I started this walking routine with Tasha the other day to help both of us get into shape and to get us outside on a daily basis. Both Tasha and I have a tinge of agoraphobia. It doesn't help that I don't have to work and she doesn't have to go to school. We've been pretty much housebound over the past year and it isn't helping matters at all. So, we started with walking in the mall, moved to walking around the neighborhood and topped off with mountain climbing. That was a mistake. We went on Wednesday and I still can't move my legs. I'm walking like Frankenstein and I'm in severe pain. I've been hitting up everyone I know for Flexeril or any other muscle relaxant to no avail. So, I'm suffering in silence over here. That's what I do....I suffer in silence. Yeah, right.

The title about says it all. LTD's father died last Thursday and was buried on Father's Day. LTD and her brothers banded together and dealt with it pretty well, but their grief during the funeral was heart-wrenching. It was only the third funeral I have ever been to, but there is something about all of them that sticks out in my mind. It is that image of the family, sitting before the casket in the front row, that embeds itself on my mind. They always look so strong, sitting together like that, that I am taken aback by the image. LTD has handled everything pretty well, but she has slept and slept and slept.

The very next day, this past Monday, Tasha had what can only be described as a total fucking meltdown. This is par for the course in transgendered teenagers. Hell, it's par for the course in "normal" teenagers. But I can't fix this. I think I could take on any other aspect of teen angst--drug addiction, alcohol abuse, truancy, social problems, self-esteem issues--hell, give me anything else, but I can not fix this. We're not dealing with normal, run of the mill self-esteem problems. We're dealing with gender dysphoria, with the fact that she is picturing herself as a girl and seeing a boy in the mirror looking back. And the explosion that occured as a result of this leveled the fucking field.

We are a family scrambling to put the pieces back together. It was a wake-up call. My eyes are wide open.

I systematically, one by one, and very carefully took one pill at a time, separated the capsule and emptied the contents into the garbage can. Then I carefully put the capsule back together and replaced it in my pill box. I did this for five days. And then I waited. I wanted to prove to myself that I didn't need the medication, but more than that, I wanted to write again. After a few days, I didn't feel much like writing. I was too busy wondering where LTD was going when she was supposed to be at work. I was too concerned with not eating, because my food was poisoned--not directly poisoned, as if someone were adding arsenic to my meals, but poisoned by proxy, by an interaction of meds I had taken up to that point that were still in my system. If I could only cleanse myself of all these chemicals, all would be well. Except, I couldn't get out of bed. I slept and slept and slept. They clocked me at 17 hours one day. I thought about running away. It didn't matter where. I thought about leaving LTD and Spencer behind and just leaving, but I had nowhere to go, and besides, what would I do when I got there? I got scared and started taking the meds again. I'm relatively better now.

One of the inherent components of being sick is denying that you're sick. A crazy person will never tell you that she's crazy. They believe in their delusions and that paranoia and insanity is very real to them, no matter how outlandish, and they will go down fighting to protect those beliefs. So if I can say, "Okay, I need the meds. I'm crazy off the meds,"...doesn't that mean I'm sane?

Suzane from the website Forensic Science Technician Online sent me a cool link for 50 Fascinating Online Psychological Tests. Check 'em out.

It seems to all be behind them now, past hurts...frustration and animosity. When I first met LTD, she and her father weren't that close. You could ascertain this in the way they interacted with each other, or rather, in the way they didn't interact with each other. Since his diagnosis of pancreatic cancer last year, they've been closer, not emotionally, but physically closer. They hug more. They sit closer together. There seems to be no need in hashing out the past and settling matters. They've just come to terms with the clock, and how few hours they have left on it. I watch them all the time, and it is amazing to me that forgiveness has come without words...that things are settled. Without words. Without pain. Since his diagnosis, she has told me more of the happy stories from her childhood, funny things he's said and done...she told me about a picture of her that he's carried in his wallet for probably 35 years. Father stories. I watch them now and they are...tender. I wonder if dying brought this, or would it have occurred naturally at some point...when they both got too tired to hold on to the painful things.

When the Lioness was dying Dr. K told me, "Watch her closely, Tracy...she is teaching you something." I watch LTD's father and what he does now when he's not sleeping is sit back in his chair, quietly, and watches his family. He doesn't have a lot to say. He smiles more. And he loves to talk about times when his children were young. Dying must bring just the most essential thing you will ever need--family, forgiveness, and sitting back in your favorite chair. I know LTD is watching...and I am watching her.

16 years ago today, the day after Mother's Day that year, I was 8 1/2 months pregnant. I woke up feeling very full, like a stuffed pig, and ready to burst. My doctor had been watching me very closely because my blood pressure was fluctuating so much and I had an appointment to see him later that day. I waddled around making everyone miserable, especially Susie (who was my delivery coach), until it was time to go to the doctor. My blood pressure was 210/140. We could wait no longer. He told me to meet him at the hospital at 5:00pm. At 6:20p.m. my baby was delivered via C-section. Susie was the first person to hold him. The first thing I remember thinking was how much he looked like his father and that he had a very nice head, not squished up like vaginal-delivered babies usually have. They placed him on my chest and we stared at each other intently. I was totally in awe. I've never been more in awe than at that very moment. Mothers know this feeling. The first time you see your baby cannot be described with human language. Awe is about as close as it gets.

And I am still in awe. Nothing has taught me more than motherhood has. Nothing has frustrated me more or inspired me more. Nothing has made me sadder or happier. Add to the mix that I gave birth to a boy who is now living as a girl and it gets a bit sticky. The gamet of emotions I continue to experience on a daily basis is amazing to behold, but I wouldn't trade it for the world. What s/he has taught me about unconditional love....well, again, there are no words.

Happy birthday, Tasha.

The first thing to go is my sleep. For two days now, I have been up at 2:30am, writing, listening to music. It seems I can't get enough music. LTD called Dr. K and they tweaked my meds a bit. The Geodon nearly floored me. My arms and legs were so weak I could barely stand up. I stumbled around in the kitchen until I could stand it no more and went to bed. But not for long. It's coming for me. How obvious it is now. The signs are so apparent. My brain feels like hay, swirling around inside a storm in Africa. But my God, I try so hard to be still for LTD. Why is this happening now when her father and mother are so sick? How selfish am I? What control can I exert over myself to make everything normal and right, to stop the derangement of this path that leads to nothing but destruction? Early morning hours are so dangerous. It is too quiet to go chasing demons. It is too dark to seek refuge. I am too alone to talk to anyone. The world is asleep. I search for music. I torture myself over written words.

I started yesterday re-writing "Time for Your Meds." I'm going to go at it like a job, putting in a certain number of hours each day. I don't know where it's going to take me, but I'm hoping to re-shop it to a few publishers. I've decided to add the entries from my bouts with bipolar to give it a "both sides of the nursing station" feel. I know these stories belong somewhere. I know they have meaning. If one publisher would just take the chance on an unknown writer...well, who knows? Wish me luck.