I'm not a great person. I'm not smart particularly. I'm good with words, but everything else I do requires thought, practice and effort. Not much comes easily to me. I'm not a paticularly trusting person but once you are in my tight inner circle (and it's..well...miniscule- in fact likely the only people who would ever read the pity fest that is to come are those people whom I trust. So, maybe two ppl ever. Maybe.) I have no reason to trust people. They inevitably let me down and this is my fault. I expect them to treat me like I treat them. Oh, I found something else I'm naturally good at. Love. When ppl come into my life, it doesn't take much to make me love them.Because people are awesome. I always joke that I hate humanity. It couldn't be further from the truth. People often scare me. Occasionally I allow them to make me feel small. Being that I hurt easily, ppl often callously fail to consider others before serving their own needs. And often, my feelings become fallout. But a big part of being human is just that. Being human. And humans are beautifully imperfect, completely fucked up in fact. Every one person a different story. Full of possibility. Full of complex humany things. People laugh. People cry. We rail against injustice, and two breaths later commit our own. We are one, fucked up species. And they call us the highest level of consciousness. I love people. Walking into a room full of people terrifies me and thrills me in equal measure. People laugh when they hear I have social anxiety because its rarely less than 5 minutes before I've met most of the room. In that 5 minutes I will have changed my life a little, because any human interaction has impact. That, my friends is fucking cool. I talk to weird people. I talk to crazy people. I talk to angry, sad, happy people. I have talked to celebrities, and with the exception of my brush with Clara Hughes (it was embarassing) I have talked with them in exactly the same way that I would with a bum on the street. I have dined with CEO's worth billions of dollars, gone to lunch with David Cassidy (c'mon, get happy!) had breakfast with my friend, shared an ice cream with by husband, sat on the curb and shared my sub with a person not fortunate enough to have a table. Or their own sub. All of the above have one thing in common. All people. So, it's a bit of an affliction, my loving of people. I've figured out in the last year or so that it's not the greatest thing ever. Imagine that you wake up, full of energy, and the first thoughts you have are super exciting happy thoughts of all the people you know you will see today!! And then thinking of the rest of people you love dearly. And the people whom you might meet! YAY o YAY o YAY o YAY o YAY Yes. That's me. Step 1 of my day occurs before my eyes open. Step 2. What am I doing today to make all of the people I love and meet feel special. Everyone should feel special. Step 3. Brush teeth. I have horrendous morning breath. Step 4. Do all the things I thought of above. Gosh I sound nice. I'm not. I have no agenda. This is who I am. I don't wait until bad things happen to let ppl know I care. Because I want ppl to know I care. Because they should know I care. Because truly I love you. And that means a lot to me. A text, a funny post on facebook, a phone call. A bunch of flowers picked and delivered. An invite to do something. A random stop in to chat. A cupcake delivered to front door. A shared book that brought you to mind. I'm not an occasion person. Everyday is an occasion. I'm not a nice person. W've established that. But I am good at love. And I practise it. Put thought into it. And I am good at knowing what people need, putting it together and making it happen. Because, well, LOVE. and PEOPLE. There's a reson why I am drawn to the service industry. I truly 100% do not look to have people treat me the same way. This is MY way of loving. It needn't be yours. I understand that every single person has different ways of showing love and recieving love. Sometimes I run out of deposits in my "People love me" bank account, though. Sometimes, maybe my fault because I dont trust people, probably my own fault because I don't "love myself enough" and definitely my fault because I know MOST people care enough to not hurt me on purpose, sometimes I find myself so far in a love deficit that not even overdraft insurance will cover the ache that it leaves. Don;t get me wrong, when I am in GREAT need, people are there, helpful, giving, even demonstrative. But apart from the last 6 months of my life, I am rarely in great need. I know I'm happy. I know I'm an independant, out going has it all kinda gal. I'm glad of that. But would it kill somebody in my life (some exclusions) to wake up in the morning and do one nice thing to show they cared about me just because? I'm so fucking lonely. I'm dying inside because I want just a few of the people in my life to treat me the way I treat them. Sometimes even. Because people SCREAM their true thoughts when they treat me with indifference. If you treat me like you don't care, even I will believe you. I don't have the energy to look after everyone unless once in a while someone looks after me. I want to be loved fiercely for the fucked up, foolish, naive, stubborn, easily hurt, anxious, often selfish, always silly, terrible joke sayer, sometimes moody, often giddy with happiness true bits of me. I cannot spend the rest of my life in such completely unbalanced relationships. I simply wont survive it and still be me. I want someone to love not for I can do for them. But for the pleasure in doing something for me will bring them. Maybe then I'll realize I am more than good enough. More than worthy. And then maybe I'll believe it.

