August 6, 2015

Day One

“Throw away the radio, suitcase keeps you awake
Hide the telephone, the telephone
Telephone, in case you realize
That some days, you’re just not okay
You’ll level off, you’ll level off, you’ll level off

And it’s not alright now
You need to understand
There’s nothing strange about this
You need to know your friends
You need to know that

I’ll be wavin’ my hand
Watching you drown
Watching you scream
Quiet or loud

And maybe you should sleep
And maybe you just need, a friend
As clumsy as you’ve been
There’s no one laughing
You will be safe in here
You will be safe in here

Throw away this very old shoelace
It tripped you again
Try and shrug it off, shrug it off, shrug it off

It’s only skin, now
Now you need to understand
There’s nothing fake about this
You need to let me in
Watching you and

I’ll be waving my hand
Watching you drown
Watching you scream
No one’s around

And maybe you should sleep
And maybe you just need, a friend
As clumsy as you’ve been
There’s no one laughing
You will be safe in here
You will be safe in

I will be waving my hand
Watching you drown
Watching you scream
Quiet or loud

And maybe you should sleep
And maybe you just need, a friend
As clumsy as you’ve been
There’s no one laughing
You will be safe in here
You will be safe in here

Well, you will be safe in here
In here, in here
In here, in here
In here, in here”

– “Clumsy” by Our Lady Peace

On July 29th, I tried to kill myself and no, I am not okay. But there is a plan in place and there’s a faint glimmer of hope in the distance that I will be.

It was not a cry for help. When I tried to kill myself twice before as a teenager, those were cries for help, from a kid. What happened last week was an adult making a conscious decision to cease existing and let the consequences of that decision be whatever they may be because if all went as planned, I would be worm food and unable to feel, see, hear etc. any of the aftermath and ultimately I knew my people well enough that they would be perfectly okay without me, perhaps even better off. If not? I would be nothing, there would be no such thing as Me, I would never know the difference.

Obviously, I failed. And trust me, it was not for lack of trying (but definitely due to lack of planning). If I wasn’t actively avoiding the internet right now, I’d be googling “how the fuck am I alive right now?” because I took what seemed to me to be a hell of a lotta cyclobenzaprine, clonazapam and trazodone. I didn’t overdose on any of my serious psych meds because I was afraid they’d leave me retarded if I failed. I thought I’d fall asleep and just never wake up. Instead, cops broke down my back door (which I had locked, and I had locked and put a chair up against my office/front door) and told me I could get out of my bed and come to the ambulance quietly or they could cuff me. I went mediumishly…voluntarily, swaying and stumbling, yet still saying “fuck the police” (which apparently they hear so often, they just refer to it as “ftp”) at an audible level about 25 times between my bed and the ambulance. I owe one of the cops an apology and a “thank you” and it’s something really bugging the crap outta me, actually.

At the hospital they did not pump my stomach or give me charcoal, they just put me in the ICU hooked up to an ECG machine, the little finger thingy that measures your oxygen levels and an IV that they never hooked anything up to and just took out after letting me sleep for about 48 hours. Then they transferred me to Royal Victoria Hospital’s (RVH) psychiatric ward which was where I was also sent in 2006 when I had my psychotic episode which lead to my diagnosis of bipolar disorder I, generalized anxiety disorder and agoraphobia, and also the same hospital I spent 6 weeks in after coming seriously close to dying in 2011 from pancreatitis.

So now you wanna know why, right? Cuuuuuuz that’s the next logical question and the most difficult one for me to answer. It’s actually kinda funny, if you know me well enough or have been reading my blog for a really long time, you know that I have a billion different, ever-evolving reasons for why I didn’t get into advertising, choosing to drop out of school at the last minute instead, and I always say like, “Reason #3875736254 I dropped out of advertising…”. This is kind of the same thing. As a person who is depressed with suicidal ideations a lot, it’s a complex thing with a million tentacles. It occurred to me when I was 5 years old that killing myself was a legitimate option. Most people never see suicide as a legitimate option because most people don’t try to or successfully kill themselves, according to my retired extra special needs teacher friend, Carole R. who told me that about 14 years ago when I went to work with her for a day and met young children who had already taken measures to end their own lives or seriously hurt themselves for whatever reason it is we all have in common on these things.

I don’t know where it came from or how it started or why I peg it at 5, which was right when my mom married my stepdad, but that’s when it started as a tiny seed of an idea and then grew, like I said, into this thing with a million tentacles, as if there’s some chunk of my grey matter dedicated to just this one specific area, like building my own killswitch I guess, and for whatever reason “I”, “Me”, “Myself”, liked being in there and focusing on there. Not always, but…a lot.

This could be chemical or this could be “something else”. What that “something else” is, I have no idea because I’ve never really spoken to anyone about any of this with any real detail or seriousness. Everyone I know (plus a lotta strangers) knows I want to kill myself regularly. That’s, “just Sunny” at this point. Even this time, my own daughter thought my last words to her were just me being “melodramatic” when she read them after not being here or talking to me for several weeks. (Which I don’t fault her for, especially because she’s 17. Again, I’m avoiding the internet right now – all I have open on my computer is Word and Spotify because I just spent a week in a world without electronics of any kind and everything is so noisy in this one – so I don’t remember what I said to her or if she replied. I’ve seen her since I’ve been out, though, and we’re okay so it doesn’t even matter for the time being or even at all maybe.)

For the first 2 days at Georgian Bay General hospital where I was in the ICU from July 29th-31st the only communication I had with anyone not involved in my care, including AND (at the time), especially my husband Blake, was sending a short e-mail to my boss (cc’d to my coworker/friend it would impact the most/immediately as far as work was concerned) saying long story short: I tried to kill myself, they’re sending me somewhere 45 mins away to see a shrink* and I was sorry. That was the last time I saw my phone until yesterday when I was released from Royal Victoria Hospital (RVH). I think they said Blake called the hospital to talk to me but I refused his calls and I guess Amy also called when I was in there too but at that point I just told them to refuse all calls so I didn’t hear about anyone else.

On the 31st, around sunset, I was told that I would be taking a taxi cab from Georgian Bay General in Midland, to RVH in Barrie where they were more equipped to deal with me, which would be about a 45 minute drive and I would be accompanied by this nice lady security guard, who would get me signed in and then take the same cab back to Midland. I don’t know how much that cost because the taxi driver lady put a cover over the meter. I do know from listening to the conversations around me that the lady had $158 on her Visa and that wasn’t enough so they had to get one with a bigger limit, but despite that it made sense to me for them to do this than waste an ambulance on me. I was happy at the healthcare system’s ability/willingness to adapt so successfully to non-government community services.

I can’t remember if I had any conversations with the security lady. Mostly the security lady and the cab lady talked while I enjoyed the ride (car rides actually calm me). I don’t think this was their first time making this trip, though. When we got to the hospital, the taxi lady told the security lady that she was going to Tim Hortons to get them both coffees, what does she prefer etc. and then the security lady and I started navigating the outside of the hospital because it’s all new and ever-changing, up the elevator to the 3rd floor, and through the psychiatric unit’s front doors. I was processed by the security lady and hospital staff (at this point I had everything but those people tuned out completely) and taken to a dorm-like room with 2 empty beds with nice blankets, 2 floor-length cubbies and a nice, clean bathroom. The security lady wished me good luck and left. I have no memory of anything else that night, I just got in the bed facing the wall and window and went to sleep. I don’t think I cried, I was just kinda unable to process anything happening to me so everything shut down.

The next morning I woke up and a nurse told me where I was and asked me questions about how I got there but I couldn’t really communicate with anyone yet. All the drugs I overdosed on (plus the ones I was supposed to be taking for my mental illnesses that they never gave me the 2 days I was in Midland) were coming out of me and I was just confused and scared. I’m agoraphobic so I don’t leave my house and when I do, it’s with Blake, so I was TERRIFIED to leave my room. I’d been in the psych ward twice before this and I knew the kind of people/experiences can happen in them and I just couldn’t deal. I only got up to go to the bathroom and get cups of tap water that were never cold enough to quench my thirst.

On August 1st, a Saturday of a long weekend, I made contact with Blake because, like I said, I was fucking terrified, and that day was the first time he visited. He brought me clothes and some toiletries, my pencil case, the brand new pad of Bristol paper I’d bought 2 weeks prior for doing colouring pages, some food I could keep in my room and a 6-pack of bottled Diet Coke because we weren’t allowed to have cans and bottles just made more sense since they had lids and stuff. (I’m addicted to Diet Coke, this is just part of me being me. You will probably never see me without a drink in my hand of some sort.) All I had with me when I came in was my bag full of like, basic “purse stuff” because the cops wouldn’t let me pack anything to bring with me except my phone and wallet pretty much and the clothes on my back. I had a greyish-black, t-shirt weight cotton hoodie, my grey “RAP MUSIC MAKES ME FEEL INVINCIBLE” t-shirt, medium-weight cotton yoga pants and my crazy-assed Period Panties. (This is actually my standard uniform.) They let me keep my shoes, which didn’t have laces. My bag was taken from me and everything important from it was put in a bin at one of the nurses’ stations.

No electronics were allowed whatsoever. Not even an iPod to listen to music and there was no music in any of the rooms on the floor except for this shower radio that barely got one pop country station none of us wanted to listen to. The TV in the TV room was stuck on the sports channel because no one could find the remote and then when they *did* find the remote, they changed it to a “48 Hours” marathon on A&E, a “reality” show where there’s been a murder and the first 48 hours are the most crucial to solve the case, which in the 3 episodes I sat through, they did. (And all the victims were women.)

