That was after putting in a nifty plug-in (Page Links To) that would let me redirct pages or posts to other websites, in essence making some of my pages links.

Then my precious blog vanished.

No posts.

No pages.

Just 6,370 comments in response to NOTHING!

I sat in shock for awhile.

I went back through everything I did, desperately trying to undo it all.

My heart was heavy, with a panicky flicker of nervous despair and a dash of hope.

Why was I so freaked out?

Surely I could just restore everything from backed up files.

Except that was the problem.

I HAVE NEVER BACKED UP MY BLOG.

8 YEARS OF BLOGGING.

I AM AN IDIOT.

My journey in blogging started with a Livejournal that I exported over to a free wordpress.com and then later exported into paid domain with a snazzy webhost (Girly Website Hosting) and a shiny brand new wordpress.org.

8 years of what I like to think of as my scrapbook was summed up by the words “error 404″ and “page not found” and zero counts in the posts and pages section of my dashboard.

I googled my tush off trying to figure out if it could be fixed.

Interspersed by facebook and twitter updates lamenting my sorry existence.

Then my search came up gold.

I read someone elses story, very similar to mine. Posts and pages gone, comments still available.

It looked like my database still had an awful lot of data in it to be “lost”.

I hit repair.

Everything came back OK.

MY BLOG IS BACK!

I have learned a valuable lesson, please take it to heart if you blog as well.

ALWAYS BACK UP YOUR DATABASE AND FILES.

BUT…..

I’m exhausted.

Mentally.

Physically.

Stick a fork in me, I’m done.

All I’ve managed to do this week is crochet and read and the bare minimum around the house.

Today I had to clean, we had cell group and I was making 2 lasagnas.

I somehow managed “getting on my hands and knees with a toothbrush” type cleaning.

I feel like I can barely move.

I don’t know what is wrong with me.

I feel depressed.

I could really use a lift in mood.

Desperately.

I hope it comes soon.

What’s in your pantry?

No. Really. What’s in there?

For this week’s prompt, grab something out of your pantry and write a short piece – using all the words in the ingredients. It can be fiction or non-fiction, poetry or prose.

Make sure you join in and link up. It’s fun, I promise!

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Today was challenging.

It was a challenge waking up at 12:30am to my dear sweet husband, after so nicely getting up to put Alex to bed when he woke up crying, informing me the reason Alejandro had been so upset was due to him puking up dinner all over his pajamas and bed.

It was a challenge waking up at 3:30am to my dear sweet youngest daughter waking me up ever so gently and informing me that she had thrown up all over her bed and the carpet.

It was a challenge cleaning up chunks of half digested mandarin orange segments from the sheets after letting them dry overnight, because I was too tired and had no desire to clean it up in the wee hours of the morning.

It was a challenge staying away from the two king-size chocolate confections of Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups and Milky Way sitting in the fruit bowl, when all I wanted was to overdose on sugar.

It was a challenge drinking only water, when all I wanted was to down the ice-cold Vanilla Coke Zero in the fridge.

It was a challenge cleaning and disinfecting everything, when all I wanted to do was take a nap.

Today was challenging.

But.

Tomorrow is a new day.

I’m frightened of getting thin and healthy and of never getting pregnant again and having another baby.

I was a girl of indecision, unless it was right then in the moment and I wanted something… badly.. NOW. Everything I did was decided by my mood. I was either the social party girl trying to get everyone together or I was locked away in my dark room, listening to Hurt by Nine Inch Nails or Korn on repeat ruminating negative thinking and suicidal thoughts while playing solitaire. Drawing blood with a safety pin on my index finger, so no one would notice and call me on it, to kill some of the emotional pain. Side note: Self harm is never the answer. It never truly makes the pain go away.

What changed in me?

I got knocked up.

No seriously, an unplanned pregnancy with my best friend and on and off again boyfriend depending on my mood, who later ended up my husband.

I was still moody, but somehow being pregnant and then becoming a mother helped to tame that side of me. I have had my ups and downs, been to therapy, a psychiatrist, been on meds for bipolar disorder in between pregnancies when I started to feel out of control again.

I fear being thin and healthy for when I am that high social butterfly. I’m afraid I will lose track of what I have and just flit away into the world leaving everything I love dearly behind until I crash and realize what I’ve done. I don’t ever want to do anything to hurt my husband or family and being frumpy has been my way of trying to control that.

I fear not having another baby. I have always wanted 4 children, that was my magic number. My inspiration and hero has always been my Nana, who passed away right after Brianna was born. I’ve tried to be her in every way possible. I want a big family. But I’m trying to figure out why I want another child. To be like Nana? To please the family who loves the fact that I’m following in her footsteps? To keep me focused and trapped as main caregiver for the next 5 years to keep me calmed down?

And perhaps all this is in my head. All these preconceived notions of my jumping off the deep end and the reasons for me not doing it is because I am truly changed and not just because I’m fat and a mother. That I can control the mildness of my bipolar disorder by getting help when it starts to spin out of control even if I am thin and don’t have another baby.

I’m not sure.

I want to make the right decisions and I don’t want to keep locking myself in the darkness afraid of what I may or may not do.

I want to have a baby for all the right reasons, not because I am fearful of if I don’t.

I don’t want to hold onto all this garbage.

Can’t I be free?