Saturday, November 30, 2013

Tattoos and I.....our relationship is complicated.

When I was 20 I wanted a tattoo.  My boyfriend got one, I chickened out.  I was scared it would hurt too much.  I went back a year later, same place, no boyfriend, and got the one I wanted.  It all happened in California at my friend's parlour.  She, my friend, is like my sister.  I have known her since birth, or she me, she's just a fraction older so basically when I was born she, Kimmy Jane, was waiting.   Our parents had a cottage two doors apart and we've been just "two doors away" in my heart ever since. 

The only person I trust to tattoo me is Kimmy Jane.  Not because I don't trust other artists, the artistry isn't the issue.  She asks me all the right questions, we bond as it happens, and I trust her that everything is clean and new, and my tat is as important to her as it is to me.   She is in Lackawanna New York and that's how far I go to see my sister and get permanent stuff on me, 4 hours.  No pain, no gain people.

I have only one picture tattoo on me really.  Well, I guess 3 technically.  When I was 20 I got Thumper on my hip.  I loved it.  She (my Thumper was a she) was on her back, holding her belly in a big belly laugh.  I love to belly laugh and when I used to sit at the coffee table on the floor and eat I would always tap my foot, aka "Thumper". 

 So cute.  I'm such a stupid ass.

When I got together with my now husband he and my father conspired one night over how "Thumper" was "thump her".  I was insulted, pissed off, and a little remiss about the volume of men who may have thought the same so I decided to cover Thumper up.  I never should have.  On went a 4 Leaf Clover that had to be huge to cover each end of Thumper and my new last name went in the middle.  Bye bye "thump her".  The new one is blasé to say the least.  It's common place.  It's not art, it has no meaning but a joke.  But that's what I asked for, and that's what I got.  I remember Kimmy not wanting to cover Thumper and I should have listened.  Thumper was a part of history, a part of my life and she should have stayed that way, a part of me.

Every other tattoo I have are words, parts of my story.  And I suppose then so is Thumper and the Four Leaf Clover cover up. I just don't happen to care for the cover up.  She did a perfect job on it, don't get me wrong.  But if you make a solid decision to get something and there's a reason for it in your heart, don't change that. Ever.  For anyone.  My Kimmy has drawn the most beautiful array of fall coloured flowers now.  We will eventually start the process of covering the 4x4 inch clover with a big Gerber daisy in deep orangey red, then sun flowers, and more Gerbers and greens.  It will go from the front of my hip, the hip bone, over to my hip and up my ribs.  I can't wait.

I understand I am 43.  I get it, I do.  I know someday, it better be a long long time, I will be a grandmother.  I will either hide them, remove them, or have forgotten they exist like I do now.  I am no Helen Mirren, nor do I plan on being, so a one piece bathing suit it shall be thereby making my hip tattoo a non issue.  It's the others I will have to explain and explain I shall.  It's not as hard as you may think even though there are over 10 now if you count them as done individually. 

First one "AT" ("after Thumper");

To piss off my father I got the kanji symbol for "Father" on the inside of one heel.   So when he saw it and got angry I could say "it's says daddy, daddy" *insert guilt here*.

To piss off my husband (are you sensing a pattern here) I got the kanji symbol for "Dan" on the inside of the other heel.  So when he saw it, well he just called me an idiot.  Wasn't as fun as I thought.  I added my name on my next trip next to his, our romance is now outlined in kanji on my foot.  Or as my husband says, "chicken balls and rice is what it probably says!".  That's okay too cause that's f*cking hysterical I think. 

Chicken balls and rice. I know.  Probably is.  *snort*

On that same trip I had a native wolf tattooed over the symbol for "Father" because the old Cherokee Legend reads;

An old Cherokee is teaching his grandson about life. "A fight is going on inside me," he said to the boy.

"It is a terrible fight and it is between two wolves. One is evil - he is anger, envy, sorrow, regret, greed, arrogance, self-pity, guilt, resentment, inferiority, lies, false pride, superiority, and ego."

He continued, "The other is good - he is joy, peace, love, hope, serenity, humility, kindness, benevolence, empathy, generosity, truth, compassion, and faith.

The same fight is going on inside you - and inside every other person, too."

The grandson thought about it for a minute and then asked his grandfather, "Which wolf will win?"

The old Cherokee simply replied, "The one you feed."


I love this one.  I have since it was applied.  And the covering of the other, unnoticeable in her redesign of this as she did it free stylin'.

