I miss the little things you do, tiny little surprises meant to show your love and compassion for everyone around you. I miss your laughter, and the way your smile lights up your entire face. I miss cooking with you, and our special brief moments together. I miss the way we would wrestle, and the hugs and the way you would share your stories with me. But mostly, I just miss you. I sometimes wonder if you have forgotten me. And sometimes, I wish that you would, so that if it hurts you to think of me, then that hurt could vanish. But I pay attention to your world. I cry when I see your pain, and I rejoice in your victories. You will always be my little sister. You will always be my family whether our parents are together anymore, or not. I miss you, and I love you. I hope that I told you that enough times while I had the chance.
I hope that you are okay, in this big wide world. You are learning, little lovely that there is much sorrow to endure. You are learning that life can be harsh, and it can be cruel. But oh Kayla, it is filled with such beauty and wonder. And I know that you, you will do great things. You will find that place that brings you joy and happiness, and you will excel there. You have always amazed me, in so many ways. I have always been, and I will always be, so very proud of you. And so, you brilliant, amazing, wonderful woman, spread your wings and follow your dreams. If you fall, it's okay. Your dreams are still there to reach for. And I know you will soar. Strong, and beautiful and free.
Happy Birthday Michaela, I love you with all of my heart.
They have (very recently) slashed the budget for mental health care in BC by such a huge margin it is insane (no pun intended). Here on the island, they have closed down one entire psychiatric ward in the ONLY psyche hospital in Victoria. They have terminated seven (SEVEN!) counsellors at USTAT (Urgent Short Term Assessment and Treatment), among other people including Occupational Therapists, nurses, outreach workers and many more. Programs have been abolished. And to top it all off, they are attempting to take all of the Islands crisis lines (which number 6 in total, for the entire Island) and create just one line, to serve all of the communities. I want to have a conference with the people who have decided that this is a good idea, and ask them how much research they really did. I want to sit down with the figures, and ask them, by taking away these services, just how do you actually expect to save any money. Here on the Island, it costs $1200.00 a day to hospitalize someone in the psychiatric ward. A day. If a patient shows up at emergency in a state of crisis and is in danger of harming themselves (or others) there is a mandatory 72 hour stay (minimum). Without a crisis line to call, and with minimalized marginalized care, they most certianly will be showing up....in droves. So, a quick slash will in turn cost the Government thousands, upon thousands, of dollars. It always makes me shake my head when I see these attempts to cut the budget considerably, and how, in just a few short years, the terrible repercussions that follow. There is much head shaking going on in this place tonight.
It also means that one of the programs I was meant to be involved in no longer exists. And the possibility of me being referred to a counsellor...chances are slim to nil. However...there is a counsellor that comes in once a week at the Youth Clinic, and the doctors and nurses there had a mini conference and decided I should at least meet her, and see if I felt comfortable, etc with her. So tonight, I did. She's a very nice woman, and a very good listener. She wants me to come back every week for a little while, if I think it'll be helpful. I think that it will be. She gave me some good suggestions, and helped me to talk about some incredibly difficult things.
Who could ever have thought that just talking would be so difficult? That it could be so emotionally trying, and leave me drained and even more exhausted (which I honestly didn't think possible) then before? But, it's all tiny minute steps towards accepting myself...and I'm not going to give up on that one. It's just far too important.
I am working so hard on patience. Patience and acceptance and understanding are such difficult concepts when you apply them to yourself. Even when they are second nature to you in terms of everyone else. It's like suddenly being thrust into a foreign country where you understand none of the language being spoken, but all the same, being bombarded by questions in an unfamiliar dialect, and expected to answer.
How easy it is to become overwhelmed/frustrated/angry, when you feel as though your body, your mind, is betraying you. I spent Wednesday through Sunday rapid cycling. Soaring to the highest highs...and dropping into the dangerous lows. Why? I don't know. I have stopped looking for triggers that set me off...it is a never ending journey that more often then not becomes futile, and only succeeds in exasperating me. There are too many complications in life to try and unravel all of the mysteries. Just too many.
