Supercrawling

I didn't wanna go to the Supercrawl - I was sore and way too anxious to be around all those people.  But I forced myself because I guess I felt I would rather be in pain and have anxiety than to sit home like I always do and feel like the world is spinning without me, and I'm watching people live their lives in ways I just cannot.

I love my city and the things I love most about it are things I have difficulty participating in because of my illnesses and social anxiety and that pisses me off so much.

So I went with Brian.  There were about 200% more people there than I imagined - it was huge and awesome.  I was nervous and overwhelmed but after being there a while, I started to relax and focus more on the art than on how I was feeling and how I might look to everyone else.

And I had a good time and felt the same inspiration I always do when I go to the Art Crawl, except much more so. 

I  bought a small print by local artist Megan Rae:

 

She has a lot of work I really like, and a lot of pretty cool surrealist stuff, like this Dali-esque peice:

 

 You can see more of her stuff here and on her website here.

I also bought two prints by another local artist, Tim Francis.  After working at Dofasco most of his life, he retired in 2004 and opened a gallery on James St. N.  

I got signed prints of Irving's clothing store on James Street that I cannot find a picture of for some reason, and a larger print of This Aint Hollywood:

We decided to end the evening by stopping at This Aint Hollywood for a drink.

I love this city.



<3 M

I never realized

...  (and I would have never believed) that a person's social anxiety could effect socializing online as well.  That's depressing.



<3 M

(Really) Glad To Be Alive

I almost died yesterday.

My day started of okay - had a routine cleaning at the dentist for 11am: the hygenist was extremely chatty the whole time, which makes me anxious, although she was very nice and kept going on about how beautiful my teeth were.

Value Village is in the same plaza as my dentist and that's where I headed after my appointment.  After heaping my cart full, I proceeded to the change room where I spent a generous and painful length of time trying on various things.  After a while, I was so sore that I just had to stop.  I was also starting to get hives, which is normal for me as I've been getting them for the past two years whenever the lightest sweat breaks out (it's very frustrating).

I left the change room and started looking through the items in my cart.  After a minute or so, I started having trouble breathing, so I started taking my inhaler, but it wasn't helping and the hives were getting worse.  I went to sit down and text Brian and right after that, I felt my face was swelling up.  At that point I dialed 911 and went outside to the front of the store, leaving my cart inside.  My breathing was worsening by the second and by the time I spoke to the lady on the other end, I could barely speak. 

So I waiting, bent over a railing, trying with all my strength to just breath. 

The ambulance seemed to take forever to arrive - longest time I've ever waited for an ambulance.  Meanwhile, the 911 lady kept asking me questions, and I eventually just stopped answering her because they had nothing to do with my condition and I couldn't talk!

Then a woman coming out of value village starting acting like my nurse, putting her face in mine, asking me dumb questions, leaning her hand on my back, making it even harder to breath.  I felt like crying. I didn't know what to do.

When the ambulance finally did arrive, they slowly sauntered over to me as if I was suffering from a minor boo-boo and proceeded to ask me questions like "what is the matter,?" "what's your name?" "do you know where you are?" etc etc - all of these questions and they still hadn't even touched me.  I stopped trying to answer their stupid questions because I felt like I was literally drowning - I couldn't get ANY air.

So then they put an oxygen mask on me, which was not emitting ANYTHING.  I tried to tell them but they didn't listen.  I took the mask off to look at what might be the issue and the place where the oxygen is supposed to com out was covered by some kind of plug.  I tried keeping the mask off of me because it was making it way way harder to breath, but they kept putting it back on me.

At this point, I was pretty sure I was going to die.  They were taking their time.  And they stopped trying to put my mask back on.  But I didn't want to die, so I started trying to beg with what little air I guess I was getting (no idea how) - "please help me!" "I can't fucking breath," "please, you don't understand!" And the EMS guy was quite annoyed by this point, and just barked back "this is our job - we know what we're doing!" 

THEN they give me an epi-shot.  Get me onto the bed thing (whatever it's called), and proceeded to take their time.  I started clawing and thrashing out of desperation (not at anyone, just the bed thing) the same way one would if they were underwater drowning - it's an instinct - even if you want to die, your body automatically tries to fight it.  I got yelled at again.  I've never begged that hard or desperately in my whole fucking life. 

At that point, I just accepted I was gonna die and tried not to fight it anymore - next to impossible.

So they had me lying down flat on this bed, and for anyone who knows about asthma or breathing problems, you know that's the worst possible position - sitting up and/or turning on your side makes it easier to breath for some reason.  So I tried my best to wiggle to my side, which was next to impossible  cause they had me belted in so tightly.

They finally put me in the back of the ambulance, where I was half in the bed, and half leaning against some kind of glass cabinets.  The didn't touch me again.  Just left me alone, and I actually started to be able to breath a tiny bit, laying on my side, which was so relieving.

We finally got there... did I mention they didn't even turn on their siren until we were just about to arrive?  They rolled me into the hospital, into a room, where there was about seven staff.  The EMS still hadn't touched me - in fact the one guy told them in a very annoyed tone, that I had no idea who I was or where I was, etc.   WTF.  Yes I did.  I just couldn't breath, motherfucker!

They placed me onto the bed in the room, and put an oxygen mask on me that actually had oxygen coming out of it!  From there on I knew I would live because they were all there giving me what I needed as if it was an emergency.  I got two more epi-shots, an IV with Saline, Magnesium Sulfate, Prednisone.  They gave me ventolin, lots of oxygen... hooked me all up with electrodes and basically made it so I could actually breathe again.  And they were nice to me, too.

Brian came - walked at lightening speed from downtown to the Jurevinski hospital - first time I'd ever had someone at my bedside at the hospital.  Felt odd but good.They continued treatment and monitoring for several hours until they were sure I was stable and okay. 

I was exhausted, and in so much pain: one particular nurse, who I'm sure meant well, kept squeezing and poking my arm, not sure why but I think she was hooking lots of stuff up to me.  I kept saying ow because it fucking hurt like a bitch, and finally I said "I have Fibromyalgia" and they were like "oooohhh, okay" - I don't usually complain when stuff like that happens, but it was too much.  At least they understood why it was hurting me so much when I volunteered that information.  It made me realize the importance of letting people know so don't hurt me inadvertently.

This same nurse, when the moved me to another room when I was stable, came in and slapped my leg "affectionately" asking how I was doing.  I screamed because it felt like she just dropped a ton of bricks on my leg.  Sigh. 

Yesterday was not my day.  But I lived.

So a bit of background: as I said, for the past two years or so, I get hives so easily, just from a tiny bit of sweat.  They usually start on my chest and can stay for a quite a while.

Then about a month or two ago, I started going to the YWCA to use the treadmill, which I'd done many times before and never had an issue.  One day I came home and almost immediately broke out in hives all over my body, itchy, sooo itchy.  I was itchy inside and outside - and I felt myself swelling up - my face, eyes, lips, basically my entire face, so much so that you could still see the effects of the swelling two days after.  The scariest thing though, was that my throat was beginning to constrict. 

So I laid down in bed, put the fan on my full blast, and concentrated on relaxing my body, and breathing, paying attention to the swelling so that I'd know if it got serious enough I would call 911.  The only reason I knew that it was a serious thing, is because since I was a little girl I have been allergic to fish, so much so, that even to touch the juice of it sent me into severe antifilactic shock - my eyes would swell completely shut and my throat would swell and cut off my air completely.  I had twenty minutes then I'd be dead.  When I got a bit older, they shortened my time of death to three minutes - scary stuff.

After that exercise incident happened, I went to the doctor and told her about it: she set up an appointment with an allergist and gave me a prescription for an epi-pen.  She also told me to take allergy pills before doing any exercise, just in case.

Well we found out yesterday that ODSP doesn't even cover an epi-pen - something that could save your life quite literally.  I thought that was ridiculous.  Brian brought the perscription in to get filled and they handed him a form - not an epi-pen, and told him I have to go back to my doctor to have the form filled out.  If I had had that epi-pen yesterday, things might have turned out quite differently.  Luckily, the nice doctor who took care of me yesterday was awesome and filled out some form for me to take to the pharmacy to make it so I can get it covered.  A hundred dollars is what it would have cost.

He also prescribed me a new inhaler since I used it all up trying to breath in the value village yesterday, and three days worth of prednisone.

