I Just Need to Feel Human Again
October 18, 2026
I’ve been in bed for days.
It started a couple of weeks ago when I got sick, which threw me into a fibro flare, and now I’m just… depressed.
Really fucking depressed.
I’ve been trying to force myself to keep doing things. Running my company, working on the shop, keeping up with 31 Days of Halloween, doing the things that normally give me some sense of purpose. But this week has been especially difficult.
I’ve been doing my Halloween projects, but if I’m being completely honest, this year they’ve felt more like a chore than the fun creative project they’re supposed to be.
And I hate that.
I’m trying to maintain the basics.
Eat.
Drink water.
Take my meds.
Shower.
Take care of Beaker.
I’ve mostly succeeded at all of that, but then I end up right back in bed.
I had bloodwork done last week and, surprisingly, it came back looking really good. So I know at least some of what I’m feeling right now is probably more psychological than physical, especially because I can feel how fucking sad I am.
And there are a lot of reasons for that.
We’re heading into the holiday season.
I’m alone.
January is coming, and my mom’s birthday is the day before mine.
This will be the first time I have to experience my birthday without her.
I don’t think I’m ready for that.
I’m not sure I’m ready for any of it.
I’m Still Angry
I’m also still carrying an enormous amount of anger and resentment about what happened during my mom’s hospitalization.
I know I have to be careful about how I talk about this publicly because there are still questions surrounding those weeks that I’m continuing to address through the appropriate channels.
But emotionally?
I am fucking furious.
I still believe, with every part of me, that things could have been different if my mom had received the care and attention I believe she needed.
I know I can’t know for certain what would have happened.
Nobody can.
I know that.
But I was there.
I knew my mother.
I spent nearly three years caring for her while Alzheimer’s slowly took pieces of her away. I knew what she could do. I knew what she couldn’t do. I knew what was normal for her and what wasn’t.
And I watched her go from being up and moving around to being gone.
That is something I’m still trying to make sense of.
I don’t want revenge.
I don’t want anyone punished simply because I’m angry.
I don’t want a hospital shut down.
What I want is accountability.
I want people to look at what happened, listen to the concerns being raised and ask whether things could have been handled differently.
And if there were failures, I want those failures addressed so another family doesn’t have to sit where I am sitting right now.
That’s why I’ve continued taking my concerns to the appropriate people and organizations. I’ve reached out to state officials and elected representatives, and I’ve received responses that I’m continuing to work through.
Maybe someday this anger will turn into something useful.
Right now it mostly just hurts.
Maybe That’s Why I’m Stuck
I think part of me has been trying to outrun all of this.
Work.
Inventory.
The shop.
31 Days of Halloween.
Anything that gives me something to focus on besides the fact that my mom and dad are gone and Spencer is gone and my life looks completely different than it did a year ago.
But eventually your brain catches up with you.
You can’t outrun grief forever.
And when it catches you, it doesn’t exactly tap you gently on the shoulder.
It tackles you.
I know medication can help with depression.
Therapy helps me process things.
Both are important to me.
But neither one can magically remove grief.
You can’t medicate someone back into having their mother.
You can’t talk your way into bringing your dad home.
You can’t therapy your way into getting your soul dog back.
And I think that’s the part people don’t always understand.
Sometimes there isn’t something to fix.
Sometimes there is just something to survive.
I Want My Life Back
I hate feeling like this.
The crushing grief.
The anger.
The anxiety.
The exhaustion.
The emptiness.
It feels debilitating sometimes.
It makes me feel like a shell of myself.
And I know I’m still in the middle of this. It’s not even been that long since Mom died. I know grief takes time. I know I’m not supposed to have this figured out.
But knowing that doesn’t make lying in bed any less miserable.
I don’t want to spend my life in my bed.
I don’t want to spend every day feeling like I’m dragging myself through mud.
I want to make things again because I actually want to make them.
I want to work because I’m excited about what I’m building, not because I’m trying desperately not to think.
I want to laugh and mean it.
I want to go somewhere without feeling like I’m forcing myself through the motions.
I want to feel like a person again.
And maybe that’s where I am right now.
Not fixing everything.
Not pretending I’m okay.
Just trying to get myself back to the point where I can actually participate in my own life again.
Because I still have a lot of life left to live.
I still have FRDCreations.
I still have art.
I still have plans.
I still have places I want to go.
I still have a ridiculous amount of beads.
And I have a very needy, occasionally dickheaded dog who apparently intends to keep me alive through sheer obligation.
I just need to get myself out of this bed long enough to remember that.
So that’s where I am today.
Not great.
Not pretending to be great.
But still here.
And maybe for now, that’s enough.