Since then, and today especially, my mood has dropped. Really dropped, to the point that leaving the house this morning seemed an impossibility. What an unreasonable thing, the mind, with an ability to convince me that the exhaustion I am experiencing, the loss of appetite, the lack of interest in the things I enjoy, the conviction that curling up in bed and not going outside is the best option, and not only that, but that it is valid. In a fairly isolated state, can you imagine wanting even to isolate from two dogs? Yes, really...I know it is bizarre. It is something I keep repeating to myself. This is just another cycle. It will come to pass. You must bear with it, and try hard to stick to your routine. No matter what, stick to your routine.
Wednesdays are the day of the week that I look forward to. For an hour I can lose myself in a drum circle, perhaps learn a new rhythm, or practice a well known one (I had the added benefit of a drum workshop this evening). It is also one of the days that I volunteer at the youth clinic. It took so much self talk to convince myself that going to drumming was a good idea. That going into the clinic (which I love) was really such a good plan. That attending the much anticipated workshop was worth it. And for a long time, I waivered.
And then I gathered all of my strength, and said "Brain (yes, sometimes if you talk to things that can't hear you, it works) F@$* off." And I dragged myself out of the house, and I went about my routine. And tonight, finally home, I still feel exhausted, and severely depressed. And when the dogs rushed up to greet me with love (and all of that energy), even though I wanted to shrink away from it, instead I sat down and cuddled them and murmured soothing words until they relaxed into sleep. And even though getting through the day was incredibly difficult, it was not impossible. Even though the feelings, emotions and mood hasn't changed, I still chalk it up to a win. So take that Bipolar Disorder.
Maybe I will wake tomorrow, and the day won't seem quite so terrible. Or maybe it will, and I will face the same struggles and decisions as today. I don't know what will happen...then again, neither does anyone else know what tomorrow will bring. But whatever happens, I will wake and I will take a deep breath, and I will fight on in my never ending war. Maybe I will succeed, and then again, maybe I won't, but I will try. I might not always win every battle...but I think that maybe I am making headway. I really do. And at this stage, that is a very huge deal. I dream of the day (nothing more than a pipedream I know) when I won't have to battle with myself over the merits of getting out of bed. But for now, just being courageous enough to do so, against every single fibre of my being is enough. And I accept that.
I have always seen magic. Everywhere I look there is something beautiful and breathtaking, and incomprehensibly majestic~ a glimpse of light as it filters through the trees; casting shadows on the ground. Leaves rustling as the trees bend and sway in the wind. A bird soaring effortlessly, gracefully overhead. The sound of the ocean as it tumbles against the shore. The way a child's hand fits so perfectly in that of it's mother. The laughter of a babe.
All you have to do is close your eyes, take a breath, and open them. Around you are a thousand tiny miracles~ the intracacies of a spiders' web, the air on your skin, the colours of the world. With all of that wonder and majesty around you, it's easy, somehow, to get lost in yourself. Really lost.
When I look at others, I see...light. I see the strengths they carry, their torments. My instinct is to nurture their gifts, to help ease the burdens. I am amazed in the ways they show love and compassion. I empathize with their fear, anger, frustration, pain. I...accept.
And then...I look at myself. I see the shadows. Except that where once there must have been light, there is only darkness. Shades of shadow. I see my faults, and dismiss any positives. I am bombarded by feelings of shame, disappointment, disgust, and hatred. Yes, hatred.
I don't think that it was always this way, although I can't tell you exactly when I strayed out into that foggy darkness and lost my way. I don't know when I got caught in the undertow. But I do know, that since then I have been fighting against the buffeting waves. Battling in a sense of desperation as I am dragged and bashed, the air escaping my lungs; suspended in this weighted, weightless world.
Why? A word with such power. You can use it in so many ways, but until you really want to know, it is only a word. Why is it that I can see such brilliance in the world around me...but view myself through a darkened haze? Why is that necessary, how is that helping me to lead a life I want to lead? Why do I think I am undeserving of the respect I feel for others? How can I truly love another, without first loving, and accepting myself?
