A couple weeks ago (before the air conditioning broke and no one could seem to fix it for a whole week), Wayne was doing the dishes and I decided to go through the cabinets containing all our bar-ware. Wine glasses, martini glasses, extra large pilsners, and even cordial glasses (which I still have no idea how to use). Plus, our decent collection of liquor. Given that we will indulge in an alcoholic beverage once per month on average, it seemed like overkill. I ruthlessly purged the two large cabinets, and cleaned the shelves while I was at it. It was an amaaazing feeling. I moved on to the regular drinking glasses, mugs, and Jack's plastic cups and bowls. I reorganized and cleaned four large cabinets in about an hour. Which led to a tabletop full of glassware with no home.
As much as I hate finding a holding place for that, it's inspired me to go through each cabinet... and eventually each room! I even got Wayne to cull out some DVD's we never watch. The lack of A/C set me back a week, but I definitely want to finish this project and earn a little cash for my rainy day account with a yard sale. I am done with the clutter and not having enough space for our things. And I'm so excited to see how much easier it will be to keep the house organized and clean!
Monday, May 28, 2012
Thursday, May 24, 2012
Xanax, anyone??
I entered a competition to see who can lose the most weight in 4 weeks. I had a plan and was super duper motivated.
Given that I'd recently been to the gynecologist about my PCOS and she recommended a low-carb diet to lose weight (and get pregnant!!), I was ready to rock the competition! I had whole grains and low-carb menu ideas. I did a phenomenal job, too. Without a single workout - due to allergies and a raging sinus infection - I lost 4.6 lbs. Not too shabby!!
And then, Sunday night, I felt a flip-floppy flutter in my chest and a WHOOSH spread from my chest up to my head. I got severely lightheaded and dizzy. Breathing through it wasn't doing a damn bit of good. I could not get my heart or my head to feel normal. Then... I started thinking heart attack. And succeeded in freaking myself out, big time. It was Sunday, around midnight, and there was no way in the world I was going to our ER. So, I convinced myself I'd feel fine in the morning. Which, I didn't. I woke up with a tight ball of pain in my chest... again, making me think heart attack.
I called the doctor and got an appointment for 9:45. In the meantime, I decided to completely freak myself by alternately researching heart attacks in women and worrying (again) that I'm becoming my mother.
(Just so you don't have to go back to other posts - my mom suffers from many, many illnesses but the mental ones include panic disorder and borderline personality disorder. The panic disorder is pretty debilitating - she never knows when she'll have a panic attack, it limits where she can go and when, she basically cannot live what I'd call a "normal" life.)
Finally, I get in to see the best ever NP - Summer - at my doctor's office and she reassures me that while my bp was 140/105, my heart sounded great and they'd do an EKG to be sure. In the meantime, she checked my ear, nose and throat and said I had a vicious sinus infection. After the EKG came out normal, she basically said the combination of being sick, being constantly on the go, taking decongestants, allergy meds, motrin, drinking caffeine and not getting enough sleep all caught up with me and caused the anxiety. She prescribed Xanax and a Z-pack.
I've never taken Xanax before. I've been on the anxiety roller coaster - mood swings, jittery feelings, difficulty breathing, inability to focus - but it had never felt like a heart attack. And I've always been able to just "take time off" and feel better....
5/24/12 update: I forgot to post this on the original date (4/2011)!!! I guess I never got around to finishing it. LOL. I don't take my Xanax every night, as it says on the bottle. I take it whenever I'm feeling panicky and can't seem to calm down with breathing or other tricks. I am very pleased with it. It helps me regain control of myself, without making me feel foggy or drugged.
Given that I'd recently been to the gynecologist about my PCOS and she recommended a low-carb diet to lose weight (and get pregnant!!), I was ready to rock the competition! I had whole grains and low-carb menu ideas. I did a phenomenal job, too. Without a single workout - due to allergies and a raging sinus infection - I lost 4.6 lbs. Not too shabby!!
And then, Sunday night, I felt a flip-floppy flutter in my chest and a WHOOSH spread from my chest up to my head. I got severely lightheaded and dizzy. Breathing through it wasn't doing a damn bit of good. I could not get my heart or my head to feel normal. Then... I started thinking heart attack. And succeeded in freaking myself out, big time. It was Sunday, around midnight, and there was no way in the world I was going to our ER. So, I convinced myself I'd feel fine in the morning. Which, I didn't. I woke up with a tight ball of pain in my chest... again, making me think heart attack.
