The Nature of the Beast

I get a fair amount of feedback on my posts about my dealings with depression and anxiety.  I'm guessing because of my outright honesty pertaining to it, and my frustration with getting adequate help.  Now here I go again with another frustration-laden post, so, spoiler alert.

There's still no word from my psychiatrist about a follow-up appointment after the one in the spring.  I don't get it.  I'm admittedly a basket case sometimes who's had self-harm issues and suicidal thoughts, yet it doesn't seem to warrant the attention necessary to remedy more attention than that of what I ask for.  So yeah, I'm on my own there.  Folks like me shouldn't have to go it alone on things like this.  Specifically with depression and anxiety.  When us patients with these problems actually muster up the courage to talk about it, you'd think it would be taken seriously, but I know I'm not the only one who feels this isn't happening.

You know what does get a lot of attention though?  The media gets all hot 'n horny over stories of gun-toting killers who are eventually discovered to be victims of mental illness.  Consistently.  In fact, more often than not, when you hear of a mass shooting or beating or whatever, I'd almost bet that most of the time, the perpetrator is a victim of psychiatric issues.  I won't take the assertion that these men (let's face it, they're pretty much all men, right?) have a crutch to lean on with their illness that justifies them to do such dastardly acts.  But let's face it.  In a broad number of instances, people are driven to madness to become these monsters in the media not necessarily for the attention, but because those around them for years leading up to these terrible events didn't bother to acknowledge the warning signs that they are, indeed, ill.  Neither am I blaming the people around them.  Rather, I just don't see the help readily available for those looking to get it that could prevent these things from happening to begin with.  I can speak truth to this, because I can't seem to get adequate professional support myself.  Not that I want to lump myself in with mass murderers, of course.  The big danger with me is to myself, and thus, those around me watching me disintegrate before their very eyes.

I can tell you that I'm okay one week, or day, but then the next everything seems to change.  I can have a great streak of days only to wake up one morning, like today, and feel this black cloud of dread blocking the sun from my consciousness.  That's the nature of mental illness.  Every day is a roll of the dice as to how easy or not it will be to get through the day.  Medication helps, if you have the right stuff.  But even if you do, you can still get derailed, and that's why professional help is still needed.

When I'm having one of these excruciating days, it's a good time to call off work and recollect my wits about me.  But I can't.  I'm allowed one paid sick day off per every two months of attended work.  That's pretty tough to accumulate.  I wind up being stuck between a rock and a hard place; the rock being work, the hard place being my illness.  99% of the time, I have to muscle it out and go to work.  If I don't, I know I have two days of work the next day waiting for me, because my shifts don't get replaced, and my work not covered.  This, obviously, creates heightened stress to get things done, which is obviously detrimental to my health because of my condition, the reason I called off work in the first place.  It's a vicious circle.  But we live in times where shareholders and CEO's dictate whether or not their workers are worth being cared for; in most cases, they're not.  And never mind going on disability benefits for any amount of time as I did last year... the tax collector will reclaim that when the season comes around.

And with mental illness survivors, it's tough being us.  We're always being told "it could be worse", or "help is available", or "be thankful for what you have".  Let's not forget the classic "only you can change your outlook".  If you want to know how to isolate someone with depression and anxiety even more than they already are, talk to them like that.  You might as well take the shovel away from them they're digging a hole with and be giving them a back hoe tractor.

As far as it goes with me, I've re-evaluated things a lot over the past year or so, at least.  I now see myself as the problem and the burden.  How else is one supposed to feel if they get shunned by the medical professionals they're pleading to get help from?  One of them virtually insinuated it was 'all in my head'.  Hell... when I got in-person counseling from a professional for a while, which I thought kind of helped a little, it ended with the person giving me a written evaluation of my writing work that I had submitted.  I was encouraged verbally to keep writing, but the criticisms written on my work made me stop cold.  This was nearly two years ago.  I don't know that my illness was taken into consideration when that kind of critique was administered to my work.  That's why I'm a little dumbfounded when I get compliments on these blog posts I write.  I'm grateful, but with all apologies, I can't help but question the sincerity.  "They must just feel bad for me."

