Feeling Stuck

I always wanted to write a happy ending to my story. I just haven't found mine yet.  Im so upset that everything I've done so far hasn't given me any respite from recurrent episodes of depression.

I worked hard all summer landscaping and than got snow removal contracts to make my business viable all year round. Since second guessing my ability to provide for myself was one of the major themes that was bothering me I thought that overcoming this milestone would finally create a path of clear sailing. I felt minor symptoms of depression but I was happy that I was still working and still moving forward. I didn't find balance at that time and was using nicotine and redouble to help me cope with stress.

All the stress of worrying about winter work and second guessing my ability to run a bobcat and get up early to fulfill the contracts started getting to me.  I got through the first snow day pretty easily but I was miserable, proving to myself that I could succeed couldn't turn back the fact that my brain had shut down to feeling and connection and I was once again just surviving.  I started losing control of my thinking and emotions.  The world started closing in on me again. 

My whole life has become a response to depression.  I haven't been able to get out of bed lately until 1:30. By the time I get going, I know depression has won and I feel so powerless and defeated.

I maybe get 2 positive activities done in a day.  I'll go work out and do some art.  I hardly speak to anyone because I can't get out of this grey mindset and hold a conversation.

I want to do better.  I don't want to hide and let this monster win.  I want to believe that this is just a minor setback.  I just can't tell because it always feels awful.  Its stolen years of my life and when it comes around I just want to disappear.  I'm ashamed of myself for dealing with the same struggle over and over again.  I don't want to hear that its going to get better or its going to be ok, I want it to be ok right now. I don't like not knowing how long this is going to last.  I don't like just surviving, its not a life, it feels like a horrible punishment.

So right now I'm letting myself grieve for the loss of control I'm experiencing.  I have given everything and still ended up stuck.  I can only hope that creating a framework for a better life will eventually pay off and I'll feel that sense of accomplishment once this passes.  I have to live for the moments that remind me my spirit is still there even if it feels tiny.  

The Art Of Surrender

After 10 years of recovery, I can often forget what it means to "surrender my life and will" over to the care of my higher power.  It made sense when I first quit drinking and doing drugs.  My life was a nightmare, I lived in a creepy basement suite with rainbow coloured walls and guinea pig droppings in the spare room.  My drinking was insane, and I was no longer able to sweep it under the rug, windows where getting smashed, I was getting punched in the face,  fighting with the police and generally being a nuisance to myself, my family and society. 

Luckily for me, at 24 I landed in rehab, and was brainwashed into clean living.  I don't regret changing that aspect of my life for one moment.  I don't miss drugs or alcohol or the chaos that insued.  My life, my goals and my mental health aren't worth playing with, because I don't want to lose and that lifestyle could kill me.  

Today the word surrender is more vital than ever.  As a human being and a recovering alcoholic, there are so many things in life I find challenging.  I want things to go my way, and I struggle when theres conflict and challenge.  As long as I struggle to accept my current reality life is painful.

When I don't like the way people are acting, and take it personally, I hurt.  When my bank account balance is low, and I don't have winter work lined up, I panic.  When I wonder I'll ever love being single, my heart hurts. When I hate the fact that in spite of 10 years of counselling I  still have alot of negative self talk, and a hard time controlling my moodiness,  I feel powerless.

So much low vibe garbage, that is not serving me or my loved ones.

In order to have a good day, I have to let go of the past, and believe I made the best decisions I could with what I knew at the time.  I have to forgive myself for being imperfect.

I need to look at each problem and decide what I can do about it, and let go of the outcome.  

Here's some classic recovery jargon that makes sense:

"Faith without works is dead" 

"Magic is good for fairies and Elves, but God helps those that help themselves."

ADHD doesn't resolve itself over night.  Neither does depression, low self esteem or negative core beliefs.  Sadly, these mental issues can seem harder for me when I'm the process of growth and change.  I'm not always great at being my own cheerleader, I'm pretty aggressive and ruthless with myself at times.

All I know is that God is greater than whatever challenges I am  facing, and I need to stop trying to wrestle my problems into submission, because its exhausting and counter productive.  When I face my problems head on, do something productive about them and surrender the outcome I am set free from the bondage of self.  When I accept that I can't change my mistakes from the past and I have to start everyday from where I'm at without harsh judgement, I have a chance to be happy.

All I want in this life is to find inner peace and a big part of that is surrendering to the present and focusing on what is working in my life.  Once I find that positive momentum, the problems no longer seem so insurmountable, because I've let go of needing to control outcomes, and usually what God or the Universe has in store for me is much better than what I would have come up with on my own.

Waking Up...

Its 7:07 am, and I'm drinking coffee.  This doesn't really sound remarkable, but after 2 months of struggling to get out of bed by noon, its a small feat.  Did I do anything differently? Did I will myself out of depression?  Nope, not really.  I just woke up, realized I didn't feel nearly as burdened and decided to get up and write instead of shirking back to bed.

Depression is an epic nightmare.  The nicest people try to relate, telling you to manifest better mental health. They give you strategies for mountain climbing, which is a difficult sport, but they can't see that you have an invisible 50 pound weight attached to your back.  They see life like mountain climbing, which is tough for beginners and give you the pep talk they'd give any beginner.
They don't understand that without depression, you'd crush anything you took on, they just use their frame of reference.

