Reflection, meditation, Catharsism

After a rough emotional start to my Sunday I decided that I was in need of a loooooong relaxing bath. I knew I needed to relax to ease my mind of the million negative thoughts that raced through that brain of mine. It was the best Idea I have had.

As I listened to Elizabeth Gilbert in the Indian portion of her book, aka the "Pray" part, I found I wasn't doing much relaxing. Which is ironic because she was having a tough time quieting her mind as well. There were things she would say that reminded me of where I was in my life. Situations I am dealing with. Most importantly there were things I was over analyzing.

Eventually my mind found some peace. If only for a a split second. What happened next was beautiful but most people would find weird. Laying there in my purest form made me think about rawness which made me think about realness and honesty.

Looking at my wrinkly fingers made me think what a stunning image that would be. So I grabbed my phone an took this photo.

After that photo I noticed my dingy tub fixtures.

I imagined those are the original handles and spout from when my apartment was first built in the 80's. What intrigued me was that I found beauty in that dilapidated faucet. That's who I've always been. The person that sees beauty in the mundane and peculiar, The person that can tell you that the mere fact that this object being old and neglected made me ponder about bigger and deeper things that are sometimes ignored, neglected and discarded.

After snapping a few photos of in animate objects I decided to take a self portrait that turned into thetitle photo for this blog. It is not mean to be vain, nor erotic. I simply thought it was a beautiful self portrait in my purest form. I want to shatter the wall of vulnerability. What better way than exposing myself to the world this way. I share it artistically and dramatically. I hope everyone else can see that its a simple self portrait of a human in her most raw intimate way. Rene Brown, Elizabeth Gilbert and Amy Poehler all contributed to this new found courage. They inspire me to expose myself in all aspects of life.

Cleansing the body, the mind and the soul.

This last set of self new age portraits were simply for fun. But after looking at it I realized how different these filters make people look. I hope all women in the world realize that they are always most beautiful in their simple natural form, despite what social media has them believe. One is my natural self portrait...It's pretty easy to point out.

To Medicate or Not to medicate...

...that is the question!

I am an adventurous soul at heart. Trying new things excite me. The outside sources and the journey to these new experiences scare me half to death. I try to make my weekends with my boys fun and exciting. I want them to experience the world. My anxiety and depression sometimes hold me back.

I have been giving medication and therapy a lot of thought. Some may say that I have not given it enough thought or given it too much thought because I have not really done anything about it. But I have given it enough though that I signed up for health insurance. I had been without health insurance for about a year and a half now. Lets pick up where I last left off in regards to my mental health.

Quick recap, when I was 23 I tried to tell the doctor I was depressed and he told me I was just suffering from displacement or something like that. For a couple of years I was genuinely happy. I had a career I loved and didn't mind working 50 hour weeks. I was so satisfied with life that I decided to have my second child because I felt that I had my depression under control. I worked my way up through a company and was making sufficient money to raise 2 children. I saved up all my vacation days to cover the cost of my benefits while I was on maternity leave. My very first week on maternity leave the company goes under and I am left without a job to return to. It gave me a reason to forcibly become a stay at home but not having a partner that was capable of stepping up to the plate and providing for his family made me bitter. I am grateful that his parents were kind enough to support us but they had already done it for 2 years with our first born. I didn't want to go back to that.

 Right before having my second child I had accepted the fact that I would be the main bread winner in the family. I was so in love with this man that I had no shame being fully employed and he only being partially employed. But I thought the loss of income would have inspired him to take the reins and find better employment. That didn't happen. Instead he managed to convince me to move back in with his parents in another city with the illusion that he had a great job lined up for him.

My depression swallowed me whole. I wanted to find a job where I was making the same amount as I was making before and all that was available were minimum wage jobs that wanted 10 plus year experience. I ended up going back to school to better my chances at finding a better job.

Going back to school sent me back on my road to seeking help. I went to the nearest clinic and admitted to the federally funded doctor that I suffer from anxiety. I was afraid that this doctor would say the same as the last and I didn't want to feel judged or called a liar. I didn't want to be told that I simply didn't know how to "deal with change." My fear of being judged has held me back from many things, including getting help from a doctor. Having mistrust and paranoia towards doctors should probably be a major sign that there is something seriously wrong with me. I literally just came to that conclusion. There is something seriously wrong with me. I like to believe that doctors take their oaths seriously but to me they are still human. They are still capable to judge. I am afraid of being judged. Even though I know everyone does it. Bottom line, I only fessed up to the anxiety and was prescribed Buspirone.

