Do you know your ACE (Adverse Childhood Experiences) score? Take the quiz and find out. The score is 0-10.
https://www.npr.org/sections/health-shots/2015/03/02/387007941/take-the-ace-quiz-and-learn-what-it-does-and-doesnt-mean
Interesting fact: having a higher score can cause all kinds of health issues in middle age. The top diseases include liver damage, Fibromyalgia, IBS, GERD, muscle pain, chronic fatigue, cancer, kidney damage, ulcers, high blood pressure, insomnia and more.
What happens is glucocosteroids trigger the sympathetic nervous system without you knowing it. That sore shoulder that never seems to find relief from pain could be from tension spiked by a chemical response in your body while you sleep. Without treating childhood trauma, life does not get easier. Studies have shown childhood trauma takes an average of 19 years off life expectancy.
The positive side is having one person who loved you, listened to you as a child, someone who helped you can also lower the risk and side effects.
Tenets of Trauma Treatment
1. No Judgement:We are all on a journey and we all have a past. Thoughts and beliefs are examined in a non-judgemental way to allow for change and growth. We look at things from a neutral and rational perspective, and take it everything as it is, including ourselves and others as they are, which leads to;
2. Curiosity:We become curious about behaviours and analyze them based on what the intention, or what was the decision based on what our experiences were at the time, which leads to;
3. Acceptance:We learn things as they are and drop the assumptions, or the stories we've told ourselves. We stop the tapes running through our heads, and reframe them with;
4. Positive Action and Thought:We move forward through positive action and thought, and re-wire the brain to stop the stories, and to become;
5. Objective: We look at beliefs, thoughts, patterns, decisions and actions, and examine them objectively, and how our emotions tied into those beliefs, and then we;
6. Reframe our World View: Finally, we show different thoughts and beliefs giving us a different perspective; examine the issue and problems in a new light, which can allow us to move forward, and then we;
7. Set Realistic Expectations: Being realistic means that patterns can change from negative to positive, and we may have set backs, however, we also have the power to change the set backs and move forward. We have realistic expectations so when set backs occur, we have the tools to stop the spiral and create healthy coping mechanisms.
The beautiful experience that comes from working with these basic principles is Post Traumatic Growth, the positive creation that comes from trauma. Create growth with these five pillars:
1. Build Mental Toughness
2. Search the Good Stuff
3. Look at our Character Strengths
4. Build Strong Relationships
5. Assertive Communication
The Dogs of Depression: A Guide for Happy People
Showing posts with label Resilience. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Resilience. Show all posts
Tuesday, 1 January 2019
Friday, 26 October 2018
Life Balance: Creating Positve Change
I attended a great National Manager's Conference the other day with speakers from across Canada, and across all levels of government. The overall message is 'People are our greatest resource'. I firmly believe this because as a leader, people are what make or break a team, an organization or a business.
So why do so many of us not feel the spirit behind the message? Why do these five words cause consternation and emotional dissonance? What are we doing as leaders to support our people?
According to the American Institute of Stress, 65% of people reporting that workplace stress impacts negatively on their lives, not only on the job but overall. This is a small excerpt form the article.
Highlighted statistics from the CDC NIOSH report: https://www.cdc.gov/niosh/docs/99-101/
•40% of workers reported their job was very or extremely stressful
•25% view their jobs as the number one stressor in their lives
•Three fourths of employees believe that workers have more on-the-job stress than a generation ago
•29% of workers felt quite a bit or extremely stressed at work
•26 percent of workers said they were “often or very often burned out or stressed by their work”
•Job stress is more strongly associated with health complaints than financial or family problems
Highlighted statistics from the Attitude in the Workplace Report: https://www.stress.org/wp-content/uploads/2011/08/2001Attitude-in-the-Workplace-Harris.pdf
So why do so many of us not feel the spirit behind the message? Why do these five words cause consternation and emotional dissonance? What are we doing as leaders to support our people?
According to the American Institute of Stress, 65% of people reporting that workplace stress impacts negatively on their lives, not only on the job but overall. This is a small excerpt form the article.
Highlighted statistics from the CDC NIOSH report: https://www.cdc.gov/niosh/docs/99-101/
•40% of workers reported their job was very or extremely stressful
•25% view their jobs as the number one stressor in their lives
•Three fourths of employees believe that workers have more on-the-job stress than a generation ago
•29% of workers felt quite a bit or extremely stressed at work
•26 percent of workers said they were “often or very often burned out or stressed by their work”
•Job stress is more strongly associated with health complaints than financial or family problems
Highlighted statistics from the Attitude in the Workplace Report: https://www.stress.org/wp-content/uploads/2011/08/2001Attitude-in-the-Workplace-Harris.pdf
•80% of workers feel stress on the job, nearly half say they need help in learning how to manage stress and 42% say their coworkers need such help
•14% of respondents had felt like striking a coworker in the past year, but didn’t
•25% have felt like screaming or shouting because of job stress, 10% are concerned about an individual at work they fear could become violent
•9% are aware of an assault or violent act in their workplace and 18% had experienced some sort of threat or verbal intimidation in the past year.
•14% of respondents had felt like striking a coworker in the past year, but didn’t
•25% have felt like screaming or shouting because of job stress, 10% are concerned about an individual at work they fear could become violent
•9% are aware of an assault or violent act in their workplace and 18% had experienced some sort of threat or verbal intimidation in the past year.
This is a serious issue and there are numerous courses, seminars and workshops that teach us how to cope with stress, and teach us what the repercussions are to our health when dispositive changes occur in the workplace.
https://www.stress.org/workplace-stress/
People become disengaged, morale plummets, sick days increase, people are calling it in, rather than giving it their all, which decreases productivity and we end up with a generation of unhealthy people. Doctors visits increase, which places a burden on our health care system, substance and drug abuse increases which impacts our bodies, and we become complacent believing nothing can change.
People are our most valuable resource, but when the writing on the wall says we can hire a younger, cheaper version of a seasoned and knowledgeable employee, or we can cut your status or pay, but you still get to have all the responsibility, then what really is the message? And as an employee, how do you mitigate the impact to your life and to your family?
Attitude: become versed in keeping emotion out of your attitude. Much easier said than done, since this can feel personal. Step away, emotionally, and look at the reason behind decisions, but do this based on fact, not the tapes running through your head. You know what I mean. Someone will say or do something, such as invite an entire team for coffee, but neglect to offer the invitation to you, and you watch as they all walk past your desk, without telling you they are leaving or why.
Immediately you start telling yourself, you don't matter, they don't like you, why should you do anything for them in the future and you spiral into a vortex of anger and hurt. Stop. Stop this tape. It is self defeating. Instead become curious. Is there another reason why you did not get an invite? You can do this by checking in with someone when they return. A simple way to approach this is to ask,"Hey Fred, I am curious about why you didn't let me know you were all leaving." Check in with the person, but do it in a way that is not emotional, not accusatory, and do it without the tapes running in your head.
You may get an answer such as it was a project meeting we needed to discuss to work on details, or any other number of reasons that have nothing to do with you personally. By checking in, we can reframe those negative associations we make, which causes increased stress.
Stay focused on your role and responsibility: what is the reason behind what you do? Are you doing it to the best of your ability? Are you able to keep up with the demands and pace of your job? Do you need additional resources, tools, time? Reflect on these questions and if you need help, say so, but again, do it without the emotion. Storming into your manager's office and making demands will not work quite as well as setting up an appointment with a clear message of what you want to discuss, and then go the appointment with your issues, and your possible solutions. If you are just coming in without solutions, you have not done your job. All you are doing is complaining.
Leaders take the time to discover what the issue is and come up with options and solutions. Do not expect your manager or boss to help you if you are not willing to come up with some ideas as to how you can change your work in order to help yourself. I use the word leader intentionally, because regardless of your job title, you are all leaders, and how you behave reflects on whether you are eligible for promotion and effects your reputation. Anyone can come up with reasons why something will not work, how it will fail and why it can't be done. Step out of the crowd and come up with possible solutions. This takes the ego out of the equation and instead, empowers your brain into thinking solution rather than problem.
Leave the problems at work: Change your thoughts by changing your beliefs and staying focused on the positive. Make a mental decision to lessen the affect of stress in your life by telling yourself that when your hand touches the door handle when you leave your office, your work stays in the office. All of it.
This has to be a conscious decision and it has to be repeated each and every day in order to reframe your brain into believing that work can and should stay at work. This is a skill, and as all skills, needs practise.
Do not take it home. Do not let it interfere or take you away from your partner, your children, your passions, your life. Because it will. If you allow the job to follow you around like a dark cloud, the quality of your life changes.
We spend one third of our lives at work, one third of it sleeping and one third somewhere else. Do not allow the one third of the work place to intrude on the other two thirds. It is not fair to you or your family. Disengage from work when you reach that door handle. Take a deep breath, float all those negative feelings out of your mind and let them go.
Instead, focus on what you love, what gives you drive, what your passions are, and your health, your family and fun.
Change your thoughts, change your beliefs and change those mental tapes. The best part is, once you change one, the others change as well.
Stay positive, stay healthy, stay in the present.
#mentalhealthmatters
#leadership
#thewildthingyoga
https://www.stress.org/workplace-stress/
Friday, 10 August 2018
The New Face of PTSD
I read an interesting article the other day on Medium about PTSD. The writer opined that PTSD has changed from the war torn soldier facing demons from what they encountered during operational duties to one that affects many people in day to day lives, and how this change causes people to react differently to someone who has PTSD from abuse, a serious medical injury, severe emotional bullying from parents or witnessing horrific acts, or being made to particiapte in horrific acts, from someone who has PTSD from being in the military or a police officer.
Interesting as I was just talking to my husband about this very topic last week. The typical spin on PTSD, or, as it is called in the military and RCMP, an OSI...Operational Stress Injury, kind of confirms this line of thinking; PTSD from an operational perspective is somehow more damaging psychologically than PTSD from being beaten and raped as a child, being traumatized by another adult or facing a life altering event.
After studying trauma for the past thirty years, and extensively for the past three years, I can tell you, trauma is trauma, no matter what you call it or how you dress it up, or under what circumstances it was conceived in.
The reactions are the same: sever anxiety, depression, grief, drug and alcohol abuse to numb the pain, hyper vigilance, hyper startle reflex, insomnia, nightmares, night terrors, anger, uncontrollable rage. Then there are the physiological responses: ulcers, severe acid reflux, digestive problems, internal organ damage from the onslaught of cortisol coursing through the body, vagus nerve damage, headaches, nausea, migraines, tinnitus, vomiting, heart palpitations, angina, internal bleeding, brain aneurysms, muscle and nerve damage, fibromyalgia, and much more.
What you do not hear about is how many women commit suicide because of horrific abuse suffered by the hands of their parents during childhood. Or, how many people have severe PTSD after being beaten and abused, emotionally or mentally from their partners. Sexual crimes against women are still being debated as to whether it is consensual or not, regardless of the emotional damage.
Coaches, Priests, and Boy Scout Leaders that systematically traumatized boys in their care, either verbally, physically or sexually, are not outed until the victim comes forward. And then, typically, the victim has to fight the stigma of being a male that was raped. And then he gets the added benefit of PTSD.
We have to start making the connection that any type of assault on people, verbal, sexual, or physical creates long lasting, damaging consequences. Bullying of any form on anyone, whether in the workplace, schools, homes, universities or the hockey arena creates damage that is not easily repaired.
We need to understand the depth of violence we create and are responsible for, with our actions. And most of all, we need to support and help the people that are injured. We need to listen. We need to sincerely apologize, and we need to acknowledge their pain.
Far too long we have been silent or silenced because it makes others uncomfortable. That is unacceptable.
If you suffer from trauma, speak out, get help, talk to someone you trust. There are numerous resources available in Canada and the US either through your work, in the mental heath community or through the medical community. Reach out. Say something, say anything. You matter.
If you cannot speak out, write it out. Take twenty minute and write or draw, anything. Let the feelings and the emotions pour out. You do not have to be grammatically correct, or an artist to release the demons. Draw and write whatever spews forth, and then burn it. The very act of pouring out your thoughts rather than stuffing them down, and then burning away those thoughts can bring about a feeling of catharsis. And maybe, one day, you will be strong enough to seek help. Do this for yourself. Do this for the people that love you.