This is something my father would say.  That a person creates their own demise or success so it seemed fitting.

During the same visit I also got "Be True to Yourself" below the low of my back, just below the tramp stamp spot.  I have always felt that I wasn't true to who I really was.  I just never admitted it, never could touch it, couldn't place it.  I was working on it.  I knew I was somehow not being true so there it went, onto me, to remind me to find truth. 

On my next visit I was in the throws of struggling through life.  Really struggling with where I came from, who I was, who I was meant to be.  I was a bit lost to say the least.  I always felt like I was damaged goods but strong enough to fight my way through it.  One of my favorite singers of all time, Sarah McLachlan.  One of my favorite old bands, The Beatles.  A song in common and a favorite.  Blackbird.  The phrase, "Take these broken wings and learn to fly", screamed at me.  It's what I was learning to do.  I was broken and I needed to learn how to fly again.  At one point in my life I was blind to all the hardships.  I lived with them on my shoulders but was blind to their weight.  Around the phrase, 3 tiny black birds in various degrees of flight.  It was very tiny.  Kim wasn't even sure she could write that small, but she did.  I often got comments about how tiny it was.  How much people loved it.  It was considered "darling".

And life continued.  The struggles continued. 

The struggles turned into leaps and bounds.  Life changed.  It didn't become easier, but it sure was starting to make more sense.

As I looked down on "take these broken wings and learn to fly" I realized I wasn't broken.  I was who I was because of where I came from, where I had been, where I would go.  I was me.  I decided the next phrase needed to be on my wrist.  "All your life, you've been only waiting for this moment to arrive".  I had been waiting to understand I wasn't broken for so long.  It was such an amazing feeling.  Sitting in a course I suddenly realized I wasn't held prisoner by my past.  I wasn't broken by it, I just was.  So that 2nd phrase had to be a part of me.  When I did that, I added another bird in FULL flight and two more in various degrees, tiny ones, behind my right ear.  All the rest was on my left wrist, I wanted things on both sides.  I wanted some balance.

While there I also decided to get two sentences put on the top of my foot and those two lines are:

To hurt is to learn.
To teach is to heal.

I put this one up to show how straight it is.  Any imperfections you see are the bumps and veins in the foot or my writing! LOL
Many times our learning requires pain.  We sometimes learn best sadly when we are hurt, when the heart aches.  We get the strongest messages sometimes from agony.  And taking that agony and sharing it with people in some courses allowed me to heal more than I ever thought possible.  And with my step kids, my step daughter especially.  Every time my pain can teach her a life lesson, I heal a bit more. 

I wasn't done yet.  I also got two more lines added above "Be True to Yourself".  "Be Authentic" and "Be Honest".  The only way to be true to yourself, the only way to heal and learn, is by being your authentic self, who you were meant to be.  The only way to be who you were meant to be in how you live life is to be honest with yourself and all those around you no matter the price. 

I tend to choose the fonts when I go to Kimmy and my bad, I chose different for both the 2nd phrase of the song AND the lines on my back.  She told me they were off a bit, I didn't care.  I liked that they stood out.  They were the next steps in my journey.  So she tattooed them that way.  Everything happens for a reason doesn't it?

And here we are at my last visit.  We couldn't get the flowers even underway, the 4 Leaf Clover cover up.  It's a big piece.  It's going to be outlined one day and coloured over time.  We were only in town, the USA, for about 30 hours.  I went down with my best friend in the world, Brenda.  And we missed each other to say the least Brenda and I.  Silly girls we are, we both got upper ear tiny little cartilage piercings when we were at the shop, they do all the good stuff there.  And I then went and got another little wee one on the inside little part of the opposite ear.  They are so tiny they are barely noticeable but one ties me to my bestie and the other is for me.  Just to say, "why not, I am not as old as I think I am sometimes". 

On this most recent visit Brenda didn't get anything else done but designed in her head her next steps down tattooing lane.  For me, Kimmy re-did the "hurt heal" just darkening and evening up the font.  I don't always avoid the "itching" part of the healing process.  LOL.  Sometimes some letters therefore don't heal and "stay" the same.  She fixes that while scolding me gently.  She wants to touch up my heels each time I am there too because they are the worst to heal properly with the dead skin we sloth off on our feet but I don't allow it.  Well not each and every time anyways.  Kimmy tells me each time where not to tattoo and how to.  I am not too good with the "listening".

