The Fourth

My sweater is soaked in blood from the fourth nosebleed I've had today...it was only supposed to be absorbing tears. I don't see how going from 200mg to 100mg of sertraline can create such a difference in me...I woke up completely manic, an hour later I crashed, then my mom came in to tell me that I have an appointment with another specialist and I burst into tears. I can't handle this! There is blood on my sheets and blood on the floor, and this time I didn't cause it.

I am so, so sick of all these doctors. I am sick of telling myself that at least I'm getting help and I've got OHIP...I HATE going to all of them. Why can't they just leave me alone?! Why can't I just be normal!?!??! I don't want to see more social workers, more intake workers, psychiatrists and psychologists, hematologists, orthopedic surgeons, child and youth workers... I want to see my family doctor once a year for a check-up and never see them otherwise!

I am sick of Filipino lab tech's asking about the scars on my arms and telling me that I'm ashamed of my culture as they attach ECG cables, sick of them telling me that they need to use a baby needle because my veins are too small...I AM SICK OF BEING SICK. AGAIN.

I don't want to try new drugs and go for more intensive treatment! I don't want to do this! I hate having sixteen different charts and a million people writing in them. WHEN DOES IT ALL STOP!?

LOOK AT ME. JUST LOOK! Do I look like someone who is ready for another drug class and going to the hospital every day?! MORRISON LOOK AT ME! DON'T YOU GET A GUILTY CONSCIENCE FROM CONTINUING TO RUIN MY LIFE?!!? DON'T YOU FEEL BAD FOR ATTACKING ME WHEN I'M VULNERABLE?!?!!?

I just want it all to stop.

This Isn't Me...It can't, can't CAN'T be me

Yesterday I doubled my trazodone dose to 100mg at bedtime.
This morning I halved my sertraline dose to 100mg once daily.
In two weeks I'll start taking duloxetine, an SSNRI.
Sometime soon I'm going to see an intake worker for the Day Hospital at Shoniker.

I'm still trying to figure out how all this happened, how it got so far. Part of me still thinks that this isn't that bad, that I go to the hospital a little bit more than I need to. I know, (through Group) that this is me taking on the beliefs of people around me who say that affective disorders aren't that horrible. But now... now that I've exhausted SSRI's and going on to harder meds, now that I'm going to be under psychiatric supervision from 9-3 however long I'm at Day Treatment, it scares me so much.

Worse than that is realizing my support system has shrunk dramatically, and that suddenly I'm afraid to trust people-face-to-face with my secrets.

Boundaries huh? Ms Morrison, you're telling me that I'm overstepping boundaries by trying to find support from staff and yet you're the one who shared my medical history without my permission? Do you know that even my social workers and doctors ask for permission before talking to anyone else? Including other health professionals?

Ms Morrison, do you even remember that after you told my parents about me you did not provide any kind of support at all? Do you remember that I told you ASK me if it's alright to talk to other people about my status? Do you remember all those times you tried to help my friends and lost interest after a week or two? Ms, you got them to believe that you were going to help them but you ended up doing absolutely nothing. I dislike you.

My Favourite Place to Be

Is it weird that my favourite place to be is on the 12th floor of the hospital?

This picture is from Wednesday, February 20th 2008. I was happy, so happy when I came in that we took a picture, so I could remember it for later. This is Room 3, in the Galaxy 12 Child and Adolescent Clinic, on the 12th level of Centenary Hospital. This is my safe place.

I have been visiting that room for nearly four years now. I have counted all the stars on the wall, climbed onto the window ledge when no one was looking, climbed onto the window ledge during sessions, cried on that couch, came out to my workers, was examined before being admitted to hospital, lost hope in my parents... I know that about 45cm from the floor there is a crack on the left side of the door, there's a dent in the tile third from the north wall, and the third star on the west wall is fading away.

In that room I am free to be and say what I need to without censoring myself or adjusting the story. It is the only place I can be strong and lost and vulnerable and powerful and people will not think less of me. So, for 30 minutes to an hour and a half a week I have somewhere I can be.

Maybe it's not so weird.

The Latest Dress

I'll update this with a picture of my practice version.

I'm making a new dress! I love off-the-shoulder dresses, but I'm not quite sure if I can pull it off.

It all started Friday, the PA Day. I was going to go downtown, look at dresses, grab a copy of The Advocate. But then I stuck my hand out the front door and decided I didn't want to be an icicle. I saw this amazing dress, really simple lines, and I decided I wanted to try to make it.

I started drawing it out and sketching out how the pattern might work. But it was way too complicated to figure out on paper, so I made a dress form. You know duct tape dress forms? You put on an old shirt and wrap yourself in tape, then cut it off and stuff it? It was a lot less painful than I thought, although it was hard to keep from squishing my breasts down. (Thus ruining the shape AND making it really hard to breathe.) That helped a lot, because I could just pin, re-pin, and cut to make out the pattern. I even practiced doing darts! I'm really excited about this dress, I just need fabric.

How will they ever stop us?

I'm talking to Val right now about this, and I still don't know the answer.

------------

Kids do a lot of harm to themselves. We smoke, and cut, and binge, and purge, and diet, and try to end our lives.

And sometimes, when I'm looking around at the other teens assembled on the 12th floor of Centenary Hospital, I wonder how the doctors will ever stop us. We who are so determined to destroy our bodies and our lives, who think this is the only way we can be okay.

This is it! Nothing makes me feel as good as this! You will never take this away from me! And parts of us know that we are doing things that make us outcasts and lunatics, but that isn't worth being fat, or sad, or sober.

What do we gain from this, our slow raze to stay alive? Waging war on the demons that haunt us by finishing their work ourselves? They will never stop us, because as long as we need to be dodging our secrets, we will keep up creating our own to stave them away.

My God This Site Is Awesome

You guys are awesome. Well, some of you. The rest of you suck.

Really? Because in about 10 years, I'm going to need some genetically-perfect sperm. People with mental illness or shortness need not apply.


God, I'm such a virgin. And that sexual side effect sucks. Even if I'm like, a nun.


Yea, I walked around with my shirt tied up like it was the 90's and I had abs.

I hope no one finds this offensive. Oh, what the hell, they're ALL offensive. Does anyone else wish there was a Gr 12 World Religions course?

Yea, it sucks that kilts aren't that absorbent or they wouldn't be quite so sweaty.

I chose this just because it's so funny. Like, "You made me screwed up so now I'm in therapy!" It's funny! It is!

This is definitely me.


I wouldn't, actually. Klonopin feels like a TRUCK hitting you in the chest.


This is for all you people who wonder why I wake up early just to shine a fucking light in my eyes.

I Guess it Goes Both Ways

I am so, so hating Zoloft. Has anyone else thrown up 3 times in the last 40 minutes? Anyone? I know no one reads this so you know I'm asking you God! Hey, God! HAVE YOU THROWN UP THREE TIMES IN THE LAST...okay, fine, i get it. Sometimes it is so annoying talking to an all-knowing being.

I'm pretty sure this throwing up is different from anxiety-throwing-up, because other than feeling like a sasquatch I've had an okay day. I can't even fit into my sweat pants. I did also realize that once again I'm too tense to write, because every time my ink skips my muscles clench. Or my bones, it feels like my bones are clenching. (Shut up, I know that isn't physiologically possible.)

Anyways, as much as I really really hate this drug, I am losing weight. Kind of. On November 27th I weighed 94 pounds. After Christmas I weighed 115, now I weight 100, and since I'm throwing up again I'll probably lose some more weight. Which makes me feel like less of a sasquatch. More of a...water buffalo.

Not that I'm actively trying to lose weight, I just told Pau that she and Christine could come over tomorrow and we'd get a large pizza and I'd eat 3/4 of it. And I would, totally I would. Which isn't something to be proud of, because I fucking binge a lot. I have the worst eating habits of anyone I know. I'm trying to change! Slowly.