They say 1 in 5 people may experience depression.  I've talked to hundreds of people and I think that's true, but I think the stats are that high because they're talking about situational depression.  You lose the career you've strived for, you lose your life partner, you are shaken to the core and you need to re establish meaning....

I think about 5-10% of people know the gut wrenching, inexplicable pain of having depression that lingers, in spite of treatment, sometimes for months, sometimes for years. An insidious all encompassing mental illness that can return with very little provocation.   There are those who tell me they get it, that it's hell in spite of everything, that it's one painful step in front of the other despite the unrelenting suffering of having a brain that isn't fully functioning and certainly isn't generating any feelings of contentment even when stimulated.  It's like looking up at the other mountain climbers, wanting to ascend but feeling unable to get anywhere substantial.  Maybe getting 10-20 feet up the wall with all the weight to constantly lose your footing in the same spot.

Today I'm still uncertain as to whether I'm getting out of the woods.  My favourite Reiki master texted me out of the blue yesterday morning and reminded me I basically have to surrender.  I've done what I can, I've sought medical treatment, tried a few alternative measures and gone to counselling.  I've shown up for my life despite all the pain it's caused me to not feel like I'm really participating.

Time and powerful concepts like surrender,  and realizing I've done everything I can, are what it takes to make things easier.  Its watching those other mountain climbers and realizing they have no frame of reference for how hard I'm struggling.  The fact that anyone with depression is even showing up despite the lack of understanding of an invisible illness is strength beyond comprehension for the average person.

Yesterday I stopped going over my treatment plan for the 10000th time.  I just gave myself credit that I wasn't being a wimp, and that it wasn't my fault that I didn't know how to get the 50 pound weight off my shoulders.  I'll do the same today, and with any luck this thing is shifting.  If not, the gift of not feeling burdened, even for a few minutes is an inexplicable comfort, and a source of strength to keep putting one foot infront of the other....

Darn I can't get past this spot.....

Am I backsliding?

I had a difficult week.  It's 3:30 on Sunday and I just got out of bed.  My whole life has become a reaction to depression, its all consuming.  Im scared I'm gonna let this continue.

My Dad got on me last week about my depression.  Told me basically I needed better help, and thought maybe I needed to go to rehab for doing ketamine at a Doctor's office.  He found me a psychologist to talk to who specializes in addiction and mental health who I ironically already see.  Looks like the universe is telling me that I'm doing my part on the whole getting help scene.  I also signed up for genetic testing for antidepressants because I've tried prozac, zoloft, select, cipralex, effexor, and cymbalta and had them stop working in 6-9 months.  So I'm either bipolar, with mostly recurrent depression,  or have super treatment resistant depression.

So the psychologist didn't have any easy answers for me either.  She told me I was doing well, because I was still landscaping, i.e. cleaning up millionaires yards, exercising, eating well etc.
She said I should pray for patience, and try to accept these downtimes as part of my life and a time of reflection. She told me staying somewhat  functional and not making things worse was winning and that I was actually doing a good job.

I guess I already knew that, but theres a little kid inside me that wants Jeanne back so bad.  She doesn't want to wait and be patient and have faith Jeanne's coming back.  After 8 weeks she wonders if my spirit is ever gonna return.  Staying in bed seems better than having to push through a difficult and troubling existence.

The hardest part of this week was doing an art market on Friday.  I actually think that set me back alot.   I had hoped I might connect to people or make some sales and I did neither.  I struggled to engage people in conversation or make eye contact.  I'd made beautiful things but it felt like my art was as dreary as I was, that it was somehow infested with depression as well.  I was so tired and discouraged I didn't return the next day.  The fact that something that made me so happy in the recent past was a source anguish and hopelessness was unbearable.

In some ways my depression is winning.  Its telling me nothing makes me feel better so why bother.  That it's better to stay in bed all day than to face another dreary day.  But maybe there was some value in giving in for awhile.  Its exhausting constantly pushing myself to do more than the minimum and keep up with my landscaping commitments.  Its awful because I don't get more than a 3% increase in mood, and it's not accumulative day in and day out.

But that 3% is worth something.  Even if my body, mind, soul are all consumed by depression, the fact that I'm rebelling enough to keep moving is winning.  I really hate schedules, but I think making one this week might be worthwhile.....I think everyday instead of sleeping 12-14 hours and working 6, I need to set up some better activities like swimming, yoga, painting etc.

When I'm doing stuff I used to love, I'll get glimpses of myself, and maybe forget I'm depressed for a minute or two as a marvel at the light dancing at the bottom of the pool, or trying to swim faster than the kids in swim club.  When I'm painting, I'll surprise myself with my ability to mix colors and manipulate space, light and shadows.

Pyschologists teach people to realize they have thought distortions, and to address them.  I used to think that if I did that, my depression would disappear.  Either I'm terrible at it, or I had the wrong objective.  Changing my thoughts doesn't get rid of my depression, because that was never the cause in the first place.  I'm a pretty positive person when I'm not experiencing an episode.  I'm honest with whats going on for me, I go to 12 step meetings, I discuss my thoughts and perceptions with wiser souls and can laugh at myself.