When I’m at home on “normal” Saturdays, I get off work at 11pm and usually draw or otherwise make art until 3-5am or however long I can stay up and then I sleep in the next day to compensate because it’s my first day off so I can and then on the Sunday night I do the same because Mondays are my other day off.

After Blake had left me because visiting hours were over, I left my sobbing roommate (who came in the morning after trying to kill herself the night before) and went down the hall to this patient activity room that had a bunch of big tables in the middle with about 15 or 20 chairs that I’d noticed never had more than a couple of people in it. The second I stepped inside I felt better because there were pencil crayons and markers (not very many and really shitty ones, but pencil crayons and markers nonetheless) on one wall in bins and there were colouring pages and Sudoku puzzles in clear plastic bins on the other and I identified it as an “art room”, a place where I could be comfortable, and decided to just draw. When I was little and upset, my mom would tell me to either suck my thumb or to draw (or both), so I just started drawing a webcam model I watch sometimes.

As I sat in there with my pencil, eraser and Diet Coke, drawing, I could see people walking up and down the hallway and glancing in at me from time to time but no one came in until about 9pm and that person was Rich. Rich is 25 and basically a pussy magnet and he knows it. He said his mother had him put in the hospital on his birthday. He’d been there for almost a month and was going to be there for another month, minimum. He’s schizophrenic with ADHD and at the time he was either coming OFF of some drug or reacting to a new one and he was pacing and antsy and like, just spun out and squirrelly. I think I was the one who spoke first, asking him if he was okay and that’s when he told me his situation. I asked him if he was hearing voices right that minute and he said he wasn’t and we just started talking to each other. He sat in a backwards chair tapping his feet, or pacing the room or doing semi-push-ups from the edge of the table, but able to carry on a conversation. I just drew while he mostly talked about his thoughts on weed, evolution and god and what is good and what his purpose is on this Earth and I have no idea what I told him about myself. I think I told him about my job. He told me I was a good artist and I told him he was a good kid and we decided we were friends. We just hung out in the art room talking while I drew until he calmed down enough to go to sleep around 11pm. The head nurse on duty told me that because it was a long weekend, she’d let the art room stay open until midnight, so I stayed in there and drew until then and then went to sleep myself.

Sunday morning I woke up, changed out of my “RAP MUSIC MAKES ME FEEL INVINCIBLE” t-shirt and put on my grey “SORRY I’M AWESOME” t-shirt and didn’t eat anything. I didn’t eat anything the whole time I was there except a handful of pistachios, a few crackers and about 6 Babybel cheeses. Because of the aforementioned pancreatitis, which is now chronic, I am a medical marijuana patient so I need cannabis before I eat so I *will* eat and then I need it again afterward to keep it down. If I don’t do this, it starts this godawful vomit cycle that often ends with me in the hospital in the worst pain imaginable. Also every time that happens, my pancreas is being damaged which makes me unable to actually absorb the food I eat. Medical marijuana is a weird thing in Canada where it’s accepted but the deal in the hospital was that I could only have it if it was prescribed by a doctor from that hospital and there was no chance in hell any of the psych staff would sign off on that so I didn’t even push it and just dealt the best I could with the few foods I know are okay for me. I also begged and begged for Zofran (anti-emetic) and pancreatic enzymes, even had Blake bring in my own, but they wouldn’t let me have them.

Sunday morning was also when my roommate and I acknowledged each other. We had been in similar states when we arrived and hadn’t started acclimating until then. Her name was Kimmie and she was small, blonde, frail and almost curled into herself. Mother of 2 older teenage boys. I had heard her wearily having a conversation with her husband of 20 years the previous day in our room when I was still too scared leave it, where I heard her ask him for a divorce several times, to sign the divorce papers when he got them and him telling her she was crazy and didn’t mean it. He’d brought her flowers.

Sunday morning I went to the bathroom to pee and of course my uterus had to start spotting; my period was going to be coming any second now. I’m thinking, “of-fucking-course” but it wasn’t enough to worry about yet so I just came out of the bathroom, saw Kimmie was sitting on the edge of the bed, and slightly joked to her that of all the times to have to have my lady rain, it had to be now.  She didn’t laugh because she was so down, but she did offer me a few maxi pads to use from her own supply, which I was grateful for. We briefly shared situations, and basically she had been this man’s possession for the last 20 years and finally he had stepped so far out of line that there was no coming back from it so she, like me, did a swan dive with pills and alcohol and that’s how she got where we were. Her telling me about her husband made me really appreciate mine, so that’s actually what prompted me to call Blake and ask him to come visit. Before that though, I told Kimmie we were in this together and from that point forward I tried to take care of her the best I could. They were giving her pretty heavy anti-psychotics that were making her sleep all day and pace the halls all night and she was just SO sad and confused, like a frail little bird. She didn’t want to come out of her room that day except to bathe twice because she didn’t know what else to do. And the clothes her husband brought her were ridiculous, like a fluorescent pink bikini top and an obviously too small sports bra instead of something useable, period panties not in the fun sense, and stuff that he just would have to have picked out of the very back of her closet or drawers to come up with. I asked her if she thought he did that to be a dick or if he was just a clueless guy and she said it was definitely him being a dick. I reminded her she was safe where we were and I even told her if she needed anything, like a bra, I would get Blake to pick her one up from WalMart in a heartbeat, just tell me her size, but the only thing she ever took us up on was a double double from Tim Hortons.

All Kimmie wanted to do on Sunday was sleep in the room, which I understood, so I took my pencil and eraser and Bristol pad and of course, a Diet Coke and went down the hall to see if the art room was open. It was and was empty, so I took a seat in the corner of the room and kept working on the colouring page I’d started the previous day.

The art room was used during the week for group therapy sessions and since this was a long weekend, one of the social workers, Clayton, a huge guy with ginger hair, used his own day off and his own money to run a game of bingo with giftcard prizes for Tim Hortons or the deli in the food court and a mani/pedi “group session” for those who wanted their toes done. Blake happened to be visiting during this part of the afternoon and I painted his toenails lovely shades of metallic turquoise and magenta, which all the girls got a big kick out of. Every single person who came into the art room that day looked at what I was drawing and told me how much they loved what I was doing and what a talented artist I was. I just said “thank you” and was friendly and open toward everyone because these were my people. These were people who knew what I was going through because they were there too.  Plus for the afternoon, Blake was there to help break the ice with all these strangers. He’s kind of a social butterfly.

It was during the bingo and mani/pedi sessions that I made friends with Amy, whose name was easy to remember because she had the same name as my close friend who had the same name. She has schizophrenia and was hearing voices when I talked to her but she couldn’t articulate what they were saying. Her case was special because the medications that kept her schizophrenia under control affected her heart condition, so it was a delicate balance she had to maintain to pretty much stay alone. She was a super sweet girl who asked me Monday morning if she could bring me back anything from the food court downstairs because she had privileges to go down there. I wanted to barf my guts up so I gave her money and asked her to get me a ginger ale, which she did and I was so grateful for because it made me feel slightly better. She was just a super nice, sweet person who liked to be useful. In fact, she was helping Clayton the social worker orchestrate these extra special group activities on the long weekend. There were other people at the bingo game but I’m not all that into bingo, so I mostly tuned it out and kept drawing.

Also during the mani/pedi group, I met Hurricane Sonya who was manic pretty much the entire time I was there and somehow talked me into braiding her thick blonde hair into a fishtail, which I hadn’t done on anyone since I was like, 11 years old, and Jason who came in later, a paranoid schizophrenic who was interesting to talk to but who stayed away from me after he asked me and Blake if we thought there were any correlation between vaccinations and mental illness and we both pointed out examples of mental illnesses existing way before vaccines.

All day Sunday, I sat in the art room drawing and socializing and was told 100 more times by 20 people what a great artist I was, which felt good and validating admittedly, but inside I was still so shell-shocked by the fact that this time I actually swallowed the pills instead of just thinking about it, which is something I really, honestly didn’t think I was even capable of doing again because when I did it the 2nd time when I was 15 and landed in Whitby Psychiatric Hospital for a few weeks, I hated being there so much (but loved being away from all the chaos that was my home life) that I vowed never to end up in a place like that ever again by my own hand and for 21 years, I had stuck to it. (2006 didn’t count because that was out of my control, but this time I did it to myself.)

Sunday evening after Blake left, some new patients came in and that’s when I met Malachi and Sharon.

I heard Malachi before I saw him. After drawing all day, I went back to my room to lay down for a little while around dinner time and when I was half awake, I could hear this voice in the hallway outside my room that reminded me of the trans character “Nomi” from the Netflix show “Sense 8”, so I thought, oh, maybe we have a transwoman now, but when I went into the art room for the evening and tall, slight, red-haired, bespectacled Malachi introduced himself and started telling me about the troubles he’d been having with his new wife’s family and the police, which was how he got where we were. From what I could gather, he’d had some kind of mental meltdown of some sort in the apartment he shared with his wife and he broke some of their dishes in the process. During that, not knowing what else to do, his mother-in-law called the police on him and the police charged him – for breaking his own dishes, in his own apartment – with something like “domestic mischief” I think he said, and because the police put it down as a domestic dispute when it was a mental health call, Malachi is not allowed to have any contact with his own wife or live in his own home until after his court date. Due to this, he and his wife wouldn’t be celebrating their 1st wedding anniversary together and he was pretty upset. I didn’t ask how old this kid was but there was no way he was older than 23 and he worked at WalMart.

