Updates, and Some Things I’ve Learned

Well, a few months later and here I am writing again.

I’ve recently gotten (mostly) back on my feet. Back in late January, I was diagnosed with OCD, depression, and anxiety. None of this really came a s a huge surprise to me. It did lead to some pretty massive changes in my life, made going to school an everyday battle, and caused me to push away some very important people.

Now that I am getting myself sorted back out and back on track, I’m beginning to realize things that I hadn’t been seeing before.

Number 1, I have an amazing family, and a handful of very understanding and loving friends. There were days where I would come home and be crying for reasons I couldn’t explain and having panic attacks and there weren’t any questions, simply hugs and quiet – which was exactly what I needed. One night, while we were hanging out and just doing our thing, I saw something that triggered a panic attack, and literally went to my room and curled into a ball on my floor crying. My room-mate and best friend came upstairs and held me and sat with me until I calmed down even though I protested. I cannot express enough how much those little things meant to me in that moment and still do now.

Number 2: People will lie. There were people who told me they would always be there, and that no matter what they would have my back. Sadly, I’ve come to see that this isn’t necessarily true. When the going gets tough, people get going. I’m still dealing with the shock (I can’t figure out how else to word it) of having someone that I trusted so much and that I thought cared about me walk away when I needed people the most. We haven’t spoken in months now, and it’s made me realize that things really can change out of nowhere, and that those who mean the most to you may not see you in the same light.

Number 3: It doesn’t matter how many therapy sessions you go to, how much support you have, or how many medications you take; if you aren’t willing to really work towards getting better, you won’t. I’m not saying these things don’t play a role, but without consciously telling yourself that you’re going to get better, you’re going to get out of bed, you’re going to start pushing your boundaries again, nothing will change. I’ve been dealing with depression since October, and until January I was very much on my own – I kept to myself and had it in my head that no one needed to know, that it was just a phase. Needless to say, that wasn’t exactly true. However, until I admitted to myself what was going on and until I decided that I wanted things to be different, I wan’t able to take any steps towards getting better.

Number 4: Admitting that you’re not okay, is okay. I had a really hard time reaching out to anyone. There was a point, January 28th to be exact, where I just couldn’t do it on my own any more. I had been skipping classes, postponing papers, cancelling job interviews, and basically just sleeping for hours and hours on end during the day and staying awake at night over-thinking. I needed help to get my life back in control and begin participating in life again rather than just scraping through it. I cannot stress enough that no matter how scary it is, telling someone what you’re going through and how you’re feeling is terrifying, but in order to take a step towards getting back to your old self, I believe it is an instrumental step.

Number 5: Those who stick with you through the bad times are the good ones. I can’t even begin to explain, here or to those people who I am referring to, how much their love, understanding, and support through these past few months has meant. I’m aware it wasn’t easy, and that there were days where I was downright unbearable to be around, but thank you for sticking around and bringing me back to this point. The people who are willing to see you through your darkest times should be the ones you share your brightest moments with.

This summer, I am working two jobs, writing a few articles for the school paper, and hope to be doing some volunteer work. Come September, my hope is to continue writing for the school paper, I am volunteering as a Frosh facilitator, and I hope to rush and consequently become part of a sorority. Things are looking up, and I’m feeling much more optimistic. I still have bad days, and still lie awake at night trying to figure out what went wrong, but I know that, sooner or later, I’ll come out of this and be okay.

The Simplicity of Things

The past month or so has been a little trying for me. Quite a few things went a askew and it took a toll on me. Lately, I’ve been taking more time to contemplate what I want and figure out what it is that makes me happy. Through this, I’ve realized that simplicity is one of the best things for me. 

Struggling with depression and high anxiety has led to me being quite high strung, and going from high to low quickly and without warning. Recently, I’ve been trying to be more conscientious about eliminating unneeded stress and focusing on getting myself back on track. I’ve begun talking a therapist, and as much as I hated the idea originally, talking to her takes a lot off of my chest. In addition to this, as I said earlier, I’ve been refocusing my attention on to myself, and figuring out what it is that I want and need right now. 