So the real challenge is to have different expectations from watching my thoughts.  It means not comparing what I can do when I'm well to what I'm doing now, and feeling like I'm coming up short.  It's being proud of myself for doing what I can to contribute to life, even if it's only 40-50% of what I could do before.  It means not beating myself up for being so withdrawn and antisocial.
It's realizing that I'm still here and I may not feel purposeful but the fact that I'm alive and breathing means I have more to learn and contribute to life.  So checking my thoughts isn't getting rid of the depression, its about not letting it get worse, so that it's easier to break free when this illness has run it's course. It's about making my life more bearable.

It does feel better to contribute in some small way than to hide in bed.  The guilt and shame of giving into depression make days like today harder, not easier.  It takes it's toll and the message that this is futile really takes over.  Even as I write this, I'm telling myself I don't have the energy to pull myself together and figure out how to be functional next week.  Its gonna be hard to get myself back in order, but I need to reign this in, and fight back.


The idea of planning meals and going grocery shopping sounds like running a marathon, but I'm going to do it today.  I'm going to go to the pool.  I'll come up with a plan  to honour the commitments I made for landscaping next week and get a few things ready for the next art sale, on Friday, which is shorter and my sister plans to help me with.

I don't think any of this is easy, backsliding is way easier.  But it's also very painful, because I'm losing ground to my illness, and I'm giving up the small amount of power I have.  My mind is telling me it's not worth fighting to stay in the same place, but in reality the further I let my life slide into disarray, the more work its gonna take to get back on track.

Art always comes through even in the darkness.

Keepin' On

Well, the last 45 days, I've been at war with myself.  Hating depression, dreading waking up feeling empty, alone, even around people, and disconnected.

It all started with fear.  Having left my ex, I lost my financial security.   I was envious and down on myself when I went back to work with my beat up truck, and trailer, seeing that my ex had employees, a new truck, and tons of equipment.  I lost my gratitude for what I had and started thinking I could only be happy if I could be that successful again.

I also got down on myself about men.  I took a couple of bad experiences to mean that I wasn't worthy of being loved.  I put my sense of self worth in the hands of someone (I for some reason respected's) reactions to me.  I realized that was wrong but struggled to regain my footing in my new reality as a single woman.

I judged myself harshly, I compared myself to other people that don't struggle with depression and ADHD.  Instead of taking pride in my small successes, I just compared myself to bigger landscape construction companies, like I used to be part of.  Not really fair, I had given all of that up, to find myself.

Up until 45 days ago, I still felt like myself.  The struggle was still fair, Jeanne was still in the game.  I called friends, the distress centre, whatever I could to ward off the storms I saw in the distance.
I reminded myself that mental illness was triggered by stress and that I was going to be ok, I was doing the best I could.

But I felt unstable, the future was a big wide open canvas, and I was responsible for recreating my life, bigger and better than before.  I no longer had a more experienced human as my guide.  My ex was my rock in alot of ways.  He could get up everyday at 7 and face the world.  He took charge of situations and the company.  His sense of self was secure.  I took comfort in his strength, and leaned on him more than I knew.

Last Sept I knew I had to leave.  There was just no room for my opinions or ideas in the company.  I was belittled and bullied for not taking his side.   He wasn't completely wrong but the issues where nuanced and I wanted to be respected for my point of view.  One night in a deep depression, I remember talking about our foreman's disloyalty and standing up for some aspects of their conduct.  We were in our bedroom and I was getting yelled at, called a traitor, told I was supporting all of their insubordination, and I realized that I couldn't take it anymore.
My parents used to rage at each other in their room, and it just isn't really what I wanted in my life.

I don't know if we should have tried harder to fix the relationship, but I told him that if he wasn't going to own up to his behaviour without blaming me counselling was a waste of time.  So it just fell apart.  He moved out, took the company, convincing me in my depression and low self esteem I didn't deserve half of that asset, and he gave my mom's trust fund the title to the house, because it was already basically my asset.

My depression lifted a couple of weeks after the separation.  I started seeing number combinations everywhere, 1111, 333, 555... and  rainbow halos, which seemed like signs from my mom and the angels that I was on the right track.  An older lady moved in who had been through a horrible domestic situation, and she mothered me and helped me take care of the house.

I did have one depressive break down, that lasted a month mid January.  I was freaked out about spending my savings, and being an "artist" that didn't know how to put down roots.  I still haven't figured that out and its pretty unsettling.  That and the fact the guy I liked had zero interest in commitment, threw me back into a rut.  I magically got out of it within hours of doing ketamine in the US and I thought I had found my solution to this disorder that has plagued me most of my adult life.

Things went ok for 3 months, but the lingering doubts where still there in May.
I remember just feeling the depression gaining intensity and doing my best to let the waves roll over me, realizing that I was going through alot of change and that things where going well, with art markets, interest in my landscaping etc.  Then on mothers day, I lost the upper hand with the depression.  My mom had passed away four years ago and there was a memorial brunch set up by the Nature Conservancy of Canada, in her honour.  It was actually kind of a slap in the face because it felt like they were just sucking up to my family for selling the quarter section  of unbroken prairie she had donated to be conserved for cash, without even offering to sell it to the family in spite of our interest.  I remember being freaked out, that all consuming disconnection, emptiness and meaningless feeling was once again infiltrating every cell of my body.  Some primordial shut down was occurring, and I screamed inside for it to be reversed, that I'd rather feel any pain than lose myself to depression again.