What I'm really trying to say is, I'm scared of a lot of things but I can't write them down so I'm typing out a very sarcastic blog.

Subtleties of Loving Me

Everyday I understand things a little bit better. I can see all the tiny nuances in the things that you say, the way you don't even have to justify all the words and promises you make to me. Today I learned then when you say, "I love you" it doesn't also mean, "I will be there for you." I learned that you have your limits, and though they fall much too short for me it is not a choice that you have made.

Today I learned that even knowing that, I can't bring myself to forgive you.

All I Want From You

A Letter.

All I want from you is something I know you can't give me. And every time you give me hope it's almost cruel, because I believe - even for a just a second - that maybe you will change and understand me, and this.

I can't do that.

I can't let myself think that things could be okay because soon enough you turn around and it hurts that much more when you reaffirm that I can never rely on you. You are genuine, you really and truly believe that you are doing everything right, supporting me in every way. You are trying not to lose me, which I can hardly comprehend because I want nothing more than to lose myself, but that's not enough. Please, don't try to salvage this.

What do I want from you?

I want you to let me go, so I can be whomever I need to be without you. Sticking around only hurts us both.

Psy.D Time

One of the first things I learned at Griffin was how not to take your work home with you, something I was already quite keen on. Working 8.30 to 5.00 is long enough, I didn't really feel like carrying on with that. So I know first hand that you can:
a) leave work at work
b) burn out and end up crying in a tree after stumbling off the 53E four stops too early.
And God knows I don't want to see any of my workers crying in trees near bus stops.

But I was reading this book, and I came across a passage that...(give me a minute!) ...I can't find right now. First of all, it was a really good book, but also really creepy. The book followed a girl recovering from anorexia, and although I don't have any eating disorders it was ME. What she was thinking, what she was feeling was all identical to myself in similar situations. And I thought to myself, "If this guy can write a book and be exactly the same as what I'm thinking, then all these doctors must know what's going through my head as soon as they glance at my chart!" And then I went to get some milk.

Anyways, it reminded me of this whole time thing. In my previous entry, I mentioned how the 72 hours in the hospital was years for me and minutes for my friends. The same thing goes for anyone providing counseling and care. It may be a half hour in your life, one you'll chart then quickly forget as you go on to your next patient, but it's a hell-of-a-lot more to us. The session isn't over when we leave, we replay it and process it long after we've left.

Just something to think about.

PS: Does anyone else feel weird when you see someone else who is going to your counselor? I feel like we're either all a team, or they're intruding on...on something.

Fun With TV!

Go here to see my inspiration.

and a little tweak and we have...


It's a real TV show! It's called High School Reunion, (on TV Land, not the WB) and GOD i couldn't resist. I wish I had photoshop though, using paint sucks.

In With OD, Out with a Curse

First, I'd really like to thank you guys for all your supportive comments on my previous post. It really meant a lot to me. So, as a special treat, here is another picture of Ellen in a vest...
My, isn't that beautiful? (I'm not so big on the open buttons, and the pinstripes are almost hypnotic, but it's Ellen. In a vest. Case closed.)

---------------------------



Listen to this song while I take you back through space and time...fine. I'm taking you back a few months, to the day I was discharged.

[Fade out.]

[Fade in to our weird breakfast conversation on the unit.]

OTHER PATIENT: I'm psychotic.

KAT: I'm sui-

[Freeze frame.]

Voice Over: HOLD IT! Too far! Let's take it forward a bit.

[Fade out.]

[Fade in to Kat in the TV room, The Doctor is In!]

DR R: So, how are the suicidal thoughts?

KAT: [Fidgets in chair, then sighs.] They're there, but vague.

DR R: So you're still having them, but they're not as strong.

KAT: [Thinking, v/o] Duh.

DR R: Can you promise us you won't hurt yourself?

KAT: Yea. [Fidgets some more.]

DR R: Okay. [Speaking to CYW.] I'll cancel the form. [Speaking to Kat.] You should know that you have borderline personality traits. So we'll have to make sure that doesn't progress to the full disorder.

KAT: [Thinking, v/o] We? I have seen you four times in the past four years, counting today and yesterday.

DR R: Okay.

[All exit the room. Kat is excited to get out of hospital clothes, which suck.]

[Fade out.]

Wasn't that a fun journey? I edited some parts out, you know, keep a little mystery going. I'm joking of course, I'm pretty open about all this stuff. But I did do some editing. Anyways, within the next few days I learned what this new half-diagnosis meant.

• I'm manipulative.
• I'm attention-seeking.
• I have...abandonment issues? What the hell?

Yea, not really with the abandonment. I can think of a lot of times I felt pretty alone, but from what I've read, I'm not even close to having abandonment issues worthy of being part of the DSM-IV criteria. But the other two, I guess you could say that. I'm very sneaky and passive-aggressive, although I'm starting to become more assertive. (Oh, by the way, you can stop listening to the Beach Boys now. It doesn't really work with this part.)

Here is why I'm manipulative and attention-seeking:
I've tried to kill myself a few times already, at least three times in 2007, (but they only know about two) and a lot more in previous years. So! By attempting suicide, I am manipulating the people around me to stop and pay attention.

This is pretty much true. Every other time I've tried to kill myself, I really just wanted someone to step in and help me. I didn't really want to die, at least not forever. I wanted to be able to skip all those horrible bits, and I wanted someone to really, really listen to me. I was drowning! I was sinking further and further down, and I needed a hand up. This time, it was different. But when I got to the 'lorspital, I decided, "Since I won't die, maybe...they can actually help me this time." And I knew what I was doing, when I answered all those questions truthfully. Just...some part of me thought that if I didn't lie this time, if I let them do what they had to do, something would change.

But nothing changed. I came out of the hospital with this new curse of BPD traits, and the knowledge that now nobody would listen. Nobody would help, because the next time I really need someone, and I talk to them before doing anything permanent, I'm going to be attention-seeking. Don't they see though? Don't they see that I AM attention seeking? I am seeking their help! I am telling them, "I am not strong enough to do this on my own, I know that, I need your help."

Suicide attempts are often referred to as "a cry for help." Analyst Joseph Laufer noted that, "this very apt term has fallen into disrepute because it has been used in a pejorative way about those who have attempted suicide, implying that they behaved in a manipulative way to draw attention to themselves." (1)

"...research with girls shows that dismissing teenage girls' suicidal behavior as manipulation overlooks what may have been the meaning of the suicidal act in the first place. They may have learned to manipulate, but are doing so in a spirit of hope, of getting needs met that have no been met otherwise. The original meaning of the word "manipulative" is "to lead by the hand." When suicidal acts enable girls to get help, it is inaccurate to see these acts as merely "manipulative". Treating them as such can lead girls to give up hope. And then, psychologically or literally, they are more likely to kill themselves."(2)

Can't these people see? With their years in med school, residency, clinical training, and then just plain practicing medicine and their specialty, are they now blind to the fact they we are screaming, we are shouting, and we are telling them, "I trust you, I need you, please, please, help me."


1. Laufer, J. (1995). The Suicidal Child. Madison, CT: International Universities Press, 1995, p. 104.
2. Machoian, Lisa. (2006.) The Disappearing Girl. Plume: Penguin Group USA, 2006, p.174.

Different

Point One

Uhhh hello!? I think I need to get myself some more vests. That is fantastic.


Point Two

I am really different from other people.

I kind of just realized that last night. At least, in those terms. I always knew I was different, I was a REALLY REALLY weird kid! And I liked that, it gave me someone to be, a personality to fit into. It made things easier if I could just be a weird kid.