I called the doctor and got an appointment for 9:45. In the meantime, I decided to completely freak myself by alternately researching heart attacks in women and worrying (again) that I'm becoming my mother.
(Just so you don't have to go back to other posts - my mom suffers from many, many illnesses but the mental ones include panic disorder and borderline personality disorder. The panic disorder is pretty debilitating - she never knows when she'll have a panic attack, it limits where she can go and when, she basically cannot live what I'd call a "normal" life.)
Finally, I get in to see the best ever NP - Summer - at my doctor's office and she reassures me that while my bp was 140/105, my heart sounded great and they'd do an EKG to be sure. In the meantime, she checked my ear, nose and throat and said I had a vicious sinus infection. After the EKG came out normal, she basically said the combination of being sick, being constantly on the go, taking decongestants, allergy meds, motrin, drinking caffeine and not getting enough sleep all caught up with me and caused the anxiety. She prescribed Xanax and a Z-pack.
I've never taken Xanax before. I've been on the anxiety roller coaster - mood swings, jittery feelings, difficulty breathing, inability to focus - but it had never felt like a heart attack. And I've always been able to just "take time off" and feel better....
5/24/12 update: I forgot to post this on the original date (4/2011)!!! I guess I never got around to finishing it. LOL. I don't take my Xanax every night, as it says on the bottle. I take it whenever I'm feeling panicky and can't seem to calm down with breathing or other tricks. I am very pleased with it. It helps me regain control of myself, without making me feel foggy or drugged.
It's sooooo hooootttt!!!!
And I do not mean that in a sexy way. Our air conditioner was intermittently going out. It'd start blowing warm air, rather than cold. So, we'd shut it off, give it a couple hours, then turn it back on and enjoy the cold, cold air. It kept happening in the heat of the day and generally on the weekends. Obviously, it needed attention before it broke for good, right?? I called the warranty company last Monday... It's been quite a journey.
We've been without air since Tuesday. Sleeping is not happening for Wayne. The guys have been here everyday, but my brain is partially melted so I'm not thinking clearly. They put a new motor in last night, but 20 minutes after they left, it was blowing warm air again. And I couldn't get through on their phones to get them back. I almost cried when I called the warranty company last night and again when I left a message for the a/c guys. The only person relatively unaffected is Jack. He is having a blast. And, he gets to play in the sprinklers whenever he wants so this week is like a bonus for him.
Luckily, we're on Day 3 of no air and I haven't bit anyone's head off. I think I'm too weary to be cranky. They are going to come by today and see if they can fix it. If not, they'll bring more parts tomorrow. Fingers crossed we have air tonight - Wayne can't take sleeping in the heat anymore. (I, on the other hand, have been sleeping better than ever! LOL)
I guess we'll see what happens!
We've been without air since Tuesday. Sleeping is not happening for Wayne. The guys have been here everyday, but my brain is partially melted so I'm not thinking clearly. They put a new motor in last night, but 20 minutes after they left, it was blowing warm air again. And I couldn't get through on their phones to get them back. I almost cried when I called the warranty company last night and again when I left a message for the a/c guys. The only person relatively unaffected is Jack. He is having a blast. And, he gets to play in the sprinklers whenever he wants so this week is like a bonus for him.
Luckily, we're on Day 3 of no air and I haven't bit anyone's head off. I think I'm too weary to be cranky. They are going to come by today and see if they can fix it. If not, they'll bring more parts tomorrow. Fingers crossed we have air tonight - Wayne can't take sleeping in the heat anymore. (I, on the other hand, have been sleeping better than ever! LOL)
I guess we'll see what happens!
Tuesday, May 22, 2012
Blogging is scary!
One of the hardest things for me in blogging is really being honest and opening up. It's one thing to post a rant about something that made me so angry at the grocery store. Or an upbeat, positive, I'm gonna make a change! post. Really, most of the people who read my blog aren't going to take issue.
It's the really vulnerable posts that are the scariest. I'll write, read, edit, read, read, read... post to my blog... read, edit... and finally post to FB. That's when the butterflies start going. I wait, with bated breath, for the first comment to appear. Scared to death someone is going to criticize me. As if my feelings could be "wrong?" Really? Obviously, that's my own insecurities. But it seems to be a fairly common theme amongst writers - that fear we'll go too far. We'll write that one thing that really is putting ourselves out there and the response will either be silence or negativity.
