My Mask Removed

I haven’t been looking at the Daisies and Bruises reader statistics for a while. I’ve been feeling too rushed, too tired, and unworthy. My inner self-talk has said, “I’m so lucky to have the few readers that I have. I’d better not even look at the numbers so I don’t get depressed, because my writing isn’t good. Let’s get this pointless post over with.”

I think I’d started to believe that the  number of comments equals the number of page views, and so I felt like, “Why bother writing at all?”

So I was totally surprised to see last night that my record page count per day had a recent date. My record day has stayed the same forever up until August 17, 2012 when the view count broke the  record at 263 page views. Hmm.

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Live and Learn

 

“Live and learn” is a common enough phrase, but how often do we inspect it? The phrase is often paired with “experience,” that dreaded word we use when we’re trying to put a positive spin on a mistake. This past week has taught me that we can live and learn in good ways, too, believe it or not.

The feedback you gave me on my last two posts have put me in a better head space. After reviewing the faux documentary A Necessary Death as an extremely triggering film, some readers expressed interest in seeing the movie after reading my blog post. Alarmed, I considered removing my post, but first I asked you for advice. You awesome readers told me that what triggers me may not necessarily trigger other people and that some people might actually benefit from watching the movie since everyone is different. I realized that I’d been feeling overprotective of my readers and learned to let go a bit.

I also had a new living and learning experience today when I flipped back in my journal to find that my car crash was exactly one year ago today. Honestly, it feels like it happened over a year ago because of all the changes it brought forth.

After walking and taking the bus everywhere for a month as I adjusted to my car-free life, I decided to move closer to downtown. BEST DECISION EVER! The apartment I found is perfect for me and now I can say that not only do I love the building I’m in, I’ve made so many new friends as a result of making this place my home. Two out of the four tenants in my house have pugs. Not just dogs, PUGS. My third neighbour loves dogs and loves crafts and is the nicest and funnest person I’ve met in a long time. Within a month or two of moving here, I got my own puppy who turned into a further catalyst, propelling me to meet tons of other people in my new neighbourhood.

I can’t believe how much my life has improved as a result of my car accident. Of course, I hate having lost my car, but really, I think it was worth it. Instead of driving everywhere, now I walk or ride my bike, experiencing my city at a whole new level. Errands take me longer than they used to but now I feel less rushed and stressed by going at a slower pace. I have new friends that sneaked into my life in the most subtle of ways, making a profound impact over time.

There’s some proof for both you and I that the “bad” changes we experience — those events that are out of our control — can invite really good changes into our lives. Like I’ve said before, change is good, whether or not it feels good at the time. So now, a year older, I can recognize that living and learning doesn’t always have to mean something negative. By living, I’m learning that life is full of surprises and it is possible for those surprises to be good.

If we stick around long enough, we will see that even the bad changes over to good eventually. It might not always, but it does happen, and those good things make the bad easier to live with.

How has your life changed in the past year? Did any good come out of the bad?

Remembering the Montreal Massacre

Today is the twenty-second anniversary of the Montréal Massacre, during which a twenty-five-year-old male, Marc Lépine entered the École Polytechnique and after separating the men and women, opened fire on the women. He shot twenty-seven people, killing fourteen women total.

My family lived in Montréal the year before the massacre, but moved here to London, Ontario in 1989. Since I was only four at the time I don’t remember hearing about the tragedy when it occurred but certainly learned about it as I grew up.

The usual knot in the pit of my stomach is tighter today but I can’t name the feeling. Fear? Anger? Disgust? All of the above.

The Wikipedia article touches on the fact that a psychiatrist visited the shooter’s family, trying to make sense of why Marc Lépine committed such a heinous crime. Other psychiatrists analyzed his suicide note and researched Lépine’s childhood abuse, questioning whether he had a personality disorder or was experiencing psychosis that caused him to turn violent.

I feel angry when mental illness is a topic of conversation around murder. Yes, there is always the possibility that mental illness plays a role in murder (as in the recent Greyhound murder of Tim McLean) but the truth is that nine times out of ten, people want to explain the inexplicable by calling the murderer “crazy.” It’s safer to think that someone out of their mind would do such outrageous things, not just a regular person. Not your neighbour down the street, not someone that goes through the Tim Horton’s drive thru every morning. But up until December 6th, 1989, Marc Lépine was just like anybody else.

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Mono No Aware

Mono no aware is the bittersweet realization of time passing, sometimes tinged with the feeling of it not being enough. The phrase is Japanese, sometimes symbolized in cherry blossoms because of their short blooming times. I researched the concept and its tie-in with cherry blossoms before deciding they would be part of my first tattoo. The cherry blossoms in my tattoo symbolize for me the importance of capturing the beauty of life as it’s in front of me because I know it will not last.

Lately, I seem books and movies with the theme of mono no aware are drawing my attention. I often don’t realize the theme until I finish the book or movie. I suppose that explains why I recently reread Never Let Me Go. Kazuo Ishiguro‘s work in general holds that theme and I’m slowly working through his collection of novels. Haruki Murakami‘s work is also reflective of the theme but I finished all of his books a while ago. He needs to write some more! Tonight I watched Miranda July’s latest movie, The Future, which also embraces mono no aware.