 In the middle of my second semester I was called in for an interview I had applied to 4 months back. I put my education on hold to rejoin the workforce at a decent wage. I made up the salary by always working overtime. Like I always do.

I may have rambled on but I feel like the back story is pertinent to my mental health situation. Bare with me I am getting to the point.

I started this post like a year ago. I do have the health insurance but I don't have the time to go see a doctor. I am still debating wether or not I should seek treatment for my depression. Part of me believes in this fairy tail that some magical concoction of pills will give me the will to do everything I ever wanted to do without this overwhelming fear. The other part believes it to be ludicrous. 

Manic episode or conquering of resistance?

I started reading The War of Art by Steven Pressfield today. It is a book that was highly recommended by a coworker who has a similar literary palate as mine. Just a couple of pages in and the book quickly resonated with me. I could tell why he suggested it.

 I consider myself a writer but one who definitely battles with resistance. I want to say that there is a correlation between reading the book and me being inspired to write again. I was only 30% into he book when my phone died. Hipster would say “If you had a normal book you wouldn’t have this problem.”

Since I have none of my notes to reference back to, I have to rely on my short term memory which I recently discovered is terrible. There is a line in the book that says “The opposite of love is not hate, it’s indifference.” I know I have read this before because I have mentioned it once or twice in my writing. I know for a fact I didn’t come up with it. I did start to wonder, “Was it Steven Pressfield who was quoted saying that when I first read it or heard it?” Did Pressfield say it first? This brought me back to another thing I heard before and I paraphrase, “There is no more original thought left in the world. All that is written is just recycled words and ideas that someone has already come up with.”  I don’t know where I heard this before. I have a tendency of not paying much attention to the creator of art. I much rather just enjoy the work than worry about the credit.

So for some reason as I was lying in bed trying to fall asleep, I started thinking about Brene Brown and her Ted Talk on vulnerability. The sheer mention of the word “vulnerability” makes me emotional. Vulnerability to me is my nemesis. There is nothing more vulnerable to me than being seen crying in public. I HATE IT!!!! I know people don’t know how to react when they see someone crying, much less not knowing why. I know it’s awkward and uncomfortable. I loathe being pitied. I don’t handle consolation very well.  But when I am thinking about something very dear to my heart I simply can’t control myself, much less talk about it. Lately I have been embracing vulnerability more and more but it still scares me half to death to share things. I find myself worrying about how the other person is judging me. They may very well be not but then again they very well may be.

Lately I have been very open about my manic depression. I feel comfortable talking about it out loud but then my illness is seen as a form of resistance according to Pressfield. That makes me feel like shit. He practically says that illnesses like social anxiety are made up by editors. He does say that anxiety and depression may be real. But he only said “may”. It sounded like I am making an excuse with my manic depression. I am not sure about that part of the book.

So here I am. Not knowing what came first, the chicken or the egg. Did the book inspire me to start writing again or did my mania make me do it? All I know is that a million thoughts started popping up like annoying ads. The last thing I want to do is over analyze  and read into things that are not really there. A part of me still wants to keep living in the illusion that I created. Like I have not learned my lesson of getting attached to the idea of what could be. So I’ll continue living in my mind. The book says that fear and doubt are allies and good things when it comes to art and writing….but I disagreed with that too.

Typography Thursday: Art of Conversation

I follow this great site called Brain Pickings. They wrote this great piece about Barbara Walters. This article touched my soul in so many ways.

I have always felt that I lacked social skills, specifically in the art of conversation. I have never been one for group discussions. One on one interaction is what I excel at. I pride myself in being a great listener but sometimes I feel martyred when I am just "the listener." Barbara made a great point by saying "...when a conversation becomes a monologue, poked along with tiny cattle-prod questions, it isn't a conversation any more. It is a strained, manipulative game, tiring and perhaps even lonely."

Whoa! Barbara hit it right on the nail. At the end of certain monologues I feel extremely exhausted and all I was doing was listening! Obviously I was exhausted because I was an attentive listener and I was trying to form an opinion the whole time, only it was in my head. But Barbara is right. Those conversations are simply not conversations.

