Has the TSA Worn Out Its Welcome?

I've been seeing more and more news reports of "hot" people getting a more intense pat-down than others...of women in tears after a pat-down...of small children patted down in a way that undermines a parents instructions to not let a stranger touch them in certain areas...of the elderly being humiliated in many ways in regards to their medical/personal needs...the list goes on and on.

What I'd like to see are some actual statistics...how many of these searches have yielded results?  How many weapons have been confiscated?  How many terror attacks prevented?

For a country that has a liberal majority that espouses personal freedoms and choices, we sure don't mind getting up in someone's personal space and "touching their junk," to quote the famous dude a few years back.

I've always loved flying.  My first flight was in college, when I flew on an Army helicopter back in my ROTC days.  When I went to basic training, I flew commercially for the first time, although by then I'd logged a few hours in a private plane.  When I traveled, flying was my personal choice if I had the money for it...and with my health the way it is now, flying would be less taxing on me than 8+ hours in a car.

There's one major problem.  I've never been an exhibitionist.  I've never enjoyed getting undressed in front of people (showers during basic training were excruciatingly embarrassing for me), much less being touched by a stranger.  I was frisked by a Petal cop when I was 16 because I pulled out of my parking space with my headlights off (it was dark, but a very well-lit parking lot.  How many of us have done this before?), and it was a traumatic experience.  I was frisked because I was a Seaton, driving the family car, and lets just say that my brother had made a memorable impression on the cops when he started driving 5 years earlier.  Years later, when I learned to frisk a suspect as part of my Military Police training in the NY Army National Guard, I realized that what the cop had done to me wasn't procedure, it was molestation.  I was frisked properly during training, so was able to compare the two events.

All that being said, I'm shy.  Having gained weight over the past few years as a result of my health battles, I'm embarrassed about my appearance.  I have scars all over my torso from surgeries, and they've caused a lot of scar tissue to form, as well as flab that I can't just exercise away because of the way I was cut.  I don't like being touched by anyone, and indeed some touches on my abdomen, for instance, cause pain...intense pain in some cases.

I won't fly now unless I verify its in and out of an airport that doesn't do the pat-downs.  This seriously limits my choices in destinations.

We shouldn't be subjected to this.  Seriously.  A pat-down probably wouldn't have prevented the 9-11 attacks (they used box-cutters to take over the planes, if I recall)...half the time the pat-downs are just a quick shuffle, and many times people are singled out for a more intense pat-down based on...appearance...body language...etc.  I'd probably get a more thorough assault pat-down because I'd be visibly uncomfortable, anxious, and distressed while waiting my turn.

Our individual liberties are being eroded.  They already tell us we can't wish someone Merry Christmas because its offensive.  We can't mention God in schools or the work-place because someone might be offended.  But its ok to touch me in places I'd really rather they didn't, or touch my child in places I've told her/him that its NOT OK to be touched by a stranger, all in the name of "national security."

Why can't we learn from countries that deal with attacks on a regular basis?  Flying in and out of Israel or Ireland isn't this demeaning, it shouldn't be in the "Land of the Free" either.

*stepping off my soapbox now*

p.s.  I really want to fly somewhere on vacation, but I'm terrified of the humiliation, thus inspiring this rant

The Best Laid Intentions...

...can go oh so wrong.

I did not have a happy high school experience.  Many of my fellow students back then would be shocked now to hear me say that.  My children confirmed today that I talk of my Army years a lot, but rarely talk about my school years, unless I'm recounting a fond memory from band...and even those memories are colored with a lot of bullying I was on the receiving end of.  This is because my Army days were the first time since early childhood that I'd been happy...truly happy.

Much of the turmoil came from within my home.  Things were rough back then...financially, emotionally, mentally.  I was developing the traits of bipolar, but didn't understand what was happening to me, and I tried to deal with that as well as with a dysfunctional family.  I got pretty good at "putting my best face forward," and hiding the reality, as well as hiding FROM the reality.