I am finding that treating mental health can often be about self-reflection, understanding one’s story that led up to the illness. I have reflected so much on my life experiences that sometimes I feel like I’m an old woman sitting alone hanging on to old memories, aware that her life has passed her by. Sometimes I think about all the pain I’ve been through and think that I’ve reached my full potential — that this is as good as it’s ever going to get. It’s all downhill from here. Then, I have to look in the mirror and say, “Erin, you are only twenty-six! You still have your whole life ahead of you!” Then I feel even crazier for talking to myself.

Has anyone else experienced that kind of sadness about their life passing? I’m guessing that it’s somewhat universal, that we all start thinking that way once we reach our adult years. None of us are getting our childhood or our teenage years back. I’m fairly certain that those of us in therapy feel it more intensely. What do you think?

Everything Does Not Happen for a Reason

Let’s get one thing straight: everything does NOT happen for a reason.

People say that kind of thing to put a positive spin on life’s upsets, but there is a time and a place for that kind of thinking. For example, tell one of the victims of Japan’s recent earthquake that everything happens for a reason. Tell someone who has just been diagnosed with AIDS that everything happens for a reason. How about the people watching their children starve in the Horn of Africa right now? You’d have to be a fucking asshole to tell them that everything happens for a reason.

But don’t worry, because there is hope for that line of thinking. Everything does not happen for a reason, but you can change your line of thinking and find a positive outcome that could become a ‘reason’ in your mind. After a certain amount of time has passed, you can look back on something negative and look at the fallout. Maybe the negative event put change into motion and change can be good.

For example, as you know I had a car accident about a month ago where my car was totaled during which many people told me, “Everything happens for a reason!” I responded politely but internally I was throwing a temper tantrum because losing my car was not what I wanted. The only reason apparent to me at the time was that life is unfair and it likes to screw with me.

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More Questions Than Answers

Last night I dreamed that captors were  going to cut out my tongue and sew my lips shut. I covered my mouth with my hands but then worried about the fate of my fingers, as if by showing them my captors would remember my ability to write and thwart that too. I woke up exhausted but frantically fought against tumbling back into my nightmare.

I decided that writing would be the best antidote to the fear and panic delivered to me in my dreams but find myself equally paralyzed. Or rather, I am writing but feel overexposed and unsure of my footing. Do you ever suddenly question what you know you can do? I know I can write and use my voice and deep down I know there are things that I do want to tell you, but then something in my life messes that up. Something scares me or makes me hold back and then I get  bitter when other people are reaching their dreams but I am not.

Have you ever been threatened not to tell something? I have. That threat shapes your days and your nights and makes you feel as if someone has cut off your tongue. But your heart screams that it is your story to tell. It happened to you and it’s real. That threat makes me feel like my urge to write is a curse, but I will not give in. Not yet.

As you can see, my life is composed of more questions than answers. Life will answer them for me in time.

More Grains, Less You?

I am Sam was on tv last night and never having seen it before I decided that I needed to put an end to the outrageous exclamations of, “OMFG THAT’S THE BEST MOVIE EVER, YOU HAVE TO SEE IT!!!” So I watched it, and even though I think some parts were cut out to make it tv-length appropriate, it was a great movie and I got a lot out of watching it.

The message that stayed on my mind until this morning, however, was one expressed in a Multi-grain Cheerios ad during one of the commercial breaks.

“MORE GRAINS, LESS YOU.”

At first I was pissed off, thinking that it’s yet another diet commercial out there in which a person of healthy weight to compares herself to her underweight friend, asking how she lost the weight, insinuating that we all have to be  underweight to be considered healthy or attractive. Then I realized that the final slogan of the commercial is not about weight at all. The writers of the commercial think that they summed up weight loss in a nice pretty package but they don’t say, “More grains, less fat” or “More grains, less body mass.” They said, “Less you.”

Therein lies the concept that fuels eating disorders, the one that says we are too much. Not our bodies – though our bodies suffer the consequences of that line of thinking – but we as people, individuals taking up too much room.

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Awakening Truth

Although there are several titles I have saved up in my head that I would like to purchase, instead I bought a young adult novel today at Chapters called The Whole Truth. I came across the title on amazon.com, the silhouette and bold colours catching my eye. Then of course, I saw Kit Pearson as the author and it was as good as sold. For once my closest book store had many copies in stock, as they should for such a phenomenal Canadian writer.

I’m twenty pages in and already I feel myself in the safe haven that Pearson’s Awake and Dreaming provided for me from the moment I picked it up at the age of nine. From then on it was practically my bible and I always had it with me, especially when things were at their worst. It enforced some of my favourite survival methods while giving me a friend to share them with. At one point I even named my private journal after the main character in the novel, Theo, and would begin each entry as if it were a letter to her alone.

Theo was the only other girl I had heard of that also withdrew into silence to survive. I’d mastered what I thought to be an art at the time – dissociation – but Theo made me feel okay about it. I began to consider the world and its troubles as material instead of pure pain and by planning to use it as a future writer I mastered my fate. For every thing the world took from me, I could bring back on my own terms.

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