It was also Sunday night that I met Sharon. I don’t know what her diagnosis was but both she and Malachi came from another psychiatric facility somewhere. Blake told me he noticed tons of scars on her wrists so that’s all I know. She reminded me in looks like Peppermint Patty. She had medium-length reddish brown hair and spoke so quiet and low, it was almost a mumble, but with effort you could understand her. She watched me draw for 2 days and told me multiple times that I had to figure out a way to make some money from my drawings. Most of the people there, except for Rich and Malachi, weren’t “internet people” so to speak. I tried to explain Patreon to them after Sharon suggested that and a bunch of folks agreed with her but I don’t think they really understood what I was talking about. No one had ever heard of “crowdfunding”, let alone its pitfalls.

Sharon and Sonya had been in the same psychiatric facility 4 times but this was the first time they were ever spending any time together and the two of them were like the dynamic duo, with Sonya being loud and manic and flagrant and Sharon following her around trying to keep her calm and quiet.

Sonya was loud and probably the ward’s biggest personality. She was honest and had even less filters than I do. She’d been to jail. She used to be addicted to crack. She was depressed before she came there. She had kids, lost kids, had her tubes clipped and unclipped and had another baby who was now 13 years old and Sonya really wanted me to draw something for her daughter’s birthday, which I said I’d do but really meant I’d get Blake to bring in copies of the more kid-friendly colouring pages I’d done, which we did on Monday.

Monday was much like Sunday except that the art room wasn’t open until 9am and I woke up at 7. Breakfast was at 7:30. I felt confident enough in having new buddies that I’d have somewhere to sit in the dining room so I went down during breakfast and sat with Amy and her roommate whose name I *think* was Deborah, and who was literally the most beautiful older lady I’ve ever seen in my whole entire life. When I sat down, they were discussing the fact that the night before, Amy, in a dead sleep, got 3 tea biscuits from one of her drawers and ate them all sitting on the side of her bed and then just fell back into bed and slept for the rest of the night. She was really freaked out, as I think I would be too. Deborah noticed that I have “Sunny” engraved in the arms of my glasses like a giant nerd and asked me about it, so I explained to her that in my day to day life, the only people who called me by my real name was my mother and doctors. She told me she liked my glasses and I told her I got them for like, $6 on the internet which sort of left her speechless.

After breakfast I went back to my room because the art room still wasn’t open and I talked with Kimmie about coming into the art room and colouring mandalas while I drew, which she ended up doing for maybe an hour but just after lunch she had a meltdown and needed some time to herself so I just stayed in the art room and, you guessed it, kept drawing, and talking to people and hearing what a great artist I was. I met a new girl there who had OCD and couldn’t stop coming into the art room, getting agitated by its messiness, cleaning it for 10 minutes, going away and coming back to do the same thing. She didn’t want to talk about how long she’d been there but what I gathered from Rich was that they were both in the acute part of the ward when they first arrived, meaning that at one point they were both pretty messed up, and she helped him navigate his way out of there and onto the main floor. The only other thing she volunteered about herself was that she was planning to move to Sweden or Switzerland, whichever one is closer to Italy, when she got out of there.

Monday afternoon when Blake came to visit me, he brought with him ginger ale, sushi, a beef teriyaki bento and spring rolls from my favourite restaurant in case I felt like eating anything that wouldn’t hurt me too much and my big black portfolio, which I asked him to bring because I knew I had one copy of each colouring page I’d done so far for patrons inside it, but I wasn’t sure if he’d be able to tell the copies from the originals and I wanted to give the copies to Sonya for her daughter myself. Also inside my portfolio were two large drawings of my girls that were originally going to be paintings, but I never finished them and I gave those to Sonya too because she seemed to be the most enthusiastic about them and I knew I’d never finish them. I encouraged her to do so, though. This was after I decided I didn’t want the Japanese food and started offering it to anyone who came in the art room. The OCD girl had a few pieces of vegetable tempura but wouldn’t take the rest, so I put notes on it all that said what it was and “plz eat me!” and I carried it all to the hallway where I encountered Sonya who asked what I was doing and when I offered her the food, she was like, “fuck yeah”. She ate most of it and shared a lot of it with other patients and told us when she sat in the art room to finish the bento that she had never had Japanese food before and that that was probably the healthiest meal she’d ever had in her entire life and I’d completely believed it.

After Blake left on Monday evening, I went to my room to check on Kimmie and she had just come from having a shower and was in her pajamas. I had told her previously that her ticket to getting out of there was to be out of her room as much as she was comfortable with and to participate in scheduled activities as much as she was able, which was unfortunately difficult because it was the long weekend and nothing was scheduled. She asked me if I would go to dinner with her and then go to the TV room to watch a movie with her because apparently they had found the remotes and we could do that now. The hospital had a bunch of VHS movies and she wanted to find a comedy and just forget about her life for a little while. So I told her we could do this. The TV room had a table and chairs that I could use to draw at while we watched a movie.

Well, when we got to the TV room, there were two guys watching that “48 Hours” show so we sat there and watched too, figuring when it was over, we’d ask them if they minded if we switched to a movie and then do that. Well, when the show was over, another episode started and it was apparent neither man was interested in changing the channel, so Kimmie and I sat through another episode of the show. After that one, both men left and it was about 5 minutes to 9pm, so I told Kimmie that she should pick a movie quick before they came back because if we started a movie right then, we’d have enough time to watch the whole thing before they closed down the room for the night. She chose “Patch Adams” and then she asked me if I knew how to put a movie on. I confessed I did not, but suggested we just try putting the tape in the VHS machine and seeing if it played automatically and if it didn’t, one of us would get a nurse to help us.

Before we even had a chance to try that, the 2 men from before came back in while Kimmie was in the middle of the room holding a VHS tape and looking at me and they sat down to watch the next episode of the “48 Hours” marathon. Kimmie looked at me like, “you ask them” and I looked at her the same way and we were both too chicken shit to assert ourselves with these men to get what we wanted so she laid on the couch and we both just watched another episode instead. And then another. And then it was time to go to bed.

I dreamt of war, which is typical. I always dream about war.

Tuesday morning Kimmie and I woke up around the same time, about 7am and we both got up and got dressed; her in a pink tank top and grey track pants and me in my lightweight, blackish hoodie and t-shirt of the same colour that said, “LESS CRAP MORE RAP” and my requisite yoga pants. See, me and Rich were having an unspoken “t-shirts that say stuff” war so that’s why I wore the 3 specific shirts I mention in this post. One of his shirts said “IT’S ALL ABOUT ME” and another had a list of negative things he was, like, “irresponsible”, and it ended with “…but a lot of fun.”. Not sure who won the war but I kinda think it was me because he ended up asking me where I got mine from in the end since all 3 shirts were made by the same Etsy shop.

Breakfast was late so everyone was milling about in the hallways or hovering around their doorways. Kimmie and I just sat on our beds and chatted about stuff and then all of a sudden from the hallway came this perfect female voice singing one of the songs from “Phantom of the Opera” at full volume and then a few seconds later a 2nd one joins her in perfect harmony. Kimmie and I rushed to the door to peek into the hallway to see who it was and it was this young girl who attempted suicide and who only left her room a few times that I was there and who also wore the same white lace dress every single time she did, and another lady who had grey hair. In the hour that breakfast was delayed, these two women entertained the entire ward with more songs from “Phantom” and I just kinda sat there thinking how surreal this all was. I was sitting in a hospital being serenaded before breakfast by mental patients! Who would believe this?

When breakfast finally arrived, Kimmie and I sat with Deborah, the beautiful lady with the pink cast, and the older lady who had been singing. Deborah asked me if I would write down the name of the company I got my glasses from, so I pulled out one of these little cards I just keep on me for writing little things down that has like, sunflowers and designs on it, just a little 3 x 4 inch card, and Deborah remarked about how cute they were and showed the other lady and explained what the company was, that they could get prescription glasses for less than $10 that looked no different from the ones you spend $200 on from the optometrist, so I wrote out a card for that lady too.

After breakfast I went to my room where I saw my doctor who had just gotten out of a staff meeting with the weekend staff and he asked me if I was suicidal. I said “no”. He then asked me if I wanted to go home, to which I said “yes” and he said, “okay I’ll go write the order, what prescriptions do you need?” So I told him and off he went. When I was admitted to Georgian Bay General, I was admitted on a 48 hour “form”, which was extended by 3 more days when I got to RVH and on Sunday they told me that if I stayed as a voluntary patient for a few more days, I could go home as soon as Wednesday or Thursday, so getting out on Tuesday was amazing to me and I was excited. (In hindsight, I’m not entirely sure I was ready to leave…)

Since the weekend was over, there were group sessions planned for the day on the big whiteboard in the hallway. The first one of the day was about “The Importance of Leisure”, which sounded pretty irrelevant to me but I went anyway because that’s how you get yourself out of somewhere like that and it seemed like what I should be doing so that’s what Kimmie and I did. Partway through the session, my nurse called me out of it and said that I should call my husband to come pick me up because at about 1:15pm, he would be done processing my release and I would be free to go. So that’s what I did. (Did you know it’s now 50 friggin’ cents to make a local call from a payphone and that if you give it a loonie ($1 coin), it won’t give you change? What kinda fuckery is that!?) Then I went back to the group room, finished that, then started telling people I was leaving and getting my stuff packed up.