Sometimes, we are harder on ourselves than we are on others. We believe we are at fault, we deserve the crappy life we are wallowing in, because somehow we said or did the wrong thing, we were in the wrong place at the wrong time, we dressed inappropriately, we said something that upset the balance, and nothing could be further from the truth. We keep ourselves locked up from guilt and shame, because it is easier to believe we had control over the event and that somehow we can prevent it from happening again, if we dress correctly, not speak up or out, if we follow the rules, if we tried harder, if we remain silent. This is reinforced by others who fear the same thing can happen to them, so well-meaning friends and relatives will tell you, if you hadn’t been walking alone at night, you would not have been assaulted; if you had not been drunk, you would have been safe; if you were not alone with the coach or priest, you would not have been molested; if you had not made your partner angry, you would have not been beaten.
I’ve had trauma survivors tell me that their children have disclosed abuse, and the children are lying because they are seeking attention. These adults are so damaged, that they cannot see what is happening in front of them and choose to believe their child is at fault, and consequently, they are at fault as well for their own abuse.
Years ago a small town in Alberta had a disproportionate number of rapes. The solution? Do not allow women to walk outside after 8:00 PM. Instead of locking up the men, they locked up the women.
This magical thinking serves two purposes: it keeps people scared so they do not repeat what you did and they believe that keeps them safe, and it reinforces the lesson that you are at fault.
Change is difficult, and the people in our lives will be uncomfortable with changes we make to keep ourselves healthy. Be prepared to lose friends and family. But, also look forward to having some control over your life. Accept that you deserve peace, stability and love. People who love you, will support you. There is hope.
Canadian Resources:
Kids Help Phone 1-800-668-6868
Crisis Services Canada: 1-833-456-4566 or text 45645
Native Youth Crisis Line: 1-877-209-1266
Centre for Suicide Prevention: 1-833-456-4566
American Resources:
Suicide Prevention Lifeline: 1-800-273-8255
https://www.mentalhealthfirstaid.org/mental-health-resources/
#mentalhealthmatters
Interesting as I was just talking to my husband about this very topic last week. The typical spin on PTSD, or, as it is called in the military and RCMP, an OSI...Operational Stress Injury, kind of confirms this line of thinking; PTSD from an operational perspective is somehow more damaging psychologically than PTSD from being beaten and raped as a child, being traumatized by another adult or facing a life altering event.
After studying trauma for the past thirty years, and extensively for the past three years, I can tell you, trauma is trauma, no matter what you call it or how you dress it up, or under what circumstances it was conceived in.
The reactions are the same: sever anxiety, depression, grief, drug and alcohol abuse to numb the pain, hyper vigilance, hyper startle reflex, insomnia, nightmares, night terrors, anger, uncontrollable rage. Then there are the physiological responses: ulcers, severe acid reflux, digestive problems, internal organ damage from the onslaught of cortisol coursing through the body, vagus nerve damage, headaches, nausea, migraines, tinnitus, vomiting, heart palpitations, angina, internal bleeding, brain aneurysms, muscle and nerve damage, fibromyalgia, and much more.
What you do not hear about is how many women commit suicide because of horrific abuse suffered by the hands of their parents during childhood. Or, how many people have severe PTSD after being beaten and abused, emotionally or mentally from their partners. Sexual crimes against women are still being debated as to whether it is consensual or not, regardless of the emotional damage.
Coaches, Priests, and Boy Scout Leaders that systematically traumatized boys in their care, either verbally, physically or sexually, are not outed until the victim comes forward. And then, typically, the victim has to fight the stigma of being a male that was raped. And then he gets the added benefit of PTSD.
We have to start making the connection that any type of assault on people, verbal, sexual, or physical creates long lasting, damaging consequences. Bullying of any form on anyone, whether in the workplace, schools, homes, universities or the hockey arena creates damage that is not easily repaired.
We need to understand the depth of violence we create and are responsible for, with our actions. And most of all, we need to support and help the people that are injured. We need to listen. We need to sincerely apologize, and we need to acknowledge their pain.
Far too long we have been silent or silenced because it makes others uncomfortable. That is unacceptable.
If you suffer from trauma, speak out, get help, talk to someone you trust. There are numerous resources available in Canada and the US either through your work, in the mental heath community or through the medical community. Reach out. Say something, say anything. You matter.
If you cannot speak out, write it out. Take twenty minute and write or draw, anything. Let the feelings and the emotions pour out. You do not have to be grammatically correct, or an artist to release the demons. Draw and write whatever spews forth, and then burn it. The very act of pouring out your thoughts rather than stuffing them down, and then burning away those thoughts can bring about a feeling of catharsis. And maybe, one day, you will be strong enough to seek help. Do this for yourself. Do this for the people that love you.
Sometimes, we are harder on ourselves than we are on others. We believe we are at fault, we deserve the crappy life we are wallowing in, because somehow we said or did the wrong thing, we were in the wrong place at the wrong time, we dressed inappropriately, we said something that upset the balance, and nothing could be further from the truth. We keep ourselves locked up from guilt and shame, because it is easier to believe we had control over the event and that somehow we can prevent it from happening again, if we dress correctly, not speak up or out, if we follow the rules, if we tried harder, if we remain silent. This is reinforced by others who fear the same thing can happen to them, so well-meaning friends and relatives will tell you, if you hadn’t been walking alone at night, you would not have been assaulted; if you had not been drunk, you would have been safe; if you were not alone with the coach or priest, you would not have been molested; if you had not made your partner angry, you would have not been beaten.
I’ve had trauma survivors tell me that their children have disclosed abuse, and the children are lying because they are seeking attention. These adults are so damaged, that they cannot see what is happening in front of them and choose to believe their child is at fault, and consequently, they are at fault as well for their own abuse.
Years ago a small town in Alberta had a disproportionate number of rapes. The solution? Do not allow women to walk outside after 8:00 PM. Instead of locking up the men, they locked up the women.
This magical thinking serves two purposes: it keeps people scared so they do not repeat what you did and they believe that keeps them safe, and it reinforces the lesson that you are at fault.
Change is difficult, and the people in our lives will be uncomfortable with changes we make to keep ourselves healthy. Be prepared to lose friends and family. But, also look forward to having some control over your life. Accept that you deserve peace, stability and love. People who love you, will support you. There is hope.
Canadian Resources:
Kids Help Phone 1-800-668-6868
Crisis Services Canada: 1-833-456-4566 or text 45645
Native Youth Crisis Line: 1-877-209-1266
Centre for Suicide Prevention: 1-833-456-4566
American Resources:
Suicide Prevention Lifeline: 1-800-273-8255
https://www.mentalhealthfirstaid.org/mental-health-resources/
#mentalhealthmatters
Saturday, 10 February 2018
Let's Talk, Ten Days Later
Stress has kicked up a notch and again, I did not put two and two together. I'm a simple girl sometimes. My left eye has been twitching up a storm for the past week and my right arm and hand are numb. IBS has come back with a vengeance. And all because I forgot about where I was 8 years ago today.
Mind you, the stress of the Year from Hell, 2017, helped as well. We shall never talk of that year again. I want a do-over in many areas of my life. But I did the best I could, considering.
September, nine years ago I started having weird headaches, localized over my left eye, old twitchy I call him now. September 13, 2008, I had this sharp, stabbing pain in that very same spot and the pain got worse with each heartbeat. Actually, it was in time with my heartbeat. And the pain grew worse with each pulse.
Took some Advil, Tylenol, Gravol a couple of muscle relaxants, and went back to bed. Called my doc, and made excuses as to what was happening. She decided I should get an MRI. It would take five months.
October 23, 2008, it happened again, only this time it felt like an icepick was driven into my head right above my left eye, and the left side of my neck was screaming. I remember not being able to shoulder check for almost two years because of the pain. To this day, range of motion has still not returned.
Did the same cocktail of meds, called in sick, called my husband and told him if the headache did not go away in twenty minutes I would get a friend to drive me to the hospital. And went back to bed.
I was drooling (still do actually, but now it's fun....) slurring my words, stumbling. Still did not make the connection. Intense pain will do that. Shortens the ability of the neo cortex to make rational decisions.
A couple more months go by and the pain would happen over my eye when I laughed, coughed, or sneezed. These are called exertion headaches. Only in my case, my brain was bleeding. I did not know this.
Had the MRI and a few days later got called into the Neurologist's office. He says, straight forward, "You have a brain aneurysm, now let's talk about those migraines." The way he said it,I thought, huh, no big deal. We're talking migraines.
He made a referral, to what I found out later, to the BEST Neurosurgeon in North America, who happened to be practising here in Winnipeg. Four days later, Dr. West had a miracle cancellation. I saw him over lunch. Again, I thought 30 minute appointment, discuss options, maybe see him in 6 months, get on with life.
Should have recognized what the word URGENT in big red letters meant across my folder. We talked. He asked questions. I couldn't concentrate on the answer unless my eyes were closed to reduce the stimulus. Apparently I gave all the right, or wrong answers, depending on your point of view and I had an angiogram within a couple of hours.
I still assumed I would be going home. I didn't. Was hospitalized and bumped 19 neurosurgeries, the only exception being a pregnant women.
Even while being in the hospital, it still did not occur to me what was going on. I blame it on the bleeding in my brain and not my lack of medical knowledge or mental capacity. My brain had been bleeding off and on for five months.
The anaesthesiologist came in at 11:00 am. And that's when it hit. I was going in for brain surgery today. Not six months from now. Today. In a matter of hours.
What should have been a two hour surgery took five and a half hours. No one bothered to let my husband know. He was told two hours. I cannot imagine the hell he went through, the questions he had the sheer terror of not knowing what was happening, if I was even alive.
It would be another two months when Dr. West told me I had a 15% survival rate. If this had happened five years earlier, I would have died. Had I not gone to the doctor and her insisting upon an MRI, I would have died.
In 2008, all I knew of brain aneurysms is, if they rupture, that's it. Game over. You lose. I had never heard of anyone surviving a rupture. I survived two. Don't know why. And I still think about that. Why me? It's not survivor's guilt, because I have no guilt, just a curiosity about why I survived. Timing, the right place to be, the best neurosurgeon, a great call by my doctor all came into play.
The next 18 months were bliss. I was at peace. I was calm. I had intense lucid dreams, and intense spiritual experience and I was happy. Then August of 2012, I was diagnosed with a daughter aneurysm, one that shares the same artery and wall as the original. And my world blew apart.
I already had severe PTSD from a soul crippling childhood, now it kicked into overdrive and became C-PTSD, C for complex, compound PTSD. Six years later it still has not diminished.
I have, however, learned to tame it.....to an extent. Old twitchy reminds me, my numbness in my arms reminds me, and now my chronic IBS reminds me. Any kind of stress is bad. Yes, all you fitness and doctors that espouse eustress is good, I'm here to tell you, it's not.
Mind you, the stress of the Year from Hell, 2017, helped as well. We shall never talk of that year again. I want a do-over in many areas of my life. But I did the best I could, considering.
September, nine years ago I started having weird headaches, localized over my left eye, old twitchy I call him now. September 13, 2008, I had this sharp, stabbing pain in that very same spot and the pain got worse with each heartbeat. Actually, it was in time with my heartbeat. And the pain grew worse with each pulse.
Took some Advil, Tylenol, Gravol a couple of muscle relaxants, and went back to bed. Called my doc, and made excuses as to what was happening. She decided I should get an MRI. It would take five months.
October 23, 2008, it happened again, only this time it felt like an icepick was driven into my head right above my left eye, and the left side of my neck was screaming. I remember not being able to shoulder check for almost two years because of the pain. To this day, range of motion has still not returned.
Did the same cocktail of meds, called in sick, called my husband and told him if the headache did not go away in twenty minutes I would get a friend to drive me to the hospital. And went back to bed.
I was drooling (still do actually, but now it's fun....) slurring my words, stumbling. Still did not make the connection. Intense pain will do that. Shortens the ability of the neo cortex to make rational decisions.
A couple more months go by and the pain would happen over my eye when I laughed, coughed, or sneezed. These are called exertion headaches. Only in my case, my brain was bleeding. I did not know this.
Had the MRI and a few days later got called into the Neurologist's office. He says, straight forward, "You have a brain aneurysm, now let's talk about those migraines." The way he said it,I thought, huh, no big deal. We're talking migraines.
He made a referral, to what I found out later, to the BEST Neurosurgeon in North America, who happened to be practising here in Winnipeg. Four days later, Dr. West had a miracle cancellation. I saw him over lunch. Again, I thought 30 minute appointment, discuss options, maybe see him in 6 months, get on with life.
