I’ve been avoiding writing about something. I guess I was trying to protect and hide myself. This whole writing thing feels a little uncomfortable when I remind myself that I need to always remain authentic and honest. Those are two traits that are very important to me and I want to stay true to them.

I have not been feeling well. I mean, yeah I have health issues, but I feel like I’ve somehow leveled up.

Sometimes it’s easy to be open about my health, but then other times it’s just not. Sometimes I feel like if I talk about it, people will get tired of listening to me whine and complain.

I can easily go into “hide mode” when I’m not feeling well. I think part of that is self preservation.

Anyway, I don’t really know why I’m feeling so rundown and defeated… but that’s an accurate overall assessment.

I am seeking for answers. I had a medical test last week that came back normal and I have another coming up in a couple of weeks. I’m also getting a new referral for a specialist that I should have seen long before now.

I’m really hoping I can find some real answers soon so that I can come up with my plan to feel better.

I’m really tired of feeling tired.

That’s the truth.

The last thing I want to do is “write” when I’m in a horrible mood.

How would I even write something that isn’t chock full of swearwords?

I can’t even tell you why I’m in a horrible mood… because I don’t know.

I can tell you that being in a horrible mood, and then realizing you still need to eat some dinner, before you go to bed, to escape your horrible mood, and knowing you can’t just shove whatever is easy and handy into your mouth, makes your horrible mood… SWEARWORD!!!!!

There’s a fork in the drawer that I avoid.

I never grab it and use it.

Every once in awhile, it ends up being handed to me by a member of my family for me to use to eat a meal.

No one knows my aversion.

I suppose it’s silly to have an aversion to a fork.

I have feelings and emotion tied to it.

It’s this thing in my house that represents someone.

Someone who is an important part of who I am.

And yet, I can never bring myself to pick that fork out of the drawer.

I don’t like that fork.

I don’t feel like I can even put a coherent thought together at this moment.

The pounding in my head is too great… which is to say it’s horrible.

For some reason, it has this side effect of making me want to pound my fist.

I have zero patience, which doesn’t mix well with kids who are unwilling to be obedient to my requests.

I’m pretty sure this all means I should hide under the covers and never come out.

It’s after 10 pm on Saturday night.

I find myself in bed with two cute little boys and a handsome man getting ready to watch a late night movie together… Willow.

Today was one of those days that I dressed for the occasion.

You know… my special skydiving pants and a CrossFit shirt.

What was the occasion?

I needed to be reminded that I was brave. I didn’t want to forget.

I had to do something today that felt a little scary to me. Uncertainty can do that. So, I gave myself the certainty that I needed. The reminder that I’ve faced difficult things and come through them with flying colors, literally!

I don’t know, but maybe there are others who do similar things. I can’t be the only quirky one.

When out in the world, take a moment to realize that a person’s choice in clothing or appearance, although you may not agree with it, could be the courage they need that day.

Sitting in a semi-dark room…the lights off.

Some light is shadowing in from another room.

Ivory and tan speckled linoleum tiles cover the floor.

Looking up I see tracks where curtains hang at attention, waiting to become a force field of privacy.

I notice opaque bumpy plastic above… it reminds me of … The Sound of Silence.

The haunting words that always penetrate my consciousness run through my mind…

And in the naked light I saw

Ten thousand people, maybe more

People talking without speaking

People hearing without listening

People writing songs that voices never share

And no one dared

Disturb the sound of silence

Fools, said I, you do not know

Silence like a cancer grows

Hear my words that I might teach you

Take my arms that I might reach you

But my words, like silent raindrops fell

And echoed in the wells of silence

~Paul Simon

as I sit at the foot of his bed watching over him.

I reflect…

I have fought hard to reach this destination.

Every day I listen for his sounds of silence.

I hear them.

I dare disturb the sound of silence, and make others hear his words.

Our words, like silent raindrops, will not fall into wells of silence.

THIS is what I thought of, as I watched over a boy today in the nurse’s office, who can not communicate with words. A boy I have invested my heart into so that I can “hear” his voice through his facial expressions, sounds, temperament, and body language. A boy who deserves to be heard, understood, and taken care of.

These lyrics were written by Paul Simon, as he sat in a dark bathroom. Whenever I see fluorescent lights it brings me to this story of him looking up at the bathroom light and penning the lyrics about the “neon god they made”.

The silence in our world today IS growing like a cancer, as we bow our heads to the electronic gods we’ve made.

Today has been the most carefree day I’ve had in a very long time.

I took my continuous glucose monitor out of my arm yesterday, which has left me without an update every 5 minutes of what my blood sugar level is.

What a glorious day it has been.

Many months ago, being without my readings every 5 minutes would have really stressed me out. Not today.

Today I was at peace without a single concern that my blood sugar would go too high or too low.

My glucose numbers over the last 3 months have been the steadiest they’ve ever been. It’s amazing the peace of mind this gives me.

What changed? I’ve been eating a ketogenic diet. High fat, moderate protein, and very low carb.

Eating in this new way has taken away the drastic highs and lows. That alone makes it worth it to stay on this path.

I used to believe, that the reason I had all sons, was because I was being punished.

Wait a second… I’m not saying having sons is some type of punishment… although it does have its moments.

What I mean to say, is that I believed I was never blessed with a daughter of my own, because I took my mom’s only daughter away from her.

I honestly, truly believed this.

As a teenager, I was given the opportunity to leave my mom and go live with my aunt and uncle. I chose to go. It was MY choice.

Obviously, I carried guilt over that decision for a very long time.

It wasn’t until sometime after my mom died, that I was finally able to let go of that belief.

I’ve spent some time today reflecting on the girl I used to be.

The one that would sit on the back row.

The one that would feel awkward in every social setting.

The one who was silent.

The one who never spoke up because she believed she had nothing of value to say.

I’m so glad that somewhere along the way, that girl found her value and the courage to use her voice.

I’m glad that girl figured out how to love herself so then she could love others.