This just shows how much darker it is BUT clearly a bad shot as it has NOT changed it's placement and become crooked.  I am not "drooping" yet (see later).

As I said before, the fonts around me are not the same.  The top of my foot is very simple printing.  My wrist phrases, two different simple fonts.  What I wanted to make this look better, to amp it up, was to draw around each phrase separately as if they were torn pieces of paper that were taped on my wrist.  Just as the tattooist does when they stencil on you, draw the tattoos, and in Kimmy's case, store them on the walls of her office.  Now it's a piece of paper with the 2nd phrase and the 1st phrase appears to be taped over it.  Like paper has fallen and landed on my wrist.  It's cute, I like it.

This looks so much like her stencils.  It's an omage.  Some she rips, some she cuts with scissors, depends on her mood.  And now they look much like those and are a reminder of her.

On my back we finished that work as well with "Be Real" "Be True" side by side.  We used yet a third font and added space in between them all allowing for my back to read;

Be True  Be Real
Be Honest
Be Authentic
Be True to Yourself

It's hard to make this look straight in a picture as the middle of my spine goes down the middle of the shot. My spine has curves and bumps, you know, from vertebrae.  I really like that they are pieces added over time.  And yes the "y" in "yourself" appears backwards but does on the lettering we chose that day too.  The last thing I will be doing is a period after "be".  I missed asking for it. It is the end of the phrase after all.  It's all about punctuation.

Basically this reminds me and anyone else behind me to be real, and true. To do so you must be authentic and honest with yourself and others.  And this means you are being true to yourself.  And sometimes, you just gotta "be".

Ya' know what else I learned lately.  I am not good to myself, not at all.  In fact, I am mean.  I don't do or say nice things about myself in my head or out loud more often than not.  I have people remind me all the time, "you are being too hard on yourself" etc.  It's become the mantra of people I admire and in course work, meditation courses, they always say, "be kind to yourself".  If you are stressed.  Take a minute to breathe.  If you are lonely.  Call a friend, don't hide in your loneliness.  If you have pain.  Do what you can, not what the person next to you can.  "Be kind to yourself".  I decided not long ago to do that once a day.  One thing each and every day that is nothing but kind to me, myself and I.  As a reminder I figured I should slap that onto my arm as well, in pretty writing with pretty swirls and my favorite, a happy face over the "i" in "kind".  *giggle*  Makes me happy every time I look at it.  I did a little dance when it was finished.  "I love it, I love it, I love it" I danced and sang. 

The happy face over the "i" makes me so happy.  The "y" having a heart is the "Kimmy touch" just for me. 

And that my friends is all about my ink and my complicated relationship with it.  My husband's relationship is worse.  He hates each and every one of them.  But me, I love them.  I just do.  I am not about "the art". I don't want big scenes and flourish, I want words.  I live for words. I love to talk, write and read.  I love words.  I am a walking word.  The "art" will come with the cover up of the clover.  It will be great, full of colour and splendor, but for now.  Just words.  And words aren't easy to do, not cleanly, small, and straight, yet they are.  And as importantly for me, they are done by my sister and most of the time during trips with my other sister.

Some might say this is impulsive, even part of the bi polar, and it wouldn't be a lie really.  Getting another one is impulsive, it's addictive.  But there is no impulsiveness to the fact I sit and think about things that are important to me, that have meaning and I apply them to myself knowing full well I am stuck with them at 80 years of age drooping right off me.  So be it. 

Sisters united by life......and a little ink here and there. 

Got any tats?  Tell me about them.  I love a good story.

Thursday, November 21, 2013

Entertainment Crap - good stuff! (silly little light hearted one)

I think we can solve all weight issues in the world if we place a bikini clad woman next to a fully dressed man and if that woman look emaciated like this one does?  Guess what?  She is.  She is emaciated.  This is ridiculous!  That girl has got to be fucking hungry. 

Why does Katy Perry look so unhappy?  Oh right, it's that fuckwad beside her.  Never mind.  Solved my own question.  I do not get the attraction even remotely.  My body is no wonderland I want that guy to ever wonder about.

That's one half of those Olsen twins from way back in the "Uncle Jesse" days and her pet vulture there on her arm.  No Silly!!!! Her other arm!  The old fart's her boyfriend.  With a daughter the Olsen twins age.  Yes, he is in his 50s.  ICK!  And she's wearing a bird, DOUBLE ICK!