But now that I am more capable of exploring different sides of myself, it's not something I'm so big on. Yes, I am a little off-centre. But I wish that I wasn't now. I mean, there's so much to fight without me being different. If I - and I can't believe I'm saying this - if I wasn't queer, it would be so much easier. It is so all-encompassing, right down to the pronouns I use. If I wasn't queer I might still go to Catholic church. I would never have met all these great people at Griffin, but I wouldn't have to think about prom and dances and my debut in all these ways. And if I wasn't sick, I might be graduating this year and not fighting so much with my parents. Or myself. Or the school.

Anyways yea, I know that being different has taught me a lot, but sometimes it really sucks. Like how it took me three hours to type this because I kept forgetting what I was doing.

I can't, I can't!

I'm not at work today. I'm not picking up Pau's fantastic wrappingness, I'm not serving customers, I'm not filling box cards.

I can't.

And my parents, and Janice, don't believe this is real. I know it's frustrating to have calls coming about me saying I can't work, usually with less than 24h notice. Or even 1h notice. But this is the face of my illness. This is the compromise you make by hiring me, someone who is dedicated even with a job I hate, who will keep on answering, "Are you charging Canadian or American prices?" without swearing at customers, who will spend her break working because there's only one girl on the floor and it's busy.

I know, I know I shouldn't say this, but I wish this had been an illness that people could see, or measure. Something that didn't come with stigma attached.

Discharged - I'm Back

Update later. I have to find my bag and stuff...

Five Days Later:
I know I pretty open about talking about all this stuff, but this time, I'll keep it to myself. I painted my nails bright pink to match my raspberry hat. I call them Power Nails, because they're shocking and loud and vibrant. All things that hurt my eyes and my ears when I'm on this stupid med. I did find my bag by the way, everything still complete, sharps still on it. I'm going to collapse onto my bed now.

On Pause

I've reached another place in my life where what I want to write about is much too personal to post on the Internet, of all places. So I'll be taking a break from updating this blog, at least until things work out or end.

i want a baby

Please save your breath. I know I earn LESS than what I need to support myself, let alone a child. I know I'm seventeen, and I can't even commit to choir once a week!

I think I'd be a really good mother. I think I would love my baby more than anything or anyone in the world, but I also think...that when the days get shorter or I just- I just crash, I would never leave my bed. I would cry and cry and I would probably...not be a very good mother.

I suppose I should say good-bye.

Holding a Job...

...is something I have serious trouble with. I like working! As much as I hate that I have to, I like that sometimes, people are happy when I'm helping them. Even just helping them find the right card, I dunno. That's a nice feeling. But it's so tough! I had a panic attack at work today. What if I'm alone? What if I'm working and whoever is with me is on break? I can do that! I can work a pre-Christmas shift, by myself, cash, floor, card cleaning. But sometimes, it's hard enough to wake up in the morning. I need to be able to keep working. I need so much more then that, but right now, I need to be able to work. And I hate myself for not able able to.

My Confession. I'm a Lesbian Gang Member.

Dammit O'Reilly, you caught me. I'm secretly part of the TLTO, (that's Toronto Lesbians Taking Over) and I'm working hard to rack up my Dyke-Points, so I can get myself a toaster!!! Honestly, I'd prefer a microwave, but you have to convert 50 girls to lesbianism, and I don't work with the gang enough to get that!



I haven't been going to the hospital for the past three years, I've taken the "tunnel" to our underground lair, where we plan out lesbian gang stuff and have lesbian sex.

Bill O'Reilly - lesbian cutest couple
Uploaded by worldhappiness

They're part of the gang. And I didn't get my job back at Carlton, I just got a promotion in that gang and I needed more time to go into Straightville, (that's everywhere outside of Church and Wellesley) and recruit. Actually, they're not 17. They're 37 and 49 respectively, and they recruited me. They sponsored me into the group, (they acted as my Sapphic Sisters.) I was their microwave girl. Dammit, now we have to go revise our safety plans. O'Reilly, you've really got us going.

(*laughs hysterically)

Philosophy and Alberto Knox - written 11/01/07

Sophie's World. Alberto leaves Sophie a letter and asks..."Are you a child who has not yet become world-weary?"
Unit 3 HZT4U1. The print before me reads, "Give your response."

I thought at first, that I could simply answer, "Yes/No." And then as I thought more about it I started to remember....

I know that I am only seventeen and have so much more to experience, but I think I am tired of the world. Five years ago I had so much less to think and worry about- not that I didn’t have any problems, but just that they were so...average! (Here I must say that although my issues were the same as every other kid in my class, that didn’t make it any easier.) The next year I hit depression, started self-injuring, and attempted suicide. Throughout high school, I’ve come to see so many more unpleasant parts of the world. Corruption! The disintegration of my family, the abuse of my friends, the intolerance of the church, the stigma of mental illness, how could I not be tired of this!? I am so much more familiar with Centenary Hospital, how to see a friend in a locked ward, how to evade being hospitalized, hatred, and loneliness than I ever wanted to be. I have watched my friends...no. There are good things to this world, sure, but I’m rather tired of the bad things.

Double Post - Standing on my Own

The gang in our house, surrounded by burning lava.

The retreat was great fun. Once we got away from that room and outside, it was amazing. Rock climbing? Sure! What fear of heights? Low ropes? Awesome! What horrible balance? It felt so amazing to be holding each other up, (often literally) and working together. Which sounds like a terrible cliché , but it's really quite true. We were a TEAM! And damn, we're really good at posing for group pictures now.

The bonfire was so...together-ness. I sang and told a horrible story that I interjected with Filipino history and my own theories on why there are so many of us. (Which includes hormones, no condoms, and Catholicism.) Still, it felt so good to bring together all these people I was intimidated by/not close to/never seen before.

But, [*insert ominous music here] we had a mass the next day. I've been sitting out on masses and liturgies for a while now, and I asked Candiotto if I could continue to do so. He said it was okay by him, but that there were five other teachers to worry about. Point taken.

So I sat my chair out at the back of the room and proceeded to write in my journal. Other teachers looked at me oddly...but I wasn't bothering anyone! And I was sitting at the back...so I continued hoping no one would approach me. But of course, Ireland did. I don't want to recount the whole story, but basically...she kept asking me why I couldn't just listen, even though I made it clear that my reasons were personal. I know I received zero training at Griffin, (except like, CPI stuff) but even I know that when someone tells you that what you're asking is private, you stopped. People will well developed social skills know that. Ahem. Anyways, eventually she backed off, and I was angry for a bit. Not that she asked, I had actually expected more teachers to challenge me, but that she crossed my boundaries. (Elijah, if you ever read this, know that I use that word with the utmost resignation.) But by the time I got to the 'lorspital, I was pretty proud of myself! I stood up for my beliefs, and I did it quietly and without being offensive. I feel good about that.

*I would suggest Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata, 1st Movement. And then listen to the 3rd movement because it's that fantastic. And then listen to Rachmaninoff's Piano Concerto #3, 3rd movement. Hey, that's a note for Bas too, Marjolein.

|--------------------------------

Birds eye view of my cousins wedding reception.

I didn't want to use a picture of my immediate family, (mom-dad-brother-lolo-lola-titojoe-tina-bunny-puppy-brownie) because that's just a little too direct. I finally told my dad how angry and sad I was that they abandoned me after I was diagnosed. The rest was pretty much an elaboration of that. I know it must have hurt him terrible to hear that...but it hurt terribly to know that I was doing all that alone. It still hurts. I concluded by saying that I didn't want my parents involved in my mental health anymore. No more intruding on my sessions against my wishes, no more awkward questions about how things are doing, no more "helpful advice." I'd like very much to stop hearing them say, "you just have to fight it! That's what I did!"