I want you to know that there is more than one me. Or, at least, there was. I wasn't cloned, or replicated in any way. I also don't have multiple personalities, although you can check the truth of that out with those who love me. I may be a bit of a different person when I'm woken up too early in the morning. I started identifying the two parts of me when I began the process of recovering from my mental illness. I found it comforting to compartmentalize the illness, and what was left of me, in two seperate boxes. Easier that way to destroy the one, and give life and breath to the other. What I have come to learn over the years of recovering, and learning how to live life out of only one box, is that in between those two sides there was always a faint little third bit, sometimes strong, but often ignored. That little wee bit was hope. I have never been a hopeful person, but as I find myself farther and farther from the person I was when mental illness informed my every decision, I realize that hope is the gift I have retained and am able to share. After all, I made it through. That is why I am eager to talk to anyone and everyone about my story. I am not that different from any other person. Everyone will suffer an episode of mental illness in their lifespan. Some will be situational, some chronic and ongoing. All will be painful, confusing and life altering. I can offer everyone hope that you can get through, you can suffer setbacks, you can thrive and,most importantly, experience the joy and wonders of real,amazing,astounding LIFE. Back to the two me part. I had been bullied ferociously in middle school, and lacked the proper guidance from my well meaning but distracted mother to help me navigate the tough years of puberty. Coupled with tough times at home with a drug addicted, violent brother, an absentee father who was back on our doorstep and the usual teenage angst, and the world around me was chaos. The first time I ever thought there was something wrong with being me was when I was bullied. The second was when my Mum encouraged me to go on a diet at 13yrs, as being a bit slimmer would boost my confidence.If my Mum thought I needed to change, then clearly I did. I began to hide who I was, living in terror of judgement from other people. After all, if I felt this way about myself, then everyone else surely say someone WAY worse, uglier, stupider, fatter. I constantly failed to live up to the expectations of people in my life, and never managed to live up to my own. So this is the time that I split into two. One dominant, loud,organized, convincing side, the other awkward, a bit scattered, enthusiastic and messy. I call these sides order and chaos. Order is clean and tidy. Order loves perfection and high standards. Order is in control, well planned and highly respectable. Order preferred things to look just so, and not be happy or sad, as emotions aren't necessary. Order does not accept failure. When things are not so, Order turns a nasty corner. Order can turn cruel and lie to make sure I am still listening, still working towards perfect. When I fail, Order recruited her friends: extreme food restriction, obsessive exercise, purging through vomiting, laxatives and diuretics and self harm. These things can be controlled. A punishment for failing to live up to Order's high standards, and a comforting way to maintain Order when the rest of the world refuses to do so. Chaos is messy and bouncy. Chaos has huge ideas and not always a good plan to make them happen. Chaos is happy with the highs of life, and settles in to bear the lows. Chaos is funny, sparkly and full of joy, because the next great thing is just around the corner waiting for me to go and grab it. Chaos doesn't know what failure is, because it gets up and tries again.Chaos is often joined by a motley crew of followers: friends,depression,music, anxiety, art, social awkwardness, dance, movement, pain,laughter and tears. Chaos refuses to be controlled, but instead chooses to live each moment. When I was 12 or 13, order took over and reigned for many years in the forms of Anorexia Nervosa, Bulimia Nervosa and Self Harm with many different techniques adopted over the years. I had no idea that what I was doing to myself was not normal until my late teen years and I watched an episode of Degrassi about eating disorders that opened my eyes a bit to my habits, and