Our parents can’t save us, no matter how much we wish they had, or could. When I was 27, I descended into madness. It didn’t begin then. That process began so many years before, perhaps when I was born: the same and yet so different. There were stages to this
I will try to connect All the pieces you left I will carry it on And let you forget I’ll remember the years When your mind was still clear All the flickering lights Filled up this silent house From Silent House (Finn, Maines, Robison, Maguire) I love the song ‘Silent
After a lot of soul-searching, I found a blog title that said something of what I wanted to say about a life with invisible illnesses – autoimmune disease, pain, depression and dissociation. For the first time in weeks I’ve found a moment of strength to say something. While I want
Today, every word, every brush stroke, met with judgement. While I enjoyed the colours meshing and colliding, there was nothing in those moments of pure creation that I wanted to keep. Nothing I judged worthwhile enough to commit to posterity. I suppose that’s okay too. I remember a time when
I am the part of me I can’t accept. I think of dark things. I am twenty-five years old. I live behind closed doors, afraid of who might come to call, afraid that I will have to speak. Sometimes when I go outside. I cross the road so I don’t
I find myself wandering in a strange space – like Walter Tevis’ Man Who Fell to Earth, an alien inside the confines of a human body. What began today as a thought experiment, inspired by reading Tara Brach’s chapter on “Coming Home to Our Body”, I feel like I have
I’m late with this entry because I was and am tired. I fell asleep and woke up past midnight, thanks to one of the dogs needing to go outside. Like last night, I feel strangely out of words. In a few hours, I’ll see my counsellor for a one-on-one for
I just returned from a restorative yoga class, and I feel… restored. It had been several weeks since my last class due to the holidays and related chaos. We arrived uncharacteristically early, and I felt anxious as I sat on a bolster, resting against the wall. I had spent a
The most dangerous thing you can do when you have a tendency to dissociate is to try to be unaware. However, when the physical and mental self brings you a great deal of pain, it’s unavoidable sometimes. Being possessed of a legacy of family and friends who purport to know
Sometimes I feel like I’m speaking into a void, but the void is of my own making. I step closer to being authentic, to being who I am, but I hold onto the fears of who will judge me, what will people think, etc? Many years ago, a counsellor told