‘…In A World Of Ordinary Mortals, You Are A Wonder Woman.’ Queen Hippolyta (Wonder Woman’s Mom)

Struggling to get through today

Hour by hour

Minute by minute

Each second more excruciating than the last

Skin crawling

Head pounding

Eyes straining

This is the part in the movie where the poor guy reaches for his drug of choice

Where the sad woman guzzles her beloved bottle

It’s the climax in a novel

Where emotions soar to dizzying heights

Where nothing can possibly survive at such intensity

Like a car reaching peak speed

Like an addict reaching the height of their high

The moment is suspended in time

When the audience knows a turning point is coming

Watching for the pivotal scene in which the hero sheds his old skin

Where the heroine finally emerges

That’s what happens in movies and books

In real time nothing is ever quite so profound

The moment goes on and on

Stretching uncomfortably long

The hero remains sheathed in weary skin

The heroine hides in her shadows

There’s no audience waiting with bated breath

Rooting for the breakthrough moment

Instead

There’s only a woman looking at herself through a mirror

Waiting

Watching

Begging for a glimpse of the heroine to change the narrative of this story

From another unhappy ending

To one in which she finally gains her superpowers

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I’m like the Tonya Harding of the non figure skating world

More specifically

I am the Tonya Harding of the sick persons world

Like Tonya, I’m not the easiest to like

Like Tonya, I don’t evoke feelings of sympathy

Like Tonya, I’ve had to work at everything I’ve ever wanted

Unlike Tonya, I know the war is with myself

No one else ever should a chance

I know that there is no outside force that can be changed which will miraculously make my own life any easier

Nor will it make me the perfect poster child for a winning MS campaign

Or the face of the next Bell Let’s Talk day

I’ve accepted that things will likely always be a little harder for me

It’s my cross to bear

I’ve learned not everyone has one

And yes they are indeed lucky for that

Would I change it if I could?

Without hesitation

Do I think that there is anything within my control that would make said things easier for me?

Not a chance

The cross I have to bear

It’s a big one

It’s heavy and solid all the way through

And I drop it often

I can’t ever lose it though

Because I know it’s mine for this lifetime

So I pick it back up

And march on with it

It never feels lighter or easier

But I get more comfortable with it

I still stumble, and I struggle

But I have learned something

That cross will always be mine

And so I bear that damn cross

That has my name so deeply carved in it

That it could only ever be mine

No doubt or question

Sometimes I think I was born with that fucking cross

It was always mine

It claimed me

Before I had a chance to even breathe

Road map

I was 18 years old

I had just gotten my very first tattoo

In Montreal with my good friend

I got a tiny little fist

It took maybe 15 mins

And then we walked to a park

And I had my very first panic attack

This picture was taken when I walked away not really explaining myself to my friend

I don’t remember ever experiencing a feeling quite like that

Yet I instinctively knew that it was a ‘panic attack’

I grew up seeing my father have them

Almost daily

The knowledge didn’t help not comfort me

Somehow I made it through that first episode

I can’t really say how

And all these years later

And that tattoo

Of that little fist clenched in a show of power

Is still bumpy to the touch

Like a warning of the struggle up ahead

But I’d rather think of it as a tangible road map of what I’ve been through

And survived

I want to dance in the rain

I don’t want to be that person above that sits impatiently waiting for the huge storm to pass

With tired eyes and a listless body

I don’t want to be the person that misses out on the feelings of being alive you only get while dancing in the rain

With a heavy heart and a restless soul

I don’t want to be the person that sits and sits wondering when the storm will end

I do want to be the person that makes the best of what the storm is offering

I do want to be the person that can revel in magic of the strongest storms

I do want to be the person that can revel in the beauty of the sun coming out after a dark storm

But what do you do when your body and your mind and your soul are all operating at different levels of abilities?

Your body wants to sleep

Your mind wants to give up

And your soul vacillates between wanting to run and wanting to steal someone else’s happiness

Some days my body can’t go on

And I have to call in sick from life

And I have to sleep

And I have to hope that rest will be what my body is needing

Some days my mind’s suffering is so strong

And I need to escape from life

And I need to sleep

And I need to hope that I either won’t wake up or that I’ll wake up whole again? For the first time?

