the fact that I did not love myself, that I had no self esteem.  They in turn treated me as less of a person than they were.  I do not think everyone did it intentionally, some did but not everyone.  Of course the more I was treated disrespectfully, the lower my self esteem became, the more negative my internal dialogue became.  The more negative my internal dialogue became the lower my self esteem was, and  I was treated with even more dis-respect.
I believe that this issue of no self esteem, not having a voice and negative dialogue contributed greatly to the depression I have had over the years.  Especially this last time when it became so severe. 
In my depression recovery process, I have been finding my  voice, and gaining self esteem.  It does make me sad at times that it took me until I was almost forty to even start learning that I am worthy of having self esteem, and respect from others.  I think about all the years I have wasted with that negative internal dialogue telling me what a loser I am.
However, at least I am learning those things now, and finally for the first time in my life I have a voice.  I have the next forty years to tell myself I am a good person, I am not a loser, to speak up for myself and to have a healthy amount of self esteem.  

Do you have a healthy amount of self respect? If so, have you always.  If not, what do you think is holding you back from having it?  If you have a healthy amount of self respect, what do you do to maintain it?  If you do not, what can you do to try and improve it?

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Why Blog?

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I started blogging as a way to creatively let my emotions out.  Instead of letting them build up and lead to a depressed state of mind or act inappropriately, I decided putting them out there for everyone to see would be a good idea.  So far it has worked out that way.  
As I started blogging other purposes came about. To educate people about mental illness from my perspective and for my blog to stand as a place of support, encouragement, and even friendship to others who live with mental illnesses.  Not only has that been happening, but I have been given loads of support and encouragement, even from people without a mental illness.
Something that has happened that I did not anticipate, is that the blog has become my hobby.  For so long I had put down any hobbies I had, and was not interested in taking up any new ones.  Depression does that, it takes away your desire to do those kinds of things.  I love messing with my blog, changing its style, trying to make it look better and better, writing in it, and just being as creative as I can with it.  
Those thoughts led me to a couple of questions.  Why do you blog?  Are your reasons for blogging the same as when you first started?

Internet Friendships

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  I was catching up on my blog reading this morning and I ran across a blog post, in which the author was pondering The Nature Of Friendship .  Author Bubbleboo, wonders if internet friendships “are as valid as ‘real life’ ones?” “Can you really know someone if you have only ever met via a computer monitor?”  “Are virtual friendships real?

Her answer to all of those questions is “yes”.  I happen to agree with her.  

With the internet being such a huge part of most everyone’s lives now, I think it is natural that we create friendships with people we have never met in person.  Just like when we meet someone new in real life that we have a connection with and we begin the steps to friendship, the same thing can happen with people we meet on the internet.  

Over the last few years, I lost many friends due to my depression.  I did not maintain good contact with them, I am sure I disappointed them when I could not go places with them, and they most likely got fed up with my anger and negativity.  At this time most of my friends are internet friends.

The people on the internet that I consider friends are people I have known for a long time, and have proven themselves trustworthy and honest.  They have stuck by me when I was acting nutty, and consoled me when my heart was broken.  



My internet friends have the guts to tell me when my behavior is inappropriate.  They tell me to keep my chin up when I get  discouraged.  Due to my anxiety and depression and other illnesses, I am home a lot.  My internet friends keep me from getting lonely and keep me in touch with the world. We have laughed together and have cried together.  In short they have been better friends, than most of my real life friends have been.

I do agree with what Bubbleboo said in her Post about exercising caution when you strike up a friendship online.  I think that it takes time to truly get to know someone when your only interaction with them takes place via the computer.  However, I also believe that it takes an equal amount of time and caution when becoming friends with people in real life.  

With the world becoming “smaller” due to the internet, the need and desire for online friendships will continue to grow.  When that need and desire are tempered with the proper caution, I believe our lives will be enriched by the people we befriend electronically.  What do you think?

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Aha! And Less Stress

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One of my biggest frustrations in my depression recovery, is a perceived lack of support from my husband at times.  He did not understand how the recovery process worked and I was not understanding of how hard the last few years have been on him.  There have been times when both of us thought our marriage would not survive the added stress of my depression recovery.  
My husband had it in his head that as soon as the correct medication had been found for me and I had been in therapy long enough, I would very quickly pull myself out of “this deprssion”.  I have tried so many times to explain to him that it was not that easy, and that my medication really took its toll on me.  He just could not understand it.  Not for a lack of trying, but I think it is one of those things that you need to see or experience yourself before you can understand. 

Over the weekend, my husband happened to be home several times when it was time for me to take my medications.  He was able to finally witness for the first time, how I am before I take my medications, and how I am afterwards.  He finally had the Aha moment I had been waiting for.  

