Category Archives: Life’s little kicks in the face…

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Full circle…

I am a firm believer in the saying that everything happens for a reason.  Ergo when something happens that affects my life on a rather grand scale I search (sometimes long and hard) for a reason.  Because I feel entitled to know why.  I want to know.  I need to understand.  I\’m a fairly logical person, most of the time I can find rationale and reasoning behind just about damn near everything.  Most of the time.

Then Jason died.  So did I.  In a metaphorical sense that is.  I\’ve lost scores of others before him.  Except I knew why and as much as loosing some of those people hurt, it made sense.  Cancer being the biggest culprit, suicide is fast becoming a close second.  It all started in 2005/06.  Candy who was an online friend and a wonderful woman lost her battle to cancer.  That was the first friend I had lost to death and it was hard.  She was generous and kind and one hell of a tenacious fighter.  Then came Josh, whom I knew from a body modification \”community\” couldn\’t seem to get over the loss of the woman he loved.  He gave himself 27 days exactly.  Then he hung himself in his best friends yard.  Scott will likely forever be haunted by that image for eternity.  That was the first real \”encounter\” I\’ve had with suicide.  Then my grandmother died, which was a relief.  Sounds crass, however my poor nan had been suffering for years, as in too damn long.  She didn\’t deserve that.

Then in 2009 Jason died and my world as I knew it was blown to pieces.  Everything pretty much fell apart at that point.  I was numb, in shock and just couldn\’t wrap my head around it.  Jason was my rock, he was the only person in my life that I was 100% honest with.  The unabashed, UN-varnished truth.  He just got it and me.  No explanation or justification needed with him.  His death and my grandfather\’s hurt me the most.  However when I lost my grandfather I had an explanation for that.  He passed from cancer and looking back on it now, that too was a blessing.  Jason however chose to play God and ended his own life.  Jason was an addict, suffered from an anxiety disorder and was bi-polar.  He was also a victim of the American health care system.  In hindsight, it doesn\’t really matter what health care system you\’re a part of, none of them really know how to deal with mental illness.  The emotional fallout, the guilt, the PTSD, the burning need to know why haunted me for a really, really long time.  I got up, I went to work and somehow managed to get through the day.  I don\’t know how I did that and looking back on it now, the memories are vague.  Then one day, I came to the realization that Jason\’s death and the others before him didn\’t hurt anymore.  I had developed an understanding of mental illness.  I had also seen the dark side of mental hell where all that you love and all that matters to you simply doesn\’t.  Tempted by the thought of ending it, because it seemed so easy, so simple and it would finally be over.  No more pain, no more sadness.  Nothing.

Or so we like to think.  However do any of use really know what\’s on \”the other side\”?  No of course not.  Some believe in heaven & hell or a version of such or nothing at all.  Who are we to say?  No one really knows.  Although I like to think that there\’s life after death, there\’s a few people who have some explaining to do 😉  In any case, I forged ahead.  I threw myself into my work, damn near drove myself into the ground and accomplished quite a few positive things.  I gave grief the finger and decided that I wanted my life back and I wanted it back now.  So there it was, I figured that I had a handle on it all.

I was wrong.  So very, very wrong.

So grief I had pretty much parted ways.  I came to terms with the fact that those I have loved and lost aren\’t coming back and it was OK to be sad about it once in a while.  I wasn\’t saddened by that break up to say the least.  However the depression that I had largely ignored reared it\’s ugly head and I knew that I was far from OK.  I blamed winter.  SAD (seasonal affective disorder) is more common then people think and while I generally have that much under control because I know what it is, the root cause of it and how to offset it for the most part, you team that up with atypical depression and residual grief well that\’s essentially a lethal cocktail of mental illness right there.  One that I thought I could ignore and it would go away.  I thought to myself: It\’s January, before you know it spring will be here, you\’ll be out of this apartment that you have come to hate sooner as opposed to later, you have an awesome job that you love and all these things to convince myself that it would be OK.  All the while ignoring that voice in the back of my head that said :\”Stop being a stubborn, prideful, fool.  Go and get some help before you destroy yourself and others\”.  That\’s irony for you.  I\’m the one with a foundation that is working hard to dispel the stigma surrounding mental illness, encouraging people to get the help that they need before they meet a permanent demise and blah blah blah.