The next day, I tried to tell myself everything was going to be ok.  I went snowboarding and painted some street art on an abandoned building.  I was definitely missing the guy I used to snowboard with that also loved street art.  I was missing my mom.  The depression had set in.  I tried to reassure myself, focus on doing snowboard tricks, telling myself I was going to be ok, but it was to late, the depression had once again over ridden my system and shut down huge aspects of my being.

For the last 45 days, I haven't gotten any relief.  I spend a small fortune in Denver on ketamine, but the depression just laughed at me for thinking a strong disassociative drug was going to release its grasp on me.  I came home feeling almost suicidal, because my depression is so treatment resistant.

I buried my disappointment and focused on work and just doing whatever it took to get through the day.  I'm still in that place, just existing, feeling bewildered by my powerlessness once depression gets a hold of me.

I guess its comforting knowing that there are reasons that this system was triggered again.  It doesn't really make it easy to reverse what has happened, but at least it kind of makes sense.  My hope is that the better I get to know myself, and the more I realize that everything is usually ok in the end, the less I'll be impacted my external situations and I'll have more trust in myself in how to handle different challenges.

Everytime I come through depression, I feel like I have been reborn.  I can't wait to see myself reclaim my power and own my independence, once this cloud finally lifts.  Until then, all I can do is try not to identify with it so completely.  Yes it's all consuming, but its not me.  Its a fucking weird malfunction I experience from stress.  With the help of time, medication, etc, it does pass.

Painted on the day I was fighting to stave off a depressive relapse and lost....the light in her soul has turned off temporarily... 

Depression is a mysterious condition....

There's nothing strait forward about depression.  Im stuck in a body with a brain that isn't working well and using that same system to try to make sense of what is going on.

All day long I feel a deep sense of detachment and isolation.  I'm just going through the motions, I know I'm supposed to shower, eat breakfast, go to work. Mindlessly I mow lawns, fix flower beds, do whatever I agreed to do.  I have enough fight in me to keep moving.  Somehow I move 6 yards of mulch with my shovel and wheel barrel.  I tell myself exercise is good for depression. I know that occupying my time is better than mourning the loss of my self.

I want to take action, do something, take some steps towards progress. I try to tell myself maybe changing my medications for the 20th time might do the trick, maybe that shiver I felt down my back means my neurotransmitters are working?  Maybe not eating gluten is going to to the trick? Yoga? Meditation? counsellor?

None of these things seem to make any difference, I've tried them all before, but the hope that comes from taking some small action keeps me moving through the day.  Today I told myself getting a massage would bring me some relief, so I pushed through....I didn't really get alot of relief but the idea that I'm trying is something for my mind to hold onto.

Tommorow, I'll get up and possibly feel the same bleakness but call the neighbour and work on adding some flagstone to her yard and adding some shrubs.  One hard task after the other, digging clay, moving rock, planting shrubs and trees....I just keep moving.

I don't really know what else to do....once I'm having a full episode of depression, all of the self realizations and tools seem to have very little impact.  I feel like my brain is getting some upgrades done and the whole system is at a stand still until its ready to reboot.

There's been times when medical interventions have sped up the reboot process, but it seems like everything only works once.  I've tried different treatments and had initial success and than tried the same thing for a subsequent episode and gotten no results.

All I know is this is fucking crazy.  I am stuck feeling disconnected, numb, uninspired with a constant tape running through my head that I'm depressed.  I hear that I'm supposed to be social to help my condition, but I've had so many painful experiences just sitting at a restaurant staring into space, knowing that Jeanne isn't really there and the other person has to sit there silently with depressed me or try to engage me in conversation to only get one word answers.  I keep hoping all of a sudden the healthy me will spring forth and save the day, but she is no where to be found.

I don't hate myself, I'm not super self critical, but I know that there's something wrong all day.  I can try to ignore it and focus on doing the next right thing, but that sense of loss is pretty real.
My whole system has been hijacked and I have no recourse but to wait.

Everything is a shot in the dark with depression.  Doctors really don't know what the medications or treatments do they just have theories.  The whole thing relies on faith.  I just have to believe that something is going to shift or click and I'll get myself back.  My sense of humour, my intelligence, my sense of purpose and connection can't be gone, but the light-switch in all of those rooms is out.  I'm running with very little lit up on the circuit board.

So I hold on, I'm a bench warmer in my own life, restless to be let back in.

Ditching the Need to be Happy 24/7

I'm so sick of thinking there's something wrong with me from the moment I open my eyes.
It's like I've bought into this faulty idea from society that if I play all my cards right, live up to my potential and continually strive to improve my life I will be happy all the time.  Everyday will be magical, full of white light and rainbows.  Synchronistic events will continue to unfold and life will look like a techocolor movie and I will be the protagonist.  Meanwhile back in Jeanne land, I wake up to mixed emotions and some lingering sadness and fear, but ultimately I feel hopeful.

