Tag: survival

A Bright Light Amongst Dark Thoughts

September is suicide prevention month. 

We can talk statistics:

In 2018, 7,254 Albertans visited the Emergency Department for suicide attempts.

50% of all visits were made by YOUTH, ages 0-24.

3 out of 4 suicide deaths are male.

Almost 50% are middle-aged men, ages 40-64. 

63-67% of LGTBQ+ youth, ages 14-25, report thoughts about suicide.

Suicide is 5 to 6X higher for Indigenous youth than non-Indigenous youth.

Every year, more Albertans die by suicide than the number of people who in die in motor vehicle collisions.

But statistics are not the actual people. Statistics aren’t the ones who look into that abyss. Statistics aren’t the ones who can’t look away and get swallowed by it. Statistics aren’t the ones who can look away and crawl out of the abyss’s tar like grip. Statistics aren’t the ones that struggle, to keep those thoughts away.

Suicide is not malicious.

Suicide is not cowardly.

Suicide is not selfish.

Suicide is not loud.

Suicide is not attention seeking.

Suicide is desperate for relief from pain, mental and/or physical.

Suicide is a release from torment.

Suicide is because of being tired of being a burden.

Suicide is to quiet the inner monsters who have stolen the outer voice.

Suicide is when there seems to be no other relief to be found anywhere.

I have lost people to that abyss.

I have almost lost myself into that abyss.

I have had mental health problems since I was a child. Not diagnosed until I was older, but in looking back, markers had been there since my earliest trauma. I am also genetically wired to be susceptible to mental illness and addiction. 

The first time I remember wanting to end my life was maybe a year after my Mother died. I would have been 13. The weight of the shattered pieces of my life were too much. I never had a concrete plan at that time, I was numb then, I  knew I wanted my life to fade to black, to match the way I felt inside. 

I was so full, that I couldn’t feel. It is about the time that the self harm behaviour began. 

Rather than take my life in one swoop, I did it in chunks. I began to outwardly (I’ll be it secretly) hurt myself, as well as engage in risky behaviour. Cutting, underage drinking, taking drugs…… by the age of 15 this included promiscuity too. Allowing myself to remain in violent situations. All with the secret ‘hope’ that one of these things might accidentally go too far, and end me. At least then it would be over and no one’s fault. 

Counselling? Yep… many times over the years. I can relay, in a very dry way the things I have experienced. I can join into my own analyzing with the best of them. The ‘rational” vs ‘non rational’ internal conversation does not change. 

Medication? That too, has been explored in many forms. While I see the wonderful things these meds can offer, I have never found one that has worked effectively for me. 

I have, over the years built weaponry and armour to protect myself and battle the mental monsters that live inside my head. I continually do the work, some days are great, some days are good and some days are hell. Some days I feel engaged with the life around me, other days I am detached and isolated.

There are many facets to my journey in my shadow side. 

I lead a very full life. A career I love, I have the honour of helping people. I am the mother to two incredible humans. I have amazing experiences, adventures and connections.

I carry the battle scars of my life.

Why have I wanted to just not be here? To die? Because it hurts, the world hurts, I am easily wounded, the noises too loud, light to bright, words to harsh, humans too uncaring- it can be an unbelievable amount of pain. I feel invisible, unworthy, damaged, a needy void that will never be satiated. This manifests physical pain at times, and when it doesn’t, I pray it will- to make it easier to explain. The fog that comes with the roaring screams of my mental monsters threatens at times to obscure me. 

It was never as revenge, (they’ll be sorry they were mean to me). It was never for attention or drama, (at least now I will have some attention).

Why am I still here? Some days I can answer confidently and without hesitation. I am loved. I have a job to do. I am needed, I matter. I am determined. I am in love with the magic of life. 

Sometimes it takes me time to answer this, sometimes I am unsure. Sometimes I am angry that I am.

It has been almost three decades since my last ‘serious’, planned attempt. I would love to say those dark feelings are not a part of my current battles with my monsters. But they are there, The underlying whispers behind the screaming refrain of ‘you are not worthy’, ‘you are not needed’, ‘you are not valued’, ‘everyone will see you for the damaged fraud you are.’

