Hello world! (or is that wordpress)

Hey.
It's scribbles. I have been quiet for some time. I've had a lot of things to reflect over the last few months.
Wow. Did I say months?
I thought these injures were going to last maybe a week or two. Everyone kept telling me it doesn't look that bad. Well, I'm guessing it was.
As of today, I have lost my Americorps position, am terrified behind the wheel, have resonating memory issues, and my foot is shaped like a waxing moon.
I'm finally broken.
All those YEARS of stupid things i did, does not touch what has been done to me in that spilt-second of someone inattentiveness.
I look at my Facebook more and more. I see happy people, pissed off people, and yes a majority that I can call true friends. I have not left the house to do anything for myself.
I was once so pretty and put together. Now my house is in shambles, my hair is back to Deadlocks, and if I didn't have a three year old dependent on me to feed him I would never eat.
I have hit wall after wall in my pursuit of treatment and therapy. I was getting frustrated. Angry. Irate. Depressed.
Depression.
It's a sneaky bitch. I knew I was "getting" depressed. What I didn't know is it already had me. I would get mad after paying phone tag all day with a facility only to be told that they couldn't see me; because, I could not pay. I would stuff that anger, then move on the next day. The next day the cycle would repeat. My own perpetual Groundhog's day. In the last few weeks, this routine became a daily occurrence. Bill Murray has nothing on me. He snapped after a month.
I would call. Be told no. Then repeat. I then realized that I would find myself sleeping til 16:00. I would stay up until 06:00. This new sleep routine would have me sleeping through all my doctor's appointments.
I would be so hard on myself. I have that evil little voice saying to me:
Why are you staying up so late?
You know; this is punishment for stealing those buttons when you were three-years-old.
The baby is fine watching SpongeBob all day?
Ooooooo, Hay Day.
Only one more game....
You are never getting better anyway.
I started to listen to those little bastards in my head. Then I would get questions and phone calls from friends and family about when I was going to do "something." I found myself laying in bed half the day, and the other half soaking in a tub.
I dropped out of college. My pursuit for the disco patch is now on "hold."
All I hear is my husband yelling all night on his days off. He not handling the stress well either. He wasn't raised very well. I compare my husband's like a wild pack of gerbils. The only thing that drives gerbils is raw natural instinct. Their past times include: sleeping, eating and shitting. Lastly, once the children are old enough to ween, they are push to do everything for themselves. With that being said, I don't hold my husband accountable for all of his flaws, but the furniture chewing has got to stop. Yes, he's completely lost when complex things arise.
Life is not good at this point.
I keep getting asked how can "we" (the doctors/professionals) help you. I list a babysitter, stronger meds, a maid, and my bills paid. I got in return I get: a full-time three-year-old and 6 phone calls a day from (866)408-4070. Added on to all the new doctor appointments and phone calls. All of these stressor finally broke my spirit. In the last ditch effort to try to get the doctors to understand a smidgen of how overwhelmed I am I blurted out "I wish I would have died in this accident."
Before I get hate mail, I have been a silent witness to more suicides that I like to admit. I have witnessed the lost feeling of the family, the helplessness I feel as I will the deceased to take "just one breath," along with the feeling of I just want to be home to tell my kids I love them.
Now, I am also questioning how Could I dare be pissed to be called away from a warm meal to scoop a body out of the water, retrieve a body from a tree, or even "babysit" a scene for evidence preservation. How could I become so selfish?
Why did these people give up? I mean I know life is hard, but even I could see no way out. That did make me jump to the conclusion to end it all. I was also told I may not be able to return to EMS. Everything I trained for was going was floating out of my reach. I felt like I was falling though a never-ending hole. Blackness ahead of me, closed doors behind me, and impenetrable wall to my left and right.
I felt trapped. I have close to (of not over) 500 hours of training. I have been a member of a fire house for five years. Besides being a mom this is the longest I have ever dedicated myself to anything. I love walking into the house with the smell of diesel fuel mixed with the charred gear smell. This is my life. It's not fair that the rug was ripped out from under me.
BUT, I HELD STRONG TO THAT FUCKER. I grabbed a metaphor of a last thread of that rug. I am still hold strong to that fucker, and it still unravels in front of me.
I will return to the fire house.
I will return to the ambulance.
I will serve my community again.
Even if it maybe in a slightly different capacity then I am use to being.