I was sitting in my room with Kimmie looking at Mark Ryden’s giant “Pinxit” book that I got myself for my birthday this year but never had a chance to look at until I was faced with a whole lotta spare time to fill up, and we were just chatting when this blonde lady in a floral dress came in, introduced herself as Sandra and that she was a social worker. She asked Kimmie if she’d leave the room so she did and then Sandra started talking about what was going to happen after I was released. The Simcoe Children’s Aid was going to be involved because it was a domestic dispute about the cat and a shitty cop that led to this whole thing and that was just what happened automatically in situations where there’s been trauma in a family. When she asked me who my shrink was on the outside, I told her that I didn’t technically have one at the time because the mental health centre I go to in Midland was giving us the run around as far as getting me a new shrink after having serious issues with the one I had previously (who was new and came in after the shrink I’d been seeing for 8 years retired), passing us off from person to person. She said that was unacceptable and to come to her office, so I did, and there she got on the phone with the mental health centre and got me an appointment with a new shrink in September within about 15 minutes. One that even has a therapy dog in her office, which is already an excellent start. Then she got the social worker assigned to our family from the Children’s Aid on speaker phone and a home visit to talk to us all was arranged for the next day. Then she gave me the brochure and contact info for Catholic Family Services where I can apparently get free therapy, which we’re going to set up tomorrow because obviously I need it since I have no idea why or how things got to this point.

After that, Sandra walked me back to the hallway where my room was, wished me good luck and I thanked her for accomplishing in ½ an hour what’s been taking us months to get nowhere. When I started down the hall to go back to my room, I was like, “wtf?” because all my crazy hospital friends were sitting on the floor outside my room along the walls talking with Blake. They looked just as confused to see me because they thought I was in the room with the social worker with the door closed the whole time! I’d asked Blake to bring me about 30 of my plastic business cards that have photos of about a dozen of my different paintings on them like little artist trading cards with all my info on the back and I pointed out the e-mail address to every single one of them and said “please use that”. I got my hugs and said my goodbyes and be goods and then Blake and I walked out of the building, stopping to get a cold Diet Coke before leaving the building.

When we got to the car I loaded my vaporizer with cannabis and began to medicate while Blake and I talked and drove around until eating seemed like a good idea. I got a turkey sandwich from QuizYES but my stomach was shrunken so I only ate about ¼ of it.

When I got home the first thing I did was go to Wes, my 12 year old son, who was sitting at the computer playing Minecraft and I hugged him from behind for a long time and we just cried and I told him that I was sorry for doing that to him and I promised that I would never do that again as long as he lived.

Then I went into my office and got on the ground to say hi to each of my dogs who you could tell had really missed me and they weren’t sure how to be with me. Hoover just hung his head down and let me cry on his shoulder and Lucky licked the tears from my face before having enough of that nonsense and rolled over for a belly rub.

Wes came into my office and we talked a little bit about where I’d been. I asked him if he wanted to know everything that happened and he said he was good with knowing just what he knew but he confessed he had a pretty good idea of what I did.

I was so forlorn and fragile and scared and overwhelmed and didn’t know what to do so I asked Wes if he wanted to go play with the Polaroid camera with me so we went outside and wasted a pack of film. Then he decided to go back to playing Minecraft with his friends just as Blake was getting off of work (he works from home a lot). When he was done, I asked if we could go for a drive because I was just so fucked up trying to process everything that had happened and even though I’d only been out of the hospital for maybe 4 hours, I already wanted to go back and was missing my hospital friends and wondering what they were doing. I needed to calm down and like I said earlier, going for a drive usually calms me.

It’s now the end of day one of being out of the hospital. We navigated the Children’s Aid visit today successfully and the social worker dude is a really nice, understanding guy who is more than welcome to be all up in my business. I gave him my consent to talk to my family doctor and my psychiatrist after I talk to her in September and he told me that he’d actually heard really good things about her so that was reassuring. He also advocated for Catholic Family Services counseling.

So that’s the story up until now. Thursday (tomorrow) I get one day to breathe and then on Friday I have to deal with the police and the court and the charge(s?) being brought against me.

Y’know when you get so mad at your husband you want to kill him and you tell him so but you’d obviously never really do it? Yeah, don’t casually admit to that in front of a certain type of cop because guess what! Admitting out loud that you’d like to murder anyone is a crime in Canada and not just a phrase and Friday I have to go to the police station to turn myself in to be formally charged with whatever they end up charging me with and then they’ll escort me to the courthouse where there’s a special court for mentally ill people and I’ll meet my lawyer who we chose because she had her dogs on her “About Me” page on her website and she’s theoretically going to do all the talking for me. Blake’s going post bail if there is any. The judge could throw the charges out completely or they could stick and I’ll have a criminal record. I’ve never been in trouble with the police before and was clearly not in my right mind so the odds of anything serious happening to me like jail time or even anything other than the counseling and stuff that’s already in place is pretty slim, but being separated from Blake and going through the booking and mugshot process and being detained and in court all by myself is going to be traumatic for me considering I can’t even walk to the end of my driveway to get the newspaper or go to the grocery store or even talk to my own shrink by myself, and the bad cop from the day I tried to kill myself, the person who was the very tipping point for me to say “fuck it, let’s do this” and swallow 100 pills by his escalating the situation and being a power trippy bear instead of a compassionate human being responding to a mentally Ill person under duress, is probably going to be there to purposely work against me.

So that’s what happened and where I am. It is now 12:14am Thursday morning and I’m about to open an internet browser to engage in my own form of ASMR while still ignoring the 396 e-mails in my inbox and the 227 Facebook notifications I have according to my phone because I just can’t deal with that right now but hopefully I can start the cleanup process when I wake up. I’m not sure when I’m going to be ready to communicate 1-on-1 with people because I’m scared people are judging me and looking down on me and secretly (or hell, openly) wishing the pills had been successful. I’m scared that by telling the world that the Children’s Aid is involved with my family that people will assume I’m white trash and this is just yet another dramatic saga of my pathetic, trainwreck life. I’m scared because I know that no matter how much my friends are going to want to be there for me, I really don’t think any of them have ever been in a situation this fucked up. I mean, everyone has their stuff, but in all my years of talking openly about my depression and persistent suicidal thoughts on the internet and social media, not one person I know has been able to really say, “yeah, I know how you feel” so expecting anyone to be like that now is just dumb. And even the ones who try…they’ve all known me for over 15 years and in that time, they’ve seen me have two major mental health issues requiring hospitalization as an adult. I can’t say the same for almost any of them and trying to commit suicide for real, as an adult making a completely rational decision, is a whole other animal entirely.

The Children’s Aid social worker, named Anthony, when I told him some of my fears about being a bad mom on so many levels and being judged by everyone, just said, “you would be shocked if you knew how many and what kind of families we are involved with” so I’m taking him at his word, that sometimes shit just gets fucked up and you need outside help to clean up the mess and do better. And that’s where I am right now: at the mercy of kind people and in the process of starting from scratch and building my mental strength back up – again – just like I had to do in 2006. Even though I said I wasn’t suicidal yesterday and promised Wes I would never go that far again, there’s still a large part of me that wishes the pills would have just worked because what’s ahead seems so impossible for me to overcome or even get through. Blake says the goal now is to feel grateful that the pills didn’t work and most of me is already there but the framework’s pretty shaky.

So far I’ve only been able to message my two best friends to tell them that I’m home and that I love them and that I’m sorry. (And that I can’t deal with the internet or deal with time periods longer than 24 hours.) Blake’s been keeping my boss mostly in the loop but mental illness is pretty outside of her scope just culturally, I think. My well-being seems to be her first priority though and she said she had my shifts covered for 2 weeks last week so there is no real pressure to come back right away. (I work from home doing customer service for a large website.) I was aiming for Saturday because that’s usually the most fun work day of my week, but also the longest so I think I’ve pretty much decided against it, especially considering I may be traumatized from the day prior. Sunday and Monday are my normal days off so I think I’m going to aim to get back to work on Tuesday when my work week would typically start at 5am my time. I decided in the hospital that I was going to talk to my boss about maybe starting an hour or two later than I usually do and just work 2 less hours per day than I did before all of this happened. Work was 100% not even remotely a factor in any of this. I love my job. I get validation at my job because I’m good at my job and my life typically revolves around my job, medication and proper sleep just to maintain sanity. I’m scared my boss is going to see me as unreliable or as the weakest link and somehow inferior to who I was before all this happened. That I wasn’t really deserving of the extra praise and responsibilities she gave me a few months ago or that she’d think that very thing caused me too much stress and that’s why I did what I did. I dunno. I have to e-mail her but I don’t want to until I can give her a firm, committed date for when I’m coming back.

And now I think I have to be done writing this, send it into the world, and let it be whatever it may be.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

(*originally they were going to send me to Penetanguishene Psychiatric Hospital which is just NO NO NO. I was lucky as fuck not to go there.)

 

June 29, 2015

#LikeAGirl

This won a Titanium Lion at Cannes this year (Canadian agency, yay!). If you haven’t seen it, take a look, the whole thing’s a fucking masterpiece. A billion times better than having a happy period, too.

March 4, 2013

So Much For That

So Friday was my 34th birthday, as most of you know, and I celebrated by getting very very drunk. And this was a mistake because for the last 2 days, I have been in pancreatic hell. I thought it would be okay to drink because I thought my body was healed since my period had come back and has been regular and things that used to trigger pancreatic attacks – like alcohol and fried foods – have not been a problem in about 5 months as long as I take my pancreatic enzymes at the time of consumption. On Friday, I was taking 3 pancreatic enzymes per drink (until I got too drunk and forgot haha) so I thought I’d be okay, but no such luck. I’m not in “must go to the hospital” pain, so that’s an improvement, but I *am* in enough pain that I have taken about 2/3 of a bottle of Tylenol 1s since yesterday and a ridiculous amount of extra strength Ibuprofen and I’m still in pain. :o(

So that experiment failed. I mean, obviously I can have a couple of drinks and be okay, I just can’t get drunk apparently. Which fucking sucks.

