The Grinch that Stole my Christmas, and how I'm keeping hope alive in Whoville.

Ah, the Holidays!

That magical time of year when anything is possible.

Hooray!

Listen, I'm no Scrooge, but this year definitely isn't going down in my book of warm and fuzzies.

I have been trying my damnedest to make the year special. I know most of us have had a pretty crappy 2016. It may be a huge failing, but I have a larger optimism section of my heart, than I have a sensible portion of my brain. I've always been a believer in the Angel that gets his wings at the end of it's a wonderful life and the sad little Charlie Brown tree that just needs some love to make it beautiful.

It's not working very well for me. This year has seen so much loss and pain for so many people I love. And for me.

This is the first year I haven't had to wrack my brain trying to figure out what to give my Mom for Christmas. Because this is my first year without her. It has left an un-fillable void in my Holiday spirit. Usually this time of year was so hectic for both of us. While I was still working and she had countless activities she had volunteered to help with at her church, we'd usually make that after Thanksgiving phone call and figure out when the best day to celebrate together was. In my home December 25th is more of a suggestion than a hard set date for our Yuletide festivities. I've always said, "Christmas is when we get together to share it."

This year there was no phone call, no schedule conflicts. Nothing. I am trying to soldier on and make this as happy as possible for everyone, but it's difficult when you're not feeling joyful.

My body is also being completely uncooperative. I have a large cyst on my ovary, a smaller cyst on my kidney, a sharp pain in my side, arthritis pretty much everywhere thanks to the Scleroderma.

I know bitch, bitch, moan, moan.

I'm supposed to be Santa and make all of the Merry and the Ho Ho Ho and The Goodwill towards men, ect, but Santa has a full time elf crew, a loving wife to bake him goodies, a magic team of reindeer and one hell of an advertising firm in his pocket.

I have none of those advantages. I'm tired.

But what's that sound from down in Whoville?

It's the hope that I am trying to gently foster.

I am making gifts for the ones I love this year. It's a time consuming and tiring process, but I am happy with the results. I have been crocheting lots of things.

It's something my mother taught me. It's very centering, working away at my chains and stitches, remembering when she taught me. Thinking of my mom and how she always had a bundle of crochet with her to work on. She could talk to you, watch TV and whip up a blanket without missing a stitch. You could always tell when she'd need to concentrate on her work because she'd nod her head to acknowledge what you were saying while quietly whispering, "three, four, five" then she'd be right back with you.

Writing about it now causes the strangest pain. It hurts because I miss her so much, but I'm so happy to have that memory.

I'm also baking a ton of treats to give away. That's another skill to thank my Mom for. Even after I had my own kids and started baking my own cookies, she'd always bring a big tupperware of cookies for us. She'd always fuss and say they didn't turn out the way she wanted, but they were always perfect. The last week I got to spend with her, I introduced her to "The Great British Bake Off" and we binged the entire season on Netflix. This year as I try my hand at Mary Berry's Viennese Whirls, I'll be thinking of her.

Even with all that I haven't got this holiday season I am grateful. I have such memories to cherish. I have people in my life that care for me and my family. People to give crocheted scarves and cookies baked with love. I have my family, even if it isn't as complete as it should be. I am going to make it through Christmas.

So here we are, oversized optimism in my heart, and Boris Karloff in my head:

"Welcome, Christmas, bring your cheer. Cheer to all Whos far and near. Christmas Day is in our grasp, so long as we have hands to clasp. Christmas Day will always be just as long as we have we. Welcome Christmas while we stand, heart to heart, and hand in hand."

An Anxiety Tale

I know "anxiety" is a word that is thrown around quite a bit these days. Everyone has anxiety. Xanax is a bottle in many, many medicine cabinets.

Let me share a tale with you.

Yesterday I got a letter on my door from the apartment managers. 24 hour notice to enter. They are in the process of giving everyone new adjustable flow shower heads. This is a good thing right? Right?

Sure. But to me this is a trigger to a panic induced spiral.

Let me preface this by saying, I have nothing to hide in my home. I keep a pretty clean place despite my body not always co-operating. I have a high standard of clean. I don't use drugs, I am not a party girl, hoarder or murderer. You can show up unannounced and the worst you will find is my crazy hair and mismatched jammies.

So why is it that I couldn't sleep last night? Why did I rise at 7am and immediately start scrubbing the bathrooms as if the Pope was going to take a Holy tinkle in my toilet? Two guys, whom I have never met, were in my home for a total of five minutes. Why would I let that make me feel this way?

Anxiety. That's why.

You see, when have actual anxiety disorder, there doesn't have to be a real reason. Even things that are good things can cause actual physical discomfort. Tightness in the chest, rapid pulse, trouble breathing. You don't get to decide when it will happen, what will cause it or when it stops.

There is no rhyme or reason to it.

I have a ton of weird behaviors and and aversions because of my anxiety. I get locked up at restaurants, staring at the menu afraid that I won't be ready. Scared that the server will be annoyed by me if I am not ready.

I rarely call the maintenance team into my home to fix things. I have become quite the handy person simply to avoid having to "bother" people.

