I haven’t known what I’ve wanted to say on the page for a while I’ve been walking around having a lot of conversations with myself. I’m in this place that I’m not used to; I’ve discussed it in therapy. It is really strange for me to be in a place of recovery of sorts but be able to tell myself that on the bad days. Yesterday I was convinced that was it; I was depressed, DEPRESSED again. I slept most of the weekend and sleep hadn’t been coming easy to me and I was just out of it. Friday night was particularly hard.  When you are used to having suicidal thoughts almost daily for an extended period of time and then all of sudden you have healthy thoughts and then when you have a bad day you can say oh im having a bad day and then when day three of bad days rolls around and the suicidal thoughts re enter the picture it fucking sucks.

I cried myself to sleep Friday night picturing new and exciting ways to knock myself off which weren’t limited to tying the sheet around my neck attaching it to the bed post (we have a poster bed frame) and letting myself fall out of bed. Fucking horrible. It makes me realize how lucky I am to have been feeling so well for a long while now it is draining it took me till I woke up today to fully snap out of it, yesterday we and my new Neko t-shirt did make it out for a walk but I wasn’t in an instant good mood.

My bad days have been bad but Saturday was the first day where I woke up beating myself up for the images I fell asleep with and told Adam about all of the ways I thought of and how much it sucked that the feelings were back and that day was a fucking write off and then yesterday I was still cunty pants. My therapist was all proud of me for actually being able to sit in my apartment and do nothing and be HAPPY about DOING NOTHING. And all I could think of was how quickly I’d regressed how easy it was to slip how I couldn’t even remember what the trigger was I can’t remember what took it over the edge to wanting to off myself.

So there is a part of me that is really proud because my parents and I are still doing well, I’m doing well, I know when to hold em and when to fold em I’ve been rocking out on the happy bus and then I fell off and got run over real good. I want good things, I deserve good things, and I’m only letting good things into my life. I want to stay in this *happy place* but fuck man, it’s really really hard but easier than it was.

In 2008 my weight hit an all time low. I hadn’t been that tiny since I was a teenager, I dropped below ninety pounds at thirty-one, with a frame of five foot five and three quarter inches. I got rid of my scale years ago and normally only weigh myself at the doctor.

I’ve always wanted to speak of my personal issues with weight on my blog but haven’t until now believed I was in a healthy enough place to tell the bad but see it from a positive place. Although I am very comfortable talking about my depression in general, the anxiety, the suicidal thoughts etc., I’ve always left my weight issues sort of off limits.

Having watched myself go from having to try and hold my weight at 115 once I bought my wedding dress in January of 2006 to it almost being too big by that August and then almost immediately following the wedding packing on what I very fondly referred to as the Newlywed Fifteen (it was more like twenty) that became what was originally my very first positive experience with weight until at the weight of approx 130-135 in the below photo I was called fat. And my instant reaction was, are you fucking kidding me 130-135 on my frame IS NOT FAT. Am I in shape in the beige bra photo NO, but fat, fuck off.

But it still hurt. It hurt because I’d been picked on my entire life for being too thin and now I was happy and bitches were calling me fat. Realizing 100% that you can’t win is one thing but it opened up an even bigger defense system in me when people would comment on how great I looked just to call me fat behind my back AND the EXACT same thing happened in the other direction as well, people telling me how great I looked just to turn around and back stab the shit out of me for being too thin.

The facts in my case are this: I hate food, despise it, give me a pill that has everything I need to stay at a healthy weight I’d be living on cloud nine and up until around twenty -six I did have the metabolism of a race horse and the abs of a wash board this was all before I admitted to myself that I did in fact have a problem, a problem REGARDLESS of whether or not a was born with thin genes and ran races with fast times. When I spiral into long and serious depressive periods I starve myself. NOT because I want to be thin, the emaciated body that ends up staring back at me in the mirror makes me sick, but it isn’t enough to make me eat, the image is not the issue. The metallic taste of what feels like a bar forms across the back of my throat and I live on tomato soup and fruit IF I eat, the anxiety generally wins and I don’t.