You fought nothing like this. Your battles were completely different from mine, they were difficult and valid but completely different.

I am glad for my Lolo and Lola. If I didn't have them...I'd be pretty alone in my family. I didn't expect them to understand so fully, to accept and support me...I didn't expect them to just shrug when they realized I'm gay...it just wasn't synonymous with the feelings of their time. And yet...they love me anyways. They never stopped supporting me when I became taboo.

Didn't they know?

I'm still looking for a picture of myself in grade 8 or 9 for the retreat tomorrow. In doing so, I found a lot of pictures from when I was younger.

There I am! Mortified and unable to fake a smile at my 5th birthday in JK, because I was so terrified of all the attention.
There I am! At my 7th birthday party clutching Barney close while I tried not to cry. Oh...maybe the next one will be better.
There I am! At Petticoat Creek...sitting on the grass because my cousins wouldn't let me sit on the blanket. Huh.
There I am! In Florida, staring up at my brother and cousin who are waving from the balcony they wouldn't let me go near.
There...at my 8th birthday party completely miserable because my cousins were ignoring me.
And there...at my brother's graduation, attempting to smile for the camera but really just wanting to be in that big Cousins photo that no one would let me into.
There...in late in grade 8, smiling at waving at the camera Nigel was wielding. I remember that well because I was trying very hard to smile and to keep my sleeve up over my wrist.

I know that I was the cute baby for a bit, but then I became the annoying kid to my teenage cousins. I recognize that as they were my teenage cousins, they were only able to think of things in relation to themselves, as well as being deeply invested in being the popular kids. But...honestly...didn't ANY of them think about how that made me feel?

Did any of them realize that when I was grade 4, (I was nine) I promised myself that once I was in high school I would sever any ties with the cousins? I planned to go out with my friends, or even just pretend that I needed to study. The arrival of my nieces and nephews changed that, but at the time I was simply waiting until I was free of my obligation to the family.

Did anybody think that the first time I thought about killing myself was when I was eight years old, and deathly lonely? In one of my old diaries it even lists methods and what I thought of them.

I HATED them! I hated my cousins so much that I would shake with anger when I thought about them. I cried so many times, blaming myself for having been born too late. When I was looking at those photos, I wished I could do that to them somehow. But I know! I know how hard it is to be ignored! I know the fear and the anxiety and the sadness and the loneliness that make you so desperate that you will try to take your own life! I'll be honest, I've had a lot of experience that maybe, my cousins didn't have. My own diagnosis and treatment, my friends, even my job during this summer all have changed me. If I were to treat my nieces and nephews, (having about the same age difference as my cousins and I) like I had been treated, I know it would hurt. Anyways, I can't do that, they're mine! They're precious and I love them and I'll be on the lookout for them, always. I'll teach them to stand-up to bullies, to tell fireants from the ones you can play with, to treat other kids well even though they won't share, and that if they feel alone, I'll be there for them.

All in all, I'm quite glad that's in the past. Even with more than a decade having passed since I started feeling like an outcast, I still remember clearly how awful I felt. I still feel awful, but at least now I have great friends, and (gosh this is so counsellor-y) a solid support system. I had great friends then too, but I wasn't ready to tell them shit like that. I almost love my cousins now. I've grown up a lot, and so have they. Just because I'm the same age they were and I don't act like my little cousins are pieces of shit doesn't....(*breathe) I almost love my cousins now. Almost. Hey, at least I'm in the picture now.

PS: I'll be gone tomorrow, at the retreat hopefully. I'm shaking for quite a different reason now...I don't really want to be at that retreat as I am. And once I'm there...I can't just go home to my bed and sleep it off, nor can I just leave and find someone who can help me. I did pay $40 for it...and the bus seating and rooms will get messed up. I will try to be brave enough to go. Maybe while I'm there my body will finally acclimatize to the new med? Or maybe being out there is what I need. Gosh, I'm scared.
PPS: Marjolein, are you there?

AD se's & Marjolein

Most of you know, (since pretty much only five people read this blog) that I'm switching meds right now. I've been on citalopram, escitalopram, and now I'm going on sertraline. (I'm using the umm...confusing names, because the name a medication is marketed under differs by countries. For example, escitalopram is Cipralex in Canada, and Lexapro in the US.) Whenever I was switching from other meds I'd get like...dry mouth. And since last November I've been really, really sleepy. But now! Now! My God! I slept 26 hours on Monday. My legs feel shaky...I'm afraid to go into stores again...still having panic attacks a lot...everything is TOO LOUD...and I'm so goddamn sad.

And my parents don't realize that... they still think I'm just sleeping through the day because I'm lazy or stayed up too late at night. I missed a lot of school this week, and believe me, I'd RATHER be at school! I guess because all the other times I switched meds, they were involved with that. When I started on the citalopram, they even came up to the clinic. With the escitalopram I had to go to the other clinic, and the rescheduled my appointment once so they knew about that...but this time, I went to...nevermind. I went to my doctor, then my family doctor, then the lab for blood tests and an ECG, then back to my doctor, then to the pharmacy where my mom got mad because it took so long to fill the prescription. Yea, and that's totally my fault.

So...I'm feeling pretty miserable. And then there's the Gr12 Retreat on Mon-Tues, and I want to get that experience but not now! Not while I'm...feeling like this...anyways, I'm not really into the whole forced group prayer thing. Especially when it's Catholic.

---

Marjolein! Where have you BEEN!? Your blog is gone, and I lost all my favourites when I switched computers, and I missed you! I'm watching Imagine Me & You on YouTube and then I shall watch Spider Lilies and both I think you might...."appreciate." (I'm giggling in my head.) Well, do keep messaging me! I long for our old companionship.

The Best of "Overheard"

I found these great sites with stuff people overhear. Here are some of my favourites....


Office girl in stall: Fuck this! Fuck you, uterus! I'll kick your ass!

Phone room worker to respondent: Hi, I'm calling from XYZ Research*, and we're doing a survey on Canadian politics. May I speak with a male who's 18 or older? ... Well, are you a male? A male. A male is a man... Do you have a penis? A penis? It's the male genitalia... Great. First, what province do you live in?


Coworker: Hey, how was your weekend?
Intern: Great! It's stopped itching and-- [Coworker walks away.]


Sales guy to another: Hey, have you ever tried that green fairy stuff? You know, abstinence?

Employee on phone: G as in 'Jesus.'

CSR: I always put '25' when it's supposed to be '52.' I must be anorexic.

Librarian: Your card is locked because there appears to be ketchup or chocolate milk all over this book you returned. You have to pay for a replacement.
Patron: It's vomit. I don't do chocolate milk.
Librarian: You still have to pay.

Wailing lady peon: Nooo! I have three boobs!

Office girl #1: Is it raining out?
Office girl #2: No way, it's sunny! Unless it a sun shower.
Office girl #1: A sun shower is not physically possible.
Office girl #2: Ummm, you've never seen it rain while the sun's out?
Office girl #1: Oh, I thought you meant literally, like giant balls of fire falling from the sky...

Weird coworker: I had a nightmare, too! I was standing in a pool eating taquitos, except they were filled with cream cheese and fruit!

Intern: My uterus is dry-heaving.
Supervisor: Wow.

Female phlebotomist to male patient: I hope this is a size 25 needle. [Sticks him] Oh, no! This is a size 22 needle -- it's too small. Blood is rushing into the vein, see? It's blowing up. I'm blowing you! ... Oh my god, I don't mean that!

Ancient lesbian waitress: You ever tried to buy dental dams at three A.M. in the Bible belt?
Wide-eyed teen bus boy: Uh... I have sooo many questions about what you just said...

CEO: We don't want to get sued because someone has a ridiculously large head.

Manager: Your boyfriend looks like a terrorist.
Peon, farting: My butthole is the terrorist in this office.