Vulture sample.  See above, imagine feathers here.  Imagine by looking at her jacket here.  Poor fella.

What is with the, mary fucking hell to do with the stupid assed crazy fucktard, eyebrows?  How come I get tested for bi polar and other mental issues 417 times, over 43 years, and this girl gets away with this shit and nuthin'?  I am convinced her tongue is not connected to her brain. 
Chris Brown checked himself into rehab for Anger Management.  He shortly thereafter checked himself out claiming he needed to do his community service for his anger management issue, that whole beating of Rihanna.  He's now been forced by the courts to go back into rehab for 90 days for Anger Management.  Why not prison?  Nothing makes a shit head happier and more compliant than a little "bent time over the picnic bench".
On this note, WHOOOO WHOOOO 90 days of no Chris Brown news.  Fucking brilliant.
Adam Levine was voted People's Sexiest Man Alive beating out Joe Jonas by 2.3 nmillion votes. 

Here are SOME of the runner ups:
I approve, largely because of this picture below.  This family is ridiculous.  I don't know who to stare at the most?
Come on!
*sigh* That's some chocolate that doesn't make a girl regret anything.
I want in his tighty whities please!
No.  NOT.  Nope.  Don't see it.

I couldn't see this, didn't see this until I saw two seconds of the movie, all I could stand to watch but hellooooo, manly man, with chest hair and everything, just like Wolverine.  (I think he's gay, not sure.  I do NOT want to know.  And I mean him and Wolverine.  Don't fucking dare tell me).

That stomach, the arms.....I would lick those fake tattoos off.  (Again, heard he might be gay.  I DO NOT want to know.  You tell me and I will ruin your Christmas). 
The face on this Ian kid.  *sigh*
The arm up, sniff my arm pit, does nothing for me at all and we'd need to cut off his head. 

Mr. and Mrs. Smith, when he was being a man whore, is the only time I really jones'ed for this guy.  (hmmmm might be something too that thought).  Okay then and Ocean's 11 with Clooney.  He's not aging well.  Least I don't think so. 
Where the fuck is Clooney????  That's not right, not right at all.
He has a weird upper chest.  Clint Eastwood's son, Scott.  Wonder if he too talks to chairs, owns guns and thinks his chicks uterus is his?
Honey buns, you can Channing or Tatum all over my Channing or Tatum.  Whatever it means, you can do it to me. 
You're welcome my lovelies.  Any of these do it for you?  I know it's Chris Brown isn't it.   It's that gold tooth. 

Tuesday, November 19, 2013

Bi Polar Is A Bitch

Oddly enough, so am I.

Ever since I was 12 years old or even younger, I never felt like I had a good control on my emotions.  I don't know if others saw it?  I worked hard to be non-emotional, not sad or elated, just angry.  I could get away with that one it seemed.  Tough girl.  The tough chick that let nothing get to her. I had your back. I was the girl to go to in a fight.  But inside me was such darkness.  I didn't know it was pain.  I didn't know my anger was in fact fury to cover the pain.  I just pushed it all down and started being really strong.  Really funny, really tough, but sometimes also very mean and nasty.

I know I'm a bitch, but only sometimes.  Only on really bad stupid human days.

At 12, my parents separated.  (I am leaving that as a sentence on its own as with all kids, it's pivotal and I will make that its own write up one day).

Don't forget your kids.  YOU got divorced.  You've uprooted their entire world.  You did that, to them. 

I believe it wasn't long after that my parent’s separation my first doctor tried to put me on a mood stabilizing drug, to help with my temper.  That was the early 80s.  They were new.  My Dad wouldn't sign off so I never did take them but there was a doctor saying, "Whoa, this kid, she’s not happy".  

I was about 13 when I went to see a shrink about my parents and THEIR divorce.  They had already done a psyche and IQ test.  The report basically said my Dad shouldn't worry about my brother, even with his dyslexia.  I was the problem.  I was an open wound.  It was a great concern how I was so emotionally immature and insecure.  My brother would be fine, I would be a mess.  The shrink basically said, "You're fucked with who you are, and who your parents are, but you’re really smart so go get a job in a creative field as per the tests and hope for the best".  It was a slap in the face really.   To me it was, "You're on your own, don’t rely on those you love so desperately".  I left in tears.  I went home, locked myself in a closet and I cut. And I starved.  This was the first time the rage really scared me.  I was so concerned about life that rage covered the fear and I didn't feel I could control it.  I felt nothing but fury.  I cut and starved to try to get a handle on ANYTHING in my life, to have some control and to feel anything but rage.