It’s almost 7am and I’ve been up for 45 minutes – on my day off – because the pain was bad enough to wake me up. It’s weird though because I woke up in pain yesterday and was in pain all day until about 9pm when, I think, the drugs in my system reached a saturation point that finally put a dent in my personal hell. But they obviously wore off in my sleep and now I have to start that process over again. :o/

When I’m having a pancreatic attack, I get the world’s worst heartburn and I don’t know if it’s from the enzymes (possible), all the drugs I have to take (also possible) or if it’s some weird pancreatic response of some sort but it is almost as bad as the pancreatic attack itself.

Last night for dinner we had fresh ravioli in four cheese sauce with more cheese on top which is one of my favourite foods but i couldn’t eat it because the heartburn was KILLING me and when you have killer heartburn from the fiery pits of hell, throwing tomato anything on top of it is like, the absolute worst thing you can do. So last night for dinner, all I had was 2 bottles of water, about 2 litres of iced tea and a microscopic container of strawberry Haagen Dazs because when I feel sick or have heartburn, ice cream always makes it better for some reason.

The dogs were verrrrrrry interested in my ice cream:

Lucky is a little impatient and he knew when the container was empty so he left, but Hoover stuck around so I let him lick the ice cream residue from the container and his tail was super waggy as he did so. Yesterday I paid a lot of attention to Hoover because guys, he’s getting kinda old. :o/ He’ll be 8 in May and he snores, he groans, he spends most of his time on my office futon (which currently REEKS of dog and the cover badly needs washing) with his head on the pillow we keep there or he lays under Blake and my desks and he’s just started acting, I dunno, just old. He still plays with Lucky outside and they’re annoying when they do that and that’s a good thing but he’s just not as energetic as he used to be and he’s less tolerant of certain things (like the cat). I’ve never really had an animal get old before and I’m a little afraid of what happens next.

But I don’t want to think about that…Hoover’s just been super cute lately and sort of introspective, if that makes any sense and he reminds me a lot of Eeyore sometimes. I just love the shit out of him.

On Friday night – while inebriated – I did a members only show at Camwhores where I, topless and with headphones, sang lots and lots of songs I didn’t know the words to haha. If you’re a Camwhores member, you can watch the show here. Blake swears it’s really funny and thinks I should watch it but I don’t fucking think so. Especially since it’s about an hour and 40 minutes long…of me just being drunk and stupid. I’ve NEVER watched any of my members only shows at Camwhores before and I’m not about to start watching now! Seeing myself move on video freaks me right the fuck out, it’s actually almost a phobia of mine. Anyway, if you’re bored and this sounds interesting to you, feel free to check it out…just don’t tell me about it haha I don’t need to know how bad it is, thank you very much.

Saturday I worked and it was actually a really slow day, which was good because I was hungover as fuck. While I worked, I started reading the Walking Dead compendium one and that’s almost literally all I did all weekend. I’m on chapter 7 of 8. I really really really want compendium two so if anyone EVER felt like getting me anything maybe as a belated birthday present, that would be #1 on my list of things I want. My wishlist is here and it’s only $40 with free shipping. I’d buy it myself but I just bought my new phone so between paying off the remainder of my phone $50 at a time and trying to pay down my credit card (ugh), I really only have $62 to last me until my next paycheque. And that’s the math for my NEXT paycheque. This paycheque I had to also get a cover for my phone to protect it from accidents and then I bought a crapload of pens because I just didn’t have any in my office that worked anymore and then I had to pay stupid FedEx for the duty on the leggings I got before Xmas. So right now I literally have $1.75 in change to my name and I just got paid on Friday. Also the new Sims expansion comes out on Tuesday…I know, a camgirl moaning about money. What can I say, I’m a walking cliche?

Looking at my wishlist just now I realized someone bought me River Song’s TARDIS journal, which is awesome. Thank you SO much! I’ve wanted that for so long! Blake and Madison are going to be SO JEALOUS HAHAHAHA!!!!

So did anyone watch Girls last night? (Slight spoilers ahead if you haven’t seen it yet.) So Hannah starts displaying symptoms of OCD, right? But did you know that Lena Dunham herself has OCD and used to have those exact symptoms? The counting to 8? It kinda bugs me that she puts so much of herself into Hannah, I’m not sure why. Maybe because I think it’s kind of unoriginal? I dunno. This episode just sorta bugged me. (/end spoiler)

Walking Dead was good last night. I won’t throw any spoilers out there for the people who haven’t seen it yet but I really liked that episode. I’m wondering how it compares to the comics and theoretically I should find out soon. Blake told me that the comics were “brutal” compared to the show and I was expecting like, really graphic drawings, but I think they’re actually pretty tame or at least they’re drawn that way. Michonne & the Governor’s interactions are a lot different in the comic but the drawings are nowhere near as graphic as I was expecting. I think all the weird Japanese shit I’ve seen on the internet over the years has desensitized me.

Madison and her boyfriend are coming to our house for lunch today because they want to eat french toast. This is what Madison’s told me last night. The thing is though, she lost her lunch money so she’s kind of full of shit because she can’t eat lunch with no lunch money so that’s probably really why they’re coming here. I feel like crap and look like crap so I hope Madison’s not embarrassed by me. I maintain that it’s my fucking day off and I’m in pancreatic hell and if I want to wear the same clothes since Thursday and not wash my hair then so fucking be it.I’ll wear a hat when they come or something.

I actually like Madison’s boyfriend. I never used to because when she dated him last year I kinda thought he was a weasel and they were using my phone to text each other and that was driving me a little nuts (because he was trying to text her while I was in the hospital and no amount of telling him “I’M IN THE FUCKING HOSPITAL” would make him stop)  but he’s gotten better and he’s matured a little since then. We got Wes Minecraft for the Xbox for his birthday and an Xbox live (?) account and I don’t think he’s played it once because Madison’s on it every waking moment playing with her boyfriend and all their mutual friends. It’s actually pretty funny to listen to them talk on voice chat.

Anyway, speaking of Minecraft, I think I’m going to go play for a while because I am dying of pain and need to do something to take my mind off of it. We all have Minecraft now and we have Blake’s computer acting as a server so we can all play together. Right now I’m building a greenhouse for no apparent reason, which Wes turned purple somehow and I’m not sure why…I made it out of stone (baked cobblestone stone) and I think he replaced all of my stone with dyed wool. I really wish he didn’t do that, but whatever.

So yeah. YAY MINECRAFT. Bye!

PS. My period started on Saturday, really really light and then the pancreatic attack started yesterday and my period stopped completely. Weird right? It’s like my body knows it can’t do that when I’m having pancreatic problems. I dunno, I found that interesting. You probably don’t though…

February 6, 2013

Life is Like a Tub of “Death By Chocolate”…

So it’s 11:10am and I’m sitting here waiting for it to be 12pm because that’s when the fun. and Teegan and Sara concert tickets are apparently available for presale and I promised Madison and her friend that I would be on top of that as soon as it’s possible so here I am. Hello.

I had literally a thousand thoughts before I sat down but now they’re gone. *poof!* Oh well. :o)

I was on cam earlier at Camwhores just being goofy by myself and eating toaster strudel and I caught Hoover next to me, just waiting for me to drop a mere morsel of toaster strudel…

So there was Asshole #1 hoping I didn’t see him there and then I dropped my arm (because I had to use the mouse to take these pics. This computer has a corded mouse…)

And there’s Asshole #2 to the left of my upper right arm who is such a fluttery flutter fluffcake that he probably believes that one day a piece of toaster strudel may rain from the sky because in his world stranger things have happened.

Okay it’s 11:55am and Sabotage by the Beastie Boys just came on haha Gotta focus!

—*TICKETS PURCHASED*—

There’s no going back, Blake has to accompany Madison and her friend Emily to fun. and Teegan and Sara, which I think is so cute and so funny and awwwww yay We asked Madison if this is what she wanted for her birthday and she said yes and we’re like, “even though it’s a long way away?” and she’s like “YEAH”. So you’re sure? “OMGYEAH!” And so it shall be. haha

Wes’ birthday is NEXT Wednesday and he’s getting Minecraft and an Xbox Live account. Both kids are pretty happy right now at their gifts and they haven’t even gotten them yet. So yay!

Earlier Belinda showed me this guy who had “miley cyrus” tattooed on his chest and it was like “wtf?” and when I said basically that, she linked me to this long video of him I think (?) and he’s covered in Miley Cyrus tattoos. I couldn’t watch the whole thing but it was really interesting and fucked up and sad the part I did see. Here it is:

Also fucked up is this almost hour long special on Father-Daughter Purity Balls, which I spent the weekend researching:

Creepy shit, man.

Cree-py-shit.

I got an e-mail a little while from Mike, the guy who runs the Artists Guild, asking us to RSVP to the meeting tomorrow night. So I did that and then I freaked out completely because tomorrow is going to SUCK. I got confirmation from Rick that the cab is going to be at our house at 12:30pm tomorrow and Blake and I are going to take it there and back and then I do CBT while Blake works at the mental health centre and then we take a taxi home. Then we eat dinner and go to the Guild meeting. And try not to throw up. All day. And like, change my clothes and wash my hair and y’know, be presentable in more than a hoodie and yoga pants. Maybe actually put on some makeup for the first time since December. Be human. Join the land of the living.