Should have recognized what the word URGENT in big red letters meant across my folder. We talked. He asked questions. I couldn't concentrate on the answer unless my eyes were closed to reduce the stimulus. Apparently I gave all the right, or wrong answers, depending on your point of view and I had an angiogram within a couple of hours.
I still assumed I would be going home. I didn't. Was hospitalized and bumped 19 neurosurgeries, the only exception being a pregnant women.
Even while being in the hospital, it still did not occur to me what was going on. I blame it on the bleeding in my brain and not my lack of medical knowledge or mental capacity. My brain had been bleeding off and on for five months.
The anaesthesiologist came in at 11:00 am. And that's when it hit. I was going in for brain surgery today. Not six months from now. Today. In a matter of hours.
What should have been a two hour surgery took five and a half hours. No one bothered to let my husband know. He was told two hours. I cannot imagine the hell he went through, the questions he had the sheer terror of not knowing what was happening, if I was even alive.
It would be another two months when Dr. West told me I had a 15% survival rate. If this had happened five years earlier, I would have died. Had I not gone to the doctor and her insisting upon an MRI, I would have died.
In 2008, all I knew of brain aneurysms is, if they rupture, that's it. Game over. You lose. I had never heard of anyone surviving a rupture. I survived two. Don't know why. And I still think about that. Why me? It's not survivor's guilt, because I have no guilt, just a curiosity about why I survived. Timing, the right place to be, the best neurosurgeon, a great call by my doctor all came into play.
The next 18 months were bliss. I was at peace. I was calm. I had intense lucid dreams, and intense spiritual experience and I was happy. Then August of 2012, I was diagnosed with a daughter aneurysm, one that shares the same artery and wall as the original. And my world blew apart.
I already had severe PTSD from a soul crippling childhood, now it kicked into overdrive and became C-PTSD, C for complex, compound PTSD. Six years later it still has not diminished.
I have, however, learned to tame it.....to an extent. Old twitchy reminds me, my numbness in my arms reminds me, and now my chronic IBS reminds me. Any kind of stress is bad. Yes, all you fitness and doctors that espouse eustress is good, I'm here to tell you, it's not.
Meditation, yoga, walking, talking, music, being alone, driving fast, and Netflix binging all helps. Some days, however, life is a Bittersweet Symphony. A myriad of thoughts run through my brain on any given day; how long till I die, when should I retire, should I eat today, what's the point, hey, that's a really great car, damn I love Olle, I need a Boston Terrier named MonkeyPooper....did I mention I also have ADD. Or as Olle calls it, Another Damn Day.
So, let's talk. One in 50 will develop a brain aneurysm. Out of the 50, 20 will rupture. Out of the 20, 16 will die.
Hospitals in Winnipeg are terrible for diagnosing brain aneurysms in women. One died on the floor in the ER at the Grace a few years ago. She was screaming, lying on the floor and no one took her seriously.
I was at the ER a few years back, waiting in the hallway, when a doctor in his mid thirties sarcastically announces to the nurse sitting behind the desk, that a woman walked in complaining of a severe headache and he "Kicked her out, like a boss," while fist pumping the air, and I thought you stupid bastard. I wonder what happened to her.....
November 16, 2017, a senior woman almost died in St. Boniface after waiting in the ER, with a severe headache and and eyelid that drooped. They gave her two CT scans, one with dye, and told her she was fine. Four day later, she could not open her eye, went to Misercordia Hospital, and gave her another couple of CT scans and told her she was fine. Thankfully, she called her family doctor who told her to immediately go to the Health Sciences Centre and they found the aneurysm. She had surgery and made it.
So I guess my question is, why are ER's so bad at this? I always assumed to be an ER doctor, you had to know your stuff, you had to be aware of all the terrible things that can happen to a human, and now I am wondering if the reverse is true.
I am also wondering if men are treated differently than women (saying that sarcastically) and why women are still being ignored when coming in with medical issues. Curiously, I haven't heard of anything like this happening to men in Winnipeg. Yup, they did CT scans and the CT scan came out clean. Makes me wonder if maybe CT scans are not all that wonderful for brain aneurysms. Considering 1 in 50, that terrifies me.
I wear a medic alert bracelet that says TAKE ONLY TO HSC because I do not want to become a statistic.
So, let's talk. One in 50 will develop a brain aneurysm. Out of the 50, 20 will rupture. Out of the 20, 16 will die.
Hospitals in Winnipeg are terrible for diagnosing brain aneurysms in women. One died on the floor in the ER at the Grace a few years ago. She was screaming, lying on the floor and no one took her seriously.
I was at the ER a few years back, waiting in the hallway, when a doctor in his mid thirties sarcastically announces to the nurse sitting behind the desk, that a woman walked in complaining of a severe headache and he "Kicked her out, like a boss," while fist pumping the air, and I thought you stupid bastard. I wonder what happened to her.....
November 16, 2017, a senior woman almost died in St. Boniface after waiting in the ER, with a severe headache and and eyelid that drooped. They gave her two CT scans, one with dye, and told her she was fine. Four day later, she could not open her eye, went to Misercordia Hospital, and gave her another couple of CT scans and told her she was fine. Thankfully, she called her family doctor who told her to immediately go to the Health Sciences Centre and they found the aneurysm. She had surgery and made it.
So I guess my question is, why are ER's so bad at this? I always assumed to be an ER doctor, you had to know your stuff, you had to be aware of all the terrible things that can happen to a human, and now I am wondering if the reverse is true.
I am also wondering if men are treated differently than women (saying that sarcastically) and why women are still being ignored when coming in with medical issues. Curiously, I haven't heard of anything like this happening to men in Winnipeg. Yup, they did CT scans and the CT scan came out clean. Makes me wonder if maybe CT scans are not all that wonderful for brain aneurysms. Considering 1 in 50, that terrifies me.
I wear a medic alert bracelet that says TAKE ONLY TO HSC because I do not want to become a statistic.
I also let others know what to look for, where to go, what questions to ask and what resources are out there. When this happened 8 years ago, there were few places in Winnipeg and even less resources for information. I walked out of the hospital with a one page paper telling me to take Aspirin for 8 weeks. Nothing else. Nothing on when I could work again, drive, what to look for, what I should avoid, what was normal, what was critical, nothing.
Now at least there is information for people that want answers, and research.
Does life get better? I'm going to say yes. At least I hope so. So today will be meloncholy, and tomorrow I will move on.
Check out the link below for more info.
Peace, Love and be good to yourself.
https://www.bafound.org/about-brain-aneurysms/brain-aneurysm-basics/warning-signs-symptoms/
https://www.bafound.org/about-brain-aneurysms/brain-aneurysm-basics/warning-signs-symptoms/
Saturday, 27 January 2018
Let's Talk....The Redux
January 31, 2018 is Bell Let's Talk Day. Every day should be a Let's Talk Day. Or at least a Let's Be Open-Minded Day. Being a horror writer has been a blessing for me. It kept me sane, grounded and allowed me to disappear within a world I had control over, where no one could touch me and I was safe. It is that same refuge for me today. I am one of the lucky ones. That does not mean my life is easy or that every day is a picnic. Dealing with a brain injury that caused brain damage juxtaposed with depression, compound complex PTSD and three or four auto-immune diseases has been...interesting. And that's okay. It just means I get to read the same book 12 times and still be surprised. And I get to sit in the new bathroom for hours watching the beautiful floor and backsplash.
In the horror community, there are many of us that struggle with depression, severe, crippling, clinical depression. There are others that battle BiPolar issues, PTSD, mental illness brought on by chronic illness and pain and sometimes, all of the above. Some of us give up. Some turn to drugs or alcohol. Others sabotage themselves so they can beat themselves up and say, "See, I told you you were a loser."
Mental Illness comes from a variety of issues; some are chemical imbalances, others are herediatry and some are brought on by severe childhood abuse, trauma, and soul sucking treatment by the hands of those that love us. Does this make it any easier? Nope. But maybe, just maybe if we stopped treating children as throw away, disposable items while we only think of our own selfish needs, such as drug addictions, pedaphile addictions, alcohol abuse or parents that create kids and bail, we wouldn't need a Let's Talk Day.
I bet that if child abuse ended today, and we really believed for one minute that children are the future pap, most of our mental health issues would disappear overnight, along with the majority of stress related diseases like fibromyalgia, and IBS. Yes, mental illness would still exist because of genetic issues, but I truly believe the majority of us were broken as kids by people who 'loved us'.
If 90% of all medical, physical illness is caused by stress, I believe that 90% of all mental illness is caused by child abuse, childhood trauma, or situational trauma.
Superbowl Sunday is coming up, or as I call it, the best day of the year for human trafficking. How many of those kids are dealing with mental illness because someone is making a buck off of their backs? Most of those kids will be lucky to make it out alive, let alone, whole.
Mental Illness comes from a variety of issues; some are chemical imbalances, others are herediatry and some are brought on by severe childhood abuse, trauma, and soul sucking treatment by the hands of those that love us. Does this make it any easier? Nope. But maybe, just maybe if we stopped treating children as throw away, disposable items while we only think of our own selfish needs, such as drug addictions, pedaphile addictions, alcohol abuse or parents that create kids and bail, we wouldn't need a Let's Talk Day.
I bet that if child abuse ended today, and we really believed for one minute that children are the future pap, most of our mental health issues would disappear overnight, along with the majority of stress related diseases like fibromyalgia, and IBS. Yes, mental illness would still exist because of genetic issues, but I truly believe the majority of us were broken as kids by people who 'loved us'.
If 90% of all medical, physical illness is caused by stress, I believe that 90% of all mental illness is caused by child abuse, childhood trauma, or situational trauma.
Superbowl Sunday is coming up, or as I call it, the best day of the year for human trafficking. How many of those kids are dealing with mental illness because someone is making a buck off of their backs? Most of those kids will be lucky to make it out alive, let alone, whole.
Mental illness is just as debilitating and just as challenging as living with Crohn's, diabetes, or Downs Syndrome. Sometimes even more so. But, unfortunately there is a stigma to mental illness that doesn't transfer to any other condition.
Mental illness means you are weak, pathetic, stupid, lazy or violent. Mental illness makes you less than a person and more of an object of scorn. People who commit suicide are selfish. Cops, soldiers and others with PTSD are not to be trusted. They could snap at any minute.
Isn't it incredible that you can break your leg and people will support you, open doors for you, run errands for you, but break your mind, and your world empties of people you thought loved and cared for you.
How many times have you heard, "Snap out of it; get some exercise; quit feeling sorry for yourself; if you really wanted to (______) you would, you're just lazy"?
We would never dream of saying these things to an Autistic, blind or deaf person, but feel it is justified in attacking the mentally ill. I often wondered why? Is it something they think is contagious? Does it make them feel superior that they have never suffered from a 'weak mind'? Or is it coming from a place of anger where they feel the person struggling with this is seeking attention?
And on the contrary, people with a mental illness have a strong mind. A very strong mind that is trying to protect them and keep them whole. There is no weakness with mental illness except for those that use it as a crutch. And yup, they exist. Just like some people with disabilities use it as a crutch for why they cannot perform their job. They exist as well. Fortunately, those people are in a very tiny minority.
And on the contrary, people with a mental illness have a strong mind. A very strong mind that is trying to protect them and keep them whole. There is no weakness with mental illness except for those that use it as a crutch. And yup, they exist. Just like some people with disabilities use it as a crutch for why they cannot perform their job. They exist as well. Fortunately, those people are in a very tiny minority.
So, on this mental illness let's talk and be friends day, I say share embrace your pain, accept your darkness, live in the moment. If you feel like crap, accept it. Think about it mindfully for five minutes. Really feel what it is like to be you, instead of trying to smile and put up with it. And then, after five minutes of examining your emotions, tell yourself, "I accept this about me and I am still a good person. I will do everything I can, regardless of my demons because I get to win."
Wash, Rinse, Repeat.
Sunday, 14 January 2018
Meteroite Strikes
Wow, another world wind of a week, month, life. I know we all deal with problems and we all feel alone when we are in the midst of anything troubling in our lives. The past couple of weeks has been no exception to this for me and my family.
We struggle with mental illness. At some point you will meet someone, love someone, give birth to someone, parent someone have parents, brothers, sisters, in-laws etc, with a mental illness or a multitude of mental illnesses. Life doesn't stop and you do not get a do over card. The line has been crossed from normal, everyday life to crisis in all of a few moments.