So, I went into antifilactic shock yesterday, so bad that it almost killed me.  And just from my own perspiration, apparently.  What's that about?  My throat closed up, and I couldn't breath.  That was the scariest thing I can think of that I've gone through - I find it really upsetting to think about so I've noticed I've been trying to stuff it inside so I don't have to deal with it.

I know I have been quite judgmental in this post, mostly regarding the EMS people, and it's quite possible they were doing everything they were supposed to do and it just didn't seem like they were because I was so desperate to breath that I couldn't help feeling that way.  I realize this - I just really needed to vent it all.

I've had to call 911 various times in my past due to asthma attacks and every time, the ambulance arrived quickly, acted quickly, gave me oxygen right away, took me to the hospital asap.  So I just don't get what they were doing yesterday.

Also, I'm extremely grateful that I had the brains to call 911 - my pattern has always been to avoid calling them at all costs until I knew I would absolutely die if I didn't.  I'm not sure why I have been this way except maybe that that's what my mother has always done, or because I didn't want to "waste their time" unless absolutely necessary, or I just didn't care about myself enough.  Or maybe all of that is why.

So all I know is that I am somehow alive today.

What scares me now, is that this could happen to me again at any time, any place, any day.  It has been easy with the fish allergy because I just had to avoid fish.  It would seem now I have to avoid sweating too much (until maybe the allergist can figure out what's going on), which is really impossible since it happens just when I make dinner, and not to mention summer is just about here.  I'm scared.

Not sure if anyone will read all of this since it's a pretty long post, but for those who do, thanks.


<3 M

Too Afraid

And I'm not sure how to change that.

I know how to change my social anxiety and I'm sure that will help, but this seems to be something else as well.  I hadn't really thought about it before now, not sure why, maybe I wasn't ready for the truth?

If I get excited about something, I will talk myself out of going for it.  There are dozens of reasons I give myself to rationalize not doing something.  This is what I've been living like.  And now look at my life - I'm not living it.  I mean I'm not experiencing and pursuing things and that makes me feel stagnant, useless, and pointless.

But enough about what it has done to me.

I don't want to focus on the problem - the problem has had enough time to thrive.  I want a solution.

Last night on Facebook, I saw the Hamilton Conservatory For The Arts was giving classes.  I thought about taking the beginners photography class because I've lately discovered taking photos is kind of enjoyable - don't know why I never felt that way before, but anyway...  I thought it would be a good thing for me to do to expand my horizons, learn some things, meet some peoples, etc.  The place is really close to where I live and the money isn't a problem.  Aside from the fact that I don't think I have the right kind of camera, there was nothing stopping me from going for it - except of course, myself.

I didn't know what happened in that moment between enthusiasm and deciding against it, but I believe it kinda went something like this:

Me: ooh exciting!
Myself: scary.
Me: It's close by!
Myself: Still far enough.
Me: I can learn a lot and have fun!
Myself: You're not a photographer, you have more important things to attend to before you go taking classes on subjects that won't even help your livelihood.
Me: This would be really good for my social anxiety exposure therapy.
Myself: That's too much to handle right now.
Me: I never do anything.
Myself: you can't handle it.
Me: okay, I guess you're right.

*Sigh*

I've been "disabled" for basically my entire 20's.  My issues changed me and the way I live my life tremendously.  But unfortunately, I allowed it to define and devour me.  Being enveloped in health problems for long periods is a great way to neglect every other thing in life.  I wasn't able to do so many things I wanted to do or used to be able to do so I guess somewhere along the way I stopped trying and reinforced the belief that I can't handle things, even though I consciously know/or at least think I can handle many things, I block myself from living the life I want to live.

Sure, I have some challenges that make it hard to do everything I'd like, but that doesn't mean I can't at least do some.  I'm afraid of social situations but I can fight through that.  I am way too easily overwhelmed... so I don't have to do everything all at once... I am in pain a lot of the time... so take it easy?  So why doesn't "myself" understand that?

And I know I have a lot of fear about being really far out of my comfort zone, and imagining that discomfort can be enough to make me do nothing.

How can I change this pattern? (not a rhetorical question).


<3 M

Climbing Out Of My Skin

All my life I've been interested in many things, some of which have become passions of mine. This has made it seem impossible to figure out what it is I'm supposed to be doing with my life as far as purpose and an actual career.

When I was a little girl, I wanted to go to "Universary" and become a teacher.  When I got older and discovered I could write as a career and not just as a hobby, that's exactly what I was gonna do.

There have been a lot of hiccups.  In my late teens I became severely depressed and it completely stunted me.  I went inward and left life behind.  It immobilized me mentally and emotionally, and consequently socially and psychologically.

When I started to really pick up the pieces in my early twenties, I had to leave a promising job due to unexplainable physical and mental problems.  I was diagnosed by doctors and deemed unable to work.

When one spends several years in stagnation, trying skill-lessly to get better, apart from 'normal' life and 'normal' schedules, it becomes increasingly harder to get your head above water, and keep it there.  Life slowly but surely becomes purposeless, unnecessarily hard, and farther and farther out of reach.

It feels like I've been fighting forever and for the better part of those years, not getting very far.  I've learned a few lifetimes worth of lessons and gained a lot of skills and wisdom.  I just kept chipping away at the big boulder and after a long time, began to see it take some form.  For the longest time it just seemed like it wasn't ever going to budge.

But for the past few years, I've been able to see the difference of then and now - how far I've come.

When I was younger I was extremely ambitious and I had goals and dreams, plans for the future.  After years of living the kind of life I was living, I slowly stopped dreaming.  I didn't even notice it for a while but one day I realized I had no idea what I wanted my life to look like anymore, just that I didn't want it to look like it did.

I still had my many interests and passions, but no direction and no real idea of how to go about getting it.  It made me so sad to think I had no goals other than the same few goals I'd had for all these years: basic goals for my health since my health problems had weighed me down so much.  You could go through my journals throughout the years and see the same exact themes, year in and year out, struggling with myself against the same obstacles and never seeming to get anywhere.  It was really sad.

The good news is that I am mentally out of that place - I am now able to conceive of and institute plans, goals, and purpose in my life and for a while now I've been on a journey of self-discovery to figure out what that means for me.

Most recently in my journey, I came across an apparent stumbling block - the same damn block that has been there my whole adult life when it came down to deciding on a purpose/career: I don't know what I'm meant to do because I'm passionate about many things!

If my only true passion were writing, that would be easy.  But that isn't the case.  And I struggle with trying to figure out what path to follow.  What if I choose the wrong thing and waste too much time before I figure that out?  And I know I wouldn't be satisfied with any one thing (yes, I'm difficult).  I've been all over the place as far as my pursuits in life go and though I need a direction, I don't wish to ignore my passions as purposes in exchange for just one.

Obviously I've thought of choosing one and doing the other things as side projects.  But that hasn't seemed to fit either: the reason I'm so passionate about the things I'm passionate about is because they are all vehicles to the same end, and that end is my purpose.

I've always believed anything is possible and so I haven't given up on figuring this out.  I need to figure this out.  And then last night I learned a few new words:

Multipotentialism

A term defined in 1972 by R.H. Frederickson for people who, “when provided with appropriate environments, can select and develop a number of competencies to a high level.”

(from puttylike.com)

A multipotentialite is a person who has many different interests and creative pursuits in life.

Multipotentialites have no “one true calling” the way specialists do. Being a multipotentialite is our destiny. We have many paths and we pursue all of them, either sequentially or simultaneously (or both).

Multipotentialites thrive on learning, exploring, and mastering new skills. We are excellent at bringing disparate ideas together in creative ways. This makes us incredible innovators and problem solvers.

When it comes to new interests that emerge, our insatiable curiosity leads us to absorb everything we can get our hands on. As a result, we pick up new skills fast and tend to be a wealth of information.

Polymath/Renaissance Person.

A polymath (Greek: πολυμαθής, polymathēs, "having learned much") is a person whose expertise spans a significant number of different subject areas. In less formal terms, a polymath (or polymathic person) may simply be someone who is very knowledgeable. Most ancient scientists were polymaths by today's standards.


So I'm not alone.  *phew*  So now what?

Well now I feel less stressed out about it, for one thing.  This is not a bad thing!  I've never been comfortable in any box and I don't see how I could ever be happy trying.  And why bother if that's not what I'm meant to do?