Then Andrew died, also by suicide on January 25th 2011.  When Andrew died, I also found out that another person I had known from high school had died by his own hand (in 2009).  Then I shut down.  Nothing I did made anything better, there was no refuge, and I lost my ability to cry.  That in and of itself was rather disturbing.  Tears aren\’t something I indulge in very often, although I do find that there is a certain amount of catharsis in tears.  All the suggestions I was spewing forth to help others combat their depression held zero appeal to me.  I had no motivation, no desire to do much of anything.  Pretending to be happy and well adjusted became my new full time job.  All the while hoping that I didn\’t loose the one that actually paid my rent.  I had the occasional moment where I was genuinely happy, however when I wasn\’t, things got ugly.  I for the most part, managed to hide it from everyone.  No matter the situation or the circumstance, I struggled to find something positive.  Anything that would take away from the darkness that hovered so close to the point that at times I felt suffocated.  I\’ve always been the one to see the bright side of any given situation and I\’m happy that\’s one thing that hasn\’t been taken away from me.  I feel that\’s a valuable quality to have.  Then something happened.  It wasn\’t anything major in retrospect, but it was enough.  It started as a slow decline.  A Dr\’s appointment gone horribly wrong, insurmountable stress from the possible what-if\’s and maybe\’s and could have, should have and didn\’t.  Suffice to say, my head was almost like a snow globe that had been shaken to death by someone.  Too many thoughts, insecurities that I thought were dead and buried came to life all over again (when they really, truly shouldn\’t have because those moments are over and there\’s nothing to do but move on), and on it went.  Then someone I had plans with had forgotten by no true fault of their own and I know that now.  However at the time, my self realization and rationale ceased to exist and to put it simply I lost it on someone who didn\’t nearly deserve it.

They said they didn\’t recognize me and sadly I didn\’t recognize myself either.  Then I was at a loss, lost in the fucked up mess that had become my head.  Which could have largely been avoided had I not been too proud to ask for help sooner.  It\’s not his fault, his intentions were (to my knowledge) not nefarious or mean.  Just simple, human error.  Nothing more, nothing less.  None of us are perfect, although we often strive for perfection.  Some of us more then others.  Yet, he found it within himself to forgive me.  I however had to find it within myself, to forgive myself.  As I said to him once: \”You know how I know you\’re a good person?  Because you make me want to be a better person.\” I meant it then and I still mean it now.

That happened on a Wed.  That Saturday, he called to bring me soup (again) because I (along with him) was recovering from a major flu/cold thing that had pretty much infected a third of Montreal.  So I took that opportunity to at least partially address what went down that fateful Wed and as hard as I tried not to fall apart as in not cry (I rarely cry in front of others, it is in fact such a rare occurrence I have actually been accused on numerous occasions of not being able to do so).  I\’m pretty private when it comes to my feelings and after being a Chef all these years, it doesn\’t go over well to show weakness in any way shape or form.  It\’s a hardcore industry to be in.  Even more so if you\’re a woman (lucky me).  Then it happened.  I turned away mid conversation and said this that and the other thing and after I uttered \”I don\’t need this\” it happened.  I started crying and couldn\’t stop.  It was at that moment, standing there in my fuzzy robe, with bed head, standing barefoot in a puddle of water from his shoes, clinging to him for dear life, drenching the front of his shirt with my tears saying \”I\’m sorry\” over and over again that I had had enough.  Then he said to me \”You have an awful lot going on up here don\’t you?\” as he tapped me on the forehead and all I could do was nod.