As time went by I always knew deep down that I was depressed, I knew I suffered from depression.  I just refused to admit it.  When I was 16 and the first boy I had sex with barely paid attention to me afterward, I cut myself and changed my eating habits.  When a friend asked if she could go out with him not long after losing my virginity I say “hell sure”, I am tough, I can take that.  I cut myself for not having the courage enough to stand up for myself and say, "that's not right, how could you, how would you feel?"  And I cut, and cut.  I binged and I starved.  I was more worried about the rage surrounding all of my feelings.  I didn't quite realize it was "depression" per say, I just knew it wasn't “normal”. 

I often found myself in the dark in my room.  Just sitting in the darkness loathing myself, my parents, everything really.  I liked being in the dark.  Hiding in closets was my thing.  I did it when my parents used to fight.  I hid from my brother in fun and sometimes cause I made him mad.  And I hid when I thought a hand would be raised at me.  I asked my husband once if as a kid he hid in closets.  He said, "As in hide and seek?"  I said, "No, like hours at a time, playing in the dark, hiding from people?"  I got a big hug for that sad state of affairs. 

I thought for years it was just my life, the circumstances of life that made me what I was.  Who I was, what I felt.  The perceivable snowball was me.  Life’s problems started and ended with me.  I was the “problem”.

 I hated admitting to this one.  Me, problems, how dare you!

It wasn't long after I turned 16 that I grabbed my freedom, escaped from my Mother’s and ran to my Father’s “freedom” house.  He was hardly home.  I was defiant, I did what I wanted.  It was awesome.  Barely a rule was made, let alone broken.  He didn’t know what to do with me and I was so guilty for leaving my Mother and angry at my Dad, I was basically fury in a ball and I was left alone to do whatever 16 year old kids do with no parental guidance, everything I wanted!   You know what no parental guidance means in the head of a child, no love. 

You have to know this as a parent, you just have to.  Life doesn't have to be that hard. 

The party ended just before I turned 18 and I was informed there wasn't any money anymore in our family.  We had gone from fairly wealthy to poor and I needed to get a job!  So, I got a job.  Downtown on Bay Street.  It was exciting, fast paced, full of ego and greed, and I loved it.  I didn’t have time to be sad.  Suddenly my dark mood fit right in.  My temper was welcomed.  In fact it was hysterical to the “boys”.  I flourished.  I fought with people, stood up for myself, moved fast and in no time I had moved out on my own, had my very first place. 

It didn’t take long before I realized I was really good at this career, this Bay Street thing.  I never graduated from High School.  Who cared!  Suddenly I was taking industry courses, and passing!  Not just passing but honor roles!  I was thriving in this field.  So much for that “creative” bullshit those doctors all told me about.  I was a machine in this business.  A machine. 

I have to say, much of my life is in snippet form of memories, no smooth full memories.  No full stories.  Just don't have them.  There was too much trauma so they cut short when trauma occurs.  If the timeline is off, it’s because I truly don’t recall.   

My first job on Bay Street was downtown counting paper bonds, corporate debentures, government bonds etc. And having them delivered in return for cash.  I remember loving it, how good I was at it in particular.  But there were no girls.  Just guys, and me.  It was on this job I threw a guy against a wall and threatened him when he came on to me for the too many umpteenth time.  Oops, my bad!  I took another job inside the firm to get away from the creep.  I saw how it was going to be.  A man’s world where NO ONE HAS YOUR BACK.  I got this, this is how I would live my life.  Alone.  Have my own back. 
Okay do a little harm and take no shit.

My next job was in a small branch office working for 5 Investment Advisers, all men at the same firm.  Again, all men.  There were 3 women in the office, all secretaries/assistants.  One I worked at the same level with, and a Branch Manager’s assistant, our boss.  One weekend I was raped. (Just throwing that out there, details unnecessary).  When I called in to take time off, nope, wasn't gonna happen.  When I told the branch assistant on arrival to work what had happened.  Nope, wasn't gonna happen, no time off.  NO ONE HAS YOUR BACK girl, no one, not even another woman.  NO ONE.

It was around this time I was so addicted to diet pills and controlling my food intake that I was headed for a brain MRI for constant horrible headaches.  It was then, a doctor asked a simple question, “What did you last eat?” My response, “when, today?”  It was 5pm, I had eaten nothing.  I knew in that moment I needed help, again.

