I haven't had anything to say in a really long time. I would guess, because I haven't actually done anything in a really long time. I exist. Sort of. I numbly pass each day without progress, accomplishment, or insight. I spend most of my time sitting or laying, watching mindless television and waiting for the next time my mind will kindly shut down and sleep. I occasionally come out of the fog, say if my daughter visits or my best friend has an art show. But it is always temporary and always fake.
My mind races at times with hundreds of things that I want to do, could do, and would help. To date I have done none of these things. I have begun several, but part way through (or often before even beginning) an inner voice stops me. "You can't do this. It won't work. You're too tired. It's too hard. It's too scary. Just quit it's easier." Sadly, my conscious mind hears this and shuts down. No matter how many self-help books, documentaries, or healers I study my fears and self doubt keep winning out.
I am bogged down by anger, fear, guilt, shame, hurt, blame, and the all encompassing exhaustion created by these feelings. In an attempt to bring in some light I watched a documentary on Deepak Chopra that included an interesting idea. "Your anger has nothing to do with today. It is a left over from all your yesterdays." For some reason this resonated with me rather strongly. No one hurt me today, I did nothing wrong or negative today, and my mood could be classified as neutral. Yet minutes after waking and for the rest of the day I felt hurt, wronged, mad, shamed, guilty, and depressed. I let leftover hurts and problems clog my mind and exhaust my body. Because of that I did exactly what I've been doing for months. Nothing.
Is it possible, once realizing this, to leave those feelings in the past? To wake up tomorrow with a clean emotional slate and only feel the feelings related to the present?
Zen Buddhism would say yes. A loosely translated teaching states that if you walk around with shit on your nose you will smell shit all day. Instead of complaining about the smell, wash your face.
So I wash my face. Angus, Mary, Vanessa, Travis, Trevor, Richard, you and what you did to me are nothing but shit that I need to wash off. My past struggles and pains are nothing but shit that I need to wash off. Not to say there won't be countless more struggles to come, the trick is to learn how to not let them stick to my face.
Showing posts with label bullying. Show all posts
Showing posts with label bullying. Show all posts
Sunday, September 15, 2013
Wednesday, November 28, 2012
It's not actually that I lie....
I have been accused recently (and throughout the last 20 years actually) of lying. I have even termed my actions in my own head from time to time as lying. But that's not exactly accurate. I guess in the strictest sense my actions could be termed lies of omission, but as there is absolutely zero malice aforethought, or malicious intent I am uncomfortable with classifying them as such.
See what I really do is hide. Not lie, but hide.
Driven perhaps by fear, shame, disappointment, or a need for protection. I started out life incredibly gifted. Both intellectually and athletically. I was even rather cute so I guess you could say I had it all. I was gifted, lucky, and incredibly happy. Unfortunately such gifts and good fortune tend to bring about jealousy in others. My first experience with this came at the age of 8 or 9. I was in grade four and was verbally attacked at recess for not dressing like everyone else in my one-horse prairie hick town. I was mocked and told I was a snob because I had left the tiny local gymnastics club in order to train and compete with a club "in the city". At 9 years of age I was told that what I liked was stupid, and going after my goals was ridiculous. I didn't realize at the time how much this affected me. I wish that I could say I got past it and thrived despite it, but I didn't.
The bullying continued. For some reason I seemed to attract friends who found it easier to be jealous than supportive. It all came to a head in high school when my already shaky self-esteem took a hit from a friend from it it would never recover. This blow triggered repressed memories, leading to to PTSD, and eventually a diagnosis of Bipolar 2 disorder in my early 20's.
I am sad to say that at 35 years of age, my self-esteem has never recovered. I am still that 9 year old. Sitting on the swings crying. Wondering what on earth is so wrong with my outfit. And why anyone would ever think going to gymnastics and wanting to do well is a bad thing.
So I hide. I choose what and how much of myself, my life, and my reality at any given point I reveal to every individual in my life.
No one knows 100 percent. No one. The last person who knew about 90 percent broke my heart and left me. So right now no one even knows much more than half.
And which half they know depends on who they are. There are people I've never met and probably never will meet that know more about my current mindset and mental health than my family will ever know. I can't do that to them. I'll feel like I'm letting them down. Like I'm hurting them. Again.
