A Broken Mind is a Terrible Thing to Waste...

My mind is broken. If I had a broken arm, the allusion would be immediately understood. But I have a mental illness, depression. A recent statistic stated that 25 percent of Canadians suffer from a mental illness. The stigma attached to mental illness I must say is depressing. I have lost friends and family. I have lost my home and my financial freedom because I am unable to control my mind. It goes where it wants to when it wants to. It is not a matter of self-discipline as some would believe. I would prefer not to spend days on the couch or in bed unable to move or to act in any proactive way. It is like asking a blind man to see. He cannot. He wants to but no matter how hard he tries, his eyes are suddenly not going to see. I cannot turn my mind off and become cheerful, active and a productive member of this world.
It is a long slow and disheartening process. I must do it on my own.
There is a severe lack of empathy for mental illness. Especially it seems for depression. The easy solution is to take a pill. But meds don't always work. Or they do work but with horrific side effects. What works best for me is to embrace the depression and ride the waves of bleakness and melancholy until they pass over me and wash out to sea.
Unfortunately, those around me cannot wait this out with me. It is not fair that they put their lives on hold while I try to get mine back in order. I make and have made many bad decisions while in the throes of my depression. When I wake up from the fog, I then have to deal with the consequences of what I have done. Then I can only hope to repair some of the damage and try not to any more.
So, in short, I suffer from depression. I am dealing with it on my own. It is a daily struggle but I believe that I will prevail. I can count only on myself to take care of myself and get me through this and to the other side. I can be healthy and happy and I can do this myself.

Mourning Doves/My Kitchen Buddha

Mourning Doves

Rain slips down the green shimmering tree
Silver mourning doves endure the rain
Dreaming of sun-washed days
With soft murmurs;they wait out the storm


My Kitchen Buddha

All serene all watching all smiling
Sitting on his shelf he watches
The rice burn
The kettle boil
The dirty dishes
The sun on the glass
Th cats quarrel
The oranges shrivel
All serene all seeing all knowing

Welcome to the World...

I just deleted almost a full post of writing. Why? Because it was all bullshit. It was not honest, it was trying to deflect my anger and despair away and rationalize the behaviour of others. I was self-censoring myself, something that I swore that I would never ever do again in my writings. So the Hell with the sensibilities of anyone who may read this. I am no longer going to write as though they are looking over my shoulder and frowning with disapproval at what they see.
I just came home from a long and brutal work shift on a holiday. With extra hours with no extra pay. That ended in complete disaster. Now I am going to be the kind of person that I am. Real, happy, funny, sad, cynical, brave, lazy, hard-working, curious, kind, optimistic and human.
Welcome to the World, me.

I Deserve Better Than This...

It is hard to say out loud that I deserve something better than what I currently have. I am healthy, educated, smart and I can think for myself. Yet, when I look for work, I constantly start with the low-level casual labour pool. I have a university degree, I have a cooking column in my local paper. People ask me for advice, they listen to what I say. I got my current job by cold-calling the resort, I was hired immediately. I learned my job and a related one and my work is good and respected. So why do I feel that cleaning offices and fast food jobs are my only option?
When I come home I feel like I am a fraud. That I am only pretending to be this good competent person. That once anyone gets to know me that they will realize that I am worthless. Intellectually, I know that I am not. I know what I am capable of and that I can take care of myself and others. Perhaps it is my present environment. Right now I am in transition. I know that I want to do but I am having trouble moving forward in a constructive way. The depression does not help. Somedays, I feel paralyzed and unable to function but I have no choice, I must get up and carry on. When my daughter was young, I used to say that I don't have time for a nervous breakdown. I still don't. If I did have one now, I would end up living in my car, not a happy prospect. So I must soldier on, continue this life and living. Know that better times and better things are waiting for me out there in the big wide world. I can do it. I know that I can.

Why does the value that other people assign to us matter more than how much we value ourselves? Compliments are wonderful and good words can make one feel warm and fuzzy. Why can't we believe in ourselves? We can look in the mirror and know that we are smart, capable and good. But the public affirmation even from a stranger who does not know us matter more than what we tell our reflection.
I know that I am a good, talented person. I know that I have depth and skills that have not been tested. They are being tested now. For the first time in a long time, I am going out on my own, to survive on my own. Perhaps survive is no the right word. It should be to thrive on my own. I am responsible for myself. I cannot control the external world but I can control my interior one. I can manage the voices in my head that tell me that I am not good enough and that I will fail. I can discipline myself. Not all the time, though, I did have BBQ ribs for breakfast yesterday. But really, did that do any damage in the end? No. They were delicious in fact.
So, have faith in yourself, I will have faith in myself. I will fall, I will get back up.
Compared to where I was last year at this time, life is a piece of cake.
The blackness has lifted. Not all the time, the curtain of despair is raised enough for me to function. Sometimes it descends and envelopes me in its warm misery. I fall to my knees and pull it close and hug it to my body. Other days, I shrug it off and fold it neatly into a small bundle and store it away out of sight.
Today was an overwhelming blanket covering day. At the end, I managed to shrug the heavy layers off and now must move on.

Browsing FB and discovering family members that I have not seen since 1976. Even though it has been years and the ages wear on the faces, I still hesitate. Do I want to reach out and contact these people? Do I have any connection aside from a genetic one to them? Are they meaningful to my life? Do I want them to be? If they mattered, would I have tried before this time? Or is it the ease and utility of social media and the internet that makes a connection seem almost obligatory?

People search and with a few strokes find lost ones that they had given up on. Have I given up on my family? I believe that we create our own families. We populate them with people (and animals) who matter to us. We hold close those who will support us and have our best interests at heart. Perhaps that is why it is sometimes more difficult to give up a friend than a family member. We chose that friend. We let them into our circle. Unlike genetics, we have a say in who sits at our table, who huddles around the fire with us. It is a huge leap of faith to let someone into that circle. They must prove themselves worthy. When they don't it is a reflection on us as well as them.

Why such a long time between posts? Why destroy my previous writing? I am suffering from depression. Some days it is too much effort to think and even to draw a breath. Life goes forward one step at a time.
Outside of the window a thunderstorm is rolling down the valley. The sky is dark and threatening. I can hear the thunder but this too shall pass. I know that the sun will come back out again. I have faith that it will and I will feel warmth on my face again.