What did you just say to me???

I told myself I was going to write more often, but I have been struggling with that. It seems I am only inspired to write when I truly have something to say. Well tonight is one of those times. I truly have something to say....

If you as a parent and you teach your children only one thing, let it be this: you are not better than anyone else on the planet, just different than and you do not have the right to be mean, cruel, judgmental, or rude to anyone ever just because you feel like it.

I was bullied horribly in high school. By a jealous "friend", by her new "friends", by a lot of people. In grade 10 I gained 10 pounds after quitting competitive gymnastics. I went from a 2 to a 6. At a party a guy actually made pig noises at me. At 5'3 and 125 pounds someone oinked at me and people laughed. Then they joined in. That is when my disordered relationship with food, and absolute hatred of my body began.

Now at 35 it is happening again. I gained some weight after moving to Vancouver for various reasons including loneliness, laziness, and age. At 5'3 and 120 pounds I was again called fat. And laughed at. And told "ya you're way too big for me". I have been fighting my ED for 20 years and had recently reached a point where I honestly felt like I could say I was in recovery. Until tonight......


Is this person important? No.

Will I ever see him or any of his jerk friends again? Probably not.

Are they worth my anxiety, anger, and time? Not in the least.


And yet here I sit. Alone. Wounded. And crying. Because once again I am the 15 year old at the party getting oinked at. I ran home and cried, vowing to never eat or leave my house again just like I did 20 years ago. I have gained a lot of strength in those 20 years but deep down I'm worried I will always be that lonely wounded little girl at the party. Who, for the first time in her life, thought "I'm not good enough" and has been fighting that feeling ever since.

How dare you? What ever made you think that you have the right to say anything like that to anyone ever? You disgust me.

And yet your words tore me down, ripped me to shreds, and hurt me more than you'll ever know,

I'm 35 years old, I had hoped the bullying had ended a very long time ago. I guess I was wrong.

Sadly, I was very very wrong.

Heartbroken and helpless....

So tonight I found out that my 15 year old nephew has been in emergency foster care placement for a month because my sister is useless idiot. No one in my family saw fit to tell me. My mother's excuse was that "it's not nice to talk about." Really mom? Oh it's uncomfortable and unpleasant so you're just going to not talk about it and hope it goes away? How about you ignore it and hopefully it goes away on it's own. Let's not dare face it head on, be honest, and try to come up with a useful helpful helpful solution. Oh no, because that would be the smart rational thing to do.

What does this remind me of? Oh right!!!! When I first started having symptoms of depression, PTSD, and eventually bipolar and you shuffled it under the rug and never got me any real help. When you ignored it and refused to learn anything about it so that you could properly help me. I know you loved me mom and dad but you sure as hell messed it up with me, and you're about to do the same thing with your grandson. All because "you don't like to talk about uncomfortable, unpleasant stuff". Thanks for the hug, but avoidance didn't get us anywhere then and it will not help the poor child now. Back then it in fact made things worse, I fear that is what is about to happen again.

All of this is, of course, happening 1700km away from me. So it's easy for them to hide it from me. Why they feel the need to I'm not sure. Probably because they knew I'd be outraged and refuse to sit back and be quiet while my idiot sister (pardon my french) fucks over her own kid. I have never been so worried about a child in my life. He is depressed, feeling unwanted, unloved, and abandoned. I want so much to help him, but I don't know what to do. I am here, they are there. I want to bring him to Vancouver and get him away from the hell that is his mother and now his foster home, but my twit of a sister made up lie about him trying to attack her so now the poor kid has a court date. Who lies to the cops and tells them your son tried to murder you just because you're too lazy to deal with a teenager with an attitude? And might I point out that his attitude is entirely his mother's fault as she exposed him to physical and emotional abuse at the hands of her boyfriends, while she was an alcoholic, cokehead stripper. On top of that she abandoned him with boyfriends, friends, and my parents several times throughout his short life. I'm surprised the poor boy is doing as well as he is. But seriously???!!!! Who tries to put their own kid in juvenile detention with lies because they're too lazy to be a real parent?

Answer: my sister.

Family can be great, but I cannot forgive her for this. That poor child needs love, support, guidance, and compassion not this. Never this. I can't imagine the hell he is in. I can't imagine what went through her mind that could make her do this. I am so livid I am shaking.

