got some good news today, which is they can process my withdrawal from grad school as a differal, with my scholarship, so i can try again next year and pay no tuition this year, which is good. my tuition would have covered my health care benefits though, which i need, and i can still print of a plan card so i might try to play the system for a dental appointment. because im a bad ass and such.

theres not much happening so there not much to write about. i feel like i need to find something to do otherwise i sleep all day and eat random shit all night. i need to stop gaining weight. not even lose at this point, just stop gaining. im at the top of wearing i can conveniently find clothes. its a worry. also ive noticed i have difficulty getting up off the floor without something to lean on so its getting pretty bad. its embarrassing and i havent told anyone that.

im considering taking a book making course just for something to do. ive already taken bookbinding but this is a weird spin of course called the altered book or something. its supposed to be about telling stories. im not sure id be good at that but whatever. its something to do. i desperately need something to do on a regular basis. i keep saying im going to paint but i never do. its a shame because im pretty decent at it. i just dont have motivation to do things that arent with other people right now.

blah blah blah. i really have nothing to say, im just this bored.


fuck up


so ive been in grad school for about three weeks.

and im leaving.

or at least, i think im probably leaving. i havent talked to my parents since theyve been in europe and i havent talked to my therapist because i missed an appointment. and also because i hate that he was right.

id technically be taking a medical leave of absence, meaning (hopefully) it would keep my scholarship in tact and allow me to try again next year. i dont know if want to.

im not sure if i picked the wrong program, the timing was bad with the break down before, my meds are too strong, or a combination of things but i cant force myself to care about it and im just so exhausted all the time.

the routine was bad for me. i know i know im bipolar so routine is supposed to be some holy grail but i cant do it. it increases the exhaustion and feels claustrophobic. its part of the reason i cant do this.

im very worried about disappointing everyone. i know my parents thought this was going to fix everything. i thought this was going to fix everything. especially financially. scholarships and loans i finally didnt have to worry about money. but that will all be gone. my student loan already came in so im not sure how they will take it back but they will.

i feel disappointed.

i feel disappointing.



i moved home from my parents on wednesday. i was gone for three months. im not sure if this is an achievement or if i did it too soon or too late, but it’s a milestone none the less.

i wish i had written more here when things were flying off the handle, mostly because i have such severe memory gaps and i cant understand the place of things. i remember the truly scary parts and some of the mundane parts but i feel like im missing a lot. its always strange to feel like you only partially understand whats happened to you.

anyway. on to current life.

im 3 chapters from done the book content of my stats class. then i have my exam on the 14th worth 60% of my grade.  im afraid of that one. i find it so hard to learn just from a book. engaging professors have always been a necessity for me. even shitty profs are better than no profs. i actually get a lot out of lecture based classes.

im still registered to start grad school in the fall. im still hesitant about actually doing it. im just not sure i can do it, if i can move back into that feeling of life, that level of stress. i want to talk to my therapist about it but i cant afford to go regularly so there not much point. i just feel a little lost and scared. im 31 and i cant seem to take care of myself. and not only that but everything seems to be getting worse, im getting stronger weirder symptoms that last for longer periods of time. im noticing my “normal” symptoms a lot more in my daily life. but i can feel what my therapist was talking about when he said he thinks i should work for a major company with steady hours and health care and all that and not go back to school or keep working at start ups that hinge so much on your going at a break neck pace.

im afraid of going back to the break neck pace.

im not afraid of failing, which used to petrify me from a personal standpoint and now mostly bothers me from a financial one. im afraid of regressing backwards into my bipolar symptoms and doing the actions that i know trigger my symptoms, now that my symptoms are a lot worse than they were before.

i need a therapist but my therapist is against my going to school at all and i just feel like thats an unhelpful position.

im scared im never going to be able to actually take care of myself, emotionally or financially. im not so much scared as resolved to the fact ill be alone in the future, which in itself is not a problem but the two combined makes for a scary picture. where do i go? what do i do? how do i continue after age 40?

for a long time i avoided thinking about it because i assumed id have killed myself by then, which is still possible but feels much more unlikely than it has in the past. but because of this i havent really figured out what im going to do in 10 years when im unable to use my parents as support, when im supposed to be a full fledged adult doing adult things living a relatively stable if boring life.

i dont know.  i think its always been easier to plan for no future than to plan for the one i will have if i dont die. i havent taken care of my health like i would have if i thought id live this long. i never thought id live this long. i dont know if i want to, realistically, live past 40 if my life is going to shape up how i feel it will. but thats not to say i want to die, per say. like not in a suicidal kind of way.

i dont know how to handle going forward. i feel like the treading water that used to scare me so much is the only safe place i have left.