I hear stories and see pictures of friends and family gathering and realize I'm not in them anymore, and it feeds support for my theory that I really am a drag to be around.  I have one person in my life that genuinely wants to be around me that I can clearly tell, that being my wife.  If I have a conversation with someone else, I try to avoid the topic of me, knowing that I'll most likely just scare them off.  I've learned from past mistakes.  In recent years, I've had friends that I was open to that I would share my feelings with, only to never see them again or have them become the hi/bye type.  I know that's my fault.  I know that's on me.  So why do I keep hearing that people like me with mental illness should talk more, and more should listen?  I even feel like I get the bum's rush from my professionals when I look for help.  I feel like my allotted appointment time can't be expanded and thus, sorry about your damn luck.  Happy trails. 

The only remedy for that which I can think of is to just remove myself from these pictures and gatherings before they happen.  A couple of weeks ago, I cried uncontrollably for a whole day when I came upon some of these such things.  I realized how irrelevant I've become at the expense of my illness.  And I am truly sorry to those that I've brought down, and I will refrain from it from this point out.  Such is the nature of the beast that I fight daily.

I don't purport to be a musician or percussionist or anything, because I really don't think I'm any good -- I've been told that enough.  So after years of owning drumkits since I was 13 shortly after my father died, I'm giving serious thought to selling all my gear and just getting real about it all.  I had a friend named Wayne who was kind enough to talk me out of doing just that many years ago when I was in a band with him for a short time where other members weren't too keen on my drumming.  Wayne insisted that was wrong.  I believed him at the time.  But times have changed.  It's kind of hard jamming with yourself, but, here I am.  And I'm wary of pity.

You might be asking yourself, "he's given up writing, his music, what's next?"  Now I guess it's just survival.  I know I won't get the help I need, so I'll keep going to the gym for a distraction -- at least until I give that up too -- and watching TV and being with my wife until she reaches the point she can't deal with it anymore either.  Which she insists won't ever happen. 

Ultimately, this post is yet another testament to how broken the health system is in treating those with mental illness.  I live in a part of Canada where medical professionals are leaving in droves because their workload is ridiculously heavy and they are underpaid.  Yet we have government after government telling us people in need they're in the process of fixing it.  The check is in the mail and... you know the rest.

But this blog post should at least serve as a shout out to those who are also suffering, to tell you, you aren't alone in your frustration, as much as it feels like it.  We have to stick together and hang in there and support each other.  And for God's sake, Don't.  Give.  Up.

God bless and thanks so much to care enough to read.

Darkness and Light

I hear it's Mental Health Awareness Month.  Being a person who's dealt with mental health issues all of his life, I wanted to throw in my own thoughts on the issue.

Firstly, "Awareness".... it's not really the appropriate term.  Not to me.  Everyone knows about the issues surrounding mental health illness and its pervasiveness.  The real, true issue is the lack of action taken with it.  There's lots of talk, lots of corporations (I'm looking at YOU, Bell Canada) getting kudos for raising so-called awareness about it and trumpeting how much cash they're throwing at it, but from what I can see, few benefiting from it, other than the businesses getting all kinds of publicity because of their grandstanding on the subject.

Don't get me wrong.  I'm glad people are talking about it more.  I'm glad the stigma is coming down.  I'm glad that more people take it a lot more seriously now than they used to, say, when I was a teen back in the 80's, when no one would blink an eye at the word concussion because they didn't think they were all that bad.  I had several of them in my teen years.  Clearly, today medical professionals would keep an eagle eye on someone who's gone through something like that.  Me in the 80's?  Not so much.

Concussions are a big deal now in the sports world.  Namely football, hockey and pro wrestling.  This month a lot of discussion is being made over the death of a young female wrestler named Ashley Massaro, who broke into the WWE through a talent competition many years ago.  Her career was dotted with an array of concussions, and subsequently, she joined a class action lawsuit against WWE over consequences related to those injuries, holding the company liable for not taking better care of their talent.  She suffered from depression, mental lapses and suicidal thoughts, and ultimately took her own life, leaving behind a young daughter and countless supportive colleagues in the pro wrestling world.  This re-ignited discussion on the care, or lack of it, being taken in sports, or for that matter, life in general.  My concussions never arose from sports injuries, for example.  But, I experienced similar, if not identical, symptoms as Massaro had.

I don't think I need to write much about the correlation between concussions and mental illness, as pretty much everyone knows the major connections.  My concussions didn't end with my teens.  There were others that occurred in the following years, but they were brought on by self-inflicted injuries because of the those troubles I had in my formative years.  To this day I deal with self-harm issues.  Perhaps not as frequent in this present day, thanks to medications that are actually working, but as little as two months ago, I suffered from suicidal thoughts.  I brought this to the attention of my physician and psychiatrist, both.  My wife was in attendance with these professionals when I saw them.  So what actions did they take?

