Fighting the Tide

I don't know how other families operate. I know that each and everyone is so different....the dynamics, the energy, and even sometimes the love. When I got discharged, I was so happy to be home, out of that place. But home had become a strange place. And so I floundered, but then there was my brother; coaxing me out with the dogs, making me laugh with ridiculous statements, watching with me, dvd's borrowed from the library to stave off boredom, and keep me company through the long nights of insomnia. Cheering on and laughing at the dogs crazy antics. Dancing along the road in the dark of midnight. He's laughed with me, listened when I needed him to without questioning, and when the tears came unbidden, he's been there and comforted me. He has been my watchdog...and under his gentle gaze, I have felt safe.

We have always been close. Tough circumstances sometimes cause that. Together we have survived a childhood of pain, we have set out on different paths to rediscover joy, and find ourselves. We have spelled-off one another in caring for a dying mother. We have respected each other's wishes and kept secrets from our loved ones. He  was there to help me choose the home pregnancy test, and for the emotions and tears that followed. He very nearly contracted Hepatitis with me, in trying to ease the suffering of a dying man. He understood when I brought Sophie home, when there was no space for her. He housed me while I desperately searched for housing, and when none came available, he did his best to talk me out of living in my car. For the second time, he watched me descend into utter madness...and he maintained his wellbeing through all of that, while fielding off questions asked by my parents (at my request). He was there...when he felt helpless and hopeless and sad and frustrated and angry about the entire situation, he was there. Just being. Just watching. Just listening. And only sometimes, talking.

We have been through so much together...so much. There aren't really words to describe the bond we share...and actually? That makes me glad a little bit...not being able to define it. I know that in a months time, I will be getting in my car and driving 5000 kilometres away from him. And I know, that I will miss being able to pop down to his house to chat, I will miss his brotherly protective manner. But mostly? I will miss being able to protect him. I will miss being there when he really needs someone to talk to. When he needs someone to listen. And when he needs someone to talk to him. I will miss being there for him. So for now? I will drive him to work...cook meals with him...convince him to walk to the beach with the dogs and I. I will lend him one or the other of the dogs for a "sleepover" at his request. I will listen to his relationship woes, and offer advice only when asked. I will tell him when he is doing something stupid, or dangerous. I will force him to make the appointment at the health clinic, and I will go with him. And I will stay by his side, and I will support him, at that moment, and with whatever comes next. I'll be his watchdog. And I will be his safe place, for as long as he needs that. He's my brother

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Okay, so some random conversations my brother and I have had recently. In regards to the hepatitis bits, when my brother and I first thought we might have contracted it, and had to wait months for testing, we decided the best way to deal with it was through comedy. So began the hepatitis jokes.

him     "mmm, that Tuna casserole smells good"

me      "you can have some, if you want, it's cold now. Oh, and there aren't any clean plates."

him     "thats okay, I can use this! (proudly brandishing the lid to a ziploc container)

me      "sure, yep, you go right ahead." 

him     "mmm the tuna-ey goodness. Hey, if I were a fork, where would I be? Here forky forky forky"

me      "oh yeah, there aren't any clean forks either."

him      looking defeated "Well, what do I use to scoop it? There isn't anything to scoop it with."

me      "Well, you can use this spoon if you want, but you might want to wash it first, cause I used it to scoop, then              eat."

him.      "Right, because I wouldn't want to get your Hepatitis"

me       "Whatever, your hepatitis is way bigger than mine."

him      "My hepatitis is SO way bigger than yours!

Him      “Oh my god, whats wrong with my belly button, it hurts.”

Me        “Well don’t bug it, maybe there is some dirt in there or something.”

Him      “No ! Maybe it’s turning into an outie....!”

Me        “Your belly button CANNOT turn into an outie.”

Him       “No, my belly button canal has definitely gotten smaller.”

Me         Rolls eyes.

Him       “Oh! You should become part of the cheesecake burlesque!

Me...     “Right...um, are they made of cheesecake?”

Him       “NO! They wear titty tassles! (makes circular patterns)

Me        “The CHEESECAKE wears TITTY TASSLES???”

Him:       Rolls Eyes

Him:      “My hands really hurt today, from all that gardening.”

Me:      “Oh man, maybe you are getting arthritis.”

Him.     “Well, at least it’ll keep my hepatitis company.”

Yep, because around here, we are VERY sophisticated.

1.   Fridge poetry

2.   Knowing which knot to tie to reconnect a chewed through leash

     3.  Breathing in cold, cold midnight air

     4.  One huge container of freshly cut up vegetables, just waiting to be stir-fryed

     5.  Five Alive, in the can

worn out

With everything comes change. Sometimes small, sometimes huge. It's foolish, and impossible to believe that anything will stay constant. Sometimes you never see the catalyst coming, but the aftershocks are felt long after it's begun and ended.