I got into grad school


I found out like a 2 weeks ago, while I was in Philly.  I told my parents, without too much bluster, and they told Joes family, and we celebrated, kinda, a little, while we were there (there were lots of things happening, Joe got tenure! its easter! its my birthday! im having a mental breakdown!).. so it was a bit of a weird reception…. and then… then I didn’t tell anyone. At all. And theres quite a bit of story to tell in that. But for once, I’m just going to keep that seperate.

This is my thing.  This is THE thing I have been trying to do for years. And I got in. I got in with a scholarship that completely covers my tuition.

I just want that to breathe. I want that to be the part of this I go back and read about in the future.

And I know that getting in and going to school does not mean that I will finish it, or that I will do well. Hell, it doesn’t even mean I will successfully complete the stats refresher course I have to take before starting the program.  And I know my therapist thinks this is a horrible idea, and I know he might be right. I know these past 2 years have basically been an example of exactly how I am not invincible to the socioeconomic effects of mental illness, and that it is not unlikely that I will spend large amounts of my future in some combination of unable to work, living in poverty, working sporadically, and maybe just feeling accomplished to hold a job of any kind.  and I get that. But I’ve also decided I can’t just let that truth dictate my goals. There is a solid argument that I shouldn’t do this, one my therapist has made many times, one that mostly surrounds failing and making myself sicker. But the financial impacts of trying are pretty small – thanks to scholarships – and I think the benefit of trying will outweigh the prospect of failing. I would forever regret not trying.

So this is it. This moment is a culmination of every fibre of perseverance, strength and that nagging sense of hope in my soul.

I’m going to grad school.




it’s been awhile.

I think i just needed the space for a bit, if that makes sense? which of course it doesnt because this place is just me sending words off into the abyss. no one reads it, or anything. but i needed some undocumented time for myself i guess. things got good enough. and the thing no one ever talks about with getting better is that you also have to figure out how being better works once you’re there. so here we are.

I have moved from having therapy twice a week to once a month. my psychiatrist has moved me from 3 week intervals to three month intervals – that means I’ve stabilized. Unfortunately, I am at the maximum dose of one of my medications in order to achieve this, so I think they will be trying to ween that down later in the year.

I’m working full time at StudentsNS again, now with a new fancy title: equity officer. i like it, it pays the bills and then some. i dont have to work and go to school now, which is also helping the stress levels. which brings me to the other large detail: I finally graduated. it was bright and sunny out, warm, didnt need coats. it was the only day like that we have had this spring. my parents came; my whole family went out for a fancy meal. i won the senate medal of distinction. then I came home and hosted a party for my friend mark, because he left for BC the next day.

man, grad robes just arent flattering.

Nicole and Mark have moved to BC which is awful and I hate it, but I am happy that Nicole got such a good opportunity. its been like 2 weeks and it already feels weird.friends, i love you, but stop having lives without me, god dammit.

I’ve decided to work on the community garden here; I’m growing herbs and some veggies so far. Trying to get involved in somethings; force myself into a routine out of the house. I’ve stopped drinking (my friends are having a hard time with that). It’s not a permanent thing, I still have a drink here and there, but I’ve stopped getting blackout wasted. when i drink a lot now i get deathly depressed for a few days. Learning to acknowledge this. Debating learning to row, or taking a painting class. I miss art.

I saw my grandfather today. his cancer has spread through all of his bones; they are disintegrating. he is in a lot of pain. i need to make more of an effort to get there and actually talk to him – meaning going without my parents because he only speaks to my father when i do that, really.

Learning to be better.

Suicide Barriers


I just finished my thesis. submitted, accepted, done. i thought i would feel more relieved. i feel exactly the same.

I’ve been weird states lately. A lot of up and down and back and forth, I suppose. My sleep schedule is reversed, which isnt helping. I don’t go outside and I dont really see the sun.

My mom and I went to the hanson concert on Thursday. It really deserves it’s own post and I wish I had written more about it already. I loved hanson growing up. I loved them with every fiber of my being; my room was a shrine, I still know every actual word in mmmbop, you know, the usually preteen fangirldom. And for me, my preteen years were.. shall we say… rough. Hanson was like my little piece of calm. They never came here when I was little. I generally grew out of my fangirlness and became a functioning (ha.) adult since, but I still like their music and listen to it regularly. So it was nice, when way back in July, way back at the beginning of all the awful, my mother announced she was buying us tickets to the hanson concert so I could fulfill all my childhood dreams. and I did. I even bought a tshirt. and stickers. and screamed. We went to the stubborn goat before hand, i sang along to where’s the love and my mother danced through get the girl back. it was everything the night was supposed to be.
It was my moment of calm.

13 - 1

I haven’t been doing well lately. I think this is probably an understatement if we view this as a period of months instead of days or hours. But there was a general upward trend for awhile that stalled, and now is slipping backwards. I don’t want to tell anyone because they’re all so hopeful for my recovery.