Because of that, I determined when I held Jared the first time, that he would NOT go without if I could help it...that I would do whatever was necessary to make him and any later children happy...to be able to look back on their childhood fondly.  I got derailed along the way...I bungled my first marriage and quit when the going got tough instead of sticking it out and trying to make it work.  I was unmedicated for most of that time, and prone to sudden outbursts of crying or temper tantrums.  Once I married Justin, things stabilized.  He didn't understand the bipolar disorder, but he tried to.  He encouraged me to seek treatment, to stay on my meds.  He's helped me.

I said I wouldn't make the same mistakes my parents made.  I would make my kids be happy if it killed me.  Things went pretty well at first, then I somewhere along the way got derailed again.  Things got bad after the liver cancer...I was a productive, good worker one day...went in for surgery the next day and when I finally got out of the hospital months later, I was disabled.  I've remained disabled, albeit with "good days."  Even though six years have passed, I haven't gotten over it.  I haven't made the adjustment *I* need to make.  I've tried, but failed miserably.

Today I realized I've also failed my kids.  In trying not to repeat my parents' mistakes, I've made some pretty monstrous ones of my own.  Justin is a good disciplinarian...I'm not.  He's firm but kind with the kids...I want to give them the world.  I want to be the "cool mom" and the fun person to hang out with.  I discipline when I have to, but I rarely have to anymore.  This, however, has made me appear weak to my kids.  I rarely get true respect from them.  I'm talked to in a manner that Justin would NEVER be talked to.  There's absolutely no respect there...and its my fault.  It really is...there's no one else to blame.  I created this atmosphere, this permissive behavior.

And now I'm reaping what I've sown.

My biggest fear is my children being grown, and looking back on their memories of me with disgust and frustration, and in trying to prevent that, I've encouraged it.  Its time to get harsh and do what I didn't want to do but should have done 18 years ago.  Maybe the youngest will still benefit from it. 

Just a Quick Vent About Homosexuality

My mother and I had a long conversation about homosexuality today, that ended with me getting so frustrated I cut it off.  I mentioned that if Katie (who was sitting here listening) were to come home one day and say "Mom, I like girls," I would love her and support her.  Mom went off and said "I'd beat her butt!"  Katie looked upset too.  I tried to explain my position, she didn't want to hear it, and kept yelling "I raised you better than this!"  Most of ya'll know how I was raised...strict Pentecostal.  I believe my Bible, I believe many things, but I also have a brain and can think for myself, and I have compassion.  Mom yelled that she supposed I'd be happy if one of my kids were gay.  Why would I be happy about that?  Why would I want my child to have to live a life in shadows, unhappy and possibly alone, open to criticism, intolerance, and outright bigotry, just to be who they felt they were meant to be?  I don't have the "right" answers about homosexuality.  All I can do is heed Christ's teachings to "Judge not, lest ye be judged," and to love my neighbor.  I've done so many things wrong in my life, and am still being judged for them.  I know how it feels.  My children suffer because I'm being judged.  That pisses me right off, I can tell you.  I NEVER want them to be judged.  So of course I wouldn't be thrilled if one came to me and "confessed" their orientation wasn't the "norm" but ya know what? I'd love them anyway, and that's all I can do.  I'm so sick of all the hate and bigotry.  I've been guilty of thoughtless comments...still am.  We all say things we don't mean sometimes or don't intend them to sound the way they sound, but I go back to "love one another."  That's all I can do.  Probably gonna lose some more friends, but that's ok too.  Its kinda funny, cause after this heated discussion, I saw here on facebook a response to a popular blog called "I'm Christian...Unless You're Gay"  Love that blog post.  He says it so much better than I ever could...which is probably why I'm not a big deal on the blog circuit ;)

So that's it.  Just seriously felt the need to vent...and unfortunately around here, I'm not allowed to about certain topics.

