Tuesday, October 21, 2014

48 Years Is Long Enough

It's been decades since I've been this caught up on my Big Back Garden, as in never before.  Still so much to do, but whenever we get our last frost, I will already feel satisfied with my level of work.  Like I've stated, I've turned off distracting notifications on my phone in order to remain focused.

It wasn't until this morning that I saw I'd been tagged by two different people on two different important articles, and since this is (or was) an adoption blog, both articles deserve everyone's attention.

Yolie tagged me in this one, The Child I Didn't Adopt, an issue that haunts me to this day.  I live in a large house that will someday be empty, I feel guilty about that, but I also feel as if I have nothing left to give to anyone.  I'm gave out, emotionally exhausted, and do not feel that I have it within me to do what it would take to advocate positively for anymore children.  I'm out of gas.

But articles like this disturb me on every level.

I dig deep within me, to see if there's anyone home, but the answer remains the same.  Nope.  I also wanna be available for my grandchildren and not so tied down here at home, but my own conscience still nudges me every now and then.  I just don't have that burning fire within me anymore, not at all.  More importantly, I don't feel God nudging me to continue adopting.

I guess a Pittsburgh reporter can't properly pronounce 'Vidalia" and I cringed at the butchering of it, but the story itself made me smile.  Darin'd sent it from Ohio, about a detective who adopted two siblings, who, at first glance, appeared right issue free.

But I know better.

I know no one emerges unscathed, these boys will always grieve, on some level, the birth parents' departure from their lives.  They will act out in various manners, even if they don't do so in adolescence.  At some point, the emotional pain will be evident.

In order to heal, you gotta feel.   You can't go around the pain, avoidance doesn't work.  At some point you must face it, deal with it properly, release it if possible, and then move on.  Too many folks self-medicate, especially children like mine, or foster children who were never ever properly parented.

Drugs or alcohol temporarily eases the inner pain, but any educated person knows that's not the answer in the long run.

Many, many of my children have cried in my arms, smearing snot everywhere, deep wracking sobs that, as a mom, will nearly kill you.  You know you can't take away their pain, it hurts that you weren't there in their early childhood to protect them from everything they endured, you wanna make it all better for them, but it's just not that simple.

You will grieve with them, and for them.

I can't stress this enough - get therapy for them, thank you Medicaid, that pays for former foster children (usually) to receive all sorts of therapeutic services.  Some Moms tell me, "It's not helping," after months of intensive appointments, to which I respond,"You might not ever see improvement while they live with you, but you gotta know you're giving them tools with which to cope by getting them to therapy."

Therapy can't fix every issue, but therapy helps.  It'll help you most of all as a good therapist will explain so much to you regarding these outward destructive behaviors that basically have nothing to do with you anyway, even if you are the brunt of the rages.  Find a therapist experienced in trauma, attachment issues, FAE, FAS, or y'all's specific issues, and geared towards children and adolescents.

I flat out know I'm blessed to have Dr. Mandy and my longtime caseworker.  There's no way I could've done what I've done without them.  I'd be an idiot to think otherwise.

I've cried oceans of tears for my kids, and because of my kids.  I've been frightened out of my mind at times, deeply dismayed, and extraordinarily frustrated.  Imagine where I'd have been without therapeutic help?

But the trauma that I too have endured, both first hand, and secondarily, has scarred me massively, leaving me believing that I should only be the parent to my 39 kids, even though my heart breaks constantly for all the kids who won't ever find a family.

Maybe someday farther down the line I'll have recovered more, but I seriously doubt it, as I'm getting older by the minute.

In 6 1/2 years my brother Jim retires and my youngest child, Tabby, will be graduating from high school, 48 years after I birthed my first kid.  48 years of children living at home.  No wonder I'll not feel a sad empty nest syndrome.  I will likely feel guilty for not parenting more children.  I'm just built that way.

I'll go get therapy for that ridiculous level of inner guilt.

Monday, October 20, 2014

The Story of Team Hoyt @ ESPY's 2013 - Jimmy V Perseverance Award (in 10...


What's wrong with this picture?  It presupposes I ever even get any social invitations.

As I waited on Jim and Grandma to return from their 920 mile round trip, I worked out back, maybe getting it mowed for the last time this season, stepping back to admire it all.  Nearly 22 years here and finally it's shaping up, but gimme a break, I've been rather busy every single minute of the last 22 years.