Through this, I’ve realized that the best thing is simplicity. Taking things at face value instead of reading into them, or even just taking a few hours for myself in my room. The simplest things lately have been those which are making me the most comfortable and the happiest, and that was never something that I took time to notice before. Always running on empty and trying to please everyone left little time for me to consider my own wants and needs. 

I’m not sure whether to call this a rant, or just an observational piece, or just a random jotting down of my thoughts like so many other posts of mine.

Simplicity is nice. Taking time for myself is no longer something I feel bad about, or that I think is a waste of time. It’s something well deserved and something that I need to do, especially right now. 

Losing my Best Friend

On Saturday morning, January 25th, my family and I brought our best friend to the Vet for the final time. We all knew that the time where we would have to let her go would be soon, and yet we’re all still reeling from how quickly it both came and went, and how much it has affected us in various ways. I’d like to tell a story of my dog, in order to help me cope as well as for me to look back on later and remember her. I hope you enjoy.

This is my girl, Sydney. We got her in 2000, when I was six and my brother was 5, and named her after the Olympic Games taking place in Sydney, Australia. My brother was terrified of her (he’s autistic and didn’t know how to act around her), and the rest of us were enthralled with her. She came to us unofficially trained. By that I mean that she had somehow potty trained herself. On the ride home from the breeders, she began to whine, so we stepped out of the van and set her down. She promptly peed, wagged her tail, and we went on our way. Now that we look back, we can see that it was her personality shinning through. She was a bit of a primadona, never wanting to be dirty or wet, typically sitting with her front legs crossed over each other, and almost always with her ears straight up. She was a special one.

When Syd was about 2, we were outside playing; she was watching me, and I was pushing my teddy bear on an aiplane swing. The pup got a little too curious, stood in front of the swing and BAM. Smack in her very long snout it went. Cue lots of crying on both of our parts and a very quick sprint to the back door, and all was resolved. While she now had a nice lump on her snout, our bond was quite solidified from then on. I was holding her while she cried and she, tail wagging, was licking the tears from my face while I cried for her. I think that was the moment we became best friends.

Syd and I had lots of adventures together. She once decided to lick the glass covering our fireplace, she was the one who listened to me cry when my aunt passed away about 3 years back, I cried leaving her at home while I went to university, and I frequently cried leaving her when family vacations arose.

She was a very sweet natured dog, and never once bit. A well versed thief of food, she knew how to play at your heartstrings sitting around the dinner table, and when that didn’t work, she was great at jumping up on a stool to grab it herself. She once at my brother’s bowl of cereal, milk and all. Those who met her were always commenting on her calmness, as well as her constantly twitching eyebrows. She used to love coming outside while we shovelled the driveway and having the snow thrown above her. She also had a great love for running around with cardboard rolls, no matter their size.

It is with a heavy heart and tears streaming down my face that I write about the loss of my best friend. for 13 and a half years we were together and watched each other grow up into adulthood. Saturday morning, we all held her as she left us for the first time. The vets and technicians, who has also known her since her puppy days, were fighting back tears right there with us.

Sydney never got the hang of fetch. We would throw it, she would chase the ball and pick it up, but owuld then loose her train of thought and drop it. She would sprint back to us, tail wagging and ears perked, and we would laugh at her and call her silly names. I hope that she is up in heaven learning how to fetch properly now.

I lost my best friend Saturday, and I hope she knows how much we miss her.

A Picture is Worth 1,000 Words

A picture is worth 1000 words. This safe has been through a lot. Tell its story.

This post is coming from the inspire me button found on WordPress. This is not my image, I was merely asked (as it says above) to tell the story of this safe. So here goes…

Sometimes the things you leave behind find their way back to you. They haunt your dreams, and fill your head with memories. They bring mixed emotions, and can cause a surprise onslaught at the most inconvenient of times. My job was to hid one of these things, to keep what was inside me locked away, never to bother its owner again. Sometimes things don’t go as planned.