my obsessively thin self. I lived with Chaos and Order balancing out pretty well for a lot of years. Order always had the upper hand and informed much of my decision making, but healthy choices won out as well. I put on some weight, married a wonderful man, had two beautiful children a house and two cars. Order, funnily enough, had won after all. A series of events sent me spiralling downward, resulting in Order thoroughly taking over the show. I was at my sickest. Having lived the bulk of my life hating myself, I saw myself as a complete failure. Every part of me was gone but Order, and I wasn't able to satisfy her anymore. At my lowest, I spent a whole Christmas Day on the couch after having taken 2 boxes of laxatives the day before. I was so beaten, so depressed and so finished that it took every bit of effort to open my eyes. I had a plan. I would get out of this pain once and for all. I had lost. My husband had other ideas. He searched and found a treatment program at Toronto General Hospital. I submitted to try it out, not really believing I was sick enough or worthy of a place in the program. I thought they would laugh at me and send me home. They did not. Two weeks later I started an intensive day program, which lasted for 3 months. I then graduated to 3 days/week and spent another 4 months like that. After that, 1 night a week for maintenance. It was strict. I had to eat. All the things. I had to maintain a symptom free life, ie/no cutting or purging, I had to be in attendance every day. I had intensive group, art and individual therapy. They monitored our weight and I had to watch the growing numbers with horror, no familiar way of coping in hand. I had two choices, and both ended the person I had become. I decided to give this one everything I had. After all, if recovery didn't work, I always had a back up plan. It worked. I worked. I worked hard, every minute of every day. I listened, learned and adhered to every word the caring people in the hospital shared with me. I met other people and learned from their stories. I took part in clinical trials to challenge myself. I ate. I put Order behind a screen and starting telling her the truth. That I knew her vision for me was a lie. That I was good enough. And I knew that one day I would believe it more often than not. It has been 6 years since I walked out of Toronto General's front doors for the last time, having been declared one of the very few success stories in the battle against severe and debilitating eating disorders. I'd love to say that every second has been bliss and joy, but I can't. I have embraced who I am and with that, Chaos, as we met earlier, reigns supreme. I make huge plans. I work hard to make them happen. I dream, I love, I run. I have the greatest friends - friends who know me as everything I am meant to be - perfectly imperfect - and love me anyway. I am seen and loved for who I am, by others and finally, by myself. I own my own successful business, raise my lovely children and splash in puddles. I also have the darkest of dark times. Depression and anxiety occasionally seep in and on occasion I hide my head under a pillow and avoid the world. But, I get up, eat my lunch and move on. Order is still around, but I try to use her best points to my advantage and ignore the lies to the best of my ability. I use music, running and dance and the support of my people when things get too much. Therapy is still in my toolbox for maintaining my health. Being recovered is hard work, when your goal is always to win. I don't identify with the disease any more. I am just a woman, living my life, doing my best. Every single person will suffer at some point in their lives with a bout of mental illness. You are not alone, although the illness is confining and solitary. I have learned that there are resources available to help if needed. That people understand more and more that mental illness is real and that you need their help to find your way to finding health. Don't settle for a half life, when there are ways to make things better. Believe you are worth more Hope is real. I am living proof that there is another side to mental illness. A happy continuation, rather than a happy ending. Chaos reigns supreme. Speak out if you are suffering. People will help. Believe you are worth more. And fight for it. Be yourself. Nobody else is quite as wonderful.

