It's been a long time

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.

I don't ever wanna let anyone down...

Today has been a really hard day.

No particular reason. Woke up, and within seconds could just tell that it was going to be a struggle just to make it through. One of those dark cloud, black hole, cannot find the light no matter how hard you look kind of days. The kind where it feels like apathy swallowed your heart and you couldn't bring yourself to care if your life depended on it. The kind filled with the confusion of somehow being numb and in pain all at the same time.

Ya, one of those days.

It started with me in tears on the kitchen floor because the jam I tried to make for my sister didn't turn out. This tiny mistake brought on a wash of failure shame that I am still struggling to make it out of 10 hours later.

I don't want to let anyone down.

I can't let anyone know how poorly I'm doing, I don't want to let them down.

A very wise online sister, and an incredibly smart close friend have repeatedly told me that I am too hard on myself. I guess I am. I don't know how to be anything else.

I feel like I am letting down my daughters by not being the healthy vibrant mother they deserve. I feel like I am letting down my parents for not succeeding and thriving as an adult after all the promise I showed as a child. I feel like I'm letting my sister down because I have not been able to reach out in kindness to her since a ridiculous meaningless fight almost 3 years ago. I feel like I am letting society down by being a drain instead of an asset. I feel like I have let down countless friends, family members, and partners in the last 20 years just by being unable to be consistent, reliable, and supportive. And I feel like I am letting myself down. By still being sick. Still being weak and unable to fight. Still being stuck, and lost, and hopeless. By not doing more, not being more.

The truth is I let myself down every day. It's rather easy, because if I am honest I don't feel that I deserve any better. It's hard to fight for someone that you don't feel is worthy of fighting for. It's hard to get better when deep down you're pretty sure pain is all you deserve.

I don't like myself. I don't. I haven't in a really, really long time.

So I overcompensate. I try to be pretty so that people won't catch on that I'm sick. I try to be thin, because how can you be sad when you're skinny? I spoil my daughters to alleviate some of the guilt of being a sick, semi-absent mother. I buy really nice gifts for my family, because in my deluded mind this will make them believe that I am doing well so that they never catch on to how badly I am struggling.

I don't want to let them down.

I don't want to spend 2 weeks in Saskatchewan at my parents' house over Christmas. It is hard on me mentally, emotionally, and physically. My daughters want that, my parents want that, so I do it anyway.

I don't want to let them down.

Mine has become a life of smoke and mirrors. If I distract everyone with a pretty shiny outside, and throw on a fake smile no one will ever realize how broken and pathetic I am.

It hurts. It hurts all the time.

But I don't want to let them down.

Can I even believe anything I tell myself anymore?

Have you ever broken a promise to someone you care about?

It feels terrible. We feel guilt, disappointment, and if you're like me vow to make it up to them however we can.

Why is it not the same when we break a promise to ourselves?

I remember a time, a younger happier time, when anything I decided to do or told myself I was going to do got done. It wasn't an issue. There was no question. If I wanted it I went out and got it. If I told myself I was going to do something it darn well got done. I made decisions, albeit it easier ones than those I face now, with confidence and ease. And once a decision was made, that was it. There was no second guessing, no doubt, no decision paralysis, no problem. Decision made, action taken. Every time.

I don't remember the first time I broke a promise to myself. I wish I did. I wish I could remember if it was hard. If I felt the same guilt, disappointment, and need for redemption that I have felt the times I broke promises to other people. I wish I could remember the second, third, and fourth time as well. I wish I could remember so that I could see just how quickly any negative feelings disappeared. So that I could see just how quickly I went from dependable and constantly following through, to not believing a damn word I say to myself and breaking every promise I ever make to myself.

The loss of trust in myself is bad enough. If it ended there that would, on it's own, be sad, damaging, and darn near incapacitating. Unfortunately, as with most things, it doesn't just end there. When it becomes easy to tell yourself you're going to do something and then just not do it, it also becomes much easier to give in to the evil voice in your head that is Bipolar. It becomes easier to binge eat to stuff down your real feelings, to stop seeing friends so they don't see your decline, to stop cleaning your house because what does it matter, to stop getting out of bed, to stop self-care, to stop exercising, to stop going to work, to just give up. After spending any significant amount of time telling yourself you're going to try and then just not doing it, any conscientious effort to begin trying again is infinitely more difficult.