I have a defective Scentsy warmer. It doesn't shut off. I could easily ask to have it replaced, my Scentsy guy is a friend. I haven't. I wont.

I could go on, but I think you get the point.

If you know anyone who suffers from anxiety, you can best help by just being a safe place. Asking "Whats wrong?" or saying "Calm Down" doesn't help. We know you mean well. But if we could pin down what was wrong or simply calm down, we wouldn't have anxiety disorder. Just be there. Don't let us hurt ourselves. Don't let us become hermits. The tendency is to create a bubble and stay in it to avoid stressful situations. That's not healthy. Don't let us get away with it. That kind of help is worth so much.

Happy Birthday, Mom.

I sat down to write a loving tribute to my mom today, but the words aren't coming.

It is her birthday. She would be 68 today.

So many horrible people in this world linger on and on, my mom was wonderful, and she only got 67 years. Not nearly enough.

Speaking of not nearly enough, there are not nearly enough words to express how wonderful she was. Not nearly enough tears to cry to express the pain I feel without her to guide me. There weren't nearly enough hours spent together, for me to have gotten enough of her company. And there were not nearly enough times for me to tell her I loved her.

Happy Birthday, Mommy. There aren't nearly enough ways to express how much I miss you.

Sing it Rockapella! "Where in the Hell is Erica Sobrino?"

I try to be positive and not let myself sink too deep into the mire. I have been losing that battle. If I seem distant, if I don't answer my phone, if I don't make plans, please know it's not out of a malicious heart. I am hurting both, physically and mentally. Scleroderma is a harsh mistress.

It seems the days that I can get my head in the game, my body betrays me. Lately, I am having serious trouble even doing light chores. Walking to the mailbox with the pups is akin to climbing Everest for me at the moment. So I resign myself to staying in, day after day and the depression grows.

I am person who is terrible at being still. I chose a career that was go, go, go all day because I prefer it that way. When I am in situations that require staying in one spot, I fidget. A lot. If you've ever shared a couch, bench or bed with me you know I bounce my leg, incessantly. My busy soul, trapped in this vessel that won't cooperate, is restless. Agitated. Suffocating.

As of the moment I am writing this I have been awake well over 24 hours, with no end in sight. I can't sleep, there is no moment of comfort that will let me drift off into sweet slumber. I have taken Oxycodone and Ibuprofen 600. Nothing has any effect. At this point I think the pain is causing my adrenaline to go nuts, because despite being up since yesterday morning, I am wired. My blood sugar has been out of wack. It's all a mess in my little world right now.

I want to cry. The pain makes me yelp and wince suddenly sometimes. My pups usually rush over and protect their "wounded Alpha". But as much as I want to just howl in pain, and let my tears tell my story, I know it isn't fair to my pack. My husband, my kids, my menagerie, all share my life, my home, and my burdens. So I put on my stone face and I am here, writing. Hoping for catharsis.

This isn't a cry for sympathy. I know you guys care, and are here for me. (Unless you aren't and that's fine too, except I don't know why you'd take the time to read this depressing shit)

This is a request for understanding. A message to tell you, I still love you. I am sorry that I have missed birthday parties, baby showers, game nights, and I totally screwed the pooch with cooking club.

I miss you guys. I want so badly to have a houseful of laughing faces, playing board games and being subjected to MST3K. I want road trips to Disney, picnics at Mt. Charleston. Paint Nights. A cold beer and a bbq with great company.

But since I DO love you, I don't want you to have to worry. I don't want you to feel like you have to watch my step. (Sam, I'm looking at you at the night of the UNLV game, you were so sweet about the stairs and making sure I got up and down them)

It hurts to see the concern in your eyes when I am limping around. I can't help it though.

So please, try not to resent me. Try to remember I love you, even when I can't be there in person.

Team Hooman

As this is the end of Hooman Appreciation/Team Hooman Anniversary, I wanted to share what this community means to me.

I started out actively watching Ryon's stream just over a year ago. I had been off and on, but one particular day I was feeling really low and thought I'd pop in and just be an anonymous viewer. I don't think I had been in the stream 5 minutes before Ryon said "Butter-cup-er-ica is in the house" and then the chat started greeting me. I wasn't as anonymous as I had planned. And that was actually ok for once.

You see, I've always been pretty good at being nobody. The chunky girl that tried to fade into the crowd to avoid the bullies. The geeky girl who never really fit at work, at school, or pretty much anywhere else.

In Team Hooman, you have a very hard time hiding. People are welcoming, friendly and supportive. I can say without hesitation, that at anytime, I can count on my hoomans to be there when I need a bit of encouragement.

When my mom passed away this year, so many hoomans were there to offer me consolation, virtual hugs and tons of less than 3.

I look forward the streams and to talking to everyone in the chat. I look forward to conversations on Twitter.

I don't yearn to be anonymous in Team Hooman. I want to a part of things.

I want to thank all the Hoomans. Thank you all for making me feel welcome. Thank you for renewing my faith in communities and friendships. Thank you for being amazing.

