An Interruption in your very Randomly Scheduled Blog

How do you do, Humans?!

I say humans so I don’t offend anyone. I know this blog is widely read and hugely popular and I am always careful to be as politically correct and I am overly careful, therefore I never put my foot in my mouth.

I would like to thank my five regular readers for sticking it during my repeated publications of blank space. Thank you *times five*. This, in case you didn’t guess, is a letter from the author……. (ahem)…….This is a letter from a person behind a laptop that sometimes like to dress up in her pajamas and play a writer.

Welcome, welcome. Thank you for returning. I may or may not have called your parents to make sure they told you to come and check out my blog. You know I am a little crazy and I know they wouldn’t want any of you five to be the reason for another one of my meltdowns. So let’s all take a moment to thank your parents.

Although I am opening this letter with some wit and pizazz and some downright hilarious jokes, I am coming to you dear readers, in all seriousness.


We all know that bitch ‘media’? Some of you may not know this, but she starting fucking that total assclown called ‘politics’. I know, they don’t even make a cute couple but they are fucking.


So, media and politics have now cleared the shelves of every paper product in every grocery store across America and now they are going to clear each and every pocket of each and every waitress/bartender. After that, they are going to fill every bed in every hospital until there are none left, following suit with Italy and China. They did fire the Pandemic task force a couple years ago because ‘pssshhhht’ since when have we ever had a pandemic???

That’s just my quirky little way of breaking down the COVID-19 situation. Clever. I know. I don’t even know if any of my statements are accurate but I figured I would just play it by ear like the rest of the world.

Getting down to the serious business. The entire world now has to live…. just. like. me. Good luck. You guys…….are screwed.

I am going to say sorry if I offend anyone in the following statements but I’m really not sorry. I figured I would write it anyway, as it seems like the right thing to do.

I have suspended Sullivan’s story for the moment to focus on something I never have time to dwell on. That is me. Me and only me and only my problems. I know, I never do this *dripping with sarcasm*.

I’m probably not even good at it, but I’ll give it a whirl. In a time when the world is in a panic and every individual person in the country is going to be taking a dump fifty times more within the next two weeks than they usually do it feels like the apocalypse is looming. I did not see any of those apocalyptic movies to know how to handle this. I started to watch the post-apocalyptic movie with Will Smith but then his dog got attacked by some crazy human turned zombie so I shut it off. The other apocalyptic movie with Will Smith also featured his son, I didn’t even give it a chance.

That leaves about two, three apocalyptic, post-apocalyptic movies to choose from? I don’t remember any of the trailers showing housewives and househusbands wrestling over Dial soap and toilet paper. Or over ambitious, idiotic, lazy millennial fools buying up all hand sanitizers for miles and then price gouging on Amazon. I did read Hunger Games though. That at least prepared me for where we are today. I will not be volunteering to go in the bubble and fight and kill to get out of the bubble so, Katniss I am not. I digress.

With all the chaos and mandatory house arrest I figured this is the perfect time to focus on…. me. Was I supposed to think of others? I just realized that sounded super self centered. I didn’t realize that until I wrote it. Are we supposed to think of others? Was there a memo? I didn’t get the memo. I will definitely think of others in the future if I think of it.

As I was saying, I really do think this is the perfect time to talk about me. Being isolated in our homes it becomes hard to remember that there are other houses around us and other humans live in them, am I right? Now I know what my huge, widespread, uncontrollable amount of readers are thinking…. wasn’t my blog already about me? Isn’t my main character Sullivan just a pseudonym, an alias? Well faithful friends, I hate to break it to you but, you’re right again!!


Sullivan was a created accomplice, a programmed protagonist. Sullivan was merely made for the fiction. Fiction to fill in my hazy, humiliating, and haunting memories. She’s written to open my beans and spill them for me. Sullivan allows me to accentuate attributes that I admire and add grace to my grime. Sulli exudes excitement to an otherwise dull dullard.