The thing which I hid away may seem to be something large at first glance due to my size. Physically, it was, however, very small. Many would call it unimportant, and wouldn’t understand the baggage my cargo came with. To the owner, I was much more than a slip of paper. Although, even I think that the measures she took to confine it were a little extreme. A paper shredder would have done just fine.

But that was the issue. While she never wanted to see it again, she wanted to know that it still existed. She needed proof, if necessary, that the memory was not a delusion, that the images haunting her dreams were recorded and safely captured somewhere.

She never came back for me, nor for that black and white image. While I began to crumble and loose my lustre, the dreaded picture remained the same, although its edges are now yellowed.

When my lock was finally broken, the wind took the picture away. Where it goes from here, I do not know. Maybe it will find the lady, probably old and grey by this time, and remind her of those days. Remind her of those people, of the happiness she felt. And of the pain.

Like I said, a paper shredder would have done her just fine. Now her memories are floating on the wind, and there is no way of telling where they will end up.

Image credit: “safe” – © 2007 Paul Keller – made available under Attribution 2.0 Generic

I’m Okay. Right?

It’s been a while since I’ve written on this blog.

I broke up with my boyfriend. I kind of know why I did, but I can’t say that I’m any happier or feel any better about anything since it’s happened. I miss being held. I think that may be the best form of physical contact. Standing or laying down, the sensation of someone’s arms around you makes you feel both incredibly vulnerable and incredibly safe at the same time. I’v never had this before my ex, and I sincerely miss him holding me.

I miss having someone to call when I was in the midst of a panic attack. I miss having someone there when I can’t wake myself up from my nightmares. Someone to hold my hand and tell me I can do it when I walk into a room full of people (I’m quite scared of new situations and people in general).**

I refuse to run back immediately, because I feel like that’s just a purely emotional reaction. But I want to. I want to go back so badly.

Tonight was the first time in a long time that I felt really, truly like I was on my own. And I don’t like it.

** I’m not diagnosed with any sort of anxiety. I’m unaware of what exactly the issue is, but I tend to panic. I’m not self-diagnosing or diminishing anyone with an anxiety disorder, I’m simply explaining where my head is at!

I’ve got a few issues, I guess you could say. I’m really bad at apologizing, for example. I’m almost completely incapable of dealing with conflict, no matter what it is. I tend to get nervous to the point of making myself sick. Just to explain where this post is coming from, the whole nerves thing happened today.

Returning to school shouldn’t be a huge deal. You go back after summer, see all the people you haven’t seen in months, talk and catch up, hugs, hand holding, whatever. Here’s where my small ‘issues’ come into play.

The physical contact of hugs from people that I’m not entirely close with terrifies me. I feel as though I’m absolutely terrible at small talk, therefore the re-encounters for me are nerve racking, and sometimes painful (not just for me, but I’m pretty sure the other person would very much like to crawl in a hole and hide too). Also, I tend to hyperventilate about things that have happened in the past – such as last year, maybe two summers ago, a week ago – and imagine how said things could have an effect on me or my interactions as I walk into familiar class rooms where I should feel safe and secure.

I should feel safe and secure.

I wish I felt safe and secure.

Past

Lately, I’ve been learning a lot about a certain person’s past. It just so happens that I am incredibly close to this person and he’s become a pretty central part of my life. All these new tidbits, and stories; letters and pictures. They have me wondering… 

Why do we try so hard to forget, erase, alter, hide, our past? 

Really though. Do you know? Because I sure don’t.

My Grandmother

My grandmother is over 70 years old. She’s fit, and healthy; she makes amazing food and hugs me every single time she sees me since I’ve moved away from home. She tells me she’s had a good, if not hard life. I think my grandmother would have to be one of the strongest people that I, personally, have had the pleasure of meeting. 