Finding the Light in the Darkness

It's hard work fighting depression and anxiety when things are going well, but I admit that with practise, I have become very good at it. It's not hard to find good when all is going well. Food is on the table. Family is clothed and warm. I have a fantastic job. Financial (mostly) stability, even though we scrimp and save. It's much easier to part the dark clouds when the sunshine is obvious, and bright. So, when darkness pervades?

What then? I would have told you 2 years ago that nothing could shake the strong foundation I had built for my recovery. I was making plans for the future, growing a business, plowing through life in my traditional bulldozer like way. I had it. All. Would I ever relapse? Or suffer what I had in the past? Pffft. No way. No how. Relapse is for weaklings, and I am not that. Until I got a phone call, my big brother, telling me that my Mum had passed away. Part of me broke away. Then, a falling out with my middle brother (a long time coming) and then an early morning phone call, this time with the passing of my Dad. Another chunk fell. 3 of my 5 family members. Gone. Piece by piece, I weaken. I injured myself, leaving me completely bedridden for weeks. Pull another piece off. I didn't even notice that I was more irritable. Quicker to turn away. Less able to feel. Easier to skip a meal. Harder to fight back a low mood. Scarier to get out the door. Impossible, some days, actually. Who am I? But I held steady. Until the bottom fell out of my life, and spiralled downhill when the only thing I thought I could trust with my heart, told me I no longer could. Where am I? I'm black. Cold. Alone. And terrified. How do I rebuild from this?

"Take this sinking boat and point it home We've still got time Raise your hopeful voice you have a choice You'll make it now" Glen Hansard - Falling Slowly

As usual, music has my answer. A reminder actually. I will raise my hopeful voice. I will make a choice. Many choices, in fact. Some small, some momentous. But mine. And mine alone. Nobody rescued me. No one pushed me down. I have always, and will continue to choose life. I will continue to make the right, and moral choice, even when the easier route is so much more appealing. I will thrive again,and I know it. I will peek through the black and see the open arms of my friends and family, and with much hope, I will rebuild myself back to all I want to be. There is always light. I'm just working on finding the energy to look up. Embrace the Crazy.

We Are Never Alone

Life is SOOOOO hard. SO very, very, very hard. It requires commitment, determination and lots and lots of choices. One thing I've learned over the years is that not one person in the entire world is immune to life. Not the person with the BMW, 2 gorgeous kids, perfectly decorated home. Not the person who lives on the street corner. Not the Prime Minister, nor his cabinet. Not the elite, Olympic athlete. Not the rock star. Not me. Not you. We are all uniquely human, and all suffer in our own way, of individual demons.Skeletons in the closet, as it were. It is in this that we, as a 1st world country, level the playing field. So why, oh why, do we feel so ALONE? We are not alone. Those of us who sometimes lay down at night and pray not that tomorrow is better, but that it won't come. We are not alone. We needn't hide in shame, and we must not become identified as our struggles. I am not anxiety and depression. I have anxiety and depression. Be clear in yourself, and know that your life is not in the hands of the beast the informs your mood. It is your life to live. If you choose to live, never look back. Ask for help. Talk to friends, in good times and bad. Some will stay, some will go, but keep talking. Use our many publicly funded programs. Never be ashamed to take the time and effort to do what makes you feel good, be it running, medication, therapy, dancing, painting, singing, whatever. Those that matter will support you and help lift you up to be the whole person you are meant to be. Above all, know that you are worth the conversation. You are worth happiness. You are worthy of life, be it full of light or full of darkness. You are more than enough. Now go and start talking. #BELLLETSTALK Embrace the CRAZY!

"I'm Coming Out!"