 However, they are necessary evils. Sometimes a friend just needs to vent, without judgement, without opinions. Individuals resolve problems when they speak their issues out loud. No one wants to look like the crazy person and talk to themselves. Except for myself, I talk to myself ALL the time. Especially at work. I am sure everyone thinks I am flying over the cuckoo's nest. But for those who are not as brave as I am, I will always be the person to stand next to you lending her ear. Barbara's words inspired me to make my first graphic since December 5th 2013!

This article also affected me by bringing up memories of my dad. I remember being around 8 or 9 and watching 20/20 with my dad. It's a delightful memory. I can even see us shouting out to the TV, " Hugh Downs and Barbara Walter, this is 20/20!"

I love when happy vivid memories are sparked in me.

The Loss of my Father to GBM: Part One

This might as well be the hardest post to start. It has been a good 5 months.

 For three months I was on auto pilot. It was my full intention to write about my family's journey through out the process but I just couldn't handle it  all. Taking care of a love one with an illness is the toughest thing a human doing can do. Being a caregiver to someone with GBM is soul sucking.

I know it's not easy to write about grief. Yet I am a bit hard on myself for not writing about it sooner. In November of last year I mentioned that my dad had an undesirable MRI scan result.

That news turned my life upside down, down upside, sideways and everything in between. I feel like I need to work my way up to the moment I actually lost my father to understand where my feelings stand. I will begin from that day I got the news of the MRI.

November 20, 2013 (exactly 8 months ago!)

I called my parents late that night to confirm with them that the kids and I were heading to Miami from Orlando for Thanksgiving break. My dad usually answers phone calls right away unless he is in the shower. So I didn't give it much thought. All of Thursday passed and I still didn't get a phone call returned. I didn't really give it much thought however until I tried to call again on Friday. First I called my mom's phone, no answer. Then I called, my dad's phone and still no answer. So I called my dad's phone again and my brother Carlos answered. I found it strange that he would answer my dad' phone. But that's as much thought as I put into it. I spoke to my brother and I spoke to my mom and I spoke to my dad. Although I spoke to all three it was by far the shortest conversation. I called later that night and I mentioned to my mom that it was odd that everyone spoke to me for like 2 seconds and they didn't even want to tell me where they were.

I'll never forget the words my mom said to me next, "We didn't want to tell you because we knew you were going to be driving down with the kids by yourself and we didn't want to worry you." Of course this is the translated version since she said it to me in Spanish. My heart sank right there. I mean, when you start with "we didn't want to worry you" all a human can do is WORRY.

That's when she told me that my dad had an MRI on Tuesday the 19th of November because he kept forgetting things and repeating himself. The MRI revealed a mass in the middle of his brain (the corpus collosum to be specific). They were instructed to admit him to the hospital on Wednesday (the day I tried calling them) to have a biopsy done. His doctor explained that they would have to really be aggressive to get him admitted since he never had headaches nor dizziness.

My dad could no longer be left alone. So when they took him to triage my other brother Beto wanted to go with him. My brother was instructed to stay outside. My brother was worried that my dad was going to say he was perfectly fine and feeling great. My dad walked out and asked "Beto, these people are asking me why I am here, why  am I here again?". That's when my brother was asked in and my dad was admitted.

Obviously this was told  to me on the phone. I tried to keep it together on the phone, but when I hung up I broke down! My hubby and I were going through something and we weren't even talking. I felt so alone so I ran to my in-laws and just broke down. At the end of my breakdown I felt like I overreacted since a biopsy hadn't even been done yet. But since the MRI read malignant and the size of 5 cm sounded disturbing to me, I knew...I just knew the reality of the situation.

Needless to say, I was filled with many emotions. Hope, however, was the least, since the last time I was hopeful when it came to cancer was when my nephew was diagnosed in 2007. He passed away a year after his diagnosis. So let's say I don't fuck with cancer. You say cancer to me and I am scared shitless. I was already angry at my hubby and now I had something else to be angry about.

As you can tell, I skipped the denial stage and jumped to the anger and bargaining in one straight swoop. 

So I drove down to Miami on Saturday morning never imaging that it would be the last time I would reside in Orlando. Never imaging how much my life and that of my entire family, would change drastically.

In the next couple of posts you will see that the longest stage was the depression. But we all knew that would happen with me.