"I'm going to stop bingeing on junk food, eat healthy regular meals, and start being active again" gets met with "shut up fatty you're too lazy and sugar is delicious, you'll eventually cave and eat a cookie so just eat an entire box right now instead of going for a run".

"I'm going to clean my apartment this week, organize things, and keep it that way" gets laughed at while your front room begins to look like an episode of Hoarders.

"This time I'm not going to get scared and drop out of class, this time I will graduate" may last for a month or two, but is soon replaced by "you're dumb, everyone is laughing at you, even if you do graduate you'll still be sick stupid and useless so just quit now".

"I am going back to work. I am going to be strong, beat this, and take care of myself again" very quickly becomes "don't even try. People will just laugh at you, you're qualified for nothing, you're just gonna screw it up again so why go through the anguish?"


Once you make it nearly impossible to trust anything created in your inner monologue the acts of dreaming and goal setting become non-existent. Early on in the promise breaking you still attempt to have dreams and still attempt to set goals, but once you abandon enough of them you begin to abandon the concepts all together. You don't bother dreaming, what's the point? You stop setting goals, or even being able to think of goals you might want to set.

You then stop making decisions. Without dreams and goals there is no direction, and without direction how do you know what path to take? Without confidence in yourself and your abilities the ability to make even the most simple decisions disappears. Decision paralysis sets in so deeply that your life quite literally stops. You are alive, but there is no action, there is no growth, there is no healing, there is no anything. Years, in fact a decade, can go by and you have no idea where it went or what you actually did for ten years. Suddenly you are ten years older, your kids have grown into teenagers, and it feels like you missed it. There are snapshot memories here and there, but there is no real involvement or appreciation. All of the sudden you are a 25 year old in a 35 year old's body. Everyone around you has grown, changed, accomplished things, but you are no better off and no different than you were in 2002.

That is a very frightening and regretful place to be.

Fear and regrets accomplish absolutely nothing, but when a decade of your life has disappeared before your eyes while stuck in a state of complete inaction it is damn hard not to let them creep in.

The only answer is to jump back into life with two feet. Start with small goals, accomplish them, rebuild your faith in yourself, learn to trust yourself, and learn to feel worthy again. Simple right? Ya, sure. Ask me in another ten years.

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.

Just a boring Monday night????

I was sitting around a a few hours ago and I thought to myself, "ugh it's Monday night and I have absolutely nothing to do."

I sat there bummed out for a few minutes until a now rather obvious thought hit me like a truck; I have a ton of shit I could do, why am I not doing any of it?

I have clean laundry that needs to be folded, dirty laundry that needs to be washed, the bathroom could use a good scrub, the kitchen could use a good scrub, the floors need to be vacuumed, a good dusting wouldn't hurt, my kitchen cabinets are screaming for a reorganization, my front storage room/office is a disaster, my bedroom closet needs a good purging and reorganization.

Ok, so I don't have anything fun to do on a Monday night.

Wrong again. I could knit, read one of the 12 books that I have started in the last year and not finished, paint, listen to music and dance around my apartment, do some pilates, head out for a walk since it stopped raining, text my daughter, call my mother, write my grandmas each a letter, learn some speed reading exercises, organize my photos, search online for fantastically awesome and thoughtful Christmas presents to buy my family, or research volunteer opportunities and toy drives in my city.

At any given point there are probably well over 100 things I could be doing. I am not well enough at this exact moment to be working so I have a ridiculous amount of time to choose to anything at all that I want. Despite this fact, at any given moment I am usually sleeping, watching tv, eating, sitting around, or perusing Twitter and Facebook mindlessly clicking on links and whatnot.

My brain just smacked me upside the head with what a waste that really is. Sleep is good, but not 12 hours a day. TV and movies are great, just not 8 or 9 hours a day. Twitter and Facebook are fun, but not 104 times a day.

So then I says to my brain I says, "brain, why on earth is I bein so stupid?"

No, but honestly, why?