Because I do.  Some of which I can\’t do anything about, some of which I can.  I cried on and off for most of the day.  That was actually a welcome change from not being able to cry at all.  It was like the emotional equivalent of a volcanic eruption.  It seemed to me at least that it was long overdue.  As I lying in bed later that day, I was recalling the chain of events that had come about and the conversation I had with him earlier that day.  More so when he said are you that much of a control freak that you need to know how everything is going to turn out (or something to that effect) and then out of no where in a moment that I can\’t even begin to explain, the (short version) of the serenity prayer came into my head.

\”God grant me the serenity
to accept the things I cannot change;
courage to change the things I can;
and wisdom to know the difference.\”

To say I had an epiphany of sorts is putting it lightly.  I\’m not claiming to have found God or anything of the sort.  It was just as if a light bulb went off in my mind and everything made sense.  It was at that moment that I had decided that I could not and would not do this one my own.  Because sometimes you just can\’t make it on your own and that\’s OK.  After all misery loves company, so I set out to find some.  Company that is.

So I turned to my old friend Google and did a search for 12 step programs dealing with depression.  Google didn\’t disappoint, although some of the support I sought out did.  Terribly so.  Turns out 12 step programs just aren\’t my deal.  I think they\’re great, I know a lot of people who are involved in them and it\’s rather beneficial to them.  I however needed something a little more then what they had to offer for my particular situation.

I actually found it.

I  was skeptical at first.  Their website offered generic information, however it was enough to at least grab my interest.  As luck would have it, there were meetings in Montreal that were also in English (score!).  They were also in the evening, so no conflicts with my work schedule (score!).  It was also easily accessible by Metro (score again!) and close to my house.  So I thought, either I am extremely lucky or this is just too good to be true.  I was waiting for the other shoe to drop.  So I took down the number, had it for a few days.  Finally worked up enough nerve to make the call.  Left a message, didn\’t hear anything back until the next day (whereupon I had pretty much given up at this point, I had no patience mostly due to anxiety).  Then a kind and understanding gentlemen returned my call and assured me that what they do isn\’t religion based, political or preachy (score again!) it is based on cognitive behavioral therapy.  Which the logical person in me prefers.  It\’s taking learned behavior that\’s negative and learning how to deal with it in a positive light.  Dealing with horrendous situations in a more productive, logical, positive manner essentially.  This is what I wanted, it was also what I needed.  I like logic, I like answers and I like doing things in a productive fashion.  This made me feel a little better, I committed to going that night.  I was determined to make that step that day, not waiting until the next opportunity lest I back out.  After all they say that first step you take is the longest stride.

So there I was, at said location.  Debating.  Did I want to do this?  I hate strangers, I had become rather anti-social in the past little while.  I hung out outside for a bit having an internal debate in my mind.  Then I opened the door, found where I was supposed to go and forged ahead.

It was by and large the best thing I ever could have done for myself.

I felt comfortable right off the bat.  My earlier anxiety had dissipated leaving a flood tsunami like force of relief in it\’s wake.  I was there.  I made the call, got to the place, walked in the door and was welcomed with open arms.  I figured at this point, what have I got to loose?  So I stayed.  I owned up, I opened up and no one there tried to fix me.  All they said was good for you for acknowledging that you need to fix you.  And I do and I will.  One minute, one hour, one day at a time.  I wish that I had done this before, however I choose not to.  Sadly it took what went down that Wed night to make me hit rock bottom, perhaps that\’s what I needed to happen?  In any case, everything happens for a reason and while I am far from proud of how I acted that night I\’m going to choose to believe that incident was the final catalyst that pushed me over the edge in a good and positive way.

Am I going to be OK?  I don\’t know, but I hope so.  All I can do is try.  Therefore I shall.

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Time to purge thyself

It\’s not often that I \”expose myself\” online, or anywhere else for that matter.  No one likes a downer, and I am a far cry from one of those attention whore, drama causing, pity me types.  Although someone (only one person in fact) has actually called me a drama queen.  Although, not only are they the ONLY person who\’s ever said that.  Apparently everything that happens in my life (according to them) = drama.