Existential Crisis Continues

Lately I've been having this intense feeling of unworthiness. I can't seem to enjoy the simple pleasures in life. This feeling of unworthiness has alienated me from people. By the time I try to get close to the ones I love it feels like it's too late. I have always had a hard time relating to people. There are very few that I can have a deep connection with. I don't want superficial friends. I want people around that I can have deep conversations with. Most people are only out to have a good time and show the world how happy and fun they are through social media. No one seems to want to have a good heart to heart. Could they be trying to avoid reality like I am?

My fears have taken over me. When fear comes rushing in, nature calls for you to fight or flee. Many often forget the third plausible reaction to fear...freeze. I always seem to just freeze. I hate myself for it but it's all I know to do.

I am trapped in my mind. I am afraid that I will always be this unhappy lost little girl. I fear I can never be happy. I hate that feeling so much.

I recently re watched the film Revolutionary Road. Great film but pretty dark. It's films like that which I have been relating to the most lately. Sylvia is another one. In high school I hated the Bell Jar. Probably because I saw a bit of myself in it. Veronika Decides to Die by Paulo Coehlo is another book that best describes what I have been going though. I hate to make all these references without elaborating more on it but that's just me. Always trying to find art that imitates my life because I do not have the words to explain it myself.

GBM

Turns out the MRI done on my dad was as serious as I imagined.

Don't ever joke around about having a brain tumor. Even if you are extremely depressed, obsessive, compulsive, or psychotic. A brain tumor is not the problem.

A brain tumor, especially the inoperable malignant type, is the worst thing a human being can have. When I first read about Glioblastoma multiforme, it said it was the rarest most aggressive brain cancer. The first thought to myself was "aren't all cancers 'aggressive'?"

This incurable cancer has already taken my father. All that really remains is a shell. The location and size of the tumor is interrupting the signals that cross the hemispheres. So he may be trying to get up but the brain can't send the message to the legs. He doesn't even speak to me at all. I try to talk to him and he gets frustrated and annoyed. I don't know if he's scared or anxious. I wish he would express how he feels in someway. I wish he could tell me that everything is going to be fine. Something. Anything.

I know my father is still on this earth but I have already started to grieve him.

Away we go...separately.

I figured that it's best for everything bad to occur all at once.
My family is going through some unexpected and expected plot twists in this novel I like to call LIFE.

The unexpected plot twist is a story on it's own but the expected is what this post is about.

The father of my children and I have decided to call it quits. I have ruined our family's perfect record of everlasting love in both our families. I am feeling so much. Fear and devastation are my top emotions right now. Even though I was not happy before, I sure don't feel any better now. I just feel like a failure, which feels all too familiar.

So far it all feels surreal... I mean it has only been a day that it was made official.We had been falling apart for a while now and we were just avoiding the situation.

 A part of me finds it silly to be mourning this separation. It has been a long time coming. We had lost each other long ago but neither of us was ready to admit it. But when we were finally ready to admit it to each other, it was like ripping off a band-aid. We didn't even do it face to face. We were actually in different cities. But I think it worked for us. We both have a hard time putting feelings into verbal words. At least it wasn't on a post it!

 In the words of Edith Piaf, "Je ne regrette rien. Ni le bien qu'on m'a fait, ni le mal tout ca m'est bien egal." Which means: "I regret nothing. Not the good things that have been done to me nor the bad things, they are all the same to me." I received the most beautiful gifts from this chapter in my life, my two boys. Where there's a yin, there's a yang.

Well I did say I like new experiences and adventure. It can't get more adventurous and new than this.


How do I cope? Well since I don't really have anyone to talk to about this, I lose myself in thought to the musical styling of Of Monsters And Men. What an amazing album. I think soon I will change to The Civil Wars.

 I know that as soon as I get back in the work force I will no longer dwell on the subject. I have bigger problems to worry about now. 

Downward Spiral

The very first day of August I was on my way to the doctor's office with my two boys. It was raining very hard and I was coming to a red light when I saw the car in front of me hydroplane. I panicked but my with good reason. I thought I was going to hydroplane myself. Call it a self fulling prophecy, but that is exactly what happened. I made the number one mistake of pressing down on the brakes thinking it would help but instead it locked up the steering wheel so I couldn't even change lanes to avoid crashing into the car in front of me.

The kids and I were physically fine. I did have a total panic attack. If it weren't for some good samaritans I would have stayed in the middle of the busy road, frozen. They were quick to get my battery reconnected so that I can put the car in neutral so they can push me to safety.