It took a couple of hours and some pondering, eating, and distraction, but I think I have it figured out. It is not that I never have anything to do, it is that I never have any want to do anything. And not just the tedious obligatory cleaning related stuff, but a want for the fun and productive stuff is missing too. I pretend I do. I tell myself the little white lie that I really wish I had more to do, but I often don't. This is what an incredibly long and painful illness has done to me. I don't want to do anything and I don't care that I don't want to do anything. Or at least I haven't cared up until this point, as I have done nothing to change it. This is the apathy and surrender that the horrible depression associated with my Bipolar 2 has caused.

This realization got me quite motivated. For about 6 1/2 minutes. Then I just got sad. Then numb. Then sad again. Then discouraged. More sadness. And now I am writing about it all.

So how do I get my want back? I assume, as with most things, baby steps. Start small. Day 1 do one cleaning thing, one fun thing, and watch just a little less tv. Day 2 increase that, and so on. My problem is not only resolve, but follow through and commitment. Sometimes I will get all motivated and attempt activity and productivity for a few days, and then I will get either bored, distracted, depressed, or scared and I will stop. I have a SEVERE inability to set goals and actually see them through. This pisses me off. Before my Bipolar 2 symptoms began I was one of the hardest working, most dedicated and driven kids you would ever meet. I have not been that person in a very long time. That makes me angry, and sad. Feels like something else stolen from me by this illness. Another area where control has been lost, and it is such an exhausting fight to get it back.

My only hope right now is the old saying, "the first step to recovery is admitting that you have a problem". It is true that there are certain periods of time in my life where it is not that I don't want to do things, it is that because of my symptoms I literally can't. But this is a smaller percentage of days than 95% so I need to get off my ass and do something.

Hi. My name is Cristina and I am a TV and Internet addict. I hide in these activities because the real world scares me. I am afraid of failure, and even more afraid of success. I don't think I'm likeable or interesting so I shut myself off in order to avoid humiliation and hurt. I hide away inside my illness and myself because so many years of fighting have beaten me down and worn me out. It is easier to hide and to not try, than to go through anymore rejection, failure, blame, and judgment.

Hi. My name is Cristina and I am sick of hiding and taking the easy road. Whether motivated by lack of focus, motivation, energy, and direction, or by fear; I am tired of it. I have resolve at this moment. I will take baby steps. I will try to keep fighting. And although I have said this before and not followed through that does not mean that I cannot follow through this time. I CAN succeed, and if I slip up I will forgive myself and start over. Because the only failure is in not trying. The only way I truly fail is if I give up. It will take however long it takes, but if I am still trying and fighting then that is success.

I need to remember that most success is not big, huge and quick. It is a series of small successes. A learning curve. A string of slip ups that you pick yourself up and then learn from. I need to practice patience. And I need to be kind to and forgiving of myself.

It's really all I can do.

Because I told myself I would....

This morning I told myself that I wanted to write today. Since I am trying to stop breaking promises to myself, and follow through with plans/goals, however small, I am now sitting down to write.

I had a fleeting thought last night while trying to fall asleep that is the inspiration for this post. "Just how much time have I really wasted?"

Yesterday I was feeling very inspired after a fabulous day at TEDx Vancouver, but did not seem to be able to translate any of this new found mental energy into physical action. This is pretty much the story of the last ten years of my life. Periods of extreme hopeless depression, followed by wacky crazy hypomania, interspersed with time in "the middle". During these "middle ground" times I was often inspired, hopeful, or even gung-ho, but it never ever translated into action.

So this morning I woke up with the nagging question, "ok so how much time DID I really waste?"

Being the uber-nerd that I am I set out to quantify it. The numbers are both good and bad, but I think that the good outweigh the bad. Providing, that is, that I turn things around and start taking action.



So here it is:

312,974.   The number of hours I have been alive as of this moment.

388,320.   The number of hours I have left in my life if I die at the age of 80.

The good news is that my life is not even half over. It's not too late.


87,658.   The number of hours I have been away from full time work and fighting this illness.

The bad news is that that is a LOT of seemingly wasted hours as I am not much better off.


56,978.   The number of hours, up until this posting, since my brother-in-law and then Drs pulled me back from the brink after my near fatal suicide attempt. I call these, and any after, my bonus hours as it really is miraculous that I am even here. And yet I continue to waste bonus hour after bonus hour.