Heh.

Apparently…

riiiiiiiiiiiiight….

Yeah I\’m a little bitter, but I\’ll get over it.

Although they have yet to meet some of my friends people I know who are the epitome of drama/pity me/feel sorry for me.  So much to the point that they could start their own theater production company are in dire need of therapy.

Anyway, this isn\’t about them.  It\’s about me.

Fuck you it\’s my blog.

Anyway I was reading Tanis AKA the redneck mommy\’s latest post on her blog. It broke my heart.  On a number of levels.  I can also empathize with her on a certain level.  Earlier last year, I had a miscarriage.  Had that not happened, I would be just about ready or already have had a child at this point.

No I don\’t care to talk about that.  So please don\’t ask me about it here at all.  However should you feel oh so compelled to inquire about it.  Please e-mail me instead.  So I don\’t have to publicly tell you to fuck off err drop dead please respect my privacy.  It\’s still a touchy subject for me.  I am however taking the first step to acknowledging that it happened, I will perhaps discuss it when I\’m ready.

Anyway part of her post (mostly how she felt like a failure) hit home.  As in felt like someone smashed me in the face with a baseball bat.  I\’m not a parent, but one thing I do know is loss.  Also grief and how it follows you like your own personal natural disaster, hanging out in the background and lingering.  I like to think that for the most part I have a handle on this whole grief thing.  Reese Butler (the founder & president of the Kristin Brooks Hope Center/1-800-suicide) said in an interview after loosing his wife to suicide:

\”The first year after her death was the most painful year of my life. The 2nd year after her death was only worse because it was the opposite, totally numb and a total loss of desire to live anymore. It was then that I learned how a depressed person could welcome death as a relief from the pain or hopelessness that ensued.\”  Feel free to read the whole thing here (it\’s pretty awesome).

Depression sucks.  So does feeling like no one\’s there to listen, or feeling like a non person.  Especially when the people that are there for you claim to be there for you, but are far too self centered/wrapped up in their own lives merely pretend to care.  All the while thinking, please just STFU.  I know who those people are, they no longer have a welcome place in my life.  I don\’t keep score, but please don\’t expect me to give a flying fuck about ANYTHING that goes on in your life, when you could truly care less about what goes on in mine.  I believe in equality, and treating people the same way that they treat me.  So if you take me for granted/walk all over me I will do the same be the bigger person and walk away.

Most of the time.

Sometimes I can\’t.

Because Karma\’s a bitch and sometimes her name is Steph.

That\’ll learn ya now won\’t it.

Anyway, moving along!

I completed my OSIS (Online Suicide Intervention Specialist) training at the end of November.  All through my professor droning on and on (Christ he\’s such a pompous ass!) and playing solitaire all the while.  Because let\’s face it, it\’s about as dry as dinosaur remains and I needed something to keep me awake visually stimulated that wouldn\’t outwardly distract me from what I was doing.  Occasionally I would glance up and would look at Jason\’s picture.  Just a friendly painful reminder of why I\’m doing this.  I\’m doing it for him, I\’m doing it in the hopes that I can spare someone else the soul sucking heartache of loosing someone to suicide.  It was a great reminder and then it became my downfall.

I was there, hitting the finish line. *Cue chariots of fire.* wrote my final and BAM!

I was done YAY!

I threw my head back in an attempt to stretch.  Sitting on one\’s ass in a computer chair for hours at a time is harder then you think.  Closed my eyes and thought to myself VICTORY! I was proud, euphoric and stuff.  Then I made the mistake of sitting up and opening my eyes and once again looking at Jason\’s picture on my wall and that feeling of awesome immediately felt like:

FAIL!

Now, I know I shouldn\’t.  Except a small part of me wonders, if I couldn\’t save him, what makes me think that I can save others?  I truly have no idea, but I\’ll be dammed if I don\’t at least try.  I\’m pretty sure Julie (Jason\’s mom) feels the same way.  She sent me a wonderful e-mail telling me that I\’m doing a great thing and I\’ll help lots of people.  After reading that I couldn\’t help but thinking the UN-written/UN-spoken words to follow that should have been:

\”Why couldn\’t you help my son?\”

Can\’t say I blame her, because if I was her…

I\’d probably feel the same way.

