What Do You Say?

Regardless of the fact that I have experienced quite a bit of turmoil in my short little life and am quite knowledgeable about mental illness, I still haven't a clue what to say when people tell me they are sick.

This week, I was introduced via email to a friend of a friend, who was recently put on anti-psychotics and wants to come off. My friend put us in touch so that this woman would get a chance to speak with someone who has gone through a similar experience. She's in the U.K. so there is an email in my inbox when I wake up and I try to email her back so that she wakes up to the same. The last line of her email was "I'm scared that this apathy will never end". I don't even know what to tell her, except that it will. In time. In fact, I promised her just that.

But I also know how hard it is when you're in a situation like that and people tell you to "hang in there" and that this will "all be over soon". I'll tell you right now, hearing those words when you're depressed just makes you more angry. But what else is there to say?

I get a lot of requests to council other people through tough times. I do some public speaking about the stigma of mental illness and the importance of getting help, and there is always someone waiting for me when I get off stage and they have a range of questions, but stripped down, everyone asks, "When will this go away, am I really going to be okay, and how the fuck am I supposed to get through this?"

What do I say? "I know." Just "I know." It sounds demeaning and I don't mean it to be, but somewhere in the back of my mind, I figure it is less of a slap-in-the-face than some of the alternatives. I do say more - in time. And if you sit down with me, I can walk you through a lot. People usually tell me afterward how great it is to have my support, but really, there aren't words I can say, and I feel completely helpless. Sometimes I just share the same space with them, so they don't feel as alone.

It is horrible, not fair, and extremely scary. It's debilitating and feels never-ending. It's lonely and dark.

I know. I really, really know.

Don't take this personally

I love my job but it’s tough to work when my mind is elsewhere.

I’m worried about D. Good news is, she finally made a therapy appointment for next week; she’s realizing she needs help, and although she’s dealt with many deaths before, she still needs to deal…

There is this book we’ve had around the house for years that we both try to follow the teachings of: The Four Agreements by don Miguel Ruiz. Although much of it is based in spirituality, he does not force his on you, and the teachings are wide-spread and relatable. 

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Number 1: Be impeccable with your word
Number 2: Don’t take things personally
Number 3: Don’t make assumptions
Number 4: Always do your best

Some of these might seem easy to do, and sometimes it is easy to follow through on a promise. But some times, after a long week of work, even though you’ve told a friend you haven’t seen in three years who is coming into the city for one night that you will meet them, it’s easier to suddenly not feel well, or have car trouble, or get the dates mixed up… just because.

One of don Miguel’s thoughts is that when we take things personally, this is where deep insecurities in the form of invisible scars are affected. He suggests that when we get on someone’s nerves or hit a sore spot, we are ripping scabs off. This is what I think is happening to D. Not that anyone is ripping at her, but that old scars are being reopened with every new death.

I have a director at work that makes me work very hard at number 2: don’t take things personally. I know I do a good job, and I know I’m very good at what I do. I am often complimented and acknowledged for my skill, though if my director is stressed out, everything seems to be my fault – any little *bad* thing (no matter how significant the GOOD thing is) that happens, whether it is a misplaced comma or a 6-month project being half an hour late, that’s more important. And then my director focuses on me, because I suppose it is easier to put blame on me when perfectionism is their only goal.

I’m often reminded of the “it’s not you, it’s me” cliché, which I pretend my supervisor says every time I’m blamed for something out of my control. Perhaps it is because I myself am a bit of a perfectionist, and blame myself anyway… so the added blame is a bit of an overload. Anyway, number 2 has always been tough, but I’m working at it. 

As for me and D, I am not taking anything personally… how can I? I am being impeccable with my word and following through with everything I can do to support her. I have made no assumptions about her actions, and I am doing my best: as a partner and a friend. All the while trying to be a lover.

This summer when we had a big blow-up, I read don Miguel’s The Voice of Knowledge, where the author reminds readers of a profound yet simple truth: The only way to end emotional suffering and restore joy in living is to stop believing in lies - mainly about ourselves.

This book accompanied me to my little cabin in the woods that I went to for 5 days as I reflected on myself, trying to make some sense out of all that was going on. If you ever need to forgive yourself, this is the book to read.

D read The Mastery of Love, and it changed her life. I know that’s a powerful statement (she agrees), but it came to her at the right moment. It’s on my list of things to read.

I guess this post comes down to this: we need direction. We need outside help when we can’t help ourselves, our situations, our loved ones. I know too well the people I lost when I was seriously ill because they felt too helpless, and that they blamed themselves for not being able to “fix” my mental illness and to suddenly make me sane and happy again. I lost a lot of people because I couldn’t make that happen myself.

When things are deep… and things right now feel deep… sometimes it’s necessary to reach out to things you know can help.

Today, I will do my best. For me, that somehow always seems like the easiest of the four agreements to follow.

I suck at death

And no, that's not a vampire reference.

Death. I don't know how to deal with it. Or grief. Both. I guess they go hand-in-hand.