The good news is that I was given these bonus hours. Something in the universe worked to keep me here and give me another chance. More good news is that this number will only continue to grow.



Alright, so now what?

Most people would look at these numbers and be motivated to get moving, to make a decision, to make a start. I spent all day in my apartment suffering from what I have aptly heard called "decision paralysis", and self doubt.

I know I need to move. Somewhere. Anywhere. Unfortunately, I do not trust myself to choose the right direction or path. Most would argue that any path would be better than standing in one spot, and they would be correct. However, my issues are so ingrained that I am still unable to choose any of the 50 paths flying around in my brain. I am unable to take even one small step.

"Every journey, no matter how long, begins with a single step."

"You don't have to see the entire staircase, you just have to see the first step."

I know these things. I believe these things. And yet it still feels as if I am standing here wearing cement boots.



Now what?

I don't know.

a little bit lost and a lotta bit stuck (a rambling, babbling teary-eyed post)

I feel like am supposed to be so much more than what I am right now. Like I should be doing something real, and meaningful, and important. Like there is so much in me that just needs to come out, and be fantastic, and take on the world. I just don't know what. Or how. Or where to start..... When I was a kid it was so easy. I wanted to be a gymnast, and go to the Olympics, then be a Dr and a lawyer and a singer all in one. Well I didn't do any of that. And now that I'm older a horrible mix of fear, illness, bad luck, circumstance, past experience, bad decisions, broken hearts, and bogus expectations is keeping me from even being able to sit down and figure out what it is that I truly want now. I want to be happy - ok fine, just be happy I want to be successful, and busy, and inspirational - at what and for what???? no idea I want more time with my girls - I'm doing all I can, but illness, geography and finances make it a constant struggle and it's never enough I want to love myself so that someone else can love me and I won't die alone - don't even know where to start I want to be secure and safe and taken care of - again, no clue how I want to feel important, and worthy, and useful - but I don't. deep down I really truly don't. and until I do, nothing else is possible 18 years of Dr's and meds and therapy and treatment and I'm no better off, no closer to an answer. I'm really tired of being stuck. I'm really tired of not having any of the answers. And I'm really truly so damn tired of hating the person that I spend all my time with; the fat, useless, lazy, pathetic mess that stares back at me from the mirror every day and taunts me with glimmers of hope but delivers nothing. I wanna fight. I'm just so damn tired. And so damn lost. And so damn stuck. And I really truly honestly have no idea where to even begin. "you don't have to see the whole staircase, just the first step" - well it feels like I am in a hole, inside a well, 10 feet away from the first step with no ladder, no rope, and no flashlight. What now? No seriously, what now? Gratitude..... ok I am grateful for my daughters, for my sister, for my family, for a roof over my head, and a warm bed to sleep in. I am grateful that I have food to eat (even though eating brings more shame and self-hate). I am grateful for a safe country, and basic human rights. I am grateful I'm not dead yet (most days). I am grateful that I have it better than a lot of people. Gratitude exercises are great, until they make you feel like a whiny, even more useless, waste of space than you did before you started them. I know it takes work. I'm willing to work. If I could find some actual direction, purpose or anything to work toward. I don't like or trust myself enough to even know what is that I want. What it is I should be doing. And I don't know how to start. Overcoming that much self-doubt, distrust, and loathing is something I long for so badly, but don't even know how to begin to tackle. What now? Seriously, what now???

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.

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...........)

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.

Just call me Ms Dragon

This past New Year's I did what millions of other people did, I made a resolution. I resolved to get out of bed and stop hiding, stop bingeing on junk food, watch less tv, exercise even a little bit every week, and make something of my sad hopeless life. The only part I've managed to keep is the junk food part, for the most part I've been eating healthy reasonably sized meals. Otherwise I've completely failed.

Now I realize that setting goals and making changes based on the rolling over of the calendar is a purely psychological trigger, but I tend to be a black-and-white-thinking fatalist and had settled into the belief that since the first 21 days of 2012 were a depressing failure the rest of the year was a hopeless write-off so why bother. I understand this is a gross overreaction, but it was what my serotonin starved, bedridden brain had decided. Until I read an article this morning on the Chinese New Year and the year of the dragon. It dawned on me that I have another shot at "new year new me" and it gave me hope on this dreary morning. And as I've stated before, hope is a rare commodity in my life so I try to embrace anything that triggers it. So instead of a fabulous me in 2012 I am now going to work on a fantastic me in the year of the dragon. Completely arbitrary, totally psychological as it doesn't actually take a new year to start making a new you, but like I said anything that triggers hope in my dark world gets my attention.