But as my eyes sweep over the panoramic aspect of it, it's a large area we'd fenced in many years ago, I feel a great sense of both peace and accomplishment, then I beat myself up because the front areas look awful.

Gina, Sarah and the kids joined us last night for supper, we sat yapping at the table, and I'm thinking, this is a perfect social life for me.

Today was stretching empty of obligations for me, until Allen reminded me he needed me to take him to a grocery store that was taking applications.  He's too broke to fix his Jeep tire, which suits me, lesson learned, I told you boys you needed to be stashing away money for just such events.  Cars break down y'all.  Especially the clunkers we drive.

Gotta go get Nando a Sports Physical as he's wanting to try out for the school's teams, and we need flu shots.

Someone had recently asked me a fairly simple adoption question, something I might once thought I'd known, but the truth is, everything has changed so much, policies and procedures, I've been out of the loop for 10 years, not updated a home study in nearly a dozen years.  I only know now about the issues within adoption via my children and what they've endured.

I used to read every word I could find about the adoption procedures, now I'm completely ignorant regarding first steps.  "Call this agency," is my only response, thinking I best suppress everything else I know about after the adoption proceedings, after the honeymoon phase.

As Sarah and Jim discussed several issues in which my knowledge was zero, I realized within me, that I had a lot of catching up to do in order to have a clue.

In many ways, I kinda feel like I'm emerging from a cave dweller existence, blinking in the sunlight, the world has greatly changed while I was so bogged down cooking, doing laundry, going to soccer games, therapy and tracking down more necessary resources.

I bought this house in 1993, at almost 39 years old, the time has flown by, now there's a old lady in my mirror who feels strong and healthy, emotionally whacked out maybe, but still raring to go.  I'm either still wearing that same outfit, or else the fact is all of my subsequent outfits were also black stretchy pants and T-shirts.

I know that I have seriously busted my butt for 24-7 around here, I do know that, yet this video of a father, with a son hugely afflicted with CP, made me feel like a complete slacker.  Pastor Tony showed this video at church and I could hear grown men sniffling, it's a motivational tear jerker.

Sunday, October 19, 2014

Being Alone Splendidly


I'd put this photo up on Facebook yesterday of my elusive, reclusive brother, Jim, who is not on Facebook, nor any other social media.  A mailman who does his job and retreats to his sanctuary, a lovely home that butts up against acreage and a very large pond.  Like me, Jim's a reader and doesn't need others to entertain him.

Then I thought of my other brother Gary.  Same thing.  His home sits on a river, my land has several creeks. Water just might be our thing.

Yet when we ever do go out in public, we are all capable of having a splendid time, we just don't crave it at all.

So what, Cindy?

Well, here now at age 60, I feel kind of validated by it.  I felt self-conscious about it when I was younger, making excuses when I didn't wanna have to go somewhere, preferring to just be alone.

The old, "I gotta wash my hair tonight,' routine, but instead I hadda go weed some garden beds, alone with my thoughts; content and happy.

I find The Real World rather astonishing.  Kind of brutal and a dog eat dog mentality seemingly pervasive.  I don't like that, I'd rather read a farming book and mind my own business.  I like listening to silence or watching my garden grow.  Fun is not my middle name.

So sometime I also stay off of Facebook for a spell, and realign myself with my own thoughts and feelings.

If you don't share that same thought process, or social awkwardness, if you are gregarious, then that's fine too.  We should all be allowed to pursue who we are and what we do, freely and without criticism from others.

I don't think anyone ever really feels as if they fit in, or maybe even if they're good enough.  Good enough for what?  I don't know, but it seems to be an undercurrent I've been reading lately.  Can't we just be good enough for our own selves without having to strive and measure up to some unattainable standard that no one really cares about anyway?

Me farting around out here, piddling in the gardens, and getting chores done is good enough for me and my standards.

Much as we need the money, I'm super glad I never caved in and responded to any reality show inquiries about large families, producers who'd email me after scouring the internet, not knowing I'm flat out boring. Hey, y'all, wanna watch me sweep the hall, read a book, or haul wood chips?  I'm a blast, right?

I have some grown kids with problems I can't fix for them, not because they're not listening, but more so because they don't necessarily have the logical means of comprehension and following through on things.  What to do?  I dunno.

