fightingthetide's blog

Future is yesterday; yesterday's coming

 

 

Nothing is written in stone

There was a time in which I realized I was going to take this life of mine and shake it until it shuddered. When I knew I was going to turn the world inside out and discover something new; when I was no longer afraid. And so I began to think and to plot, and devise. And the options grew endless, and I stood there, blinking happily in their wake, knowing that one of them (at least one of them) would be mine. I just had to reach out, grab it, and make it so.

I decided it was extremely important to hang onto these fleeting future paths with both hands, while simultaneously plunging headfirst into their depths. Let me tell you, that takes some ingenuity. But I haven't lost these dreams this time around, and that is something to be said.

Plunge headfirst I have. I have enrolled myself in an eight week course at a local college here on the island. It's main purpose is to help me rediscover my strengths, my wants and desires, and to help me fix any major areas of weakness that might hinder those thoughts/dreams/desires (which I would love to go into more detail about, but that is a whole other post unto itself). Because it is full time (Monday to Friday from 9am to 3pm) it will be a test to see how well I can handle full time hours on my good and bad days. It will let me see just how well I will do should I choose or attempt to pursue full time schooling or full time work in the near future. It is reality in an unreal setting thrust my way. 

In the meantime, I joined a dragonboat team and competed in an international race held here on the island (hello competitive streak, I'm sorry I haven't had you in team sports for so long again, I rather forgot how much I enjoy it). We did fantastic (still no pictures, sorry, but I promise soon. Soon.) I rediscovered how paddling makes me feel brand new, and yet old and complete all at the same time. I worked hard and laughed, until every bit of me ached, making new friends along the way.

 I disappeared into nature with a great friend and took my time breathing in the earth. I discovered new places on and off my island, and let the dogs tromp to their hearts delight along trails. We had a brilliant time. And now I am back, with two months to kill before school begins, and an endless list of possibilities hanging in front of me, all within reach.

And everytime I blink I have a tiny dream

Five weeks ago I shelved my nerves and tucked myself into a lifejacket to try something new. Along with 19 other paddlers I grabbed a paddle and settled myself into a dragon boat, as part of the team Komodo Dragons. It was a bit of a rocky start, to say the least. Dragon boat paddling is nothing like any other kind of paddling I had ever done (canoeing, kayaking), in fact these water sports had actually set me up for a bit of a rough go. With only six practices before the first race (yeah...only 6...) and being the only newbie on the team, I began to panic around practice number 3. I had the timing perfect, I just couldn't seem to get the technique. I would manage one part of it, then remember I was supposed to be doing something else, and forget the first part again (paddle straight up and down, both arms outside the boat, twist at the waist, push off with your leg and use your back/core muscles, look up and across at the lead paddler to stay in time, DO NOT use your arm muscles). And so by the third practice I considered opting out of racing...I just wasn't ready, and I didn't want to slow the team down. With only three more practices to go, there was no way I was going to get it. So I talked to my coach about it, and she took the time to go through the stroke techniques solo with me, and then she gave me the best advice of all. "Watch some youtube videos. Being able to see the technique, you'll unconsciously pick it up. It's a little hard to watch the other paddlers when you are paddling" she said. And I stared at her a bit dumbstruck, wondering why I hadn't thought to do this. Two hours of paddling videos interspersed throughout the week, and I had the technique down pat; practice number four was a breeze.

Yesterday we raced in the Gorge Fest Dragon Boat Regatta. Our team was fantastic...everyone in time together, powerful strokes, and a lot of hard work. We competed against teams that have been training since January, our little thrown together team. And we took home the bronze medal. The last race was unbelievaly close, separated out only by milliseconds. Gold came in at 2:21:06. Silver not even a nose behind them at 2:21:60, and then us at 2:22:08. I had just a wicked time...our team is awesome in every way possible, and I just grinned my face off the whole time. I don't have pictures to share just yet. We are competing next weekend (August 14th and 15th) in the victoria dragon boat festival  and once that competition is over, compiling all the pictures and videos together. I promise to share once I have them.

By the light of the moon she rubs her eyes, says "It's funny how the night can make you blind"

I need to say that everything is different. Everything has changed. Some things I have sort of drifted into, some things I have been swallowed whole by...other things I have fought tooth and nail, but there they are all the same.

It's funny, about change, how it can sneak up on you. How you can wake up in the morning and look in the mirror, and wonder...who is that person staring back at you? And how did they come to be? And how is it that you don't recognize them? Don't get me wrong, this is not always a bad thing... just sometimes surprising. And luckily for me, I am the kind of person who likes surprises; someone who handles changes well... those infinitely small ones along with the massive enormous life altering ones.