Worker bee: Oh my god! I'm so excited, I'm gonna pee on the carpet! I got the e-mail about that 11-thousand-dollar deal! [Stands up up and lifts leg] Psss... Psss... Look at me! I'm the cat! I'm peeing on the carpet!

Shocked security guard: You gave it to me?! You gave me the cooties!


Check it out for yourself!
http://www.overheardeverywhere.com/

The Immune System of a Three-Year-Old

I got it. I was half sitting-lying on the couch, trying to get into a comfortable position without getting my nose all stuffed up again, when I realized I'm acting a lot like Nayah when I saw her last week. And I saw her at Dr. Moss/Mark's office, and she had a fever and everything....

I caught this sickness from my three-year-old niece. Is this the level my immune system is at??? I've been sick almost constantly for two years, but I've never caught an illness from my babies. I have a 14 year advantage on building up my immune system and Christ, instead of her catching it from me it's vice versa. Now I'm going to attempt to lie down. God!

Kat's Translation of Bebot - Version 2

Original

Kat’s Mangled Translation

Bebot bebot bet Bebot bebot bet Bebot bebot bet Ikaw ang aking Bebot bebot bet Bebot bebot bet Bebot bebot bet Ikaw ang aking Bebot bebot bet Bebot bebot bet Bebot bebot bet Ikaw ay Filipino! - Filipino! - Filipino! - Filipino! Hoy pare, pakinggan n’yo ako Heto na ang tunay na Pilipino Galing sa baryo - Sapang Bato Pumunta ng L.A. - nagtrabaho Para makatulong sa Nanay Dahil sa hirap ng buhay Pero masaya pa rin ang kulay Pag kumain - nagkakamay ‘yung kanin - *chicken adobo ‘yung balut - binibenta sa kanto Tagay mo na nga ang baso Pare ko, inuman na tayo Filipino! - Filipino! - Filipino! - Filipino! Bebot bebot bet Bebot bebot bet Bebot bebot bet Ikaw ang aking Bebot bebot bet Bebot bebot bet Bebot bebot bet Ikaw ang aking Bebot bebot bet Bebot bebot bet Bebot bebot bet Ikaw ay Filipino! - Filipino! - Filipino! - Filipino! Masdan mo ang magagandang dalaga Nakakagigil ang beauty mo talaga Lambing na hindi nakakasawa Ikaw lang and gustong makasama ‘yung bahay o kubo Pag-ibig mo ay tutoo Puso ko’y laging kumikibo Wala kang katulad sa mundo Pinoy ka - sigaw na - sige Kung maganda ka - sigaw na - sige Kung buhay mo’y mahalaga - sige Salamat sa ‘yong suporta Filipino! - Filipino! - Filipino! - Filipino! Filipino! - Filipino! - Filipino! - Filipino! ldklfmlkjtkg,mtyhuyu Bebot bebot bet Bebot bebot bet Bebot bebot bet Ikaw ang aking Bebot bebot bet Bebot bebot bet Bebot bebot bet Ikaw ay Pinoy ka - sigaw na - sige Kung maganda ka - sigaw na - sige Kung buhay mo’y mahalaga - sige Salamat sa ‘yong suporta - sige Pinoy ka - sigaw na - sige Kung maganda ka - sigaw na - sige Kung buhay mo’y mahalaga - sige Salamat sa ‘yong suporta Filipino! - Filipino! - Filipino! - Filipino! La la la la la la la . . . . la la lo . . . . La la la la la la la lo . . .

Girl girl gi- Girl girl gi- Girl girl gi- You’re something something... Girl girl gi- Girl girl gi- Girl girl gi- You’re something something... Girl girl gi- Girl girl gi- Girl girl gi- You are- Filipino! Filipino! Filipino! Filipino! Hey Father, what are you eating? This is the something of Pilipino. From the village – something something. I went to LA – to work. To help my mom. It was hard to do well. Because masaya pa rin ang kulay To eat – nagkakamay. My food – marinated chicken My duck fetus – bought on the corner Tagay mo na nga ang baso Father you, I’m working. Filipino! Filipino! Filipino! Filipino! Girl girl gi- Girl girl gi- Girl girl gi- You’re something something... Girl girl gi- Girl girl gi- Girl girl gi- You’re something something... Girl girl gi- Girl girl gi- Girl girl gi- You are- Filipino! Filipino! Filipino! Filipino! I want pretty girls. The ones who are really beautiful. I don’t want a wife. Do you want me to be with you? My work o kubo Water of mine tutoo Puso ko’y lagging kumikibo None kang katulad sa mundo You’re Filipino – go now – go If you’re pretty – go now – go If you work nice – go Thanks for your support. Filipino! - Filipino! - Filipino! - Filipino! Filipino! - Filipino! - Filipino! - Filipino! ldklfmlkjtkg,mtyhuyu Girl girl gi- Girl girl gi- Girl girl gi- You’re something something... Girl girl gi- Girl girl gi- Girl girl gi- You are- You’re Filipino – go now – go If you’re pretty – go now – go If you work nice – go Thanks for your support. You’re Filipino – go now – go If you’re pretty – go now – go If you work nice – go Thanks for your support. Filipino! - Filipino! - Filipino! - Filipino! La la la la la la la . . . . la la lo . . . . La la la la la la la lo . . . .

Notes:
"Bebot" really translates to something more like "sexy girl" or "hot girl," but that would be really confusing.

I have no idea what he's saying half the time so most of it is just made up shit.

In Generation Two, the mom is really really loud. And she keeps calling Taboo Tabo- a small plastic bucket used to hold water so you can wash yourself after you pee. Seriously. I`m not joking about that.

Tired, Again

I should mention first that I cry quite rarely when I'm have a panic attack, and mostly because its' so goddamn frustrating to have them.

I went to see my family doctor today, and then I went to get my blood test and ECG. He said he wanted to see me next week, and well...*sigh* My first thought was, "Like I don't see enough doctors anyways."

But my feelings change on that often. Sometimes I wish I could see someone more often, when I'm having a really bad time of it. Sometimes I wish I would see them less. Always, I know that I still need them. I know that so many people don't have all the help that I do, and that they may need it more.

Let's be honest though, eventually, you get tired of doctors. Doctors with their Alphabits cereal letters after their names - MD, Ph.D, MSW, CCFP, MC, all that stuff. As much as I like that I get out of school, I'd like to be able to stay at school everyday for an entire week. (Even though we all know I'd just skip a day to work from home.) Just having that option would be nice.

Please that don't read this and think that I'm ungrateful for all the help that I've got, I just want to have a normal life once in a while! I met Dr. G and now know that I want to be like her when I get older, but because I've had to have met her I know that's a longshot. Okay, let me try to rephrase that, it didn't make any sense.

I met Dr. G because of my mental health issues. After meeting her, I knew that I wanted to like her when I grew up. But because of these same issues, I know that being a doctor is so...nearly impossible. But if I never had to meet her, if I never had these issues, that would still be possible for me. I used to be a straight A student, I actually processed what I was reading the first few times around, I studied hard but had a life too, I had so much!!! I really, really want that back.

I really should stop, I'm starting to feel the panic coming. But god! I want that so badly! I want to be a doctor, but I also just want my academic life to go back to how it used to be. I never dreamed that I would be taking a fifth year, or failing courses, or struggling so damn much when I started high school. Everyone's going to university next year! All my friends except Christine are leaving! Valerie is heading for life sci, and hopefully medical school. Michelle is headed somewhere, and hopefully that island in that country that was on that show to dig up those things! Vanessa is heading for something that requires measuring, and hopefully something else that requires measuring! Everyone is going on, reachin' for their dreams, and they all have a chance for it. Dr. Val isn't such a stretch in my imagination. Dr. Kat, as much as I joke about her, she's as fictional as my alter-ego's get.