I need to help him. I will help him. I just haven't figured out how yet. He is so smart, so sweet, so deserving of good. It's time someone gave him that instead of what his mother has given him all of his life. Once he is found not guilty of her horrible attack lies I will do something. I will find a way. I will not let him get lost in all of the bullshit. I will not let him go through as many years of hell as I did just because "THEY" don't wanna talk about it or face the truth.

No one deserves what that child has been through. No one. And the fact that it is happening to my own nephew is unbearable to me. The fact that I am so far away and feel so helpless to stop his pain and support him the way he needs is heartbreaking. His pain is now my pain and I want more than anything is this world to make it ok for him. To find a way to help him past his pain so that he is not still hurting and struggling in 20 years like I am. I will not allow him to have to go through what I have.

I don't know how yet, but I will find a way. I cannot abandon this kid. I cannot sit back and be silent because it's easier and more comfortable. This is my purpose. To help my nephew. To find a way, no matter what. I will not let him get lost in the bullshit. I will not let him feel unwanted or unloved ever again. I know what that's like. Never again.

Never again.

A lesson from Seinfeld........

They say the definition of insanity is to keep doing what you have always done expecting different results. In the spirit of that, I took a lesson from Seinfeld this morning and made an "Opposite George" inspired decision. As expected, it turned out brilliantly.

Normally on Sundays (when I don't have one of my daughters) I clean, or avoid cleaning by sleeping, watching tv, or going for boring walks by myself. This morning 2 dear friends invited me to go snowboarding with them up at Cypress, and me being my ever anti-social lazy self was himming and hawing about why I didn't really feel up to it and probably wasn't going to go. It was at that moment, as I was about to tell them to head out without me, that I remember the opposite George episode and thought "screw it, go anyway even if you don't want to right now". So I did. And it was FANTASTIC! i have never before been skiing or boarding that was literally t-shirt weather, but that's what today was and it was glorious. The sun was gorgeous, the snow was decent, the company was fabulous, and even though this is only my 3rd time ever snowboarding I did pretty darn well. I could feel my improvement and I LOVE THAT!

"I used to sit here and do nothing and regret it for the rest of the day, so now I will do the opposite and I will do something."

I did. And I am so thankful that I ignored my normal instinct.

"If every instinct you have is wrong, then the opposite would have to be right."

Well I don't know if every instinct that I have is wrong, but a lot of them (especially those influenced by my illness) are certainly not advisable. My life is not where I want it to be right now. I am not where I want to be in life right now. The only person that can do anything to change that is me. Maybe by consciously doing the opposite of my first instinct sometimes. The only way to change who I am and where I am is to start doing things differently. It was a small step today, but a step nonetheless. I take that as a damn good day.

And although I doubt I'll be telling off Aquilini or Gillis anytime soon, I do want to make a change. One small step and one damn good day at a time. (Although a job with the Canucks would be pretty sweet........)

A lesson in gratitude....

While waiting for the bus on W Broadway today I was reminded of something that I too easily forget. Even with all my struggles and problems, I've got it pretty darn good.....

Behind me was an older woman. She was sitting at one of the outdoor tables mumbling to herself and occasionally yelling out random obscenities mixed with gibberish. She was clearly, to me at least, schizophrenic or severely manic and in some sort of dissociative state. Those sitting near her and those walking past glared, whispered, passed judgment, and looked down their noses at this poor woman who was resting her feet, completely oblivious to the fact that she was out of place or bothering anyone. I, however, looked at her with concern, pity, understanding, and an extreme thankfulness that I was not in her same situation. I do not pretend that this makes me any better, kinder, or more informed than the other passersby. I feel so differently than them because deep down I am much more similar to the mumbling old lady than the offended onlookers.

I wonder where she has come from. What she's done earlier today that's brought her to the McDonald's patio at 4:30 on a Saturday. And where will she go when she leaves here. Does she have a home, a place to stay, a warm bed to crawl into tonight and forget her troubles for a few short hours? She is shabbily dressed, not exactly clean, and carrying a back pack so it is impossible to tell where she might have been, or where she is headed. I feel a deep sense of gratitude and a feeling of luck wash over me as I realize that but for a couple twists of fate I could be that woman. I want to help her but I don't know how. A couple dollars or a sandwich is merely a "band-aid" solution that does nothing to truly address her problems or help her in the long-term. She has clearly been let down by the health care system and is either unmedicated or self medicating as the drugs to treat schizophrenia or extreme mania are more expensive than even I can afford. While pondering what possibly I could do to help this woman or people like her the bus arrives and my thoughts turn to my own situation...

