What's Wrong with Your Head.

Mental stability has never been one of my strong suits.

During my high school days I was seeing this psychiatrist, whose name I don't remember for some pills that I can't forget. 

I was going through typical "My parents don't understand me, and I am a failure because of my grades and my need to drink during the school day" high school slump.

I was a typical kid that didn't technically need to be on Lexapro and Paxil.  But I was. 

I stopped taking pills right after high school.

Then proceeded to resume my pill poppin after my 25th birthday.  My docs decided I need them because I couldn't have children.

I was going through the typical "I am unable to bear children, No one understands me.  I have lady parts for no reason and my need to be drunk during the day" mid-twenties slump.

I needed Jesus, not pills.

After my fiasco, where I took too high of a dosage of pills (talked about it "Well That Could Have Been Bad), I decided no more for me.

The only pills I take daily now will be BC, God Bless that baby chewable pill that causes the stopped up drain of what is my "reproductive system"and of course, 800 MG Ibuprofen, famously known as the Holy Grail of tablets, that was placed upon this Earth by the gods to cleanse my soul of the gut-wrenching agnoy that comes with being Kelsey.
#shoutouttomyliver

Well as of late I have not been "allowed" to take Ibuprofen. 
Long story short:
Football, my face, a dudes face, both facing the ball, collision, knocked out, concussion, ER, impact testing fail, memory loss, not better.
Sadly, that is the shortened version.

I apparently I'm not "resting" enough to be better, which sucks but, I am a busy woman, Dr. M. I got my heart and soul into my career and I can't just put it on hold.  I can compromise, but I can't stop.

Dr. M is really nice.  I've seen her twice now.  Her fingers are cold. It's not a bad thing.  She does look familiar, but not in a way that I know her.  Just like it feels, like I have seen her at a coffee shop or something, like 11 years ago.   You know, familiar but, not.

I really hope I don't lose my hair because my head is all lumpy now.  It would look terrible. Like a fused together peanut M&M.  I don't know... maybe that is a terrible explanation, but that's all I got right now, which isn't saying too much.
I don't really "got" a lot right now, except a headache and a need for more sleep.
I guess this is what the Scarecrow felt like. 

You will be just fine.

I've lost touch.

Not on purpose, naturally.  But life gets in the way.
The days turn to weeks and you just forget. 

The reason I started this was to never forget. 

To remember how I felt. How this is my life, not one that I am watching from the outside in silence. I am trying to remember to play an active role in it.

Much has happened. And I'll do a quick recap to not spend hours on it, which I probably will anyways...  So my last published piece was June... An immense amount of things have happened..

Well I fell in love in a hopeless place, B has become this person, my person, in my life that has washed every doubt of inadequacy that I have ever felt in my life away from me in a way that I never thought I could feel or know or be deserving of. 
It has been a beautiful surprise, one that I thought would never exist, but he does and we are here.

Life changes has led me to being back in the service industry, being in management, gross yet yay.  My employees humble me through their strength, love, and ability to persevere through their own personal trials.  It has been not only the biggest headache I have literally ever had, but the most rewarding headache.  I do love them, but don't exactly love waking up at 4:30 AM on purpose...

My health has been better since I'm back on the ole pill.  That majestic pill that stops pregnancy (not mine other peoples), and psycho ass Kelsey.  Who would have thought.
But I know if I have missed it, because I will sit in the car and sob uncontrollably to a video of Mr. Roger's testifying in front of the Senate for more funding for public television from 1969...yo girl chill...
So the pain is better, minus the swelling.  But beggers can't be chosers... 

I hate that saying.

I'm not a raging alcoholic anymore, which is better.. for my liver.... and the bank account.. that also being said when I do have a drink every once in awhile... I'll have a headache for 13 1/2 days. It's literally the worst.  I guess this is 27?

I am trying to be a better person.  Trying to be a better leader.  Trying to show that I am not this unstable little unicorn that I used to be. 

I'm not as good at this as I used to be.  Not as poetic or well-spoken.  And I definitely still don't have it all together. But did we really expect that to happen..

But. I guess what I am trying to say is: I am still alive.  I am going to try to be more consistent, with my stories of meaningful life shit.  Perhaps a decent story every once in a while. 

Like Mr. Rogers and children, but mine will be to adults who need to feel someone gets it.  Because that's what ties most people together; their ability to be understanding and relate.

Trip To The Vagina Doctor

In honor of going to see my gynecologist over 15 times in the last 5 months; let's talk about the dreaded adventures to the vagina doctor.

