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.