This really should be good enough. It works in the ocean and large bodies of water, the tides fluctuate in temperature, and lakes have warm and cool currents.  I'm always happy and at peace in lakes in the summer and I appreciate swimming through water that has been warmed by the sun and the refreshing cooler water.  So why can't I accept this in my own mental state?

 I'm a moody, colourful, messy artist.  Life is amazing, but it's bittersweet. I've won at love and I've lost.  I'm alone, figuring out my career and how to be happy as a single person.  Yet, I expect perfection from myself, a level of mastery over my thoughts and emotions that seems to be constantly evading my grasp.

The problem comes down to lack of acceptance and an unrealistic expectation that I should be happy all the time or else I'm at risk of a depressive relapse.  Of course thats a scary thing to have to contend with because its been literal hell in the past. Depression is like being stuck in a thunderstorm, and taking shelter under a boulder, only to realize I'm drenched, freezing and trapped.  My soul cry out in agony as I await a guide to lead me to higher ground.

With this past experience, its not surprising that I don't like feeling tired, sad or scared.  Unfortunately for me this is part of life, and I refuse to give into the thought that I can't handle the cooler waters that are a realistic part of the human experience.  I need to accept that waking through adversity with self compassion is the path to freedom.

Without acceptance, there is no recovery.  Life becomes a constant fight within my own mind. There's no point being upset with myself.  I've gone through alot of change.  I walked away from the financial security I had found in my common law marriage.  I lost opportunity, status, money and prestige.
Now I have to find it on my own.  I have to face my ugly self realization that I put men on a pedestal in relationships and business.  That I somehow think I need them to take care of me, when I've been disproving that everyday by becoming successful on my own terms.

So today, I choose acceptance. I chose to love the beautiful, messy and moody monster that I am. I choose to love the scared, self doubting parts of my psyche.  I remind myself that I am enough, that I am worthy and that I can love myself as I transition and grow.

Ghost Children-Another take on Depression

I'm always trying to understand what is going on in my inner landscape and how my perceptions of myself get so distorted and dark.  I like the imagery of my depression as being fragmented parts of my childhood identity that desperately need healing.  They have been silently following me through life and reappear whenever I start to feel intense feelings such as fear or grief.  The suffering these ghosts have caused me over the years is almost unbearable, because I didn't understand what they wanted.

The ghost I want to talk about today is worthlessness and existential angst.  I used to call it Hermie, but really it's just sad little Jeanne.  When life gets tough and I feel powerless, it tries to further steal my light,  saying things like, "nothing matters, no one cares about your feelings, life is pointless etc."

I've come to realize this was how I felt alot as a child.  I recognize the sad eight year old alone in the corner of the playground, wishing she could disappear.  I remember trying to play foursquare with the popular  kids and they would purposely kick me out of their stupid game, by playing unfairly and pretty much throwing the ball at my head.  I heard haha, you're out! loser! etc ways to often.

So what did I do?  Did I tell my parents I got ostracized by my peers every day in elementary school? Nope, because at five years old I decided they were to dysfunctional to confide in so I worked extra hard in school so they could at least me proud of me.  Did I tell teachers? Nope, tattletales aren't well liked and they really didn't understand bullying in the 80's and often gave little kids shit for being antisocial.

So I found a way to cope. I wanted to cry, somedays I did, but more often than not I'd get in trouble for crying or the playground staff would force me to rejoin the bullies.  So I buried my little eight year olds sadness and rejection. I told myself that no one cared about Jeanne, that she shouldn't be sad, that there was something wrong with her and that she didn't fit in.  This was alot to swallow.

I didn't want to be forced to play with the little asshole kids, so I'd read alone in the isolated portal, and if anyone bugged me, I told them I was reading.   No one intervened, this went on for months.
 I read more than  90% of  kids in grade 3-6.  I'd get so completely hyper focused on reading I'd lose track of time,  Pretty soon I'd read all the decent Hardy Boys, Nancy Drew and science fiction books in the elementary school library.  My mom took me to the public library and I cleaned up there too.  I read the Lord of the Rings book in one long sitting one day at home, I was so intent on escaping my little person world and living somewhere more magical.

The one cool thing about all of this is that I got really engaged in stories about female heroines, that overcome adversity and this gave my little soul hope and strength.  I desperately wanted to be an alien princess, leading her people through social and environmental challenges on foreign planets.
Anything was better than being me.

I guess what saved me was my strong interest in language and creative arts, because as a child you do what you excel at and you don't have to worry about getting a job.  Later in life, realizing what I got A's in at school wouldn't easily lend itself to finding a career was as damaging to my psyche as bullying, because my natural skill set is not easily remunerated in a capitalist society and money is a form of apprieciation.

Sitting alone in the staircase of the portal the furthest away from my tormentors, I became a ghost of the vibrant divine child I was created to be.  The constant re affirmation I was getting from the other kids that I was different and my feelings didn't matter got deeply engrained in my subconscious.  These are some of the roots of my suffering and depression.  I got the wrong message and continued to tell myself the wrong things when life got tough throughout my adult life.  No one championed little Jeanne, and I live with the ghosts she created.