 Going to see your OBGYN is the most terrifying, required adventure on earth.

Once a year, if you are lucky to only go once a year, as a woman, you are required to go see this man, or woman that you pay to violate you.

For science.

I remember my very first adventure to see the gynecologist.  I was 17 years old.  I wanted to start taking birth control because, back when I use to  bleed once a month, it use to be the worst experience of my whole.

It was like a real life murder.  From the inside out. All of my insides hated me and I would have to get into this fetal position and pray to all things that were holy that I was going to go to church more, if Jesus would just take the pain away.

He didn't, so I had to go see this woman about some pills.

I wasn't ready for a man to analyze what I had to work with.
I still didn't exactly know what I was doing with it anyways, so no need for a man to stare at it and professionally tell me about my downstairs business.

I can't for the life of me remember her name, but she was a military doctor.  She was tall, dark, and handsome.  She was my commentator, and coach.  She would tell me what she was doing when she was doing it, and then would tell me how good of a job I was doing.

I wasn't doing anything, other than staring up at this poster of a beach to tell me to escape to somewhere else and to make sure I never made eye contact with her.

It was anything but enjoyable.

Nowadays, I am a lot less awkward about it.

I have since been to multiple doctors to see my business.  
And I love my current one now.  I trust her with all my goods.

I can't say I am still not awkward about it.

How could you not be.

My post-operation meeting was last Tuesday, and it went really well.  Everything is going according to plan.
Minus the whole fact that my scar tissue is not going to go down.  She told me that I could go to a plastic surgeon to fix it.

This news did cause me to go into a full on panic attack because this is my worst nightmare.
She basically told me that this "cliff" I have on my stomach is
PERMANENT.

I would never see a plastic surgeon for my stomach. I would go for some better like boobs or bigger lips, but not a tummy tuck.  They called it a mommy tuck.

A mommy tuck.

What the hell kind of shit is that.  

I guess I am going to start looking for high-waisted bikini bottoms.  This is bullshit.

Cut me some slack body.
Haven't I made enough sacrifices? 

Graphic In Nature

I had a very long talk last night with a good friend of mine.  She is going through something so different, yet we can relate so much.


My friend's pelvic floor is completely destroyed due to a form of birth control.  She has endured 3 surgeries in 3 years for 3 different issues involving her reproductive system.  Doesn't seem like a lot, but when you have a full Hysterectomy by the age of 28 due to pain of your pelvic floor, then it becomes a big deal.


Hysterectomy (if you want it in my terms, is the whole thing gone: egg holder, baby holder, and the Bering Strait; all gone) is the real deal. 
You can't go back. But, she had to do this. 

We had a long talk about relationships, our goals, and our struggles.

I felt for her.  She has never wanted to have children so the news of not being able to have one was not as heart-breaking as it would be to some. 
She just wants to be a normal person again.

 See with these surgeries, when you have problems in the "south-pole", they are never really a one-and-done kind of thing. 

When one problem occurs lots of problems could happen, and it can take awhile before you can return to doing the things you love, or even normal activities.

The thing that makes us as woman is in complete jeopardy.

Being as young as we are it makes the whole becoming a woman thing kind of a running joke.

I only had my period for half of my life before it decided to retire. 

People do tell me all the time how lucky I am to not have a period.
Brah...I'll trade you.

I started this blog because of this. 

There are so, so, so many women going through these problems.  They are not just painful on the person itself, but the spirit.

I have been searching for a peer-led support group to help with this because hearing her story (and many of the stories I have heard from people reading my blog) have not only helped her or you by telling it, but it has helped me.  But most groups are for those who have experienced miscarriages, and those who are dealing with infertility with a partner.

I mean, I have no problem showing up alone, but that's what it feels like...being alone.

Family is cool, and friends are great, but if you tell me to adopt or there are other options; I am going to punch you in the face.
You think we don't know that. 
We know the cost.
We know most of the options.

But we are living in a society where women that should have children are on their third or fourth, and I am praying for a miracle, or hoping that maybe 40,000 dollars for adoption will be able to be made in payments.

We just want to hear-
"That sucks."

 Let me vent for a minute, and then tell me a joke.

That's it. Don't try and fix it. Tell me it sucks. Because it does.

And the joke calms my mind. I love to laugh.  This is on our minds most of the time, so any distraction at all to help us forget is exactly what we need.
It's called being a friend.


Seriously though the amount of people that have reached out either with kind words, or to share their stories... Thank you.

Keep it up. The positivity you all spread by your love and honesty is what keeps people like us hopeful.