Difficult Day at the VA

Yesterday was the in-person board appeal I requested through the VA because many of my claims have been denied.  When I got there, they realized I didn't have an advocate, and asked if I wanted one.  I was thrilled, because I've been attempting to get an advocate for a couple years now.  I was randomly assigned to one, and found out later he's probably the most respected of the advocates there (according to my judge).  He's former Army, former special forces, and a really Godly man with a solid knowledge of scripture.

During our initial interview, he educated me a lot on what I needed to say, how to say it, etc.  He'd read through my records (which might explain our two-hour wait) and had found the same concerns I found while reading my own VA records yesterday.  Many of the doctors who'd seen me contradicted themselves throughout their reports.  They recorded my statements and some facts incorrectly.  Half the time they either misspelled my name or referred to me as a male.  Most disturbing of all was discovering that my shrink thinks I've been lying.  During one visit where I'd had an extremely emotional and physically draining day, he asked about the nightmares I've been having.  I explained one that recurs often, and then stopped talking when I observed his reaction.  He got hung up on the fact that I'd claimed to be attached to Delta Force for a few weeks in January/early February 1991.  I let it pass because I was crying and really didn't feel like getting into it in depth.  Instead, I told him to check my service records.

I never claimed to be a member of Delta Force.  I never claimed to be trained in special forces.  I explained a recurring nightmare I had, seeing faces of people who'd been killed, various scenes of trauma, etc.  When I was a teenager and young adult, and even to some extent today, I had a very morbid curiosity.  "Faces of Death" was one of my favorite documentary series back in the 80s.  I've always been curious about and enjoyed seeing crime-scene photos.  Or used to.  Back in the Gulf, I saw rather too many up close and personal scenes.  I looked at too many polaroids.  After I got back, I started having nightmares, about things I'd personally witnessed, as well as things my active imagination ran away with after seeing photos.  My shrink asked me about my nightmares.  I obliged.  He somehow took it to mean I was making statements of fact about something I personally did over there.  Somehow, I became a special forces badass in his opinion, and was lying.

Then he shared that information with the doctor I see for general medical stuff.  He shared details of my session as well as his suspicions of lying.  Together they decided to try to confirm my past medical history through "outside sources" since I was "refusing" to provide outside medical records.  For three years, I signed medical release after medical release.  I didn't go up there every month, so until someone mentioned they still didn't have my records, I didn't know.  Finally, out of frustration, I paid Ochsner over $120 to obtain a physical copy of my medical records since 2006, and hand-delivered it along with a digital copy on CD to the VA, back in October of 2011.  Only then did that information make its way into my records.  Did my shrink or GP check their system the next time they saw me, to see if I was still "lying" about my history?  Nope.  Did my quality of care suffer because of this?  I believe it did.  I got the feeling of the cold shoulder from both of them the last several appointments.

As I read all of this during the five hours I waited to see a judge yesterday, it pretty much destroyed me.  I fought allegations of lying during my pregnancy with Ruby.  I posted pictures of her ultrasounds and later pictures of her after delivery just to prove I wasn't lying, and then later regretted giving in to the naysayers and compromising the experience of carrying and delivering her just to prove what I knew was true.  That time was really hard on me...I was dealing with carrying a child that was going to die after birth, ongoing medical issues, and a lot of emotional and mental anguish.  I still deal with difficult emotions in regards to her.  So you could say that I'm a bit raw when it comes to that type of thing.  Seeing doctors who had medical evidence before them still disbelieve me hurt.

Its not like I don't expect it...any time I have to go to an ER or see a new doctor, I dread it if I don't have a copy of my records with me.  I end up just telling them to write "train wreck" on the intake, as it will save time and pretty much cover everything, and I make jokes about it, but inside I'm wondering if they're going to accuse me of malingering again, or worse.  For years, I didn't go to doctors.  Then I almost died in 2006, and got pretty paranoid about the least little ache and pain.  I've seen doctors regularly since then.  A lot of things were diagnosed at once.  So when I recount my history, it seems like at best I'm a hypochondriac, and at worst I'm making stuff up.