Now i am not at all spiritual or superstitious, in fact I think astrology is ridiculous hokum, so colour me a hypocrite and let's continue. For it wasn't just the fact that tomorrow is the start of a new lunar year, but what I read about the year of the dragon that inspired me. The dragon is considered to be the most powerful of all the Chinese zodiac symbols, and is associated with high energy, prosperity, and superior control. When I read this I realized that that was basically what I was shooting for with my original resolutions. The dragon is seen as a good symbol that brings with it a change from bad to good. How perfect? That's exactly what I need. I further discovered that this past year was the year of the rabbit, a symbol associated with instability, and unstable is a very apt description of this past year. I took this as a sign that I need to try again, and take advantage of "the change from bad to good" whether I'm superstitious or not.

I also learned that when creating the dragon totem ancient Chinese tribes combined totems of the Phoenix, tiger, lion, and scorpion so the dragon is considered to be "everything". If you're a dragon you're everything. And that is what I want, to be everything I've ever dreamed of. Strong, courageous, successful, innovative, hard working, and happy. It seems like I've been side tracked forever because of this illness, but this is the year of the water dragon. A year that only comes around once every sixty. So maybe this my year, my rare unique year to finally conquer. To make a change and succeed instead of fail.

It's completely superstitious and ridiculous, but so what? Nothing else has worked so why not give it a try? It has given me hope that maybe this year will not be a total write off so I'm gonna run with it. First step, actually get out of bed tomorrow and accomplish something other than 10 hours of tv watching and a nap. Wish me luck.

Call me Ms Dragon. I am everything.

Why would I help someone I hate?

I can't seem to get inspired to write. To be honest, I can't seem to get inspired to do much of anything. I know that it's wrong and unhealthy to use the word "useless" in reference to myself but that is how I truly feel. I have zero energy and no amount of sleep, healthy food, or stimulants seems to change that. I have zero motivation, no resilience, no resolve. I have turned into a sedentary, lazy, do nothing lump. I know what needs to be done and what I should be doing, but I am physically and mentally unable to do anything other than sit or lay here and manage to breathe. I walk past my dirty kitchen, think about cleaning it, start to cry, then lay back down and turn on the tv. I sit in bed for hours on end thinking "wow I am so bored I wish I could be doing...." but I don't move, I don't change, I don't do anything. I feel hopeless, frustrated, scared, and alone. Fear has paralyzed me to the point that I have just stopped trying. I don't think I even know how to try anymore. I have given up so much that the only thing I am capable of right now is sitting here and not dying. I can manage to keep myself alive, but that's about it. I don't trust myself, I don't believe in myself, and I don't love myself. And when that is the case what's the point of even trying? I feel like such a failure and I hate myself for it. And why would I ever help someone I hate???

its been a long time

I haven't written anything in a really long time. It shouldn't really matter if anyone reads my words, the point of this whole exercise was to help myself. Something I am not very good at doing. I would love it if I had someone to talk to, but my main focus should be myself.

I HAVE been focusing on myself a lot lately, unfortunately i've been focusing on (obsessing on) the wrong things. My weight, my looks, my weight, my failures, my weight, my past, my weight, my regrets, and my weight. Not good. A major MAJOR life change is barely more than a month away and all i seem to care about is whether I'm under 110 pounds or not. I currently live in a house that I own in a very small town. My mortgage and taxes are INSANELY cheap and in addition to that the house is almost paid off. I also live in one of the cheapest parts of Canada when it comes to living expenses. My huge epiphany at the beginning of the year, which I'm now convinced was merely an extended hypomanic episode, resulted in me putting my house up for sale. When I started to come back down I realized I may have made a mistake, but didn't get too worried because there hadn't been any interest in my house at that point. About a week later a couple looked at my house. A week after that they made an offer. During this process I found out that there is a problem with my basement. This problem will be time consuming and expensive to fix. I don't have the time, money, or desire to fix this problem. The people who made the offer on my house do. They were also willing to pay very near my asking price in spite of the basement problem. Even though I had the feeling I was making a mistake I accepted the offer. In 5 weeks I have to be out of my house and I have no idea where I am going to go. I am about to be homeless and broke and screwed. I am supposed to be moving to a very expensive city and I have no real job skills. On top of that I have trouble holding a job for more than 3 months because I fall apart and stop being able to show up.