It's international CLARA HUGHES week! Or at least, it is in my head, LOL. She is riding 12,000km around Canada to raise awareness, funds and to stomp out the stigma once and for all that remains around mental illness. I love Clara Hughes. In a kind of ridiculous, over the top, you shouldn't love anyone like this kinda way on not be in jail. When she competed in the Summer Olympics and won two bronze medals I fell in love. When I saw her don ice skates and win Olympic medals in speed skating, I was in awe. I watched her sportsmanship, how respected she was by her fellow athletes, I giggled at her interviews as her pure joy in life spilled out and infected me. Then I found out she had a secret - she suffers from depression and mental illness. Now let's put this in perspective - Clara Hughes was a golden girl. An athlete. A bastion of perfection and athletic awesomeness. This is how we idolize people in these positions - as perfect. Then consider how brave it was for her to rip off her golden sheen and be open about her experiences with mental illness. She became, for many, a normalization of mental illness. Her straight talk about her challenges made so many people's daily struggles seem important and acceptable. She is changing the face of mental illness once and for all. I was one of those who were a little changed by Clara's confessions. You see, I also suffer from mental illness. And I too, live a wonderful, full, happy life. Most importantly, I, like Clara, am one of the success stories. I live each day to the fullest, no matter what challenges face me. I don't often speak of my mental illness, because I don't believe it defines who I am. I am wrong in this, however. As a survivor, and being who I am, I MUST speak out and be unafraid to be judged. Because if one person hears me and feels that they are okay to be who they are, and most importantly that they can LIVE, then it will have been worth it. Over the course of my life, my illness has manifested itself in many ways. I purged my first meal at age 12, as a way to manage my weight, and gather back a smidge of my self worth. Thus began anorexia, my coping mechanism for the anxiety and depression that sunk me to despair. At the height of my illness I had a BMI of under 14. I never new anything about my behavior was not normal. In fact, it was the first time I got some respect. When this no longer satisfied my anxiety and depression, I took to self harm, through cutting, self mutilation and burns. Then came bulimia. If being empty didn't help, then maybe feeling full would. Then, all of these addictions lay just below the surface waiting to be called up when depression and anxiety struck. Sometimes all three wouldn't work and then what doctors' call "suicidal ideation" became my norm. Suicide attempts occured when desperation set in. Imagine, the girl who had it all, willing to give it all up. That, my friends, is what you call gut wrenching, mind bending, unimaginable pain. The interesting part is, no one would EVER have known anything was out of the ordinary. I was very good at being one person in public, and another inside my head. I didn't know then that the voice inside my head wasn't me at all. I lived in shame and fear that someday, someone would see who I was. 7 years ago, at my hospital intake, I was told I had a serious, chronic, mental disorder, and that left untreated I would likely not survive the coming year. Instead I took the coming year in hospital to do exactly the opposite - to learn how to live. Which is now what I do! I live each day and jump out of bed excited for what it will bring. It is work - hard work - sometimes excruciating work to banish the voice that tells me I am worthless and should stay home, then combats my determination to face the day with panic and fear. But I win. I eat. I smile at myself in the mirror. I do everything I can each day to LIVE. For my friends, my family, and for me. Cause damn it, I'm worth it. Find Your CORE!