Now I know that everyone always says "the important thing was no one was hurt." Don't say that to a neurotic individual like myself because it doesn't help! Of course I am grateful no one got hurt but at that moment, "it could have been worst" was not making me feel better.

Great, just freaking great! I just crashed the car, that isn't even mine but relied on to get around. The car that I was not even on the insurance for. The fault was going to be given to me since I hit someone from behind.

I survived though. I survived to deal with the aftermath. The $164.00 ticket I have to pay for being a "careless driver." I am not even going to bother to fight it because the cop places the fear in you that the amount can double if I was to fight it and lose. Who can afford that? How can I prove that it wasn't my fault but rather the rain. The rain can't stimulate the economy by paying a $164.00 ticket or double if you are found guilty in court. Then will the insurance cover that poor innocent girls car? The days of waiting for what the insurance will say are terrifying. Can I be sued? Knowing that regardless of whether or not the insurance will cover the other girl's car, it still is not going to fix our car for the mistake (according to FHP) that was my fault.

If they do cover the other girls car, I still need to pay $1,000 for the deductible. The money I had saved to fix the car that actually belongs to us. I try to tell myself, at least I have the money. But a part of me just wants to yell LIFE IS SUCH A BITCH! So I become depressed. Depressed because I am stuck at home. Depressed because I don't know if I will have enough money left over to even fix the car. Depressed because I am suppose to be starting school full time again and won't have a way to get there. Oh Depressed because that happened to be the same week my parents were coming to visit me and the kids and I couldn't even take them out. Depressed because it was my birthday and I was so looking forward to doing something more exciting than just staying home at night. My birthday which landed on a Saturday. The one highlight was that my mother-in-law agreed to take me back to school shopping for Jayden just to make me feel better on my birthday. I did have fun in the day time shopping for my son. I even managed to get myself 2 pairs of shorts as my own birthday gift.

Another highlight was when last Sunday afternoon I was moping around the house and shared my feelings with the hubby and instead of him shrugging me off actually took initiative and got me out of the house. We walked to a shopping center nearby, had lunch, strolled around, had ice cream and watched a movie. I was extremely grateful but once I was in the house again I became depressed again.

I know I am being petty and I should try to just figure out a solution. But that is the epitome of depression. The tiniest little problem seems impossible to solve and I just don't see the light at the end of the tunnel. In my mind this is the end of world! Even though I should just be grateful that things could have been worst. It's way easier said than done. The depression keeps me wallowing in my self pity.

Mistrust, Depression, Denial.

My friend Maddie said I look sad in this photo.

Medical attention is extremely important. One is to get a physical done every year and talk to your doctor about all your concerns so that a little thing doesn't become a major problem. But what happens when you have not found a doctor you can trust. Anyone can tell you that I should definitely be under a physician's watch. The only doctor that I truly enjoyed going to is my dentist Dr. Luger. My dentist!


To me a practice should make you feel welcomed from the minute you walk in! Dr. Luger's office succeeded in that and even went beyond! The receptionist was a sweet lady who was always smiling. That was important to me. One of my biggest pet peeves are bitter people. Call me neurotic but if it kills you to smile you should be working in dark warehouse that keeps you far, far away from the public, or be an existentialism writer that never leaves your basement. The hygienist Jamie was also extremely pleasant. I would wait months for an appointment with her (she only worked Wednesdays). Dr Luger (which is who you see the least was also very nice). I wish every medical practice was like his. It was also a plus that the chair gave you a massage as you got your teeth cleaned.


Now as far as a regular general physician Dr. Vega was the closest I came to trusting a doctor. I have every reason to feel uncomfortable with him as my doctor. He was also my mother's doctor and he worked at the same hospital with her. Needless to say I thought he would tell her everything I told him. However, I am not sure if it was because he knew my mother, he made me feel like I mattered. My mistrust came when I finally admitted that I suspected that I was depressed and suffered from anxiety. He prescribed me some paxil and referred me to a psychiatrist.


When I saw this psychiatrist that's when it all changed. This psychiatrist office was the coldest office ever! It may be my inner hypochondriac but the waiting room was so small it was enough to make the most sanest person claustrophobic. I have been a depressed person since middle school but it wasn't until my first semester of college that I admitted to anyone else.