Yesterday I bid farewell to the Acute Home Treatment Program (AHTP) team that has been coming to my house every single day since I was discharged, four months (four extremely long months) ago. I walked into a psychiatrist appointment with my case manager, and AHTP, and felt my world collide and explode with joy and promise when the decision was made that I was now well enough to be discharged from AHTP. My case manager shot fleeting looks in my direction before giving up and staring me straight in the face. She smiled while she told me "It's so good to see you doing so well. Even your eyes,...I can see it in your eyes." Her face grew sombre for a moment then, "I was really worried about you...You were an awfully sick girl." And then she gave me another long look and grinned, "You can do anything at all Miss, we just have to get you there."

And of course I am there, but it is so nice to have another human being acknowledge this truth. It feels magnificent this moment that I have come to, and I am doing my best to soak all of it in. Is there such a thing as being drunk on calmness? It has been so long since I have felt this way...this way...that I honestly had forgotten what it felt like. Calm and alive and breathing, and aware.

When the world stood still

There once was a woman who was radiant in her youth. She laughed in the arms of her lover, who would in time become her husband, and life partner. Together they would create four perfect beautiful children, raised on a small farm in the countryside, located just east of the middle of nowhere. 

One day, the day that would change everything, when the oldest children were grown and flown from the nest to create children of their own, and when only the youngest child, grown physically but always and forever trapped in her mind, (stolen from her at birth with the contraction of staphylococcus) remained, the world would forever be shattered. For this woman-child would return home in her innocence to discover her father, broken and cold on the livingroom floor, and would in time be sent to an institution to help her recover from the ensuing shock and nervous breakdown. For the radiant lover would say goodbye to her life partner, and pack away the pieces of her heart neatly with his ashes and obituary.

This woman through the years would disappear beneath a hard and bitter shell, until all that remained of what was were those four perfect beautiful children. But the day that ended all days would in time rob her of even that. The second child would shatter under the loss of her father. She would grow older, angrier, bitter, and unkind. She would lose herself to addiction and physical pain; she would suffer. The third child woud choose a life of hardship, throwing himself into work until his spine literally decayed. He would take his turn with addiction, hide his pain beneath sarcasm and twisted humour. He too would grow old and bitter. And the fourth child...the fourth child would never really recover from the day to end all days, though she would grow older, raising a family she wasnt capable of taking care of. She would marry an abuser, she would learn the desperation of hunger, she would learn how to steal from her own family. She would forget what her family had been made of, in the days before. She would eventually succeed in distancing herself from every member.

And so the bitter shell of a woman grew older, and watched her family fall apart. And one day when her second child lay dying, her youngest estranged, she would turn to her granddaughter in a voice choked with emotion and say "I'm so angry at Bill, sometimes I hate him for leaving me. None of this would have happened." And the granddaughter would recognize in her voice the deep loneliness, the fear, pain and sadness, the regret. And she could offer no more than a hug; for words would not do.

Years would pass, until the lonely old woman who had been ill most of her adult life, grew too ill to care for herself any longer. Although she was not yet 80, and had fought back the notion of living anywhere but on her own, she now found herself in a nursing home. At first her anger and despair grew...she was afraid of all of these "old" people. But gradually she began to make friends, and slowly, like peeling back layers of an onion, the bitter shell of the old woman began to grow softer. And slowly she began to enjoy life again, and there came a day when the words of the old woman did not cut so sharp; there came a day when she laughed. There was a day when the day to end all others was replaced by a new day. There was a day when the world which had stood still for decades suddenly began to turn again.

My memories are twitching like morning in the city

 

Tired Munchkins

Thoughts are oozing from every pore these days. I work, I think. I play, I think. I breathe, I think. I've been thinking a lot about the people from my past; the ones that are seared into my mind. I remember my babysitter as a child...oh how I adored her. She was rough and gruff, covered in tattoo's, large and slightly intimidating. My mother recalls being terrified to leave us there that first day with her. She was in fact a huge softie who worked, played and lived hard. In her time she worked to abolish sterotypes...she gathered us together and taught us sign language so we could communicate effectively with some of the special needs children she took in. To us there was never anything different about our peers. She taught me to understand. With a flash I am drawn to a memory of my grade five teacher...this soft spoken kind hearted woman who taught me to love language as she did. She would praise my stories and poetry, inadvertently making me want to produce better, work harder. She taught me to believe in myself. She taught me pride. And then to the first summer I worked in that beautiful provincial park, where I would meet the first person I would ever really adore. He who would sit up nights on the beach with me talking about life, and uncertainty, but above all else beauty. He who would teach me to love. It all flashes through my mind, memory to memory, person to person, lesson to lesson. 

