The darkness.

The darkness is here.

And it’s just like I remembered it being.

No fail every fall it comes for me. And now living in a basement suite, it feels so much worse than ever before. I know that it’s sunny outside because I went to the kitchen window and looked up at the sky. It was a perfect blue. But that didn’t change the way that I felt.

Woke up around 10:00 am and didn’t feel like it was enough sleep. 10 hours sleep is more than enough. Went to the kitchen to put on my tea and make my breakfast shake. Then came back to bed, this time turned the light on.

I’ve been sitting in bed for half an hour, checking all the different things on my phone that make me feel more connected. I dreamt of my daughter again last night and this time she was texting me, and we were hanging out after school. It felt so real. Maybe that’s why I wanted to stay asleep today.

But now I’m up, and my phone is still in my hand. My tea is still steeping, which means it’s probably going to taste off.

But the darkness is here for me. I should go set up my therapy light and park my butt at the kitchen table. I have so many papers to write for school. I have so much to do, but somehow I feel the grip of darkness.

It’s holding me down right now. It’s so familiar. It doesn’t want me to succeed. It just wants me to stay right here, in bed.

I’m standing now, I’m going to put my tea in a mug and sit down at the table. I’m going to plug my light in, and wait. 

I’m just going to drink my tea and wait for the darkness to retreat a bit.

Winter blues.

My mom knows me so well, that everytime she says anything in the form of advice I should listen to her immediately.

Like how yesterday on the phone she reminded me to use the light therapy box I have, because it was that season again. Not even that it’s this season, but also that living in a basement suite makes life feel dark all the time now.

I had my appointment with my academic advisor and she was very impressed with how organized I was to get all my ducks in a row for entry into the degree program. It’s a good thing I went and saw her though because there is nine extra classes I need to take to complete my degree. It didn’t show specifics on the degree sheet, so I had no idea. I was frustrated at first because I didn’t want to take more courses, but then I got to looking at what I can take. Everything from figure drawing, to criminal justice. 9 classes of my own desires as long as they fall under arts and science. This umbrella is huge and now I’m even more excited about school.

I got two more A- marks, one was on an in class assignment which technically was a midterm. I’m just waiting for one midterm mark back, but so far I’m still a straight A student. I’m starting to get used to the feeling of success. I feel good about the way my life is going. 

But… I’m still in bed. 

I’m sitting here in the dark, because my body is saying that’s what I need. I know this is a lie. I don’t need to hide in the dark.

I have too much homework to do, I need to get up. I feel the winter blues coming.

I think I need a meeting.

Grieving.

It’s after 10 in the morning. I slept in, because I didn’t want to wake up. When I woke up at 8 I forced myself to go back to sleep. I wasn’t ready for today. I don’t want to cry.

Now it’s almost 10:30. I have put my tea on, fed the cat, taken my meds and made my breakfast shake. It was so hard to get up, but I know that I don’t need so much sleep. I was actually in bed around 7:30 last night. My thoughts are all over the place. 

I’m waiting for my hair straightener to heat up, and so I’m surfing through Facebook. It’s #jayday today, and it’s just a day of remembering Jason. Yesterday I waved the white flag in the form of a letter. I can’t be mad at him anymore. Yesterday was a beautiful sunny day. I was forced to take the scenic route home from school because of nightmare traffic. Every ten minutes I wanted to stop the car and just sit and be present. It’s like the day opened up for my Mom to have such a beautiful sunny perfect day, and everything kept telling me to drive to her. Except my tires. I didn’t have the right tires. 

And now today, is rain. I can hear it hitting the window ledge outside my bedroom window. I can only imagine how miserable it is outside. Yesterday was like waving the white flag and the day was perfect. Today is the day the grief comes.

Because I didn’t loose my brother the day he died. I lost him many years before that.  And just before he died was when it started to feel like I was finally getting my brother back.

So today I am no longer mad at him, now I am just grieving.

Jason, I forgive you.

Jason,

I need to write this letter today, because I need to send it out to the universe before tomorrow. I can’t hold this stuff inside of me anymore, because your life and death is actually breaking me. I can’t think about your suicide without thinking of all the other things that fell apart right after it. I lost my daughter, your niece – at the same time that we lost you. It just took a little longer for her to disappear. I sometimes feel like it’s your fault. But like you wrote in your suicide letter, that you wanted us to take care of neko, you didn’t want her turning out like you. You spelled her name wrong, even in the picture you drew for her. I don’t blame you, because you didn’t know any better. You had no idea because you weren’t around when she was born.