So what I need to do is figure out how to take my passions and turn them into a career - into something fulfilling, something that aides people in some way, and something that allows me to be financially independent.  This is now the journey I'm on.  I now feel I have permission not to be pigeonholed into one specific expertise.  I just need to figure out what it will look like.

I had an awesome brainstorming session with Brian today - we listed the main things I'm passionate about doing.  One thing is for certain, there is a very strong theme that runs throughout all of those things and that is healing... in all aspects.  Health and well-being is what I want both for myself and for others.  This seems to be the epitome of what I need to offer the world in whatever ways I can.

Brian and I came up with a pretty good idea that I am definitely going to develop though I can't be positive yet if that is the exact direction I'm going.  It is very promising though.  One sure way I can tell it is right is that it immediately brought up a lot of fears as well as a feeling of a huge weight lifting off my shoulders.  We shall see.

But there are some things I have to do before I can get where I want to be - getting over my social anxiety is the most important one and the balls are already rolling on that.  That's a huge one.  Huge fears and huge discomfort.  That will be an interesting journey.  But I'm eager to get on with it so I can start doing more with my life.

My next step, aside from the above and doing more research on my possibilities, is formulating plans for my various goals - something I've learned is essential to do if you want to accomplish ANYTHING lol.

I have a lot of work ahead of me - I couldn't be more excited or terrified!


<3 M

Pride & Prejudice

This writing was inspired by something a friend wrote...

I'm a 30 year old disabled girl.

When you look at me, you might see a very overweight 30 year old girl but you will not see anything to indicate disability.

I'm one of the lucky ones with the invisible disabilities: I don't look sick, ya see.

I don't look sick, but I do look fat and out of shape.

And when you don't look sick, people come up with their own explanations of why you can't do a lot of physical activity.

And when you don't look sick, but you're over weight, people come up with even more fun explanations of why you can't do a lot of physical activity.

To many, fat = lazy. It's a judgement. And it's one I am paranoid about because I'm a prime target of such thinking.

I believed that about myself for some time too.

When I started to get sick, I was a slim girl. My disabilities and my weight both went up together for various reasons.

I was only moderately active before I got sick. Now I struggle to do the simplest things. Some days it's almost as if I'm perfectly healthy and other days I can barely get dressed. I never know which I will get.
 Most of the time, it's somewhere in between.

But the judgement that I am just fat and therefore lazy is sad and untrue.

If I were slim right now, i would still be disabled. I would still have days where I could barely move. The only difference would be less weight on my joints but as I've found out, that only helps to a point, it does not cure anything and it has no bearing on my Fibromyalgia.

It took me a long time to learn some important things and you know what? It isn't about weight, it's about lifestyle.

A skinny person who eats horribly and never exercises, is not healthier than a fat person who eats horribly and never exercises.

A skinny person who eats horribly and never exercises is not healthier than a fat person who eats well and regularly exercises.

It's about lifestyle and biology. My mum has Fibromyalgia and Osteoarthritis (and Borderline Personality disorder for that matter), and I was lucky enough to inherit these things by the time I hit age 20.

The reason this topic is heavier on my mind right now is because, after waiting a really long time because my ego was too proud to give in, I got a walker.

Without anything to aide me, I can walk extremely short distances and not without being in a lot of pain.
Because my lifestyle has been like this for the good part of ten years, the lack of physical activity has made me out of shape, which is a contributing factor in the pain I feel when walking.

With the aide of a walker, I will be able to actually go out and walk somewhere. I will not be so trapped. It will change my life. And it will get me walking, which will help me build up some strength.

My hope is that after a while of using it, I will be able to walk longer distances WITHOUT it, thus getting me into better shape.

I want badly to be stronger. I hate so much feeling trapped in this limited body. I hate having to plan so meticulously how I'm going to get somewhere just in case I'm caught stranded. I hate feeling left out of certain activities because my body won't cooperate.

But I was really afraid of getting a walker. I was afraid it would mean I was somehow giving up. But I know it is actually the opposite.

I was, and still am, afraid of the judgements: I am a 30 year old, overweight girl using a walker. People will look at me and think "that girl is so fat she needs a walker to help her move." But they have no idea. That's why judgements are so dangerous - you just never know.

Anyway, I'm gonna try to use the darn thing as much as I can. Hopefully the part of my brain that just doesn't give a fuck what others think will kick in more lol.

P.S. Judging is bad, mmmmk?

<3 M

Empty - ing

No idea where to start.  After fifteen years of not going to the dentist, I finally went yesterday and had two wisdom teeth extracted and some cavities filled.  The most dental work I'd ever had done previously was cleanings and one very tiny filling.

Brian brought me there and they gave me a magical liquid, along with some pills, tucked me in under a blanket on the chair, blindfolded me, and before I knew it there were people doing stuff in my mouth.  Yes I know that sounds dirty lol.  I was asleep for most of it.  The only painful parts were the needles in the gums, those were horrible, but didn't last very long so no big deal.

About two hours later, Brian was there and he took me back to his place and took care of me while I slept off the drugs.  I just need to make an appointment for a cleaning and I'm good - just gotta remember to floss I guess.

I do not feel less wise without my wisdom teeth, in fact, I feel even wiser ;-)

Last weekend I went to my niece, Amelie's dance recital.  She is three and adorable.  I've very proud to say she is the best dancer in her class and she absolutely loves the stage because after every group performance she yelled out "my turn!" lol.  And during intermission she ran up and gave a little show... and down the alley... and outside afterward... I love it.  I'm trying to find a video on the internets but having no luck.

This past Wednesday I had a pap.  Over a year ago they found abnormal cells during a pap so naturally they decided to keep an eye on things.  Well this time my gynecologist planned on doing a biopsy if any were found.  It's always a fun ordeal getting a pap, ya see, because it hurts like a sun of a bitch!  When I first started getting them it was not so bad - very uncomfortable but not enough to make me complain.  They were smart - they looked at me, saw they needed the SMALLER speculum, and proceeded with things as such.  For some reason that changed and it's like they're trying to stab my vagina.  I usually leave the office feeling sore, uncomfortable, and kind of abused to tell you the truth.  And this time was a gem.  He could not FIND my cervix.  He searched for like ten minutes with various instruments trying to find it.  "It should be there" I told him nervously.  It made me scared cause why the hell couldn't he find it?  He's a gynecologist!

Then he found it, but apparently couldn't see enough of it.  So then he tells me he's going to PULL my cervix out a little bit and so it might sting a bit O_O  What?  "Shouldn't it... stay where it's supposed to be?"  I said, terrified now.  The best part is that he doesn't even respond to my concerns, he just proceeds.  Thank gods for the nurse, she held my hand, she always tries to distract me from what he's doing and she tries to read my reactions for pain and then asks what kind of pain i'm feeling etc.  I think I will send her a card, actually, cause she's the only thing they have their that works, it seems.

And yes, it stung!  And I didn't even ask if he put it back lol :-s  After all that crap he tells me my cells are normal. *faints*

This past Saturday I attended  Amelie's baptism as her Godmother :-D  Brian and Drew came along, and Tiffani of course. While I'm not a believer in the religion, I do love Amelie and was happy to be part of it.  In fact, it was quite nice and she was of course adorable.  First thing she said as we entered the church - "Are we having cake?" :-p

She asked the priest what his white robes meant, she was really well-behaved and participated and I'm pretty sure she had some sort of spiritual experience if I didn't know any better. 

At one point, the priest asked that we all renew of baptismal vows.  No one there had ever been baptized aside from myself.  I found it really hard to repeat the words "I do" in answer to most of the questions being asked because I really really don't believe in those things, but I did what I could because it was for Amelie. The priest dropped his glasses in the bowl of water... that's how it ended hehe.

Then we went back to my mum's place for a while - she wasn't able to make it to the church because it was raining and her wheelchair would have gotten fucked up.

On Sunday, me, Brian, and Drew went to Gage Park.  It was a gorgeous day!  Brian and I sat under a shady tree on a blanket and ate some lunch, while Drew went back and forth between the water park and the playground.  Then around 3:30pm we all went over to where W.A.P. (whip and poi) was starting and spent the rest of the afternoon and good part of the evening with old and new friends. 

Drew played with the son of one of our friends while we lazed around.  I got to try out poi for the first time ever (finally) and I ended up enjoying it a lot more than I thought I would.  I seemed to pick it up quickly enough, I just have some major coordination issues to contend with.  It was really cool though.  I bough the stuff to make a pair but Brian lost it or something stupid but hopefully for next time.