It's the really vulnerable posts that are the scariest. I'll write, read, edit, read, read, read... post to my blog... read, edit... and finally post to FB. That's when the butterflies start going. I wait, with bated breath, for the first comment to appear. Scared to death someone is going to criticize me. As if my feelings could be "wrong?" Really? Obviously, that's my own insecurities. But it seems to be a fairly common theme amongst writers - that fear we'll go too far. We'll write that one thing that really is putting ourselves out there and the response will either be silence or negativity.
Monday, May 21, 2012
Rachael
I haven't blogged about Rachael. I've written a couple of status updates on Facebook, but not much. I'm not sure if it's because I don't want to be that vulnerable, I'm just not dealing with it, or I assume no one wants to hear about how sad I am on a daily basis. But then, since I'm not talking about it with the general public... since my answer to "How are you doing [insert sympathetic head tilt]?" is always "I'm okay ... [acknowledging head bob]"... since I'm trying to get back into my life and not let the sad-cloud take over... is everyone thinking I'm fine? With some people, it seems like it. I feel as if I'm being expected to be my same old me. And I'm so not.
It's hard. I hate having to say, "Sorry, I just don't feel up to going out." It feels so weak and wimpy and whiny. But sometimes - a lot of the time right now - I don't feel like going out. I don't feel like being around most anyone. And it's not a reflection on them or on my friendship with them. I just am so tired and I'm so sad and why should anyone have to be a witness to that? Why should I inflict myself on them? It's exhausting to not be sad; to be "normal" and talk and laugh. I'm exhausted. I'm so very, very sad.
Rachael was born when I was 18 years old. I remember at my high school graduation party, out by the pool in our Florida house, Mom walking around with her pregnant belly. Rach was born just a couple months later. I was there - not there there, but at the hospital. Waiting in Mom's room while she had a C-section. It was scary and crazy to me. I didn't have any friends who'd had babies. I wasn't yet seven years old when my brother was born (different set of parents). And that was one of those old school situations: we went to bed and woke up the next morning to Grandma sleeping on the couch. Next thing I know, there's my baby brother coming home.
I loved Rachael in an almost obsessive way. I was an "adult" living at home, going to college and working at the daycare where she went while Mom and JD (my stepdad) worked. I'd take her to daycare, check on her while I was on break... feed her dinner at home. When I missed her first birthday, because we were driving the cars across country for a move, I broke down upon seeing her again. (It'd only been a week. Haha!)
I moved out when I was 20. I wasn't happy living in California and wanted to be out on my own. I moved back to Florida and didn't get to see much of Rach (or my parents) for a while. They were far away, I was consistently broke, and to be totally honest - I was living my own life. Self-absorbed - as most 20-somethings are and should be. Moving from Florida, to Texas, back to Florida, back to Texas - following boys and jobs and my other family. I moved back to Cali when she was 7. Mom was having a lot of health problems and I wanted to be there to help.
It was hell. Rachael hated me. She resented having me there, telling her what to do. A terribly smart kid, she knew how to get under my skin. We fought all the time.
Life went on. We had our ups and downs. Rachael did not have an idyllic childhood. Mom was sick, and blaming herself for it; in trying to overcompensate for her illnesses, she'd give in to Rachael. Again, she was a super smart kid - she knew how to get what she wanted. And what she wanted - it seemed to me - was to live her own life; nevermind, she was still just a kid. She had it all figured out.
My job in Cali got transferred to Dallas. I was lucky to be renting a room in a house, given how expensive Cali is, but knew I'd love being back in my own apartment in Dallas. (Texas cost of living is like 1/3 that of California.) So, I left. I met my future husband, got engaged, got promoted at work, got pregnant and moved the wedding up by a year. Mom, JD and Rach moved to Dallas to be near us. Unfortunately, my husband's job search led us to southern Arizona.
I didn't know Rachael had started using drugs until much later. I remember telling my mom to get her tested, but, apparently, it'd already been going on for a while. I hate that most of my conversations with Rachael ended up being an argument. I hope she always knew that me trying to get her to stop sneaking out at night, stop partying, stop doing drugs was all because I love her and wanted the best for her.