In therapy I’ve discussed with my shrink that I believe that the weight loss I suffer through my worst depressive periods will someday have a disorder name because everything has to have a label and I know I’m not alone in the disliking food department but it isn’t socially acceptable and just like people can’t seem to wrap their head around how demeaning and disgusting it is to say to something to the effect of “Holy crap are you ever skinny”, big surprise they can’t figure out that if affects the EXACT same place in the brain when a woman is called fat and it is NOT A GOOD PLACE. Either comment is ignorant and unnecessary for women AND men to have to stand and listen to. I rarely if EVER comment on people’s weight.

I have heard my larger girlfriends complain of men saying “wow what a pretty face if only she wasn’t fat.” I had a man CHANT “cheeseburgers, cheeseburgers” at me for the duration of whatever we had. I’ve been told to EAT SOMETHING when I’m eating everything in sight: bags of cookies, ice cream, cake, donuts, BURGERS you name it and the weight will not stay on if I’m suffering mentally.

Even at my thinnest I have stood strong in saying, ok thanks for that compliment but I’m too thin and working on a healthy weight.  It greatly changes my opinion of people who compliment me when I weigh in the 90’s and MEAN IT when my clothes are literally hanging off me, in some cases I probably think you are sick and have a problem of your own.  Part of why I have waited until now to write on this is because these aren’t just words to me and I refuse to perpetuate the skinny bitch stereotype, that it’s all shits and giggles and perfect outfits and FUN! It doesn’t exist we are all in the same boat.

I have never been happier about my body than I am right now. But thanks for asking.

He told me not to be afraid of what I have to put on the page. I’ve needed to think, to be almost alone with my thoughts to make a true and permanent plant in the ground with my foot, depending on myself to make this time, the time.

After I found out that my mother was and did return to Bali I completely cut off communication with both of my parents and for the first time ever they left me alone and there was zero contact but instead of it making me feel better like I thought it would it just made me feel lonely and I realized my life didn’t work well without them in it and my depression hit another intense low.

It has been an extremely interesting couple of months.  I was as angry as I ever remember myself being very self destructive very medicated at the edge of the cliff rocking back and forth on my heels but when I finally fell I found myself free.  There have been a lot of times over the years when I thought I’ve been over it, thought I was ready to move on from the past and really leave it there, write about it but not in any angry way or from any sort of blaming perspectives just to tell a story how I remember it. With all the things I have said about my parents on this blog over the years I’ve never painted myself as the perfect daughter. I’d say I was hardly hard to handle but still having a kid is having a kid and I was no angel.

I really had to look at my unhealthy attachments with the two of them realize and really accept that what’s done is done and sure I think I deserve more than we just remember things differently but after years of trying I’ve finally put that behind me and gotten to the point of forgiveness and have fully entered the real process of mourning the loss of the ideal parents to the point of seeing things that came before me like my father’s relationship with his parents, and my mother’s with hers, where she lived in a very interesting dynamic as a child.  As well I have to accept that there is also the process of my parents having to mourn the loss of not having the ideal child. Regardless of the job they did I know they didn’t imagine a thirty-one year old pot head unemployed housewife who doesn’t even cook with no savings and large arm tattoos as the ideal kid. But right now that’s me.

I’m ready for this journey, my father and I will butt heads there is no question but just because we get upset with each other doesn’t mean I have to flip out and stop talking to them, those days are over, the lines of communication are fully open, the three of us and now four of us have been through the wringer a few times but life is too short not to come out the other side and say fuck you to the wringer.

Has the dust not even settled I don’t know I just go on, but to where I can’t tell you but it’s dark and being alone so much fucks with you but I wouldn’t have it any other way. And it keeps me way too far away and I may never be back this time because rock bottom never factors in how heavy the rock is how long it keeps you down. If I’m not strong enough to lift it off then I’m not strong enough.

I discovered today that I haven’t blogged in a seriously long time. Which on one hand I know is fine because it is one less blog coming through your feed but on the second hand I get all backed up with word head and walk around because I walk every where I go unless the weather is HORRID, writing blog posts in my head and talking to myself in blog post speak out loud and then forget what my word head post was about and I don’t end up posting or I have so many word head posts I don’t know where to start because I did have writers block, sort of, still do but things I would tell the internet are starting to come back.