Carrying my records around everywhere with me isn't always an option.  For one thing, there's the sheer size.  It would be a couple boxes' worth if I got every record from every doctor and clinic I've seen the past six years.  For a while I carried a CD, but I gave my last one to the VA and Justin hasn't had time to make another for me (with my computer issues, he's kept the backups for me).  The main issue though, I suppose, is that I'm tired of it all.  I'm tired of proving that yes, indeed, this many bad things can happen to one person.  I'm tired of hearing "But you can't be the patient, you're too young," or "You look too healthy to have all the issues you've reported."  I almost never get to see a doctor on a "bad day."  Once they've reviewed my records from other professionals, they either no longer doubt me and proceed as normal, or they apologize before going about their work.  After it happens so many times, it just seems hollow words.  It makes me want to just give up.

During the hearing yesterday, I kept quiet about most of my medical problems.  I was very conscious of the two doctors in my VA records accusing me of lying.  I was in real danger of jeopardizing my hearing because I just wasn't talking.  My answers were all "yes sir," or "no sir," with no real explanations or opinions from me, even when asked my opinion.  Thank God for my advocate.  He made me clarify to the judge a few things.  The judge began to ask me very direct and pointed questions, which I answered honestly, shocking him at times because he wasn't expecting the answer.  For instance, I was diagnosed "manic depressive" back in 1990 at Ft. Bragg, NC.  He asked many questions about my treatment, finally asking why I sought treatment to begin with.  I replied I didn't have much choice.  He asked why, and when I told him I was sent to the TMHC (Troop Mental Health Clinic) it was after hospitalization for a suicide attempt.  He literally did a double-take, and almost yelled at me, asking why I hadn't mentioned that to begin with.  I could only shrug my shoulders.

Finally, at the end of the hearing, he asked if there was anything else I wanted to say, or clarify, or ask about.  I tried to express my frustration at the process, and ended up bursting into tears.  Humiliating.  My advocate again stepped in and explained that because of the way I've been treated by the regional office, I was leery of the procedures and process now.  Both he and the judge seemed frustrated at the way I was treated, the inconsistencies in the records, etc.  The judge told me he was a good judge of character, from doing this for a while, and he believed me.  That's really when I started crying.  The validation didn't feel good, it HURT.  It hurt because I finally had someone who knew the system, reviewed the evidence, believed me after initially being skeptical, and yet I couldn't enjoy it.  All I could think about was my shrink, whom I'd trusted, basically "playing" me and making me feel like a fool for trusting him.  I'm still not sure about the ethics of him sharing details of one of my sessions with the other doctor...to my knowledge I never gave permission for such to occur, but its the government.  As my advocate explained, the minute I filed a claim with the VA, my Army medical records no longer belonged to me, they belonged to the VA and I had no real right to them without going through a process.

And for the record, I was never part of Delta Force.  I was a crewchief on a medevac Blackhawk helicopter.  My bird and crew, as well as one other bird and crew, were attached to give medevac support to another company for a few weeks.  It happened to be a part of Delta Force.  It amused the guys to let a woman shoot with them.  It amused them to share their stories and photos.  I was the only female on my crew, but the other crew consisted of three females and one male.  The other gals and I made something of a stir when we arrived to an all-male compound.  Of course there were guys talking to us.  Duh.  My shrink never let me get that far in my explanation.