There are answers. There are reasons. But do they matter? In the long run, do they really matter? It's not the why's that need answering...it's the when. When do I want to live. When do I want to step out of the shadows, and search for the light that others see in me? When do I want to be?
And there will be many questions along the journey I imagine. How do I find my way? Where do I begin? Who am I, and who do I want to be? What do I want to achieve...what do I want? How do I achieve that?
I don't need to answer all of them...not right now. There is only one question that needs answering right now.
And so, against all of my instincts, I am letting go and allowing the waves to do what they will. I am sure I will encounter more bruises and untold dangers before I break through that surface and gasp in a breath of air. But up there... I can almost glimpse it... is the light as it dances on the surface.
That's the way things come clear. All of a sudden. And then you realize how obvious they've been, all along. ~Madeleine L'Engle
Whats that you say? Why yes I do think it is time for another musical montage. Give my weary mind a rest and let other brilliant poets speak for me. You see, I have this struggle. I wake up with it. It plagues me all day. And at night, at night in particular, it digs in, tooth and nail and refuses to let go. It's not that complex a process really, taking medication. Or, it shouldn't be. I've heard the med lecture umpteenth times. I've heard the process compared to diabetics, heart patients. It has been drummed into me by family, friends, and many professionals. I have drummed it into my own head over and over again. But there it is, nonetheless.
It isn't that I want to fight the process (although, perhaps on some level I do), or that I don't want to be well...because, believe me, the last thing I want is to be unwell. But...psychiatric medication, it changes you. Sometimes, it is a subtle change...say you get cravings for foods you never would have touched before...you sleep too much, or not enough, you gain or lose a significant amount of weight. Simple side effects that come with any medication you might take. Easy enough to fix by adding another medication, or changing something. But....what happens when the side effect changes you. I mean really changes you.
I have always created with words. Or, I should say, poems and stories have appeared inside my mind. I never had to reach far...they wrote themselves. In fact, it would be safe to say that each one had a mind of it's own, I just had to transcribe them. I could see pictures so vivid that I could recreate them, in the physical world...sometimes with a description so real it even astounded me, sometimes, by putting pencil to paper and letting my hand sketch out the image. That is me...that creativity is vital to me...it's who I am.
And medication? It changes me. It creeps in stealthily and robs me of my words. Not even a fragment of poetry swirling just there behind my eyes. Nothing. I don't quite know how to describe the sensation that accompanies this. A sense of loss so profound...
Often I wonder whether it is even worth it, for those minute fleeting moments of stability; this loss of self. And I wonder, if a diabetic, or a heart patient needed a medication that resulted in a personality change so profound that they literally lost themselves, would they in turn question?
My words are disappearing, and my personality is changing. And it scares me. I can imagine the fear that a person with dementia encounters. Knowing that things aren't right, but unable to grasp at what, or how to fix it. And slowly fading away into an illness that claims them. I was diagnosed with bipolar I disorder 3 years ago. Since then, Ive been hospitalized 3 times. I (and others around me) have watched as it has changed...new symptoms, new early warning signs, the loss of others, different manic reactions, the development of rapid cycling. Depressions that have become more and more severe. And the periods of stability, those brief glimpses of normalcy in between, growing shorter and shorter. We've worked through different med combinations, again, and again. I've worked through cognitive behavioural therapy. I am focussing on mindful awareness. The importance of just stopping and breathing. Latching onto the things that give me respite, or a sense of calm like my drumming group, walks by the ocean, playing with the dogs.
And I exist. I wake up, I function to the best of my ability. I take care of my dogs. And when the darkness comes, I look at the meds in my hand, and I think about the person that I am. That I was. That I'm becoming. And I mourn the loss of my words...my soul.
This post comes with a warning. It contains some material which might be extremely triggering to some people. If you think you fit into this category, please please please, do not read this poem.
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They look at you, scarcely a glance,
but they think they know you.
You are one of the lost.
Cold sweats, shivering down your spine as you search
for that one magic thing that will take it all away.
Welcome to the world little girl.
This unfathomable place,
where just around the corner is an experience unimaginable.
No one told you then this world contained such joy, such beauty?
No one told you of the cruelty and hatred that exists?