This is my battle to fight.  One that I intend to win.  I try to console myself with the thoughts that Jason\’s death is not in vain.  Although part of me ( a rather large one) wishes that he was still here and I was doing this because I wanted to help others.  Not because I want to help others because I know firsthand how much it hurts.

Everything happens for a reason.

Right?

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OMGWTFBBQ!

Jesus Christ can I ever get a break? Having to divulge my \”dirty laundry\” to my boss was one thing (more on that in a minute) discovering I have allergies from hell? That\’s taking it to a whole NEW kind of low. I rarely have allergic reactions to anything. My sister is deathly allergic to bee\’s, to the point that she has to carry an epi pen. Let me tell you, the thought of stabbing myself in the thigh with anything, much less a needle holds 0 appeal. In any case I pretty much know when I have an allergic reaction coming on and what things to avoid now. Such as this which sucks balls because Tiramisu is my favorite thing of all time!  In spite of the fact from eating that particular brand I almost died.  Brought on by Anaphylactic shock .  Me being rather ignorant about food allergies at the time, didn\’t realize how foolhardy I was being.  So lucky me I am not only blessed with asthma but anaphylaxis too.

So enter Sunday, had plans with him to do stuff and as soon as I got out of the shower, I felt my ears and neck start to burn and itch (first sign of a reaction for me) as soon as I got into my room and I couldn\’t for the life of me figure out why.   While I know allergies can creep up out of no-where, especially in the event that you introduce yourself to something new.  However nothing was \”new\” the food I had consumed that day were old favorites of mine, the shower items I used were also favorites of mine.   It wasn\’t until I was waiting for him to come pick me up that I knew I was going into mild anapylatic shock from something.  I was eating ice cream & watching TV when the back of my throat started to itch and swell.  Not in a OMFGIMGOINGTOSTOPBREATHINGANYSECOND now kind of way, more so in a dammit I\’ve been down this road before and I was hoping not to return kind of way.

So I took one of his allergy pills \”just in case\”, told him what was going on and made sure I had my health care card on my person as well.  I didn\’t feel right, but I thought it, whatever it was, would pass.  I was wrong, dead wrong!

The following day when I woke up, I was about 5 mins away from work and all of a sudden, that God awful feeling came back.  Then the hives came, OMFG I HATE HIVES!  Polite society doesn\’t deem it appropriate to scratch your ass in public and let me tell you, that huge hive on my left butt cheek was begging for attention.  Yeah I know scratching them only makes them worse.  Thankfully these seem to be pretty localized to a few hidden locations.  Unlike the last time when those suckers sprouted up all over my entire body.  You\’ve never experienced hives to the fullest extent until you have them between your toes, in your mouth and well every nook, cranky & crevice you body has to offer.

So I\’ve been breaking out at random now.  On the way to work, taking the metro to and from work (only during certain times of the day mind you) so the variables are rather huge.  I did a spot test on the inside of my elbow for the perfume I\’ve been wearing and my laundry soap as well to rule them out and so far so good.  So now to rule out a few other things, although I think its environmental.  Mostly because it comes on and out, out of no-where!  So its either seasonal or my cats are the culprits.  Either of which would suck since allergy meds make me pretty damn drowsy.  I want to sleep. Right. Now. kinda drowsy so I can\’t take them in the \”real world\” and expect to function normally.

Could be stress…

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Yeah but its MY labia!

