‘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

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The Only Way Out Is Through

It’s been something like two and a half weeks since I lost my mind
Countless days and nights that I haven’t felt like myself
That my skin hasn’t felt like my own
Two and a half weeks since I went to two different emergency rooms
Two and a half weeks since I spent the night at a crisis centre
Two and a half weeks since I first lost my appetite
Two and a half weeks since I first started having irrational and obsessive thoughts on top of multiple panic attacks per day
Two and a half weeks since I became scared to be alone
Scared in my own home
Scared of my own mind
It’s been a week and a day since I came to stay with my parents
It’s been a week and a day and I’ve only been comfortable being left alone once for a short period
It’s been a week and a half since I told my neuro psychiatrist what I was experiencing
It’s been a week and a half since I went back to my old full dose of Paxil
It’s been a week and a half of 3-4 Ativan per day
It’s been a week and a half of nausea, grogginess, headaches, crying fits and having my appetite return
It’s been a week and a day since I haven’t went to bed in my own home
Where I haven’t seen Joey either right before bed or as soon as I wake in the morning
A week and a day since I last napped with my dogs
4 days until I call my neuro psychiatrist to let him know how I’m doing
5 days until I start paying for Cognitive Behavioural Therapy
Unknown days until I return home
Unknown days until I don’t wake up afraid of a day filled with panic attacks
Unknown days until I don’t fall asleep fearing another day of panic attacks
Zero days that I haven’t wished for a different life
Zero days that I felt like I had the strength, courage and determination to get through this
Today though…is a special day
It’s the day where I wrote
Today is the day that I got my voice back


‘I Dream My Painting And Then I Paint My Dream.’ Van Gogh

So I did something today

That I hadn’t been able to previously accomplish

I finished an audiobook

No big deal there

That happens very frequently

I should clarify

I finished an audiobook where the main male character has Multiple Sclerosis

I know it might not seem monumental to you

There was no forewarning about his diagnosis in the description of the book

Because in all likelihood

I wouldn’t have given it a listen

I hate to admit that in the past I’d been unable to continue to listen when I got to the point in the story where a character was revealed to have MS

In that instance

I stopped cold turkey

Right then and there

This time around

I had two hours left in an eight hour book

It wouldn’t have been strange for me to not finish listening

There have been many times

Where the romance audiobook character said the word ‘gosh’ too many times

And with only minutes left

I just couldn’t do it and ended that listen lightening fast

Anyway this time

I got to the part where it is revealed the character has MS

I paused the audiobook for a minute

Maybe more

I called Joey to come into the room

Explained the situation

Made him listen to the line

And then

I did something unlike myself

I kept listening

There may have been some tears

The female characters

Not my own

Well

A little my own

But whatever

More importantly

The story kept going

It didn’t end there

With him in a hospital

Talking medical shit with a doctor

The story continued for two hours

Two hours where I continued to listen

I could have stopped

Deleted it

Found something else

And yet I listened to the whole story

Sometimes with tears

Sometimes not

I kept going

I listened until the very last second

I listened until the credits rolled and the audio went silent

And honestly

I can’t think of anything more fucking poignant

‘No Dress Rehearsal. This Is Our Life.’

11 years ago

October 27, 2007

We got married

Still a few years shy of 30 years old

We thought we had it all figured out

How little we knew

We had yet to learn a lot

To experience so so much

We thought we knew it all

Life, predictably knew better

And yet

Even though

It was never perfect

It was occasionally heartbreaking

It was often difficult

It was filled with laughter

It was sometimes chaotic

It was sprinkled with passion

It was usually me needing help

It was intermittently explosive

It was frequently unexpected

And it was always…

Always…with you

🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

Throw back 11 years ago

Mental illness is a family illness

Do you think I want to be like this?’