It is pretty bizarre being in a place where I’m so depressed I’m suicidal sally but scared to post just how bad I feel in fear of someone phoning emergency medical services on me which wouldn’t be bad so much as it would be just a waste of time, Adam is here I have a psychiatrist but I’m running into my honesty for example on my outwardly violent PAST being used against me to a point that has made me for the positive re-evaluate a lot and I mean a lot of things and it has made it hard to post. It never ever used to be that way.

It is hard to be so depressed that you picture and see yourself dead every day I wonder how I get that low it seems almost impossible to me to feel so good one minute and just want to slit my wrists and have to hand the razors to Adam as I finally get in the shower with tears streaming down my face hating hating hating feeling feeling feeling too much pain.

I was thinking how, come August 2007 I will have been chronically pretty severely depressed for two full years, it blows my mind I haven’t felt good for more than approximately five days in a row since 2007.  And as usual I recognize I’ve got a good husband and I’ve got a good cat and I’ve got good friends it is my bloody rubbish head you see it just won’t let me be me at times that subsequently work for me. I lack balance and structure, I’ve had them both, I LOVE lists and have a day planner and then I let them slip away just like when I’m feeling good it’ll be two pm plus and I’ll remember you need drugs to keep feeling that good take em honey or it won’t last the rest of the day let alone five. (hopefully more this go)

I’m taking the good right now, I’ve managed to get back into Yoga but with it being tax season I won’t be officially back till Monday, I got all the tax shit done wanted to drink Drano when I saw what we owed after I’d worked my ass off giving the stupid damn government our money all year, we’ve been golfing as shown below and on my flickr, I’ve been speed walking and not experiencing ANY I/T band pain which is awesome I’m trying not to get too excited because I REALLY push myself when I walk and I walk long distances and if the I/T band pain stays away and I can run FAR at FAST paces again OMFG I will be the happiest girl on EARTH. I’ve also managed to pack on at LEAST 10 to 15 pounds - I am ecstatic, three different people have told me I look good and fit and I BELIEVE IT! My tits and ass are hanging out of my bras and panties and seeing as my clothes have been falling off for almost a year I’ll fucking take it. I think I’ll be fine with my bras mini cleavage on the mini rack is great but my butt not fitting in my underpants only works for Adam’s viewing pleasure.

In closing I made VLogBlog three yesterday on Earth Day, I am wearing triple green, sports top, v-neck t-shirt and snazzy Asian slippers from China town. I’ll give you the set up: I attempt a taste test with Gus, containing Whiskas Dentabites Complete Oral Care and Feline Greenies.  She is too old to be put under for a teeth cleaning and she hasn’t been as excited about the Feline Greenies which are the fancy ones. Hence I decided an experiment was in order.

And before I go I am very much in love with this old quote:

I make mistakes, I am out of control and at times hard to handle. But if you can’t handle me at my worst, then you sure as hell don’t deserve me at my best.
— Marilyn Monroe

Gus took my spot when I got up to refill my coffee and stuff, so I thought i would say HI! I need to shower and exfoliate my skin; I really notice a difference between when I exfoliate my epidermis in the shower and when I take a quick shower missing the exfoliation part, my towel notices too because I use it more than once. But I need to finish my coffee first.

My Twitter is broken and it is driving me sort of insane. I had no idea that I had formed an addiction to it. None, for serious, but not being able to jump up at will and write 140 characters of word vomit is not FAIR. My account has been sent to engineering and there is NO WORD on how long it will take it only took me THREE attempts to get them to actually look at my page with Rok Hed as my photo to see that my page is BONKED, it is blank. Twitter hates me.

Last night we watched Doubt which was AWESOME. Highly recommend it, made for some good pillow talk.  I LOVE Amy Adams at present, she had me at Enchanted, looking at her list of movies I’m sort of late to the table on her. The rest of the cast is great, the sets are great, and I was able to visualize it on a stage as a play which made me appreciate it even more. You are welcome for that incredibly deep review I just gave it.

I am almost done reading Slaughterhouse-Five my very first ever Kurt Vonnegut novel and I am loving it and am going to have seventy-five dollars in free books coming my way soon so I may order some more of him I am thinking Cat’s Cradle?

I have only read five and this book this year so far which is pathetic but I am still so fucking depressed right now that all I really do is sit and do nothing and listen to music. It isn’t just writers block this is different. Coffee is getting cold I gotta go.  I have lost track of when I showered last so I gotta do it. OH BUT I have been changing my underwear though just fyi on that cause I know in the past I said I’d wear it like five days and shit.  I’m on too much meds for that shit and sweat too much at night, night sweets love me unlike Twitter.