This was when I chose, the responsible grown up me, my first of many therapists.  I told no one in my family, I just went.  They knew I had anger issues they just didn’t know how deep it actually went.  How dark I was in my head, in my soul.  It wasn’t always so but when it was triggered by whatever life circumstance, or sometimes for no reason at all, it was dark.  My family also had a pretty good idea I wasn’t eating but they didn’t seem too concerned about it.  I think they were proud I was thin. 

The therapist I chose was a woman.  She was okay, just okay.  She wasn't as smart as I was and I had a problem with that.  I knew what my issues were, "just fix them".  I was about 19 at the time.  I couldn't figure out why I had so much rage about being raped, about “allowing it”.  I didn't think I deserved it but I most certainly could have avoided it.  I didn't need to be in my house, THAT drunk, with practical strangers.  I wanted to kill them both.  The guy who allowed it, and the guy that did it.  I wanted my friend to hurt for being there and not knowing it was happening to me.  For not having my back.  I wanted to hurt my family for not being the kind of family I could tell about it.  And my therapist, had nothing to help me.  No coping skills, no nothing.  I hated her too.  We didn't last long.  NO ONE HAD MY BACK.

Many woman suffer through something like rape and it’s horrible.  It’s different for every person, how they feel, react.  I was rage, just plain and simple rage.  I didn’t feel I did “much” wrong, didn’t do “much” to deserve it, but fuck was I mad. 

Just keep going, you can do it.  Life keeps going, so can you. 

Life went on all around me as life does.  People were loved, hearts were broken.  Hearts were given again, broken.  Families got better, and family parts got worse.  Work got more and more intense but it was obvious I was in a man's world and as a woman, NO ONE HAD MY BACK.  I had to have it.  No one was going to offer me shit for hard work, I had to demand it.  No one was going to give me respect, I had to demand it.  In that business respect isn’t really earned, it’s demanded if you want it. 

Life's a bitch then you meet me in a dark alley.

These are all life issues.  And EVERYONE has them.  Some are bad yes, yes they are.  I don't mean to be dark but I need you to understand if you feel dark sometimes?  So did I.  I can relate, it can change.  What was lost on me, why the rage?  It was ridiculously strong.  It had a hold of my life.  If I was in a bad mood and went grocery shopping, sometimes I just had to leave my cart in the middle of the store and leave.  I couldn’t handle the social setting, the stress of groceries.  I couldn’t handle a little old lady in the middle of the aisle trying to reach something thus blocking my way.  So much so I had to leave the store!  Drop everything, leave the cart and get out of the store.  All I could think of was throwing something at her.  I threw stuff at boyfriends.  I once threw a can of apple juice at my brother's head lodging it in the wall of our house.  I was angry.  Very very angry.  But in cycles.  PMS was atrocious.  People would say, “Oh I have awful PMS” and all I could think was “you want to kill someone too?”  Sometimes, my environment or nothing at all could trigger a mood that was so bad it could last for weeks. 

Once the anger got too much, I would shut off and everything sucked.  I sucked, you sucked, they sucked, the job sucked, my apartment sucked, the boyfriend sucked.  Nothing was good enough.  Everything had to change.  And change it all I would.  I would change it all in hopes and prayers that I would find happiness in change.  I didn't, I found excitement.  Excitement triggers what in the brain?  Endorphins.  The stress reactors to go off and take over the brain.  No longer was I anger covering sadness, I was on high alert.  I was high, I was manic.  Now I needed booze to shut off, to come down.  There was too much going on in my head all at once.  New apartment, new job, new men, new me.  And a vicious circle of getting drunk then a hangover and badly depressed began.  Just keep drinking girl, don't stop that shit.  Control your food, not the booze.  Not the cigarettes, not your mood, just food.  See I would go days barely eating then binge my face off.  Never did I put the links together of food and my mind.  Two different things I thought foolishly.

It didn’t take long at any job I was at for me to achieve all I could and be miserable.  And I was so miserable that people I thought I could trust, people whom I thought cared about me would say things like, “if you hate it so much, leave”.  Or, “you need to snap out of whatever this is, you are making everyone else miserable”.  It was never, “Do you need help?”  I heard more, “Fuck you’re a miserable bitch, good thing you are good at your job”, than a person should ever hear. 