Which would be just marvelous but my period started with a vengeance unexpectedly like, 2-3 days too soon, full force like a fucking faucet, which isn’t cool at all menstrual app I’m relying on to remind me of these things! So yeah, that’s happening. JOY at the awesome monthly confirmations that there are no babies in there FUCK YOU for being early you FUCKING CUNT! Why can’t you learn basic math?

Oh, life. Life is beautiful! Happy kids, happy Blake; possibly making a whole lot of new friends or no friends at all, but being good either way; scared…and pissed off about the whole vagina thing but whatever, I’ve obviously been through worse and been okay. If you can die of stress I would have done it already, I’m pretty sure. I’m also pretty sure about death by Coke deprivation, you can’t die of that. It really really sucks, but you can’t die of from it. I went from Coke to Coke Zero to NOTHING, not even WATER for like, 5 or 6 weeks, to a cap full of Diet Coke to gingerale for a while but sugar gingerale is too sticky and diet gingerale is just plain gross to the current Diet Coke fiend we all know and love.

Right now we are out of Diet Coke, which is a travesty of epic proportions I know, and I foresaw this drought on the horizon so yesterday I put my emergency stash of Vanilla Coke Zero in the bottom of the fridge so I should be good until Blake comes home tonight. It’s all good. :o) Sucks that Blake’s work keeps him late so he hits traffic and then we eat late and it feels like we don’t get to spend any time with each other though. Winter’s such a bummer season as it is, why make it worse? But all Blake’s coworkers live a lot closer to their work than we do so they schedule stuff later and get home much faster. It makes sense for all of them, it just sucks for us. Oh well, what are ya gonna do? Uprooting life right now or in the very near future seems pretty impossible at the moment so we just have to suck it up. Poor Blake though, he has to deal with the traffic and driving which would stress me the fuck out to do once let alone twice daily, all we up in Sunnyland have to worry about is what does he need to bring home and whether or not to eat without him.

Well that and Madison’s love life and school life, which takes up the rest of my time from 4:30pm-just about when I go to bed unless we kick her out of my office for “grown up time” which we don’t do often but sometimes ya just gotta because that girl will make you crazy. She’s also probably my best friend because I’m a giant loser so I guess that means I’m going to go pee and make a snack and wait for the childrens to get home….

“Today was horrible…”Wes says. “Are you any good at sewing by any chance?”

And so it begins. Hurricane Madison should be here any minute…

January 12, 2013

I Will Shiver the Whole Night Through

Blake’s not up yet and I’m not sure if we’re going out for breakfast today like we usually do because I dropped a LOT of money yesterday on his birthday and I’m not sure I can afford breakfast today.

Blake turned 39 yesterday and we started the day by me accidentally waking him up early by my trying to go back to sleep after work and failing, then we went to 50s & 60s Diner with Wes, who was home from school due to a teacher protest (ugh). Blake and I had their version of an Egg McMuffin, which was good but not as good as usual and Wes had banana pancakes.

Then we went to Barrie to get the windshield fixed because it has two chips in it but the guy said they were too small to even bother fixing and that they wouldn’t crack any further. Then we went to these fancy shoe stores because Blake has something wrong with his feet that I forget the name of but it’s something like “fasciitis” so he needs special orthopedic shoes so his feet won’t hurt all the time but all the ones we saw were ugly or expensive so we didn’t buy any.

While Blake went to the last shoe store, I went to Curry’s because it was in the same plaza and I bought more palette paper because I’m almost out, two really nice (and expensive for what they were) gel pens and this paper that’s endorsed by Eric Carle who wrote The Very Hungry Caterpillar (among others). This paper is a lot thinner than watercolour paper but promises to hold wet media without crinkling which is what I need for button making. It was only $2.99 so I thought I’d try it out. For my girls I use watercolour paper but I think that’ll be too thick for button making, which is why I was looking for thinner paper to begin with. I guess we’ll see how it goes.

After Curry’s and shoes, Blake and I went to the Bayfield Mall to see Django: Unchained, which was really good but the popcorn made me feel like vomiting they put so much butter on it and it made Blake feel sick too so when we walked into our house and it smelled like cake, I thought I was going to die. (Madison made Blake a birthday cake with the ingredients I bought when I did groceries earlier in the week.) About an hour or two after we got home, I *did* throw up and the butter from the popcorn like, floated in small golden balls in top of the toilet water. So gross, but I felt better afterward and ended up eating a small TV dinner and some ice cream while we watched Twin Peaks and then around 10pm, I went to bed. I told Blake to keep watching Twin Peaks because I’ve seen the whole thing and I want him to see the whole thing so we can finally watch the movie. I’m wondering if he’s going to be upset with the final episode like I was. I cried for about 45 minutes after it ended it upset me so much. They basically ruined the whole fucking series with that episode and I’ve heard the movie is a big ol’ “fuck you” to the fans as well, so I guess we’ll see.

Last night on Facebook I was sort of counselling two people. One of my friends recently had a laparoscopy and uterine ablation where they not only found and removed endometriosis but they also found that she had adenomyosis which is when they find glandular tissue in the muscle of the uterus which causes extremely painful periods and the only cure is hysterectomy, which is a hard thing for any woman, especially one who’s only in her early 30s. I told her that if I were in her shoes, I wouldn’t even question it, I’d rip that fucker out. It’s not like endo where hysterectomy “may” cure the disease (but more often than not it doesn’t), in this case hysterectomy WILL cure the problem so I say rip ‘er. But like I said, it’s a totally hard thing and I suggested she see a grief counselor because that’s essentially what she’ll be going through after it’s all over.

Then another friend was recently diagnosed with a mental illness and she posted a picture of her pill bottles and said that it’s a hard thing to get used to, the dependency on drugs for the rest of your life, and obviously I’ve been there so I started in with my diabetes comparisons etc. It kinda pissed me  off when her sister said “it’s not forever” because um, hello, yes it IS and that’s exactly what my friend was trying to wrap her head around. It sucks that the patient has to always educate everyone else around them. I don’t know if it’s like that with other illnesses or diseases but that seems to be the case with mental illness, or at least that’s been my experience. And then there’s the denial that your family goes through too. My biological father is still going through this, as is his wife. She said to me, “I don’t think you’re bi-POL-ER,” and rolled her eyes when I was first diagnosed like she was some kind of expert in both mental illness and ME, which she is not nor has even been nor will ever be. My mom was more accepting of it because she’s been through it with me my whole life (without a diagnosis) and after I was diagnosed and we read up on what being bipolar meant, everything just clicked that yes, I’ve been experiencing this my entire life. It still took her a while to understand the gravity of the situation though, particularly when I was psychotic and she thought I was “pulling something”.

I just wanted to give my friend some hope that it wouldn’t always be this hard, that pretty soon taking medication every day is just routine and that eventually you’ll start to feel normal. Or at least partially normal.

And speaking of mental illness, I mentioned that I’ll be starting cognitive behavioural therapy in February, which should be interesting. The group is made up of 12 people and the course uses the book Mind Over Mood, which I have. The lady on the phone told me to read the chapter on anxiety. Theoretically they’re going to be sending a cab for me to come get me there and back but we’re going to have to work up to that being okay. The first time or two Blake is going to have to come with me in the cab but ideally after that I should be able to get there by myself. In theory. If I can’t do it then Blake’s going to have to drive me. I’ve already told my boss about this so we can’t schedule any meetings on Thursdays until this class is over or if we do schedule any Thursday meetings, I won’t be able to come and I’ll have to rely on the meeting notes to catch up, which she said was fine. She said we may need to do weekend meetings to compensate, which I’m really hoping isn’t the case because my Saturdays are extremely busy as it is and pausing for an hour or two for a meeting will create a backlog of e-mails that’ll take me forever to climb out of. So I guess we’ll see.

Now Blake’s up so I think we will go out for breakfast since I’m pretty hungry and I don’t really have anything else to say.

Oh! Yes I do! My cards are here from Zazzle and they look REALLY good. The mugs didn’t look very good at all so I removed them from my shop, but the cards look amazing so feel free to buy some! Especially this one since Valentine’s Day is right around the corner! (Also available as a postcard AND you can even get matching US postage!) I’m still waiting on the stickers and buttons, which should be here today, but I’m assuming that since the cards turned out so well, those should as well. I also have it on good authority that the iPhone cases look really nice as evidenced by the fact that I’m selling more of those than anything else to repeat customers, so check ’em out!

And NOW I’m going to go for breakfast! Peace oot!

December 10, 2012

Ugh.

I have been up since 2:45am with a fever of unknown origin.

Last night I was boiling hot and sleeping in my underwear and a tank top on TOP of the blankets and dying of heat and tonight I had on a tank top, track pants, a hoodie, underwear (obvs) and I got Blake to get me another blanket and some Tylenol.

The Tylenol juuuust broke the fever but now I’m wide awake so I guess I’m up for the day and I’ll just have a nap this afternoon or something.

This afternoon I have to go see Dr. Hanrahan at the hospital because she’s going to be removing a mole from my right breast. It’s been bothering me for years, not because I think it’s ugly (I couldn’t care less about that) but because it sometimes changes colour and has weird edges and it has signs of all the things they tell you to look for in a bad mole that could be cancer so I’ve asked her to remove it so I don’t have to worry about it ever again.

You would think that after everything I’ve been through medically in the last year, this wouldn’t freak me out, but I *AM* freaked out. Really freaked out. Mostly because of the needle I know she’s going to put right in the middle of the mole to freeze it. That squicks me, man.

So that’s what’s on my mind at 5am.

No idea what this fever bullshit is about. I literally have no other symptoms. I mean, I’m on the rag, but I’ve never had a fever because of that so I dunno.

