Thursday, January 23, 2020
I hate to write this post. I'm pissed off actually. She's been bumping along again since September (at least...I think...hard to remember). Multiple flare protocols, upping this, reducing that. Breathing a denial-ridden sigh of relief when she has a good couple of days. Swearing and trying to contain my anger and absolute frustration when it's back.
This morning was scary. Clothes. Nothing felt right. In tears of frustration she looked at me helplessly. Yesterday a beautiful day at the mall. Normal. Mommy-daughter day, shopping and buying some new things. Comfy things. Happy things. Then - it's all bad. Bad. Bad. Bad.
I can barely contain my rage. I am so tired of fighting this for her. So tired of watching her struggle. Filled with worry for what this is doing to her psyche...what it has already done. The shame. The brokenness of it all.
Broken. That's what it feels like. Damaged and broken. Like myself. What to do. What to do. Today, I do not know.
It could be worse.
It was better. A year and a half of better. And now I scurry to try to catch up and get that "better" back.
I think it's too late. That bus has left the station and we're sitting here with PANS. That son-of-a-bitch PANS.
Embrace. Support. Love. Manage.
This is life. The only one she's got. Do better Mama. Do better.
Strength. Hope. Love. I'll pull her through.
xo
