Hey! Amemba me????

I want to appologize to anyone who has been looking forward to reading this blog. Me and my whopping 13 followers haven't had much touch lately, and I have decided that today is the day to begin to let you all understand why. When I started this it was sort of a mix of self encouragement, and a way to hold myself accountable when I screwed up. It really did work for a while, I felt the encouragement coming from friends, and it really helped keep me on track with my weight loss and excercise (which on it's own is a type of therapy). Then, true to Jamie form I tapered off, more and more until I pretty much just gave up. Don't get me wrong, I love writing, but this just lost the importance it held for me at first. It wasn't just the blog either, I lost interest in everything, this, work, tv, kids, hubby, pretty much everything I loved. I kept going about my daily routine in this sort of robotic way, even leaving the majority to my sister, and basically doing nothing. I might go to the gym once a week, I might cook a crappy dinner every now and then, and then I would turn into crazy super woman and be happy with everything and wait on my husband and kids, get things done, do everything I could to keep things going well, all the while getting no fulfillment out of it. John knew I wasn't ok, and everytime he asked I gave him the generic "everything is fine" answer. I had no way of really coping with feeling so down, so I started drinking a lot again, followed by spending copious amounts of money on groceries because I was convinced that my kids would starve. I can spend 1000 bucks and have nothing to show for it. Pretty much like everything I do, I put my heart into it, and in the end I have nothing to show for it. I'm what you might call lazy, at least that is what I thought. I charged along in the same routine, feeling less and less accomplished everyday, holding in all of this pain that I have probably been harboring my whole life. I have been trying so hard not to have the same mental issues that run in my family, that when I finally broke, I really broke. I didn't think that I was ever going to be able to dig myself out of this painful hole, and I thought it might not be a bad idea to just take a couple bottles of sleeping pills, drink a bunch of whatever booze I could find and just die. I'm serious when I say that I was within hours of trying. John asked me what was going on, why I couldn't just be happy, ever, and I bawled. There was nothing left, I'm 32, no career, no respect from my kids or my husband, not even able to make enough money at my piddly job to help pay bills. I don't know that I have ever cried that way. Suddenly painful memories from the last 25 years of my life flooded in and I panicked. My sister called the ER, and off I went. I am mortified that it went this far, I was so sure that I would be able to take care of myself and no one would ever have to know that sadness that kept me from being anything better than what I was. I'm supposed to be the strong one, the one who can keep it all together, and now I have a whole team of people watching and critisizing me, and making judgement calls as to whether I would be a danger to myself or others. (guess what????? I was! Shocker) Basically I spent 2 weeks in a psyche ward, the very last place I ever thought I would be. Later when things calm down to a dull roar I will explain about my adventures in the cuckoo's nest, but for now I will tell you I am elated that it happened. I had been misdiagnosed as just depressed before and the meds were doing more harm than good. Yep, I'm bipolar, and I have post traumatic stress disorder, and I was told it was a surprise that I had made it this long without doing anything to myself. So, for today, the good news is I'm home, John is making sure that I have a little time to readjust, and I'm pretty sure I will be ok. Thanks to everyone for all of the blind support, it was incredibly helpful and I promise to explain more next time!!!