Luckily I am so much more that my suffering, so much more than my pain.    I can learn to be the mother that the ghost children so desperately needed, and love them for their original pain, but stop believing their faulty beliefs that I am not worthy.  No child should have to live with bullying and not be able to get help.  I just hope that other people can realize that we need to heal our past traumas so that they don't keep showing up as automatic negative thoughts.  When we get to the root of our suffering we can align with the universe and find healing if we stay open and vulnerable and turn towards the light.  We all have the ability to heal if we are willing to shed some of our old ideas and turn our will and lives over to our creator.

Life Lessons-Dealing with Rejection

In my journey towards maintaining good mental health, there are road bumps that can really trigger me and send me backward, and one such trigger is rejection, real or imagined.   Having had several bouts of clinical depression I can be an emotion phobic person.  If life feels painful or I feel sad, I accidentally let the depression gremlin in, because he never turns me down,  but I'm so done with that mindset, so I'm gonna send him packing.

So rejection....not a great feeling right?  Especially for those of us that are emotionally sensitive, have been bullied and on some level question our self worth. As I'm writing this I'm exploring the murky emotional waters that rejection has created in my mental landscape.  It doesn't feel good, I feel sad, alone, tired and vulnerable to depression.  Lucky for me I'm an optimist and I have faith that this too shall pass it I play my cards right.

I hope the people that hurt me don't read this, because its really none of their business how I feel.  They didn't care when they hurt me to know who I really am and where cold and inconsiderate when I needed love the most.

Thats the hard part about all of this, I put my trust and love into people that where unable to reciprocate and I took it personally.  The rejection I'm talking about has been from the men in my life.
It started with my father, he rarely took the time to care about my emotional needs or give me the validation I needed growing up.  Sadly, even today he's short with me on the phone and he's not able to be there for me in crisis situations.  I love my Dad, and I accept this is just life on life's terms.

So I come by the habit of choosing emotionally unavailable men and bad boys honestly, its what I grew up with, its my comfort zone.  If my own father didn't know how to be there for me, why would anyone else?

Lately I've had a string of destructive relationships with men, and I've repeated my parents mistakes in my own first marriage.  It breaks my heart that I could love someone so much and put my heart and soul into a relationship and never get my emotional needs met.  I had to walk away from an otherwise amazing human being, because I didn't want to stay in a relationship that wouldn't allow me to grow.

Being single for the last few months, I haven't done much better with men, and my poor choices resulted in me breaking down in tears last night.  I tried to reconnect with a hot bad ass from my rave days and he was really nasty to me, and because I was at my breaking point I did not handle the perceived rejection well at all.  It was a huge wake up call, no one is gonna make me happy but me, and that at the end of the day, in-spite of being surrounded by great people I am alone with only my higher power for large portions of my journey and its tough changing 34 years of mental habits! Jesus did 40 nights in the desert with the devil, and I think I've outdone his record!

Anyways the point is we attract what we think we deserve and its pretty fucking sad that as I overcome depression and a failed marriage, I think I deserve to be treated like shit by men.  It's pretty harsh that I even expose myself to people that are potentially toxic to me when I'm trying to heal.

At the end of the day, I actually have alot of compassion for all the bad boys and emotionally fucked up men, and I really hope I can respect them and we can eventually get along.

But its time to get real, the person I really need to be best friends with right now is myself and if I know I'm just getting my feet back under me after dealing with heartache and depression, the last think I need is to allow people to kick me when I'm down.

****I want to say a sincere thank you to all the stand up men I've dated and been friends with that treated me well.  It sad to say but I have lost out in love because I didn't always treat the nice guys with the respect they deserved, and I'm the one who lost out in the end.  Some of the amazing men I've dated are now happily married to great women and they deserve the best life has to offer.
 I remember those good relationships with fondness and they serve as reminders I can have great relationships in the future.

Giving a FUCK About My Life

In my climb towards mental health, I can often be my own worst enemy.  I want to be healed yesterday, and I find the daily symptoms of "depression" exhausting, bothersome and scary.
The great news is I'm nowhere near being clinically depressed so I can help myself with the symptoms that remain.

As hard is this is to say, I have to take as much responsibility for my mental illness as I can.  That means admitting to myself that ever since I was a teenager I've had an attitude problem.  I used to wear that as a badge of honour, I liked attention, whether it was good or bad.
Now I'm realizing that some of my personality traits are not as endearing to me as they once where and they aren't serving me well in my recovery.

For way to long I've held onto the "I don't give a Fuck" attitude.  It kept me safe.  It was like a dirty black hoodie, tattered and stained, but I wasn't replacing it with anything new.
I'd been wearing it for to long and it felt like a necessary part of my armour as a human being in a challenging world.

I've outgrown the" fuck you" attitude.  It's  actually unnecessary and rude.  I have 2 university degrees, I don't need to keep swearing and being sarcastic everyday.  That's lower vibration and I want to keep climbing mountains.

So I'm trading in the "fuck it" attitude, for the "giving a fuck" about what matters attitude.  That means challenging my fears about being an artist and blazing new trails for myself.  It means owning my recovery from addiction and mental health issues.

