Blessed?

Anyone who has read my writings, know I'm open about my personal struggles with depression and anxiety. I'm open, because I want others who may be struggling from time to time, with similar feelings, to know their really not alone with this. I talk about my decision to stop drinking alcohol, because again, I know there are people who can relate to the struggles associated with drinking #drinkingproblems# (I just felt like trying hash tags--it was a sudden--overwhelming compulsion). I appreciate any feedback my entries get, unless the feedback is mean or stupid, then I banish them from my life #justkidding# (whoops hash tags, sorry---I don't twitter). Awhile ago after I'd posted an entry, touching on these very topics, I saw a Facebook post in my new's feed, which said something like this, "A friend of mine has to use so many tools just to be happy, she truly does have a chemical imbalance--Feeling blessed, because I can get out of bed everyday feeling happy." I read it, and I was like, is this person talking about me? I mean, how do you know? People are vague with such posts, and you don't know their intentions--you don't hear their tone. It's impossible to distinguish human tone through verbal messages exchanged through forms such as emails, texts, and social media. The person who posted this, left the post up long enough, so that some saw what she wrote and she later deleted the post. I do think she was feeling a moment of gratitude and her intention was not meant to be cruel. But--this is what I want to know, why use the word blessed? Was I cursed? Was I cursed with depression--do people think those who struggle are being punished for something? I know, for the most part, the answer is no, people use the word blessed because, it's a way of showing appreciation. And, I am in no means the word police--I mean--ask my husband, he tells me EVERY DAY OF MY LIFE, "Stop--saying those words, you sound like a trucker... for the love of God-- why does my wife talk like a drunken sailor?!?!....shhhhhh, people might hear you Sarah!"

People who intentionally hurt others, (I'm talking emotionally) scare me (well, physically hurting others is really freaking scary too...I don't like violence). The fact that others do things and say things knowingly to hurt others, blows my mind. I'm not saying the Facebook post I mentioned above, was directly aimed at me, nor am I saying it was intended to hurt. I did think the timing of her post, was suspicious, and again, I believe this person was expressing an appreciation for her mental health. As we know, when using social media, we must take what others say with a grain of salt. And I'm putting myself out there to be ridiculed,  by writing about my life. I don't think God blesses people by giving them freedom from certain conditions/illnesses, while at the same time others are suffering from illnesses and sicknesses.

I have one child who takes three medications to survive, why was he not blessed with perfect health? Have I wondered this question thousands of times? Yes, of course. I remember sitting in the NICU after Keyton was born and pleading with God, to forgive me, for what ever I had done, to deserve the pain that my son and I were experiencing at the time. I was so young, I had such a heavy heart, I thought, I was being punished. I have to give my son an injection every day--every day he hurts, because the medication stings.When Keyton was two-weeks-old, my husband and I were taught how to give Keyton his injections. I was 21 and Jess was 24. We learned on an orange. The first injection I gave Keyton was the night before he was discharged from the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit. Imagine how it would feel to poke your sleeping newborn baby with a needle..it sucked. And it continues to suck, having to poke Keyton every day for the last 11 years-- it never gets any easier. He still needs a couple of minutes before we inject him, he has to do deep breathing, he picks the site, and as we hold the plunger of the medication down for the ten seconds it takes, to be sure all the medication has been administered, he still squeezes his eyes shut and says, "Owe, Owe, Owe.". There are people who have lost babies and children--and I could say that I'm blessed that my children are all here with me today, but to me that isn't fair--because what about those whose children are not? I don't feel like I was blessed and for some reason those who lost a child were not. I understand the significance of the word "blessed", and I'm not uber sensitive to it, but I do think when using the word, it would be nice, if people thought a second before using it--because it does make those--who weren't fortunate enough to have what others have--feel a bit of wonder--and even a sense of significant sadness.

Sitting Still

Tadasana- According to Wikipedia (my go to for definitions) is, "The basic standing asana in most forms of yoga with feet together and hands at the sides of the body." Asana-- ( thanks Wikipedia) "Is, a body position, typically associated with yoga originally identified as the mastery of sitting still." Anyways, the above terms are closely related to the only two poses I did a few nights ago at a yoga [type class]. Jess and I went out to eat, just the two of us--we finished minutes before the class started. After walking into the class and taking my place on the mat, I knew I made two critical mistakes-- one, eating a large meal before class, two picking a front row seat. As the music and instruction started, my tummy started to grumble. I didn't dare move. I thought if I did, something loud might happen (I knew it would happen), and the class was basically packed, the classroom is not big to begin with with. There is so much bending, so much squatting. I've done this class a dozen times before. Months ago, I watched this YouTube video, where this man pranks a yoga class with a farting device he placed under his mat. When he would step on and sit on it, the machine would make the noise and the people would look horrified, but his peers never said anything, they kept the class flowing, ignoring the sounds coming from the man. I wouldn't have been pulling a prank--and the video kept playing in my head. This is a first for me. Completely sitting/standing still. The instructor looked at me, and I just shook my head. You live and learn, people. Some things go without saying, but I'm a do it and learn by it kind of person. Lesson learned. 

Last night we celebrated Owen's fifth birthday. He was hamming it up for my sister-in-law's camera. We had an elegant evening at Pizza Hut.

I know I've written about Owen's coming into this world at 26 weeks, numerous times. But, when you've come so close to loosing a child, his very existence on this earth, is celebrated all the time. I pick him up daily and kiss him.

And it all started like this (pic below) I wasn't allowed to hold him for days following his birth, they want preemies to rest and not get agitated by too much stimulation---I mean he was supposed to be in the womb for another 14 weeks.