I did complete my thesis. I’ve written all the essays for adolescent development, though admittedly they are not my best work. they’re done. one more social psych exam in december. I thought this would bring relief? like I would experience less stress. feel less tight; more together. But I don’t. I feel the scary sort of calm. The calm where at 4 am, when I realized it was complete, I just felt like I had closure enough to die now. Like I couldn’t have died without finishing that, but it was ok now. This terrifies me.

I don’t sleep at night, like I said. It’s hard because then theres no people to distract me from all the horridness that collects at the back of my mind at 5 am. It’s lead to a lot of misc giving out my phone number to men on okcupid. I think I give people false hope. Like theres this normalcy of casual flirting, and I get that, but I don’t want it. Even the suggestion of people touching me makes me anxious enough to want to stop the conversation. I spent last night plotting ways to get hospitalized. How horrible is that? I can’t decide if it’s worse that I want to be hospitalized so badly, or that I could have been so close to death and have been ignored. I feel like I can get myself hospitalized now because I’ve learned the answers to the questions. I also learned not to go with family or friends. I learned that if my therapist wants to get me hospitalized I should let him call the cops. I learned that if your friends are going to stop you, they should wait until your half way through or they will send you home.

Theres all this focus on MY coping skills and MY abilities and MY support system at the hospital. I don’t understand. They can send me home because I have friends, I have parents who care. I have friends and parents who care and have recognized that what I need is beyond what they can offer. and yet this is never taken into consideration. Their needs, their coping skills, their support systems. It’s painful. I am going to cause them pain.

I’m nowhere near as bad as I was– I don’t think I actively want to die. In fact when I contemplate downing a bottle of tylonal now I’m almost certain I would call 911 before I actually died; especially given how ineffective it is. I’d probably throw half of them up before I could consume a lethal amount. But I do spend most of my nights thinking about walking to the bridge. About seeing if I could actually climb the suicide barriers; about how easy it would be to just walk along the road on the opposite side of the bridge at 4 am. Theres got to be a way to dive off that thing. Like the ER doctor said, if you really want to kill yourself, you find a way.

The hospital can’t stop me, if I were really sick, I’d find a way.

My brother is coming home for Christmas. This gets me through a lot of shitty times right now. I really, really, really want to make it to that. At worst, I placate myself with the idea of killing myself on Jan. 2. How perverse.

I have been writing all this shit about adolescence and developmental stages and I’ve realized I’m really not making it through this whole “intimacy vs isolation” stage of psychosocial development. I really want human contact, to connect with someone, to be able to feel something. But I can’t quite… manage it. And in actuality, when it happens, I hate it. I hate it so much. But life feels so meaningless now, with out school, or work, or intimacy. I guess maybe I should embrace that as freeing? Nothing to hold me anywhere, nothing to worry about.

(Use Me Up – Hanson)



it’s 3 am. I’ve stopped bothering to try to be on a normal schedule.

I haven’t written anything in awhile; I feel like I have nothing to say. The weeks have been up and down and a little topsy turvy. I had trouble leaving the apartment for awhile, I went to my parents for awhile. I made it to Nocturne (the art festival) and to my friend Nicole’s birthday party. I started some class work. I stared blankly at my thesis. I had a panic attack. I cried. I’m strongly considering taking the fail just to avoid having to go through the pages of text that now only remind me of being in hysterical, psychotic disrepair, and being raped. Sadly, in this context, those are actually two separate and concretely different events.

I can’t look at it. I have to write maybe 5 pages. I have already written the other 150. I have already defended it in front of the department I already went to the national conference and won a national award. It is good research. No one has done it before. It is incredibly publishable and Angie has been pushing me to edit it down for publication submission since we were half way through the ethics debacle. I worked hard. I worked so, so, so hard on this thing. I got threatened with the criminal code. I wrote a 200 page rebuttal. I fought an ethics board and won. I did the work, I know the research. I did this. I did it. I did it better than everyone else and I cant write five damn pages because looking at it makes me panic so bad I sob in public.

It has nothing to do with my thesis. My thesis is good. My thesis is a master’s level thesis. Its the bull shit. its the association of being broken and unable to cope. Its the memory of staring at my computer screen for hours, fingers aching to make minor edits while having a mixed episode. It the sudden realization that the words I was typing didn’t make sense next to one another, it’s that moment where reality struck just long enough to call a crisis line. It’s the unabashed truth that that I went crazy in ways I’m not ready to deal with yet.

I’ve got 10 days to have this thesis finished or I fail it. I’ve gone through all the medical deferrals they can give me. This is it. How do you put that all aside and write? Why cant I put that all aside and write?

I shouldn’t be here yet. I’m not ready to be here yet.