8 years ago this August, my grandmother was diagnosed with Stage 3 Breast Cancer. About a year after this diagnosis, she beat the disease and went into remission. 8 years later – after chemotherapy, radiation, hair loss and surgery – she is in the clear. 

However, since then, her younger sister was diagnosed with bladder cancer, which she gracefully beat. Then came the lung cancer. Then came the brain tumour. Then came the attack. My great-aunt – my second mother, and my grandmother’s baby sister – passed away on February 9th, 2011, in a hospice, surrounded by her four dotting, loving sisters. She left behind her four sisters, an onslaught of nieces and nephews, 4 grandchildren and two children. This was strike 2 on my grandmother. 

I feel I need to explain. My grandmother is the oldest of five sisters. My aunt, Joyce, was the fourth. My family jokes that the sisters are their own clan, or secret club. Incredibly close, they depend on each other and talk nearly every day. 

Yesterday we got the news. Marlene, sister number 3, has been diagnosed with cancer. Lymph-node, lung, liver, and bone. She is tired, in pain, and demoralized – my grandmother and her three other remaining sisters are feeling roughly the same. It’s like they are connected by an invisible umbilical cord. They need each other. 

It’s estimated she has roughly 3-5 months. She has two sons, 6 grandchildren, copious amounts of nieces and nephews, and a husband also battling lung cancer. 

This is, unofficially, the third time I watch my grandmother go through cancer. I hope she can come out it without losing too much of herself. 

I think my grandmother would have to be one of the strongest people that I, personally, have had the pleasure of meeting. I just hope that her strength is not tested too much. 

The Conjuring

About a week ago today, I went out to see the Conjuring. I realize I’m a little late on the bandwagon here, but I’ve been working and dealing with some other things as well.

For those of you who haven’t seen the trailer or the movie yet, here’s a brief little overview:

(There are no spoilers) 

Basically, there are two paranormal investigators who go into a house, upon request, to determine if there is a haunting/evil spirits/a possession. It’s that sortta thing.

I was expecting a lot of jump scares – maybe a few screams. In reality, though, the movie wasn’t terribly scary when you were actually in the theatre. There were some suspenseful scenes, and some goosebumps however. And that night, when I went to go to sleep… Not a fun time.

In addition to the night time creeps, the movie itself was well done. I’ve been told that it’s similar to the style of the original Exorcist. The movie has an old time feel and look, and if I’m not mistaken the movie is actually set in 1960-1970.

My main recommendation – go see it. It’s a good scare without any swearing, blood, gore, sex, or the other things typically found in popular, successful movies today. Just make sure you’ve got a teddy bear on hand.

Summer Fun and Summer Woes

I’ve come to the conclusion that my summer break has been divided into two distinct sections – the parts where I love everything and have the time of my life, and the times where I’m burnt out, sick, and want to run back home to my Mom.

The second part doesn’t sound so stereotypical-summer-is-great-tumblr-picture perfect, and so that’s the part I’m going to recount first. There’s been a number of 12-13 hour work days, a few late night fights and panic attacks, a couple mean words and a lot of dishes, frustration and money spent on bills and parking. I’ve been working quite a bit (although, there are people who would argue that my job is pretty easy), and that’s been another whole can of worms. The kitchen isn’t too peachy to deal with some days; we get some not so pleasant guests sometimes, and I’m at the restaurant for the majority of the week almost every week. I’m not saying that all this is necessarily the worst thing that could have happened this summer, but it’s been both tiring and overwhelming at times.

But, few and far between these long working days have been amazing, summer cliché days that absolutely blew my mind and made my summer memorable. The day my boyfriend took me to see Glen Hansard on June 20th. The day spent at Bluesfest on July 10th. The day I came home and just sat with my mom until early morning talking on August 2nd. There are a few stand-out days that I won’t forget from this summer; and while sometimes I feel as though I didn’t really do much, didn’t really go out much, didn’t really laugh much, I’m able to look back on those few perfect days and remember that while I may believe that it’s been all work and no play, it’s really all about how I look at it.