How about a big fucking fat nothing?  Not even a follow-up appointment.  THIS is the state of mental health treatment in the world today, at least in these parts.  There's actually a sign in my psychiatrist's office waiting area that states not all treatments are covered by medicare.  That's pretty damn encouraging, isn't it?  If I had a broken bone, a major cut, even a bruise on my head, I'd be seen promptly and given treatment.  Now, when I proclaim to my doctors what happened in my past and my suspicions that it contributes to my illness today, I get a proverbial shrug like they're questioning whether I'm telling the truth or not.  I've experienced the same in the past with friends and family.  This is maddening.  But that's where we are right now.

There are plenty of people who would say, "well, you're dealing with it at least, good for you!"  Self awareness of it is a major, massive first step, but it's a step I took back in 1996 with the birth of my daughter.  It was then when I went through some wicked self-harm incidents that I realized I need to get better for my daughter and my wife.  I must note, I was never abusive toward anyone else.  It was always to myself.  Through the years, I was plagued with self-loathing and an extreme lack of self-confidence.  That hasn't waned, either.  Indeed, it may have worsened.  I continue to battle it daily.  It ebbs and flows, and I have to deal with it whenever it rears its ominous, ugly head.  I've stated many, many times, if it weren't for my wife and daughter, I would not be alive today.  That is 100% true.

Thank God I have the understanding of those two.  I'm certainly a handful to deal with sometimes.  I try to keep things in check, like putting myself down in front of others and insulting myself, but the fact is that I'm literally ill.  I will be till the day I pass.  I just have to keep looking for ways to deal with it.

When I say I'm a handful, I mean I am with everyone.  I can be a jerk (read:  I think I AM a jerk), and that's something I'm working on especially recently.  Over the years, I know how opinionated I was, and it's only in the last several months that I've come to see things through the eyes and ears of those I see and talk to.  I hate having my feelings hurt.  Why would anyone else be different?  Realizing this made me re-evaluate myself as a person in a major way.  I think that's a good thing.  The bad thing is, it has the potential to bring on more self-hatred.  It's very tricky.

With Mental Health Awareness, it's good that focus is on the young and women, but the truth of the matter is it's a human issue.  I don't believe people should be categorized and grouped into neat little boxes for the sake of statistics.  Mental illness is something that needs to be attacked head-on without discrimination.  And I say especially mental health, because if there's too much focus on one group than the others, that sends a message to the others that they don't matter as much.  I sure as hell feel that way.  I'm a 53 year old male, and my category isn't talked about at all.  And I don't want my category talked about.  I want the entire problem to be handled and addressed, without bias or priority.  It's the fairest and most responsible approach for all victims of mental illness.

I participated with my wife in a corporate sponsored run open to the public that donated funds to, among other women's issues, women's mental health.  This might make me sound hypocritical, except that I know that the funds raised do for a fact go to a local women's shelter.  I applaud that kind of effort to combat such challenges facing women in these modern times.  I only wish that those outside the limiting parameters of such fundraising could benefit from these kinds of things as well.  You don't see a lot of active causes raising awareness for middle-aged victims of mental illness, for example.  At all.

But I digress.  It shouldn't be about isolating one group that seems to be affected more than another.  For that matter, all the fundraising that happens continentally didn't seem to help the likes of Massaro much, if at all.  Ignorance seems to have taken the top spot on the podium in that case, as is all too common.  To those struggling to find help and understanding, it's incredibly frustrating.  We keep hearing, "speak up!  Talk about it!  Get help!"  I don't know how long Massaro sought help for her condition - probably a long time.  But I do know I tried in vain to see a psychiatrist for years... over a decade, almost two... only to feel like I'm being rebuffed, despite getting some help with appropriate medication.  These are the challenges men, women and children face when we try to make people listen to us.  We do speak up.  We do talk.  We do get help.  But all too much, it's like trying to break through a concrete wall with a plastic spoon.