I have two sons here who are unemployed and I'm dogging them daily about it, so one of them went to Fabian's apartment so as not to have to listen to me, but he had to get a ride since he can't afford gas for his car.  Dude, if you'd get a job, you could afford to buy gas.

Several of my older kids, now paying their own bills, have recently stated, "Mom was right.  We didn't know how good we had it just sitting around playing Nintendo while she paid all the bills."

Duh?

Chuck and Yolie had a bonfire/movie night up at their house last night, the only non family there was Chuy's girlfriend, and that's about as much socialization as I'm capable of, but I also made it properly and appropriately to church this morning, now cooking black bean chili for tonight when Grandma and Jim get back from West Virginia.

Saturday, October 18, 2014

The Sweetest Soccer Player


So now I'm getting weirded out as less and less of my kids need me.  No more nine p.m. runs to Sam's Club to pick up Tony as he bought a 1999 Honda Civic yesterday with his own money.  Born almost 19 years ago with so many diagnosed challenges including CP, this is an amazing amount of progress for him, and I'm bursting with pride.  He did this.  It's on him, it's all him, and he knows I'm super proud.

We left here at 8 this morning for a two hour trek way up to Dawsonville so Nando could play soccer which indeed his team did, winning 14-0.  At one point Nando collided with the goalie and the sickening loud crack as their two heads hit each other nearly made me lose my breakfast.  I jumped around on the sidelines trying not to holler and the ref used a penlight to check Nando's pupils after he got back up.

I was afraid he'd been knocked out cold, but he bounced up madder'n a wet hen and played hard.

My baby brother, Jim, and Mom are on that New River train all over West Virginia, in a glass domed car, enjoying the leaves that have turned, as they've not done so down here yet.

The other day Tabby needed $3 to go to her school's football game, Nando couldn't go due to soccer practice, and I dug through my pocketbook to come up with the money.  After the game she handed that same money back to me.

"Huh?" I asked her, bewildered.

"Nando gave me money," she told me.

I asked Nando later about it, knowing he doesn't have any money.

"Oh!" he squawked in his always happy tone of voice, "Michael gave me money on my birthday and I wanted to help you out."

Oh my goodness.  I appreciate his very sweet heart and helping nature, but the money stress is my job.  I refunded him the $3 that he argued about accepting from me.  "No Honey," I stressed, "You need soccer stuff, this should be spent on you, it's for you."  I'm gonna carry him over to Sports Academy and make him spend it on him, he loves that place.

He's simply the sweetest kid.


Friday, October 17, 2014

Enough, It's Stinking Enough

This is an adoption blog, but some issues skate across the board. I'm the mother of daughters and I'm buffaloed by today's female standards of beauty that no one feels as if they can achieve, beating themselves up about it.

This lovely famous singer's headlines drew my eye, supposedly her newly released album helped her with her self-esteem issues.  I clicked over to it, always wanting to figure people out.

She's freaking gorgeous in ways most of us will never know, yet self-esteem is her issue? What's up with this self-condemnation?

I know nothing of her background or what caused her eating disorder, I know very little about eating disorders, what I do know is that today's society, our ever present media has created astonishingly crazy standards of physical perfection that's completely out of reach of mortals.

Seriously y'all?  Can't we get real?  How do we fight this and help our daughters not get sucked in to this complete insanity of air brushed over compensation?

I just don't know.

My 18 daughters are completely gorgeous, every single one of them, and I can only pray that they never measure themselves against any unrealistic standard of beauty, or whatever inane trend is then circulating.

I've tried to counsel them all that brains are more important than beauty, that they should all try and achieve our own personal goals, get educated and employed, be independent, and to keep striving forward.  My emphasis is on the words, "I've tried."

My oldest daughters mostly have college degrees, one of my most emotionally disturbed daughters, who'd spent years in psychiatric hospital settings finished high school and even has some community college experiences, all of them are employed or are stay at home moms, indeed I'm right proud of my girls overall.

Yes, I'd like them to marry well, and by well I don't mean for money, but to marry men they love with similar values, offering stability and a solid foundation versus tumultuous relationships that are damaging.  I'd also like them all feel free to remain single or childless, if that's their desire.  It's their life after all.  I encourage what they wanna do, as long as it's positive of course.

I want them to be healthy and happy, and to pass on a strong value system to their own children.  Hopefully I modeled inner strength and hard work to them, intelligence over beauty, and encouragement to seek their own paths in life.