He screams as he rips his hands through his hair

It sounds more like a plea

As if he is begging for someone to save him and not to just understand his pain

His eyes search our faces

Yearning to find hope

Hope that we have found a way out

Instead we look at each other

Finding sad faces stricken with grief

If there was a way

None of us have found it yet

You could see that we all wish it were different

So we try to come up with words of encouragement

Motivating words

That will inspire him

I tell him I need him to show me

So that I can do it too

He doesn’t think he’s strong

I remind him

That waking up each day of the last almost 73 years

Makes him a warrior

The thing is

I’ve cried those same words a thousand times

Do you think I want to be this way’?

So you see

I’m selfish

I need him to be okay

I need to see it get better

I need to know that after everything he’s been through

I need to know

There’s a happy ending

I need that to be true

I need it for him

I need it for me

‘Even a happy life cannot be without a measure of darkness, and the word ‘happy’ would lose its meaning if it were not balanced by sadness.’ Carl Jung

I think I could write a story about my life

With a tongue-in-cheek name like ‘The Measuring Spoon of Life’

It would be about a little girl who would carefully measure her happiness by how many nights a week her favourite cousins could sleep over

She would use teaspoons and tablespoons to represent her happiness

When she was a teenager, she learned to measure happiness in dimes and grams

She would use scales and dime bags to symbolize her happiness

As she grew into a young adult, her happiness amounted to how many days in a row she got to spend with her love

For that she used cell phone pictures depicting laughter and text messages filled with flirting

Then when she hit her late 20s, she would measure her happiness by how long she could remain in public without having a panic attack

She would use mood journals and diaries to interpret her happiness

Later in her mid 30s, her happiness was measured by milligrams, and how many Ativan’s she’d had to take

Pill bottles and prescriptions were the perfect illustrations of how much happiness she’d been prescribed

Throughout the story the landscape changed

The young girl grew into a teenager and then an adult

But her objective in life remained the same

The pursuit of happiness

She learned very early on

That happiness only came in small doses

And because of that, it should be treasured dearly

She would think to herself

Maybe it’s so people don’t overdose on happiness

It’s far too sacred to be given an abundance of

In the story of the young girl, she learned early on

That happiness is not going to stick around forever

So she learned to cherish the nights with cousins, the recklessness found in the dimes and grams of youth, the lucky days spent with lovers, the little successes during rough patches

Like all great stories

It comes with a life lesson

Using the girl who measured happiness with spoons as an example

The story warns that if she had so much as blinked her eyes

She might have missed one of the small measured capsules that happiness would hide in

But that little girl was smart

And she knew that one day she might need a dose of her treasured happiness

She knew it would help her

To get through all the hard times that were waiting up ahead

The story ends with that little girl as an old woman now

Suffering through pain of illness, loss and disease

She looks so old and sad

She opens up a memory box

And empties it all onto the bed beside her

Out comes the spoons, the scales, the pictures, the journals, the diaries, the prescriptions

The old woman looks at her life laid in front of her

Instruments of measured happiness

And she’s so grateful

That she held onto all of those small doses of happiness

She thinks to herself

How much she needed to see it, to feel it all over again

She smiles for the first time in a long while

She can’t even count how many times

Those small doses of happiness that she’d held onto

Saved her life

Maybe a thousand times already

And once more

Dear Anxiety,

You’re a thief

Always taking

Never giving

You’re deceitful

And dishonest

You’re a master manipulator

And you thrive on the fear you create

You’re a jealous thief

Stealing away happiness

And love

Even robbing old memories

Making them turn sour

You’re a callous thief

Full of pain you can’t wait to inflict on others

Desperate to infiltrate every last happy place

You’re a cruel thief

Taking away the innocence of childhoods

And destroying what should be carefree teenage years

Annihilating adulthood with haphazardly thrown bombs

You’re a cowardly thief

Preying on people in their weakest moments

Victimizing the same people over and over again

Taunting them repeatedly

You are words that haunt

You are living nightmares that plague

You’ve stolen so much

That all we can do is pull at our hair and cry in frustration

Shouting that turns into whispered pleas

To just leave us alone

Wondering what we need to do

What more we need to sacrifice

To satisfy you

Spending entire lives

Serving life sentences

Paying penance for what we can’t control

All because of you

You’re nothing but a thief…