Now I'm going to do my evening yoga, and ask my dad if I can borrow his Metropass while I go hunt for a copy of the September 25th Advocate tomorrow. OH MY GOD!!! THE NEW ISSUE IS OUT!! I swear, if I can't find it tomorrow, I'm going to buy a back issue no matter how much it costs. (*Thinks.) I swear, if I can't find the September issue tomorrow, I'm going to buy a back issue if it costs me less than what's remaining in my bank account after I buy my Curve subscription. Good night.

Inside a Panic Attack

I want to write this down before I fall asleep. I was really hesitant to post this, originally I was typing in a word document to save so I could remember. But I want you guys to know and recognize the signs of a panic attack, and start to get a feel for what it's like. I'm going to do point form for now, perhaps I'll come back to it later.

• Hyperventilating (quick, short breaths)
• Tingling in the mouth, hands, and toes. (as a result of hyperventilation.)
• Dizzyness (again, as a result of hyperventilation)
• Heart palpitations (heart beating fast)
• Sweating
  
• Choking (not actually choking, but gagging on something and getting the feeling you're choking)
• Shaking or trembling
• Crying

Those are what happens when I get panic attacks. Here are some other things to look out for:

• Smothering or shortness of breath sensations
• Chest pain or discomfort (this especially can make it feel like a heart attack)
• Nausea, bloating, or abdominal discomfort
• Disrealisation (feeling unreal or dreamy)
  
• Depersonalization (feeling outside of yourself or like you don't exist)
• Fear of losing control of going crazy
• Skin losing colour
• Hot/cold flashes (like menopause!)
• REALLY REALLY needing to pee or poo

Some of these things I used to experience, but ever since I learned to recognize that I was having a panic attack I also learned that I wouldn`t lose control or go crazy. That was nice to know. Depersonalization was something that happened consistently through grade 7,8 and 9. Every person and every attack is different- most times, I don`t cry.

OKAY! The number one thing not listed? PANIC! I also get frustrated. You may not feel there is a reason for you to be panicking, but you are. Too late! Sometimes it can appear out of nowhere. I've had panic attacks after sitting quietly, focused on my units. I`ll be write-write-writing and then suddenly there it is! Or maybe you can find a reason. Either way, you`re having a panic attack. Knowing what can trigger them is important, because then you can try to prevent them. (Note: not by avoiding your trigger, but by slowly practicing until it doesn't have as much of an effect on you.)

BREATHE DEEPLY AND SLOWLY. This can be so, so difficult when you're already hyperventilating. I tried this time, but it didn't work out for me. Another technique is to focus on an object and describe it in detail to yourself. They're both hard things to do, but they work when you can do it. If you're with someone having a panic attack, walk them through these exercises gently and slowly.

The Aftermath. I usually feel really tired after a panic attack, and just a little bit stupid and embarrassed. Although if it happens in a public place, like on the bus or at school I'll try my best to move on. I don't know if that's the best thing to do or not, but that's what I know for now.

I'm going to stop here. They weren't kidding about the drowsiness...I might come back to this later. If I'm not too lazy. See ya.

PS: I really meant to describe it, how it feels, but I'm tired now.

HPV Vaccine and The Lorspital

I was lucky today, I caught all my buses with just a little waiting. (43.190.133) Which was odd, because I got to the lorspital just in time to duck into the nice washroom and head up the elevator. The weekend of absolute horror is over, so I'm going to go back to not blogging really personal stuff.

Looks like several of the Catholic school boards are going to take a vote on allowing public health to go into the schools and provide Grade 8 girls with the HPV vaccine.

HPV is human papilloma virus. It can lead to cervical cancer.

"At the centre of the debate is the Conference of Catholic Bishops, which said in a statement that since HPV occurs only through sex, which is appropriate only through marriage, in theory the young girls would have no need for the vaccinations, though there is no issue with the vaccine itself." -City News

I see where they are coming from. (Don't I always?) But that's very ideal thinking. Come on, I go to Catholic school, and Catholic doctrine can be a fairly small reason for girls to resist becoming sexually active. So ideally, yes, grade 8 girls in Catholic schools would not be sexually active until they are married. However, we don't live in a perfect world. I think these girls should get the vaccine in school, because let's face it- how many girls will really go to a public clinic to get the vaccine? It's hard talking about sexual health, and I'd imagine that would be a major factor in how many girls will go out and get it themselves.

Edit: I forgot to mention this lady who suddenly started talking to me at Shoppers while I was waiting for my prescription to get filled. She was reading this article about Michael Jackson and started telling me about how Neverland is really a code for a secret place where he sends people he doesn't like so he "never has to see them again." And how he's not really MJ but a representative of another country- she won't say which, but I heard something really offensive about Muslims while I was trying to count stitches in my knitting. And how she figured it out after years of contemplating.

Stupid Questions and Vomit

My mom asked me this morning, “How long are you planning to be ‘sick’?”

Now I understand she’s going under the assumption that I’m still faking sick, but as I’m not that really pisses me off. I don’t PLAN to be sick. If I could, I’d plan to never be sick! Hello!!! I’d plan to never feel icky and especially, I’d plan to never ever be depressed.



On a grosser note, I just threw up. People always say you should feel better after you throw up, and I’m really hoping that’s the case. (Although I’m still feeling icky.) Hopefully I threw up whatever was making me sick. But I did realize yesterday night that what I was feeling after the snifflies and the sneezies went away is exactly the same as all the times I had low blood pressure. So I’m going to either talk to write out a note telling one of my parents that it feels like that, leave out how angry I am that they ignored it, and ask them to get me salty food. My family doctor said to eat salty food when my BP gets really low. Of course, my dad has high BP so we don’t have a lot of salty food just lying around the house. I`ll pay for it, just make this go away!!!

Phase Two: The Yelling

I’m really dizzy, which I love, because if I tell my parents I’m really dizzy they’ll start yelling at me about how I haven’t eaten. Which like the nausea, really helps. I was just about to go downstairs and get something to eat but I got really spinny on the stairs and I sat down, and then I came back here.

My prediction came true!!! Last night before I went to bed I thought, “If I wake up tomorrow and I still feel like shit, they’re going to say that I’m faking, because they’ve been ignoring me for the past five days and don’t know how I’ve been feeling.” Yep. So my mom started yelling about how I’m not sick, and how I’m lazy and I don’t do anything and I’m going to fail school and then she comes back in the room, and starts telling me how I can’t give up and shit in this fake soft voice. Then she started yelling again.

It’s getting really hard to type, I’m getting all sweaty and even more dizzy. I HOPE THEY BURN IN HELL. Or at least, I hope I get hit by a Mac truck tomorrow. My head is constantly aching, I get dizzy just switching windows on the computer, let alone turning around, I’m hot-than-cold-than-hot-than-cold, I’m nauseous, I’m tired, and that’s just the physical stuff. I tried acetaminophen, I tried serc, I forced food down my gullet, (which came back up my gullet and made me more dizzy, AGAIN) I really just want to hurt my parents.

I think them ignoring me was better than them yelling at me, because at least it was quiet. I’m going to try to get down the stairs again.

Heterosexual Justification

I couldn’t sleep. This weekend I’ve blogged more and with a lot more personal stuff than ever before, mostly because I’m finding it so difficult to stay on MSN and nearly impossible to talk out loud. Less painful things are starting to pop back into my head.

This debut thing. I always swore that if I was single on my debut I would have a friend escort me. All the debut’s I went to where the girl was just by herself seemed really...lonely. I know I’ve blogged before about the raging heterosexuality of the whole thing, but it’s pretty huge. I can’t back out, that’s for sure. After this weekend I know even now that I’m going to be like hell on earth. If my parents will ignore me for something small like they did, imagine them planning a gigantic wedding-esque party.