I loved the pictures she took and posted to Facebook. Except the half-naked ones... and the murder/blood ones... I didn't know they were expressions of her art. I just saw my baby sister, half-naked, online. I judged. I judged my parents for what I thought was too much leniency. And I was wrong. I wasn't there everyday to see her, to know her. To know that his was her talent and her beauty coming through. My favorite photo is hard to pick but this one always stands out:
She took many more - not of herself. I guess I like these because they are of her. Because this is how I want to remember her.
As far as I can tell, she started with drinking and pot. Like most teens do - but she was 12 when she started. What was recreational became a way of life. Her intellect was used to figure out how to get more. And her favorite source was Mom's pain pills. Mom has several back and joint issues that cause an unbearable amount of pain. Mom and JD went from locking their bedroom doors, to lock boxes, to a keypad safe and eventually a biometric (fingerprint) safe. She broke them all. Too damn smart for her own good. And we're all paying the price.
My baby sister, who was colicky as hell as an infant; who would scrunch up her face and put up her dukes to the phrase, "wanna fight?" when she was a year old; who loved cheerleading and dancing at age 7; my baby sister who I barely knew anymore... was hooked on Opana. Rachael would steal the pills from the safe, crush them, and snort them. Because, unlike me, she knew they were time released and this was the quickest way to get high. At 16, she told Mom, "I'm only happy when I'm high." And now, she's dead.
My parents couldn't afford to pay for rehab outright. So, they were doing what most of us do - trying to go through insurance and find a provider. Mom spent months trying to get Rachael into an inpatient program. Rach and JD went to Narcotics Anonymous meetings. She was seeing a therapist. Rachael knew she had a problem. She wanted to stop. But no help was to be found.
At 4:30 a.m. on Sunday, April 1st, my phone rang. I saw it was JD and thought he'd forgotten the time difference. Instead of telling him in an annoyed voice what time it was, I heard him sobbing out Rachael's name and everything in me stopped cold. The rest of the day is a blur. I remember getting no help with rates from the airlines; trying to sync my flight with my other sister's...
Then, came the hardest and strangest experience of my life. Helping my parents pick out Rachael's cremation casket, urn, stationary... going to the store with Riann to try to find a dress for Rachael's viewing... talking to the pastor about her funeral service. It was all very surreal. It still kind of is. A part of me still expects a text from her, complaining about Mom. Or asking me for something impossible and then getting mad when I say no. Or to see something on her Facebook that makes me cringe.
I've been in a numb-ish state for a while. More and more, I find the sadness creeping in. I told Wayne the other day I feel as if no matter how much fun I'm having, no matter how good my day is, there is a sadness shadowing it all. And I'm tired of never having an awesome day, anymore. Every song I hear, every show I see, every single thing makes me think of her. I'm fighting an overwhelming sadness every single day. Some days, I feel like I'm losing. Others, not so much.
Yesterday, when I started this entry, I was sad. Today, I've been angry. It's a roller coaster of emotion. And I'm not a huge fan of roller coasters.
Before you can say it, I know. I know it will get better. It takes time. Everyone grieves in their own way. I've heard it all. But hearing it, and knowing it, doesn't make this easier.
It's hard. I hate having to say, "Sorry, I just don't feel up to going out." It feels so weak and wimpy and whiny. But sometimes - a lot of the time right now - I don't feel like going out. I don't feel like being around most anyone. And it's not a reflection on them or on my friendship with them. I just am so tired and I'm so sad and why should anyone have to be a witness to that? Why should I inflict myself on them? It's exhausting to not be sad; to be "normal" and talk and laugh. I'm exhausted. I'm so very, very sad.
Rachael was born when I was 18 years old. I remember at my high school graduation party, out by the pool in our Florida house, Mom walking around with her pregnant belly. Rach was born just a couple months later. I was there - not there there, but at the hospital. Waiting in Mom's room while she had a C-section. It was scary and crazy to me. I didn't have any friends who'd had babies. I wasn't yet seven years old when my brother was born (different set of parents). And that was one of those old school situations: we went to bed and woke up the next morning to Grandma sleeping on the couch. Next thing I know, there's my baby brother coming home.