Posted at 5:56 am in: Health , Hospital , Life , Menstruation , Sleep
October 24, 2012

Blip.fm Pisses Me Off. Also Halloween.

So I’m on Blip.fm, as are a lot of my friends such as Ronny and Alex, whose taste in music I respect. I also have something like 150 followers, which is pretty cool, but what pisses me off is that when I search for songs on Blip, I get all these FUCKING videos of live performances and covers by lame people and never the official video even though I know for a fact it’s on YouTube which is where Blip pulls from. And forget actual MP3s, you can never find those. So wtf? I think Blip is a good platform but its search algorithms are fucked up or something and it pisses me right off because I can never find what I’m looking for. And it’s extra obnoxious when I know for a fucking FACT that the official video is on YouTube and when I search for the exact title of the video on YouTube on Blip, it doesn’t come up. GRRRRRRRR.

I DO NOT WANT SHITTY LIVE FOOTAGE OR YOUR CRAPPY ACOUSTIC COVERS OF GOOD SONGS. YOU SUCK AND ARE THE BANE OF MY BLIPPING EXISTENCE.

So today is Wednesday (duh), which means there is only 2 days left for me to get my shit together in preparation for Friday. Friday is going to be busy and I hate busy days. I am a firm believer in the fact that you cannot do more than 2 stressful things in one day and on Friday I have 3 stressful things.

1. Dentist appointment. I broke a tooth Monday night eating ketchup chips, which SUCKS, because I’m pretty sure they’re going to have to do a root canal and that takes an hour and a half. They’re just looking at it on Friday to come up with a plan of attack so that means probably next week will be the root canal. JOY. (Our insurance doesn’t cover laughing gas, how fucking dumb is that? $100 out of pocket for that. Send PayPal to Sunny@SunnyCrittenden.com! Just kidding. Sort of.)

2. Shrink appointment. Need to talk to her about a change in meds. I think I need to take 2 loxapine at night to get to sleep at a decent time because 1 doesn’t seem to cut it. I’ve been getting phantom anxiety for the last 3 weeks and I think it has to do with all the construction happening on front of our house. I know that sounds ridiculous but I’m a fragile flower man, and that shit is grating on my nerves something fierce. I’ve been taking 2 clonazepam (klonopin) in the afternoons, especially on days I have work meetings, when I’m only supposed to be maybe taking 1 during the day if needed and one at night before bed. I have to tell her I’m terrified of my caseworker. Speaking of him, Blake called him yesterday but as far as I know he hasn’t called back. Yikes. I also think I need to borrow a lightbox because S.A.D. is kicking my ass. I have all these things written down so I won’t forget when I get there. I also think maybe I need to be either put on a higher dose of gabapentin/welbutrin or a new anti-depressant altogether. I refuse to take anything where weight gain could be a remote possibility. Been there, done that, took almost dying and being on a fucking feeding tube to lose the weight. I also think maybe I should talk to her about getting a therapist. I almost died and I have this total disconnect to it. Everyone keeps telling me how I’m some kind of miracle, how I shouldn’t be here etc etc etc and I’m like, “yeah man, wanna see my scar?” I’m so detached from it and people keep telling me that’s not normal. I just want to move on, it happened, it’s in the past, I barely experienced it because I was in a medically induced coma so I don’t know how people expect me to be in regards to it. My mom and Blake and my kids? They experienced it. I just see it as, I was really sick and now I’m not. I’m off all the drugs related to my illness (aside from pancreatic enzymes and the cholesterol meds) and my period has come back so I’m a-okay right? What’s there to process? But people keep telling me that I’m repressing  or something, that I shouldn’t be this detached from it. That maybe I’m still in shock. But I don’t think so.

I mean, just as an example…when I was 14 and pretty brutally raped by a stranger behind the bleachers at a park in the town I grew up in I was obviously distressed afterward. I didn’t go to the police and I only told my Aunt Heather, who I had been staying with at the time, about it. Afterward I made a doctor’s appointment myself and had the necessary tests done to make sure I wasn’t pregnant or full of STDs (neither, thank god, I was tested for HIV for a year & a half after the fact). My doctor was the only person in the world who knew what happened. And why I’m telling you this is because I was completely detached from the event. I still am. I talk about it in a clinical way and I did even then. After the man left me laying in the dirt – but not before kicking me and telling me to get up and spitting on me when I wouldn’t move – I waited for him to leave and then I got up, dusted myself off, wiped his fluids from between my legs with my ripped panties which I then threw in a nearby garbage can after I pulled my shorts back up and walked back to my Aunt’s apartment. I cried of course, but only for about the 10 minutes it took me to walk from the park back to her apartment. When I got back to her apartment, there was a note saying that she was at the coffee shop, so I took a bath and cleaned myself up (the man had almost broken my nose and I had blood beneath it, this was also the loss of my virginity and there was blood all down my upper thighs), then I went BACK to the park to look for my Aunt’s fucking dog which I was walking in the park at 3am to begin with. I was more distressed that my Aunt would be mad at me for losing her dog (a rottweiler, what a good protector eh? didn’t come running while I was screaming) than at what had happened to me.

I just figured, even at 14, that the cops would never do anything since I didn’t know who the man was and it was dark so I could barely tell you what he looked like aside from the size of him. He was obviously drunk (this was during Strawberry Festival when the town sets up a “beer garden” in the parking lot beside the park – last call is 2am, you do the math) and because it was Strawberry Festival, it could have been anyone. Calling the cops would just get me in trouble for being at the park at 3am to begin with and my parents would blame my Aunt for it and I wouldn’t be able to go to her house anymore. And at that time, she was pretty much my lifeline, the closest thing to a mother I had. And what would calling the cops accomplish anyway? Nothing but trouble. So I clinically decided that I had to put on my big girl panties and accept that this bad thing had happened, that it was over now, that I had to make sure I was still healthy and – and this may sound so so so stupid but keep in mind I was 14 – I figured, regarding my virginity, “well, I guess that’s out of the way”. Sex was no longer a mystery.

Maybe it’s because I was molested when I was a little kid. Repeatedly. Or maybe it’s because I was basically homeless at the time and a lot of bad things had already happened and that this was just “one more thing” I should have seen coming, I dunno. I mean, keep in ind that a year later I would be legally emancipated from my parents and living on my own, I was, at that age, an adult for all intents and purposes.

Anyway, my point is that I never suffered the usual things victims of brutal rape suffer after the fact. There was no PTSD. No residual after effects. (I did think it was my fault though for being out at 3am and vulnerable, I asked for it, and I would think that until about 2 years ago when I saw this spoken word piece by Staceyann Chin. Here’s the pertinent part, but you should watch the whole piece because it’s awesome. She’s awesome. Anyway, it being my fault was just a fact I accepted. Not something I felt bad about.) When I later told my two best friends what had happened to me, because they were both bragging about their boyfriends and how they would lose their virginities before me because I didn’t have a boyfriend and I got fed up at the novelty of virginity since I had lost mine so willy nilly and against my will, mine didn’t have “value”, why should theirs? They both called me a liar. They based this on the fact that I didn’t cry when I told them the story. They said I made it up. I didn’t act like a rape victim, therefore I couldn’t have been one. I bet they think I’m lying about it to this day for that very reason and they wouldn’t be the only people to think this of me because I don’t “act like a rape victim”.

But I just think this is how I deal with traumatic events. My life has been so fucked up and disjointed that I just expect bad things to happen because they always do. Getting sick and almost dying is just “one more thing”, just as being raped (that time) was. If I got bent out of shape over every bad thing that ever happened to me, I probably wouldn’t have survived as long as I have. My life is downhill and full of moguls. Always has been, probably always will be. I accepted this fact – and it is a fact – at a very young age. Probably about the time I learned that my older cousin, whom I was in love with, wasn’t touching me in my secret places because he loved me back and we couldn’t be alone together anymore.

So I don’t think it’s abnormal at all for me to have come out of being THAT sick and meeting my mortality up close and personal-like to have just gotten over it and moved on. It’s just “one more thing” that’s happened in a really eventful life. If anything, the way I see things right now is that the Universe – that’s with a capital “U” – owes me a peaceful life from here on out. And that’s what I fully expect. I mean, I almost died, I had 15 months of pure and utter sickness hell, I lost my job, my hair fell out, I got down to 98 lbs, I had to have the world’s most painful surgery, what the fuck else could happen to me? The only thing I can think of is a car accident where I’m disfigured or made handicapped in some way, so I’m somewhat expecting that, but I’ve also been to Hug Nation enough times to start believing in pronoia, the psychological philosophy that the Universe is conspiring in your favour. Positive thinking brings positive results, right?

Boy did I stray off topic. What do you think? Do you think I’m processing being sick/almost dying in a healthy way or do you think my disconnect is abnormal and I need a therapist?

3. On Friday at the MacLaren Art Centre where Alex and I are taking our photography class, they’re having a “Halloween Coffee House” where you pay $2 admission and there is: local youth entertainment (our photography teacher’s son’s band is playing), a costume contest, interactive art activities, food and coffee and our photography teacher said we should come because there will be lots of people there who won’t mind their pictures being taken. Wes will get a chance to test out his ninja costume and maybe Madison can go as a beauty queen with her sparkly grad dress and Fall Fair Ambassador sash. I’m just gonna wear normal clothes and my marabou horns. Dunno what Blake might do. Probably nothing. Alex said if we go then she’ll come too. She’ll probably be Harry Potter again since she has the costume. This counts as a stressful thing because it’s a stressful thing that will require copious amounts of Ativan. In fact I needed two Ativan just to write this paragraph.