But you took the time to come and meet her, and stay with us and that was important. It was important because for my whole life all I could remember was that you hated me. And I wasn’t sure why. I tried to protect you from being bullied when we were in elementary school. I also tried to protect you from being bullied in high school. I remember that I used to have dreams where I would write you a letter, and I would hang the letters from my ceiling in my bedroom because I was too scared to give them to you. But the letters told you that I loved you, and that I was your sister. I would tell you how much we were alike, and that you should stop hating me. This was a re-occuring dream and every time I would wake, I would feel refreshed like I had finally accomplished something. That we could move on, as a family. That we were mended. But I would soon realize that it was in fact a dream. A dream that would never happen.

You hated me so much, and I still don’t know why. I look at pictures from when we were children, and the way I looked at you. I adored you. You can see that I really looked up to my big brother.

When did you start hating me? Why did you hate me?

You got in trouble and came back to BC from Alberta. I found out you were on your way over to my house in North Van, and my jaw almost dropped to the floor. I just couldn’t believe it.

But you set aside your pride to come and stay with me and your niece. You sat with us at the dinner table. This was so important. I still have that dining room set. It’s sitting outside my suite door, because I can’t use it anymore. You asked me one time if you could take your niece to McDonalds down the street. I was so happy, we were finally connecting. My daughter was the key to us becoming brother and sister again. You took her in her stroller and came back over an hour later. I would love to know what you talked to an 8 month old about.

I remember coming home one time to you laying on the wooden steps into our basement suite. You had a pillowcase filled to the brim with food for us. You looked just like Robin Hood. We ate well after you brought this food. We didn’t have much at that time, because I was in school and money was almost non-existent.

I wish I could have done more. I feel like I should have. When you were laying on the floor of my livingroom, and you were talking about having nothing to live for. I told you that you did and it was your niece. You had her to live for. You pulled down the bandana off your wrist and showed me the mark and said you tried to kill yourself. That you won’t go to the psych ward. I was so lost in my own problems, that I didn’t take it seriously. I thought you were stronger than that. I thought we were stronger than this.

You had taken a lifetime of anger that you had towards me, and set it aside. You lay it to rest and came to my house. You met your niece. You sat at our dinner table with us. You cared.

You cared, so I thought you were stronger than that. I thought you had grown up.

I feel like I have so much to say, but there isn’t the right words to say it. I’m in University now, and I often think the only reason I am alive today, is because you died. That if you hadn’t died, I would have had to. Because every time I wanted to kill myself – I would think about what your suicide did to our family. I couldn’t die, because you did.

I am so fucking mad at you. That is what this boils down to. Why didn’t you want help? Who told you that the psych ward was such an awful thing? Who told you that your life didn’t matter? Why the fuck did you kill yourself the day after mom’s birthday? I am so mad at you. Why DID YOU KILL YOURSELF? You never even gave yourself a chance. I am SO FUCKING MAD AT YOU.

I need to let you go. I need to say goodbye, because you are killing me. You are killing me at the exact same time that I feel you are leading me through life. You are one of the reasons I am going to be a social worker. Because nobody should have to feel the only option left is suicide. Because everyone matters. Because of you, I will try my hardest at becoming the person that I never thought I could be. I am going to do this for you, because you didn’t get the chance to.

Jason, I forgive you.

Torn.

I made the rule about 4 years ago, that today would only ever be the celebration of my mom’s birthday. We wouldn’t talk, think or even breathe about the events that happened tomorrow, from our past.

Because for so many years my mom didn’t have a birthday. It didn’t matter whether there was a celebration because tomorrow would always come. 

Her birthday would blend into the next day, which was never a cause for celebration.

And I see now how hard it would be for her to seperate the two days. 

And today, I want to drive the 3 hours to see her, but I have a midterm this afternoon. I don’t want her to be alone today, because my dad still works down here in the mainland and she is up in Peachland. 

I am almost sure this will be my mom’s first birthday alone, and it’s breaking me to pieces. Because she shouldn’t be alone today, she should be out eating all the foods and celebrating with all the good people in her life. 

But she’s not. 

And now I am plotting how I can get to her house with my tires that are not ready for the winter. And my tank which is almost on empty. And the daylight that threatens to go down, just as I would be halfway there. 

I’m feeling really torn right now, I just want to be with my mom. She is where my strength and courage has come from, she is the bravest person I know, and I don’t think she should be alone right now.

I’m just torn.

I want to be a social worker.

It turns out my counselling appointment was canceled yesterday, by voicemail. But I didn’t answer the call because I was in class, and I didn’t check the voicemail because I thought it was just a confirmation call.

So I didn’t get to talk today about the thoughts that weigh heavy on me, but I did decide to extend my education.

Last week a seed was planted in my mind, when my practicum teacher asked me if I was planning to go forward to the BSW program, and get an actual degree. To become an actual social worker. To which I replied, no. I am only being funded for 2 years, which will be only applicable for the diploma program.

