And so, the week ends better than it began.

Herc is better. At least for now he's avoided going under the knife. After two days of x-rays, they finally decided that they didn't think there was a foreign body in his stomach. Although they went back and forth several times throughout Thursday and Friday.
The final consensus between the vets is that the barium collecting in his stomach shows an emptying problem, rather than a foreign body. They sent him home on Friday on a bland diet. We're watching him closely. If he shows any signs of being ill, then it's back to the vet. He's eating chicken and rice, drinking and peeing. He is still having trouble voiding, and that gives me pause. I'll touch base with the Doc again tomorrow morning.

Poor Logan is still broken hearted. Which means so is her mother.

Can't we just fast forward through this part of teenage stuff? :(

As far as the rest of it...
Things are re-stabilizing here.
The short of it is that we still have not learned to properly handle the "little earthquakes". 

Through counseling, hard work, patience, and love, we've made great gains. But for some reason we came back from vacation and seemed to have forgotten everything. Every coping skill, communication tool, every ounce of patience, all our work over the last few months; gone, nonexistent.
I don't know why we do that.

It really does baffle me, these "cycles" we seem to be in. Troy and I have a stronger, deeper, more foundational love than many couples I know. Certainly more than I've ever known myself. And yet, we continue to experience these little mishaps... we improperly handle them, we fight, we don't speak for two or three days, and before you know it, I'm pissed off enough to change my relationship status on facebook (I know, funny... Funny, but not funny... Stupid funny.. Okay,  retarded.).
We both obviously still need work.
But, I haven't lost all hope that we can succeed. And I guess that says something.

I skipped my therapy appointment this week. I didn't feel like talking. I missed a re-evaluation with my psych nurse over vacation. I keep meaning to reschedule. I think I'm putting it off. Even though the new meds they tried me on are almost out at this point. I think I'm frustrated. I know I am. 

I don't feel any better. I still have bouts of anger where I behave like my prepubescent son. Throw things, slam things, yell and curse. I still get depressed. I still have excitable moments, highs.. (Just last night, my co-bartender thought I was hysterical, and asked- "Did they switch your meds or something?".. Ha. Ha.). I've lost interest in crafting. Shocker. I've started thinking I needed another dog. I want to trade my car in. I used to love to read; I'd devour book after book, after book... I can't tell you the last time I even thought about reading. I don't just "worry"; I'm paranoid. Paranoid; I don't like that word.

I'm starting to think that nothing will help. Perhaps it's not chemical, it's not a "disorder" at all, it's just how I'm wired, and that there is no help for it. But there's got to be. There has to be.