Again, I have already blogged about how horrible a debut would be for a girl with anxiety issues.

I will not have a male escort me at this debut. Would a straight girl let another girl escort her? But what would I do? I know I would ask a friend to escort me if I’m single, that’s a given. I know my friends are wonderful enough to do so. What really, really bugs me is the fact that I will have to justify it. And fight for it. I just...I really wonder, what is the point of introducing me to society if I’m not interested in the gender I’m being introduced to?

Now even after I make it clear I will not be escorted by a male, picture this.

My friends and family precede me into the ballroom. (God, I cannot believe how monstrous that sounds.) Anyways, then the MC pauses and says, “Now I present to society, Katherina Miranda Yerro, and her escort, Random-Female-Name-Here.” The crowd claps awkwardly. My friends cheer and clap with much more enthusiasm. People stare.

Ending A: I say nothing, and then the entire community mutters and spreads rumours about myself and my family, “Did she have to shove it in our faces?” “Don’t they have any tact?” “Fucking lesbo.”

Ending B: I say something, and the entire community mutters, albeit quietly. I bring their attention to the fact that should a straight girl be escorted by a man, no one would be muttering, “Did she have to shove her heterosexuality in our faces?”

As much as I loathe the idea of a debut, or rather the process before it, I do not want to be spending my coming-of-age, my Filipino bat mitzvah explaining, “God Hates Gays- or Maybe Just Angel Rapists and Gentiles” and attempting to put Leviticus and Gomorrah into context. It has potential to be a really nice night, in between the inevitable arguing and anger. Homophobia is not really something I had planned as part of it. Suggestions?

A Breakthrough!

Yes, my dad talked to me today! Actually he said, "get up! get up! you've been sleeping all day!" which is wonderful, because they`re omnipotent and know what I`ve been doing even though they were out until 4:30. And I love getting woken up so I replied, `No! I`m sleeping!` into the mattress. And my dad stormed out and said, `You know, you are getting to be too much.` then yelled down the stairs, `she said NO, again!`

Imagine that. God, I`m horrible.

So after that Bunny and I were talking and she was like, `Grampa finally talks to us and you totally screwed it up.` (Or rather, Gampa, fi`y taws to us an`yoo tohyee scewed it up.)

I should probably be more grateful. Yea. They've done so much for me since I was diagnosed. Like...ignoring the existence of a problem for the first, (hard) year. Oh, and then failing to make an appointment for six months the year after that. (That was before I was okay enough to talk on the phone.)

Yea, and then when I had that really really horrible month last February and they just kept getting angry at me. Oh! And then when I came out and they were okay, but then my mom told me that "I should start considering the rest of the family" and "stop pushing my sexuality on people." And when my brother asked me, "Why can you just be gay, why do you have to do all these gay things?" God, you know they're right. No one ever talks about their opposite-sex partners, or assumes hetrosexuality, so I really shouldn't talk about being gay at all. I should just never talk about this huge part of me, ever, because that's just pushing it on other people.

They were there for me through all the easy stuff. My family raised me and dealt with the terrible twos and me becoming a teenager but when it came to the things that really hurt, I got left to deal with it by myself. I HATE THEM. I HATE THEM. I`m going to go back to bed.

Incriments of Progress (to where?)

I've been getting the silent treatment for three days and it makes me so, so angry. I'm pretty sure I'm angry anyways, because really it just makes me cry.

I know I don't do anything! I know I barely move and I don't help out and I don't talk or do anything but sleep but what else can I do? I can't make my body or my brain do what I want and I'm so sad and so desperate and why can't they see that? I want them to be able to see that...or at least, believe it. I know they don't think it's real or anything but it's real to me! I don't know what else to do.

My Fucking Depressed-ness - written 09/14/07

Someone, please save me from this misery! My body tires after simply sitting up and it seems I cannot do anything but alternate sweating and shaking. I long to rip out this hair for it tortures me- it’s attraction to dirt and it’s unruly mess of strands that refuse to lie straight and bearable. There is nothing for me to do while even the daylight is too bright and watching television only causes my head to ache more- too many lights, too many pictures all moving so fast I’ll vomit if I look much longer.

Even eating, which has been my bane and my trouble is difficult! Just thinking of consuming more than a spoonful of soup is enough to, (again) send the meagre contents of up stomach up again. I can feel the hunger, somewhat detached but there and I long to eat, to venture downstairs and scrounge up a meal but even if my body didn’t revolt at the thought it wouldn’t be able to make the trip.

I want to move faster than a snail, oh, to be able to speak without tiring! Yet every painful move I’ve made is utterly useless in the eyes of my parents, for I do too little and I do it wrong. Don’t they see that even laying on my bed is tiresome and uncomfortable, even though I have never slept so long and so deeply in my life. They continue to yell and act sullenly at me but don’t they realize that I want nothing more than to stop being this way? The way they are acting hurts me as much as I try to deny that. All this slamming and silence is just fodder for this alternative part of myself to feed on.

And still my mind continues to pain me with its complete inability to function. On and on it rambles and sighs about my shortcomings and my faults, never ceasing or faltering. I can feel it, all through my body. My limbs seize and then lay limp and my torso feels as if it will burn through my skin. I have no future! I’ve ruined my past! My present is sheer miserable existence, with nothing to do but move lethargically from one bed to another! I try to resist it but my mind speaks the truth and I know I’ve failed at everything I ever tried to do, I’ve crushed any hope of the future I had dreamed of and now I am a waste of consciousness. (God, even the tiny bit of food I had today is clamouring to come back up.) I am desperate for anything to end this complete horror and I’ll get it! I’ll either be free from this or dead and I’m not sure which is the better for I know I have no life waiting for me but more misery and more vomiting and I hate it I hate it I hate it! WHO CURSED ME WITH THIS LIFE!?

PS: And someone please tell this hideous intruder to STOP ORDERING ME AROUND!!! GET OUT OF MY HEAD!!! OUT!!!
PPS: I’m not joking about this! I may have written this in uptight language but I mean it! THIS IS TOO MUCH! THIS IS TOO PAINFUL AND TOO CONSTANT AND TOO HORRIBLE!!! MAKE IT STOP!!!!

My Fucking Depressed-ness

Someone, please save me from this misery! My body tires after simply sitting up and it seems I cannot do anything but alternate sweating and shaking. I long to rip out this hair for it tortures me- it’s attraction to dirt and it’s unruly mess of strands that refuse to lie straight and bearable. There is nothing for me to do while even the daylight is too bright and watching television only causes my head to ache more- too many lights, too many pictures all moving so fast I’ll vomit if I look much longer.

Even eating, which has been my bane and my trouble is difficult! Just thinking of consuming more than a spoonful of soup is enough to, (again) send the meagre contents of up stomach up again. I can feel the hunger, somewhat detached but there and I long to eat, to venture downstairs and scrounge up a meal but even if my body didn’t revolt at the thought it wouldn’t be able to make the trip.

I want to move faster than a snail, oh, to be able to speak without tiring! Yet every painful move I’ve made is utterly useless in the eyes of my parents, for I do too little and I do it wrong. Don’t they see that even laying on my bed is tiresome and uncomfortable, even though I have never slept so long and so deeply in my life. They continue to yell and act sullenly at me but don’t they realize that I want nothing more than to stop being this way? The way they are acting hurts me as much as I try to deny that. All this slamming and silence is just fodder for this alternative part of myself to feed on.