I moved to Vancouver just over two years ago for a fresh start. For a change that was supposed to turn things around and get me out of the rut that rural Saskatchewan and bipolar had sucked me into. New province, new rut. My family doesn't know this. I can't disappoint them. And I cannot let my parents know that there are still days, more days than I wish to admit, that I feel like nose-diving straight off the Cambie Bridge. I can't do that to them. I can't cause them anymore pain. My mother sat at my bedside day and night for nearly 4 days while machines breathed for me after I became too weak to go on. I cannot cause them pain or concern. I've put them through too much. Whether my fault or not, their false belief that I am well and life is good makes them happy and gives them hope. I feel like I owe them that much.
I edit myself with my friends, what few I have, as well. I have enough trouble believing that anyone would ever willingly spend time with me or like me, so I reveal the pieces of me that I think will be appealing to whomever I'm with. I never make things up, or pretend to be something I'm not. I just only let out the pieces of my true self I feel will be the most appealing, or least offensive to my present company.
As you can guess, this is not a very good way to meet new people or maintain meaningful relationships so I spend a inordinate, and most likely damaging amount of time alone. And I hide there too.
I hide in my house because it is easier than going out into the world to risk judgment and failure. I hide in my bed because it is a cocoon of protection and denial that keeps me from realizing how much time I'm wasting being afraid. And I hide from my thoughts which are often frightening or judgmental, but even when they are inspired and positive manage to make me feel guilty for never acting on them or following through.
I hide because it is safe.
I hide because there is less risk.
I hide because even I don't know what or who I really am. Or what it is I really want.
I hide because I am ashamed and afraid.
And I hide because it is easier.
I am sick of taking the easy way out.
I AM SICK OF TAKING THE EASY ROAD.
So often brilliance and madness intersect. I was shamed for my brilliance so I hide in my madness. I use it as a shield, an escape. I must find my brilliance once again. It does not lie in science and math the way it used to. Over the years my experiences have morphed it into something else, changed its focus. The trick is finding it again.
Where did the brilliance go? And how can I use it well? I am convinced that the path to recovery and survival lies here.
See what I really do is hide. Not lie, but hide.
Driven perhaps by fear, shame, disappointment, or a need for protection. I started out life incredibly gifted. Both intellectually and athletically. I was even rather cute so I guess you could say I had it all. I was gifted, lucky, and incredibly happy. Unfortunately such gifts and good fortune tend to bring about jealousy in others. My first experience with this came at the age of 8 or 9. I was in grade four and was verbally attacked at recess for not dressing like everyone else in my one-horse prairie hick town. I was mocked and told I was a snob because I had left the tiny local gymnastics club in order to train and compete with a club "in the city". At 9 years of age I was told that what I liked was stupid, and going after my goals was ridiculous. I didn't realize at the time how much this affected me. I wish that I could say I got past it and thrived despite it, but I didn't.
The bullying continued. For some reason I seemed to attract friends who found it easier to be jealous than supportive. It all came to a head in high school when my already shaky self-esteem took a hit from a friend from it it would never recover. This blow triggered repressed memories, leading to to PTSD, and eventually a diagnosis of Bipolar 2 disorder in my early 20's.
I am sad to say that at 35 years of age, my self-esteem has never recovered. I am still that 9 year old. Sitting on the swings crying. Wondering what on earth is so wrong with my outfit. And why anyone would ever think going to gymnastics and wanting to do well is a bad thing.
So I hide. I choose what and how much of myself, my life, and my reality at any given point I reveal to every individual in my life.
No one knows 100 percent. No one. The last person who knew about 90 percent broke my heart and left me. So right now no one even knows much more than half.
And which half they know depends on who they are. There are people I've never met and probably never will meet that know more about my current mindset and mental health than my family will ever know. I can't do that to them. I'll feel like I'm letting them down. Like I'm hurting them. Again.
I moved to Vancouver just over two years ago for a fresh start. For a change that was supposed to turn things around and get me out of the rut that rural Saskatchewan and bipolar had sucked me into. New province, new rut. My family doesn't know this. I can't disappoint them. And I cannot let my parents know that there are still days, more days than I wish to admit, that I feel like nose-diving straight off the Cambie Bridge. I can't do that to them. I can't cause them anymore pain. My mother sat at my bedside day and night for nearly 4 days while machines breathed for me after I became too weak to go on. I cannot cause them pain or concern. I've put them through too much. Whether my fault or not, their false belief that I am well and life is good makes them happy and gives them hope. I feel like I owe them that much.