I empathize with anyone choosing suicide. I know that desperation. That pain. Not feeling heard. Not feeling seen. Afraid to ask for help, not just because of the courage and vulnerability it takes, but for the fear of being turned away, turned down, ignored.

While I appreciate the attempt to normalize these conversations, the campaigns encouraging people to ask for help, the posters with positive affirmations, etc…..But here in lies the rub, most of us in that real dark place can’t (or won’t ) ask for help, let alone your time. We are frozen on the path. We can’t hear platitudes above the din of the fog. We fundamentally know : “it’s not that bad. It will get better, but……..” 

There are things I have yearned for when I am on that dark side, that I am mindful to offer when I am in the light. 

I have learned the value of sitting with someone in their dark, (holding space), just a hug and quiet acceptance that even in their mess they are valued.

I truly try to listen, validate the pain they are experiencing, their story as they are living it. 

I try very hard not to give advice, (unless asked), most times people just need to speak their truth out loud to hear their own answers they carry.

I try not to point out positivity unless it is sought out, Most often people know the wheel will turn, but they want to talk the moment, not what’s to come. 

I try very much to see the people I engage with, the beauty in their flaws, their wholeness.

I try to be aware, because we all carry some shadow, we all carry some pain and sometimes we all need help. And most times we will not ask.

I try to check in with those that I can, especially given the times we are in. Just to let them know someone is here.

I am not ashamed of my anxiety disorder. 

I am not ashamed for having stared into that abyss. 

I am not ashamed for sharing my story. 

I am humbled I have found a way to remain, when others have not.

For as long as I can, I will Always Keep Fighting. For myself. For you. 

My Steady

Inspired by my encounter with the old man at the train I was called to visit another Old Man on my way home.

Although my to do pile threatens to topple at any moment I had to take the time to come and see my steadfast friend.

He listens with out judgment. He does not tell me I’m dramatic. He lets me lean in, and does not shift away. He has seen my true broken self, heard my anguished cries, my whispers of joy, my tenuous hope and still welcomes me to the quiet safe haven.

I am sinking. I am in pain. I am overwhelmed. I am overwrought. I have failed at so much.

My words feel lost. I feel ungrateful. I feel selfish. I feel invisible. I feel exhausted. I weep at his feet. I try to slow my breath to match his ancient rhythm. I try hard to hear his message from the Gods.

For a moment there is stillness. For a moment the monsters stop talking. For a moment…….

As I take my leave, I let the late summer sun dry my tears. I give thanks for the gift he has been in my life. Off to do battle once more.

Dawn

Dawn is coming later and later now. The cool chill of the navy and grey are what I am met with on my way in the morning. The first hint of light reaching up. At first the darkness still seems oppressive, to push back the coming light. But the golds and oranges gain power as they cut through and begin to illuminate the horizon.

This is symbolic of the ‘always tomorrow’. The light will come, the dark will recede to corners and cliffs.

AKF

Writers Block

I’ve been trying to write for weeks.

It is something that sustains me, it is something that heals me and when I don’t feel heard it as a way to make my voice amplified, to connect and not feel so stuck in my head.

There’s been points in my life where I stepped away from it, much to my detriment.

A few years back, with a renewed energy the stories began to pour out, I committed to working on the shadow side of myself, and from there a few narratives were born. There was some collaboration, tidal wave of inspiration and such trust that the stories and essays would flow.

While this particular bout of writer’s block feels like it came on just after the start of the pandemic, truly, when I look back, it has been a slow death since last fall.

First the fiction. There was the death of two cherished characters. They showed such promise and longevity, and were exhilarating to write.

But unfortunately that once promised epic story has became representative of what has become a bittersweet and painful period for me. In a tortuous narrative, (as devastating as I felt) they met their end. Silenced, stopped in mid journey. In the ether they now languish.

Though I did find the courage just before shut down to submit a short version to a few publications.