I'm not trying to say to others that you need to treat people with mental illness with kid gloves or walk on eggshells.  I'm only trying to point out that care needs to be taken when it comes to common sense observations.  Exclusion is one of my biggest enemies.  If I'm shunned or left out of something, even if it were short-sighted, it ignites doubt in my self worth and how much I matter.  Whether it be a gathering of friends or family where I'd most often be invited; even if I didn't go, it counts in a big way to be thought of, at least.  I've dealt with exclusion a lot over the years, but it doesn't get easier.  It may even be getting worse.  I don't blame those that don't want me around.  I've mentioned I realize I'm a handful!  But it also signals that I'm not worth dealing with.  And I get it.  I can be quiet and reserved, perhaps not terribly outgoing, I hate talking on the phone with a passion, etc.  You might say I'm only asking to be shunned.  Or, if you knew what I struggled with, you might see me differently.  I'm a wide open book when it comes to my depression and anxiety.  I tell everyone in my challenge to help me defy the consequences of what can become of my behavior.  But it might be a failing strategy.  Perhaps speaking up, talking about it and getting help doesn't work at all?  If not, then what does?

In the end, I do still implore those with depression, anxiety and other mental illnesses to seek out help and talk about it with loved ones and professionals.  I did find at least two people that listened, with my wife and daughter.  My boss at work understands somewhat.  Sometimes even my doctors listen.  My point is, if you don't try at all, you're guaranteed to not make any traction.

If you know someone suffering from any of this, I invite you to be a lamp post on that long, dark road.  The more light that's shed on that path, the less likely the car is to go off the rails.

In Pursuit of Happiness

Time to break the silence.  It's been a long time since I've posted.  And I do know there's the odd person who does read these, so I figured, why not.

It's been quite a while.  Let me get you up to speed, if you're not regularly in touch with me.

I took the first three months of '18 off because of a breakdown that I had at work.  As anyone who knows me realizes, I'm very open with my mental illness issues, in the hopes of getting others who are silent to open up and get help.  There is no shame in it.  Anyway, Christmas of '17 was particularly stressful... not unlike many Christmas seasons, especially if you work in retail like I do... and where I work, as a receiver, I'm out on the floor of the store when I worked every third weekend.  Weekends are busy there, and the clientele is particularly bad mannered and cranky.  If you're dealing with mental illness, this kind of stress is very hard to deal with.  My way of dealing with it is removing myself from it, but if I'm working, that's somewhat near impossible.

In early January '18, just after New Year's, it got to the point where someone attacked me verbally in the store and made me look and feel stupid.  This is one sure fire way to ignite an anxiety attack in me and confront myself.  Long story short, I found a place in the back where I would be alone and concussed myself and dragged my box cutter across various points of my skin, leaving me bleeding and in a lot of pain.  I'm not proud to exclaim this, but I figure the more open I am about it, the more awareness to the issue it brings, not just to myself - but others suffering with depression and anxiety.  I do know some of  you, and believe me when I say, I am with you. 

I was at wit's end on this day.  I wrote a note to my manager telling him I wouldn't be back to work until further notice, and I'd gotten things taken care of.  He does know that I have issues with anxiety, to the point that it can get quite debilitating.  This was a major step that I needed to take, although the idea of not going to work and earning my keep played on me.  The thought of going on paid leave for mental health issues felt defeating in a way.  In retrospect, I see it as a bit of a brave act, just not one I care to repeat.

Three months at home passed while I decompressed from the stress and anxiety of the holiday season at work, and that every third weekend there, where my blood pressure was tested as well.  My family doctor took me off work in increments of about three weeks at a time, subject to evaluation.  Janice accompanied me to my appointments to give her input on how I was doing, both to corroborate my own claims and offer information I might not be quite open enough to give.  As the visits passed, I finally went back to work in April, rested and relaxed, on new meds and ready to try to make things work once again.  It was good being back to work.  Being at home not working bored the crap out of me, but it did force me to rest and find peace.  I did worry about how things would be at work while I wasn't there, as I felt that I might be missed since I work quite steadily.  That worry was unfounded, as they made out fine without me.

However, about a week in back to work, an incident happened at work that caused me to deal with another bout of self harm.  Without getting into too much detail about that, it thus caused me to lose faith in my meds altogether, and I stopped them cold turkey.  I would not recommend anyone on meds to do this.  It's actually quite dangerous and could lead to very serious consequences.  But that being said...