D and I have been to 2 funerals in the last 10 days. Including these two deaths, D has had six people in her life die in the last four months. This is a woman who lost both of her parents by the time she was in her early 20s. Me, I haven't lost anyone that close. My best friend's dad, a friend from high school, my amazing great aunt... all deaths, but none that has rocked me to the core.

D is used to grieving alone. She's had a life full of loss, and one specific death brought on a period of abandonment and forced independence (I've learned through her past that death brings out the worst in people). She's used to dealing with things - or not dealing with things - without the help of anyone else. Although she wasn't incredibly close with these recent losses, it is reminding her of the most important loss - her mom - and with every death, the scab gets ripped off yet again.

These days, it is obvious that she's hurting, that's she's having a hard time, but it's taken a lot of poking and prodding to get anything out of her mouth (never mind her tear ducts). Bottom line is, I don't know how to support a griever that well. I'm around to listen. I'm around to do chores that she doesn't have the energy or drive to do. I'm here to tell her how much I lover her... but I feel so helpless. I ask if there is anything I can do, but of course there isn't.

Of course it is affecting our relationship. She's withdrawn and angry and snippety. I'm frustrated and worried and feeling guilty that I'm thinking about how *I* feel when I'm not the one losing people. I don't know... there has to be a middle ground in a partnership around this. Where you get to grieve, but you can also be functional in a relationship. For now, I wait.

The latest death was a pretty personal death for me. The funeral was this afternoon. It was a friend from an organization I was involved with for over 10 years. I saw her every week for over a decade and went away with her twice a year. She was over thirty years older than me, but had more energy than I'd ever had. This woman ran a marathon in her early 60s. After she "retired," she backpacked through developing countries to perform 14 hours of surgeries for kids with cleft lips and palates and other "cosmetic" medical conditions (she was a nurse). She was one of those people who's energy and heart were too big for this earth. Diagnosed less than a year ago with one cancer, which turned into 3 cancers, she passed away merely 9 months later. That's the length of a pregnancy. Crazy.

And a note on Catholic funerals. No disrespect to Catholics, honestly - I welcome all faiths - but my god! (or rather, my God with a capital "G"...) How about talking about the PERSON a little more, and not about how God called her home, how because she was baptized, she chose to die with Christ, and has a special room in God's house? She hasn't been in a conventional church in over 30 years, and instead of celebrating her spirit, we were mimicking lines the priest spoke at us. I didn't really want to hear about Pope Benedict. I wanted to hear about how my friend made the entire operating room laugh during procedures. I wanted to hear about how she stayed up all night when we went away and looked after people when they were in trouble. I didn't want to be reminded of how bad my Latin and sight reading is.

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It's weird. Last week's funeral was at an Anglican church, which is the church that I was brought up in (before I got caught by the Baptists... I'll save that for another post); a lot of similarities to Catholicism. This woman was a bit different though. She was a leader in the congregation. She was active in the church's HIV/AIDS outreach program. She even recently wrote her own eulogy, knowing she was going to die, which her sister read at the altar. She chose the verses she wanted read, she picked the hymns and, a few months before she died, she actually asked D's good friend to sing Amazing Grace at her funeral, which you can imagine was a wee bit emotional. It just felt more personal. Today just felt like it was the right thing to do.

So, to you G, who we said goodbye to today - may your house in heaven be as big as your heart was, and may your pain be gone forever. This is a picture I took on vacation this year ~ a picture that reminds me that no matter what our faith, a higher power is ever-present. Today, it reminds me of you.

And to D - I will find a way to support you, to be patient yet not stagnant, to make you feel as though you are not alone. Because you aren't. I ain't going anywhere.

The New Girl (and a thank you)

I'm new to all of this. New to a community who wants, is trying, or has expanded a single life or partnership into a family. New to a community who is versed in the conception lingo - TTC, IVF, HPT, 2WW... and a whole bunch of others that I've yet to learn. New to a community who are lesbians. That's right, I don't really even have "real life" close lesbian friends.

I don't live in a small town and I'm not sheltered by any means. I know gay people; I have gay friends. It's just that I don't make a point of making more gay friends for the sake of making gay friends. People come into my life as-is and I start relationships as-is, regardless of gender, sexuality, faith or age. I don't have a lesbian community, and until recently, haven't really felt the "need" to have one. I am just gay and living my life; nothing to see here. I married for love, not politics. I want equal rights, but I am not the woman you'll see marching with a flag in my hand to fight for them. I'm blessed to live in a country where I got to marry the woman I love by getting the same marriage license as the straight couple in the line in front of us at the local drug store. (Yay Canada!).

I haven't felt the need to seek a community, until now. When I first got serious about putting my dreams of being a mom into actions, I went online to read - to see how others have done it. And now, I'm scratching the surface... I started to blog about the beginning of my journey into motherhood, but I honestly feel as though I've been a bit of an imposter.

Life got in the way. Relationship troubles have put the baby plans on the shelf for the time being. Chronic pain has stopped me from starting the process of having a baby. My mental health has made the baby take the back seat. But, that is life. That's my life.

My wife doesn't know about this blog. It's not that I'm hiding it from her - I will show her next year, when we are "allowed" to talk about babies (according to our therapist and our decision). We made a deal that I would not pressure her to walk this road with me for three months, as long as she could tell me in January whether she's truly committed and ready for this whole TTC journey (an abbreviation I will have to explain to her). The next three months, we focus on us.

