One of the things that really stood out to me when I was in Bali last September was my mother. When my parents lived up North in Prince George I was never there for more than two weeks and from May 2002 until the middle of last year I was in and out of a serious state of clinical depression. I know I’ve always suffered from depression but after I lost a friend to suicide, was sexually assaulted in my own home, found out my dad was dying then wasn’t dying, and had a three year relationship with a man come to a dead end over email and there was absolutely no communication between us for months – it became unbearable. These incidents all took place in just under a year, it has taken a lot of therapy for me to accept that even the strongest person would have cracked under all of that and crack I did, it was too deep and wide this time, and I didn’t think I was going to make it, through a lot of it I honestly didn’t want to make it I couldn’t stand to be in my skin and set on the path of finding the psychiatrist I still see now.
In 2004 my mother started to deal with her own depression issues but because I was so depressed, up until I went to Bali I never noticed. She was just mom, a bit mopey but being in such similar states I didn’t see just how much of a struggle she was having I just knew we were both struggling. But when I went to Bali I was in a really good place, one of the best places I have been in mentally since I started to seriously deal with my mental illness. It was on that trip that I saw just how depressed my mom was/ is, I’m not 100% sure with them so far away how she is really doing but I was flabbergasted. It was like staring myself in the face. One day she was ok happy in great spirits, the next totally quiet, not very responsive or interested in conversation BUT trying her very best to enjoy every moment she had with me, which I appreciated more than I think she knows because seeing her like that, I knew how much she hurt, how badly she wanted to be happy and chipper and YAY lets all drink Bintang Birs and be a family again. But some days she just couldn’t muster it and I understood, I understood her better than I think I ever had. It also made apparent the work I had done to have been in a head space so positive I only had two bad days where I thought please no, I don’t want to be depressed, please let this day be just that – a bad day – and I didn’t do anything stupid.
When I returned from Bali, I was still in a great place. After all that happened with my parents around this time last year it was just nice to feel like I had a family again. But with anything in life there are challenges and we are always left to make our own decisions as to how we deal with them leaving those around us to try and define, interrupt, perceive correctly or incorrectly what we are actually doing or saying. And in my opinion no matter how hard you work on yourself mentally ill or not you are bound to fuck up at times, sometimes worse than others resulting in steps backwards. With myself, when I feel myself slipping when I think I’m gonna lose it I slip right back into what I want least to become – what or who people perceive me to be, a sort of a typecast if you will. With anything that happens in life that leaves you feeling negative it is going to have triggers that set your blood on *temperature setting* HELL. It’s hot, it hurts, it burns, tears just sear the pain in further. And what would you know it, last Friday almost losing a friendship brought the asshole I’d been playing; no excuses to make, only the glaring assholy facts. I just wanted to cry and get high. Oh right I did. It has been a long time since I have gotten myself so worked up that I had a full sleepless night of night terrors, and three straight days of prescription drug abuse to say I was wasted would be an understatement, I’ve already been warned I abused them enough in the past that I could have a heart attack during an episode and even that can’t stop the beast. By Tuesday I was still a fucking wreck crying uncontrollably, mentally double fisting myself in the face, so mad at myself, fire retardant anger pants where the only saviour I had. Between yesterday and today I have regained my sanity. I’m still pretty pissed at myself but I’m not known for going easy on me. But for the record, I’m done. I’m not over it, I haven’t let it go, but I’m done allowing myself any inappropriate behavior towards this situation I’m dealing with regularly in therapy. I’ve been working so hard on this I even read a bloody self help book. I’m going to get there, I’m just going to KEEP my big girl pants on now. Fuck this high school shit, tricks are for kids.