How do you respond? I know as a parent, I did not do well for a multitude of reasons, my own state of mind, my own physical illness and lack of energy, and just having enough to deal with on a day to day basis by having three children within a three year life span. All you moms out there are nodding your heads. You get it. You work full time, have three kids you love beyond reason, you may be struggling with depression and Fibromyalgia as I was, plus you still have a home to run, appointments to get to, school work to monitor and teach (more about that later), family commitments, trying to sell a house and BOOM.....one child struggles and starts acting out, another threatens to run away from home and the third is dealing with his own hell because of Autism.
It was a low, low point in my life. I struggled with anger, frustration, compassion, and right back to anger again. My husband and I both came from abusive backgrounds in our childhoods. Mine more so than his, although abuse is abuse and the effects never go away. Ever.
When we met, we swore if we had kids we would treat them with respect and love and teach them values and have open communication with them. And we did. We had the family suppers (my husband rarely had experience with that growing up), I walked the kids to and from school four times a day, made lunches, and we talked, we had love and hope and things seemed normal. At least to me. We struggled with money (who doesn't) but we never tried to let that affect the kids. We gave them what we could. I took up knitting and sewing to save on clothes. Our house was the house in the neighbourhood that was always filled with kids. We had enormous sleepovers and friends coming through and I thought it was fine. Except it wasn't. I had no idea the the normal teenage hormones and moodiness was not normal, but actually depression. I misread the signs. I thought the acting out, the over sensitiveness, the temper tantrums were a normal reaction to what was going on in the teenage body.
At the same time, the kids grew more distant and relied on their peers for guidance and advice and turned away from us, as parents. Wow, did that hurt. And nope, I did not see that coming. I was under the misguided impression that if you raised your kids right, showed them love and respect, that everything would turn out great. I know from my own childhood of severe, daily chronic abuse, lies, deceit and humiliation, that that was not the way to raise healthy people. So I fought my own demons, while trying to raise our children in a healthy manner. That is where the anger kicked in. Our children had a family that loved and respected them and still it was not enough. Where did I fail? How did I not see the inevitable train wreck that was in the forefront all the time? How did I miss the one moment that could have changed a loving family into one that wasn't speaking to each other? Where was the village to help me raise my child?
The schools offered no help whatsoever. Neither did the psychiatric profession, when we were finally able to access their services. And the police were the catalyst that got my son into a treatment facility. That went okay for about a minute. And then life just spiralled out of control. My depression came back a thousand fold. I could not help myself or my children and I felt like a complete idiot for not knowing what the next step was, or even where to find the damn portal to the next step. I was angry, frustrated, sad, disappointed and deeply hurt.
My husband turned to silence. It was the only way to reign in the anger, because if he spoke, he would lose it. So, instead of causing further damage and for fear of having our children run away from home, we walked on eggshells around each other and them. We hardly spoke, I cried every single night trying to rack my brain on how to fix THIS. But, there was no fix. There was no amount of talking, therapy, medication or intervention that helped. All there was, was time. Awkward, angry, stress filled time that lead to more damage and more ruined moments.
Jump ahead three decades and we are right back to that spot. My granddaughter deals with depression and suicidal ideation, and I feel like I have learned nothing, and I feel like I will never have a normal, happy life. It's all one big train wreck waiting to happen all over again.
The anger came back, the fear, the frustration. I have always said I have wanted to run away more times as an adult than I ever did growing up. And I thought about that daily.
We, as a society have failed miserably over the past four decades at raising strong, healthy people. Our mental health system is a failure. Our Justice system is a failure. And our medical system is a failure, and our education system is a failure. Not to mention our own families.
Growing up in a small town or village, everyone knows everyone else's business. We were like that growing up on military bases living in PMQ's (Personnel Married Quarters). It was our insulation from the world. We had an entire community looking after our kids. And then the PMQ's were sold and became privatized. One connection and link that brought everyone together was now severed.
We moved into civilian life. We went from a social support system to a place where no one knew who we were or cared. The schools placed more work on us by having our already strained times together now a battle field where we, as the parents were expected to teach our children what the schools did not have the time or the resources to teach. Guess what? We didn't either. We neither had the skills or the education to teach what our kids needed to know.
The mental health system could not fix our problems because the acting out and threatening to run away was not a priority for them. And it took months to get any kind of help. By that time the damage had already been done. We did not have grand parents or aunts and uncles to help. We did not have the school support, and now mental health services was no option. What little they did provide did nothing to help the brokenness we had become.
The inevitable happened and things became so much worse. Our children derailed. And I felt like a trauma surgeon in the desert using string and gum to stop the hemmoraging while another patient lay dying on the next table. I felt like the universe was one colossal joke right from the start.
BAM, here have a severley abusive stepfather and helpless, non-existent mother. BAM, get torn from your native land and move to a foreign country, lose your native language, learn English and forget about your culture and lose all your family back home. BAM, deal with severe sexual childhood abuse from the age of three to 18, and have zero support or help, but maintain your grades and keep that smile on your face or the beatings will continue. Run away from home at 17. BAM, here now you are pregnant at 20 (by choice) but now this is going to kick in your fear, flight and fight response into overdrive because of said childhood, but you had no idea this was going to happen. BAM, have a mental illness that you cannot climb out of for any amount of want or wishing. BAM, throw in a military move to the very community where your abusive parents live and they want access to your little girl. BAM, throw in severe post partum depression following the third child.
Life coasted until the kids hit puberty, then the meterites struck once more. BAM, your child is Autistic and will never be a fully functional adult. BAM, your other child has severe ADHD and we cannot help him. BAM, your third child is going through PUBERTY FROM HELL, but carry on. BAM, one of your children is being beat by their partner. BAM, have fibromyalgia, BAM, teenage pregnancy, BAM another teenage pregnancy, BAM, have another child turn to alcohol and become self destructive. BAM, lose your job.......coast....BAM have a brian aneurysm. BAM, son is now in an abusive situation with his partner......BAM, raise two more children after thinking this was your time togeher with your husband......it never ended.
I fought every single day for myself, my children, my marriage and my sanity. I was rushing from one fire to another, one trauma to another, and I felt I was doing it on my own. There was no outside intervention for me. My child who was being abused by their partner was told to have a restraining order. We all know how that works. It doesn't. Every two hours, another women is murdered while having a restraining order in her purse. Every two hours. Around the clock. Thankfully, my child survived that horrendous ordeal. But then my son was in an abusive relationship. He fixed that after years of trying, to no avail, to fix her and himself. Countless hours and time we would have one or both crying on our couch, at the same time they were going through therapy. The marriage ended. He moved on. But he also moveed onto another abusive relationship. I lost him three years ago.
Now, here today we struggle with a 15 year old who wants to die. And it kills me. Every square inch of my body feels like it has been scraped raw with a serrated knife. But something positive has happened. I have learned a lot in the past five decades. I have studied and taken courses and worked with mental health issues to help others. And while I am tentaivley hopeful, I am not 100% safe. I do not think I will ever be safe. Or have a life where I wake up and feel, hey this is okay. It finally took the help of medical science and natural drugs to get to a point where I am no longer depressed on a daily basis, but that was a short lived, three month reprieve. With this new generation of mental illness, I am not depressed, but merely surviving. And waiting.
I talk with my grandchild. Give her coping skills I never had to give to my children, and she is staying with us. We have mental health intervention...in a month. Wow, nothing has changed. And I hang on by my fingernails waiting for the next meteor to strike.
A few things are different. I am much older and much more tired. I am much stronger. I have many more skills. But I wonder if this will ever become the fairy tale life I envisioned. I am beginnig to lose hope. I think my fairy Godmother is drunk, or on Meth. My Guardian Angels are watching movies and binge drinking, and the Universe has told me, quite plainly, that this will be as good as it gets. The good things are my amazing husband, my dogs, I am employed, I have a house, I have food. And I need to remind myself every single moment to never lose sight of the important things in your life. Your love, your kindness, your compassion.
The other side of this though, is the impact on my work/life balance. Because I need to be so hyper vigilant and sensitive at home, at work, I do not have the pateinve to deal with issues and problems in the workplace. I struggle. I do not suffer fools in the workplace. Or excuses, or laziness. I have zero patience for stupidity or endless reasons about why you cannot finish a project on time, on budget and on scope. My life at home leeches into work and I am all out of spoons. I know I need to get a grip on that, and I fight every single day not to give in the "What the hell is wrong with you" speech that I say it in my head.
Fortunatley I had the amazing opportunity to take a course about difficult conversations. It was an incredible experience and will give me more tools to reign in the monster that demands perfection at work, but more so, it gives me the skills to adress important issues without resorting to violence. No, not the stabby kind of violence, but the violence as in sarcasm, frustration, abrasiveness, and low tolerance for bad behaviour. Instead, it allows me to speak to individuals about issues I see, and about accountability.
This is a real coup. Because of the way I was raised, I can smell BS a mile away. I can see behaviours that others write off as benefit of the doubt. I can read the body language of manipulation and, hopefully now have a way to adress it without the other person resorting to the coping skills of their childhood. The benefit of this course is you are the only one that needs to take this in order for it to work. And I think this will pay off in spades. I used it with my grandchild. I will use it at work, and I use it in my practise with trauma survivors.
All I know is we are all alone. We may think we are together and have support systems in place, but in the grand scheme of things I have learned we are born alone, we live with mental illness alone and we will die alone.
Today, I am okay with that.
Peace
We struggle with mental illness. At some point you will meet someone, love someone, give birth to someone, parent someone have parents, brothers, sisters, in-laws etc, with a mental illness or a multitude of mental illnesses. Life doesn't stop and you do not get a do over card. The line has been crossed from normal, everyday life to crisis in all of a few moments.
How do you respond? I know as a parent, I did not do well for a multitude of reasons, my own state of mind, my own physical illness and lack of energy, and just having enough to deal with on a day to day basis by having three children within a three year life span. All you moms out there are nodding your heads. You get it. You work full time, have three kids you love beyond reason, you may be struggling with depression and Fibromyalgia as I was, plus you still have a home to run, appointments to get to, school work to monitor and teach (more about that later), family commitments, trying to sell a house and BOOM.....one child struggles and starts acting out, another threatens to run away from home and the third is dealing with his own hell because of Autism.
It was a low, low point in my life. I struggled with anger, frustration, compassion, and right back to anger again. My husband and I both came from abusive backgrounds in our childhoods. Mine more so than his, although abuse is abuse and the effects never go away. Ever.
When we met, we swore if we had kids we would treat them with respect and love and teach them values and have open communication with them. And we did. We had the family suppers (my husband rarely had experience with that growing up), I walked the kids to and from school four times a day, made lunches, and we talked, we had love and hope and things seemed normal. At least to me. We struggled with money (who doesn't) but we never tried to let that affect the kids. We gave them what we could. I took up knitting and sewing to save on clothes. Our house was the house in the neighbourhood that was always filled with kids. We had enormous sleepovers and friends coming through and I thought it was fine. Except it wasn't. I had no idea the the normal teenage hormones and moodiness was not normal, but actually depression. I misread the signs. I thought the acting out, the over sensitiveness, the temper tantrums were a normal reaction to what was going on in the teenage body.
At the same time, the kids grew more distant and relied on their peers for guidance and advice and turned away from us, as parents. Wow, did that hurt. And nope, I did not see that coming. I was under the misguided impression that if you raised your kids right, showed them love and respect, that everything would turn out great. I know from my own childhood of severe, daily chronic abuse, lies, deceit and humiliation, that that was not the way to raise healthy people. So I fought my own demons, while trying to raise our children in a healthy manner. That is where the anger kicked in. Our children had a family that loved and respected them and still it was not enough. Where did I fail? How did I not see the inevitable train wreck that was in the forefront all the time? How did I miss the one moment that could have changed a loving family into one that wasn't speaking to each other? Where was the village to help me raise my child?
The schools offered no help whatsoever. Neither did the psychiatric profession, when we were finally able to access their services. And the police were the catalyst that got my son into a treatment facility. That went okay for about a minute. And then life just spiralled out of control. My depression came back a thousand fold. I could not help myself or my children and I felt like a complete idiot for not knowing what the next step was, or even where to find the damn portal to the next step. I was angry, frustrated, sad, disappointed and deeply hurt.