I wonder if I have left a mark on anyones heart as I have travelled my road. If someone is struck by a memory of me one day when they least expect it. If it makes them stop for a moment and think, smile, dream, believe. I wonder what good I have done in this world, and if I have made a difference, no matter how small.

 

And the world, I`ll turn it inside out

 

Camping

I have been doing a lot of thinking lately. It often happens after a big episode. I sit down and put my life into perspective...where have I been, what have I seen, what have I accomplished, who have I helped along the way? Where do my dreams lie...have things been altered along the path? Where IS the path now anyway, and is it even one I want to take or do I need instead to take a deep breath and rush headlong off the path and into the depths of unknown?

I have been on the Island for nearly two years. Two years in which I have been told countless times to take it slow...little steps at a time, to work really hard and give myself the opportunity to focus on my mental health. "Don't want to relapse." "Don't want to end up back in hospital." "We want a bit more stability". And for two years I have been doing just that. And you know what happened? It is almost laughable actually, looking back. But for every tiny step I took forward, I took five back. I did relapse continually, and I did end up back in hospital~ three times in the two years I've been here. I searched, and pleaded and longed for the elusive stability...and I found none of it. They tell me..."in the grand scheme of things, this is nothing...just a small hiccup." Except, you know something? This is my life. It's mine.

I'm tired of little steps that take me nowhere but backwards. I am ready for giant leaps. Giant leaps. I am ready to take that deep breath and rush headlong into those unknown depths. Look out world, I'm about to turn you inside out.

 

Apparitions

Transit used to make me irrationaly anxious. The thought of it had me wringing my hands, my stomach churning, compulsively checking and rechecking schedules and routes. It wasn't that I was afraid of the bus, but that I was terrified of becoming lost. The navigational compass within my head is, and has always been, defunct. Hand me a map and compass and I'm the best navigator you could wish for, but ask me whether I am supposed to turn right or left at a street...I just cannot visualize it inside of my head. And so for the longest time I had convinced myself that I would board a bus and end up irrevocably lost in some desolate space, unable to find my way home. Until one day I decided I would face my fear. So I boarded the bus, paid my fare...and ended up entirely lost. And it wasn't the end of the world. The bus driver kindly walked me through where I needed to be and how to get there, and I realized all the time I'd been psyching myself out had been a waste. Riding the bus is usually a very enjoyable experience for me. I don't have to drive, so I can be mindful and enjoy.

There is a man at the back who is chuckling quietly to himself and when I glance in his direction, his face is split into a grin. I wish that I could hear the thoughts in his head, listen to the joke, and join in. Another man boards the bus and takes the seat behind me. His head cocks from side to side and his eyes dart back and forth. He moans...once, twice, and grips his parcel tightly. "Shut the fuck up" he hisses through clenched teeth, and he closes his eyes against the sounds. It is quiet on the bus, unusually so. People fear differences, I have learned this lesson and learned it well. At his entrance, a hush has fallen; they are intimidated by the moaning stranger, before he even utters a sound. I take in his posture, curled in tightly against himself, his eyes wild and racing, and wonder what it is he hears that distresses him so badly. I am reminded that all of us get lost. 

On the hospital grounds there are three young women...early 20's? spread out on a blanket in the lush green. They are dressed in as little as possible, soaking up the sun's rays, their tanned bodies turning darker. Not ten feet away sits a young boy with his mother on their own blanket, a sort of picnic. His head is balding, a few strands dangling in various places. I wonder if the mother of this boy rages against the sun worshipping young women. I wonder if she has ever tucked her sick child into bed and waited to hear his soft breathing before going out to her porch and sobbing her pain into the sky. I want to point the sun worshippers in the direction of the child and remind them of the dangers. I wonder if I will ever see them again on the lawns, their blond hair balding, except for strands remaining. I shake my head against the thought. We are all of us only delicate, fallible creatures. We are all of us so very breakable.

