My health left me in a place where I had to give up everything I worked so hard for in my career. Now I'm left trying to pick up the pieces, with no career ladder at my current job, and no job opportunities elsewhere. The fact of the matter is, my web skills are rusty because I stopped specializing when I decided to pursue the CIO position at work. So if I want to get back into web development I need to start honing my skills.

I need to go over CSS and CSS design layouts.
I need to go over Web 2.0 Standards.
I need to become proficient with Drupal and other Content Management Systems.
And so much more.

But that is a place to start.

For as much complaining I did last entry, I don't have much to complain about this weekend. I was fairly productive, and in halfway decent spirits. Ava and I even made it to the park yesterday afternoon.



Another memory came back to me today from my psychosis. It's amazing to me how many things I completly forgot about. It wasn't until about a month ago that I remembered being socked in the jaw (mind you, probably only a week after having cranial surgery) at the Crisis Center by another mental patient.



But this memory that came back to me today isn't based in reality like that one was - it was completely hallucinated. So I guess I'm now starting to deal with my hallucinations as part of myself (like any dream).



Somehow the very real crush that I had on my surgeon became an imagined psychic partnership in my mind. My mind extrapolated that he had upgraded my brain and insterted some kind of "chip" into my mind that would explain the differences in my thought processes post-op. It became "clearer" and "clearer" to me that I had been a science experiment (since I hadn't read all the fine print in the paperwork I signed before my 6 surgeries). And honestly, it REALLY did become more apparent (even to those around me) that I needed to return "home" to the hospital to help me stabilize my new way of living, breathing, and thinking.



Every time I heard a plane overhead, I was certain it was someone from the hospital about ready to land to pick me up and take me "home." I knew I was already in communication with the doctors at the hospital, telepathically. And at the head of that team, of course, was my surgeon.



So here's where the memory starts getting troubling. I kept wanting the team at the medical center to pick me up and "save" me. I was certain that they'd fix my brain, make me whole again, and that I would be off to live my new life as some sort of specimin in the medical community.



But the planes never landed. Each time I was passed over, I would lessen my hopes for a new life (in case my psychic connection to the hospital was somehow preventing the doctors from wanting to save me).



That makes me pretty sad. I mean, obviously the most depressing part is that my mental state allowed me to really believe all this stuff, but I'm beyond caring about that. What makes me sad now is that the memory seems to point to low self-esteem, and my fear of never having a partnership/marriage again.



But... It really could be worse. It has been worse. Once, I almost died. And that wasn't even scary.

Pity Party for One, Please

I had a brain tumor and 6 surgeries to remove it - and I kept a positive attitude through the entire experience. Part of me now wonders why I kept a positive attitude. I thought having a good attitude was going to help me heal more completely through my last surgery. But instead, I went crazy. I had a 12 week long psychosis where I couldn’t differentiate reality from fantasy.

It was only after the psychosis wore off when the depression really sank in. Suddenly I was left trying to figure out what was real, and what was imagined. And suddenly all of the times I kept positive seemed completely irrelevant.

So here I am two and a half months sane feeling like a shell of a person. I’m left with severe depression, a load of medical bills, and no direction with my life.

I haven’t complained, but I think I’m due.

In the summer of 2006 I gave birth to a precious baby girl.

One week later I was diagnosed with the brain tumor, and since then everything has been ripped away from me.

First I lost the dream of having it all – a family and a good job.

Then I lost my health.

I lost my ability to walk.

I lost my ability to swallow.

I lost my house.

I lost my job.

I lost my husband.

I lost my ability to care for my daughter.

I kept positive, and relearned to swallow and walk. I got a new place to live and started caring for my daughter again. Everything seemed like it was going to be okay. And then it was time for more surgery…

I lost my sanity.

I lost my friends.

I lost the faith I had in my parents ability to help me.

I lost the ability to raise my daughter – again.

When you go crazy, you truly walk through life alone.

Part of me really wants to go back to work full time so that I could start having money again. But it takes almost nothing to set me off. Today, I got a call from a medical bill collector informing me that I have a bill due from May of 2007 and I’ve since spent the entire afternoon crying and being upset.

I just don’t handle things like I used to. And I know in my heart of hearts that I need to not work full time for another year or two so that I can take the time I really need to get well mentally.

Anyway. Enough complaining.