I edit myself with my friends, what few I have, as well. I have enough trouble believing that anyone would ever willingly spend time with me or like me, so I reveal the pieces of me that I think will be appealing to whomever I'm with. I never make things up, or pretend to be something I'm not. I just only let out the pieces of my true self I feel will be the most appealing, or least offensive to my present company.
As you can guess, this is not a very good way to meet new people or maintain meaningful relationships so I spend a inordinate, and most likely damaging amount of time alone. And I hide there too.
I hide in my house because it is easier than going out into the world to risk judgment and failure. I hide in my bed because it is a cocoon of protection and denial that keeps me from realizing how much time I'm wasting being afraid. And I hide from my thoughts which are often frightening or judgmental, but even when they are inspired and positive manage to make me feel guilty for never acting on them or following through.
I hide because it is safe.
I hide because there is less risk.
I hide because even I don't know what or who I really am. Or what it is I really want.
I hide because I am ashamed and afraid.
And I hide because it is easier.
I am sick of taking the easy way out.
I AM SICK OF TAKING THE EASY ROAD.
So often brilliance and madness intersect. I was shamed for my brilliance so I hide in my madness. I use it as a shield, an escape. I must find my brilliance once again. It does not lie in science and math the way it used to. Over the years my experiences have morphed it into something else, changed its focus. The trick is finding it again.
Where did the brilliance go? And how can I use it well? I am convinced that the path to recovery and survival lies here.
Friday, April 6, 2012
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.
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.
Tuesday, January 24, 2012
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.
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.
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
new epiphany......
yesterday i screamed at a man in my car. a man who wasn't there. it wasn't a hallucination. it was a real person. a person from the past. a person i wish i really could scream at. i person i probably could scream at. i addition to screaming at myself.
yesterday i realized that my bipolar may not be my biggest problem. i had a christmas epiphany, but it wasn't the right epiphany. this is....
this isn't about depression. this isn't about mania. this isn't about mixed states or meds or any of that.
he took more than i had to give and i have never felt whole again. an empty shell, a hollowed out tree. i have spent my life trying to fill this void with so many useless substitutes but its never enough. i'm still empty and i still feel like there's nothing inside.
she stabbed me in the back and she abandoned me. she lied. she took what was most precious to me. and she robbed me of any faith and confidence that i had left. i stopped walking tall that day. i stopped looking people in the eye. i heart fell that day. i lost myself that day. and i lost my best friend that day.
but i let them keep that power. i let affect me this long. i let them take over my life. i thought i had dealt with this. i have taken positive action several times to deal with all of this. and i have healed. at least i thought i had....
so why am i still screaming at them in my car? why do i still hate the person in the mirror? why do i not believe deep down that i can really change and succeed? there are a couple of things i want to do in life but in my heart i don't believe anything i do or think up will ever be good enough for someone else to want or think is good. i don't think i'm good enough. or ever will be. i want to. i really really want to. i just don't know how.
do i keep screaming at people in my car? do i just let it go? i thought i had let it go.
i wish the bipolar was my biggest problem. you can medicate that. you can't medicate this.
yesterday i realized that my bipolar may not be my biggest problem. i had a christmas epiphany, but it wasn't the right epiphany. this is....
this isn't about depression. this isn't about mania. this isn't about mixed states or meds or any of that.
he took more than i had to give and i have never felt whole again. an empty shell, a hollowed out tree. i have spent my life trying to fill this void with so many useless substitutes but its never enough. i'm still empty and i still feel like there's nothing inside.
she stabbed me in the back and she abandoned me. she lied. she took what was most precious to me. and she robbed me of any faith and confidence that i had left. i stopped walking tall that day. i stopped looking people in the eye. i heart fell that day. i lost myself that day. and i lost my best friend that day.
but i let them keep that power. i let affect me this long. i let them take over my life. i thought i had dealt with this. i have taken positive action several times to deal with all of this. and i have healed. at least i thought i had....
so why am i still screaming at them in my car? why do i still hate the person in the mirror? why do i not believe deep down that i can really change and succeed? there are a couple of things i want to do in life but in my heart i don't believe anything i do or think up will ever be good enough for someone else to want or think is good. i don't think i'm good enough. or ever will be. i want to. i really really want to. i just don't know how.
do i keep screaming at people in my car? do i just let it go? i thought i had let it go.
i wish the bipolar was my biggest problem. you can medicate that. you can't medicate this.
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