I am the master of my own destiny and I'm not letting negative core beliefs, other people or situations dissuade me from being everything I am capable of being.  I look forward to this spring, doing art shows, garden design, and genuinely being a decent human being.  After my separation I thought it was gonna be "Me Against the World."  Now its "Me for the WORLD!"

Whatever it Takes: Ketamine for Depression

For the last 4 days I have been in Denver, Colorado, dealing with an important medical issue.  I had a relapse of depression, brought on by the stressors I spoke of in previous entries.  The last straw was when I stopped taking Vyvanse, a trendy new stimulant for ADHD, and I was left spiralling into an endless pit of fear, despair, and hopelessness.

It was a crippling blow from depression.  All my hard work and insight overshadowed by a chemical imbalance, my brain going haywire, and reverting to deeply engrained unhealthy patterns. Once this happens, depression becomes much more than my shadow or negative beliefs, it actually becomes a medical issue.  I wake up with no spark, and a sense of dread.  Each episode feels heavier as if this cloak of stagnation has grown stronger through subsequent episodes.  I felt powerless, alone and afraid.

 I needed medical help, so I checked myself into the hospital.  Realizing they had nothing for me but uncomfortable hospital beds and an increase in prozac, I checked myself out.  I waited in the ER for 2 days, and stayed in the psych unit for 2 days.  I cannot fucking believe they leave patients in the ER for 2-3 days in Canada, seems abit cruel.

As my roommate Carol drove me home I was pretty sad, because there was nothing medically that could prevent me from having another 3 month bout of depression that the hospital could offer.
I asked the psychiatrist at the hospital about ketamine, and he earnestly  replied "why would we give you something potentially toxic when we have so many great drugs at our disposal?"  I was so discouraged, because antidepressants have not been super successful for me and the onset of action is 4-6 weeks minimum and I've tried almost all the classes of medications.

When I got home I was pretty despondent, but I said fuck it, I'm going to do ketamine infusions in the US for treatment resistant depression.  There are treatment centres in almost every large US city, because ketamine has a 75% success rate at treating depression in a matter of hours to a couple of days.  Its a powerful tool that got me out of the depths of despair, and gave me a higher perspective on my situation.  It was somewhat spiritual in nature, and frightening and magical at the same time.

 I have 10 years of sobriety from drugs and alcohol, and I didn't love it when I realized ketamine was a powerful narcotic.  I realize that some people in recovery community may think I'm a hypocrite for taking this treatment.  The founder of Alcoholics Anonymous, Bill Wilson did LSD to deal with his treatment resistant depression.  I can't deny I got a certain high off ketamine infusions, but that was a side effect of a powerful medicine that may save lives.  I will write more about the actual trips and self realizations I had in the posts to follow.

I want to end my saying a sincere thank you to everyone who reads my blog.  I was to deeply honoured to see that my blog has 4255 page hits since its inception.  Thank you all for reading and relating to my online journal, my thoughts and perceptions on the human condition as I have experienced thus far.  I don't know how or when I might write a book, but this blog will serve as the unedited manuscripts for whatever I create.

Optimism in the Face of Mental Illness

I try to be optimistic about my recovery from mental illness.  That's easy on good days, I think its clear sailing, and I feel like I have some mastery over my inner landscape.  I take pride in doing what I need to do to take care of myself and deal with the daily nuances of my mind and guide myself in the right direction.

Recovery is a lifelong journey, and there are days when I'm actually scared for my life and everything I've fought so hard for, because I still have alot of vulnerability to clinical depression.  Days like today I'm acutely aware that I don't have full control over scary thoughts and feelings that have in the past spiralled to the point of changing my brain chemistry leaving me lost and alone, disconnected from my soul, my life force and other people.  Just writing this makes me want to cry, because I don't think that anyone should ever have to feel this way.  I don't know why some of us are so delicately wired and have to overcome patterns in our brains that are so detrimental.

Yesterday, I was with a friend and I started feeling disconnected in a scary way so I curled up on his couch and started crying.  I reached a point of deep compassion for myself, I realized how overwhelmed I was with all the pressures I put on myself, trying to figure out my career, dealing with adhd thats makes focus so hard, and being confused about relationships.  I grieved that lack of control and held my wounded, disappointed heart.  I realized in that moment, I'd done everything I could and being mad at myself for letting myself get to this state wasn't going to help.  I connected to that inner love for myself, I'm only human, I didn't ask for this burden.  I didn't ask to have to reach such scary places dealing with everyday challenges.

I guess at the end of the day, everything I achieve means that much more, because I fight like hell to do what other people take to granted.  Years of therapy, trying to understand my triggers, taking more and more responsibility for my choices, learning to relate to my mind in a different way, and still sitting here crying because living well with mental illness is the hardest thing I will ever have to do.

I'm a perfectionist, and having hard days can feel like a failure.  I'm never going to be perfect.  I will struggle with a mind that is  distracted and scares easily.  In times like these I need to remember I've found peace in this life through yoga, meditation, connection and recovery.  I'm not alone.

All my problems need to be surrendered at a certain point.  Yes, these low points are signs I may need to change something in my life, maybe a perception, maybe a behaviour, but I'm not going to figure it all out at once, and fix my life overnight. I've done my humanly best and I accept my suffering, that I'm not a loser because I am feeling somewhat powerless.  Accepting where I am and committing to small changes can be empowering, reminding me I do have some control over my life, and I'm stronger than the dark feelings that haunt me from time to time.