She bought us books last year to get ready. She dreamed with me about parenting. She thought up baby names with me. And then our relationship took a hit, and dreaming got put aside so that healing could start. And that's okay. I'm actually grateful for it; although this whole not knowing is tough, I recognize that I have an incredible woman who, regardless of whether it's just us and our cats, or us and our cats and a dog and a baby, I want to be with, am lucky to have, and can't wait to live my life with her.

So, for all of you who are ahead of me in the family or trying-for-a-family department, I just want to thank you for paving the way, for writing so honestly and openly about being lesbians and starting families - or having trouble starting families. I will join you soon, and I can't wait. I know very few of your names. But I'm getting to know many initials and nicknames, URLs, and some of your beautiful families through photos. I read every comment you write and truly appreciate the time you take to read, and feel supported by your responses. I feel as though I'm building a strong foundation before starting off on a treacherous and exciting journey, and that foundation  - this community - is vital. (I almost feel as though I'm coming out of the closet again).

For now, I hope that you'll let me be a part of your community: one that I'm realizing is stronger than I'd ever imagined would be out there. You are inspiring, you make me laugh, you make me cry, and I want to be like you. One day, I will be like you. I'm already on my way there.

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Twins, Triplets: What's One More?

I just spent a lovely evening with my best friend, looking after her sister's five-month-old twins. One boy, one girl. Perfect. One shot and bam! - instant family.

I'm sure every reader who has twins or multiples is saying "oh god it's not that simple". And no, just having to change the boy's diaper while keeping an eye on the girl while my friend was in the washroom - I cannot imagine what it would be like to raise two babies at once. Two times the madness... but two times the love as well. Even two nipples ain't going to make the job that easy.

The babies are so different from each other. Physically, the girl looks like mum and the boy looks like dad. The boy giggles and smiles and dances and the girl is low-key, relaxed, a little less emotive and holy crap she's pudgy! They were actually a C-section just because the girl was almost 3 pounds bigger than the boy in the womb, and stealing all his nutrients. Hopefully (or not), she'll grow into her cheeks.

It made me think about the odds when couples are TTC. With the hormones, the potential meds, the clinical aspect, cleaning sperm so only the goodies can swim, making it the perfect place for conception. A lot of the moms I've read blog of have multiples. Does anyone know what the stats are? For any fertility treatments? IVF? Good ol' shoot 'em up turkey baster style?

Makes me think that the odds would be higher when I try to conceive. Can a woman who struggles with mental health, low energy, and pain really take care of two babies, let alone one? But the cards will fall where they fall, and I imagine that if it were meant to be that I somehow conceived twins or triplets, I'd just have to fucking figure it out like everyone else who is in the same boat does.

These twins tonight were so good and well behaved. The boy cried for about 30 seconds after I put him to bed. Everything was so easy... and then I thought about the other 21 hours of the day. What does mum have to go through to keep herself sane?

That's when I'm grateful I would have a supportive family nearby if I am going to have a baby. I don't know whether I could go forward on this journey without my mum around. I just wish she hadn't recently moved a ferry ride away.

Oh well, there's time. Perhaps too much time. Especially as I set the clock back tonight.

It Gets Better Project

Yesterday’s post was ridiculously self-absorbed and I had dreams last night of people coming at me wearing this T-Shirt:

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So, today, enough about me and more about the It Gets Better Project (and my sincere apologies for having my head shoved up my ass). I haven’t had a chance to fully explore the entire site, but the concept is amazing, and it’s something that needs to be done. Though I wasn’t suicidal in my teens because I was gay, I was suicidal in my teens… and nobody should have to go through that.

I am a long-time reader of Savage Love and now an avid listener of Savage Love Podcasts. Despite his often crude approach, Dan Savage has some brilliant insight into love, sex, sexuality, acceptance, and life. It takes a strong man to talk about what he talks about, when he’s up against conservative douches that no doubt were often the bullies he faced when he was younger.

Dan posted his own video with his husband, Terry, and for me, it totally personalized him from his usual harsh and witty self, and just made him a human gay being. Someone to relate to. Someone who, hopefully, some young gay kid out there will relate to, and will be inspired that life does get better… even if you are bullied in school for being gay.

Despite my mental illness during high school, I was never bullied. Mostly because I was good at putting on a face. I just succeeded in everything I did and was good to people, and luckily they were good back. Had I come out in high school, maybe things would be different. But I didn’t even know I was gay until I was in my early twenties (though in retrospect, I was head-over-heels in love with my grade 4 teacher, but really, who isn’t?)

Kids need more support. I am a huge supporter of children and youth who suffer from psychiatric disorders, and I’ve done videos and spoken at events and offered my support to individuals, and it has paid off big-time. These kids are starving for people to relate to, and are just looking out for that person who got through what they’re going through.

When I was a kid, I never in my life imagined living past 21. I just couldn’t fathom it. Now, I am functioning, happy (in spite of many adversities), and am blessed with amazing family and friends. Life is good.

Let’s help these kids out.