This place, this apartment complex...they call it melrose place. It's not its name, just the name it's known by to neighbouring properties, and to residents here. The people gossip...as people do, except perhaps not to this extreme.

I am the resident freak. Because I went away to hospital. For 3 months. Because no one knows the exact reason, though they've speculated. Because, unashamedly I refuse to wear long sleeve shirts and pants in the hot weather. Because there are scars.

 It's almost funny in a way to watch them go out of their way to avoid me. The way they will crane their heads in the opposite direction from where I stand. Speak to my brother and not me...even if it needs to be directed at me. They are afraid.  Afraid of ME. Which, if you actually know anything about me, you will know how utterly ridiculous that truly is. How I would never ever hurt another person. But...crazy=scary, unless you know differently.

It is knowing this, and being able to laugh it off, which is keeping me from hiding in my house to avoid all of them. That and my brother. Who, if I haven't made the point clear enough yet? Is awesome. Very awesome. Even with his very unawesome parts.

The dogs and I  have been doing a lot of walking, and discovering new territories for us. Beaches, and forests....beautiful places. Places to walk, and dream, and breathe. Which helps a lot with the thinking. Because thinking too much + crazy =umm, well crazier.

There are so many changes left from this. Changing medications, changing doctors. Changing houses, towns, provinces. Changing mindsets. Changing thoughts. Changing careers. Changing beliefs. Saying goodbyes. Closing doors, opening doors. Trying again to succeed. Trying again.

I've been able to glimpse briefly into the lives of many people over the years. Things they've allowed me to share. And everytime it is the same. How very profound and unique each person is. Peeling back the layers like an onion, there is always something more. But underneath, we all strive for the same thing. Understanding and acceptance.

It's not hard to walk a mile in someone else's shoes. But it does take courage, and understanding, and a willingness to accept that which is different from our own beliefs. But the journey...that journey, always makes it worth it.

1. Rainbows and crazy winds

2. The smell of blackberries as they blossom

3. The comfortable bottom pj's that conveniently made their way home from the hospital with me

4. Being home after so long

5. Coming home from a late night walk with the dogs to see our lights, the only ones on in the apartment complex, cheerfully welcoming us home

017

1. Delissio's new Garlic Bread Pizza
2. Nice sample giver-outer ladies at the grocery store who introduced me to such goodness
3. Catching priceless footage of my brother Logan as he absconded with too hot pizza
4. Photography
   
5. Talk of Sophie babies
   

Recovery Takes Heart

There are so many people out there that I owe my gratitude. The list is endless. I stopped by the hospital to drop off a thank you card, and the nurses loved it. I visited the patients that I said goodbye to on Monday, and as they rushed up to say hello, and beamed at me with a look~ maybe that of pride mixed with joy, I realized how lucky I really am. How loved. It is odd that it took strangers to show me that. And to you, out there, those that took a moment to leave me a comment, or send me a message, many of which I've never "met"...thank you.

Near the end there, as my mood reached what I call stable these days, I had a lot of time to think. I talked a lot with my nurses. About the future, about where I am headed, about where I actually want to be. There is something about this place that draws me in. Already the concept of moving to Nova Scotia has me tied up in knots, that familiar yearning, in butterfly form. I know I will return here again one day. Most likely sooner than later. But, for now, with all of the chaos, and the trying to be well and stay well, the farm is really the best place to be. A time to reconnect with nature, work hard, and laugh~ a lot. I know this, which calms the butterflies a bit.

One thing I talked about a lot, a recurring theme for me, was my desire to work with people fighting this same fight. The wish to help, to ease, to calm, to listen. And I spoke with one nurse in particular who told me that her whole reasoning for becoming a nurse, was because of the fight she watched her brother battle with Schizophrenia. It struck a chord, started the wheels turning. I never really thought that I could do well at University, though I had considered nursing before. My strength is in words, not in math and chemistry. But I have been looking at Nursing programs. It turns out that Dalhousie University offers a small program in Yarmouth....just a 30 minute drive from the farm. They accept 25 students each year. It is a very small program in which I wouldn't get lost in a sea of faces, in which if I struggled a bit, I could get help before I floundered. It seems almost to me, as though it is destiny...although I'm still not sure how I feel about that whole debate. During the fall, and winter, I could upgrade my math and chemistry to meet the requirements, and apply for the 2010 program. I might even get accepted. If thats not something to be grateful for, I don't know what is.  

