Housefairy is alive

Where did that breathless fun blogger go? You know, the one who blabbered on incessantly about Birth and Makeup and Fashion and Family and Rock and Roll and Hair and Sex and Body Image and DIY everything and Budgets and Houses and Beauty Supplies and Indie Films and Breasts and Bellies????

She went down that slippery scary waterslide of hormones and sleep deprivation and poverty and insecurity and depression and self doubt and fear and death and pain and loss and change and growth and lack of basic everything and there just was no place for Blue Hair or Cherry Skirts or Guitar Amps or Slurpees or Homeschool Tips or Nursing Bras for Tall Moms or Painting Little Chairs With Bluebirds and Smiley Clouds or Clever Quips or, most sadly of all, any insight whatsoever into Birth-Related-Anything. Nada. Zip. And when she got into her car alone, she did not BLAST The Yeah Yeah Yeahs, she usually just cried.

A little hand reached up out of the water that she splashed down hard into at the bottom, the bleak-as-hell-rock-bottom of the waterslide and she got a hold of some Zoloft. That helped tremendously. Then people sent her and gave her a few things that literally, LITERALLY, saved her and her family from actual homelessness. Food. Books. Gift Cards. Loving emails that she never write back to, but held in her heavy heart as she tried to sleep at night. Unheard of patience and generosity and support. A little lifeboat made out of tiny antidepressant pills and donated food and good reading material, and kind emails and phone calls, she floated on while her own Mother died in her arms.

July kind of has floated around, and past, and yet its still there. And Zoloft got to be a little too cocoon-y and fuzzy and although it cut the sharp pain of the depression, it also left her pretty vapid. Nice for a while, but not truly a lifestyle, but more of a warm and neutered quilt. Now she is on Wellbutrin. Now she has to watch her temper again, and she has to get sleep and eat right and now she can cry hard and now she can laugh hard and now she can remember stuff and now she can read and now she can write and now she can enjoy sex (*uncool uncool side effect of zoloft...youre finally not depressed but you have the sexuality of a piece of clay*) and all that stuff is really important for Living, not just making it through.

So, faithful, faithful blog people: She is me and I am her and I am back and although I am without a mother now, I am happily moving right on through this incredibly hard period quite swimmingly! I cannot thank you all enough, anonymouses and acknowledged friends, for all you have done for me. I PROMISE to pay it forward.