I loved Rachael in an almost obsessive way. I was an "adult" living at home, going to college and working at the daycare where she went while Mom and JD (my stepdad) worked. I'd take her to daycare, check on her while I was on break... feed her dinner at home. When I missed her first birthday, because we were driving the cars across country for a move, I broke down upon seeing her again. (It'd only been a week. Haha!)
I moved out when I was 20. I wasn't happy living in California and wanted to be out on my own. I moved back to Florida and didn't get to see much of Rach (or my parents) for a while. They were far away, I was consistently broke, and to be totally honest - I was living my own life. Self-absorbed - as most 20-somethings are and should be. Moving from Florida, to Texas, back to Florida, back to Texas - following boys and jobs and my other family. I moved back to Cali when she was 7. Mom was having a lot of health problems and I wanted to be there to help.
It was hell. Rachael hated me. She resented having me there, telling her what to do. A terribly smart kid, she knew how to get under my skin. We fought all the time.
Life went on. We had our ups and downs. Rachael did not have an idyllic childhood. Mom was sick, and blaming herself for it; in trying to overcompensate for her illnesses, she'd give in to Rachael. Again, she was a super smart kid - she knew how to get what she wanted. And what she wanted - it seemed to me - was to live her own life; nevermind, she was still just a kid. She had it all figured out.
My job in Cali got transferred to Dallas. I was lucky to be renting a room in a house, given how expensive Cali is, but knew I'd love being back in my own apartment in Dallas. (Texas cost of living is like 1/3 that of California.) So, I left. I met my future husband, got engaged, got promoted at work, got pregnant and moved the wedding up by a year. Mom, JD and Rach moved to Dallas to be near us. Unfortunately, my husband's job search led us to southern Arizona.
I didn't know Rachael had started using drugs until much later. I remember telling my mom to get her tested, but, apparently, it'd already been going on for a while. I hate that most of my conversations with Rachael ended up being an argument. I hope she always knew that me trying to get her to stop sneaking out at night, stop partying, stop doing drugs was all because I love her and wanted the best for her.
I loved the pictures she took and posted to Facebook. Except the half-naked ones... and the murder/blood ones... I didn't know they were expressions of her art. I just saw my baby sister, half-naked, online. I judged. I judged my parents for what I thought was too much leniency. And I was wrong. I wasn't there everyday to see her, to know her. To know that his was her talent and her beauty coming through. My favorite photo is hard to pick but this one always stands out:
These are more of my faves.
She took many more - not of herself. I guess I like these because they are of her. Because this is how I want to remember her.
As far as I can tell, she started with drinking and pot. Like most teens do - but she was 12 when she started. What was recreational became a way of life. Her intellect was used to figure out how to get more. And her favorite source was Mom's pain pills. Mom has several back and joint issues that cause an unbearable amount of pain. Mom and JD went from locking their bedroom doors, to lock boxes, to a keypad safe and eventually a biometric (fingerprint) safe. She broke them all. Too damn smart for her own good. And we're all paying the price.
My baby sister, who was colicky as hell as an infant; who would scrunch up her face and put up her dukes to the phrase, "wanna fight?" when she was a year old; who loved cheerleading and dancing at age 7; my baby sister who I barely knew anymore... was hooked on Opana. Rachael would steal the pills from the safe, crush them, and snort them. Because, unlike me, she knew they were time released and this was the quickest way to get high. At 16, she told Mom, "I'm only happy when I'm high." And now, she's dead.
My parents couldn't afford to pay for rehab outright. So, they were doing what most of us do - trying to go through insurance and find a provider. Mom spent months trying to get Rachael into an inpatient program. Rach and JD went to Narcotics Anonymous meetings. She was seeing a therapist. Rachael knew she had a problem. She wanted to stop. But no help was to be found.
At 4:30 a.m. on Sunday, April 1st, my phone rang. I saw it was JD and thought he'd forgotten the time difference. Instead of telling him in an annoyed voice what time it was, I heard him sobbing out Rachael's name and everything in me stopped cold. The rest of the day is a blur. I remember getting no help with rates from the airlines; trying to sync my flight with my other sister's...
Then, came the hardest and strangest experience of my life. Helping my parents pick out Rachael's cremation casket, urn, stationary... going to the store with Riann to try to find a dress for Rachael's viewing... talking to the pastor about her funeral service. It was all very surreal. It still kind of is. A part of me still expects a text from her, complaining about Mom. Or asking me for something impossible and then getting mad when I say no. Or to see something on her Facebook that makes me cringe.
