I didn’t choose any of this. The choice is mine, however, to decide what to do with it. What doesn’t kill us, right?

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‘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

‘And if you look at your reflection…is that all you want it to be? What if you could look right through the cracks? Would you find yourself afraid to see?’ nine inch nails

My greatest fear is similar to that of being forgotten

But it’s more about living with the knowledge that when I’m gone, I’ll be forgotten

Maybe that’s why, when I was younger, carving things like ‘Angela was here’ on desks, felt like such a necessity

This great fear of mine

It’s not that I won’t exist

It’s the that I will have left no discernible mark on this world

Other than my carbon footprints

I wonder if that’s the reason people have children…

To ensure a piece of them lives on

It’s like a taste of immortality

I’ve got no delusions of grandeur

I won’t have discovered some new disease or uncovered some brilliant theory that will propel my name forward

There’s no legacy to leave behind

One day…

Who knows when?

My life will end

And that will just sorta be the gist of it…

Seems anticlimactic after everything, doesn’t it?

It’s the thought of having endured so much and then one day, it’s just *poof* over

And there’s nothing to show for it

It seems like such a waste of time

Time wasted throughout a lifetime

Time eaten up by anxiety and panic attacks and Optic Neuritis and depression

Time that I can never get back

There’s nothing more fear inducing than running out of time

On a test, in a race

Needing more time

But looking up at that damn clock

And seeing the seconds tick tick tick

It’s like Tyler Durden says in Fight Club:

This is your life and it’s ending one minute at a time’

That realization is supposed to motivate you

To change

To live fully

But what if all it does, is leave you paralyzed in fear?

What if it just haunts you?

Always reminding you

That time is slipping away

And you haven’t done what you were supposed to?

What you were meant to do?

What if it just reminds you that what you had, you simply wasted?

I hate the idea of leaving behind a gravestone with my name

And yet I am even more terrified of the possibility, in which that might be the only mark I’ve left on this earth

‘Feel the hollowness inside of your heart And it’s all, right where it belongs.’ Nine Inch Nails

I wrote this :

http://FUCKMS.CA/2018/03/21/A-TYPICAL-SICK-DAY-IN-THE-LIFE-OF-A-YOUTH-WORKER/

A year ago today.

My heart hurts

Looking around at my life

I still can’t quite accept that this is actually mine

Then I get mad at myself

Because that’s probably why I can’t move forward

I miss who I could have been

I miss who I should have been

I miss who I almost was…

‘The Jealous Are Troublesome To Others, But Torment To Themselves.’ William Penn

When your world feels small and your life seems shitty, and you see the people around you…people you love or like a whole lot…living their lives, happy and maybe not perfect but pretty damn good

How do you cope with that twitch of jealousy in your heart?

The one you don’t want to experience

And the one that it pains you to admit to

How do you feel happy for them…

And still long for your own

Without that green-eyed monster taking up permanent residence in your heart?

-Asking for a friend 😳

‘Today you are You, that is truer than true. There is no one alive who is Youer than You.’ Dr. Seuss

It’s hard to actually see your own recovery

Unlike your relapse

Which you can replay without hesitation in your mind

Recovery is different

It’s like one day you’re a total fucking basket case

And then you blink your eyes and you’re you again

Maybe if you’re like me

You started to experience brief moments of you again

So you hoped and wished that it meant you were finally coming back

And then one day

Visiting your own condo

You instinctually know

Something is different

Something has changed

The me that was gone

The me that I was so sure I’d lost

That me came back

Now

Looking at her in the mirror

It’s so hard to imagine how badly things had gotten

How far away she seemed

How trapped in her own mind she’d become

And now

Here she is

Standing before me

Looking back at me

She’s far from perfect

Not even close to almost

And yet I’ve never been happier to see my own reflection staring back at me

‘Only In The Darkness Can You See The Stars.’ Martin Luther King Jr

Its been three weeks since I slept in my own bed

It’s been one month since I went to the first emerge

It’s been four weeks and two days since I spent a night in a crisis centre

It’s been four weeks and one day since I went to the emerge in Collingwood

It’s been three weeks and two days since I sat in my neuro psychiatrists office crying and begging for help

It’s been three weeks less a day that I went back on 40 mg of Paxil

It’s been three weeks of good days, bad days and horrible days

Its been one day since I saw my neuro psychiatrist again and he upped my dosage to 50mg of Paxil to get me through this ‘crisis’

It’s been one day since he told me there was a significant gap in the mental health system which is why my wait for OHIP covered CBT is taking so long

Its been one day since he gave me the info of a private clinic

Its been thirteen hours since I started my new dose

It’s been thirteen hours with my stomach in knots

It’s been thirteen hours of fears, what if’s and so much more hope than I ever thought I had

One day at a time never felt quite so long

I know I’m not patient

But I’ll keep waiting if it means I get even a small fraction of a happy ending

I’ll keep waiting if it means that the last month hasn’t been in vain

I’ll wait as long as I can keep finding shards of light in the darkness

I’ll wait even it’s just a flicker

I can’t help but worry

I can’t help but wonder how long the world will wait for me…