I am sick, but not as sick as this woman. I have had wild manic bursts but nothing to the point that would have me mumbling on the street corner or yelling at strangers. I have been unable to work for quite some time now, but by some glorious twist of fate I landed a government job a year before my illness totally took over my life and incapacitated me so I receive disability that makes it possible for me to live a semi-normal life. I can pay the rent in my very nice apartment, in a safe, quiet, secure neighbourhood. I can pay my utility bills, cel bill, and there is always food in my cupboards. I won't be taking any tropical vacations this year, or buying any of the designer shoes and clothes I love, but I've got it pretty darn good considering. I spend my short bus ride being ridiculously thankful for that glorious twist of fate and the things I do have, for if it weren't for the disability I receive I would be either homeless or living on a farm outside Podunk Saskatchewan with my parents. Neither of which sounds like a very great situation compared to where I am.

I spend so much time being mad at the fact that I have this illness, and longing for the me that was before it took over. I dwell on what could of been, what should've been, and all the potential that will never be realized. I forget too easily to just sit back, breathe, and be thankful for what is. For what still could be. And for not having worse than I do. I may never fully get over the pain. I may never escape the darkness and hurt and self-doubt that consumes me, but I hope that I never forget the light that I do have. The luck that has brought me a safe place to keep my things, and a warm bed every night to escape, even for a few hours, the craziness that is my life.

(I have yet to come up with any ideas of how to help in any way the woman I saw or people like her. It seems almost futile and pointless as the problem is soooo big and so complex. This makes me sad. I wish somehow, someway, there was something I could do to pay my luck and gratitude forward...........)

Why am I in bed???

Seriously, it's as simple as that. Why am I in bed?

The answer: I don't know.

I went to bed last night slightly manic, slept through my alarm, and woke up late in an unexplained low mood. I drank a bunch of water, ate some supposed "energy boosting" food, drank some tea, yet here I sit. Even sitting here I could be reading, knitting, doing my nails, anything. But I'm not. I'm just sitting here. Even finding the energy and motivation to write this post is proving to be ridiculously trying.

What am I afraid of? Failure? Success? Even trying? Yup. Yup. And yup. Why don't I feel that I am deserving and worthy? Why don't I feel that anyone else will ever see me as deserving and worthy?

I have to stop now because I'm about to cry. And I really don't have the energy or strength to handle that today.

You know who you are.....

You know who you are.

You thought the Charlie Sheen debacle last year was funny not sad. You ridicule and judge the homeless person downtown who mumbles to himself or shouts at strangers. And you think that I am crazy, unstable, needy, and merely trying to get attention because I have bipolar.

You don't realize that Charlie Sheen has a mental illness. Either one that has been around most of his life that he is trying to self-medicate, or one brought on by heavy drug use that is now out of control. Regardless it is an illness. No more his fault than someone who gets cancer, either because of genetics or because they smoked a pack a day for 20 years. You see his breakdown as a comedy not a tragedy, Nd you are wrong.

You don't realize that the homeless man downtown didn't choose to be homeless. He is schizophrenic or severely bipolar and was forced onto the streets when the government closed the city's only residential mental health hospital and gave him nowhere else to go. You blame him for his situation and wash your hands of him just like the government, and you are wrong.

You don't realize that I am a brilliant, creative, wounded soul who would not choose this life for anything. I was abused as a six year old, bullied as a teenager, and hospitalized for the first time at 17. I have spent the last 17 years on a hellish rollercoaster. Fighting just to survive, trying to build something of a life for myself, being beat up by an illness that many people blame me for and think is funny. You decide that I am a lazy, out of control attention whore who doesn't deserve your respect, and you are wrong.

Mental health bullying is wrong. Judging us for having an illness that is out of our control is the same as bullying someone for the colour of their skin, the amount of money their parents make, or their sexual orientation. The tragic suicides of gay youth in the latter part of 2011 brought bullying into the limelight. Good. People need to talk about it, they need to know that it is wrong, and gay youth need to be supported and given hope. It's time we call out the bullies and those ignorant of what we really go through, and tell them it is wrong, and give mentally ill youth hope. I know at 17 I could have used it. I survived, barely. I knew young people that didn't.

You know who you are.

And you are wrong.

And you need to stop.

Now.