Autumn in Canada is often as short as it is beautiful, but this year we lost it to winter in just a couple weeks. I suppose I’d mind, if there were more reasons to leave the house, but at this point I’m content to live in my cozy wonderland, even if it means dealing with the ennui.
It’s hard to tell exactly why I’ve lost so much will be productive when my mental health is improving, though I suspect they’re indirectly related. Maybe I no longer feel the need to validate myself or occupy my time with huge projects. I have to wonder if the medication is making me a fundamentally different person, and whether it’s to my benefit overall.
That’s not to say that my emotional scars don’t run deep. I still worry about my worth, my attractiveness. Still worry about losing Heather to some freak accident. Still worry what people think of me. Still get embarrassed about things I did when I was 15. Still feel indignant about the way I’ve been treated by people I haven’t spoken to in years. The ghosts of the past still haunt me; I’m just not as scared by them.
One of my major projects this year was the design and construction of my first MTG cube. Now that it’s built, I get to enjoy it with my friends, but that also means I finished an activity that took up a lot of my time, and I’ve yet to replace it with anything as deep and engaging.
Usually, I’m a busybody when there’s so much happening in my head but the most I’ve been able to do this month is browse the depths of the internet, wide-eyed, waiting for Heather to finish work, counting down the time until I see friends on the weekend. I never thought I’d live long enough to grow old, and here I am in my late 30s with my metabolism finally catching up to me.
As the days stretch on it feels like I’m walking a darkened path, one that leads in an unknown direction, and I’m too scared of the floor falling out from under me to be excited. I suspect that’s why I’ve been roused to inaction. Nothing can go wrong if I don’t take any risks. As a person who’s still recovering from a lifetime of trauma I’m okay with playing it safe for now, even if it means my world is smaller and the sky less bright.
I was doing well in terms of sticking to my bi-weekly writing schedule. Putting my mind to something and being responsible to myself became a nurturing routine. Then October came and I lost the plot.
It can’t just be love, right? I can’t be the only one who thinks she’s beautiful. Her gentle smile has me convinced it’s an objective fact.
It’s the appointments: dentists, gastros, perios, shrinks. They all happen to fall within a few weeks, some of them up to three times. I know they’re all there to help me, but I’ve had a frustrating and difficult history with most medical professionals. At this point, I simply wouldn’t have the patience to sit in a waiting room if it weren’t for Heather there to support me every time. At least I found a competent psychiatrist; the first one who’s ever truly listened to me before prescribing any medication.
Continue reading “wake me up when October ends”…
Losing Dolly at the beginning of the year was absolutely devastating. However, I was also buoyed by the fact that we suddenly had space for a new cat in the house. What better way to help me through the mourning process than to have a new life keeping me company while Heather’s at work? And since her dream was always to have an orange tabby, I set about finding her the perfect kitten from the Humane Society back in January.
I thought he was still teething, but it turns out he just really likes chewing things. Also, sleeping in boxes.
Kittens tend to go within a few hours of being put up for adoption, so at one point I was checking the website every hour for available candidates. When there happened to be a tiny male tabby at 14 weeks old on the other side of town, I drove over immediately and found him in a cage sleeping with his sister (a beautiful little calico). It broke my heart to split them up, but I also knew she’d soon be snatched up herself.
Continue reading “introducing Percy”…
We left on a Thursday, travelling by train with tickets my uncle bought us. My younger self would have enjoyed making a mix to go with the undulating patter of tracks and the passing of seasonal landscapes in my window. I could let songs and albums measure my time spent traveling. Now I measure time in hunger and pills.
But even as I age and the skyline grows less recognizable, the old stomping grounds remain comfortingly familiar. They say everyone’s an exile in New York. Well, in Toronto — where each municipality is a world unto itself, separated by miles of twisting highways and hours of traffic — everybody’s home.
Continue reading “ecstasy but not happiness”…
Stepping out of my comfort zone lately means letting someone hear my material before it’s ready, saying I love you without the expectation of hearing it back, posting pictures of myself I find unflattering, being an attentive listener during difficult conversations, worrying that spouses will know my secrets but telling friends anyway, listening to songs that remind me of her, holding important people accountable for hurting me, asking for help before I need it, accepting the fact that no one can be everything I need all the time, loving someone from a distance, letting boys hold me when I’m upset,
daring to dream that things will be okay,
putting myself first in the destructive relationships I can’t escape, saying no instead of finding excuses, making love without some kind of reassurance about my looks first, letting myself miss the people I no longer like, being first to call after exchanging numbers, not knowing when I’ll be home and going out anyway, hoping I’m not judged every time I ask her to do that thing I like, giving myself space from people who adore me but don’t nurture me, not trying to please everyone all the time, playing even though I have a decent chance of losing, not cutting someone out after they’ve wronged me, reconciling with old lovers, empathizing with people I hate, going out when I’m not high, spending time around people I find difficult, saying sorry and meaning it, trying to hit chord tones in genres I never listen to, and paying attention to the friends who call me on my shit.