Things happen. Life happens. I’m going to be asking my psychiatrist to put me back on guanfacine, because months of Straterra (or however you spell it)… aren’t working. I have to put Post-It notes on my wall to remember to take the medication. It’s not working anywhere near as well as guanfacine did. And the whole point of ADHD medication is to allow you to be more attentive and less forgetful, which clearly is not happening in this case here. I aspire to fix this in about a month when I see my psychiatrist for a check-in.

A… friend of Bub’s father contacted me now that I’ve unblocked the majority of them to see what they would do, which I initially had mixed feelings over. But then we got to talking, and I told him some things that I intend on mentioning here at some point for the first time, and he understood where I was coming from when I understandably “took (Bub) and ran (from his father)”. There are some things that I want to get off of my chest after his upcoming birthday for the sake of doing so, even if that means “going public”, because all of it is the truth substantiated by my medical records. There’s so much that he took from me in 2009 that I intend on taking back. I want to tell the story of… what happened, and I want to do all of this on my terms.

I’m continuing to get better, but I’m plagued by the occasional intense tiredness (which results in me dragging during mornings, although I tend to do better during afternoons and evenings, though that varies wildly). Sometimes I’m also plagued by the inability to sleep, or to get restful sleep. It actually seems like restful sleep is harder to come by these days. I do want to begin streaming during the days in addition to during my usual evening and night hours once summer “officially” starts here, which should be next week when secondary schoolers don’t have to report to school. I’m close to figuring out when some of the best hours for me to do that might be, although I’m mindful of my own health as well and definitely don’t want to push things as I heal from sepsis. I’m told that healing can last anywhere from six to eighteen months, although sometimes it can last longer. It depends on how the dice is rolled, I guess. I’m hoping for good odds.

I also measured some of my son’s father (and late husband’s) cremation ashes to send overseas to have a cremation ring made in his honor. It was one of the hardest things that I’ve had to do, even though I’ll get “him” back in the strictest sense of the word. It’s just that these ashes are all I have of the man who gave me my oldest son. He should still be here. He shouldn’t have had to die at the age of thirty-seven. He shouldn’t have had to die on the side of the road because someone who was high and intoxicated insisted on driving that evening. When I found out about his death, I had initially thought that my oldest son and I were finally free of the potential for more abuse to be inflicted on us… and then I became filled with sorrow at the idea that I would potentially live thirty-seven more years without him drawing breath, being part of this world. There would be no chance for him to heal or get help. There would be no chance for him to repair his relationship with me or his son. But for the most part, I’m at peace with it. What else can you possibly do?