Words don`t come easily...like forgive me, forgive me

It is taking me ages to write these days. I stare at the blank screen, my fingers poised over the keys, and it stares right back at me...a vast expansive white cavern. Sometimes I am certain it stares through me...and if I'm not careful, it will swallow me whole. I look hard at the keyboard and will my fingers to type...something, anything. But they don`t. And when they do I find that I am reading it, erasing it, beginning again. Or taking what I have written in agonizingly slow painful hours, and hiding it away to try and continue those few sentences, that one paragraph another day. Only, I never do. I never do, and it sits there, broken and invisible. I`m not entirely sure the reasons behind this, though I suppose I don`t really need a reason. The truth is I`ve been ill again...still...whatever time frame you want to give it. And because I`ve been ill again (still?) I have alternately been very busy with life, and then very busy avoiding life for a long time. And now I am back, and it's just me. Life circumstances aside, it is only me (although as a cliffhanger, I should tell you that I have some exciting things happening that I promise to delve into soon) 

So, I do believe that up there is an apology for not having posted anything for so very very long. Forgive me.

Gently. Gently. Everything is always falling

 

Lost

I wish I could talk to you. I wish I could honestly tell you what it is like here, inside of me. I often think of my brain and body as two separate entities, they seem so often to be that. Only I know it isn't true. This brain that is damaged and broken and causes me so much problem, is merely an extension of heart and lungs and pulse. It is only body, not some overwhelming monster; some high deity reigning and ruling the rest. There is no war.

Outside the grass, dry and brittle, crumbles to dust beneath my feet. In the heat of the day with this dust between my toes I am reminded of ashes. There is a vision in my mind of bones crumbling in my fingertips, turned to ashes and blown away in the wind. The snuffing out of a life.

My brother lives 5000 km away in a quiet little town that sleeps, always three hours ahead of me. He grasps onto straws as he searches for his reasoning, his sense of belonging, his home. His unspoken thoughts deafen me. In our brief snatches of conversation, I am reminded just why he and I fit together so well. Unafraid, unashamed, we giggle incessantly, and laugh, and cry our pain out to the world. We are not hindered in being the only thing we can: ourselves.

"I hardly get to talk to you anymore, it seems so wrong." His words pop onto the screen. 

"I know," I type back, "but it is okay." His image pops into my mind, and it is as though he is there in the room. I think of the days, months, years ahead. My fingers grace the keys. "I love you, you know. Always always."

From five thousand kilometres away, he writes "I love you too, always and forever."

And then I open my fist and let the ashes sift, rise, float, disappear.

 

But you know the summer always brought it; that wild and reckless breeze

 

Kayla

She isn't a little girl anymore. Truth be told, she long ago lost that status. But still, when I look at her, when I talk to her...she's just a lost little five year old, crying for her mama. It's just that now, I don't have to watch her mother walk away.

I got a call from my little munchkin the other day. We've been keeping in touch via instant messenger and facebook. Tay was then and will always remain my little sister...whether or not she is a part of my family. She knows this. It's vital to me that she know this. And so when I got a message asking whether she could call me because she was having "a meltdown" the answer was always going to be an emphatic yes.

I always worried about this little one. For three years as I watched her fight and struggle, battle, prevail, flounder, I always worried. I knew she would be the one to learn every single lesson the hard way. I knew she was in need of help. Mostly I knew that she needed a better life; some stability. Shortly after the family fell to ruins, Tay was shipped off to live with her father. I don't think he's a bad man, it's just, he never knew how to be a father. And so, now he is at a loss with her. A little sooner than I actually thought, but not a surprise to me. And now the little one might be shipped back across the country to live with her Aunt, here in BC. Much like a piece of merchandise ferried away when she is no longer wanted. When I left...when I made that decision to leave... her mother asked me if I would like to take Tay with me. And I thought about it, and in knowing that she needed stability more than anything, something I most definitely didn't have, I decided she needed her mother. And it was a mistake.

Because my 14 year old sister is bogged down with so much hurt and pain and suppressed anger that she will one day explode. Because right now, she is trying every way she can to find a place that feels like home, where she is accepted and feels some sense of safety, no matter how twisted her perception may actually be. Because she rants and raves and explodes, then takes substances to make it all go away for just a little while. Because she is already so broken, but there is much left to break.

Because I know her. I know every piece of her. I know all the complicated bits, even the ones I never understood, are still there inside of her, just waiting to be put back together. Because I know she needs someone to tell her, Hey, you're a good kid, and I'm proud of you. 

And because I can't do all that. Much as I love puzzles, as much as I would like to make her whole, I can only tell her I love her, always have, always will. Because I can only say hey, kid, I'm proud of you. Because I can only let her know that unlike some others, I will always answer the phone when she she needs to talk. 

And I don't know if that is enough.