‘What else should I be? All apologies’ Nirvana

I wanted one week

Where I could pretend to be like everyone else

Where I could pretend to be the wife you deserve

Where I could pretend to be the person I always wanted to be

Instead I got a day here or there

I was too greedy when I wanted a week

I should have known better

I should have asked for a moment

Maybe two

But a week of unadulterated happiness

Just wasn’t meant for me

And so you had to suffer too

Because once upon a time you were unlucky enough to fall in love with me

This is what your life will be like

What it has been like

Hospital visits

Stomach aches

Crisis centres

Tears

Panic

And so many sorry’s that just get stuck in my throat

Making me choke

On nothing but apologies and regret

Sorry’s that your ears will never hear

Because to utter them might make you wonder the same thing I always do

‘Why the hell is he still here’?

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‘The Bravest Thing I Ever Did Was Continuing My Life When I Wanted To Die.’ Juliette Lewis

It’s the eve of my graduation

Tomorrow I will graduate from the Taking Charge Program at Humber Hospital

Where I’ve been going two to three times a week for the last two months

I remember in the days leading up to the start of the program

I had no hope that things would improve

I had no hope that I would learn anything or experience anything life changing

I was so wrong

In this program I’ve had the fortune of meeting people

Who are like me

Something I’ve not experienced often, if at all

Sometimes one of us will be talking and I’ll look around and see others nodding their heads

Or we can finish each other’s thoughts

It’s uncanny

How a group of totally diverse strangers could share such intimate details of their lives

And bond in such a way that makes me wonder what I’ll do when I don’t get to see them so often

Often the stories are sad

Or frustrating

Or disheartening

Or just too fucking familiar

But there’s this weird sense of comfort in all of it

The comfort you feel when you’re just completely understood

Even in the midst of all your fucked up-ness

I’m proud that I made it through this program

I’m glad I forced myself to talk, share and listen

Even on the days when I wanted to remain curled up in bed

I’m honoured to have been part of this wonderful group of misfits

I didn’t think I could learn more about myself

Having been through this so many times

But I did

I learned about myself

I learned that in the end

Even after all the shit and hurt and pain

I can still be in such awe of life

And I’m still willing to do whatever it takes to do more than simply exist

I want to live

‘Armed with skill and it’s frustration. And grace, too.’ The hip

There’s something about the sight of my hands covered in paint or glue

Chipped nail polish and stained fingers

It’s the look of hard working hands

It shows the world that I’m a hard worker

Valuable

A member of society

Even though I don’t feel that inside

It reminds the outside world that I still exist

It hints to the world around me that I’ve gone through my share of battles

Battles I still go through

It allows me to feel purpose

Even though most days I’m walking through life without an idea of why I’m still here

And yet I still feel pride in my tarnished hands

It’s similar to how I feel about my collection of tattoos

It illustrates to the whole world

That I was here

That I’m here now

That I’m alive

That I’m still surviving

The only difference is now I’ve got the battle scars to show it

‘In the blink of an eye, everything can change.’

Sometimes I’m scared to blink

Im afraid that this current edition of my life

Will suddenly morph back into the one I was living 4 months ago

Although living seems like far too grand of a word for what I was doing

Existing maybe

Barely

So now even going to sleep is a gamble

Which version of myself will I be when I wake up?

It seems like far too big of a risk to take

And I’m not that much of a risk-taker

Not with my life

I don’t want to lose this stranglehold I have on my life right now

I’ve worked too hard

Struggled and fought too hard

To lose it all

In the blink of an eye

‘Expectation is the root of all heartache.’ Shakespeare

I’m starting a program tomorrow at my local hospital

It’s teaches coping skills for people with anxiety and depression

It is half days on Tuesdays and Fridays for 12 weeks, with a minimum of 5 Thursdays

It is a group format, run by a Social Worker, Registered Nurse and Occupational Therapist and overseen by a Psychiatrist

I’ll have a primary worker and access to the Psychiatrist during the program

At first, I was really intrigued and almost hopeful

Until I went for the info session

It was a few weeks ago

It was run by the OT who was jet lagged and seemed like she hadn’t a clue in the world of what she was talking about

I felt some of my balloon of almost hope deflate

I then went for an assessment last week with the RN, who sat impassively while I cried as she asked questions from her computer

I felt foolish and disappointed when I found out she would become my primary worker

I was accepted into the program and given a start date

Tuesday March 26

Tomorrow

I’ve promised myself that I will give it an honest open-minded try

After all, everyone has bad days and all that

And it would be reckless to throw away an OHIP covered 12 week program off of two measly meetings

Right?

Tomorrow, I’ll be there at 8:45 AM to start my first day

So maybe my balloon of almost hope won’t inflate

But maybe my ballon won’t pop either

And maybe

For right now, that’s good enough

‘Armed With Skill And It’s Frustration. And Grace, Too…’ The Hip

It might look a lot like weakness to the outside world

Maybe even to inner circles

But there is nothing weak about the daily struggles that it takes to survive through a mental illness

I repeat

There is nothing weak about it

There is nothing weak about me

Yeah I get it

Maybe you see someone who is fragile

Someone who is broken

Maybe you see someone who is crazy

Fuck

I don’t know who or what you see

I know what I see

Every single time I pass my reflection in a mirror or window

I see a fighter

Someone who has spent their entire life fighting

Fighting to live

Fighting to find happiness

Fighting to find peace

What an oxymoron

I read somewhere once that,

Fighting for peace,

Is like fucking for virginity

I get it

But its the truth

I fight tooth and nail

I dig in my heels

I scratch

I claw

Anything

To make my way back from the war that is constantly waging in my own brain

If you’ve never been there

You’re blessed

Truly lucky

That you’ll never understand how totally terrifying it is to not feel safe with just you and your own thoughts

You’re lucky that you don’t have to wonder when it will all come crashing down around you

Again…

I’ll never be grateful for having mental illness

I won’t lie and pander about how its taught me so much about myself

About the world

Trust me

There are things I’d never wanted to learn

Like what Paxil withdrawal can do to your once functioning brain

Like how food can cease being appealing to a die-hard ‘foodie’l

Like what the inside of a single room at a crisis centre looks like

I could have happily gone through two lifetimes not caring to know any of those things

It hasn’t made me wiser

Or kinder

So I can’t find it in myself to express gratitude towards something that has stolen so much from my life

From my family

From my father

From me

What I can unequivocally state

Without any doubt in my mind

Is that anyone surviving with a mental illness

Must want to be alive a whole hell of a lot

To be persist

To continue

To just keep going

To anyone who doubts it

You have no fucking clue

The strength and determination it takes to do it all over again

Tomorrow