My husband turned to silence. It was the only way to reign in the anger, because if he spoke, he would lose it. So, instead of causing further damage and for fear of having our children run away from home, we walked on eggshells around each other and them. We hardly spoke, I cried every single night trying to rack my brain on how to fix THIS. But, there was no fix. There was no amount of talking, therapy, medication or intervention that helped. All there was, was time. Awkward, angry, stress filled time that lead to more damage and more ruined moments.
Jump ahead three decades and we are right back to that spot. My granddaughter deals with depression and suicidal ideation, and I feel like I have learned nothing, and I feel like I will never have a normal, happy life. It's all one big train wreck waiting to happen all over again.
The anger came back, the fear, the frustration. I have always said I have wanted to run away more times as an adult than I ever did growing up. And I thought about that daily.
We, as a society have failed miserably over the past four decades at raising strong, healthy people. Our mental health system is a failure. Our Justice system is a failure. And our medical system is a failure, and our education system is a failure. Not to mention our own families.
Growing up in a small town or village, everyone knows everyone else's business. We were like that growing up on military bases living in PMQ's (Personnel Married Quarters). It was our insulation from the world. We had an entire community looking after our kids. And then the PMQ's were sold and became privatized. One connection and link that brought everyone together was now severed.
We moved into civilian life. We went from a social support system to a place where no one knew who we were or cared. The schools placed more work on us by having our already strained times together now a battle field where we, as the parents were expected to teach our children what the schools did not have the time or the resources to teach. Guess what? We didn't either. We neither had the skills or the education to teach what our kids needed to know.
The mental health system could not fix our problems because the acting out and threatening to run away was not a priority for them. And it took months to get any kind of help. By that time the damage had already been done. We did not have grand parents or aunts and uncles to help. We did not have the school support, and now mental health services was no option. What little they did provide did nothing to help the brokenness we had become.
The inevitable happened and things became so much worse. Our children derailed. And I felt like a trauma surgeon in the desert using string and gum to stop the hemmoraging while another patient lay dying on the next table. I felt like the universe was one colossal joke right from the start.
BAM, here have a severley abusive stepfather and helpless, non-existent mother. BAM, get torn from your native land and move to a foreign country, lose your native language, learn English and forget about your culture and lose all your family back home. BAM, deal with severe sexual childhood abuse from the age of three to 18, and have zero support or help, but maintain your grades and keep that smile on your face or the beatings will continue. Run away from home at 17. BAM, here now you are pregnant at 20 (by choice) but now this is going to kick in your fear, flight and fight response into overdrive because of said childhood, but you had no idea this was going to happen. BAM, have a mental illness that you cannot climb out of for any amount of want or wishing. BAM, throw in a military move to the very community where your abusive parents live and they want access to your little girl. BAM, throw in severe post partum depression following the third child.
Life coasted until the kids hit puberty, then the meterites struck once more. BAM, your child is Autistic and will never be a fully functional adult. BAM, your other child has severe ADHD and we cannot help him. BAM, your third child is going through PUBERTY FROM HELL, but carry on. BAM, one of your children is being beat by their partner. BAM, have fibromyalgia, BAM, teenage pregnancy, BAM another teenage pregnancy, BAM, have another child turn to alcohol and become self destructive. BAM, lose your job.......coast....BAM have a brian aneurysm. BAM, son is now in an abusive situation with his partner......BAM, raise two more children after thinking this was your time togeher with your husband......it never ended.
I fought every single day for myself, my children, my marriage and my sanity. I was rushing from one fire to another, one trauma to another, and I felt I was doing it on my own. There was no outside intervention for me. My child who was being abused by their partner was told to have a restraining order. We all know how that works. It doesn't. Every two hours, another women is murdered while having a restraining order in her purse. Every two hours. Around the clock. Thankfully, my child survived that horrendous ordeal. But then my son was in an abusive relationship. He fixed that after years of trying, to no avail, to fix her and himself. Countless hours and time we would have one or both crying on our couch, at the same time they were going through therapy. The marriage ended. He moved on. But he also moveed onto another abusive relationship. I lost him three years ago.
Now, here today we struggle with a 15 year old who wants to die. And it kills me. Every square inch of my body feels like it has been scraped raw with a serrated knife. But something positive has happened. I have learned a lot in the past five decades. I have studied and taken courses and worked with mental health issues to help others. And while I am tentaivley hopeful, I am not 100% safe. I do not think I will ever be safe. Or have a life where I wake up and feel, hey this is okay. It finally took the help of medical science and natural drugs to get to a point where I am no longer depressed on a daily basis, but that was a short lived, three month reprieve. With this new generation of mental illness, I am not depressed, but merely surviving. And waiting.
I talk with my grandchild. Give her coping skills I never had to give to my children, and she is staying with us. We have mental health intervention...in a month. Wow, nothing has changed. And I hang on by my fingernails waiting for the next meteor to strike.
A few things are different. I am much older and much more tired. I am much stronger. I have many more skills. But I wonder if this will ever become the fairy tale life I envisioned. I am beginnig to lose hope. I think my fairy Godmother is drunk, or on Meth. My Guardian Angels are watching movies and binge drinking, and the Universe has told me, quite plainly, that this will be as good as it gets. The good things are my amazing husband, my dogs, I am employed, I have a house, I have food. And I need to remind myself every single moment to never lose sight of the important things in your life. Your love, your kindness, your compassion.
The other side of this though, is the impact on my work/life balance. Because I need to be so hyper vigilant and sensitive at home, at work, I do not have the pateinve to deal with issues and problems in the workplace. I struggle. I do not suffer fools in the workplace. Or excuses, or laziness. I have zero patience for stupidity or endless reasons about why you cannot finish a project on time, on budget and on scope. My life at home leeches into work and I am all out of spoons. I know I need to get a grip on that, and I fight every single day not to give in the "What the hell is wrong with you" speech that I say it in my head.
Fortunatley I had the amazing opportunity to take a course about difficult conversations. It was an incredible experience and will give me more tools to reign in the monster that demands perfection at work, but more so, it gives me the skills to adress important issues without resorting to violence. No, not the stabby kind of violence, but the violence as in sarcasm, frustration, abrasiveness, and low tolerance for bad behaviour. Instead, it allows me to speak to individuals about issues I see, and about accountability.
This is a real coup. Because of the way I was raised, I can smell BS a mile away. I can see behaviours that others write off as benefit of the doubt. I can read the body language of manipulation and, hopefully now have a way to adress it without the other person resorting to the coping skills of their childhood. The benefit of this course is you are the only one that needs to take this in order for it to work. And I think this will pay off in spades. I used it with my grandchild. I will use it at work, and I use it in my practise with trauma survivors.
All I know is we are all alone. We may think we are together and have support systems in place, but in the grand scheme of things I have learned we are born alone, we live with mental illness alone and we will die alone.
Today, I am okay with that.
Peace
Saturday, 8 April 2017
13 REASONS WHY
I was in a bit of a quandary as to where to blog this, but I still don't know if I am going to write a book review or an op-ed piece on the content. And, I guess I figured it will be a better fit here, because I can talk about anything, not just the writing, the characters, the pace, the story line, the theme, plot or a myriad of other writerly things.
I watched the Neflix series in two days while I was at home convalescing after a somewhat serious heart condition. I cocoon and nest when I am ill because I have learned through life the only person I can truly rely on is myself. So I hide. I don't want anyone to see me and I become paralyzed until the sympathetic nervous system finally lets go a week or two later. So, for a week or so I binge watch TV, sleep and read. Is it healthy? I don't know. Does it work? Yup.
So during this time I watched 13 Reasons Why. It was profound, sad, frustrating, and so many other things that I do not have words for it. Someone mentioned on my FB post that his daughter watched it and was angry about it. I wondered why. Why would this story of a young girl being bullied, sexually assaulted, lied about and abused make someone angry.
Sadly, this is high school. It was like this when I went. It was like this when my children went, and I bet it's the same now. There was nothing this girl experienced that a million other girls didn't experience. The difference being, however, now we get photographic proof, or video proof and this abuse follows you home. It's on your laptop, your phone, on every phone in the high school. The proof stays there forever. Thirty years later, you can google and find that video of you being sexually assaulted.
And the whispers never stop. You walk into a room and the room goes silent. You know they were just talking about how you gave John a blowjob in the playground last night. Even though that didn't happen. You haven't even been kissed yet, but John decides he wants to save his reputation from you turning him down, by telling everyone what a slut you are. And remember. You are not one of them. You are the new kid in school, because your family moves every two years. So you are always the new kid.
Then the jocks think you are easy, so they start hitting on you, trapping you in the hallway, the classroom, outside, anywhere they can. And they touch you. You cannot stop it. Then when you cry, they call you a whore, a bitch, a slut and laugh. This goes to all of their friends and their girlfriends, and suddenly you are walking down the hall and everyone is making rude gestures, leaving nasty photos an notes in your locker, and tweeting it to all of their friends.
You are shopping with your family and one of the jocks mimics a blow job in front of your mother while looking at you. You wince and want to die.
You're at the corner store and someone else walks in, rubs himself on you while grabbing you. You can't move because you are trapped by the counter. He smiles and says something funny.
The next time an older guy you like invites you in for a coke. He's friendly and persuasive , and then gets nasty because you won't touch him. He rips your clothes off an rapes you. Then as you leave he says, "Please don't tell anyone about this." You walk off in a daze, blood running down your leg and you feel like your head is in the clouds. What just happened?
A few days later, a friend of your parents is visiting and he is leaving the bathroom as you open your bedroom door. He goes on his knees in front of you and mimics oral sex. You are 14 and have no clue what that means, but it makes you feel dirty and ugly and you feel like it's your fault.
This happens every single day in North America. And now with President Trump saying he can't stop himself from grabbing beautiful women by the crotch I realize what a different world we live in, men and women.
I read the book after the watching the series (the series was better) and I felt so bad for Hannah thinking she was all alone. Hannah, you are not alone. There are millions of you out there fighting off teachers, parents, uncles, step-fathers, cousins, brothers, landlords, and bosses.
Reading and watching this just reinforced how ugly it can be, to be a teenage girl in this predatory world. It makes me angry that we raise boys to think this is okay and we tell the girls "to get over it."
And then we wonder why depression is so high.
I watched the Neflix series in two days while I was at home convalescing after a somewhat serious heart condition. I cocoon and nest when I am ill because I have learned through life the only person I can truly rely on is myself. So I hide. I don't want anyone to see me and I become paralyzed until the sympathetic nervous system finally lets go a week or two later. So, for a week or so I binge watch TV, sleep and read. Is it healthy? I don't know. Does it work? Yup.
So during this time I watched 13 Reasons Why. It was profound, sad, frustrating, and so many other things that I do not have words for it. Someone mentioned on my FB post that his daughter watched it and was angry about it. I wondered why. Why would this story of a young girl being bullied, sexually assaulted, lied about and abused make someone angry.
Sadly, this is high school. It was like this when I went. It was like this when my children went, and I bet it's the same now. There was nothing this girl experienced that a million other girls didn't experience. The difference being, however, now we get photographic proof, or video proof and this abuse follows you home. It's on your laptop, your phone, on every phone in the high school. The proof stays there forever. Thirty years later, you can google and find that video of you being sexually assaulted.
And the whispers never stop. You walk into a room and the room goes silent. You know they were just talking about how you gave John a blowjob in the playground last night. Even though that didn't happen. You haven't even been kissed yet, but John decides he wants to save his reputation from you turning him down, by telling everyone what a slut you are. And remember. You are not one of them. You are the new kid in school, because your family moves every two years. So you are always the new kid.
Then the jocks think you are easy, so they start hitting on you, trapping you in the hallway, the classroom, outside, anywhere they can. And they touch you. You cannot stop it. Then when you cry, they call you a whore, a bitch, a slut and laugh. This goes to all of their friends and their girlfriends, and suddenly you are walking down the hall and everyone is making rude gestures, leaving nasty photos an notes in your locker, and tweeting it to all of their friends.
You are shopping with your family and one of the jocks mimics a blow job in front of your mother while looking at you. You wince and want to die.
You're at the corner store and someone else walks in, rubs himself on you while grabbing you. You can't move because you are trapped by the counter. He smiles and says something funny.
The next time an older guy you like invites you in for a coke. He's friendly and persuasive , and then gets nasty because you won't touch him. He rips your clothes off an rapes you. Then as you leave he says, "Please don't tell anyone about this." You walk off in a daze, blood running down your leg and you feel like your head is in the clouds. What just happened?
