mental health

blog: create your own interpretation

Three things are true:

1. Everyone has a story
2. Your story is important
3. YOU ARE NOT YOUR STORY

We tell ourselves stories all the time. We give meanings to things, it’s kinda what humans do. We hear what people say, we see what they do or don’t do, and we add our own meaning on top. It’s natural to apply personal experience to things, to want to deepen our understanding of them. But too often we stop there, we take our assumptions as gospel.

Assumptions make asses out of umptions, which is bad enough. But when we internalise ‘meanings’ as truths, when we allow these perceptions to become part of our “story”, we cross into dangerous terrain.

Interpreting stuff that happens in a way that is negative and harmful to our self-identity and self-esteem can damage and alter our view of who we are so effectively and insidiously it can take years to come to the surface. And yet these damaging hidden ‘truths’ we embrace about who we are have a very real affect on our actions and choices along the way.

“I’m worthless.”
“I’m ugly.”
“I’m fat.”
“I’m trouble.”
“I’m no good at anything.”
“I tore my family apart.”
“People will always let me down.”
“I have to look out for myself.”
“I can’t trust anyone.”
“I can’t be trusted.”
“I’m a bad person.”
“I’ll only hurt others and let them down.”
“I deserve to be hurt.”
“Nobody gets me.”
“I have no one.”

Seriously, who wants to go through life with a story like that?

Things happen. How you interpret them is going to become part of your story, that’s inevitable. But you are in charge of what you make it mean. Don’t stop at assumption. Don’t short-change yourself. Look at your identity, the stories you tell yourself about who you are, where do they come from?

Our identity is often comprised of a series of coping mechanisms and defences we created to deal with the challenges in life and our limited understanding of them. You don’t need to lock yourself into an identity that was created to address life situations you may no longer inhabit.

Take any of the above statements and picture a friend saying them – how would you react? Would you tell them they were being ridiculous? Would you rush to reassure them that those things are simply not true? Would you help them find ways of turning their thinking around?

Good. Now go look in a mirror, and do the same thing.

“I’m worth everything.”
“I’m beautiful.”
“I’m happy in my skin.”
“I’m someone worth knowing.”
“I’m good at anything I put my mind to.”
“I value and respect my family relationships.”
“People want to be there for me.”
“I can learn to let people in.”
“I have faith in people.”
“I am trustworthy and reliable.”
“I am a good person.”
“I am committed to having positive relationships with others.”
“I deserve to reach my potential.”
“I have many unique qualities to offer people.”
“I have a strong and supportive network.”

Life’s too short to build your identity based on negativity and pain. Embrace change, embrace love, embrace a more authentic and connected life

blog: serendipity is a scam

Every ‘beginning’ is a re-branded ending.  But if that sounds depressing, the counterpart is also true – every ending is a re-branded beginning.  The more you realise this, the more you see that there is no finiteness to the universe, everything is fluid.  Everything old is new again.

People often think things like, “If I hadn’t spoken to the stranger on the bus that day, this particular chain of events would never have happened, and I wouldn’t be getting married/ getting a promotion/ writing this book right now. It was meant to be!”  Or they apply the same worry to the future, that if we’re not in the right place at the right time, we’ll miss an appointment with destiny. But Serendipity is merely a nice idea.

Story time!  Over a decade ago I was coming home from cooking class via the train, and I had a bag full of fresh baked apple pies.  The train being crowded, I was standing in the foyer with a bunch of other people, and an alternative-looking guy about my age decided to sit down on the floor. Fearing for the safety of my freshly baked goods, I cried, “Don’t sit on my pies!” He apologised, then said, “You’ve got an accent!” and by the time we had arrived at our destination we were firm friends. 

If life were a Hollywood movie, I’d be telling you the story of how I met my husband.  But that man has been happily married to another woman for six years now and both of them are very dear friends.  True, you could say that a chance encounter led to a friendship that has spanned over a decade now, but it could also have been true that it led to the worst heartbreak of my life, or even nowhere at all. 

I guess the point I’m trying to make is that we make our own fate.  I do believe some things are meant to come into our lives in some way, but I don’t believe our destinies are set in stone (unless you’re Ta’veren, but that is a whole other blog). The universe gives us the raw ingredients, if you will, but there are many different combinations we can make from those circumstances and happenings. 

The concept of time as linear is false.  You cannot stray from the path if there is no path to stray from. When you see this, you’ll either feel lost and frightened by s lack of definitive purpose, or you’ll feel liberated and stop beating yourself up about missed opportunities and failed five year plans.