On the subject of Purpose

"Efforts and courage are not enough without purpose and direction." - John F. Kennedy.

Finding ones purpose in life is something everyone of us struggles with. Some know from an very early age what they hope to achieve. Others are happy to drift through life from one purpose to another. Some are tormented trying to find a sense of meaning or purpose in anything that happens to them.

I was one of the "lucky" ones that found my purpose, my calling, as it were.

And then it was gone.

I started out at a very early age knowing that I wanted to help. I was a helper. A fixer. When I was very young I planned to be a doctor during the day, a veterinarian at night and a ballerina on the weekends. Big dreams. As I grew, it kinda scaled back to becoming a nurse. Still a big dream, but with a much healthier space left for a family and a social life.

Then I let getting married at 18 and having 3 kids during my 20s change my purpose again. Raising my kids and having a job that allowed me to not need a sitter.

Then everything came full circle again. After a bad marriage, a chaotic divorce, my kids reaching an age where they were capable of wiping their own butts, and getting my new blended family, um, blended: I finally found my way back to purposefully pursuing becoming a nurse.

Things were great. I went to school while I worked full time as a CNA. I managed to be an honor roll student. I was a veritable superhero.

Then we all know what happened next.

So here I am for the first time in a looong time, with no clear purpose.

Before, even though my purpose had changed, I still had a purpose. I still had a plan. A dream. A goal.

My kids are all well on their way to being capable and amazing adults. So their need for me has greatly diminished.

My husband doesn't need me to run his life. He is a smart man, a great cook, can wash his own clothes, and even remember people's birthdays without me reminding him. This is all fantastic, except that for a carer and fixer like me, it leaves nothing to "fix".

My career gave me purpose. It let be important. It let me care for people. It let me be a carer by day and have my nights with self sufficient family. Without it I have an immense overflow.

At first, I used this overflow to do some much needed self care. I finally did things that I had put off in favor of caring for others.

Then, when I was fairly satisfied with the amount of energy I had pointed at myself, I poured it into rescuing animals. I am quite proud of my mini menagerie. I know I have made a difference in my cats' and dog's lives. But there is far less energy needed even there now. The puppy is not a puppy anymore, but a housetrained registered service dog. The cats are no longer kittens. They have their hierarchy. And let's be real, aside from walkies, litter changing and feeding, cats and dogs both sleep 16 hours a day. I am sure I needed them, way more than they needed me.

So what do I do with my overflow now? I can't keep adopting puppies and kittens. Trust me I asked my husband (again) today. Thankfully (and frustratingly) he has way more sense about these things than I do.

The aforementioned kids are all teenagers. They come in the house and disappear into their rooms to do cool/sulky teenage things, just like I did at their age. They are pretty good at not starving to death too.

I have even tried volunteering. When you can't count on your body to let you keep plans and appointments, you are not very useful for volunteer work. Most places want and deserve a weekly or monthly commitment.

I am not a "lady who lunches", a religious zealot, a free and unattached back-packer trekking across Europe, or a rich trophy wife that can take the yacht out for a quick zip towards Cabo for a weekend.

So where is my purpose now? I am open to suggestions. Until I find it, I'll be here, browsing the animal foundation website, and cooing over the faces of puppies and kitties that don't need me as much as I want them.

Pain:Guilt ratio

I find myself today, like many days, at odds with myself.

Trying to sort through the pain to guilt ratio. That is to say, how much pain do I have to be in before I can stop feeling guilty for needing time to rest, or help doing things?

This guilt is not being imposed on me by anyone outside of myself. You would think being a logical human I could just "logic" it away. It does not work that way.

A logical person says things like, "Surely, I am as worthy as any other human, of kindness and help." "There are people out there who take things that don't belong to them with no guilt at all! Resting when you really need it isn't guilt worthy!"

I have been in such pain for the past week or so now that I have reached a point that is beyond reason.

In this place you are driven to insurmountable pangs of guilt and regret by simple things. Things like asking your daughter to walk the dog. Not driving your husband to work because your shoulders hurt so bad that the simple act of turning the steering wheel is excruciating. Laying in a dark room under the effects of oxycodone, which incidentally barely takes the edge off the pain but makes me loopy enough to be useless, is a capital crime.

Today I live at that point beyond reason. Today my husband told me they cancelled his second interview for a promotion he wanted. They cancelled it because of me. Last Friday I drove to meet him for lunch because I missed him. Pain and all. When he saw the condition I was in he left work early to take me home and take care of me. This act simultaneously made him indispensable to me, but a liability to them.

You can't imagine the guilt I feel. I am lying in the dark, loopy, in pain and feeling so much guilt that I have rendered myself useless in my own mind.

Everyone's life would be better without me today.

Depression is not a new symptom for those of us who suffer a chronic illness. Treating depression becomes part of a plan of care if your Dr is worth their salt.

But this guilt has a clear and reasonable cause. Action A led to Consequence B and Action A is all my fault. So what do we do with those types of guilt? When the ones we love are hurt because of caring for a chronically ill person?

So today I find myself on losing end of that pain:guilt ratio.