Now, I don't know what to do.  I'd considered changing my care from Jackson (2.5 hours away) to the coast (less than an hour away) due to travel distance, among other things.  The coast VA is building a brand new facility and has the best Women's Center the VA can speak of...a brand new Women's Center.  It just makes sense to transfer.  The one thing that kept me in Jackson was my shrink and my GP.  I loved them both, felt they really cared.  Then the past year I noticed the sudden change in their treatment of me...and started taking steps to transfer care.  Now, I'm not sure how to proceed.  I'm still going to transfer, especially now, but I'm not sure whether to "clear the record" with them first (I have future appointments with both) or just let it ride and clear the record with the new doctors when I transfer.  Clearing the record would probably do nothing for me except possibly make me feel better, but given the evidence before them, and them still doubting me because of that one misunderstanding, would it really solve anything?  Its taken three years with my shrink for me to open up enough to trust him with one of my worst nightmares, and it was taken out of context, misunderstood completely, and then used to ridicule me.  I didn't sleep last night because of this.  I woke up in a foul mood today because of it.

Sometimes, what they say is true, its best not to find out what people are saying about you.

EASY Pizza Casserole

Someone mentioned this on facebook Tuesday, and I didn't feel like cooking something complicated yesterday evening, so I decided this might be easy to do.  I couldn't find any recipes I liked (we have allergies and picky eaters lol) so I just threw some stuff together, and it came out surprisingly well!

I used:

one can Pillsbury Pizza Dough
2 1/2 cups spiral noodles
1 pound ground beef
dried, minced onion, Lowry's seasoning, Butter Buds, and Worcestershire Sauce
1 jar Ragu spaghetti sauce (I'm allergic to most tomato products, so had to use what I knew would be ok)
pizza cheese (this was a bag I got from the grocery that had grated mozzarella, cheddar, etc in it)

I sprayed the casserole dish with non-stick spray, then lined it with the pizza dough.  I popped it into a 350 degree oven for about ten minutes to prepare it.  I let it get slightly crusty, but not brown at all.

While the noodles were boiling, I browned and seasoned the ground meat, using the items listed above.  After draining the meat, I added the Ragu and let it cook while the noodles were finishing up.  After I drained the noodles, I poured the meat and sauce into the noodles and mixed it really well, then poured that mixture into the casserole, on top of the pizza crust.  I sprinkled some cheese, then added a layer of pepperoni, then a lot more cheese.  I put it in the oven to bake at 350 degrees for thirty minutes, and it was perfect.

It was a huge hit with my clan, and has been requested again, albeit with more pepperoni and cheese next time LOL.  Hope it works for you too :)

 

BEFORE

 AFTER

So I've Been Sick...

Surprise surprise.  Seriously though, I've been "gone" for two weeks from here because I came down with a nasty bout of the flu.  Considering I had the flu shot in the fall, I was a little surprised, but knew it wouldn't be as bad a bout since I'd had the shot.  Wrong.  I was sick pretty bad for a solid eight days.  I won't go into it, we've all had the flu and know how much it sucks.

Regardless, I'm just now getting back on my feet a little, and can look at the laptop without getting a huge headache (as I type this, my head starts aching a little.  Hehehe).

Nothing much has happened during the past two weeks...other than me being sick.

Oh wait, I did get a letter from Social Security yesterday.  By the time Justin got his part done and mailed it all off, over a week had passed from the time I talked to the lady on the phone, BUT they got our paperwork right after they got my medical records.  They stated in the letter that they spoke to a couple of my doctors, and determined I was still disabled, although my doctors expect me to improve at some point, so they approved my disability again for another couple years.  That's one burden lifted.  They also included instructions on how to report when/if I'm able to try to go back to work.  I can try to work and it won't affect my disability for up to nine months, so that's a relief too.  I DO want to go back to work, but have been hesitant to try because I worried that if I got a job, then couldn't keep it after a couple months due to health issues, I'd be without a job and without my disability.  This, to me, is a good plan...if I can work for nine months, I'll most likely be able to continue working, and the burden of worrying about paying my bills will be lifted.

So now, of course, I can't wait to get better so I can go back to work.  I don't care if I flip burgers at McDonald's, but I need to get out of this house.  Of course, that's a little unrealistic...but seriously, I would do any job I could at this point...just to feel useful again.