What's interesting about this weekend, to me, is that Brian and I have been together for a year and a half (on Friday) and we've never had a picture taken of us - not accidentally and not on purpose.  It makes sense to me and it's sad but for some reason, this weekend we had two different people take our picture: my mum on Saturday (I hated the photo cause I'm a self-photo nazi) and then Dale on Sunday (which actually produced at the very least one good photo that I will share when I get).  We've had major ups and downs during our time together, things have been shaky, I won't lie (anymore), but I took the photo thing as an omen.  I hope so anyway.

Anyway, W.A.P. was good cause I really needed the social time and hopefully tomorrow will be good as well at the Hump Day munch.  I have a writer's meeting tonight but I feel like fainting so I'm gonna skip it.

What else can I tell you...

I've recently made some big discoveries about my future, about what I want to do with it, mainly.  And when I figured this out, it was great and I was very excited, and then it started to sink in: I can't do this because I am too afraid to talk to people, I'm too awkward and shy, too timid and anxious, too insecure because of it and there is no way you can be that way in the profession I want to go in.  So this was depressing.

Then I realized two other things:  a) I can't do ANYTHING worth doing if I'm this way and b) I'm not fucking shy people, I have social anxiety and THERE IS HELP.

I always thought it was just severe shyness.  I didn't even think it was that big of a deal but it just kept getting worse and worse and I didn't even see what it was doing to my life.  I kinda feel dumb for not even realizing and I think that's because I can and do socialize, but not without going through cycles of insecurity, anxiety, fear of not being liked,  etc etc and then when I AM putting myself out there for fear of being alone forever, I am so anxious that I stumble over my words, feel stupid and think no one actually likes me, they're just being nice. etc etc. etc.  It's ridiculous.  I just didn't put two and two together.  And now it's gone on so long that I don't know how to make much sense of it. 

I've been trying to use skills I learned in DBT lately, such as observing how I feel around people and taking notice of the thoughts I'm having and not giving into urges such as asking people if they like me (yes it's that bad). 

The fact that I realized I could have a future that isn't just confined to my little apartment studio (though that's good too) is what made me understand one of the major blockages preventing me from moving on with life, what is keeping me held back.  Now that I know what's what, I've already started taking steps toward healing.  I got a referral to a program, I'm going to be getting another referral to another program, and other than that I can look into support groups, good books, and practicing what skills I do have.

Unfortunately there's a very long waiting list but that is much better than nothing.  I admit it makes me sad and frustrated that I have to wait to get going with things but I have to remember there was nothing I could do about it if I didn't even know it was there.

I find it amazing how much we can miss about ourselves because we're right in the middle of it.  If only we could step outside ourselves once in while for analysis!

To be continued...


<3 M

I Am S.A.D. N' Stuff

I don't want to sleep all day.  I have delayed sleep phase disorder and S.A.D. - a combination that sorta leaves me fighting a losing battle regarding actually have a choice in the matter as to when I do or do not sleep.

I have a sun lamp, which is supposed to (and does) help with both the sleep disorder and the S.A.D. because they both have much to do with the circadian rhythm.  Well I believe the lamp is helping me with my mood but not with my sleep cycle.  But that's my fault.  If you don't use the lamp around the time you want your body to wake up (say, mid morning) than you won't.  Because I've been sleeping all day and using the lamp at like two or three in the afternoon, I'm not getting any change.

So I need to somehow get my ass out of bed earlier.  It's so hard to do that when all you wanna do is sleep cause you're so tired and your natural instinct is to hibernate during the dark half of the year (I am the bear and the owl ya know) and you have no solid reason to actually get up anyway because you have no real obligations, plans, or responsibilities.

I'd argue that I have responsibility to myself but if that case held any weight I'd be a much healthier person right now.

I'm sure it will all work out, it always does in some way.

I think I really need to start making plans and following them - I know I would feel much less scattered, unorganized, and directionless.  I stopped caring years ago about having goals.  When I was younger, I had so many goals and dreams.  After a while of being depressed and emotionally fucked up, I stopped having goals other than "get better" and since I never got better (for a long time that is), my goals didn't change.

Since I've been improving tremendously and the longing to have real goals again has come back, I found myself lost, not knowing what the hell I even wanted. As if I had forgotten how to even have goals.  It saddened me to realize how far away I had gotten from myself to not even know what I wanted.

Luckily(? hehe), I have a boyfriend who needed help figuring out how to make and implement/achieve goals.  Exasperated (for some reason), I set out to teach him, frustrated because of how easy it was to do so (and why didn't he know how?).  Isn't the ego a funny thing?  Here I am, struggling with the exact same issue (way to be aware of yourself, right?) and acting like some kind of expert on the subject.
 
But I did it.  I taught him how to do it.  And it was effective.  And as I taught, I realized this was exactly what I needed to be doing for myself.  I can be a very wise person but I really suck at the actual doing and sticking to part of things.

So I did sit down and make some goals for myself, in all areas of life.  And I even created a neat little binder with dividers to categorize the goals and keep track of them etc.  I put a lot of work into making this little binder, my GOALS & PLANS binder, to make it all organized and pretty and stuff. 

And that's where I stopped.

I made this binder at least two months ago.  I have not even looked at it since.  I have not looked at any of the goals I made.  I'm not exactly sure why I do this sort of thing.  I know part of it is fear of failure.  Another part is how scattered I have felt for so long that I never know what I should be doing at any given moment since there is so much I need and want to do and no actual schedule or priority and anything.  Did I mention I am good at excuses too?  ;-)  Basically, I overwhelm easily and I am good at overwhelming myself on an almost daily basis.

So what should I do?  Open that damn binder! 


<3 M

How I See Myself

I abhor the way I look in photos.  I don't mind photos of myself where I see some semblance of how I appear to myself in the mirror... it's when I have no control of the photo... when someone takes my photo and I see it.... it freaks me out in a severely unhealthy way.  Yes, I know this is delusional... the person I see in the mirror is a perception of myself - the photos I like of myself are similar to what I see in the mirror... the photos I hate are probably the ones that actually look like me.  Yet, when I see these photos, I am quite literally horrified and sickened.  I can't even see beauty in them, I see something disgusting, a blog that takes up entirely too much space.  It's kind of like seeing a horribly disfigured monster... no semblance of me in there, at least not the me I know.

Yet, people (so they claim) find me attractive, beautiful even.  I don't get it.  This is not a pity party, this is me trying to dissect this whole thing and figure out why I have such as drastically different vision of myself on both ends of the spectrum.  What I see in the mirror seems to be a more positive projection of who I am, while photos of me seem to be a more negative projection - I have reason to beleive that how I'm seeing myself in these photos is an extreme magnification of what I perceive are my flaws.  I'm not saying that the photos don't look true to life, I'm just saying that judging by the intensity of my reaction to seeing them, it would make sense that my brain is playing some tricks on me.

Honestly, I don't think I ever see myself the way others see me in the flesh, and I don't think I ever have.  Back when I was thin, I thought I looked/was fat; now that I'm fat, I have no idea how I look because how I see myself in the mirror changes all the time... even as often as hourly.

I just don't get it.  Seeing a photo of myself shouldn't bring me to tears - that's some serious issues. 

So what is the answer? Is there even a answer?  How the hell can it be so confusing?  I pretty much look the same all the time (like most people) so why can't I just SEE myself in the same way?  So fucking depressing.


<3 M

The Summer Is Tricksy

I don't like the way my body/mind plays tricks on me during the light half of the year: what I mean is, every spring I start to 'come back to life' - I wake up from depression and low energy, I start to feel good and I start to really live the way I try so hard to live throughout the entire year but never seem to be able to during the dark half of the year.  This is, of course, wonderful.  The bad part about it this particular year is that never before have I worked so hard on improving myself than I have this past year and things are starting to really come together for me, slowly but surely.  My worry is whether or not it is only because it's spring and not because my hard work is paying off.  If it's only because it's spring, then I'm bound to fall once again when November comes around and that would really really suck because I'm so sick of the struggle.  But if it's not just a coincidence, well then that's a huge deal for me.