I went through the rest of April with the presence of mind that not taking meds will likely affect me adversely, so I braced for impact, so to speak.  Surprisingly, I made it through a whole month, before I took another serious anxiety attack and immediately rebooted my meds.  It got to the point where I was a danger to myself, and thus, to Janice -- not in a physical sense, but her watching me go through it was quite distressing to her.  But she is a kind, loving devoted soul, and was with me through thick and thin.  And is. 

As things turned out, this rebooting of my meds seemed to kickstart their efficacy.  As I leveled off, I experienced a sense of normalcy I hadn't experienced in years.  Add to that the good news that my manager gave me all weekends off, which did miracles for my peace of mind, knowing that I didn't have to stare down the anxiety monster every third week and hope for the best.  The way my work is, anyway, is I do 8 to 4's, except Tuesdays and Fridays where I go in at 5am.  As you might imagine, as someone with lifelong brain injury issues, this played a factor in my sense of security within myself.  Knowing I didn't have to face this seemed to have lifted a very heavy weight off of my head.  This coupled with rebooting my meds did a whole lot for my mental stability.

Last summer was one of the best I'd experienced in my lifetime.  My mental health was in the best shape it had been in years, and with Janice constantly by my side, I felt like my life had been renewed.  Our daughter was doing much better, too, and would continue to improve as the year progressed.  Although the one issue with her and her boyfriend is their living quarters; I feel like they deserve so very much more, but they're cash-strapped too much to change it -- although things are getting better for them financially due to work upgrades, so I have high hopes that this issue will be rectified soon.  Janice and me have been there, after all, in virtually identical circumstances.

As time went on, it caused some reflection, where I would look back on how I handled things and how I approached problems in general.  Of which I'd give myself a failing grade, really.  I have to be careful not to be too hard on myself, but these periods of refection also help guide me how to handle things in the future.  Looking back, I see myself assigning blame from time to time that wasn't warranted, and I realize that perhaps I was this way because of my mental illness issues in the first place.  I was often reactionary to sudden issues, and looked sometimes... not always.... to others to lay culpability to.  Now, I have to be careful not to blame myself too much, or risk suffering more anxiety attacks.  So there's a fine balance there, middle ground that I have to seek to find where it's stable enough that I won't fall, and just as importantly, don't bring anyone down with me.

I don't judge things like I used to now as a result.  I've learned that I need to be more aware of others' feelings, so I measure my opinions and advice accordingly --  don't tell anyone anything you wouldn't want to be told, unless there is fruit to be harvested from such situations.  Nonetheless, negativity is something I do try to avoid.  Not just coming at me, but especially from me.  Better to prop others up than knock them down, regardless of who they are or what the situation is.  Hate cannot drive out hate, only love can do that; darkness cannot drive out darkness, only light can do that, to paraphrase a certain King.

I went through the better part of a year 'without incident', as I express it, where there were no issues of self-harm.  But I experienced another attack a couple of weeks ago now, where I took something out of context, perhaps, and shamed myself image-wise and gouged my stomach, probably leaving yet more scars due to this stubborn illness.  As I type this, I'm still leveling off somewhat.  I still look in the mirror and see things that others maybe don't.  My self image is admittedly poor; but at this point, I don't know what to do about it.  I've seen a psychiatrist, physician, psychologist, you name it.  But the poor self-image thing is a bitch to eradicate.  Self confidence has always been a tough issue.  I will never feel like I'm smart enough, look good enough, or be good enough to actually succeed and thrive at anything.  I've tried!  But I'm one of those types that doesn't take insults or condescension  very well.  What I need is patience, but I've isolated myself to a point where I don't really give anyone the opportunity to grant me that, beyond my wife that is.