A few days later, a friend of your parents is visiting and he is leaving the bathroom as you open your bedroom door. He goes on his knees in front of you and mimics oral sex. You are 14 and have no clue what that means, but it makes you feel dirty and ugly and you feel like it's your fault.
This happens every single day in North America. And now with President Trump saying he can't stop himself from grabbing beautiful women by the crotch I realize what a different world we live in, men and women.
I read the book after the watching the series (the series was better) and I felt so bad for Hannah thinking she was all alone. Hannah, you are not alone. There are millions of you out there fighting off teachers, parents, uncles, step-fathers, cousins, brothers, landlords, and bosses.
Reading and watching this just reinforced how ugly it can be, to be a teenage girl in this predatory world. It makes me angry that we raise boys to think this is okay and we tell the girls "to get over it."
And then we wonder why depression is so high.
Saturday, 18 March 2017
Such As It Is
This is it. This is what we have been given to work with. One life. One year. One Month. One week. One day. One moment.
For some of us, this is a death sentence because we live with mental illness; depression, PTSD, GAD, OCD, ADD, more DDD's but I digress. I always wanted initials after my name....be careful what you wish for, little one. Others live without illness weighing them down. But, as REM says, Everybody Hurts. Life is just harder for some than others. And what are you going to do about it?
Life is short. Probably a lot shorter than what we had hoped for. I doubt anyone on their death bed shouts "Dammit, why didn't you show up sooner. I was ready 23 years ago. Now look, dinner is cold. And I'm not reheating it."
Nope, I try not to take things too seriously, because, as you all know, it's all downhill from here. Might as well live as hard as you can and for all the right reasons.
If I had to make stuff up (I know, quit laughing) I would say most of my life has been made up of these incredible moments in time with happy, beautiful funny, incredible kids, an outstanding, quirky husband, beautiful, loving dogs, great careers (did I mention ADD.....) and less of the dark, icky, oozy stuff.
Unfortunately, it is the dark stuff that sticks and sucks me into the abyss. There are moments so black and so bleak that there is no light. I prefer not to think on these. I work them out, one dark piece of twisted, burning metal at a time. Toss it away. Take on the the next piece. Chew on it for a while and it goes into the heap.
Now the happy stuff: my incredible, courageous, loving, patient husband. Without him, I'd be done a long time ago. My children, who have taught me so much in life and have made such an extraordinary difference, my grandchildren who have shown me what's best in life, my dogs, I wish I had enough years to own all the dogs I've ever wanted. My passions, Yoga, horror writing, being an artist, helping others, reading, learning, and my friends. Damn, I love you all.
Find the happiness. Find the love. Find the hope, the peace, the joy, the passion that you deserve. Do not go through this life wandering and thinking and being desperately alone. Do not give up on yourself or others. Nothing comes to you; you have to fight for it. So go out there and brave the new world. And find the love and laughter for yourself. You deserve it. Baggage or no baggage.
Sunday, 25 September 2016
Life in Dog Years
How do you picture your life? I picture mine in dog years. I am of that age where I figure I can get one, maybe two more dogs and that's it, and that saddens me. It feels almost like when I realized I wasn't going to have anymore children. It is weird to realize you are living in the middle to the last part of your years.
Did I accomplish everything I wanted? Yes, for the most part. I did. I will never be one of those people that regrets not having done white water rafting, zip lining, skiing, repelling down a mountain or kayaking. I will never regret pursuing careers such as psych nursing, medicine, philosophy, writing, psychology, or the police force. I will never regret having children, just the number of them. Should have had one more to even things out.
I will never regret having married, traveling the world or living across Canada. I will never regret studying Alternative Medicine, going to University or studying aircraft maintenance. I will never regret speaking four languages fluently, horseback riding in the mountains or finding a passion for horror.
I will never regret buying a Mazda MX-5 and popping a wheelie on Memorial Boulevard. I will never regret listening to Punk and Alternative music super loud and signing at the top my lungs. I will never regret swimming at midnight, drinking on the beach, running with the full moon and howling through the RV park.
I will never regret the passion for my husband, my partner in this life and all others. I will never regret staying home and raising my kids, putting off my career until I was old. I will never regret loving them so much it makes me feel like dying when I cannot see or talk to them. I
will never regret my grandchildren and what great people they are and how happy I am to know them.
I will never regret learning about everything and anything that I am passionate about, regardless of how weird, icky, redundant or strange it may be, because knowledge for the sack of knowledge is a love, loved best.
But I will regret not having all the dogs I ever wanted.
Did I accomplish everything I wanted? Yes, for the most part. I did. I will never be one of those people that regrets not having done white water rafting, zip lining, skiing, repelling down a mountain or kayaking. I will never regret pursuing careers such as psych nursing, medicine, philosophy, writing, psychology, or the police force. I will never regret having children, just the number of them. Should have had one more to even things out.
I will never regret having married, traveling the world or living across Canada. I will never regret studying Alternative Medicine, going to University or studying aircraft maintenance. I will never regret speaking four languages fluently, horseback riding in the mountains or finding a passion for horror.
I will never regret buying a Mazda MX-5 and popping a wheelie on Memorial Boulevard. I will never regret listening to Punk and Alternative music super loud and signing at the top my lungs. I will never regret swimming at midnight, drinking on the beach, running with the full moon and howling through the RV park.
I will never regret the passion for my husband, my partner in this life and all others. I will never regret staying home and raising my kids, putting off my career until I was old. I will never regret loving them so much it makes me feel like dying when I cannot see or talk to them. I
I will never regret learning about everything and anything that I am passionate about, regardless of how weird, icky, redundant or strange it may be, because knowledge for the sack of knowledge is a love, loved best.
But I will regret not having all the dogs I ever wanted.
Monday, 29 August 2016
Hippie: The Redux
All right, so when I started this blog three years ago, I decided I wanted to be a hippie. So far, so good.
Three years later, I am a trained and Certified Yoga Instructor specializing in Yoga for Mental Heath, PTSD, Anxiety and Depression, I am registered in the Mindfulness Based Stress Reduction Certification program, I am teaching yoga twice a week for a federal organization and have done more writing and editing.
I am planning a three day Yoga Retreat and contemplating ghost writing a Yoga book for a highly intelligent, creative and flexible person.
I have also since then, been promoted and lead a unit in the fedral government. Been published a few more times, still working on the novel, and still battling demons.
I have achieved more towards my goal and have moved away from what is holding me back.
I still dream of my house on an acreage where I can grow wine (yes, I know) read, write, stomp some grapes in the backyard, run through fields of clover with the wolves and splash in the ocean whenever the urge strikes.
Will it happen? Who knows. I try to stay the course, I meander, wander, stroll, roam and leap through paths. Life is more exciting when you can switch gears on a moment's notice.
Three years later, I am a trained and Certified Yoga Instructor specializing in Yoga for Mental Heath, PTSD, Anxiety and Depression, I am registered in the Mindfulness Based Stress Reduction Certification program, I am teaching yoga twice a week for a federal organization and have done more writing and editing.
I am planning a three day Yoga Retreat and contemplating ghost writing a Yoga book for a highly intelligent, creative and flexible person.
I have also since then, been promoted and lead a unit in the fedral government. Been published a few more times, still working on the novel, and still battling demons.
I have achieved more towards my goal and have moved away from what is holding me back.
I still dream of my house on an acreage where I can grow wine (yes, I know) read, write, stomp some grapes in the backyard, run through fields of clover with the wolves and splash in the ocean whenever the urge strikes.
Will it happen? Who knows. I try to stay the course, I meander, wander, stroll, roam and leap through paths. Life is more exciting when you can switch gears on a moment's notice.
Monday, 13 June 2016
Evolvement and Devolvement
Back to the transition from a hard driven Type A personality into a Hippy (See the very first blog), I started Yoga teacher training a couple of months back. I have learned so much valuable and enjoyable information and I have been transformed, internally and externally. This kind of reminds me of a diamond, putting so much pressure on an item, body, or mind that it changes the molecular structure into something completely different.
I have been forever changed. My body feels different, moves more with grace, and my mind has been expanded into different thought forms, spiritual planes of existence, and is calm.
Things that were opaque have become clear; movements that were impossible have become natural, and I have learned serenity. Yoga changed my mind and my life, I cannot name all the differences. All I can say, there was a life lived differently before and after Yoga.
I am so exited to teach and to open this learning to others, and I can only hope that what I have experienced others can as well.
If you have been following this blog, you know I am a physical and emotional mess because of the Compound Complex PTSD, Anxiety, the brain thing....sigh and ADD. Yoga has helped with most of these issues. Obviously not the brain thing. But the others, definitely.
Yoga is more than a program, a pose, a spiritual journey or exercise. It can be all of these things or a combination of any of them. Yoga connects me to the greater spiritual purpose that includes the inclusivity of humanism.
But the events of last and this week have saddened me to the core of my being. A USA Olympic bound swimmer raped and brutalized an unconscious female. The judge, mom and dad, and the legal team thought he suffered enough from having a lifetime ban from the US swimming team that feeds into the Olympics and the judge did not want undo pressure placed on this predator that this man effectively will serve a three month sentence surrounded by protective guards, lest he receives the same life sentence he forced upon a defenceless woman, or, as dad put it, his "20 minutes of action."
I cannot fathom the thought process that turns the brutalization of an unconscious female, against her will, without consent, as 20 minutes of action.
Then there is the killing of 50 people and the wounding of 53 others due to a belief system that is radically devolved. Someone who thought we should turn the years back to the middle ages. And someone who will probably be labeled as mentally ill rather than a sociopath.
In both these last instances, people thought they were entitled to take what someone else had, against their will, someone who stood in judgement of another human life and decreed they were not worthy.
What a sad state we are in when are controlled by bullies.
The only way to right these wrongs is to be the change you want to see in the world. One person at a time. One small act at a time. Reach out to someone who is hurting and just listen. See the overworked mom and ask her if she wants a coffee. Introduce yourself to your neighbour.
One by one, we can make a difference. Start small. One simple act of kindness. It can make a huge difference.
I have been forever changed. My body feels different, moves more with grace, and my mind has been expanded into different thought forms, spiritual planes of existence, and is calm.
Things that were opaque have become clear; movements that were impossible have become natural, and I have learned serenity. Yoga changed my mind and my life, I cannot name all the differences. All I can say, there was a life lived differently before and after Yoga.
I am so exited to teach and to open this learning to others, and I can only hope that what I have experienced others can as well.
If you have been following this blog, you know I am a physical and emotional mess because of the Compound Complex PTSD, Anxiety, the brain thing....sigh and ADD. Yoga has helped with most of these issues. Obviously not the brain thing. But the others, definitely.
Yoga is more than a program, a pose, a spiritual journey or exercise. It can be all of these things or a combination of any of them. Yoga connects me to the greater spiritual purpose that includes the inclusivity of humanism.
But the events of last and this week have saddened me to the core of my being. A USA Olympic bound swimmer raped and brutalized an unconscious female. The judge, mom and dad, and the legal team thought he suffered enough from having a lifetime ban from the US swimming team that feeds into the Olympics and the judge did not want undo pressure placed on this predator that this man effectively will serve a three month sentence surrounded by protective guards, lest he receives the same life sentence he forced upon a defenceless woman, or, as dad put it, his "20 minutes of action."
I cannot fathom the thought process that turns the brutalization of an unconscious female, against her will, without consent, as 20 minutes of action.
Then there is the killing of 50 people and the wounding of 53 others due to a belief system that is radically devolved. Someone who thought we should turn the years back to the middle ages. And someone who will probably be labeled as mentally ill rather than a sociopath.
In both these last instances, people thought they were entitled to take what someone else had, against their will, someone who stood in judgement of another human life and decreed they were not worthy.
What a sad state we are in when are controlled by bullies.
The only way to right these wrongs is to be the change you want to see in the world. One person at a time. One small act at a time. Reach out to someone who is hurting and just listen. See the overworked mom and ask her if she wants a coffee. Introduce yourself to your neighbour.
Wednesday, 27 January 2016
Let's Talk...
January 27 is Bell Let's Talk Day. Every day should be a Let's Talk Day. Or at least a Let's Be Open-Minded Day. Being a horror writer has been a blessing for me. It kept me sane, grounded and allowed me to disappear within a world I had control over, where no one could touch me and I was safe. It is that same refuge for me today. I am one of the lucky ones. That does not mean my life is easy or that every day is a picnic. Dealing with a brain injury that caused brain damage juxtaposed with depression, compound complex PTSD and auto-immune diseases has been...interesting. And that's okay. It just means I get to read the same book 12 times and still be surprised.