He told me how wonderful it would be to go all the way to the degree, and how great of a social worker I would be. 

I brushed it off because there was no options. There was no way I could go forward. 

And it sat, right in my stomach. It made me feel like a diploma just wasn’t enough anymore. I was so proud of what my goal was, but it wasn’t going to be enough to establish a career that could change anything. Like it felt like I was going to school to become a plumber, and suddenly I was told that the diploma would only make me a plumbers helper, and not an actual plumber. That I couldn’t call myself a plumber unless I stayed for two more years.

So I planned, and I brewed. I emailed back and forth with the teacher, and from what he told me it sounds like this isn’t just his opinion that I would do great work, but that another one of my teachers also holds the same opinion.

I brewed and I stewed. Then I went through the BSW program outline, and I rearranged my classes and added a few that are required for the degree.

Just minutes ago I received confirmation that I have an appointment at 10 in the morning with my program advisor, on the same day that’s the anniversary of my brothers 15 year suicide. 

I feel like he’s guiding me. I feel like our distance for almost our whole lives, and his short lived life – is part of the equation that is bringing me to do better for myself. To do better for those people who need someone to walk with them. To guide them in change.

Because he was scared of help. And I want to be a part of that solution for the future. 

I’m working towards getting my Bachelor of Social Work degree now, instead of just my diploma. Because I know that my life has amounted to more than just being a ‘helper’ of a profession.

I want to be a social worker.

I am scared.

I don’t have class today, but I do have a counselling appointment at school. 

I am putting my makeup on, just as I do every morning. This is actually something fairly new to me, as it’s only been since I got sober that I started to wear makeup everyday. I couldn’t afford it before, and also didn’t see a point. I didn’t want to be seen.

Today it feels pointless though. It feels pointless because there is so much grief that is living inside of me, and this time of the year things are really heavy. They are so heavy. My counsellor is going to ask me how I am doing, and I will tell her. I will tell her that school is going great, because I am applying myself. That today I am two years sober and clean. That everything is great. 

But.

There is always a but. And those years are just resting against the back of my eyelids. There is nothing brave about holding it in, and I’ve been holding it in for so long. I’ve never actually talked to any professional about the things that have happened in my life, other than my family doctor. And that doesn’t even skim the surface.

What should I tell her? What shouldn’t I tell her? I don’t think I’m ready for this. I didn’t even ask for this appointment, she booked me in for two more appointments after my last. She called them crisis appointments. 

There is just so much to say. But not enough words. I don’t think I’m ready to talk. I don’t think I will be able to stop crying once I start.

I feel so heavy right now. I’m on the verge of tears because there is so much inside me.

I don’t want to talk about all the things that have happened in the last 15 years. I don’t want to feel anything right now, because feeling things is really confusing.

It feels like if I open my mouth there will be an avalanche. I don’t know how to survive an avalanche.

I feel like a mountain of strength, filled with hot lava. This is so confusing. I don’t want to talk, because it’s going to hurt too much. Because the truth is, everyday I think about the losses of that October 15 years ago. I live inside the past every single day, even though I appear to be present – I am not. Because the losses haunts me every single day.

I am scared.

October’s.

I am getting straight A’s in University and I can’t stop crying. It doesn’t matter what I think about I just keep crying.

It started out because my boyfriend made a point about anytime that he disagrees with something I say, I get super defensive. I do, I get up in arms about things. Because I don’t know how to be not defensive. I take everything that is said to me, that involves me – super personally.

I am so broken. I am so fucked up. I can’t even communicate properly with the person I love. I don’t know how to communicate because I feel like I don’t even belong in this body.

I was bawling my eyes out driving home and it felt like the same thing that has been happening to me alot within the past few months. I feel like I go out of my body, and someone else is in it. Like they are sitting in my body but I am seeing through their eyes. Like I’m wearing a mascot costume and I can see through the eye holes, but there is distance. 

There is so much distance between me and everything that’s happening to me.

Tomorrow will be my 2 and a half year sober and clean date. This is amazing. This is outstanding, but I can’t stop crying. I feel like I will never know how to not be all up in arms. I feel like I can’t really change these horrible defense mechanisms I have picked up over the years. I have developed these things that I have because they protect me. They keep me safe.

I feel like when I decided to change my life, that I was just dropped into someone’s body. I was dropped into someone’s life and I don’t even recognize myself. I don’t know who this body belongs to, because I often don’t recognize it. 

I’ve stopped crying now, but it’s only because I’m sitting in the dark, hiding. I have so much work to do, but I don’t feel like I have it in me right now.