PS. Not being able to Twitter about The Masters at Augusta National SUCKS ASS! Mike Weir finished at -4 today leaders are -6 at present but nice start Mikey.

In June of 1985 I was eight years old. I don’t even remember hearing about this attack ever, at all, until I came home from work in January 2003 and found a Juror Summons a (Criminal) one in my mailbox. At first I was excited as all get out. It was right up my alley something with all the crazy serial killer books I read I had pictured doing many a time in my head.

2002 didn’t end well, 2003 would be the year I started to see the shrink I still see today. I remember thinking that it was ‘just my luck’ as well that this would undoubtedly bring even more stress into my life before I even saw it:

You have been summonsed to appear as a jury panelist for a criminal trial, Regina vs. Malik, Bagri, and Reyat commonly referred to as the AIR INDIA TRIAL.
The date of jury selection is March 29, 2003.
Estimates of trial length run from TWENTY FOUR TO THIRTY SIX MONTHS.

So then I thought HOLY FUCK what does this even mean? And when I told my work they agreed that is was ‘just my luck’ which was awkward and we all chuckled but none of us were laughing.

I headed straight upstairs to the internet and had reinforcements on the way over in the way of one best friend Hannah and we searched for information on it and back then it was harder to find and I got scared searching for information on it WHAT IF THEY KNEW?

I believe strongly in civic duty, but at the time, for a woman of twenty-five living alone and knowing that it had nothing to do with the books I’d read I just simply was not mentally sound enough to appear. In the ten days I had to send them back my Juror Certification Form, I spent it getting letters quoting a medical condition from my family Doctor and my work appointed in the mean time therapist. It wasn’t just my depression though it was also my headaches. There was just no way.

Just thinking about being on that jury scared the living shit out of me. This was when all the true crime novels flipped in my head from jury duty is cool to holy fuck who wants to be on this JURY ummm not ME or any (Criminal) juries talk about a romanticized wake up call, I’m into the darker side of life the macabre the tainted but JURY TAMPERING in neon blared in front of those twenty five year old eyes and I chose sanity.

In the end not only did it turn out to be one of the largest, if not the largest summons sent out here up until the Pickton case broke, even former Vancouver Canuck, Trevor Linden was summonsed. I’m pretty sure trying to at least make the playoffs was his way out of having to appear.  It did eventually go to a judge only trial. I don’t think I was the only one afraid of jury tampering.  Even knowing with all the people summonsed I probably wasn’t going to get picked with my luck I wasn’t about to take that chance, and with my request not to appear accepted I tried not to think about it, there were parts that were undeniably stressful and scary, about being called for THAT jury with our without a mental illness.

In all honesty I didn’t follow the trial but I remember being outraged at the verdict, all were found not guilty except for Reyat he plead guilty to manslaughter admitting to building the bomb used on the flight, he got five years and was denied parole in 2007.

Earlier in the week I watched the movie Air India 182, a documentary by award winning Canadian Film director Sturla Gunnarsson and was impressed but the whole thing was surreal a total mishmash of emotions when it hit me that I was eight years old, bloody EIGHT when this happened and then at twenty-five it showed up in my mailbox via the judicial system and here I was listening to the family members of the victims recount that day, seeing the pain on their faces and talk about it with little resolve given the outcome. Any thoughts of even possibly being in a court room at that time were not a nice place to picture.

On June 22, 1985 , Air India 182 left Montréal, bound for Delhi via London Heathrow. It never made it.

Four hours after takeoff, 200 miles off the Irish coast, a bomb ripped through the baggage compartment and the plane disintegrated at 30,000 feet, killing all 329 people on board. It was the world’s deadliest act of aviation terror before 9/11.

Now at thirty-one the movie frightened me, but not likely in entirely rational ways and so I highly recommend it. It was very moving, it was heart breaking and made me tremendously angry but it is done in an extremely tasteful manner. I don’t know it just makes me think about all the non fiction I read and all of the documentaries I watch and how there is always something in them that gives me that disconnect whether right or not, whether I donate to charity or not, and this movie didn’t have that for me. So I would have to say it scared me real.