My favourite are the days when my soul is screaming the loudest that it can’t be ignored and I have no choice in the matter

And I just live

And I just laugh

And I just love

So fully

So heartily

So fucking strongly

That I hope it will be enough to keep me going

On the days when my body and my mind are all I can listen to

And I can’t remember what the rain drops felt like cooling my skin as I danced and danced under the magical stormy sky

I want to box it up

With tape and bubble wrap

And beautiful hopefulness

I can replace my broken heart with it

I can replace my damaged mind with it

And I can live the way my soul wants me to

Never simply waiting for the storm to pass

Always dancing to the chaos of the rain drops

The only way me soul expects me to…

Some people long for a place they’ve never been to

But not me

I’m nostalgic over the feelings that the places I’ve been to evoked

The memories of feelings those days evokes

I don’t know how to explain it in a any less of an abstract manner

I can only paint a picture of what my nostalgia allows to remember

All of this because I met with a legend of 1980s Toronto

Crazy Joe the drapery king

I sat and listened while he regaled me with vivid stories of all his years in the business

Usually I do anything to avoid the banal back and forth chatter of strangers

But that’s the very reason why I sat and listened so intently

It was anything but unoriginal or boring

And it reminded me of a different time

I miss when the Crazy Joes of the world were all around me

The ones with whom you could sit down and haggle good-naturedly

And reminisce about a Toronto that was messy and vibrant

Like my dads old fabric store in Chinatown or Crazy Joes drapery shop

Filled to the brim with fabrics and with treasure waiting to be unearthed

Bursting at the seam with stories and jokes and hard bargaining

A Toronto that doesn’t exist anymore

A Toronto that is now turning out mass produced everything

Processed and easily digestible to anyone (and everyone’s) sensitive palette

I miss the days of wandering through Graffiti Alley

With its dimly light hallways and shops smelling like burning incense

Or rifling through clothes in Black Market trying to find that perfect piece while the comforting smell of old clothes permeated my nostrils

If I close my eyes and concentrate I can conjure up those very same smells of vintage clothing, incense and enchantment of exploring unique places

I wish that everyone could be so lucky as to experience my Toronto that way

A Toronto that was just so real you were unsure if you were stunned by its beauty or shocked by its mess

And although I’m sure some of it has to do with the rose tinted glasses of youth

I am certain there was more to it than just exploring unchartered territory

Because I went to the same places over and over again

And it wasn’t the newness that left me enchanted

I don’t know

I can’t explain it

Maybe it was just magic

But all these years later

And I would do anything to get that feeling back

To wrap myself in those same emotions and luxuriate in them

But this time

I would not take it for granted

And I’d steal some of that magic to keep it with me when the memories just aren’t enough

How is it the same sky

I floated endlessly

On my back

Arms outstretched

Looking up at a sky

That seemed so close that I could reach out and touch its beauty

Looking up at clouds that looked so soft

That they would catch and soothe anyone’s fall

Even mine

All around me were people laughing and talking

Blissfully unaware

Of the moment I was having

Just me and that perfect fucking sky

I could feel the sun warming my skin all over me

Both weathering and rejuvenating me

I wish I could have stayed

Floating in that perfect moment

Forever

Just hitting the pause button on the story of my life

To revel in the beauty of the world around me

Above me

No pain of suffering

Only peacefulness

It was only out of the corner of my eye

That I could see a dark angry cloud inching closer

But it was in that moment of perfection that

I realized I could just close my eyes

And then

I could pretend that it wouldn’t take away my beautiful sky

And then

I could hold on to that feeling

Just a little while longer

Suspended in time

Baptized beneath a perfect sky

Floating weightlessly and without worry

Still me

But different

My soul; no longer restless

Just calm

Beneath my perfect infinite sky

I think I used to have a purpose

Some days I feel so empty

That I’m sure if I looked down I’d have a giant hole in my chest that I could see right through

Some days I feel so sensitive

That it hurts when people simply look at me

Some days I feel so anxious

That my skin somehow doesn’t feel like it fits over my bones

Some days I feel so sad

That watching someone smile makes my heart squeeze and contract

Some days I feel so strong

That I could conquer the world with only my voice

Some days I feel so magnetic

That I can see the moment someone feels the warmth of my attention

Some days my heart feels so full

That I think even the smallest thing can make it burst into a watercolour bouquet

Some days I’m so numb

That I’m pretty sure not even a gun shot would hurt me let alone kill me

Some days I feel so little

That I’m sure my insides must be hollow and barren

Some days I feel so detached

That my movements mimic a robot performing a sterile routine

Some days I just so feel so much like myself

That I feel like I could suffocate and choke on the predictability of it all

And I just don’t understand why

those are the

worst days

of all

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