I think having deep compassion for myself, realizing how stressful its been being un employed and making art, and putting pressure on myself to be positive even though I'm not making any money has been tough.  Realizing if I want to have a landscape business again, its alot of work and I need faith in myself that I can make it work, I need to surrender my fears, because they are keeping me sick.

Believing that I can make something  meaningful out of my life helps. Goals of advancing my art practice,  getting ready for markets and believing that I can either have my own landscape company or work for someone else keep my moving forward.  Closing my eyes and remembering the joy I've experienced having felt mastery and visualizing getting there again feels amazing.

I am responsible for making the most of the cards I've been dealt.   I'm not a victim, just a person that has another layer of frustration and challenge to learn to accept and overcome. I only have one life, and I believe that the power of my soul, my connection to my higher power and the beauty of my vision of myself healthy, happy, and contributing to society will pull me through.

The Struggle is Real! 10 years sober and still not out of the woods

Ten years ago my Mom chaperoned me to the Nanaimo Ferry terminal, where a militant woman with razor sharp bangs and a nononsense attitude drove me to rehab.  It was pretty epic, like summer camp for bad kids.  Where else can you safety interact with such a broad range of disturbed adults, from multimillionaire crack addicts, to members of the Hells Angels, to moms who do meth in front of their kids, and cops who can't stop taking sexual favours from criminals.  There were doctors and dentists there too, because it was a pretty classy place.

Anyways, I defied the odds, and I took it all in, and decided fuck it, I may not be as far progressed in my addictions as my fellow campers, but this wasn't a joke. So I did it, and I'm clean and serene for 2017.

I'm still not out of the woods.  Not only do I struggle with addictions, I have been through the wringer with mental illness.  I did what society recommends and trusted my doctors and all their lovely medications that they give out like candy in different flavors, depending on your diagnosis.  The shitty part is that psychiatrists, far from being well rounded, or having an in-depth knowledge of psychology, are pretty well versed in the DSM 5 or whatever version they're onto now and use a simple set of criteria to pick out scary drugs to prescribe in abundance.

When I went to rehab, I had to fill out a drug and alcohol history, which I had hoped proved I was ok to go home.  The counsellors weren't having it, I'd already disclosed to many life or death situations I'd willingly subjected myself to, high and drunk out of my tree.  I really was powerless over my addictions and my life had become unmanageable.

The crazy thing about all of this is that I'm in a similar predicament with substances, 10 years after rehab, but these were all prescribed to me by a series of GP's and Pychiatrist's, who were well meaning and thought their drugs were an integral part in me living well with mental illness.

It took 9 years before I walked through the doors of the Cochrane Counselling centre, and spoke to the first psychologist that actually got through all of the questions necessary to understand what was really going on.  She figured out that I had ADHD, and depression from trauma, from growing up getting bullied, seeing my parents train wreck marriage, witnessing verbal and mental abuse at home, and causing myself more trauma in active addiction, including being sexually victimized by predatory men when I would get loser drunk.

I'm actually happy to know I have ADHD, that my depression is treatable, and that I can retrain my brain with DBT and other modalities.  Before that, I was wrongly diagnosed as bipolar 2, and thought medication and acceptance were my best solution.  I felt victimized my the label, not empowered, because it wasn't accurate.  The pyschiatrist who diagnosed me had just finished reading Kay Jameson,  famous bipolar psychiatrists,  book on Exuberance.  He asked me if I'd ever felt exuberant, and I said yes, I've been high on rave drugs starting at 15.  That was that, I was bipolar for 5 years, and got more and more drugs shoved my way.  I'm kinda disappointed in pychiatrists, none of them reviewed his diagnosis and I really wanted answers from the doctor that gave me that label, not drugs.  I told him my whole life story thinking he was going to see that is made perfect sense I had the issues I did given my experiences, but that's simply not his training which is disappointing to say the least.

While I'm glad I got this last piece of the puzzle, and the right diagnosis, I'm now facing a situation where I've been over prescribed medications, and feel powerless once again.  I was given a stimulant for ADHD, and I've been struggling because it doesn't work that great with all the drugs I was given for depression and bipolar.  I'm now over stimulated, feeling wired, edgy, like my skin is crawling, having to much adrenalin etc almost everyday.

My last pyschiatrist told me I was doing well, that I had this all under control and would be fine if I stopped letting assholes sleep in my bed, which I thought was great, but now I have to get my psych meds under control with my GP.

Its been pretty humbling, Im no longer Queen Sh#$ of Recovery with 10 years of sobriety, I need recovery as much today as I did then, but now its due to my powerlessness with stimulants.  I have had to quit smoking, and probably caffiene is next.  I have had to reduce antidepressants.
All of this because my GP and last psychiatrist are convinced that Vyvanse really helps ADHD.
All I know is that as I sit here shaking and writing, I feel alot of compassion for everyone in recovery, no matter what page you find yourself on.  Struggle reminds me that life really is JUST FOR TODAY,  to Trust the Universe,  reach out to others, and to believe in myself, and that I really do have the tools I need to OVERCOME my challenges.