I've been in a numb-ish state for a while. More and more, I find the sadness creeping in. I told Wayne the other day I feel as if no matter how much fun I'm having, no matter how good my day is, there is a sadness shadowing it all. And I'm tired of never having an awesome day, anymore. Every song I hear, every show I see, every single thing makes me think of her. I'm fighting an overwhelming sadness every single day. Some days, I feel like I'm losing. Others, not so much.
Yesterday, when I started this entry, I was sad. Today, I've been angry. It's a roller coaster of emotion. And I'm not a huge fan of roller coasters.
Before you can say it, I know. I know it will get better. It takes time. Everyone grieves in their own way. I've heard it all. But hearing it, and knowing it, doesn't make this easier.
Sunday, May 20, 2012
Confrontation-averse does NOT equal wrong.
I hate confrontation. Seriously, hate it. My heart beats really fast, my blood rushes through my head, I feel weak and unsteady and just plain stupid. I can't think straight. Which makes it hard to make my point. And I end up "losing" the conversation. Not that winning is what it's about with me, but it's about standing up for myself. Apparently, I'm not very good at it. It doesn't help that my every effort to do so is thwarted by my own anxieties and I end up looking worse than when I began.
Most of the time, I just avoid, avoid, avoid. I will take your abuse and remember that it probably is not even about me. I like to believe that if I'm in a relationship worth being in, and the other person has a problem with me, she/he will state it without me having to ask. Sadly, there are times and relationships where that will not work. Where I must take a stand. The time leading up to that goes like this for me: first, I consider everything I'd like to say. Then, I try to imagine what the other person will say. As this is going on in my head, my heart starts to race and my hands begin to shake. I feel lightheaded, nauseated, and not a little crazy. Because the whole point is that I feel wronged - so why am I scared?! What have I done? What can the other person do to me? Obviously, it's my own doubts and insecurities holding me back. I wouldn't call it a "confrontation" if I'd done something wrong and needed to apologize. I'm just not like that. Apologizing so much easier for me than asking someone to stop hurting me. Sad, but true.
The only person I've been comfortable confronting is my husband. (Thank God, right? haha!) It's probably because I am so secure in our relationship, so sure in the knowledge he loves and respects me - and I him. I remain calm, I don't cry or yell (mostly), I'm not nervous. I make the points I need to make and know that I'm not being foolish, dramatic, etc.
Ohhhh. That's interesting. I do have a serious fear of people accusing me of drama. I have tried, for so long, to avoid being a dramatic person. Even in dramatic situations. Which, of course, goes back to being belittled for having feelings at various points in my life. My feelings were wrong and I was making a big deal over nothing.
So, what I'm lacking going into confrontation is confidence. And the only person who can control that is me.
Most of the time, I just avoid, avoid, avoid. I will take your abuse and remember that it probably is not even about me. I like to believe that if I'm in a relationship worth being in, and the other person has a problem with me, she/he will state it without me having to ask. Sadly, there are times and relationships where that will not work. Where I must take a stand. The time leading up to that goes like this for me: first, I consider everything I'd like to say. Then, I try to imagine what the other person will say. As this is going on in my head, my heart starts to race and my hands begin to shake. I feel lightheaded, nauseated, and not a little crazy. Because the whole point is that I feel wronged - so why am I scared?! What have I done? What can the other person do to me? Obviously, it's my own doubts and insecurities holding me back. I wouldn't call it a "confrontation" if I'd done something wrong and needed to apologize. I'm just not like that. Apologizing so much easier for me than asking someone to stop hurting me. Sad, but true.
The only person I've been comfortable confronting is my husband. (Thank God, right? haha!) It's probably because I am so secure in our relationship, so sure in the knowledge he loves and respects me - and I him. I remain calm, I don't cry or yell (mostly), I'm not nervous. I make the points I need to make and know that I'm not being foolish, dramatic, etc.
Ohhhh. That's interesting. I do have a serious fear of people accusing me of drama. I have tried, for so long, to avoid being a dramatic person. Even in dramatic situations. Which, of course, goes back to being belittled for having feelings at various points in my life. My feelings were wrong and I was making a big deal over nothing.
So, what I'm lacking going into confrontation is confidence. And the only person who can control that is me.
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