And still my mind continues to pain me with its complete inability to function. On and on it rambles and sighs about my shortcomings and my faults, never ceasing or faltering. I can feel it, all through my body. My limbs seize and then lay limp and my torso feels as if it will burn through my skin. I have no future! I’ve ruined my past! My present is sheer miserable existence, with nothing to do but move lethargically from one bed to another! I try to resist it but my mind speaks the truth and I know I’ve failed at everything I ever tried to do, I’ve crushed any hope of the future I had dreamed of and now I am a waste of consciousness. (God, even the tiny bit of food I had today is clamouring to come back up.) I am desperate for anything to end this complete horror and I’ll get it! I’ll either be free from this or dead and I’m not sure which is the better for I know I have no life waiting for me but more misery and more vomiting and I hate it I hate it I hate it! WHO CURSED ME WITH THIS LIFE!?

PS: And someone please tell this hideous intruder to STOP ORDERING ME AROUND!!! GET OUT OF MY HEAD!!! OUT!!!
PPS: I’m not joking about this! I may have written this in uptight language but I mean it! THIS IS TOO MUCH! THIS IS TOO PAINFUL AND TOO CONSTANT AND TOO HORRIBLE!!! MAKE IT STOP!!!!

Pre-Post-Partum

Okay, I blogged last time about postpartum depression, but my biggest fear is actually...

INFERTILITY.

First of all, I'm a lesbian. I recognize that it would be pretty hard for me to get pregnant you know...without intending to. But I know should I get pregnant, I would keep the baby. I would probably consider open adoption, but I know deep in my heart I would never be able to give up this child.

I want to experience a pregnancy.

I want to have a child grow in my and to have my lover feel my rounded tummy and have trouble hugging me in bed and to have a baby.

I am so, so scared.

That Old Feeling

Dread.

I have been learning, (and trying) to stay in the moment. To stop worrying about what's going to happen in a week, month, year...but I really want to get this down.

I'm really, really scared of postpartum depression. And on a shorter time-line, winter. I'm really, really scared of winter.

See, you all know that I have always wanted to have kids. Even when I was in that I-want-to-be-a-nun phase I knew I wanted to have kids. With someone. (At that point, I didn't know what kind of someone I wanted to be with, I just knew it wasn't going to be a guy.) And even when I did know who I wanted to be with I knew we'd have children together, and I would carry the kid.

Then I knew that I would have to fight against the (main)stream, as well as have to find some way to get pregnant once I did, and once I found the love of my life.

And now I'm also scared to have the kid! I know there's a lot of fear in me, and a lot of fear that I've let go of. But I'm afraid to give birth to a child, a child I know I'll love so much that it'll hurt, that I'll want to hold and take care of and breast feed and be with and when that time comes around I'll be too depressed to do anything. What if I can't do it?

Same goes for the winter. It's grade 12 and I have to do well, but what if I go really really deep down again? I don't want to...it's just really really scary.

Hillary Clinton on Ellen

Of course y`all know that I LOOOVE to watch Ellen. Season Five of the Ellen Degeneres Show, (TEDS) opens up in New York, with Hillary Clinton up as the first guest. Watch the first video to see Ellen ask the Big Question on MY mind and hers.

Hillary Clinton on the Ellen Degeneres Show - Part 1
Uploaded by ellenhillaryvid

Queerty gets it right when it tells us that it`s great to see Ellen talking about queer issues. It`s been tough for Ellen after she came out- let`s take a quick tour of the past ten years.
1. Ellen Comes Out
2. Ellen`s sitcom character comes out with her
3. Ellen`s sitcom is stuck with a warning label on several episodes.
4. The sitcom is criticized for being too gay, and taken off the air.
5. Ellen disappears for a bit, re-emerging to pilot The Ellen Show, which never really got off the ground.
6. Ellen disappears again, but rumours that she`s going to do a talk show circulate.
7. The Ellen DeGeneres Show starts and continue to get rave reviews, but the gay community wonders, `Where`s gayEllen?"

So obviously it would be pretty difficult for our best girl to talk about being gay- first she`s too gay, then not gay enough, then too gay, then not gay enough, and finally in Season Four of TEDS her viewers saw more and more gay references.

In the fourth season Ellen talks to T.R. Knight about slurs on the set. Knight definitely respected Ellen as a pioneer for queer visibility, and sought out more guidance then she could offer while on camera.

Now Ellen comes out again, (those of us in the community know what an ongoing process coming out is) to Senator Clinton. Ellen expresses the need for same-sex couples to have the same rights as heterosexual couples. (Watch the saga of Kerry Weaver in ER to see this problem in action.) Watch the video and tell me what you think about it.

Why I love my Aminals.

There's a letter sized sign on my door, right next to the Positive Space one I printed off. It reads, "Welcome to Guyzeeland." We now have a population of 189, 190 including myself in our area. I explain our large family to people simply by telling them that I was a lonely child.

While this was true, I think it warrants a better explanation. Like how my brother stopped at sixty children and I stopped at...well, I haven't stopped yet. You see, we're a good family! We all love each other, and sometimes we argue, and sometimes the wait period for surgery grows and people get antsy, but all in all we're a wonderful family.

We can rely on each other. When I don't feel like talking to anyone I can just talk to them. And I don't even have to speak out loud, because we're all telepathically connected! Even though sometimes they don't get it, someone in the family will. And there's always someone to hug, when I don't want to hug a human.

And now, we'd really, really like to eat.

I am feeling anger.

There is an ugly clothes hamper in my room. I have several library books to return that are all different sizes. The vacuum is broken. I don't have curtains. THERE ARE MANY THINGS AROUND ME THAT ARE NOT PARALLEL.

I am going to try not to throw this ugly clothes hamper at a person. I am going to hold on to my library books until tomorrow morning. I will wait until the vacuum is fixed to make my nice vacuum lines. I will fix this makeshift curtain until I can purchase normal ones. I will keep writing even though I want to SCREAM and THROW and DESTROY everything in my room that is not clean and orderly.

I will try to relax without doing stupid things. I will try to relax...

She was Beautiful.

She took her own life, did you know that? They didn’t want anyone to know, so the answer always was, “a sudden loss.” Sudden. She was dying for years and no one noticed except me. I knew because she told me. Matter-of-a-factly one day she just looked me in the eye and told me that she was dying. At first I thought she had a disease or some kind of pre-teen ‘dying of a broken heart’ thing but it turns out she was serious. I realized that, after a point. I noticed from afar, (we were friends only in front of each other at the time) after she told me, all the pained looks she had on her face in between people. I guess no one else was looking.

“Why are you doing this?” I’d asked her once. School had just started for another year and we felt the breath of autumn on our backs, and she’d called to ask me if I wanted to touch its’ heart. I had no idea what she was saying until she translated that into, ‘want to go to the park?’

She turned to me, straggly pieces of hair stuck up in the wind. “I didn’t ask for this,” she whispered.

“Can’t you make it stop?” although I knew well enough that she couldn’t. I couldn’t either.

“I can’t stop it for either one of us.” She took a skip forward, her pale fingers dancing over the air and faced me, dead on. “I wish I could, you know that right?”

“I know. I’m not all stupid man/boy.”

“More like boy/man!” and she laughed, that laugh that haunts me because I can hear it now. I can tell.

So we kept going on like that. Moments of eloquence followed by a shallow struggle to pull out of the awkward moments we created. Or she did, I was always unnerved by the way she got straight to the point. No ambling.

She called herself, “less than ordinary.”

She prayed for fifteen years then noticed she didn’t think anyone was there.

She forced me to make promises, and I did the same to her.

She stared in the mirror and saw nothing.

I’m telling you the truth. It wasn’t a sudden death. It wasn’t quick, it wasn’t painless. She was my beautiful, my silent and I don’t know exactly when it happened. It must have been years ago. But to everyone else, it was two nights ago, at 2:47 in the morning and they all thought, “what a shame” when they saw her lying there. I’m ashamed.

-written march, 2006.