I am not sure what I will do with this genius piece of literature after my ‘letter from the author’ but I am writing this for several different reasons. First of all, I was stuck, in deep shit. Literally and figuratively. The last time I began a blog post this was the opening paragraph:

‘Sulli was in deep shit. Literally. Her dad was sick the previous week, really sick. It backed up the sewage system in the house and all of his illness came out of the basement drain creating a two foot see of shit water. Sulli was standing in the middle with lawn and leaf bags taped around knee high rain boots. Luckily one of her best guys friends was a plumber. He showed up at 4:00 in the afternoon on a Saturday. They tackled the shit together. Sulli thought, ‘If only there was a plumber for my brain. Someone to drain all the bullshit out with a snake through my ear.’

After that stellar beginning paragraph I didn’t get any further. I got a bad case of writer’s block and wasn’t able to continue Sullivan’s story. I sat on it for weeks.

As the weeks passed by my normal, everyday depression became unmanageable. I had trouble getting out of bed and was not leaving the house, ever. I found out through the years social anxiety, seasonal depression, fight, flight, or freeze were all very real things. I never believed these mental illnesses existed, until I was blessed with them.


Over the last few weeks and right up to this minute I’m discovering more and more how very real mental illness can be. My concern grew as each day flew by and I still was having trouble functioning in every way.


It might be because I’ve been dealing with my Dad’s illness while trying to raise Jude. It could be because my boyfriend of four years, my boyfriend I dated several times before we got it right, my boyfriend who I’d known for twenty years was such a close, valued friend, was gone. He committed suicide a couple years ago and I struggle with it everyday. I could also be struggling because my son’s father has been in a coma since November. I’ve realized how much I truly care for him now. I’ve sobbed over his current situation and the physical pain that pangs my heart when I think of him.


We had come so far and talked almost everyday since Eric passed, I still am in shock something like this happened to him. I always thought Matt was invincible.


Matt always loved living, always was sticking and moving, laughing and smiling, growing and becoming a better man. Everyday. It could be because I’ve never dealt with all of these issues and curve balls. I don’t know exactly what happened that made me realize I finally needed professional help but I broke down and called some places to get some psychiatric care.

So in the midst of a national emergency, the coronavirus, and my mental meltdowns, I went in for an intake interview with a resident therapist. It’s the first step to getting my face in front of a psychiatrist.

At 10AM I headed out and drove to a clinic in an isolated area. I parked in front of a yellow brick building and stared at the front door. I took a deep breath and went inside. They had me quickly fill out some paperwork and before I knew it I was in a small room with a soothing and mellow toned therapist asking me difficult questions. For the first time in my life I answered them honestly and sobbed as I felt each memory hurt just as much as they did the day they happened. From my mother and sister dying to Eric’s suicide and Matt’s coma and everything in between. I was honest. I finally quit lying to myself and put down my armor.

When I left I felt exhaustion, relief, and a feeling I didn’t recognize.


It was a feeling of hope.


I felt hope that I was going to get help. I felt hope that the world wasn’t going to come to an end. I felt hope that the qualities and potential a person possesses when they are successful and happy and productive, could be me.

The intake specialist informed me that she could say with confidence I have severe PTSD among other things that would be addressed when I met with the psychiatrist. I didn’t know much about PTSD besides it means, ‘Post Traumatic Stress Disorder’. Through the google machine I found it could cause a large percentage of the things I’ve been feeling and struggling with, it made a lot of sense.

I find that it may be time for Sullivan to end her story here. I think it will be easier for me to tell stories when I am true to myself as an author and a person. I want to be able to ask my readers questions and have them engaged in my posts.

To begin I’d like to ask you, dear readers, have any of you dealt with the things I have talked about in this post? Have you ever been depressed? Anxious? Stressed out for any reason at all? What was your most difficult loss? Have you ever had PTSD? How was your recovery? What has worked best for you if you have dealt with mental illness?

I am excited to write more blog posts in the future. So it’s nice to meet you all. I am Lucy. Please leave comments, here or on my face book page.

Let’s GetLuce.

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