Or how the two are so often intermingled, indistinguishable;
a tangled web of deceit that baffles even the deceivers.
Welcome to the world, little girl.
That world into which you were thrust too early,
without warning. There are dangers.
You mustn't live in the past, they say.
There is only the present, the here, and the now.
And you nod, because on some level you know it to be true,
and you want so desperately to believe it.
But you wonder if they have ever awoken, in a dark room,
tangled in a mass of sheets soaked through with sweat.
Where you choke on the fear that grips you,
and you suffocate slowly on the memories, there in the black.
And you wonder if they've ever recoiled in revulsion
at the sensuous touch of an innocent lover.
Felt their skin crawl, their mind a deafening silent scream.
Fighting desperately to stay in the moment,and not retreat into themselves;
curled tightly in that protective fetal position,
this broken baby-child-woman.
They look at you, scarcely a glance,
and they think they know you.
I know you, little lost one.
Welcome to the world, little girl.
What has happened lately? I spent a hectic week (and by hectic I mean..."okay Logan I really don't want to leave this to the last minute" but still managaing to finish with only a half an hour to spare before having to leave for the airport, even with no sleep and going going going all the time) getting Logan packed and ready to go. But we did manage to get him there in time to catch his 6:40 am flight, miraculously. My place is a bomb, as all of the stuff from his apartment that he couldn't pack and that he wanted to keep is now in my (very tiny) bachelor apartment. And gradually I will go through it, piece by piece; either to pack and ship, or to store carefully.
It is funny the things you miss about a person when they are gone, that you never even realized mattered before. Like the way he would pop in at random times, and suddenly we would be in fits of laughter. How he always seemed to be taking my milk, because he was out. Or how he interacted with the dogs, getting them revved up and playing like fools. I miss hearing his hacking cough outside. And now coming back from a midnight/1am/2am walk with the dogs to find that his house is dark, and my lights are the only ones on in the entire complex...leaves me with a sense of loneliness. I miss having someone to sing my fool head off with. But mostly, I just miss my big brother...and the dogs, they miss their "Uncle Logah". They have been sad and mopey since he left. I understand.
I wanted to post a video of one of my new favourite bands. They are simply AMAZING. No really, they are. Called Pomplamoose, they consist of Nataly Dawn, and her partner Jack Conte. This particular song happens to be Logans favourite. And watch right to the end....the last bit had us in tears we were laughing so hard...because we know that oh so well.
In the stillness of the predawn morning, the air is chilled with ghostly memories.
I took a break from blogging for a little while. It was needed...too much emotion, too much...venting and ranting and whining.
They churn inside my mind, gnawing away fervently.
Life has this odd way of testing you. Just when you think you have reached the point where you can't take anymore, something else is thrust your way and somehow you manage to stagger a few more steps forward.
Looming large, or scattered wisps, they bring with them an overwhelming sense: regret, pain, sorrow, guilt, fear, joy, love.
You may trip and stumble, and even crawl forward on your hands and knees when you can no longer stand. You might give in, give up for a little while; surrender and succumb to old habits, unhealthy ways. You may even try new unhealthy ways in an effort to keep going. To just... keep going.
Omnipresent, they will remain. Trembling whispers echoed soundlessly.
Tired, tested, triumphant. The group experience went well ( I will tell you about an interesting aspect, but not tonight...tonight the letter t is kicking my butt). I then spent 7 hours outside gardening and landscaping...taking advantage of the last warm weather to make a bit of putting away money. The plan was then to come home and work like the crazy people we are on Logan's place to cart belongings up to my house, sort, pack, continue. Instead I ran the hottest bath imaginable to ward off the chill I'd gotten in the garden, and then promptly fell asleep in the warmth of the tub. I woke an hour later in lukewarm water with a crick in my neck like you wouldn't believe. So I figured a little break was needed (if that isn' a sign from your body that you need to sleep, I don't know what is). Re-ran the bath, had a good soak, and spent the rest of the night vegging in a semi-conscious state. And hopefully tonight will be brought to you by the letter S. Sleep, sleep and....sleep.
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