Seeing life events as devoid of the “meaning” we tend to ascribe to them doesn’t have to be depressing and nihilistic.  It can be an exciting blank canvas, an empty stage on which to play and create anything we want. 

poem: epitaph

And so here I am at that time of day
Where I am alone in my head with my thoughts…

Finally free.

Never was there a more fitting epitaph
Let that be written on the certificate of death
When they come to take my empty shell away
Do not say “She died of a broken heart”
That is far too romantic for a melancholic solitary thing like me.
Instead let them only say,

“Finally free.”

blog: hermitude and judgment day

This year I’ve had one thing happen after another until it finally crushed me. I became exhausted and overwhelmed, jumbled, temperamental, craving solitude and isolation. So when my contract job ended, I decided to take some time off to rest and recover myself in self-imposed hermitude.

So now my phone is on silent, my chat programs turned off, and my email goes largely unanswered.  I go shopping on a weekday when the stores are at their emptiest.  I try and plan only one social thing a weekend if I can.  I wake up, I cook lunch, I pack my husband off to work.  Then I clean the house, I work on personal projects.  The hubby comes home, I cook dinner, we watch Netflix or play WoW, I read before bed (FYI – I haven’t touched an actual book in years).  

And slowly the noise in my head is starting to subside. I find I am so much happier with a slower pace in life, time to think and plan my next move without distraction.  No knot in the pit of my stomach as I struggle to remember how smalltalk is supposed to work. No over-extending myself socially then collapsing in a heap when I come home. No need for the vague and often spurious promises of “Let’s catch up soon”.

At first I felt guilty.  I’m not connecting with my friends enough, and I know that soon I will drop off many radars, just another somebody you used to know. Out of sight out of mind, time marches on, and all that jazz. I’m hoping that when I start feeling more social, I can reconnect with people again. But I also understand now just how much I need a more genuine way of living, one with less technology and more authentic contact with others.

I am done letting social media be my main form of interaction.  I am done with excessive trigger warnings and tumblr, done with discussions about privilege and patriarchy, done with political correctness for its own sake, done with people whose convictions are formed from a cursory glance at mainstream news and infotainment articles, done with frivolous online petitions regarding first world problems.

I don’t want to sound rude.  It’s not that I don’t care about my friends; I want to know how you all are, I want to know who got engaged, pregnant, sick, divorced.  But I no longer want to find out from Facebook.  More and more, I resent the use of social media to keep up with our lives.

What colour is your soul?  What animal is your spirit animal?  What cartoon house should you live in?  This Russian artist just drew something and what happened next will amaze you!  This guy made tiny people out of cheese and filmed different scenes with them every day until he had a cheese-people movie! This dude used to be a dude but now he is a woman and we should all care because his daughters are famous!! 

Chalk it up to Weltschmerz, but it seems like very little of the noise and chatter in the Social Media Soapbox world actually matters.  So here I am like the proverbial old codger, talking about how good things were “back in the day”, when mobile phones were the size of bricks and internet plans were charged by the hour.  Back before people posted photos of their food, before people’s pets had their own Instagram accounts.  I sit here like an old granny in a rocking chair on the front porch with her shotgun, plotting the destruction of Skynet.

Well… maybe not ALL of Skynet.  Because I still need Pinterest for jam recipes and veggie garden tips and homesteading inspiration for when I finally go off-grid.  And I guess maybe the cat videos can stay, and the one of the seal riding on the dolphin.  But tumblr and 4chan are definitely going down.  Make it so.

blog: life has always felt a little shaky

When it comes to medical dramas I was a Chicago Hope fan back in the day.  And one character who only appeared on one episode somehow was able to sum up my whole life experience in one sentence; Carole Kane (as Marguerite Birch) says, “Life has always felt a little shaky to me, ya know?” That one line from that one episode has lived rent-free in my head ever since.

I’ve never felt I had a full grasp on life, on reality or sanity.  I live in that half-light world between dreams and waking; time is and always has been a very loose concept for me. I’ve always felt broken somehow, like a puzzle whose pieces don’t quite lock into place – even if you complete the picture, it will never look cohesive; it will always look like an ill-fitting mesh of laminated cardboard, instead of a landscape or a building or whatever is depicted on the front of the box.  And yet, this dissonance with life and with reality allows me to step outside myself and appreciate things in a way I could not if I were a fully integrated soul.  

In my head, I live in a world without absolutes.  A world where there is no real truth, where “truth” is just what resonates more succinctly with the feeling of being genuine and authentic; and I understand that what resonates with each individual is different and yet no less valid.  A place full of grey areas, a world without the safety net of moral convictions and to quote the great Ozzy Osbourne, “indisputable gods”.  