I have failed too many times. I have let myself down too many times. I have been let down too many times. I have been hurt too many times. I now expect it every time. I expect to fail, I expect to get let down, I expect to get hurt. I don't trust anyone. I don't trust myself. I have lost faith in everyone, especially myself. I have stopped dreaming. I have stopped planning. I have stopped hoping. There doesn't seem to be any point when you've seen the worst outcome so many times and now that's all you expect. The problem is that because I expect the worst outcome so vehemently I actually bring it about on purpose before anything has a chance to play itself out on its own. That way I can blame it on my illness or actions as opposed to a legitimate failure or someone else really hurting, failing, or not liking me.

Sometimes self discovery is good. Sometimes it just makes you cry for an hour and a half.....

ugh

i think i need new or simply more drugs. the depression has crept in and is getting worse and worse....

lamotrigine is supposed to help with bipolar depression....

i am eating sooooooo much. i need to eat better. for my health, for my self esteem. the sugar and carbs just make the mood swings and sleep patterns worse. and the guilt and hatred from bingeing is so harmful.

i need to change so badly but i am soooo tired ALL the time. i want it, i just can't seem to get going. find the drive the motivation, the willpower.

feel like such a failure. such a disappointment. a loser. u waste. so broken. so useless.

wat the hell happened.....

i was in advanced math, science and english. school was easy for me. i got 90's without trying. now i help people pick out and try on clothes for minimum wage.

i was a natural athlete. i was creative. artistic. musical. funny. outgoing. now i'm lazy. and shy. and afraid. and meek. with no confidence or faith in myself. i'm scared to sing. scared to play anymore cuz i'm afraid i'll just sound bad. i'm afraid to do anything because i'm worried it will suk (i assume it will suk) and i'll get laughed at.

i'm in stuck in a hole so deep i can't see out. there's no ladder. no rope. and no one at the top to pull me out. i'm curled up at the bottom alone and losing hope. there's a light at the top but i can't reach it. i can see it. i long for it. i want it. but i don't know how to get there. the walls are too steep. and the hole is too dark. i start clawing my way up but keep slipping back down. so i'm stuck in this hole. way too dark. way too cold.

desperation. discouragement. emptiness. yearning. loneliness. helplessness. blame. terror. pain. hopelessness.

epiphanies don't help when you can't follow through. it doesn't matter if you know what to do if you're not able to do it. it's even worse when you don't even know what to do. i don't understand. i feel just lost and out of control and hollow and the fear and pain are unbearable. i hate the situation. i hate myself for letting it get to this point. and if i'm honest i hate myself. i hate him. i hate her. and i am sooooooo tired of all of this. i just want it to be ok. i just want to be able to live. i want to wake up and just want to be able to be. i don't want every day to be a fight. why does every day have to be so hard. why is every day such a battle just to get through. i've come so far and yet i'm still nowhere. its too much. its not fair and i am so fucking sick of it. i don't want pity i don't want anyone to feel sorry for me i just want this to stop. i just want to not have to feel like this all the time. i don't know what i'm grateful for today. today was a bad day. today was hell. i guess i'm grateful it wasn't any worse

a conundrum......

ok so my first post was really really long winded and quite self serving but it made me feel better so all good. here's my current problem. i had basically opted out of life for 8 years and used the bipolar as an excuse. i shut down, stopped trying, was stuck, numb, turned off, and just didn't care about anything. and i didn't even realize it. now i'm awake and tuned in and i care that my life sucks and i'm going nowhere and i'm trying to change it. but every time i start making progress my illness rears its ugly head and i crash into a 3 day depression or have some CRAZY mixed states or...... how do you get ahead and keep going when it keeps kickin you in the teeth? this is my problem. i spent so long not caring that i have yet to figure this out. the discouragement is frustrating. my motivation is dwindling. crap.