I hate October’s. I don’t want to think about why I hate October’s because I will start crying again.

Next Thursday is the 15 year anniversary of my brothers suicide, and the day that everything changed.  I didn’t just loose my brother, I lost my family for years, I lost my daughter, I lost my mind, I lost touch with reality.

Everything changed, and I stayed the same – I stayed in my addiction because it was my destiny. My worth was found in the bottom of a meth pipe.

And now I am a straight A University student and I can’t stop crying.

#metoo

I’m sitting in the car, listening to the rain pour down all around me. That sound, combined with the dryness of my car – is like freedom to me. Every single time I am in my car I am reminded about where I was, and where I am.

Everytime I’m going somewhere, I am really actually deeply reminded that I am going somewhere. 

My first class doesn’t start until almost an hour from now, and then my afternoon class I have my second mid term. I intended to get here early to get some studying done but I find myself too comfortable sitting here in recollection of all the good in my life.

Then something keep popping up on my feed. It’s this #metoo movement, where people are opening the door to speak about whether they have ever been sexually harrassed or assaulted. I have been wanting to put #metoo but I don’t feel like the weight has been heavy enough.

Like just being treated like an object, wasn’t enough. Because really – I think that I thought I wanted it. As an adult, I always felt like I was asking for it. Because I thought that’s where my value lay.

I have always thought that I didn’t have it bad, because I was never raped. Like attacked by someone and forced to have sex. But there have been times, when I was younger and I trusted the men I was hanging out with. 

I trusted them, and they took something from me.

This was back in the day of dial up chatboards, where the girls were all in their teens and most of the guys were pushing twenty, or well into their twenties. I was attention seeking, I wanted to be acknowledged as something worthy. 

I remember going to a new year’s party at the sysop’s house. Sysop means system operator. He was a really nice guy, and I never felt anything but friendship with him. I felt safe, so I went to his house party and hung out with all my virtual friends, in real life.

I had a small bottle of sambuca, and I remember chugging it. I thought I was pretty cool, but I was an absolute lightweight and I was wasted. I had my analog camera that I had signed out from photography class with me and someone grabbed it and took a picture of me sitting on the couch talking to some girl. The camera flash did something to me, and I ended up vomiting all over the couch only seconds after the photo was taken. I still have that photo in my box of old black and white developed photos from high school.

So after that camera flash, I ended up outside in his backyard – kneeled down on the concrete just at the edge of the grass. This is what I remember. 

Then I remember two guys standing over top of me, and they told me they were pissing on me, but I think it turned out to be beer they were pouring on me. I couldn’t do anything because I was so wasted, I couldn’t even defend myself. I stayed in this kneeling position.

One of my ‘friends’ who was much much older than me, came to save me. He brought me inside, and layed me down right next to the fire. He gave me a blanket, and I felt thankful, but I felt too warm. Something happened, and when I woke up his fingers were inside of me. And he didn’t stop. And I couldn’t say no, because why would I? Isn’t this what young girls are for? Entertaining older men?

I didn’t say no. So was it my fault?

I remember going in and out on consciousness, and wondering when he was going to stop. Why wasn’t anyone stopping him? We were laying right out in the open. Why was he doing this to me? The fire was so hot, it was making me feel even more sick. His fingers wouldn’t go away. But I was finally validated.

I knew what my value was.

And even after that I still would talk to him through that virtual chatroom. And even when I joined Facebook, I looked for him. Is that not fucked up? That I looked for someone – numerous times – that sexually violated me, but I didn’t say no.

And it wasn’t him having sex with me.

So it couldn’t have been that bad.

I am ready.

Tomorrow morning I have my first midterm and I feel confident. 

I am not scared.
I am the opposite of all the things I thought I would feel right in this moment. Something is happening inside of me, and it feels like growth.

It feels like the sickness is slowly taking the back burner. Like I am starting to finally find my footing, after over 20 years of missteps and mostly regrets.

I still can’t stop clearing my throat, but I am going to give it a few more days of the recommendation of my family doctor. If nothing changes, I will go back. 

I got my grade back for my final paper proposal, the one that almost made me quit school. I got an A-. I feel like I am the person I only ever dreamed I could be. All of the assignments I have completed so far have been A’s. I am better than I told myself that I was.

I dreamed when I was a young girl that I would be the strong woman that I am today. That I would find my voice, that I would find my truth.

My counsellor told me that sometimes things come out in strange forms from the body. That the issue with my throat could mean that I feel like I have something to say, but I am not saying it.

Because that’s the truth in many ways. There is so much to be said, so much to be done. There is so much truth that I need to speak but I don’t yet have the backbone or the structure to be able to properly express myself. 

I am learning. I am growing.

I am ready.