There has been a fair amount of interest in what may have come next and some suggestions for editing. The real possibilities to see it in print.

But now I am frozen. I can not bring myself to open the file, to polish it up and let it move forward. I did not anticipate how raw I still feel about all that was lost at that time, including the grief about the two leads. How much I miss them. How much they still have to say.

I’ve been able to hiccup some poems and the odd paragraph out, but even the ability to write essays has withered.

Those are my best connection to navigate the world around me and my mental health. But it has been near impossible to write anything I feel confident with.

I want to add hope, insight and support to the people that read my stuff. But all I can muster is despondent rage, and no adequate words to explain.

Life as we knew it has always had its hardships. But this global clusterfuck has added a layer of grimy soot that has not left anyone untouched.

I wait… wait for the words to come. I hope that there are characters choose to speak. I hope the characters ( myself) I laid waste to may someday forgive me. I wait for wisdom, knowledge and hope to share. I wait for the insight to be able to move through, over, under or around this block that feels insurmountable.

I wait….

Realizations of the soul

I closed my eyes to the sun. It’s early morning fire burning behind my lids. Do the Gods hear me?

I pray the heat ignites my determination. Keep moving forward, it’s the only place to go.

Pull the brambles from my cloak as I keep moving towards the light, away from this dark bog, fraught with prickles, poisonous thorns and things that bite from the shadows.

I call out, the echo answers.

Exhausted, my flesh longs to rest on the cool moss, allowing the bog to swallow me whole.

Slow through the mud, each step a 1000 pounds.

Will I find myself? Will I find the soul kin I believed were there? Was this all just a theatre for the trickster’s amusement?

When I was nameless, I could feel them, hear them.

I claimed my name, they faded violently from my grasp.

I open my eyes to the sun. Memories serve only to puncture.

The only message from the Gods is too keep moving, nameless once again.

Moon

I closed my eyes. Let Her silver glow wash over me.

The words I long to have heard, I speak to Her through still lips.

The coolness of the air prickling my skin, little reminders of how alive I really am.

My cheeks are wet, I am comforted by her soft embrace.

Blessed are the children of the Moon, for no Mother is more forgiving of our shortcomings than She.

DM.

TFTFL: Virus Interruptus- This Effing Sucks

I have been wrestling with much in my head. There is so much I want to write, so many pieces to our current situation I want to dissect and understand. But nothing was coming. It’s a jumble. So I shall begin with myself. Not the science of the virus. Not the frustration with the politic. Not with the frustration of the public. Not the admiration of humanity. But with me. In my heart I know the majority of you out there are going to share in much of what I am saying. I know fundamentally my experience is not unique. I know that some people are in far more dire circumstances than I. 

When this viral freight train started baring down on the place where I live, I made some very conscious decisions for my mental health. I would limit negative and hysterical social media. Look to reputable resources for information. Stay in contact with trusted people. Be of service when and where I can. Get rest, eat responsibly and follow my self care plan. Ask for help when I need. Be easy on myself about my daily to do lists. 

With every rise in number affected, hysterical reaction (toilet paper?! I mean come on…), good and questionable government response, restriction of places to go and number of people to see, I kept to my plan.

The last few days have gotten harder. Where I am, we are near the start of the third week of ‘social distancing.’ The restrictions have continued to tighten as portions of the public are not heeding the advice of the very well trained doctors. nurses and scientists. This is frustrating, and by far one the scariest pieces to this. People’s need to be extreme, it either complete lockdown, or just amble along and what ever will happen will happen. The fear, frustration and confusion are palpable for this Empath. Even sitting in the quiet dark of the early morning as I am now, when I am disconnected from the internet and tv, I can feel it lapping at me, like ocean waves moving up the beach at high tide. I have been diligent about checking in on people I care about. Knowing that this situation negatively impacts mental health and communication and support are key. But we are all feeling it and the struggle to maintain balance is getting harder.

I had read an account from someone in China, where they are much farther down this path than we are, that the third week is the hardest. That after that point, it was almost a resignation to the new normal. We are in the start of week three here, and I feel my hope shrinking, I feel the isolation eating at me.