Men.  Ahhhh men.  I always knew how to pick ‘em.  If they didn’t cheat, they treated me like shit.  Or both.  Somehow in life, I thought I earned those titles, so I took it, and kept on taking it.  What was just as wrong though was how I reacted to their behaviour and in turn treated them.   Their behaviour 9 times out of 10 might be accepted in my brain and dealt with normally but that one time, that one time the bi polar would kick in and….it wasn’t nice.   I would mentally torture them.  Follow them to prove their cheating only to stay and be cheated on and now lied to.  I would play mind games pretending perhaps I was cheating.  “See how you like it, jealous much?”  Maybe you’ve done all this and see it as normal, I do not.   I know better.  But when in that mind frame, lost in bi polar pain and obsessive compulsive behaviour, you could break up with me and I would be in your bed same day.  It’s almost like I didn’t hear it, didn’t see what happened. 

One of these men.  A serial cheater.  I also happened to work with.  Man, the things he did and the things I did to find out what he was up too.  Awful and I kept going back to him.  It was during this time I began looking for another therapist.  The therapists came in waves of bi polar depression, which usually came with weight, or loss of the same in times of mania.  One therapist would sit at her desk, listen and print off pages for me to read as she listened.  No notes, just print after print for me to go home and read.  Even the Stuart Smalley shit.  “Look in the mirror and tell yourself you love yourself 3 times”.  The last time I saw her, my last appointment, she hit that damn print button one too many times.  I was in a low curve and raging so of course I threatened her.  I told her if she printed one more page while she was supposed to be listening and helping me I would take the printer and shove it so far up her ass the print jobs would come out her mouth.  This kind of lashing out was not uncommon behaviour for me by now.  I was in my mid to late 20s.  Life at work was chaos, my boyfriend or lack thereof a complete controlling cheating ass, and I was starving myself and drinking my way to a need for rehab.  I left there that day determined to never again need a therapist, they don’t have your back.  They are idiots I thought.  Print print print.  Whatever.  NO ONE HAS YOUR BACK.   About a year later I remember hearing she died and thinking, “Shit, I hope I wasn’t part of her obvious dark side leading to this!”  She had taken her newborn and jumped in front of a TTC subway train.  The baby lived.  She did not.  Poor girl. 

The next therapist I got was to help with this guy I was now losing to another girl (which I couldn’t see as the blessing it was).  I was barely speaking to my parents, especially my mother.  I was making hand over fist money and look see here I am again, miserable.  I went out only to drink otherwise I binge ate in the dark.  Good times.  This woman was lovely and great, and worked a lot with children who came from divorce and had issues with abandonment.  It worked for us for some time.  I worked with her until the mania came back.  I started dating, sleeping around, a lot, drinking and socializing.  Who needed therapy now?  Not I.   This was happy behaviour wasn’t it?  All this socializing and being with boys?  I needed no therapy.

Ever watched a Blacksmith work with Iron.  Smash smash smash until it's forged and formed with such strength.  Took a beating to get there though.

Yes, I did.  It didn’t end there, come on now.  Don’t be silly.

I was making a serious name for myself downtown on Bay Street.  I went to a career counsellor because the money didn’t seem to make me really like my job.  He explained my job was a toxic wasteland and I either had to leave, and go do something creative according to my tests, OR, demand more money and more respect.  When I told him the things that went on in our office he told me to quit.  And I did.  Finally.  I stood up for myself.  Of course, everyone freaked, everyone rallied.  My bonuses were from various departments and when one department saw an increase from another department they would decrease their submission so I didn’t get a raise in bonus when everyone else did.  I stopped that immediately.  That had to stop.   That meant I wasn’t good enough or important enough didn’t it?  Had to be stopped for me to be important.  Of course, no one knew it was happening but me and the person doing it to me but I am sure it somehow meant I wasn’t worthy.  I got a raise too!  And I got to tell the guy I worked directly alongside that I kept on the straight and narrow “that if he spoke to me through his clenched teeth again, like my Mother did when she was mad at my Dad, I would knock his teeth clean out of his fucking mouth”.  And I lasted exactly 3 more years to the day almost.  Exactly what I agreed to in the new letter of employment I signed that day looking for happiness.   I never found it, I just got pretty rich for three years. 

Once I received all I demanded and the career counsellor didn’t see any happiness improvement he suggested I see an eating disorder specialist.  Their work always involves low self-esteem and struggles that come with that.  He could clearly see that in me and he had already figured I had problems with food.  He knew the new contract he helped me get wasn’t going to fix anything long term.  I needed more than he could possibly help me with.  He said reading my first career counselling assignment essay about myself was one of the most heart wrenching stories he’d ever read. 