I got on the elliptical last night for the first time since I came down with the flu.  It kicked my butt.  Hehe.  Its sitting there taunting me now, so I think I'm going to have to go show it who's boss...for a couple minutes anyway ;)

When You Lay It All Out Like That...

...boy is it a real slap in the face.

I got four packets in the mail from the people in Jackson who review cases for Social Security.  Back in 2008, they took one look at my medical records, and approved me.  The entire process took approximately three weeks.

Last summer, I got a packet in the mail while I was in the hospital that said my case was up for review.  After all, I was approved because the cancer I had was supposed to kill me, and well, I'm still alive.  So I sent in the required documentation and releases and statements and such.  Never heard from them again, so I assumed all was well.  You know what they say about assuming...

So the packets were already past due when I got them (due to us being out of town and then kinda forgetting to check our mail for...a week...so I called the lady referenced in them and explained that I was just getting to it.  She was perfectly fine with it and documented that I had called.  That was Monday.  All day yesterday I was gone to Jackson with my teens' high school band for a band concert festival.  I had to go so I could bring my son, his girlfriend, and a fellow soccer player who is also a band member back with me so we could all go to my son's soccer awards banquet last night.  I was unable to drive because I was so sick, so the band director very graciously allowed Jared to drive me, behind the bus and equipment truck, up instead of him riding the bus.  I had a seizure on the way, pretty sure, because of the way I acted afterwards...slurred speech, memory lapse, sore muscles, etc.  Then we rush home (almost three hour drive), get ready for the banquet in 15 minutes, and go to that.  By the time I got home, I was crushed from exhaustion.  I spent all day recuperating and put off making the soup I'd promised the family because I was just too sore and too sick to even get out of bed until this afternoon.  Typing this is physically draining...but I have a goal and I must at least try.

I sit down this afternoon and drag all four packets out to look at.  Thankfully, one is for Justin and I don't have to worry about it (he has to state his observations, how HIS life has changed due to my illnesses, etc).  The other three were very extensive.  Sometimes I had to repeat things.  One was simply a questionaire of my last ten jobs, what the duties entailed, salary, hours worked, etc.  Boy, that was fun for a fibro patient to handle.  One thing we deal with is fuzzy memory.  I wrote "I don't remember" on several of them.  The other two were much more in-depth.  I had to list what a typical day's activities were for instance...had to answer personal care questions...sleep quality questions...list symptoms and ailments...state how my life has been changed, etc.

I decided to do it pretty much the way I see things since the second bout of cancer...I define life as "pre-2006" and "post-2006."  2006 was the year my world literally fell apart...and because it was literally overnight, I still haven't adjusted well.  I listed things I could no longer do...and the more I wrote, the longer and more pathetic the list became.  I listed the adjustments I've made to try to maintain a semblance of normality in my life in the past six years.  Again, the more I wrote, the more pathetic it seemed.  Finally I got tired of writing, and my hand was a solid knot, so I just summed it up the best I could, as honestly as I could.

The result was really startling when I read over it later.  When its all laid out in nice, orderly detail on sheets of paper, it really is like a slap in the face.  I haven't realized just how bad things have become.  I can still get out of bed most days.  I can still cook a few times a week.  I can still dress myself (except for lace-up shoes...I have to have assistance there).  I can still brush my hair and my teeth.  I can still care for my cats, especially now that I have a Cat Genie and no longer have to force the kids to do the litter box.  I can still attend some of my children's functions and spend time with them.  I have a lot to live for.