My Jesus is not your Jesus.  Your Yahweh is not my God.  Our interpretations of scripture, of faith and belief are different; they have to be, because *we* are different.  And so I walk the tightrope dividing the chasm of belief vs unbelief, the same mantra on my lips as was breathed by a grieving father centuries ago: “Lord, I believe!  Help my unbelief!” 

I am a conflicted soul.  I am a skeptic and a romantic all in one.  I have rarely known the comfort and security of unconditional love, and yet I believe in its value with all my heart.  I have seen magic and wonder with my own eyes and can never be convinced that these do not exist.  My world is one of art, of poetry, of chasing after beauty and that elusive nymph called Truth.  I will fight with my last breath for love and the right of the individual to be free to follow one’s own path.  

This conflicts with the actual world I live in – a world of facts and figures, a world of taxes, paycheques and mortgages.  A world of text messages, emails, and appointment books.  A world of black & white interpretations of scripture, of proscribed concepts of the Divine and of regimented worship.  A world of “shoulds” and “musts”.  A world of rat races, KPIs and deadlines.  Of social engagement, social politics, social rules, social media.  A world of white noise. 

Thus my need for solitude and isolation, my need to escape into a reality to which I feel more aligned, a world of infinite beauty and love.  Nature is and always has been my church. The swirl of leaves on a blustery autumn day is my cathedral.  The sounds lovers and friends make when they see each other after a long absence is my hymnal.  The warmth of a robust, frothy cappuccino in a mug is my sacrament. A book of poetry is my holy text.  The beauty of the pulse of life when it’s being lived to the fullest… This is my spirituality and my inspiration.  

This is why I say, “Blessed be.”  This is the peace I wish to everyone.  Love and be loved, celebrate life and let life celebrate you.  Look at reality from different angles, find joy and inspiration on this gorgeous day.  

poem: i need a church

I need a church
I need to find a priest to hear my confession
I need redemption
Before I give in to the temptation of self

Forced to face the reflection of the past
I reach out to touch, and smash the glass
My wrists are slashed and I bleed
The pain is familiar and leads me back to myself

There’s no escape – I am who I am
There’s no reconciliation for the sins of the damned
Just that feeling of being in the other side if the glass looking in…
Heaven turns her back on those who condemn themselves.

poem: confession manifesto

– TW: SA, addiction

Here is my confession – when I was seven
A little boy touched me in a place I didn’t like
No grownups did anything to stop it
And it was all my fault.

Here is my confession – when I was twelve,
I was angry and I didn’t understand why
My parents didn’t believe in counselling so they hit me
With a Bible instead and told me to shape up or they’d ship me out
And it was all my fault.

Here is my confession – when I was seventeen
My father said, “It’s my way or the highway.”
I put on my big girl shoes and lit out
To face the wide world on my own.

I partied and played out tired stereotypes of misspent youth –
I fell into a bottle and stayed there,
So damn drunk I couldn’t hold down a job
Or tell the man who gave me a ride home late one night
That No definitely does mean No.
I burned up opportunities and friendships
Like the cigarettes I lit to mark the sorrow on my skin
And it was all my fault.

In my 20’s I turned to confession,
Threw myself on the mercy of Jesus
And trusted his followers to be cut from the same cloth
But they chewed me up and spat me out
Like wolves in sheeps’ clothes
And it was all my fault.

Confession becomes my obsession,
I scribble poems and half-thoughts on notebook paper that I screw up and throw out
“Not Good Enough” becomes the motto emblazoned across my chest
As I watch other poets spittin it, hittin it as hard as I wanna do,
As I could do, if it weren’t for this damn block –
And the block is all my fault…

I’m stuck in this confession,
Without a priest to absolve me
Or a psychotherapist to resolve me
I’m a puzzle beyond solving
Fault lines crack and plates start to rub each other the wrong way
My skin gets compromised by a million different splinters all pushing to get in
And the –whoosh- of my soul, trying to get out…

But…
It is not my fault.
In fact, it was never my fault.
And for those of you who see a bit of yourself in my story,
It’s not your fault either.
It was never. your. fault.

We were the ones society was supposed to nurture
We were the ones who were supposed to grow up to greatness
The ones who carried the promise of the future in our tender hearts
Like the unopened petals of a sunset-yellow rose
We were the ones who were supposed to hope, to think to dream,
But we got crushed by the machine,
We opened our eyes too wide, when the light was still too bright to hide us.
And the lies they told pierced the unformed armour of our souls
But it was not our fault…

We were just too fucking fragile.