I know, I know I\’m talking about vag again.  This time however its not mine, its someone Else\’s.  While I do maintain a somewhat active role in the \”modification community\” at large, my participation has lessened quite a bit.  Unless of course I am talking about my own work.  After all, it is my blog.  I also try to avoid drama at all costs, but like I said to Mr. A.P. last night:\” I don\’t seek out drama, but I seem to attract quite a bit of it\”.  Which is why I was debating writing this post at all, however seeing as how I choose to comment on Ania\’s mod related blog I guess I somewhat brought some of that drama into my life?  Anyway, it all started with this.  Now I could link endlessly to the pissing contest that has ensued since then, however I honestly can not and will not be bothered.  However I do feel compelled to share my $5.00 on the topic of how much is too much?

In terms of body modification that is.

I misunderstood Russ Foxx\’s quote \” But most doctors won\’t perform these types of procedures, said Russ Foxx, a body-modification specialist in Vancouver. \”That leaves us in a predicament. Who do I go to?\” he said.  Foxx said he learns how to perform procedures from talking to veteran practitioners, reading books and traveling to conventions.\”  Whereas I commented on Ania\’s blog that I call bullshit because most plastic surgeons will in fact perform cosmetic surgery on one\’s vag.  Ear pointing, tongue splitting (and so on) not so much.  I get that, as in the whole where do I go? Because like most of the educated modified people I know personally do an insane amount of research before progressing with anything regardless of whether or not its deemed \”experimental\” , high risk or whatever or not.  If you are modified, then you can understand/comprehend and relate to this.  Essentially, its what makes US happy at the end of the day.  We do it because we want to, for a number of reasons.  The bottom line is this: If you want something/anything bad enough you will seek it out actively until you get.  Some of us will spare no expense or take ridiculous risks and some of us will take the time to seek out a trusting, educated individual to preform the work we seek.  Tattoos, piercings, scars whatever.

However there is also a lot of stupid people out there as well.  I can\’t help but agree with Steve Peace to a degree when he said:\” Where do you stop?  I\’m a tattoo artist, not a Dr.\” OK fine, I\’ll give you that.  If it bothers you that much, then by all means stick with tattooing then.  I also agree that there IS in fact a lot of people who claim to know what the hell they\’re doing (they don\’t) and I for one know of a few people who really don\’t have the training or the skills to be pulling off a lot of what they do.  Yes a labia reduction, ear pointing, tongue splitting to name a few do fall under the surgical category.  Most modification artists aren\’t Dr.\’s of any shape or form, however its not as if she went in for breast implants either.  OK slightly contradictory yes, however regardless of whether its a Dr, your best friend, your tattoo artist or some dirt-bag in a back alley doing your stuff the risk factor is always there.  How high that risk factor is really depends on what your getting done and how controlled the environment that your in is as well.  Not to mention the cost factor as well.  I was told by her that she was quoted 4 grand by a surgeon, that\’s a lot of coin to make your vag look nice to your satisfaction.  Some people are willing to spend that kind of money, others not so much.  Some people can\’t simply find someone they trust enough that\’s a professional surgeon to do the work or whatever the reasons are.  Wether you are getting plastic surgery or a tattoo, you\’re altering the way your body looks forever.

I happen to know of said person in question.  I\’ve never met her personally, however I am quite familiar with and totally support her shop.  I\’m from Ontario and spent a lot of time in Guelph so maybe my loyalty stems from that.  In any case  I am however also a woman & I can totally relate to looking at certain body parts and loathing their overall appearance in general.  I personally tattoo them.  I was dead against getting my sleeves started until my arms were more toned.  Then I said fuck it, now I\’m sporting some awesome in progress sleeves.  Why?  Because to me its taking something you deem \”ugly\” and turning it into something beautiful.  I also have my pubic mound tattooed, not entirely for the same reasons mind you, but I get it.

Now for ME personally, I don\’t have the proverbial balls do get my vag that modified as in a surgical manner.  Christ I had a hard enough time  getting my VCH done!  Never mind someone toying with my bits with a scalpel (I am shuddering inwardly, as is my vag).  However, this individual had the guts, the research, not to mention a trusted individual on hand to go through with getting it done.  I can admire that and you know I am rather curious about the whole procedure as whole just because I\’m a curious person.

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