He realized that some of my not wanting to do things away from the house, is due to how sleepy the medications make me feel.  He saw me go from a wide awake person to someone who could barely keep their eyes open.  


I feel much less stress now.  I am not feeling like I am not performing to someone else’s expectations and I no longer have those “I am a slacker” feelings.  I feel like another weight has been lifted off of me.  


My husband even went so far as to discuss with me about whether or not my medications needed to be changed again, based on how sleepy they make me.  For the first time I was able to explain to him that most of the medications for depression will cause me to be that sleepy.  I also was able to tell him that I did not want to change medications.  I was able to tell him how bad my depression made me feel physcially, before we found this combination of medication and how I was not willing to take a chance on going back to that.  If we started messing with the medications there would be a good chance I would go back to physical and mental state.  


I really hope this state of understanding lasts.  I hope that me having less stress will last.  I believe with this better understanding, that my husband and I have a better chance of making it through the difficult times ahead. 

Hey Mom! Guess What?!

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I have a thirteen year old daughter I love very much.  Her name is Anna. She is very smart, pretty, and fun to be around.  She also can and does make me incredibly insane often.  
Starting a few months ago, the question “Guess what, mom?” became something that could be heard around my house multiple times a day.  When it first started happening, I thought Anna had done something that she was proud of and wanted to share it with me.  Trying to be a good and interested mom, I would always answer with “What?”  She would always answer with “Chicken Butt!”

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This happened over and over.  To be honest I found it extremely annoying.  Finally, I quit responding to “Guess what, mom?”  It was the only thing I could think of to stop the repeated asking of that question.

She changed tactics, she would go a week or so without asking it.  I would let down my guard and think she had passed out of that phase.  Out of the blue, and at unexpected times, she would again say “Guess what, mom?”  Because a few weeks had passed since the last time she asked it, I would not suspect I was falling into her trap again.   I would answer with “What?”  Once again “Chicken Butt” could be heard echoing through the house. 
Every few weeks she would pull her guess what routine and every few weeks I would fall for it.  Eventually, I did reach a point where I just could not take it anymore so once again I quit responding to the craziness.  

Anna went back to saying “Guess what, mom?” everyday.  I would always refuse to respond.  I was determined not to fall for it anymore and I was determined to not allow my child to push my buttons that much anymore.  However, I had seriously under estimated my child’s determination.

After a full day of “Guess what?” and my constant no’s, Anna implemented her new strategy.  She would look at me with a sincere, and wounded face, and say “Mom, I had something else to tell you instead of chicken butt”  Of course, I was appalled at myself for hurting her feelings by not taking the time to hear her exciting news.  In an effort to right the wrong I had committed, I would then say “What?”, only to be immediately blasted with “Chicken Butt!!!!”

It was at this point I had to concede my defeat.  Anna had won the chicken butt war.  From that point on, I would respond to “Guess what? with my “What?” every single time.  It actually became second nature and quite boring.  We finally quit hearing “Guess what” around the house.  

I was relieved.  I was so happy her game had finally run its course and she was done with it.  Yeah, right!  She had come up with a new strategy during that no “chicken butt” time.

Once again horrible sounding “Guess what, mom?”  came out of her mouth.  I responded with “No, Anna”.  That is when she started playing dirty.  When I would tell her no, she would respond with “But, Mom….I was just going to tell you I love you.”  Of course I fell for it, and you can guess the outcome, “Chicken butt!”


She is sneaky though.  Very, very sneaky.  Sometimes instead of saying “Chicken Butt”, she actually says “Mom, I love you”.  Which means I am currently caught in her “Chicken Butt” trap.  How can I say no to “Guess what, mom? “, when her response might be “Mom, I love you”.



I have had to implemented my own strategy.  When she says “Guess what, mom?”, instead of the usual response of “What?”, I respond with “I love you”.   I think my strategy is working.  Just yesterday when she tried her routine, and I answered with my new response, she seemed very disappointed.  She replied with “Aww, mom, I was going to say chicken butt”.

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As much as I hate to admit this, the whole “chicken butt” thing has become a funny memory for me.  I think it will be one of those memories that when Anna gets older she and I can laugh about it together.  The other thing about this crazy game Anna has been playing with me, is that even on my bad mental health days, it was causing me to think about other things besides my own misery.  Either I was thinking about how crazy she was making me because she would not stop, or I was thinking about ways to get her to stop.  

I am not sure if that was her intention when she started the game or not.  She is a smart kid, so it very well could have been.  Either way I think she is gifted in her ability to distract people from the things that are making them feel bad.  


I also think her silly game has caused us to be closer.  Because I am responding with “I love you”, every time she tries to “chicken butt” me, I am saying “I love you” to her way more than I used to.  I am sure that is making her feel more loved than she has in the last few years when my depression was so out of control.  The “I love you” and those shared memories are things that will make our emotional ties much stronger.