Transracial Adoption

Just to get a little business out of the way, I haven't posted in forever. I know. I've been getting mental help and growing and working on things and trying to get better. Very busy. And, while blogging helps (and vlogging. I sometimes make 3 hour long videos!), I always look back and regret it. It's no different now. I've been a wreck. However, I'm getting slowly better. Getting some helpful tools in therapy, and we're currently trying to figure out exactly what's wrong before we continue. I'm also going to try antipsychotics, I think. Both my therapist and psychiatrist recommend it.

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Anyway, as you may or may not know, I have a blood clotting disorder. I am 7x more likely than a normal person to "throw a clot" in my legs and lungs. It also increases the risk of miscarriage. That is a problem when you want to get pregnant. Not to mention being pregnant. I'm at an increased risk to develop severe pre-eclampsia (according to some studies. I recently found one with contrary results). For this, the best thing to do is give yourself two shots a day of heparin (an anti-coagulant). 

I don't look forward to that. In fact, I'm REALLY not excited. I'm not even sure I could do it. Especially because I'll be off my mental medication. And I don't especially love needles. Then my PKD exacerbates things. I am even MORE likely to experience pre-eclampsia. With PKD, the high blood pressure is likely to continue on after giving birth. And, after I have one child, the high blood pressure would put me at an even more increased risk for pre-eclampsia and other complications with my second. It's more dangerous that way. 

In short, it's kind of a deadly risk to get pregnant.

Lucky for me, I grew up wanting to adopt. And not just any child (though my mind has changed), but black babies. I'm not racist, and I'm not into the celebrity trend, I just like them. They're cute! And it's just a bonus if I adopt ones from Africa because I can save them from a 3rd world life. 

Anyway, I'm now open to any possibility. Asian, Indian, native american, black, and even white. Though, for some reason, I have a drive to adopt children from races that aren't white like me. I kind of want a transracial family. If I'm going to have one, anyway. 

Stephen is not stoked about the idea of adopting, but maybe if I have a health scare with our first (which I fully expect), he'll come around.

Update July 13

It's been awhile.

Things have changed. Medication wise and otherwise. 

I had a recent experience that seems to have changed me in some way. There's no telling if it's permanent. I kind of take things day by day, but it's interesting. Three days ago, I got my Bupropion doubled to 300mg. I was pretty excited, because I'd had a really rough week before that. I'd gotten my biggest cut (by accident, really) because I was feeling really horrible. On top of the usual emptiness and despair, a major ruling came out about gay marriage. And, because of my religion and the fact that I supported gay marriage, I was bullied. Not specifically me, but people who believed what I did and people who were in my exact position. For some reason, we came under fire. We weren't good enough mormons, we didn't listen to the prophets, we were damaging the church's image, we didn't understand the gospel, and we were even satan-whisperers, who didn't support the members of our church struggling with same sex attraction. And maybe the fact that I was about to have my period really didn't help. In fact, it's proven that depression often gets worse before a period. 

The cherry on top was the fact that I was home alone. It was a recipe for self-harm. 

I was so forlorn. I could only think of how I wished I didn't have to be in this position. How I wished people in the church would stop being so divisive. I was one of them, I thought. I thought what united us was out faith in our savior and our faith in the gospel. Why would this be a good way to separate the good from the best? 

I'm never good enough for this church. I'm never good enough for anything. 

But, as I took the knife from my bathroom closet, this pervasive thought entered into my mind. Why am I hurting me? What did I do? I don't deserve this. 

I ignored it. I convinced myself that it was just to get my feelings out and that I not only deserved it, but there was no other way to show that I was hurting. I sat in the tub, with the knife in my right hand and just quickly sliced down - as I usually did. 

The problem is that I usually also had a dull blade. So, what would've been a manageable and satisfying cut turned into a gaping wound. For a moment, I could see a tiny vein-like thing and some purple meat with white over it before it filled with blood. It didn't bleed too much considering the wound. 

I held my arm close to my shirt and drove myself to the hospital where I got treated, and my wound was glued. It could've been stapled, but I didn't want to watch that! Ew! 

However, after that embarrassing experience, I was miserable. The next few days, I just wished I'd pushed a little harder or went "the right way" so I could bleed out. Which is actually hard to do. I'd heavily considered checking myself into a psychiatric hospital for the next few days. 

Then I met with my psychiatrist. Long story short, she was scared. She was disappointed too, I'm sure. She didn't really know how to proceed as I was hesitant about opiate-blockers and anti-psychotics. I just asked for her to double the dose of my antidepressant (which had helped, but not enough). 

I took it for the first time three days ago. Nothing happened. The next day, I took it again and it was bad. I started seeing spiders everywhere. I was touchy, moody, and angry. I literally cried almost all of the day, and i hadn't had days like that since months ago. I was "having a bad day" and it just got worse. I just couldn't wait for it to be over. It was just horrible.

Yesterday, I felt better. Back to "normal", at least. Then today, I woke up feeling very good. Not good enough to leave the couch or do anything remotely productive, but I feel...better than I've felt in a long time. I haven't spoken to anyone today except for Stephen, so that helps, but I feel almost peaceful. Which is weird, because I've been overthinking a bunch of career things lately. Ever since my test results came back. They were not as helpful, either way, as I was hoping.

The plan was that, if I had dyscalculia (and could, therefore, get math waived), I would finish my associates in criminal justice, and maybe even my bachelors, and then go to mortuary school. Thus, making me the perfect candidate for most of the jobs I want. If I didn't have dyscalculia, and couldn't get the math waived, I'd just go to mortuary school because the math here is too hard. 

Well, I don't have it. But I also should, supposedly, be very good at math. Better than 81% of people my age. I didn't believe it. Maybe he got the tests mixed up? How? HOW?! I couldn't even pass 0950. Most kids come in at 1010 or 1050. How is this even possible? I was sure, although it was very unlikely, that I had it. And now, not only do I not have it, I have potential to be very good at it.

That's a bit of a sidetrack, but it's been causing me stress. And then I think of how my kidney disease will progress and maybe moving bodies wouldn't be such a great idea. The next best option, however, is emergency medicine. Which I think would be fantastic, except for the constant contact with people. Even possibly angry people. I shudder to think of it. 

I just feel broken sometimes. Anyway, the test hasn't helped and I was stressed, but today, I'm not for some reason. Maybe I'm just having a good day? Whatever the case, I wish it would last. Or even get better. 

That's my dish for today. I've been doing video blogs for my medicine, so I haven't been around. My apologies. I don't think either of them really helps in the long run, but it's nice to pretend to have a therapist every day.