Starting the Conversation

Illness tends to be a lonely place. No matter what ails you - it is you and you alone who suffers in your own unique way, be it a common cold, or stage 4 cancer. Each individual suffering is different and apart from what anyone else has experienced, so the best we can do for those we love when they are ill is to empathize, try to understand, and to support. But, in truth, when you are unwell, it is a solo flight, with (hopefully) lots of ground support. What to do, though, when your isolation is matched with fear? When you are are afraid of reaching out for support. When you expect judgement. When the empathy and understanding you need isn't offered, or your illness is rejected. This happened to me this weekend: I speak easily, and in an age appropriate way about my mental & emaotional struggles in front of my children. I mentioned in front of them that I took medication to help with my emotional imbalances. I was later berated by someone in the room, who called this "inapropriate", rolled their eyes in scorn, and said that information such as this should not be shared publicly (TOO.LATE.) What? If I had mentioned that I took Advil for a migraine, would this be a problem?Synthroid for my Hypothyroidism? Puffers for Asthma? Statins for high cholesterol? I suspect that these and many more would be considered just fine. After all, we can't prevent those diseases, can we? It's not your fault your thyroid doesn't function. Yes. I am rolling MY eyes this time. I think people are terrified of mental illness, because there is no-one who cannot relate to the pain of mental & emotional trauma. Who hasn't felt panic, fear, sadness, mania, depression etc in the course of their lives. Who among us hasn't felt so overwhelmed at some point that getting out of bed seems impossible? Not many, I'm guessing. To deny that these disorders are valid, that mental illness is an issue that cannot be controlled, is simply expressing the fear that one day they too could suffer. I can only imagine the pain of dialysis, but am far removed from the reality of it. So when my friend who is going through this turns to me, it is easy to find empathy, and not to fear this happening to me. I cannot imagine what she is feeling, so I can only pray for her. Remember when you felt any of the above? Right - now imagine feeling like that permanently without hope of returning to the capable human being you once were. It's terrifying. No wonder that so many people prefer to believe that "it could never happen to them" and prefer to have these issues and the reminders of their own fallibility shoved behind closed doors. Now I know that was harsh. I know that many reading this blog are extremely tolerant and understanding of those in their lives who suffer mental illness. But I challenge even those who have a progressive and open minded attitude to step up and start talking. Be a part of the conversation. Because it is no longer enough to simply stand by. I don't know if we'll change the minds of everyone, but we WILL empower those living with mental illness. We will slowly help employers, neighbours, families to accept that people who suffer ARE normal people, as capable as anyone else of being a productive and important part of society. We that suffer are not left without responsibility. We must, as we are able, start the conversations ourselves. We must look within ourselves, and learn to love what we see. After all we cannot possibly expect to be accepted by others, if we do not accept ourselves. Famous Public Figures Who Suffer From Mental Illness Bipolar Disorder: Catherine Zeta Jones, Beethoven, Rosemary Clooney, Demi Lovato, Kurt Cobain, Carrie Fisher, Ben Stiller, Mel Gibson, Robert Munsch, Winston Churchill, Jean Claude Van Damme, Francis Ford Coppolla Post Partum Depression: Brooke Shields, Bryce Dallas Howard, Britney Spears Clinical Depression: Emma Thompson, Jim Carrey, Ashley Judd, Jon Hamm, Buzz Aldrin, Janet Jackson, F.Scott Fitzgerald, John Daly, George Michael, Eric Clapton, Ernest Hemingway, Charles Dickens, Clara Hughes Disassociative Identity Disorder: Herschel Walker, Roseanne Arnold (along with OCD, depression and agoraphobia) Panic Disorders: Paula Deen (along with agoraphobia), Nicole Kidman, Margot Kidder (along with depression) Jian Gomeshi, Johnny Depp, Oprah Winfrey, David Bowie,Scarlett Johansen, Kate Moss, Adele, Emma Stone Obsessive/Compulsive Disorder: David Beckham, Fred Durst, Howard Stern, Howie Mandel Eating Disorders: Elton John, Princess Diana, Portia DeRossi, Jane Fonda, Audrey Hepburn, Katie Couric, Sally Field, Tracy Gold, Candace Cameron Bure,Felicity Huffman,Diane Keaton, Dennis Quaid, Meredith Vieira Dyslexia: Albert Einstein, Tom Cruise, Walt Disney, Alexander Graham Bell, Nelson Rockefeller The above lists are very small segment of the amounts of people who live with mental illness. You are not alone! v

Taking It From the Top.

Exhaustion consumed me. It became my new and only friend, as my previous friends, hunger and self hatred had given up on my it seemed. They no longer gave me solace from the pain. Exhausted and unable to fight my way forward. Where hunger and self hatred once gnawed was emptiness and isolation, a gaping black hole of nothing. In fact, this is exactly the moment I had been waiting for all my life. Now the choice. To jump into the abyss, to be swallowed whole by my own desperation, to sink into nothingness. It would be a comfort, an ending, a relief.
But there was a choice.
A choice?
A CHOICE!
I could turn around, and claw my way out, kick and scream and yell and .... fight. It was agonizing. It would be easier to let go and finally let my demons consume me.
But I was never good at the easy way.
What awaits if I turn around? Who will want me back, who will I be if I force the demons away and shed the skin of disease and seeming perfection I wore like a flashy designer coat? Why, oh why, would they want me if I showed myself, my true self, whoever that was?
It was an end or a beginning. The end was tempting, beautiful and alluring, the beginning painful, black and terrifying, but the voice at the beginning was one of love.Dropping the blade,  I closed my eyes, turned around and began to pray.

This is my story. I suffered for 18 years with various versions of eating disorders and self-harm, excrutiating anxiety and crippling depression. I stepped to the very brink of life and death, and happily fought tooth and nail for life. It occurs to me that I could actually make a difference for someone else living this nightmare so I am prepared to share my story for the first time, as I am able. I have been out of treatment for 4 years now, and although I have times that life puts my "recovered" status in jeopardy, I win the battle everytime the war rolls around.

Embrace The Crazy