Then I look at the things I can NOT do anymore...and I cry.  Often.  I drive very little now because I never know when I'm going to get sick or have a seizure.  I stay cooped up inside the house most of the time.  I haven't attended church in well over a year because sitting in the Sunday School chairs and in the Sanctuary pews cause so much pain for me that I literally can not sit still to finish the service, then I suffer for a couple days afterwards with muscle pain and cramps.  Its an excuse, and I realize this, but its also my reality.  I've let it interfere with my church attendance.  I can't shop unless I get a scooter or force a family-member to push me in a wheelchair.  If I do try to walk around a store, such as Wal-Mart, I have to stop frequently to rest, and thank the store management for providing benches throughout the store.  When I travel in a car for a couple hours, my feet and legs swell so much its painful.  I don't sleep much at all because of various nightmares, fears, bouts of nausea and vomiting, regular migraines, and general aches and pains from the nerve damage and from the Fibromyalgia.

I could go on.  I could keep listing things I can't do anymore, things that affect me negatively now, and you'll be left thinking I'm a superior hypochondriac.  Trust me, I don't complain about *everything* that bothers me.  I gave up even trying years ago because I couldn't stand whining and moaning every time I opened my mouth.  I still do it...but I could do it even more, and that bothers me.  It comes to a point that I throw my hands in the air and just shut up, go find a nice dark corner somewhere, and cry for a while.

I want to go back to work.  I thrived when I worked.  I loved being out of the house, meeting people, socializing.  Now I cringe when I think about going even to a family dinner, because the thought of socializing scares the crap out of me.  Crowds make me have trouble breathing, even small family crowds.  I feel helpless, unable to lift anything, no one wanting to let me help with anything because I look so frail and sick, or they've been told by my immediate family members about things that have happened to me during the week.  So I stay home on holidays and avoid gatherings altogether.  As far as getting out of the house to work, no employer in their right mind would hire a person who can't stand more than a few minutes at a time, who can't SIT more than a few minutes at a time in a regular seat, who could collapse unconscious with no warning at all.  There's also the problem of transportation to and from work...there is no public transit system out here...its the country.  I can't expect people to take time out of their day to drive me a half hour or more one way to drop me off, then come back several hours later to pick me back up.

I don't like this "me."  I want to be better.  I want to run again.  I want to walk again without pain.  I want to play with my daughter and enjoy my teenagers.  I want to go back to work.  I want so many things.  People constantly tell me "It could be worse, you could be dead."  I want to slap them when they say that.  I look at people who have it so much worse than I do, yet have a better outlook on life, and I'm envious.  Why can't I be that positive?  Why can't I look forward to the future the way they do?

Once, I was a strong, confident, self-assured young woman who let nothing stop me from doing what I wanted to do.  People said I couldn't be a helicopter mechanic because I didn't even weigh 100 pounds.  I did it anyway.  People said I couldn't shoot well because I was a girl.  I did it anyway.  People said I couldn't do so many things, and it just fueled my ambition to do it anyway.  Now, people tell me I can still do anything I want because I'm *alive*...and I want to cry and shake my head in frustration because no matter how hard I try to do something, I end up paying for it for days afterward.  I know there's a reason I'm still here.  I know there's still life worth living and memories worth making.  I know all these things in my head, but they don't comfort me much in the dead of the night when I'm struggling to get some rest.

So, we'll see how this turns out.  Hopefully they won't cancel my social security.  That would seriously throw my family into financial turmoil.  The trip to Disney was an extravagance we haven't had in seven years, and as much as I enjoyed my children on that trip, I keep thinking now it was a mistake and maybe I should have went ahead and used the money to pay off a bill or two.  The reality is, my children will be gone and out of the house in a couple years...and I'll still have bills anyway...so I chose to make some memories with my family while we had the opportunity to do so. 

This is going nowhere.  This whole post sounds like a poor, pitiful me type post.  I suppose I'm in a funk because I had to sit and write everything out for the Social Security review today, and anytime I try to list all the various things that are wrong with me, and the way my life has been impacted, I get depressed and feel like a whiny cry-baby.  So.  I suppose I should try to go get on the elliptical and see if I can make it a full two minutes this time...baby steps, right?