Relating to, affected by, or resembling mania.
When I first started writing this blog I was just trying to find a name for it that was clever. I thought it would be memorable. I had no idea how well that name was going to fit this blog.
I'm ready to start being real about how things really are in my life. Baby Poop and disgusting things in my fridge are nice topics, but I'm not really getting much therapy from writting about those things, and I NEED MORE THERAPY THAN WHAT I AM GETTING AT MY SHRINKS OFFICE.
I've begun to get treatment. There, I've said it. T-R-E-A-T-M-E-N-T.
Just a little backgroud info here... When I was pregnant with Ellie, my relationship with John became....(it was ROCKY before) rocky...at best. We fought all the time, I screamed, cried, cussed yelled and threatened to do things that I am still not proud of, or ever will be, but at that time I thought I was just hormonal from pregnancy, at one point I checked myself into the psych ward, hoping it would help to get me through the pregancy. It did. I was a calmer person after my week spent in the hospital, Things were good for me. My relationship with John got better, I was more sane, made it through the pregnancy, John FINALLY let me move in with him so we could raise our daughter together...the day before I was due to have her, and she was born, everything came together nicely. Except....he was 38, and I was 23. And This isn't no gold digger story. He was a broke ass 38 year old. This is the story of a controlled girl. How she was made to believe she was crazy....and how she broke away and found out she was JUST like every other female out there. How she would NEVER let someone control her again. And how she would be what everyone thought she never could....successful.