After severe anxiety, worry, and fear I finally FINALLY started going to the YWCA to exercise.  I almost passed out from panic just going there to sign up.  But something strange happened when I actually went to the gym to work out - as I was working my poor neglected muscles/body, I came to the realization that I was actually enjoying myself... I've told myself my whole life that I hate exercise, that exercise and I never got along, that I was born that way.  This is true in a way: I was, since birth, a very sedentary person, preferring to live in my head rather than do much moving.  But now I realize why I thought I hated exercise so much that it was making it next to impossible to start and keep to any kind of regiment: I have osteoarthritis and fibromylagia - both of those diseases are about pain, pain, and pain.  I'm in constant pain.  So whenever I've tried to exercise, it hurt like a bitch!  No wonder I didn't want to do it.  Turns out though, that if I stay away from the high impact stuff (cause that damages my joints and makes my disease worse) and make sure I'm not hurting myself in the "bad way," then it's actually enjoyable!  It still hurts, but it hurts in the way that it's supposed to hurt, the way exercise hurts any normal healthy person, that wonderful burn that tells you you're making your body stronger.  I actually like exercise, who knew?

I'm very eager now, I want to do so much, so I'm having to force myself to take my time so I don't overdo it and hurt myself or set myself up for failure.  I wish I had discovered this years ago, but you can't change the past.  So far I'm spending an hour at the gym three days a week.  Next week I'm going to start adding swimming (like aqua therapy, water jogging, etc) to my routine.  Eventually I want to be working out at least five days a week and I'd like to do some of the yoga and pilates classes they offer as well.  What a huge breakthrough for me!

I've been terrified for quite a few years now of starting any kind of routine in my life because in the past I have always failed and after so many times failing, you start to feel defeated and hopeless.  I haven't had structure in my life since I was in high school, and even then it wasn't very structured so I'm having to relearn how to do it in almost every aspect of my life.  I have severe "all or nothing" thinking, so that poses a challenge all on its own - it's like learning to live from scratch in a way.  But I have a kick-ass therapist and she suggested having a plan for failure: a simple concept yet I never thought of it.  I always thought I should just be able to pick up and start again if I failed, but it's not always that simple, and having an actual plan to follow is such a great concept and makes me feel more secure in being able to succeed.

So there's that.

In other news, I love plants.  Every single spring for years and years I attempt a garden on my balcony and every single year I kill my plants.  In the past I always thought it was because I end up neglecting them when I get depressed (which is true too), but this year I've realized, sadly, that I kind of don't really like gardening, and I'm kind of not very good at it lol.  I wouldn't say I have a brown thumb, but I'm having to accept that I should stop trying to have a damn garden and just buy the organic produce from those who know what they're doing.  I have a few plants out there now so we'll so how those do, but after this, I'm gonna go steal Sunny's tomatoes ;o)

What else is going on... my best friend is moving to another city :o(  This is really hard for  me, really really hard.  A  year ago I would be in bed crying all day and night planning my own demise over this, but I've grown a fuck-tonne and I will be okay.  It's going to be hard though, he's more than just a best friend, if that makes any sense.  And I guess after a year and half I should meet the girlfriend...  I'm kind of proud of us though - we managed to stay close friends after all the turmoil and heartache and through such difficult circumstances when it really would have been easier ultimately to go our separate ways, we knew the value of our friendship and chose the path less traveled in order to keep each other in our lives.  Who knew it could be done?  The hard stuff is still not over yet, but I think the majority of it is definitely behind us.  Here's hoping the future rewards us!


Love M

Baby Got Back

K I feel like writing so here we go.

On the subject of FAT...

 I am.  duh.  I was a chubby little girl until I hit puberty, at which point I naturally thinned out.  To tell you the truth, I didn't really notice: as far as I know, I thought I was the same size the whole time (chubby or even fat, even when I was not).  So anyway, I thinned out and was pretty damn hot (looking back, of course you never realize it at the time - don't it always seem to go that you don't know what you've got till it's gone?).  I still thought I was fat though, not huge but definitely "big boned," which is why dieting was always in the back of my mind, always always always.  Looking back I can't beleive how sick that was, that I thought I was fat when I was so not: I was damn fine and healthy too.  Nonetheless, I remember putting a picture I'd cut out of a magazine on the fridge of a super skinny model - inspiration to lose weight, I said.

So then what happened?  Well, first of all, at some point along the way ( think I was either thirteen or fifteen but can't remember at the moment) I "discovered" emotional eating.  Well I didn't know that's what it was at the time, but I discovered it nonetheless.  Luckily it wasn't something I did too often and it didn't effect my weight too much, probably because I was still somewhat active and healthy.  It's no coincidence that this discovery of emotional eating came around the same time as I was becoming unknowingly depressed.  I won't go into what was going on and why that added to the depression but just that it was something I was unaware of, I just thought I was weird and super sensitive (I am both those things, but I was also depressed lol).

What's weird about being depressed in my house is that every single person in my family has some mental disorder or another (usually various) but no one said anything to me about possibly being depressed, nothing.  Not sure why, but I've always been a bit bitter about that.  Back to the topic.

Now, when I was somewhere in my mid teens I fell disgustingly deep in love with a good friend of mine.  This caused me a lot of turmoil and inevitably ended in heartbreak for me.  How badly was I hurt?  Let's just say I only just got over it a few years ago, and I am currently twenty-eight.  I got so depressed (still didn't know I had depression btw) that I eventually left my job and school (on the same day) and slowly but surely began shutting the world out, becoming a hermit, pretty much.

And this is where that wonderful thing called emotional eating came in handy.  I embraced that coping mechanism, consciously knowing that I would probably gain weight and not caring (because what's the point in looking and feeling good if you don't see any hope for the future?).  With the mixture of inactivity and emotional eating, I, of course, did start gaining and I still didn't care.  I'm sure I cared on some level but at the time I was too depressed to care.  That's how hopeless I felt.

I eventually got to the point where I started to suspect there might be something wrong going on and made an appointment with the doctor.  This is when I found out that I did indeed have depression.  They diagnosed me with bipolar (because I would go into deep deep depression and then mania) and anxiety and gave me some pills.

By this time I had a full-out eating disorder and was discovering that even though I didn't want to gain weight anymore, it was starting to become out of my control (that's the best way I can put it I think).  And I was still depressed. And I didn't know how to get control of my eating again, I just thought I was weak and pathetic.  I kept gaining weight.

Then, in my early twenties I was diagnosed with fibromyalgia and osteoarthritis.  No wonder physical activity was so hard, I thought I was just lazy.  Try and lose weight when you're severely depressed, have an eating disorder, and have physical disabilities.  Right, sounds fun eh? 

So I became double the size I used to be - the size of two of me.  And trying to lose weight the whole time by dieting dieting dieting and trying to exercise.  The dieting wasn't so hard as the exercise, for obvious reasons, but the mental turmoil one goes through when struggling with body image issues is a sickness I wish upon no one - yoyo dieting, all diets that are extremely unhealthy, for years.  None of them worked.  Diets don't work.  I knew that, I knew it had to be a permanent lifestyle change, but by then I was so deep into the cycle of punishing myself for failing by starving myself, then inevitably binging out of starvation and comfort.  I now understand that this becomes a mental disorder that only gets worse.

And so I kept trying and the harder I tried, the more weight I gained.  I know that doesn't make any sense, but if you're in such a sick cycle it just keeps making you sicker and making things more distorted and eating away at your self-worth and that forbidden comfort food becomes no different than a drug addiction.  The only difference is that you have to eat, which makes it harder to avoid.

And that's why I'm fat.  Mind you, I don't think being fat is necessarily bad - we all have some amount of fat on our bodies, it's just when you have too much that it can take a toll on your health.  If I were able to lose weight (let's hope so!) I wouldn't want to be skinny, I'd want to be pleasantly plump, as they say.  That's just me.

There are many judgments about fat people, and I can understand why: it's a simple scientific formula - burn more calories than you consume and lose weight.  Unfortunately, when an eating disorder develops, when there's severe depression going on, when physical activity is limited, this simple formula is moot.  Don't tell a fat person to just stop eating because you never know if they're like me and get anxiety attacks just walking into the kitchen because they don't want to have to eat but know they need to.

Ultimately I'm not trying to make excuses for myself because that does no one any good, I'm just explaining how I got where I am and why I'm here.

Some days I feel absolutely disgusting, nothing but a blob of grossness that no one would ever want to look at.  In fact I've stayed in many times because I thought no one should have to look at me.  Sick, no?  Some days I actually feel kinda hot, like yes I'm fat but I'm still damn sexy bitches ;o)  Both of those are true depending on who's looking.  So what others think doesn't really matter.  There are plenty of men who love fat chicks, it turns their crank, but at the end of the day, it's me whose opinion matters and I'm not comfortable being as fat as I am.  This goes for aesthetics as well (and especially) health.

