To my darling, Daniel.
Y’all, I seriously don’t even know where to begin a story that’s been 26 years in the making. Twenty-six – painstaking, heartbreaking, death-defying – years.
Which is why I’ve been absent from the Internet, for like, forever.
Also? There are new and delicate privacy issues I’ve had to consider.
Things I’ve never had to consider before starting this humble little blog.
I used to write like no one was reading. And somehow, that’s exactly how I obtained so many friendships/readers. I had NO shame. And I had NOTHING to hide. I was NOT embarrassed to post the deepest, darkest, secrets about MYSELF. Nor was I afraid to back those very secrets/stories with cold, hard, photographic evidence. I wrote to deal with whatever shit was thrown my way and to get to the other side. I wrote to ‘Find The Funny.’ And that worked. For years.
But that’s the key word.
As in myself.
Even though I am known as The Queen Of TMI I have never divulged the secrets of others. And I never would. Those aren’t MY secrets to tell. That would kind of be like “outing” someone for spite – and that’s just uncool.
These days, I am in a very different place from where my blog began: as a single mother [of one son] Struggling Commercial Insurance Professional, while battling numerous autoimmune diseases and never ending flare-ups, which led to the inevitable loss of my career and finally moving in with my parents.
Today? I am the mother of THREE. Yes, three kids. Three mother f*cking teenagers!
JCH [age 19] whom y’all know and adore and my two soon-to-be-step-daughters: temporarily known as: BigTitsMcGee [age 15] and HellOnWheels [age 14] – Feel free to thank, Justin, for those aptly appointed nicknames.
Today? Yes, I still have never ending autoimmune flare-ups. I just don’t write about them anymore – for personal and private reasons – which, one-day I truly hope to share with you.
Today? I am a very happy homemaker/owner – no longer isolated within the confines the purple prison/paradise of my parents house. [But I did move around the corner. Literally. It’s like “Everyone Loves Raymond” up in here.]
And, today? I am the happiest I’ve ever been.
I have EVERYTHING I’VE EVER WANTED – including: dedicated, devoted, unmerciful, and undying gratitude – from my partner, the man I’ve been in love with since I was fourteen years old. And I want to shout it from the mothafuckin’ rooftops. I want to skywrite it across the entire atmosphere.
How did I finally get here?
That’s what I’m dying to tell you.
The sacrifices. The change. The growth. The rewards. #FuckingFlorida.
The good. The bad. The scary. The wonderful. #DirtyJersey4Evah
But this is the best I can do, for right now.
Right now, I have all these other people to consider. All this other privacy to respect. And all of these other children to protect. Children who’ve been disgraced and embarrassed enough.
I hope to be able to share my whole story. OUR STORY. With you.
Once Upon A Time, there was a girl named Meleah.
And when she was 21 years old – she gave birth to a beautiful baby boy.
And then she blinked her eyes, and he graduated from high school.
And then, she cried, and cried, and cried.
Have you ever tried really, really, really hard – and repeatedly – to make yourself feel better, but nothing seems to work? And no matter what you do, or how you do it, you just keep on getting sick, and you just keep on getting sicker, and you keep having flare ups, and you keep having even more flare ups. And some of those flare ups are really, really, scary. And some of those flare ups are really, really painful.
And because there’s nothing you can do to prevent those flare ups, thanks to extensive autoimmune issues, and because there’s nothing you can do to prevent from getting sick, you start to feel really, really, frustrated. And that frustration turns into anger. And that anger turns into rage. And that rage leads to a very dark depression. And that kind of depression makes you withdraw from the world. And then you feel really, really lonely.
And even though your family and friends are totally super supportive, and they want to be there for you – except that you don’t really want to socialize, because all you have to talk about are your medical problems, and side effects from medications, and the cost of prescriptions, or how many doctor appointments you have in one week. And that makes for some pretty lousy conversation, especially when you’re not 85 years old.
But what REALLY makes you THE MOST MAD is when you cook a special meal for your family, and you don’t eat any of it, not even ONE BITE, specifically to AVOID any kind of allergic reaction or flare up – only to wake up the next morning with a fat, swollen, puffy lip ANYWAY. So when people ask questions like, “What did you eat?” basically insinuating you caused your own flare up, that just makes you want to stab them, in the throat, with unsharpened rusty scissors.
And you’re terrified – every single day – riddled with anxiety, because you never know what’s going to set off the next attack, or how bad the next attack will be, or how long the next attack will last, or who will be available to drive you to the Emergency Room when the next attack becomes life threatening. So you walk around in a perpetual state of panic. And distress. And worry. And misery.
And you’re exhausted, simply from being trying to ‘positive’ for everyone else, all of the time. And you’re sick of of these rules and restrictions affecting the quality of your life – like avoiding certain foods, or not going to the movie theater because of your compromised immune system – because even when you follow all of those rules and restrictions, you still wind up in the hospital. Which just makes you want to give up, altogether. And you’re so fucking tired you can’t even muster up the strength to brush the mold off your teeth.
So you stop writing. And blogging. And reading. And commenting. And tweeting. And participating. And you just hideout, under the covers, watching television, while ‘suffering in silence’ because someone once told you there’s a type of dignity in keeping these kinds of problems to yourself.
Except that suffering in silence, only makes you feel even worse, because you really need to scream on the top of your lungs – and cry uncontrollably – to anyone willing to listen.
This shit just isn’t fucking fair.
Thirty-eight was probably the worst year of my life, especially regarding my never-ending annoying medical issues. I’ve struggled a lot and I’ve certainly cried a lot. But I’ve also laughed a lot – mostly because of the people in my life, like you.
In fact, I would like to use this opportunity to express my gratitude, to my amazing friends, for making my life way less shitty – literally and figuratively. I would not have been able to get out of bed, fight the good fight, or find the funny, without your support, virtual hugs, comments, emails, text messages, and love. And I just want to thank each and every one of you – with my WHOLE heart.
Here’s to my last year before turning 40!