Every single time that I feel the rain of okay and it's tiny miniscule drops, I find myself treading in gallons of not okay and I end up just drowning in exhausted frustration.
If glitter is the herpes of the craft world, then mental illness is the glitter of the Healthcare Community. Hollywood absolutely loves it, but everyone is expected to clean up their own mess.
It's forcing yourself to find the capability to help a child that you can't even help because you don't even know how to help yourself.
It's adjustments; it's exasperated crying in the bathroom alone with every milestone that you never thought you would even hit, and then binge eating cookies when next week that milestone shows itself as the first step on Kilimanjaro.
It's dealing with a monster inside of your own mind that you don't know how to tame and then the next minute your child is the monster.
It's the I'm sorry that I'm late the 10th time but we couldn't find the other purple shoe and she just couldn't wear the black ones and yes, I understand that she's 16.
It's the you driving yourself crazy every second of every day feeling and looking and sounding exactly like a drill sergeant only this isn't the army and you aren't getting paid for any of it.
it's a hell that you've created with your own body.
It's being the most sarcastic person on the planet with the child that has the mind of a scientist and you're damn right that we're going to dance in the grocery store aisle for no reason.
It's knowing when to pick up the expensive stuff that she'll eat when she's having a crappy day because you know damn well she isn't going to eat anything else.
It's the drowning in not okay with exhausted frustration until you are bombarded with a huge wave of hope that brings you to the dry land.
But some days, there's a drought.
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