While it's true that you can be relatively healthy and fat, there are still things going on inside your body that are not good - things have to work harder because of the extra weight and that puts stress on important processes, resulting in adverse health effects.  Thinking about what my body is going through makes me sad, I want to be healthy.

I was at a level weight for a few years, but in the past year I have gained a lot more weight (yes, another severe heart break by a man I love) and this has accelerated my distorted thinking about eating and my body and all of that good stuff.  But some really good stuff has happened in that time as well:  I finally started seeing a therapist (I know, after being depressed most of my life you'd think I'd have gotten one sooner, but that's a whole other story of woe) and she is fucking awesome.  I've been in a DBT group (Dialectic Behavioural Therapy) as well, which has helped me so much.  And in about two weeks, I will be starting in an eating disorder program at the hospital.

If this doesn't help me, I don't know what will.  I recently went to an information seminar for getting gastric bypass surgery, determined that this was my only hope, I fully intended on going for it.  But after the information session, there was no way, I was really disappointed at finding out what it's really like and that the only thing getting that surgery does is help you lose a bunch of weight really quickly (the way you would on a fad diet) and you have to change your lifestyle by eating right and exercising anyway, the same way you would without the surgery.  There is no difference, well, except for all the serious health risks and permanent sacrifices, etc.  I could get the same results going on a shake diet for a few months and then dieting and exercising - I think I've already tried that lol.

Just learning DBT skills in the past six or so months has already helped me immensely with how I deal with food.  I'm hopeful that the next six months, plus my therapy, plus the next year in an eating disorder group will be just what I need to get healthy.  I'm tired of everything being about my weight.  Just the fact that I would never tell anyone the number on the scale tells me how shameful it makes me feel, cause as some of you know, I'm not the most private person, I tell all! lol  I would like to think, after being rejected by a man, that it's because of my horrible personality and not because I'm fat :op  There is some truth to wanting that, trust me.

I've learned a lot through the  years of being in a fat body...

I've learned the importance of not judging someone by their looks.  I've learned that it's still okay (socially acceptable) to say hateful things to or about a fat person, to discriminate against them for how they look.  I've learned that the media is disgusting.  I've learned that people can eat well and exercise and still be fat.  I've learned that they should stop making polyester/nylon clothing for plus size women because it's the most unflattering, worst possible fabric for anyone with curves, lumps, or bumps.  Oh, and I've also recently learned that there are ingredients in most of the food we buy, such as high fructose corn syrup and MSG that actually effect the body in a way that negates the scientific formula of natural weight loss (calories consumed/calories burned) - it is really sad to find this out because there are some people who try so hard to lose weight and they are unknowingly consuming these additives, not knowing it is likely making their struggle pointless.  I've learned a lot more, but I think I'm about done writing for now.

There was no real point in writing this, I just felt like talking about it so thanks for indulging.

P.S. Fat people need love too please :o)


Love M

The Living Dead

(originally posted on trooth.info)

Stabbed Hero Dies As More Than 20 People Stroll Past Him



What is going on with society that we can stroll by a dead, bloody body and just keep on going? Is it fear of getting involved? Are they thinking 'well, someone else will take care of it'? Are they not observing their surroundings enough in order to take notice of a corpse? Or do we just not care? Take your pick - these are symptoms of a society in sore need to waking up.

We're afraid to get involved so we leave the job for someone else - but there is increasingly no one else willing to step up out of their cozy existence and get their hands dirty. We are so over-stimulated that we've just stopped paying attention: the media can take the credit for that one - rarely do we really observe what is around us in any way other than subliminally. Something tells me this same behaviour would not have gone on if it had been a puppy lying there in a pool of blood: people are becoming so dehumanized, exactly what Alex Jones was trying to convey with his ipad torture experiment. Our eyes are open but our minds are sound asleep - we're sleep walking ourselves into one hell of a living nightmare.

Observe. Describe. Participate.


Love M

Too Tired To Title

I. am. exhausted.

I totally lost it this weekend - something in me decided I didn't wanna deal with the pain I was going through (being reject #539 'er something) and so I didn't: instead, I pulled an old favourite and got myself and nice and wasted at around three in the afternoon on Saturday.  Being drunk and angry just feels so much better than sober and pathetic and in too much pain to be conscious.  I was quite trashed and decided I had to get out of the apartment, so, feeling nice and self-destructive, I narrowed my options and decided to head to Corktown to see Randy and Mr. Lahey (from the Trailer Park Boys).  So I wobbled over there, flask full of whiskey hidden in my purse (and bottle of Ativan just in case?) and actually had a pretty good time - the show was funny and as drunk as I was, I remember some of it - even standing with the rest of the patrons to sing 'Oh, Canada' after the 'boys' poked fun at those silly people requesting the lyric change (it's not hard to feel at least a little patriotic after those beautiful Olympic games).

Anyway, after that a few guys I know from a band got up and played a set with a new band they're in (Radio Free Universe: members include fellas from Bombshell and the guy from King Clansey) so that was okay.  Then closing time.  That's where things got ridiculous.

Some dude asked if he could share the cab with me cause he lives just a few blocks from where I'm going so I said sure why not.  That was a really stupid move apparently because all he did was get out of the cab at the same place as me and followed me into my fucking apartment building.  So I was fucking stuck in my apartment lobby with this really creepy guy who wanted to come to my apartment with me and kept calling me a bitch cause I was saying 'no, leave' meanwhile trying to grope and kiss me.  Then he drags me on the elevator! so I obviously refused to press any buttons cause I didn't want him knowing where I live (obviously).  After I don't know how long (and after flashing me in said elevator) he got fed up with the elevator business and tried pulling me into a stairwell.  But as wasted as I was, I was able to fight (thank gods).  Oh did I mention he grabbed my keys from me and wouldn't give them back?

Finally after about an hour of this torture he left and I booted my ass up to my apartment and locked the doors.

The next day was a hang-over and that same yuckiness that was intolerable the day before, except this time no drinky poo (as Mr. Lahey would put it).  I slept a good chunk of it away, then later on dealt with some unpleasantness and shed the damn tears I was trying so hard to avoid in the first place.  What a train wreck.  I'm pretty sure anyone talking to me lately thinks I'm a nut bag unless of course you already know me, then you already know I'm a nut bag.  Well, at least I learn from it all, that's something.

So after little to no sleep last night I had to get up early for an assessment to get into the eating disorders clinic here in Hamilton.  I pressed snooze at least ten times and felt like pure shit.  The assessment consisted of me sitting in this psychiatrist lady's office while she asked me about everything from my childhood to my suicidal tendencies and everything in between for about two and a half hours.  By the time we were done, I was completely drained and a little depressed because I had just talked about my life for two and a half hours and it was all really shitty stuff so it made me feel like I've had a really negative life.

As much as my apartment needs to be cleaned and that article needs to be written for Buttercup, there was no way.  I slept pretty much all day and it was very much needed.  And this is a big chunk of why I. am. exhausted.  No wonder it feels alien when I tell people my age cause I sure feel like I've been stuck at 13 forever.  I am so jealous of people who know how to live and people who know how not to fuck shit up and people who are reading this blog feeling sorry for me because they can't imagine being so miserably stupid.  And now I'm starting to make myself sick with my whining so I'll move on.

I do have some positive things to talk about.  I got a guitar!  Sean brought it over about a half hour ago and I've decided to relearn.  Yay!  Maybe when I'm 40 I'll be a rock star ;o)  I don't know how to read music - I learn by watching and listening because of course I like to do things the hard way.  I used to know so many freaking songs - I knew almost every Hole song too!  Damnit I wish I could remember.

What else, I needs monies.  I'm usually good with monies but I'm so tight this month and it's a really bad month to be broke cause I have two writer's meetings and a few shows I just have to go to.  Thursday I'm heading to 'This Ain't Hollywood'  to see '13 Bags of Dick' and 'Allysa In The Apple Tree.'  On the 20th I'm going to see 'Steel Mountie' at 'Bread And Roses.'   'Rackula' is having a CD release at the 'Casbah' on the 27th and I think that's it (I hope so cause I have no money! Please donate - I will show you my bra strap [no, I am not kidding]).  I need to do my damn taxes.