Before I sign this off, I would be remiss not to mention a few things to address some people who've gone out of their way to shine some happiness into my days.  There's this friend of mine I've had since back in the days I worked at Green Gables corner store in the late '80s.  We've stayed in touch throughout the years... him to me more than me to him.  Acceleration of my social anxiety prevented me quite a lot from connecting with friends, which is why I've lost so many.  But Tim never gave up on me.  Tim's a jet-setter, and travels a lot in his line of work.  He often brings me treats from abroad, chocolate and snacks and stuff, knowing that I'm quite the junk food connoisseur.  Sometimes he brings me to a show when a band is in town.  His thoughtfulness is off the charts, if I'm to be very honest.  But this past Christmas, he went above and beyond, I think too much.  Tim and me bonded in part from a band we liked a lot way back called The Pursuit of Happiness, or TPOH.  Back in the day, I insisted to him that he see this band because they impressed me so much when my buddy Pete went with me once.  Tim became a hardcore TPOH fan from that day on, and we saw them several times through the years, until the band went on a sabbatical of sorts and disappeared for many years.  They got back together recently to have a reunion show in Toronto to celebrate the release 30 years ago of their debut record "Love Junk".  So Tim shows up this past Christmas, tells me how good a friend I've been along with Janice, reminisces about the old days of seeing TPOH, and drops tickets on us to see the show in Toronto in January, with round trip airfare.  Needless to say, I was aghast and speechless.  He even paid for our hotel and crazily-priced cab fare.  It was a joyful whirlwind trip where we flew up one Saturday morning, saw the show that night, and flew back the next morning.  We went up the CN Tower again, he took us to the Hockey Hall of Fame, we ate at a couple of great places in downtown Toronto, and of course, joyously saw the show, front row, at the Danforth Theatre.  The place was packed and excited, but none more excited I think than us.  Tim's not just a friend, he's my brother.  Though he's younger by four years or so, I'd say he was my big brother.  For whatever reason, he's always looked out for us.  I'm very glad to say that he's very blessed to be with a woman named Marley with whom I pray they've found lifelong happiness with together.  Marley's a bright, ambitious, beautiful woman that I would dare say matches Tim's monstrously gregarious personality.  It's heartening to see them both so happy.

Recently, like a matter of days ago, I got this package in the mail that I had no idea about.  I didn't order anything... did I?  Janice didn't.  Alexandra didn't have anything sent to the house.  So I opened it up, and it was from my buddy/nephew/brother Shawn from Vancouver.  KISS had just begun their "End of the Road" tour there, and they're pulling out all the stops with their new show to say goodbye to their faithful fans (they're just about in their 70s, after all!).  Shawn only found out about the show at the last minute, and being a huge KISS fan himself... because of me, he says... he took some amazing shots with his phone camera where he was super close to the stage, as he lucked out with tickets where they opened up some seats after stage production was settled, and he wound up right beside them.  In this package among many things he sent were great printed photos from the show, some confetti that fell during the finale, and a guitar pick that he caught from Paul Stanley.  What a supremely thoughtful gesture on his part to do that!  I'm going to frame these pictures and the stuff that came with them as a keepsake of sorts from the very first show of the very last tour of my favorite band, and thankfully Shawn himself is in one of these pictures.  How lucky I am to have such people in my life to think of doing things like this.  Actually all my nieces and nephews are an amazing bunch, like their parents.  I'm fortunate to be a part of such a great family.

Something else that we received a little while ago was this mechanism for pain relief that was given to us by Jana, my awesome nephew Chris's wife.  I'm kind of ashamed to say I don't know what to do with it!  And just as ashamed to say that I've been afraid to ask for help about it.  So if you're reading this, Jana, know that we so very incredibly appreciate it so much, that your thoughtfulness is appreciated more than you can know.  I'm guessing she's read my blogs and seen what we go through and wanted to help.  Yet another selfless family member reaching out.  Again, we are so blessed.

My brother Rick's woman, May, has been instrumental in helping us as well.  Speaking for myself, she's helped in getting medication for us that has helped me find restful sleep again, which is extremely important to someone like me with mental illness.  It may be the most important factor, perhaps, in my dealing with it; certainly one of the most important.  May suffers from health issues of her own, so to look past them and reach out to help us is tremendously appreciated.  I can't thank her enough, really.

I have this friend who's an accomplished author, Michelle, who's always stuck by me too.  She keeps offering kind words of assurance and encouragement and advice, and is yet another one who seems to always watch out for me.  As I do for her.  I care for her a great deal.  She's a wonderful human being the likes of which planet earth needs many more of.

Finally, I want to thank my wife for endlessly and unconditionally supporting me through good times and bad times.  I will always do the same for her.  She knows this.  I have an eagle eye on her health and happiness levels and will always and forever do whatever it takes to constantly make things better.  I've said it many times, I am alive today because of her.  If not for her in my life, I'd be long gone.  I'm just as fortunate to have my daughter faithfully protect and defend us at the first sign of need. 

And thank you, family and friends, for keeping me in your thoughts and your prayers.  Thank you for your patience with me and for being so loyal.  I appreciate and love every one of you.

Till next time, fire up the colortinis and watch the pictures as they fly through the air!

And have a good day, week, month, year and life.