It just really bothers me to see smart or lovely women doubting themselves, struggling with insecurity or whatever.  I wish that all women could see their inner value to the world and not judge themselves so harshly.

Right now Vanessa, Sabrina and Mayra are all living together in a three bedroom apartment, sharing expenses and helping with babysitting Vanessa's children, and all three are employed.  Big Joe and Sergi also are both employed and sharing a two bedroom apartment.  In both cases this cuts across original sibling group lines, and reaches into the bigger picture of what our family has finally become after so many years of struggles, learning, therapy, and achieving stability.

My older girls all have families, indeed at the moment I'm happy and satisfied regarding most of the daily circumstances of my daughters,  Every now and then I do cringe at stuff - like older girls getting a tattoo, but that's my own old fogey value system barking, or rather my own personal preferences.  Tattoos being neither right nor wrong.

Preliminary reports indicate the body of that missing actress might have been found, the actress who'd struggled to fit in with Hollywood.  Apparently police had already been called to her apartment for four earlier attempts upon her own life due to depression, but I'm gonna take another leap of faith here, a big stretch - in that depression seems rampant nowadays, and not just in Hollywood

Was it just kept under wraps in earlier years?

Just as the findings I'd read recently regarding fresh air - the negative ions that boost our moods?  Think about it.  Folks step from their homes into their garages, getting into their climate controlled cars, parking as close as is possible to their work or destination which is always all climate controlled.  No fresh air ever, no gulps of those beneficial negative ions.  A connection to depression?

Maybe so.

But folks who exercise outdoors, walking, jogging, cycling, skateboarding or whatever, report feeling better, and, of course, the exercise itself is enough to produce the endorphins that are mood boosters.  But we've cut ourselves off from the outdoor world, more often than not choosing to exercise in climate controlled fitness centers, mall walking in AC, or within our homes on treadmills, etc.

It's not this simple, but it seems as if there's a cumulative effect overall, resulting in a stressed, depressed, over-anxious population that doesn't think they're good enough.  No one feels as if they fit in nor measure up.  We are the ones beating our own selves up trying to be a size zero.  Let's just try and be healthy, rendering size and weight unimportant.

We all need to rebel, to free ourselves from this bullcrap.  To know deep within ourselves that we are enough, we do measure up to our own expectations, we need to encourage other humans because males aren't immune to this either.  I'm just speaking from a female point of view, but a ballsy female at that.

I been accused of thinking all women are beautiful.  I do.  I think we all have beauty of some sort or another.  I think one's inner countenance shines through giving a great deal of loveliness.  I've seen extremely beautiful women act ugly (mainly on TV playing antagonistic characters) and they are not very pretty then.  I don't know any such women in real life.

Women's beauty comes from within, in all shapes, ages, race, and sizes.  All kinds of occupations and backgrounds, religions and opinions.  There is no one standard.  There should be no judgement on physicality, especially not from one's own self.

Thursday, October 16, 2014

The Books

I love reading biographies, I wanna know what makes people tick. What motivates or inspires them?  Maybe the most critical information overall would be in regards to exactly what books shaped them?

Readers are leaders.  Perusing news sources this morning, I came across book that shaped Steve Jobs and they were a little too zen for my own interests, except Diet for a Small Planet, that also hugely influenced me decades ago.

I clicked over to a banner that indicated the favorites of Bill Gates, which included a Warren Buffet one, and one that I'd never encountered that immediately intrigues me, The Man Who Fed The World.

Then over to 11 books by CEOs, in which I'd only read one of them.

This is why I bemoan that as much as I love fiction, there's just too many fascinating non-fiction books that can teach us all so much about getting through life.  So many books, so little time...

Bill Gates and Bill Clinton are both avid readers, a book a week at least, and I admire that aspect of them both.

Books have surely molded my own weirdo mindset. I'd wager mainly the financial ones, since personal finance is just not taught in high school or college, basically it's assumed you absorb the info by osmosis?  I dunno.  But I wish I'd have devoured Your Money Or Your Life, Thinks and Grow Rich (not about money, but about motivation), all of Dave Ramsey's tomes, all of Thomas J. Stanley's Millionaire Mind books, and A Very Small Farm many, many years ago.

An aside:  I was never interested in reading Dress for Success.  I'm a take me as I am kinda nutjob.