Alright, here's hoping for better days ahead.

xoxoxo




Love M

Hey! I'm Blogging Here!

Meh I just feel like writing random things.  I'm having kind of a blah Friday night here with George (actually, it's just me, George is too cool to hang out with me so he's chillin' on the bed).  Listening to the few tracks available right now by Evelyn Evelyn.  Watched 'Capturing The Friedmans' whilst working on an art piece (believe it or not, inspired by Mr. Picasso, even though the actual piece really has nothing to do with him or his work... figure that one out... I haz artistic license bitches).  Bob Dylan's on now.

I'm simultaneously gathering video, audio, and images of the good doctor (Hunter S. Thompson, of course) to put on a disc for future enjoyment.  I just don't get tired of that man and his genius.  He really is beyond fascination and more closely definable in spiritual terms... a deity... more important than sliced bread.  Or maybe this is just the fixative fumes talking - they're pretty strong.  The can says not to smoke...

I wish I had bought that bottle of wine after all.

Know what's ridiculous?  The fact that the majority of us westerners live in perpetual preparation for the future, whether it be the next half hour from now, the next month, the next decade, doesn't matter, it's what we do.  And we do this until we die, which means we've never really lived because we were too busy preparing.  And the really dumb part about that is we're not psychic, we don't know exactly what is going to happen in the future and we all know that plans never go the way they're "supposed" to.  What is the point of that?  We live in anxiety, the giant 'to-do' lists dangling above our heads, telling us we'd better not (Steve Sinnicks now) waste any time because we have to get these things done first and then we can enjoy ourselves... lmfao I don't know about you, but I've never not had a to-do list. Sure I get stuff done - but more stuff comes up to replace that stuff I just did and there are always things on that list that sit there FOREVER, taunting me, making me feel bad, lingering at the back of my mind when I'm trying to sleep at night and meanwhile I'm wondering why in the world I have insomnia or why in the world I'm so tense.

Instead of wasting our very short lives worrying about what needs to be accomplished, we should be enjoying the fact that we're alive and actually LIVE. And sure, we can be a bit anal sometimes about getting stuff done, but I really think that should count for the minority of our time, not the majority.  While I'm aware, lovely readers, that I'm far from the first person to point this out (Courtney Love now), these thoughts have recently made their meaning much more relevant to me and they are not just an important philosophy to strive for, so much as a major key in having a reason to get up every morning (I'm the kind of person who needs life to be meaningful, and if there isn't a real meaningful purpose or reason to live, well, that's just fucking depressing.  I also know these thoughts cannot really be stated enough, we all need reminders.

Of course, all of this makes much more sense within a Buddhist, dialectic context: namely mindfulness. Okay, /super enlightening speil... now.

What else is on my mind as of late... men.  I'm sure I'm going to get myself into trouble for something I'm about to say, but don't I always?  I am, after all, the queen of inappropriateness (note the ego).

I've been really pissed at the male species these days because it seems to me, at least in my experiences, that men have the ability to find extra special ways of being douchebags.  And I love men, I love men very much, and I'm not the type of person to typecast a whole group based on the behaviour of a few, but I am batting like, 99/100 here people. It definitely boggles my mind. (hey! fuck you Alexis On Fire! They only have samples on their MySpace page, pffft. Just kidding, love you George! But I'm putting on Sarah Blackwood now...) So anyway, I'm a big fat sucker.  I get stung by men over and over and yet I keep coming back for more.  Okay, maybe I am at least a little bit masochistic, but my tendencies usually go more along the lines of having my nipples pinched, not being lied to, used, blown off, etc.etc.

The only conclusions I've been able to come to are:

1. Men truly are so completely different than women, at least in the way they communicate, act, and often times think.  Duh, we all know that right?
2. Men aren't nearly as brave as we think they are - muscle does not equal heart of steel and so they have many fears and anxieties (just like we do) which seem to be expressed in ways that tend to piss women off.
3. Why? Well I'm assuming it's because society conditions them to "be men" and not show fear.  They're not encouraged to express themselves so how can we expect them to be able to?  I'm not saying they're cavemen who can't communicate, I'm just saying that they're more likely to shut down or fly the coop if fear or difficulty arises.

On the other hand, there does seem to be a plethora of men out there who actually ARE fucking jerks.  I hate to say it, but most of my friends are male and most of them are the ones confirming this conclusion.  Like, lying to someone to get them into bed?  Yeah, that's a jerk thing to do. Fucking jerk.

This line of thought doesn't really have a point, mostly because I have no idea what the moral of the story is, or how one can avoid the jerks or how men can all of the sudden learn to express themselves in healthy ways.  I would like to add, however, that I'm fully aware that us women are nuts as well, we're just nuts in completely different ways then men... both sexes are fucked in our own special ways.  But if you're a guy and  you're reading this, what the hell man?  what the hell...

P.S. I think there should be a 'Thank You' card or something like that for really really good oral sex.



Love M

Slightly Hung Over

What I've learned so far in 2010...

Dieting creates eating disorders and in the long run they destroy your body and make you fatter than you ever were in the first place.  It is far better to eat healthy, balanced, and consistently and lose weight slowly.  Diets teach you nothing.  They're the holy grail for people who feel out of control and grasp onto the idea that once they do 'so and so' diet, everything in their life will be okay again.  Thank gods I now know this and am finally getting sane again after years of driving myself crazy.  The other big key peice of knowledge - one day at a time.  So yay I'm losing weight!  Woot!

There is nothing wrong with letting people earn your trust - in fact, it probably should be earned rather than given right away to any Joe Blow one comes across.  This may sound like common sense to most of you, but for me, that's hard to accept: I could never understand why I shouldn't trust everyone right away unless they give me a reason not to, and even then, I'd give them a few more chances.  Now I know (hopefully) that opening myself up that much to just anyone makes it so much easier for them to hurt me.  I guess there's such a thing as trusting too much too soon... who knew?

The world is made up of distractions, like static or distortion on top of what's worth living for.  Most of us get caught up in the distractions, it's almost impossible not to because they're everywhere and they come in so many different forms: mindless entertainment, drama, sensationalism, love, hate, sex, fear, money, and on and on and on.  Then sometimes the distraction stops for a moment or two and we feel right again, like we remember what the point of living is or what makes it worth it to each of us and we promise ourselves to not forget again, but we always do.  I guess the goal would be to remember more often, and to practice living in that state of mind as much as we can.

Relationships are hard.  I'm not sure why, but I think it has a lot to do with fear and dishonesty.  People have fear and are dishonest because of it.  We're each afraid of different things and we're each dishonest in our own way, but I think without the fear, the dishonesty would stop and relationships could start to be a more peaceful endeavour.   Some of us are afraid to open ourselves up, some of us are afraid to get too close to someone else, some of us are afraid we're not worthy of love, some of us are afraid we'll be found out for the horrible person we (think) we are, some of us are afraid of being trapped,some of us are afraid of being abandoned, some of us are afraid without knowing why, and it goes on and on.  So we're dishonest.  We lie with our words, our actions, our intentions... we lie by omitting the truth or by not saying or doing what we know is the honest thing to do or say.  We lie by denying our feelings.  Even if we're not dishonest people, we are dishonest without even realizing it.  It sucks, but it's the truth and it's what makes it so hard to have relationships with each other.  Perhaps if we were all less afraid of things that are usually unfounded we would all be less lonely or alone.  And definitely, if we were all less afraid, we would all stop hurting each other so fucking much.  It really does take thick skin to put yourself out there into the world of dating. 

I've learned a lot more than these things of course, but I'm tired so you're gonna have to come back when I feel like sharing more of my wisdom ;o)



Love M

K, Tell Me What To Say Next

Yeah I kinda felt like writing a post orgasmic blog entry - what can I say? My mind is clear at the moment. Who, reading this blog right now, thinks my previous sentence was inappropriate, gross, perverted, tmi, or anything along those lines?  Is that something any decent human being would say out loud for anyone to hear or read?  If you are a man reading this, do you imagine me to be easy, maybe slutty, something like that? Not the kind of girl you would take home to mom?  Girls, is that something you would ever share?  These questions aren't rhetorical, I'd love to hear feedback on this because I'm continually perplexed about how people make their judgments and what society in general deems 'normal' or 'decent'.