So I want to lift up this poem as an anthem
For anyone who was ever told they were not good enough
Not fast enough, not smart enough, not pretty enough
That they were simply not enough…

I want to burn away the lies and get to the real you
I want to replace the coals of shame with the fires of truth
I wanna lift up this poem as an anthem,
Because everyone knows coals
Are just diamonds
Waiting to happen.

blog: you are not alone

There will be times in your life when things get a bit slippery, it’s hard to hang on and you feel like you’re falling. It’s natural to panic and reach out to other people around you for help, but you often get mixed reactions depending on who you turn to.

There will always be the people who tell you not to be silly, of course you’re not falling. They firmly believe things like, you reap what you sow, or that a little hard work and perseverance can solve almost any problem you might have. These types of people often think there’s no such thing as depression and mental illness, preferring to label it as ‘laziness’ or ‘melodrama’ instead.

Then there are those who refuse to acknowledge your cries for help, simply because they don’t want to see you fall. They care about you, and can’t handle the thought that you might not be okay. Or maybe they want you to sweep it under the rug, because they depend on you, and need you to be stable and to be there for them.

There will also be those who just want to tell you all about the time they fell. They are quick to talk about their experiences; the “story toppers” are especially hard to deal with – if you have depression, they have the mother of all PSTD, if you have trouble making ends meet, they’ll tell you how they nearly lost everything that one time. These people can be useful, recommending medication or treatment methods, organisations who can help you, or things that worked for them. However, they tend to busy themselves with the symptoms, and ignore the cause.

All you really need sometimes is acknowledgement. What you need is someone to reach out and grab hold of you and halt your downward progress. You need someone to look in your eyes and say, “I know.” And then it will be okay. Because you know that someone out there knows what you’re going through, and they’re committed to not letting you fall.

That’s who *I* want to be – and who I want to encourage other people to be. Sure there will always be elements of all the above people in how we treat people who are struggling and disadvantaged. There will be temptation to deny what other people are going through, or to relate to their experiences in context of our own, and that’s fine. As long as at the end of the day, we’re throwing the life line as well, and letting people know – we’re on their side, and they are not alone.

blog: down in a hole

The thing I miss most about being part of a church or spiritual group is the sense of being connected to something bigger than me.  Others might feel overwhelmed or threatened by the thought of being a cog in the wheel, but I find it comforting. In a way, being a small part of a bigger force gives my existence purpose and direction; it helps to define me spiritually and otherwise.

But lately I feel disconnected.  After reaching a milestone in my life I’ve started to reflect on the past, and I miss some of the things I used to enjoy.  I miss some of the friendships and relationships I used to have, it’s sad that it’s only now I appreciate their true worth. I find myself wanting to wind back the clock a few years, to try to gain back those moments of happiness and the sense of fulfilment I felt at a time when my life was very different.

I am also somewhat isolated now.  I’ve been betrayed by people I thought were friends. I’ve experienced rejection from spiritual mentors and groups from whom I expected support.  Friends and family members have shown me I am not exactly high on their list of priorities.  I feel I have nowhere to turn and withdraw more and more into my own skin every passing day.

Everything I’m going through emotionally is slowly wearing me down. I need to recharge, but without a support network, I feel cut off from the source.  To use an old phrase, I desperately need revival, but bitterness is holding me back. I’m afraid to trust again, to be part of a community that may eventually disappoint or reject me. It seems safer to remain aloof and independent, to rely completely on myself for everything.

And I think that’s an understandable reaction from someone who’s been hurt as much as I have, to withdraw from the world a bit.  That way if I have mistakes or disappointment, there’s only myself to blame. It’s a kind of cocoon, this need to be insular, which protects me while I heal.  The problem is the cocoon is starting to get a bit tight and it’s almost time to leave it behind, but I still feel like I haven’t healed.

So I need to work out where I’m going from here – how do I heal properly, so I can be a part of the bigger picture again?  How do I fix my issues so that when the time comes to rejoin the world at large, I am stable enough to do so?  That’s where I am at the moment, just feeling my way in the dark and trying to find a foothold, because I really don’t want to stay down in this hole forever.

poem: scarred

Denied belief
Denied relief
I scarred myself
My hate to keep
Refrained from peace
Restrained and leashed
I cried out for well so deep
That I could cast
That I might last
Within a pit of murky hope
The light grows dim
The plight within
Makes me sear my childhood soul
I prayed for help
I prayed for self
I shivered and I called your name
You recognized the self-despised
And then you turned
Your face away.

poem: for jim

Sweet –
You burn…
I reach out in the dark
Seeking,
Needing
Release for just this once
I climb out of myself
And drown and amber glass

Numb –
You love,
You teach me how to be
A void,
A place,
I don’t have to feel alive…
I don’t have to feel a thing,
As I drown pretence away

Hurt,
You heal;
Stay with me tonight.
Aching,
Craving,
This void I cannot fill –
It all just goes away;
Wash over me tonight.