I'd had to finally replace our original lock on our front gate.  I'm guessing I paid out the money for that gate some 7 years ago, but let's say it was just five years ago.  I divided the original cost by the number of nights that we've had peace of mine knowing it was locked.  The operating cost is then 37 cents a night over five years.  Money well spent.

I took a new key over to Sarah, and we spent about an hour flapping our gums about money management.  Our brains chime with synchronicity, our opinions shaped by Grandma I'd wager.  Her shrewdness plus her formative years shaped by the Great Depression.  Hazel showing all the signs of growing up to be a fourth generation Bossy One.  I remember the previous two generations before Grandma, but I don't remember them as being as determined and as strong willed as my mom.  Her granny maybe, but her own mom?  Not so much.

Yolie'd taken Sarah's kids to church last night, Sarah's clients needing her to stay home and work.  I later brought Hazel and Ray home, but when we'd crossed the parking lot in the dark, Hazel had remembered her car seat was upstairs in Children's Church.

"I'll run back and get it," she told me, as if I'd allow a 7 year old to dart across the parking lot and way back upstairs all alone? Nor would her parents allow it, but they've encouraged her courage level certainly all these years.

"Are you kidding me?" I'd hooted at her, sending Scotty instead, but certainly admiring her independence and bravery.

Ray and CJ are in Royal Rangers, and looking in the door of their classroom with Yolie, I observed a great deal of fun going on.

A couple of my grown sons aren't listening to my advice nor my counsel, one of them got a hard knocks lesson about life, calling me about a flat tire, but doing very little to find a job, wrongly thinking a car doesn't gobble money.

I spent all afternoon recreating my budget spreadsheet, irked with myself for not backing up as any yo-yo should've known to do.  I added more line items, as I dig through the medical debt created over the last two years by one without Medicaid, but sadly possessing significant emotional poor health diagnoses.

It's been a struggle, yet I reframe it in my mind as a challenge to overcome.

A new toilet brush bought at Home Depot yesterday for $1.97 galled me.  That's kinda high isn't it?  They know we need it, they jacked up the price accordingly.  I had to buy a new broom too, we've worn the bristles out of the last one.

"Going somewhere?" JoJo would've said to me, seeing me carry around a broom, snickering at the thought of me riding it.  I miss his wit.  I miss the way he'd constantly crack me up.  I get to see him a week from this Saturday.

The latest Ebola patient flew to Ohio and had contact with three Kent State relatives.  My 1970s mind recalling the Kent State tragedy of that era.  Daniel texting me last night, watching a report about the 1989 San Francisco earthquake, asking me what I remembered about it.  His take away was marveling at how they functioned through the devastating event without cell phones.

But Daniel demonstrated another example of learning, choosing to watch a history show versus some mindless sitcom.  That's why he keeps advancing in his career, plus he makes himself indispensable.

I didn't have any time outside yesterday, I need some this morning to uncloud my brain, to use motion and action which always stimulates better thought anyway.

I'm going to be pondering the sugar in fruits.  This article on all sugar consumption got me to thinking a great deal.

The main problem with sugar, and processed fructose in particular, is the fact that your liver has a very limited capacity to metabolize it. According to Dr. Robert Lustig, you can safely use about six teaspoons of added sugar per day unless you are vigorously exercising. But the average American consumes 22 teaspoons of added sugar a day.

All that excess sugar is metabolized into body fat, and leads to all of the chronic metabolic diseases we struggle with, including cancer.

I read Dr. Mercola's blog each day, loving this one on regenerative agriculture.

So much to read, so much to learn, but I just love it.  Nerd to the core.  I've spent so many years without a spare second, reading when I could, nothing like I did in my pre-adoption years when it'd be nearly a book a day devoured by me, mainly fiction though, as back then I wrongly thought I had all the time in the world.






Wednesday, October 15, 2014

Morning Glories


On the bright side, even my weeds bloom prettily.  I've been yanking out these morning glory vines, they're invasive, yet they do make me smile.  Probably I could draw some analogy here, but I haven't had enough coffee yet to make a link.

A door knocking preacher had been invited into Fabian's apartment recently, telling him a few fire and brimstone things that didn't line up perfectly with the way he'd been raised in our church - even though he soundly rejected much of his learning with huge rebellion.  Fabian invited the man to come back next week, and then he also invited me to come over to argue with this man.

"He's wrong, Mom," Fabian had indignantly told me.