I remember it as clear as yesterday. A friend's brother said to me, "Wow you sure have everything going for yourself. You are in college with a scholarship, you have a car, an awesome job and a boyfriend." I thought to myself, he was right. I should be the happiest person in the world but why do I feel so miserable.


Ironically at the moment everything should have been perfect. However, I was a lost soul in college, my boyfriend shortly left me for religion. Yeah, religion. That's a story for another blog. My friend convinced me a couple of months later to see the university's pysychologist who suggested I needed to seek help immediately from a psychiatrist. It was like the day before I was leaving to Europe. I was even suicidal at that stage. However that European trip was memorable and made me forget about my depression. Traveling is the cure to depression but definitely more expensive then medication.


It wasn't until I was nearly 21 that I attempted to do anything about my illness. My experience however reverted me back to my world of denial. As I sat in this tiny, cold waiting room completing this encyclopedia of a questionnaire, there was this teenage girl with her mother also sitting in the crowded waiting room.


This girl reminded me so much of the myself when I was her age. The difference being that she would speak every feeling, dislike, and concern. I have always been more of an introvert. Her mother, I could tell was nonchalant about the whole situation. Not an insensitive nonchalance but rather an exasperating be-numbness. You know that empty head nodding adults perform without providing any type of eye contact. The mother had that look people have when they have given up but go through the motions regardless. The tremendous fear a love one has of having her true feelings exposed. That's how I "perceived" or imagined that mother. I had a feeling that they had been at it for many year and judging from the things this girl was saying, therapy was not helping any of them. I could have very well made up this idea in my head. I have a hard time judging whether my perceptions of people and the environment are mere fabrications created by my chemical imbalance. I use the term "chemically imbalanced" embelishingly (yes that should be a word) since a different doctor later concluded I didn't have one according to my blood tests.


Did you ever wonder if your analysis of what you see was truly real? I mean I know it's a matter of perception but do I make up elaborate stories in my head to match my feelings? I believe so. When it was finally my turn I sat down with the doctor for what felt like no more than 5 minutes. He looked over my questionnaire asked me a couple of redundant questions, handed me a month worth of Lexapro and told me to make a follow up appointment to tell him how the medication was working. I looked at him bewildered, daunted and awed and asked "and that's it?" He responded somewhere along the lines of "were you expecting more?" or "what else would you like". I am pretty sure he referred to my question as if I was implying I wanted more medication. Once again I felt like he didn't care. Regardless of how he took the question I didn't elaborate or voice my concerns. I remember I broke down crying and just shared my anxiety and he also prescribed Xanax. He did think I meant more medication!


I went home took the lexapro maybe 3 times and decided I didn't trust this doctor that had just provided me with it. Another reason that didn't work out was because I was being judged by those around me. People would tell me that mental disability is pretty much a myth and all shrinks are quacks. The hilarious thing was that certain people believed the medication was really helping because I was bearable to be around. I thought to myself "you stupid bitch, this really shows how ignorant you are". But of course I just sat there, smiled, nodded and said nothing. I take the saying "if you have nothing nice to say don't say anything at all" really seriously.

The next time I tried to explain to a different doctor that I was depressed he said I wasn't. He provided the Xanax for the anxiety attacks and diagnosed me not being able to take change well. Jackass! I didn't bother to go into my history. The last time I went to a doctor I didn't even bother to go into my depression. This last doctor was the worst! My experience was short of misanthropic. I think the medical field has turned stone cold. Eyes, check, ears, check, throat, check, stomach, check...how have you been? "Well doctor I have had some stomach issues", here's a referral for a specialist...you take care now. Didn't bother to wait for the rest of my concerns as she put her hand on the door knob. My lack of assertiveness let it slide. As my inner self was screaming "You stupid idiot tell her that you are not done, and bring out the list of things you wanted to discuss!!!" and then my other voice saying "what's the point, it's not like she's going o deal with it anyway, she's just going to refer you to other specialist that are going to be more busy and less concerned with you". I took that referral and blood order and trashed them.


Every 2 years or so I give doctors a try. Mostly now I just tell myself "this depressive episode will pass." However it does affect my life. Maybe blogging will be my medication. I so wish I can travel again. That's one treatment plan that is not covered by any insurance. BTW my song choices for my blues is in shuffle mode right now. I always listen to Coldplay while I am feeling blue. I'll replay Fix You about 20 times.