What's the big deal about today anyways?

November 17th has never been my favorite day.

It's the day I lost my first baby. I was way too young (14), and I probably would have been an awful mom at that age, but you can't help but wonder what would have been. I know I would have tried my best and I would have loved him or her with all I am. I never got to properly grieve and process the whole experience.

Everyone kept telling me it was for the best, because I was young. My parents were dealing with their own emotions: anger at me for being in that situation, pain of finding out in the worst possible way and because I didn't come to them before making such a big decision as becoming sexually active, fear because I almost died in the process. We all found out about my pregnancy together, because my little one had settled in my Fallopian tube, and it eventually ruptured. According to my doctor, I almost bled to death.

It was a day that changed everything. It's been a long time, and I don't dwell on it much, but still, I hate this day.

Historically since then, other bad crap has kinda centered around this day and week in November.

I had to have my gall bladder removed in an emergency surgery, November 17, 2007, during what was a very low part of my life. Alone, scared and in terrible pain.

This is also the same week of the year, (Nov 20 last year) that my hubby's appendix ruptured and I almost lost him.

 This November 17th hasn't been stellar either. Still muddling through severe pain in my joints, fighting a cold, all my kids are sick with me, but I want this day to have good memories from now on.

I feel like I need to do some sort of ritual or cleansing, or something, to reclaim November 17th. But I'm not sure what.

Any suggestions? Help me reclaim my November 17th?

Sorry for the babble. I just needed to get it off my chest. If you read this far, *hugs* thank you for following along on my rabbit trail.

Masks and other Deceptions

The vast majority of my life, I've been accustomed to wearing masks. Not literal masks, obviously, but figurative ones. We all do it. There's the mask we wear when we are at work. The one we have for dating. Masks for social interaction, the holidays, family gatherings, ect. Fitting in with polite civilized company requires effort. Most of us have parts of our real selves that we reign in and cover up as the need arises.

There are those who don't. You know the ones talk obsessively about their collection of mint in the box action figures from the 80s. The one who can go on at length about their cat, Mr. Fluffykins, who is obviously the reincarnation of Albert Einstein because he is so funny and smart. Those passionate, wonderful souls that we consider socially inept. The dweebs, the super geeks, the alpha nerds. I admire them. They are unashamed of their obsessions. They want to share their love of whatever it is that revs them up with anyone who'll listen, regardless of the ostracization that usually comes with.

I envy them. 

I have my masks. My Mommy mask. That tries to be happy and silly for my kids even if I don't feel that way. My social mask, which is worn when I am around people who ask you how you are doing, but don't really care what the answer is. It even has a catchphrase. "I'm great! How are you?" *smile and nod* The mask I wear for my Parents. The responsible adult who is doing just fine so they don't have to worry. 

The problem is, my disguises are wearing thin. I have so much darkness, fear and sadness welling up inside that it's seeping out. Like one of those scary halloween masks that drip fake blood when you squeeze the little plunger. 

Some people in my life have always been able to see through. But what happens when the rest see what a mess I really am? Because, I am a complete disaster behind my mask. I'm not calm. I'm not collected. I'm not happy. I'm scared. Tired to the point of collapse. In more physical pain than I let anyone see. The wolves are at the door and the debt piles up, because I can't work anymore. 

Who is really going to be around me when the mask won't hold up anymore. Because I don't even want to be around me. And certainly wouldn't blame anyone else for not wanting to be there anymore either.

Brand new Dreams?

The dream is this:

Good stable job, house, reliable car, 2.5 kids, dog, yard and neighbors you wave to, but never really speak to. It's what were all sold. It's what I've been working towards. I went back to school, knowing that if I could just get through, I'd reach that.

Now we come to where I really am. Living in an apartment that most of the time I afford by the skin of my teeth or by the mercy of a family member. No yard. A car that I am usually surprised is still in it's parking spot and not repossessed. I have my kids. But I can't give them nearly what they deserve. I have my adorable dog, and the poor little guy spends many a day laying in bed next to me because I can barely move.

Now, before you think this a "poor me" pity party. That is not what this is. I made many of the choices that led me here. I dropped out of college at 18. My credit is a mess because of decisions I made when I was going through my divorce. I am not looking for pity.
This is a post about what a person is supposed to do when the rug gets pulled out from under them.
Because after many mistakes, I made a good choice and went back to school to finish my nursing degree. I've been trying to slowly but surely build my credit back up so that eventually I could own a home. We even discussed and planned for one more little one.

Then life happened. Scleroderma happened. The woman who could work full time, get straight A's in school and keep her home more or less running smoothly, became the one who has been treated to 2 ambulance rides in one year. Days where I couldn't be stopped became days that I couldn't get out of bed.

These things we've discussed before. That hasn't changed in a year. We are still trying to find the right medicines to make this more manageable. What also hasn't changed is the dream.
I still want that home, that yard, even that little baby. But I have to change those dreams. I don't know what tomorrow holds. I do know I have no savings for a home down payment. I know that the medications that are meant to slow the progression of my illness cause serious birth defects if used during pregnancy.

Normally, I'm a person who is content to roll where the universe sends me. I know worry doesn't change a damn thing. But lately I find myself feeling robbed. I have been doing what I am supposed to. Working hard, getting an education, paying my bills keeping my karmic balance in the positive at all times. ;)

I liked my dreams. I want my pay off. I don't know what else to dream.

Maybe my focus was too narrow. Maybe I'm not being as flexible as I should. But I am not sure how to work past this roadblock.

How am I supposed to move forward?