Nope.  I don't argue my faith, I live it.  If others disagree, then I believe it's their right to disagree.  I feel no need to either defend my position nor convince someone of it.  I'm not a debater, and it's feels too confrontational to me, I just don't have that kind of free time, nor would I wanna spend any free time like that.  My energy is needed elsewhere.

Everyone's entitled to believe what they wanna believe. Fabo's almost 23, he can handle himself without Mama interfering.

Several of my grown daughters were texting me last night about stuff going on, issues they might not've shared in their teen years with me when they were so hard-headed and confused about life.  The impersonal aspect of texting appeals to them very much.  I don't especially like it, but if they need that protective shell from which to reach out, I'm OK with it.  Vulnerability is/was never a strong suit around here.

Maybe I should've modeled vulnerability around here?  Even as I type those words, I'm cracking up.  Vulnerable my butt.  Ain't gonna happen here by me.

I'd taken my 33 year old son to the VA clinic yesterday morning, later I attended the funeral of a 95 year old, shocked that so few people were there.  Duh, her peers are all gone, but she was a popular and well known woman who had much younger friends and acquaintances.  Our weather was awful, tornado watch much of the day and record rainfall, maybe that contributed to the lack of attendees.

In the nearly ten years I've been blogging, yesterday's brain research on the atmospheric negative ions explained so much to me about me.  Dadgum, who knew?  Finally an explanation that makes sense to me.

A reader, Deanna, emailed me yesterday, telling me she'd read my entire blog during her lunch hour from beginning to end.  It took her a year of lunchtimes, and her takeaway?  That clearly it was God who's gotten me through it all.

Maybe I'm being selfish or wrong in not evangelizing, knowing the Great Commission.  Tell all the world about The Good News.  Maybe I'm just shy?  Maybe I'm looking for excuses?  I dunno, but again I feel as if my actions demonstrate it best.

The fact that I don't retaliate ought to say enough, right?  After the Hell I've endured, even during the hatefulness by outsiders who just don't understand, I still don't retaliate in any way (except in my mind).  Then I have to pray about my own self to get right again with God because my thoughts suck.  I've battled hatred and anger, frustration and grief, trying all the time to just keep my head above water.

The struggles have been immense - physically, emotionally and spiritually.  Today's understatement.

I put my game face on, walking into the funeral home, putting my phone on silence, praying I'd get no calls that demanded my immediate attention.  It wasn't a sad funeral, she'd lived a long and wonderful life, she was ready to go, excited about Heaven, now there's faith in action for you.  She'll be missed certainly, but her earthly body had given out.

I know all y'all don't necessarily share my faith, I wish you did certainly, but what you believe isn't any of my business.  I just selfishly wanna meet y'all and hang out in Heaven someday with you when these tough times are finished.

My kids are dogging me about Ebola, "What if it wipes everyone out?"

I think they ought to not watch that zombie show.

"If Ebola takes us all then I'll get to see my sister," I've brushed 'em off, not wanting to be a fear mongerer.  I would like to see Ellen, lemme tell ya, but I'd prefer that Ebola get contained and eradicated.

I do get to see my sweet baby brother, Jimbo, tomorrow night when he comes to get Grandma and take her on a trip.  I'm glad for that.  I'm not texting my other brother right now, nor his wife, two Orioles fans who are getting their butts kicked this week.  I'm not even much keeping up with the National League either.  I doubt I'll watch the World Series, I've moved on from baseball season, me being a poor loser since the Braves didn't make it.

I'm perplexed over some other issues, how to best help one with tough psych eval results, it's foreboding for sure.  Some heavy duty diagnoses with little hope for treatment.  It's just the way it is and I'm having a tough time coming to terms with it.  Medication can, and does, help several of the presenting symptoms, but there's some deep-seated stuff that will be hard to manage over a lifetime, which leaves me very sad.  Heartbroken might be a better descriptor.

I'm willing to work on their behalf for a lifetime to help, but my experience has taught me that those with such issues are generally unlikely to accept the offered help, thinking wrongly that they can handle life, not taking meds, which then sends them into dark and negative spirals.

Then I fear losing my own mind with worry and stress, but the alternative is to shut my mind off which isn't possible.  Again my faith steps in, all the Bible verses that are reassuring.  I do know, with a deep assurance, that it'll all be alright in the end.  It's my job to persevere, to pray continually, and to just do what's right.