Good Lord.

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I know I said I’d write more but my life is legitimately boring. I babysit the kids sometimes, i cook dinner for my family once a week. my anti depressants got raised slightly. my sleep is back on track. like, legit theres nothing personal to talk about really, other than the fact that brandon has somehow convinced me to play dungeons and dragons despite my staunch hate of all things fantasy or dragon related. in related news, i made the most amazing gnome  character possible. he used to be ceramic and he dresses like a hipster. only with armour.

anyway.

the obvious shit to talk about is political, and honestly, for some reason i dont usually do that here. im very political in real life. im a member of a federal and a provincial political party. i worked as a political lobbyist. i subscribe to the Washington posts weekly political recaps incase i missed things. i read actual newspapers (online). i read political subreddits to see what other people think. and i laugh at political memes on twitter, like everyone else. Also, like the VAST majority of Canadians (as can be demonstrated through the current leadership race for the federal conservative party), I fucking hate Trump.

So, really, I have lots of commentary (the globe gag rule being reinstated? ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING?). but honestly, Im so tired of reading about everyone bitching about trump all the time. like, he deserves it, and i read a lot of it, but i dont really want to come to wordpress to read uninformed opinions about a political leader. especially not from (albeit, a better informed than ordinary) canadian citizen who lives in canada.

but, legitimately, politics are a large part of my day right now. so my very canadian commentary is:

  1. Trudeau’s vacation. Can we please stop fucking talking about it? literally the only people that care that Trudeau took a private plane to the Aga Khan’s private island on his vacation are the media. NO ONE CARES. His family paid their own way, it was not Canadian tax dollars, the guy legitimate deserves a vacation, he has known the Aga Khan his entire life. NO ONE CARES.
  2. Kevin O’Leary joined the race for the Conservative Party. He doesnt even speak fucking french. I mean, I dont either, but Im not trying to be the leader of a bilingual country.  This is what happens when americans elect a reality tv star: suddenly they all think they can do it. And he’s right up there with Leitch for worst possible choice to lead a political party. I’d say I hope they pick one of them cuz theyd stay out of office but then Americans let Trump happen so lets not test it.
  3. Women’s march. very uplifting. interested to see if we can make an actual movement out of this from here. also some really interesting intersectional feminist reads out there right now which have been broadening my admittedly white centric feminist views (which, honestly, i knew were white centric but i didnt realize HOW white centric). i appreciate that learning experience.
  4. Richard Spencer got punched in the face at an anti facist rally. honestly, it is partly his own fault for being the most known facist and showing up at an anti facist rally, even if it was unintentional. but, seriously guys, i know they guy is a nazi but punching him in the face and running away is not helping anyones cause here. and then the washington post comes out with “is it ok to punch a nazi?” articles. which seems… absurd. this is the new normal, i guess? like is that a question we need to seriously debate for future reference? is this coming?
  5. Trump pulled out of the TPP and that may actually be a good thing. this is causing cognitive dissonance.

And in conclusion: thank fucking god I’m Canadian. im going to play games on my phone and attempt to forget the US exists.

Crush

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Things have changed.

I know this should be the easy part. The part where I just simply recount the past couple weeks of soul crippling depression in bits and fragments… some sort of counter part to the ‘psychosis’ post from a few weeks ago. But it isnt. Its never easy for me to admit this half of the spectrum; the one I feel like I should be able to control. Its been here longer, and it takes up much more space inside me. It is a part of me in a much more tangible, recognizable way: the pitch, pitch black.

Last week, I was forcibly taken to the ER because I was suicidal and the people closest to me were gravely concerned for my well being. I’ve hinted and mentioned and touched on this fact, and the circumstances leading up to it in bits and pieces. It was (is?) a bleak period for me. there is something so inherently difficult to explain here… some coming to of an innate, constant reality that just broke me.

As a mental health advocate, its an incredibly taboo thing for me to say, but I’m going to say it: the realization that I was, in fact, bipolar, or at the very least not “just” anxious has been, at times, unbearable for me. It is not that I don’t value people with these heavy diagnoses. I do, I really, truly do. people that have these problems and cope. That make it through their lives and do what they want to do, who be who they want to be, who are good, amazing, wonderful people who better the world. The people who have such strength and fortitude to survive: they are my heroes, in every sense of the word. But lately, or maybe always, I have a deep seeded doubt that this is something I can ever personally accomplish. And that is crushing.

I cannot pretend my mental illness is not a burden: it is. it is painful. it is heavy. it is a boulder that sits on my chest and the only thing keeping it from crushing through my rib cage is the strength of my finger tips and sheer force of will. It is not easy. It is not pleasant. It is not without struggle.

I spend a lot of time fighting to not be defined by that struggle. A lot of time. So it is painful for me to admit that in the face of recognizing that that struggle was something serious, something permanent, something that wont necessarily improve with continuous hard work and diligent effort… it broke me. Looking at the state I was in, and knowing, unequivocally, that there was nothing I could do to stop it, to stop myself from being back here again, that I was already doing everything anyone could suggest… was devastating.

I work hard at being mentally healthy.
I go to therapy. I work on things that my psychologist tells me to work on. I have insight into why things are happening and what is causing what. I do my best to reason and talk through things. I use all my CBT training. I have a psychiatrist. A good one. I take the pills I’m told to take. I go to my appointments. I modify my diet. I do the stupid routines and sleep hygiene. I work. I try. There is literally nothing I could be doing right now to work any harder at this, aside from being better at doing nothing at all.

And this still happened.

This horrible, crushing, terrible thing still happened.

I cant work it away.
I have always been able to work it away.

As stupid, or misguided as it may be, having a diagnosis of depression and anxiety, as opposed to bipolar or schizoaffective, or whatever label it ends up being, made me feel like I had more control. It made me feel like I could work my way through it. It made me feel like if I just tried harder I could get somewhere, because I have always held that sliver of hope. That hope that so many people have lost.
But, for some reason, for whatever reason, the bipolar label makes me feel like I’ve lost that. And the switching of labels.. the oh your bipolar, oh nevermind you’ve got anxiety, oh i meant ptsd, oh no, “just” depression… it feels like I was robbed of time to adjust.

I know its just a word. A label meant to help those who help me; not one to define me or who I am. But it matters. I have very separate emotions attached to each. and they may be unreasonable and they may be the byproduct of stigma and internalization of bullshit, but they are mine and i have a right to work through them.

I have a right to be devastated by apparently old news. I am devastated by old news. My finger tips can only hold some much weigh before they give. The boulder is going to fall, some of the time. My ribs are going to have to learn how to take it.

I have a right to be tired. I have a right to let myself be crushed.