In the horror community, there are many of us that struggle with depression, severe, crippling, clinical depression. There are others that battle BiPolar issues, PTSD, mental illness brought on by chronic illness and pain and sometimes, all of the above. Some of us give up. Some turn to drugs or alcohol. Others sabotage themselves so they can beat themselves up and say, "See, I told you you were a loser."
Mental illness is just as debilitating and just as challenging as living with Crohn's, diabetes, or Downs Syndrome. Sometimes even more so. But, unfortunately there is a stigma to mental illness.
Mental illness means you are weak, pathetic, stupid, lazy or violent. Mental illness makes you less than a person and more of an object of scorn. People who commit suicide are selfish. Cops or soldiers with PTSD are not to be trusted.
Isn't it incredible that you can break your leg and people will support you, open doors for you, run errands for you, but break your mind, and your world empties of people you thought loved and cared for you.
How many times have you heard, "Snap out of it; get some exercise; quit feeling sorry for yourself; if you really wanted to (______) you would, you're just lazy"?
We would never dream of saying these things to an Autistic, blind or deaf person, but feel it is justified in attacking the mentally ill. I often wondered why. Is it something they think is contagious? Does it make them feel superior that they have never suffered from a 'weak mind'? Or is it coming from a place of anger where they feel the person struggling with this is seeking attention?
So, on this mental illness let's talk and be friends day, I say share embrace your pain, accept your darkness, live in the moment. If you feel like crap, accept it. Think about it mindfully for five minutes. Really feel what it is like to be you, instead of trying to smile and put up with it. And then, after five minutes of examining your emotions, tell yourself, "I accept this about me and I am still a good person. I will do everything I can, regardless of my demons because I get to win."
Wash, Rinse, Repeat.
Thursday, 26 November 2015
Grief is a Spiral
Learned something valuable today, which I should have guessed at because of my education, but still managed to catch me off guard. After being estranged from my son for 14 months, I ended up back in the same city where, three years ago we had an amazing talk about his life moving forward, my past, our lives growing up together. I was a young mom and I am still waiting to grow up, so I think of my time as a parent of young children as growing up with them. It was a blast! We had tons of fun and I remember making up stories about them, where we had great adventures and saw magical things; the fabulously, crazy birthday cakes and parties and running with them chasing soccer balls. I loved having kids and being with them. The innocent times were care free.
Now, back in the same city, I broke down and sobbed for all that I lost. I have told my husband that this rift between us feels to me like he has died. Two months ago on the anninversary of this tsunami that tore through my life, I did a ritual to let it go or let me deal with it so I wasn't such a mess. It worked. I felt lighter than I had all year and I could rationalize the pain and the anger.
Being here broke that illusion. I remebered being with him again and all the great times we had together. He is very silimar to me in personality, music tastes, bad sense of humour and the the dark things we find funny. Losing him in this way makes no sense to me, emotionally or psychologically. And the damn broke.
After dealing with the fallout of a horrific, soul crushing childhood, I learned that dealing with grief and anger was a spiral. You deal, you grieve, you get angry, you get depressed, you coast and you start all over again.
This has been the same way. And, Ironically, the course I was on was dealing with critical incident stress. So I learned this is normal, this will change and this will ebb and flow as I go on. I knew that from my psych nursing days, from all the self help books and from my own couselling days, yet this still hit me like a bomb blast.
I guess this is what makes people resilient. And what makes life hard to endure and painful. One day I shall move past this. One day the cuts to my heart will heal. I know that. It is how I choose to journey there that will make the difference.
Peace.
Sunday, 12 April 2015
Fear..Love..Loss
I always thought, naively, that if you were family, you would stay together, you would love each other, and if you treated each other with respect, things would always come through in the end. I was wrong.
My husband and I raised our children with love and respect, valued their opinions, protected them, loved them beyond belief, and, I thought, created some strong familial values. Then, with peer pressure, strangers became more important. And nothing we said, nothing we did made any sense. We fell into a rabbit hole and we were at a loss. For years we tried everything in our power to undo the damage that society was doing, to no avail.
As a Dutch women with a strong sense of loyalty to family, and needing tight family connections, this was truly devastating. The one thing I yearned for, beyond all else, when I came to this foreign country, was the intimate connection with family that The Netherlands has and Canada has not.
So I fought, and begged, and conjoled, and cried, and gave in, and walked on egg shells, and sold myself, and finally fought back. The battle is lost, but the war may not be over. Or it might.
Then I thought about souls and the way we connect. Maybe there is a bigger reason for this. Maybe there is a lesson in this that I have not stumbled upon...yet. One day I shall wake up and I shall know why this happened and the why it played out the way it did. Until then, I can only ponder the wisdom of the universe and move on without hanging on.
I still check up, but do not expect anything different. And for now, this gives me some solace in a mad world.
I still love madly, deeply, and forever, because blood bounds are sacred to me. If it isn't the same for the other person, I need to understand and send them on their way and hope for the best for them, as well as myself. But I no longer will sell pieces of myself to get love back. Not at this stage of my life. And not after coming so close to dying.
So I wonder. And I contemplate. And I smile, because once, I had the greatest love of all for a brief, fleeting moment, when we truly were one person, with the same sense of humour, love of laughter and twisted sense of world view.
Goodbye my love. You still hold a space in my heart. But for now, the door cannot be opened for a while so I can heal.
Saturday, 10 January 2015
Horror Writing, Religion, Ethics and Life
It's been quite a few weeks for me personally, and for the everyone globally. My first grandson was born and he is beautiful, amazing, gorgeous and completely adorable. He has two incredible big sisters that love him to pieces and are quite amazing in their own way. The birth was horribly traumatic for my daughter. There were times I could have easily stabbed someone in the throat. No one in particular. Just anyone. Birth is not a good process. Not by a long shot. It is barbaric and mutilating. My daughter is incredibly strong. Much more strong than she gives herself credit for. So congratulations my love, my baby girl. You have a great family.
Then, within a few days terrorism rears its ugly head in Paris. Canada had its own run in with this new form of expression in the name of God, but here we are still debating whether these men were mentally ill or terrorists. Either way, I really don't care. The ones in Canada and the ones in France that shot down people for whatever myopic reason, are the worst brand of cowards.
To shoot someone, or run them over because you are offended is ignorant, wrong and speaks to the lowest common denominator of human civilization. What everyone seems to forget in all the outrage, debate and my-religion-is-better-than-your-religion speech is this isn't about religion. This is about ethics, morals and values and all three are missing from anyone who engages in the killing of men, women and children in the name of any God. I don't care what religion you belong to: If your mandate is to kill someone because of their gender, rape, torture, subjugate, devalue, stone, mutilate, hide, or cover them up because you cannot control yourself, the problem is with you.
If your sole purpose is to dehumanize someone for the colour of their skin, mutilate their genitals, have them-and-us rules, spew hatred and filth because they choose to love the same gendered person, the problem is ethics and morals.
If your dogma is to torture children, to withold food, love, education and belittle them for being kids, kill them while performing exorcisms, you lack a conscious and ethics.
The message is simple: Ethics are what you are born with and what you will allow based on a belief system. You do not get it from a religion. And if your religion includes killing anyone, or the torture of people or animals, you are morally vacuous.
Organized religions serve a purpose, but they are organized by a patriarcal system of archaic beliefs based on somone's interpretation on what someone else thinks. That is great if that includes love, faith, comfort, and the aid of all mankind. But, torture, death, abuse. That is ignorant, myopic, insipid and inane.
What has this got to do with horror? For me, this is why I write horror. I write crazy, improbable things to deal with the insanity in the world, to find an ounce of redemption in what I consider the downfall of intelligence and degradation of people. In my writing, I control what happens to the characters, good, bad or indifferent. I can put on my rose coloured glasses and make the world decent...or blow it up. But I have a choice, and control. And I chose to shut out what is happening, to retreat in my own mind where kids are loved, women are strong, and the good guys sometimes win.
Friday, 28 November 2014
Roos' Razor
Life is all about what you make of it. It is that simple. Dress it up, dress it down, make it sparkle, make it dull, wrap a bow around it or cover it up, your life is created by your thoughts. No more, no less.
If you spend the day thinking about the worst that can happen, the doom and gloom, you will keep down that path unitl it becomes a narrow tunnel to depression, paranoia and self loathing.
I am not saying that is the only cause for depression. I know depression is caused by a chemical imbalance in the brain and can be brought under control with the right combination of medication and better living habits. I've studied as a psychiatric nurse. I know the DSM V and the standards for mental illness. Just want to clarify in case I am giving the impression that depression is only caused by bad thoughts.
Happiness is a choice. Fear is a choice. Anger is a choice. We all make them. We all have bad days. We all get ticked off at the moron who is driving at 50 KPH in an 80 KPH zone and want to ram their car to get them moving, except it would cause damage to our baby Fiat. Yup, on some days that is the only thing stopping me. But I digress.
So if it is a choice, what are you choosing? Do you choose happiness, or do you dwell on the negative that is all around us? And when you think, what is in your head? Is it what you are lacking, or what you can create? Sometimes it really is that simple.
Ockham's Razor is a way to look at problems: when you have two competing theories, the simplist is the better one.
Roos' Razor is simple too: when faced with any problem, think of the most absurd explanantion and go with that. Trust me, life gets way more interesting.
What is the point to all this? I tend to think the absurd. I can take any situation and see the humour, the whackiness, the inane craziness of life. It makes me happy.
I read a headline once: Man Sentenced to Two Years on a Trampoline. My mind went into overdrive. Two years on a trampoline. Wow! Does he have to bounce all the time? How does he sleep? What does he do in the winter? How does he go to the bathroom? Why a trampoline? What did he do to get sentenced to two years? These, and a million other thoughts zoomed through my synaptic nerves until I read the sentence again and discovered he had been sentenced to a Trapline. I found this hysterical and even now, years later I can still see myself sitting in the house, alone, laughing like a loon because I am picturing this guy bouncing with a smile on his face as he looks into the distance.
This is how I choose to see life. The comedy, the craziness, the absurdity and the joy. Does it make a difference? You bet it does. I tend to think of scenarios that may seem a little off the wall, but may contain a kernel of something that can be used somewhere else. As a writer, this is invaluable. As a Project Manager this allows me to see things others may not. As a person, it makes me laugh. And I guess that is the best reason of all.
Sunday, 27 July 2014
Vacation, Stress, PTSD
Vacation! That one time of year where we can relax, unwind, not think about work, responsibilities, the office atmospheres and take a break. In theory, that's how it works. In reality, the hyper vigilance does not shut down. The nightmares do not stop. The tremors and muscle jerks continue along with the insomnia, nausea and feeling you are in the wrong body or the wrong mind. Unfortunately for PTSD survivors (and I hate that word also). We are not surviving, we are enduring, at the mercy of our flight and fight system and at mercy from a brain that will not hang onto memories long enough to process, but tortures us on a daily basis with flashes and glimpses of what was, and what could be again.
For me, it is the exhaustion. The every day battle that common people never face. I get up in the morning and I am exhausted, not rested, not thrilled to have to get out of bed at 0500 hours to face another day. I hurt. Every single muscle hurts. The shoulders, neck and back are the worst and my legs feel as if I am walking through jello. So where most people feel refreshed, I haven't slept, or had nightmares or woke up crying. Shower, have coffee and run out the door. Go to work where I will put in a 9 to 10 hour day dealing with interruptions, inter office politics, and office bullies. But on the positive side are the clients, my staff and a few decent people that talk me off the ledge every once in a while.
I do not handle stupidity well, or bullies, or laziness and nothing raises my hackles more than someone who can complete a job for a client, but chooses not to. So I breathe. Count to ten. Kill them in my mind and let it go.
Dependent upon the day, I come home, feed the dogs, hang out with them for an hour, eat dinner and watch some TV with la spouse. Other days, I go straight to bed. Last weekend I went to bed Friday night and would up Monday morning.
Now it is vacations. No schedules. I plan on writing....a lot. And so far have managed to pull off what I have promised. Yesterday was a great day. Wrote in the morning, shopped in the afternoon and then entertained 6 friends and laughed, told stories and generally had a pleasant day.
Watched a movie, read a little bit and went to bed. And laid awake until 0500 hours. My mind would not shut down. I would read, nod off and think great, but no. Ten minutes later I am staring at the ceiling again. I tend to get a lot of books read this way, but unfortunately the headaches and fog I am left with means that today will be way less productive. I may get in 2000 words of a novel I am working on, or I may crash the rest of the day.