Women, for one thing, fit into two categories for your convenience: I am either a madonna or I'm a whore.  A madonna-kinda gal would never have such sexual thoughts or feelings and wouldn't show an inch of cleavage let alone talk about her desires.  But the whore, she'll give it up to anyone, any place - she wants you to see her as purely sexual, without brains, dumbed down for your convenience and she has no shame so she doesn't care who knows it. I liken this to the belief in good and evil, of God and the Devil (I'm sure this will offend some but I'm also sure I've already accomplished that so I'll proceed) - Believing in an absolute anything such as a being that is solely 'good' and a separate being that is solely 'bad' is no different than calling a rainstorm 'all bad' or... I'm currently unable to think of an 'all good' example that is simple enough to use but the rainstorm will suffice because we all know that rain serves its purpose and without it there would be problems, but we also know that storms can be dangerous, they can start fires, etc.  I think it's safe to say that it's impossible to label anything as 'good' or 'bad' because nature (the world) doesn't work that way.

Nothing exists in the world that is absolutely positive or absolutely negative, nature is balanced and it's pretty cool.  To believe in an 'all good' God and an 'all bad' Devil is to go against nature and that wouldn't make much sense now, would it?  And doesn't it say somewhere in one of those bibles that God created man/the world in his (ha!) own image?  If that were the case, not only would God have to possess some 'evil' by default, but would he not also be a hermaphrodite?  Anyway, you get my point, I hope.

Following this logic, can any one woman fulfill the madonna role or the whore role?  Think about that when you make your judgments.  And also think about which ideal you'd prefer: do you want to marry the madonna?  The one you can take home to mom, the one who will be saintly and behave herself and be proper and of course sleep in a separate bed... or do you want to marry the whore, the one who you need to hide from decent eyes but who will make life pretty fun and exciting, and will be up for a lot of fun in the sack...?  Obviously you can't choose just one because to have one without aspects of the other leaves the person lacking what you need in a partner.  I'm not saying there are no people out there who take on way more of the 'whore' role than the 'madonna' role and vice versa, I'm just saying that the more realistic version of a woman (or man!) is a healthy mixture of the two: a gal you can have an intelligent conversation with, who can meet the parents, and who can also make you roll your eyes to the back of your head. People jump to judgments quite naturally - it's what you do with them that matters: society does not make up the rules of your personal belief system and if it does, that is sad.  No one is stopping you from being aware (or are they?).

And while I'm on this train of thinking, I'd like to add FAT DOES NOT EQUAL UGLY.  "Nothing's either good or bad, but thinking makes it so" and if society/the media has brainwashed you into being repulsed by someone who takes up a little more space than you do, you might want to rethink the reasons why you react that way.  Fat person gross, Iranian person terrorist, lawyer crook, black person thief, southern person stupid, blond person bimbo... yeah.  It's that whole absolutes thing again, there's no. such. thing.

Coming full circle, I'll conclude that as a writer and a female (who grew up going to Catholic school) I've always struggled with censoring myself when it comes to what I can or cannot say - always resisting the urge to go a little further (not to push any envelope, but because it's what my muse is insisting) because of the whole 'what WILL they think!?' thought in the back of my mind.  I don't want to do that.  I don't want to be fake, I don't want to suppress myself, I don't want to go half-ass (especially with something as important to me as writing), I don't want to live my life according to what others expect of me or what others feel comfortable with.  So, if  I make you uncomfortable or if I evoke any strong judgments in you, I only ask that you take a moment to consider why you have these kind of reactions.

"I define nothing. Not beauty, not patriotism. I take each thing as it is, without prior rules about what it should be."  --Bob Dylan


Love M.

Emotional Hemophilia

I'm using notepad to write this due to LiveJournal having erased my damn blog the other day, right when I was done typing it, but before, of course, I had a chance to post.

I currently have zero drama going on in my life (thank gods) and nothing immediately worrisome or depressing going on.

That feels nice. Freeing.

Now I'm left with me to deal with! I'm doing a good job, considering, but I have a nagging feeling of... I don't even know... it's just unsettling.

Like, what's going to happen now?

Anxiety about the next thing that will trigger me because I know too well it kills me everytime: it's very black and white - right now I feel happy and hopeful... tomorrow, depending on what happens, I could want to kill myself (knock on wood).

A feeling of being lost, having no footing, being unsure of my self/life, feeling scattered and unfocused.

Oh the joys of mental illness.

The only explanation that comes to mind is that I'm undergoing such drastic change in my ways of thinking, behaving, and believing that I'm not sure who or what I'm becoming... unfamiliar territory.

That's an awesome thing. If I'm wrong, then I really don't know what's up. Do anxiety disorders have to be triggered by situations or can anxiety arise on its own accord?

That could be it. Who knows.

In other, not so unrelated news, I'm finally starting the DBT group next Tuesday. I've been on the waiting list for a couple of years for this! DBT is apparently the make or break therapy for people with Borderline Personality Disorder.

I used to be very bitter about not having had this therapy before... before any damage to my relationship(s) was done. But now I realize that whatever happened, happened because I needed to go through certain things and to learn certain lessons.

A bitter-sweet realization, but better late than never.

Anyhew, it's a thirteen month long intensive group therapy - two hours a week with a group and one hour a week with my therapist one on one. Lots of homework in between.

I'm really excited but a little nervous, to be honest, about walking into a room full of women who have the same illness I have... I wouldn't even be able to handle one of me, let alone a group of me! But I know I'm just being silly ;o)

Along with the DBT stuff, I'm also working with an Al-Anon sponsor and have been going to meetings.

Since I've started doing this, I've learned so much about myself, others, and a lot of things that apply to my life as both a person affected by alcohol and a person with BPD.

All I can say is I'm growing daily and my life is already so much better after only a few weeks.

I can only guess how much growing I'll do for the next thirteen months as I do the DBT and Al-Anon... they're very similar actually.

Okay, enough mental stuff! I'll re-touch on some of the stuff I wrote the other day that LJ erased...

In March, I asked my subscribers to vote for my friends sunnybananas and 4bit4 (aka Sunny and Blake Crittenden) in the Hypercube contest.

The contest was a seemingly cool attempt to market their 2009 Nissan Cube using nothing but social media (twitter).

Fifty creative Canadians had a seemingly fair chance at winning and Sunny and Blake were among those fifty chosen.

I'm a lazy gal, so if I didn't believe the Crittendens to be exceptionally worthy or winning a car, I would never have posted about it on my blog, or spammed multiple online venues seeking votes for them.

They worked their asses off for months during the contest, I know how much time, effort, and energy was spent on their part: putting their lives on hold in the belief that this was a fair contest.

So by the time the judges were ready to announce the winners, most of us assumed either Sunny or Blake, or both of them, would be coming home from the event in a brand new car.

When that didn't happen, we were left scratching our heads.

These two entries in Encyclopedia Dramatica explain quite well why shit went down the way it did: A simple case of the worst execution of a marketing competition I've ever heard of, to put it lightly.

http://encyclopediadramatica.com/Hypercube
http://encyclopediadramatica.com/Hypercube_Aftermath

Read it, it's a good one.

Speaking of Sunny: You're one tough lady! I'm glad you're doing okay (considering) and I hope they gave you a strong enough cocktail to not be in too much discomfort, and to hopefully get a decent high ;o) You are very loved <3

Completely random thought: I wish there was a healthy diet that didn't require counting, weighing, portioning, etc. of the food.

And shame on you, Winking Judge, for having the worst service I've possibly ever had the other night:

• I arrived around 6:45pm, ordered a drink, and sat down.
• The waitress eventually came over and asked if I wanted to order food, to which I responded that I would wait a bit, since my friend had yet to arrive.
• At 7pm, friend arrived.
• At 7:45pm, we were both wondering when in the world the waitress was going to come and take his order (yes he'd been there 45 minutes and no one had served him!).
• So he decided to go to the bar and get his drink.
• At about 9:30pm after we'd both long finished our one drink of the night and felt quite invisible and disgruntled (and hungry!), we concluded that we were not welcome.
• I went to pay for my drink (no tip of course) and the waitress actually forgot that my friend had already paid for his drink.
• We left, puzzled and not buzzed.

So folks, from 6:45pm to 9:30pm (two and a half hours I believe), we were approached by the waitress once and once only. She never came to our table. The place was empty. She was sitting and reading a newspaper!!! Horrid.

Anyway, to top off the lovely service, I went to the washroom and there was no fucking toilet paper in the stall.

We are going somewhere else next time.


Love M