And this is where I met the lady that changed my life.  Was she as smart as me?  Nope.  Did she have all the answers?  Nope.  Did she let me just walk away from my full life and mope?  Yep.  She did all that and more.  Including consulting with my family doctor to determine if I didn’t go on short term sick leave, (followed by long term) that I might hurt myself or someone else.  She helped the psychiatrists determine what drugs to start testing me on.  She helped me GET long term disability.  She helped me get multiple tests and assessments done ranging from insurance specialists to CAMH (Center for Addiction and Mental Health).  All of which under the guidance of her title of Eating Disorder Psychotherapist.  She helped me see, I had some pretty big issues and got the doctors I needed to determine what was actually going on with me.  It was decided I was bi polar with a severe eating disorder, OCD (Obsessive Compulsive Disorder) and my rage was all a cover up for some very sad thoughts, about life and myself.  She got me to admit to all of this.  In turn this made me a better spouse and a better step mother by recognizing my limitations due to my disease but also when the rage came what it was actually there for.  Knowing why you are angry makes anger ease off awfully quick.   Not understanding it keeps it alive in you.  She’s been the best therapist I could have asked for by quietly letting me come to terms with all of it on my own time, at my own pace while monitoring to make sure as it happened I didn’t go too dark and when I did she was in touch every other hour to make sure…..

Hi, my name is Nicolle Weir and I suffer with Bi Polar disorder which manifests itself in me in the following forms:

OCD when I am manic.

Binge eating and anorexia depending on the emotion.  Binging when low, starving when high.

Anger Management issues due to severe depression.

Lack of impulse control in many forms specifically food, shopping, and reactions to emotional social situations with anger.

Panic attacks due to mania.

Sleep disorder (insomnia), no matter the high or low.

I am finally on medication that I feel happy on.  I feel like me. Strong, funny, lovable.  But they have their side effects.  I am jittery and jittery makes me antsy and unable to find peace and quiet, so I eat, and eat again, and I don’t sleep.  I do things, too many things which hurt an injured back repeatedly so I have to take medication for that which can change the effects of my other medications.  But, I am finally happy.  I have to see the light through the clouds.  I need to get my vitamin D in the shade still!  I must now see the positive in every situation.  It’s my choice to do so. 

I finally feel like I might stand a chance.  The last couple of years, well, they haven't been great.  I have some friends that have a hard time dealing with this, my reactionary behaviour before this medication.  My bi polar reactionary behaviour.  These friends ran amok with our friendship.  In the past I would have just gotten mad and moved on but recently with this “see past the anger” I would vent, take it back, apologize, feel bad, react…..oh it was a train wreck.  And when I reacted poorly I was left, just basically left.  Neither friend truly realize both times, at the darkest moments of these times with them, I was almost checked into hospital for fear of suicide.  I couldn’t pull myself out of the dark place and once the rage was let go the darkness was nothing but a sadness.  I couldn’t imagine coming out of this all-consuming sadness surrounding them and our friendships. 

I cared too much about people who didn't care enough back.  Don't stop caring but care about yourself the most.  Others come next.   Then you will make the smart choices.

The worst part of the lows is actually coming out of them. 

When I came out, and saw daylight, I would want to end life there, right then and there.  I found a happy minute, “go now” I would think.  And I would stop myself of course.  Otherwise I “wouldn’t be here talking to you fine folks” (little Titanic line). 
That's a hard journey to take alongside this journey of mine but what I am left with is a wonderful group of amazing people in my life.

And now, even today on this medication I think, I am happy but this jitteriness, I can’t get rid of, maybe I am not meant to be happy.  I force myself to think, yes I am.  I am meant to be happy.  I was meant to be smart, and funny, happy and beautiful.  I was meant to be here and be a great wife, a best friend, and the best step mom alive because I have been through it all and I am still here.  If nothing else is accomplished today, I am still here.

You can do this.  It's just life. 

So when you think you’ve had enough, you’re worth nothing, remember this, you made it to right now.  Try staying in that now and that now becomes the next now and the next now and suddenly its tomorrow.  And what is, only is, what it is, while it is.  And then it’s not. 

We can do this, this life thing.  We can.  You and me.  Let’s do this together shall we?