I eat well, I exercise, I quit drinking coffee before 1000, but regardless my brain has a mind of it's own. After the brain surgery, I did not sleep for five months. I cat napped, but that was it. I thought I would lose my mind. I have never recovered from that state, and I don't think I ever will.
We lost a person to PTSD two weekends ago. For him seeing the incedent that wouldn't leave his mind, was the last thing he could endure. Five years later, no longer being able to deal with the pain, physical and mental, he succeeded in killing himself. This is the path for some PTSD survivors.
A month before that, we lost three police officers to a psychopath with a shotgun. Three good men, who were loved, had families and had a vision of leaving the world a better place.
Triggers all around. And now, here in Gimli, the most serene place in the world, I write horrific things. I write about demons and human nature and the evil that men and women, do. Because it helps me keep my own demons in check. And because I know that whatever I write, the truth is always a million times worse.
Now, if I could just sleep like a normal person..........
For me, it is the exhaustion. The every day battle that common people never face. I get up in the morning and I am exhausted, not rested, not thrilled to have to get out of bed at 0500 hours to face another day. I hurt. Every single muscle hurts. The shoulders, neck and back are the worst and my legs feel as if I am walking through jello. So where most people feel refreshed, I haven't slept, or had nightmares or woke up crying. Shower, have coffee and run out the door. Go to work where I will put in a 9 to 10 hour day dealing with interruptions, inter office politics, and office bullies. But on the positive side are the clients, my staff and a few decent people that talk me off the ledge every once in a while.
I do not handle stupidity well, or bullies, or laziness and nothing raises my hackles more than someone who can complete a job for a client, but chooses not to. So I breathe. Count to ten. Kill them in my mind and let it go.
Dependent upon the day, I come home, feed the dogs, hang out with them for an hour, eat dinner and watch some TV with la spouse. Other days, I go straight to bed. Last weekend I went to bed Friday night and would up Monday morning.
Now it is vacations. No schedules. I plan on writing....a lot. And so far have managed to pull off what I have promised. Yesterday was a great day. Wrote in the morning, shopped in the afternoon and then entertained 6 friends and laughed, told stories and generally had a pleasant day.
Watched a movie, read a little bit and went to bed. And laid awake until 0500 hours. My mind would not shut down. I would read, nod off and think great, but no. Ten minutes later I am staring at the ceiling again. I tend to get a lot of books read this way, but unfortunately the headaches and fog I am left with means that today will be way less productive. I may get in 2000 words of a novel I am working on, or I may crash the rest of the day.
I eat well, I exercise, I quit drinking coffee before 1000, but regardless my brain has a mind of it's own. After the brain surgery, I did not sleep for five months. I cat napped, but that was it. I thought I would lose my mind. I have never recovered from that state, and I don't think I ever will.
We lost a person to PTSD two weekends ago. For him seeing the incedent that wouldn't leave his mind, was the last thing he could endure. Five years later, no longer being able to deal with the pain, physical and mental, he succeeded in killing himself. This is the path for some PTSD survivors.
A month before that, we lost three police officers to a psychopath with a shotgun. Three good men, who were loved, had families and had a vision of leaving the world a better place.
Triggers all around. And now, here in Gimli, the most serene place in the world, I write horrific things. I write about demons and human nature and the evil that men and women, do. Because it helps me keep my own demons in check. And because I know that whatever I write, the truth is always a million times worse.
Now, if I could just sleep like a normal person..........
Sunday, 7 April 2013
What If
It's been a weird week for me. Been really sentimental and looking at pictures of all the dogs I have loved and lost. Been thinking about where I am and where I want to be. Thinking about work and where it is going. Thinking of new stories and ideas. Thinking of people thousands of miles away whom I wish were closer so I can wrap my arms around them and tell them how happy I am they are in my life. And hoping they will be with me in this life and all others......
Yeah I live in my head. Always have. I analyze, rationalize, plot, think, re-hash and anthropomorphize everything. Never gets lonely in there. Too many things to keep me company. I can honestly say I have never been bored. And until 7 years ago, never knew what happiness was either. Chemical intervention changed my life and showed me what was missing. It is astounding to me what a few grams of Li2CO3 will do to a person and how it changes the outlook from one of complacency to actual happiness. And, sadly, a lot of writers, a lot of really good people share this same crippling affliction.
Winston Churchill called it "the Black Dog". I kind of like that, but I love dogs way to much to juxtaposition them against depression. Dogs make me happy, make me feel love and hopeful and content. I WISH depression did that for me. Forty-three years of my life would not have been wasted. To me, depression is Dark Matter. It is there, it can't be seen with the naked eye, but the effects can be felt everywhere and it effects everything. But I digress....living in my head...my brain never shuts down, never quits thinking, never quits asking the 'what if'. And not about the big, important, life-enhancing, dimension-altering things such as, 'what if I don't go back to university' or 'what if I sell everything, buy an island, raise dogs and run with the wolves' but also 'what if I don't want to wear pants tomorrow' and ' what if I decide that it really is okay to run with scissors'.
Do all writers do this? Is it a quirk of nature? Is this why we create the things we do? Because we over-analyze everything? Because we constantly go over conversations in our minds and we need to let them see the light of day or our heads explode? Now that's funny cause my head did explode. Hmm obviously not writing enough......
Okay, now I have something else to 'what if' about......
Yeah I live in my head. Always have. I analyze, rationalize, plot, think, re-hash and anthropomorphize everything. Never gets lonely in there. Too many things to keep me company. I can honestly say I have never been bored. And until 7 years ago, never knew what happiness was either. Chemical intervention changed my life and showed me what was missing. It is astounding to me what a few grams of Li2CO3 will do to a person and how it changes the outlook from one of complacency to actual happiness. And, sadly, a lot of writers, a lot of really good people share this same crippling affliction.
Winston Churchill called it "the Black Dog". I kind of like that, but I love dogs way to much to juxtaposition them against depression. Dogs make me happy, make me feel love and hopeful and content. I WISH depression did that for me. Forty-three years of my life would not have been wasted. To me, depression is Dark Matter. It is there, it can't be seen with the naked eye, but the effects can be felt everywhere and it effects everything. But I digress....living in my head...my brain never shuts down, never quits thinking, never quits asking the 'what if'. And not about the big, important, life-enhancing, dimension-altering things such as, 'what if I don't go back to university' or 'what if I sell everything, buy an island, raise dogs and run with the wolves' but also 'what if I don't want to wear pants tomorrow' and ' what if I decide that it really is okay to run with scissors'.
Do all writers do this? Is it a quirk of nature? Is this why we create the things we do? Because we over-analyze everything? Because we constantly go over conversations in our minds and we need to let them see the light of day or our heads explode? Now that's funny cause my head did explode. Hmm obviously not writing enough......
Okay, now I have something else to 'what if' about......
Sunday, 10 February 2013
Psychopathy and the People Among Us
Been thinking a lot about psychopathy lately. Been a psychopathic week for me. I am re-reading all the Homolka documents again. And I thought about the link posted by a friend on the brains of psychopaths and how they differ from the normal population. Does that mean they are created differently? Are they a different species? Are they sick? Regardless, they should still be neutered at the first sign of psychopathic behaviour. They do not play by the same rules as we do and they do not have the same values as we do. And that is our problem on so many levels. They count on us judging them by our value system and that is where we fail again and again and again. They cheat, lie, manipulate, change facts, and distort the truth as they see fit. They know the difference between right and wrong. And they don't care. As long as it suits their needs. I saw one person tell a horrific story, crocodile tears glistening in her eyes....until she turned. And then the smirk appeared. Not a tear in sight.
Six percent of people are psychopaths. One in one hundred. One in every four classrooms. They are our neighbours, roommates, friends, lovers, husbands, wives, teachers, students, co-workers, doctors, lawyers, business partners, etc. Chances are, you know one. Or have met one. Or are living with one. They are charming, friendly, easy to talk to, persuasive, happy to help or offer advice. To a point. To the outside world, they are concerned citizens, helpful, caring and only looking out for others. But if you dig a little deeper, you see the cracks. You notice the help comes in the form of offering others to help. Or giving advice how you could do it better. Or how you are doing it wrong. Nothing that involves them. Unless it makes them look better.
In meetings or group settings, they are the most hard working, without saying anything concrete, the busiest, without being able to pinpoint any one thing, in the most meetings, and are the brightest person in the room. When something is mentioned, they have done it, done it better, done it smarter, done it first. Their team is the smartest, the only ones that know what is really happening and everyone should be listening to them. They lead the team, the unit or the country. And everyone follows them. If something fails, it was the fault of someone else. If it succeeds on any point, it was because of them.
If any idea is brought up, it is a stupid idea, unless it is theirs. If someone else's idea is seeming to succeed, they will do whatever they can to make it fail. And blame that person.
They are adept at finding weakness in others and hammering on that weakness until that person breaks. Once this happens, they have won and are now in control.
Six percent of people are psychopaths. One in one hundred. One in every four classrooms. They are our neighbours, roommates, friends, lovers, husbands, wives, teachers, students, co-workers, doctors, lawyers, business partners, etc. Chances are, you know one. Or have met one. Or are living with one. They are charming, friendly, easy to talk to, persuasive, happy to help or offer advice. To a point. To the outside world, they are concerned citizens, helpful, caring and only looking out for others. But if you dig a little deeper, you see the cracks. You notice the help comes in the form of offering others to help. Or giving advice how you could do it better. Or how you are doing it wrong. Nothing that involves them. Unless it makes them look better.
In meetings or group settings, they are the most hard working, without saying anything concrete, the busiest, without being able to pinpoint any one thing, in the most meetings, and are the brightest person in the room. When something is mentioned, they have done it, done it better, done it smarter, done it first. Their team is the smartest, the only ones that know what is really happening and everyone should be listening to them. They lead the team, the unit or the country. And everyone follows them. If something fails, it was the fault of someone else. If it succeeds on any point, it was because of them.
If any idea is brought up, it is a stupid idea, unless it is theirs. If someone else's idea is seeming to succeed, they will do whatever they can to make it fail. And blame that person.
They are adept at finding weakness in others and hammering on that weakness until that person breaks. Once this happens, they have won and are now in control.
I was raised by a psychopath. And it was an incredible learning opportunity. Lead me to my career choice, my writing path, my stance on Ethics with a capital E, my views on morality, organized religion, and self-professed prophets. He honed my instincts to a sharp point and gave me the ability to read people in a matter of seconds, taught me to read body language before listening to words, taught me to rely on instinct and not on other's charm. Taught me that making snap judgements on people is seldom wrong and if people show you their character, believe it.
It made me a better listener. It made me look for motive. And it made me realize the majority of people are good.
I look for detail in things and patterns. I look for reasons and make connections when others can't see them. It makes me see the bigger picture and look further down the road.
I trust...but verify. I love....and protect the ones I love. I give my children the benefit of my experience .....but let them decide for themselves. I let people in.......and cut them off just as quickly if they show me their character. I will help others....unless they refuse to help themselves.
I will not put up with drama and living crisis to crisis. Attention seeking, victim mentality, self-sabotaging behaviour is a waste of my time.
Being raised by a psychopath was an experience that gave me many gifts. I am open......until I am betrayed. I love unconditionally.....until I am betrayed......I help until I cannot.
Yes I judge others. I have to; it is self-preservation. I was taught this by the age of three. I learned that not all family members love each other and have their best interests at heart. I learned that not all parents love their children and that not all homes are safe. I learned that the dark is evil and monsters do exist. I was taught that not all motives are healthy and clear and without consequences. And that acting on your urges leaves life long scars.
I learned that bullies are cowards and when you challenge them, they back down and move onto someone else.
And, above all, I learned that love is a gift. That when given to someone worthy, it grows and transforms and destroys all the evil in the world.
Yes I judge others. I have to; it is self-preservation. I was taught this by the age of three. I learned that not all family members love each other and have their best interests at heart. I learned that not all parents love their children and that not all homes are safe. I learned that the dark is evil and monsters do exist. I was taught that not all motives are healthy and clear and without consequences. And that acting on your urges leaves life long scars.
I learned that bullies are cowards and when you challenge them, they back down and move onto someone else.
And, above all, I learned that love is a gift. That when given to someone worthy, it grows and transforms and destroys all the evil in the world.
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