So that’s my Friday. And because I’m mentally ill, it will take from now until then (and pharmaceuticals) to prepare for it.

Speaking of pharmaceuticals, I started taking ALPHA  BRAIN on Tuesday, which is a nootropic. A side effect of my psych meds is that I have the memory of a goldfish. Blake and I can have entire conversations that I won’t remember the next day and this leads to constant conflict because I know/think people take advantage of my bad memory by saying they told me things when they really didn’t. Madison definitely takes advantage of it. I have suspicions that other people have/do too. ALPHA BRAIN is supposed to help with that. It’s expensive though. $35 + shipping per bottle for 30 pills and you’re supposed to take 1 or 2 a day. I’m starting with 1 because I just bought the one bottle to try. If it works, I’ll gladly pay for it, but I don’t know if 30 days is enough time for it to work. I’m not sure how the stuff works, like if it needs to build up in your system or what.  Anyway, this memory problem really really bothers me so I hope the stuff works as advertised.  I’m also going to talk to my shrink about an actual, proven pharmaceutical solution, like maybe an amphetamine of some sort like Adderal or something. I’m on several habit forming drugs and I take them responsibly so I don’t think I would abuse speed. My only concern with that is a side effect is possible psychosis even at therapeutic doses, but I just read all about amphetamines on Wikipedia and they would help my concentration, which I need, they could help improve my memory, which I desperately need, they would help my performance at work at 4am, which I could really use and overall my life is so grey right now and blah and boring that maybe amphetamines would help me create again. Anyway, it’s worth exploring.

And that’s what I’ve got in me for today. Now I’m going to go eat ketchup chips for breakfast and read Sookie Stackhouse.

October 17, 2012

Camwhorin’.

Me today:

Me a year ago:

I am officially off all non-psych meds, with the exception of my two cholesterol meds. (The pancreas and gallbladder help deal with cholesterol so they want mine super low.) Aside from some nerve damage in my belly and the weird feeling of the mesh and of course the giant scar and chronic pancreatitis for the rest of my life, my period came back which means I’m a-okay.

October 12, 2012

Everything’s Coming Up Millhouse!

So yesterday was a work meeting day. We have meetings with our support staff on Skype once a week just to touch base, talk about issues and learn new things. But they’re also where we sort of get reamed out and told we’re going to get replaced by robots sometimes so all of us pretty much start freaking out right before one is about to happen and yesterday, due to an incident during my Saturday shift, I was pretty positive that not only was I going to get yelled at in front of all my co-workers causing me to cry, I was pretty sure I was going to get fired.

Well that didn’t happen. In fact the opposite of that happened, our main boss just took at as a learning opportunity and it was a really good meeting. We even brought up the fact that we were all scared of him and he said he would do his best to be less scary in the future and that we should all see these meetings as positive things.

So that was good. When it was over I sobbed like a baby with relief because I had been a ball of stress since Saturday, absolutely convinced that this was it and knowing that you have no chance in hell of ever getting another job, well, the stakes are high. But yeah, I didn’t get fired, so yay!

After the meeting, there was a call on the phone, which I of course, ignored, but I watched the number disappear on call display and then the “message waiting” thing came on so I checked the message. My photography class was fucking CANCELLED because not enough people signed up! Son of a bitch!

BUT! I happened to know of another one in Barrie and the MacLaren Art Centre which was on Mondays, so I told Blake about it and he said yes, so I signed up for that one, e-mailed Alex to tell her about it so she could maybe sign up too, and after I got the e-mail confirmations that I’d signed up and paid, I got an e-mail that said, and I quote:

Dear Sunny Crittenden,

 Congratulations! Your work has been selected to hang in the Touched By Fire art show and sale being held on Thursday, November 15, 2012 at Coopers Fine Art Gallery in Toronto. Your work was chosen from 419 entries by a jury of professionals in the field.

So I guess I’m doing that again and this makes me really wonder if I’m done painting or not….I’ve been pretty dead set against in since Squam because I’m completely uninspired but so many people like my work (they just don’t buy it, even when it’s on sale) so I keep thinking maybe I should stick with it. I’m honestly still completely undecided and it’s not like there’s a rush or anything, or that I have any ideas. But I do have all these supplies….

But that’s not even the BEST THING that happened yesterday! You’ll never guess who showed up! Are you ready? AUNT FLOW. For the first time in 15 months, my body is finally healthy enough to fucking menstruate! I’m not having massive cramps, which doesn’t surprise me since the endo’s been dormant over a year, and I know that’s only temporary, but I’ll take it for now. Right now it’s just that brownish spotting you get at the beginning but I’m hoping for full bleed in a couple of days so I can truly feel normal again. It felt good putting “light spotting” in my menstruation calendar app this morning.

AND I woke up to an e-mail from Alex this morning saying that she’s going to sign up for the photography class too and that Ronny’s day off IS Mondays and since Blake’s going to be hanging around Barrie to pick me up from class, he might as well hang out with Ronny during that time, so yay!

Anyway, I’ve decided I’m going to finish watching Downton Abbey, listen to last night’s debate since it repeats at noon and I went to bed early last night and play the Sims all day for no other reason but that I’m done working for the day and I can.

Blake’s working from home today and I’m going to maybe try and convince him he wants to go on the trail with me during his lunch hour. Doot doot.

Oh and Katie wants me to update my “I Almost Died” page with an update about my corrective surgery, which I should probably do too. But I think today’s just going to be a “download day” for the most part. No output. (Unless Blake really will go on the trail with me.)

September 26, 2012

Like a Boss.

So I guess after work today I’m teaching myself Lightroom through the book The Adobe Photoshop Lightroom 3 Book for Digital Photographers by Scott Kelby at the suggestion of Rose who says that they use this man’s books in her college. I normally get the Visual Quickstart Guides for things like this but the one for Lightroom was pretty sparse and this one came recommended so despite the fact that it was $52 + tax, I decided I should get it. I also got the new Sookie Stackhouse book because I need something brainless to do in my spare time.

I am beyond stressed out these days.  I don’t feel like I’ve relaxed since coming back from Squam between writing mammoth posts every day, taking and editing pics and of course working my job. My days have just been way too full and I need to slooooow down, so all I’m going to do this week is learn Lightroom and read a trashy vampire novel.

Yesterday I had a terrible/wonderful dream that I was a teenager and I was on a class trip to Paris with Madison and for some reason we were getting a ride to somewhere in a pick up truck with these two girls who ran an empanada (sp?) stand in the middle of nowhere. In the back of the pick up truck, like in the bed, I put my wallet and my point & shoot camera and left it there with the gate open while these girls drove like maniacs through winding roads. When we got to our destination, my wallet and camera were obviously gone. They’d flown out the back of the truck.

When we got back to the hotel, our teachers were freaking out because I didn’t have any money and all my ID was gone in a foreign country. I still had my passport in my bag so I could get home though so it wasn’t a total disaster.

At the hotel, since I couldn’t go anywhere, the teachers started playing this game with the students that Madison always plays with her friends called “Truth or Truth” which is Truth or Dare, without the dares. Then suddenly Madison and I were in England and there was this guy in a van and suddenly it was the 70s and he was broadcasting a live stream on the internet of punk music and videos and he had a girl hanging from the roof of his van suspended by chains and duct tape. She was like his co-host.

And then I woke up and decided that this meant I should try and do a weekly video feature on my site. What do you think? It wouldn’t be of me, it would be of either Blake or Madison or Wes. I’d give them a topic and just let them go for maybe 10 minutes. Help me think of topics!

And that was basically my whole morning yesterday.

Yesterday afternoon I had a staff meeting and then I had my final appointment with Dr. Hanrahan. That went fine, there were no issues, really, to discuss or anything so we were outta there in about 15 minutes. I had her look at this crazy mole on my right boob which she is going to remove in December. I asked her about the mesh inside me and what it was made of but she gave me some pretty vague answers. She did say it was made of new material so unlike old meshes it wouldn’t get hard and need replacing. So that’s good. Apparently it’s called a “cook mesh”, so I’ll have to look that up later. She also said that if I don’t have a period in 6 months to see my family doctor and to request that I see a gyno. She said if I wanted to (which I don’t) that I could do sit ups now and give myself a 6-pack and I’m 100% cleared for yoga so we’re going to look into that. Blake does “hot yoga” now but that sounds like my idea of pure and utter hell so I don’t want to do that. (In fact, he goes to the same studio as Dr. Hanrahan.) We’re going to see about doing classes with our old yoga teacher who isn’t teaching classes out of her home anymore because she moved, but she is teaching at some yoga studios other places that Blake’s going to look into.

Oh! Something else we did yesterday is that we went to Henry’s and I got a camera BACKPACK so I don;t have to carry around my laptop bag/purse AND the camera bag! It was pretty expensive and I had to put it on Visa but it’s going to save me a lot of grief. This afternoon I’m going to put the camera in it and put my buttons on it to customize it and throw some of my extra junk in it. I’m very pleased with my purchase. (I got this one. It has a maple leaf on it for international travels!)

Anyway, all I need is one or both of the lenses on my wishlist and I think I’m pretty set for camera gear. The only thing I’d want to add is a macro lens, but they’re really expensive and I can’t find a good one on Amazon.

I want to know how you take a picture like the one above. It’s a dragonfly with dew on it. So did the photographer like, sit in a march all night and then take this picture in the morning and if so, how? Like with what kind of equipment?

Anyway, inquiring minds want to know.

36 minutes left of work, then I need a nap. We were up late last night having the marital relations and I am soooooo tired.

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