Yesterday, I took part in the 1st annual Art is in the Air presentation. It was amazing. A gathering of local talent, from authors, to poets, to singers, composers, musicians. Everyone had one thing in common. Each and every person showcased had a mental illness. The audience was composed of family and friends, and even some strangers. This was the song that accompanied the slide show that preceded the performers. I got stuck on it, so I wanted to share it with you.

Following the presentation, our drumming group came on, and with the risk of not being modest, really kicked ass. Believe me. There is footage to prove it. Every performer was amazing. It makes me proud to be among the ranks of those that work with a mental illness. It creates and harbours creativity.The combination of suffering and triumph does that to you. You seek alternative ways to express yourself. And the outcome is stunning, in whatever form it takes on.

Yesterday marked the 12 week point. Twelve weeks. It has been a long and extremely trying journey. For everyone.
So when I sat down yesterday with the psychiatrist, and he asked me how I felt about potentially being discharged, I jumped at the chance. And so, I am home. The dogs are ecstatic~ Ecstatic. My brother Logan is being helpful, though slightly over-protective. I am remembering this need to be watchful. The need to feel as though somehow, even if it is only a small fraction, they can help.

I am spending as little time at home as possible. It holds memories. Some of which are good, some, not so good. Everywhere there are pieces of before. And it rubs at the wound, subtly until the dull pain becomes a roar. It reminds me of how I miss him. Clothing left behind, my gift for Connor, the special memorable things that I know matter to him. I have done the cleaning, the sorting, the laundry. I have done the tasks that needed to be completed. It doesn`t mean that it wasn`t extremely painful. But, it is done. And, there, the Connor wall remains intact. A collage of pictures from baby to 5 year old. His little face upturned and grinning happily. It makes me smile, to see that grin, even if it makes me slightly sad.

I have been reflecting a lot lately. On the little things, and especially, on the big things.You know, out of my 24 years, I`ve spent 6 months in a psychiatric ward. Six months of my life locked up in a hospital. I didn`t know it would be this way. I never imagined as a kid that my life would meander here. I wish that someone had told me then, that you can never tell what the future may hold, and that sometimes, you can't achieve what you set out to do, no matter how hard you try. I wish that someone had told me that I wouldn't be able to fix what was broken, despite my best efforts. I wish that someone had told me that no matter how bad things were as a kid, that it could get worse. I wish that I had known so that I could have squeezed out every moment of gratitude that happened by, before this illness.

I have thought about the past. The way the cycles settle in. The way I can be at their whim. And I have thought of the strength and intensity of them. And how somehow, with each time they take hold, it is just a little blacker. And how, when you are positive that you couldn't possibly fall into a darker pit, you do.  

I have thought of the coping mechanisms that i have used in the past. The good ones, the bad. I look at the scars on my body. I remember, in the times of darkness how i have struggled. The lake, the wrist, the train, the pills. Mostly, because it is the most recent, I think about the pills, and how after taking them, I didn't feel any panic, or remorse. I didn't, as the cliff jumper often does, scream on my way down. I just layed down and let the quiet calm descend. I don't look too deeply for meaning in that. Its a destructive thought. All I know is that in life, people need that sense of calm. Somewhere in the crazy hecticness of reality, we just need to know that there exists a moment of calm, in whatever form it happens to take for you.

I am making plans for the future. Immersing myself in nature is the top priority on the list. All of the doctors and nurses, and social workers have suggested that I get myself on disability. They believe that the fewer stresses in my life right at this moment in time is best. They pretty much said that I'm not okay to hold down a job right now. It hurts to think that at 24, I'm not okay enough to support myself. But, as they say, it doesn't  have to be forever. And so I am inclined to agree with them, temporarily. But I wan't to work. And I want to keep busy. And I want to live. To laugh, and love, and learn. Speaking with family, we've decided that the best thing is for me to go to my dad's farm, the one that will become his on July 10th. It needs a lot of work. There is the aspect of nature. And the dogs would love so much space to run. And I can take it at a slower pace until I am stronger, and the prospect of relapse has settled down. It also means that I can look into school again. Take a few courses. See if I really do want to work in the mental health field. See if, just maybe, I want to be that psyche nurse afterall. It's good to have goals. To have a plan. This is my life, just the way it is, and I am going to live it the best I can.
 
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Because I've never experienced biological motherhood. Because there are so many things that I have yet to learn. Because there were things I thought I knew, that I have to relearn, and grow with. Because every day, there are small tiny things that amaze me. Because I have yet to meet the incredible Connor, and his awesome mom. Because I have a remarkable family that is extremely caring. Because I don't yet own a kayak, and I've never been hang-gliding. Because no matter how much the pain, the sunrise and sunset, in all their beauty, keep coming. And because that, in itself is a small miracle.