In the last few days, my wide circle of support has shrank, everyone is trying to come to their own terms of what this means financially, physically and emotionally for their own immediate families. The fear is rising as there is much confusion and frustration trying to access programs for financial help, figure out education for our kids and try to gauge what are the normal responses to this very abnormal situation. So they are closing ranks, closing down. Even within my home, where thankfully I am not alone, I have my husband and my daughter. Each of us trying to manage our own and help each other. But the fractures are beginning to show.

My husband still has his job, the hours are iffy, but we are thankful. He is our house’s designate to go out into the ghostly world. It is scary out there, it is different. I don’t envy that. He is inundated with being out there, so he is remiss to discuss much of it when he gets home, he is quite silent as he is trying to cope with his stress response to this. At first this wasn’t the case, there was still lively discourse and positivity that this is all temporary. But it is wearing on him. He doesn’t want to rehash the politic or the new numbers, he sees it all day long. He is frustrated. He is tired.

My eleven year old daughter is trying to come to grips with the loss of school, dance and her social circle. I am trying to help her navigate assimilating all of this, keep her engaged, entertained and educated. She has no sibling in the house with which to spend time with. She uses social media, but I am the only warm human body in the house all day, and given how scary the world is, I am the one she is stuck to. She is frustrated, scared and bored.

I love these two with my whole heart. I deeply care for my friends and clients as well. I have been doing my best to forage ahead, plan, encourage, support and acknowledge the individual feelings. I have done my best to stay informed enough to calmly pass along good information. 

The last two days have been by far the hardest. I have not been reaching out just to check in on others, but I have been reaching out for my own mental health. When the question comes of “how are you?” I pass it off with a trite- ‘surviving like the rest of us.’ But with it wearing on all of us, I have not felt I can speak up much, desperately wanting someone to ask, or at the very least see me. I feel guilty complaining. It feels wrong asking for the type of support I know others need, probably worse than I do. I feel weak for whining. I feel bad saying I need.

I need adult interaction. I need recognition that I too have lost my job, part of my identity. I am not in my element homeschooling, I am afraid, I am angry, I am terrified how this is affecting my child and I am not doing the right things to safe guard her emotionally and mentally. I don’t know the right thing to do. I feel lesser than, because I am not contributing to my household financially. I feel useless I can not treat my clients.

I need it acknowledged that MY feelings are valid and worthy of compassion and space to express, not comparison, overridden or “well it’s everywhere and we are all going through this, others have it worse.” I need it acknowledged that I am grieving the temporary loss of my jobs, which are a major way that I am able to help others. 

I need it acknowledged that in navigating the responsible restrictions we have been given, I have had to give up an important parts of my own self care. Therefore my body pain is staying elevated, my anxiety is humming. This in turn is making some of my other selfceare avenues of exercise and meditation harder. I need my tears dried. I need it acknowledged that for me, right now, this FUCKING SUCKS DONKEY BALLS. I need a big hug. 

And so, after a good cry in the bathroom, or in the dark of the early morning, after venting blindly to you my readers, I will get on with it. I will check in and still help where I can. I will cheerlead, I will support, I will navigate, I will educate. I will cook, clean, try to bring something helpful and beautiful to the world. I will get on with it. You will get on with it. We will get on with it.

Thank you for reading. Be kind. Be smart. Be aware. Be compassionate. 

Clear Eyes

The ground is shifting

Everything is moving, yet we have to be still.

Come together to agree to separate.

The language is frightening

The reality of how frail our system built around money has become. 

Lives of many have been sacrificed for the economics of the few.

We can feel the disconnect,

Fear sits in the place of loneliness

Money rules, the masses

Rewards the few

But nature will still prevail

To show how fragile we are when separated

What is she really telling us?

We have come together, collectively 

To sing to one another

Keeping distant, to remain together

She is showing us where the cracks are

Reminding us where the power lies.

Don’t be afraid

There is a stillness

The system is rearranging

It is uncomfortable

It is scary

But we have each other