Nobody's Fault But Mine

That's the title of one of my favorite Led Zeppelin songs.  It's also a phrase that just resounds in my head a lot, continually bouncing around my brain and soul.  A lot of people with mental issues hear a lot from others that what happens to you is no one's doing but your own; just the type of thing that people who are ill of mind don't need to hear.

But what if there's some truth to it in some instances?  In the last year or so, maybe more, I've actually believed it.  Sometimes I wonder what my life would have been like if I didn't suffer all those traumatic brain injuries, or TBI's.  Because other things happened besides that which steered my life down certain paths.  Pondering the what-ifs, though, is rather destructive thinking.  You can't change the past.  And you only have a small amount of control over the future.

I've been dogged by thoughts of guilt for the last long while now, though, of things I could've done differently.  Namely how I've treated others.  I'll go through some of those in this post.  I'm not looking for absolution of any sort, rather than reflecting on how I can perhaps be better. 

What sparked me to write this particular post is something the wife told me the other day, about a mutual friend that she saw at her work.  This friend of ours has been mine since I was a teenager in high school.  I have a lot of nagging feelings about things I've done or reacted to, or whatever, throughout our time of knowing each other.  I was going to put 'throughout our time together' but edited it.  To say 'together' would imply that we were close.  In a sense we were.  We started out knowing each other by dating a few times, which transitioned into being friends once she moved away due to career choices.  I think she did a whole lot more for me than I ever did for her, in the way that she gave me confidence in those years that I'd not previously known.  But all I can actually remember doing for her are all the wrong things.  I used to insist on taking pictures sometimes, even a video once, much to her chagrin.  I wanted something I could always remember.  She was positively uncomfortable with it.  Do I regret it?  Yes, I do.  One time she came over to where I lived while my band rehearsed for a gig that was coming up.  We played in the basement of the house while she was alone upstairs.  "How Not to Treat a Girl 101".  She's asked me repeatedly over the years to go out to the country to see her, and my shyness held me back from ever doing it.  She eventually stopped asking, which I clearly deserved.  Some time ago recently, her daughter got married, where Janice, Lexy and me were all invited to go, and of course I mucked that up seemingly irreparably.  The fault lies with me on that one solely, and now her daughter has completely disowned me and forced her to reconsider our friendship with me.  I deserve that.  I wrote a letter of contrition recently shouldering all the blame for it on myself, which was accepted, but fell short of forgiveness.  I get that too.  Again, 100% deserved.  When she saw Janice at work the other day, the distinct impression I got from the exchange the two of them had was it was over.  That wedding invite I botched was the last brick in the wall by the look of things.  And I'm the one who laid every brick in that wall.  I do accept that I'm the heel in that entire story.  No excuses.  The day my wife told me of her encounter with this old friend, I lay in bed beside her with tears streaming down my cheeks, unbeknownst to her.  I do that a lot, actually.

I rarely talk or communicate with my family in any way these days.  In fact, if they read these blogs, it's probably the main source of communication between us.  I've noticed through the years the gatherings that have happened without my presence there.  Sometimes I was invited, many I wasn't.  I don't blame anyone for not inviting me, in retrospect.  Who wants Mr. Sad Sack in their midst for jovial events?  But not only that.  In writing, not so much in person, I've pissed off my oldest brother with my musings in these blogs, especially in years past.  The last time I was in Ontario, it was clear I displeased him, and I nearly left on a plane alone to come home.  What stopped me was I didn't want my wife and kid driving back alone in the car.  There was a hurricane brewing in the southern States that I used as an excuse to cut our stay much shorter instead.  I haven't gone back since, not because of my family, but because of me.  I keep creating these situations that piss people off, whether I intend to or not.  *hint:  I NEVER intend to.*  There are countless other times where I made stupid judgment calls that I can't take back.  Knowing I've done all this has made me want to not be around anyone I've angered, because I don't want to do it anymore.  All the blame goes on me and I accept it.

There's another brother of mine who wound up being my best man at my re-saying of the vows in the Catholic Church.  He's done so much for me over the years that I feel like I've never given appropriate appreciation for.  There were a couple of times we took trips to Montreal, near where he lived in Ottawa, to see shows, so we'd stay at his place or his girlfriend's.  I feel like I took it all for granted, and that I actually put them out.  I remember he booked a hotel for us that I told him was a dive that I didn't want to stay at again.  If those sound like the musings of a spoiled brat, it's because they are.  Funny, every year I look back and think, "God, I'm glad I grew up a little since then."  Only to reflect the next year on how childish I was yet again.  As much as I was thankful at the time, I don't think I was nearly as appreciative as I should have been.  The same goes for his two boys, who are great friends of mine.  Why they stay close to me, I haven't a clue, and I feel again like I haven't told them enough how much they mean to me. 

Then there's a brother of mine who used to fix my old cars constantly and jump to my aid whenever I put up the bat signal.  And that was a lot.  I have tried through the years to repay him but the debt is too heavy to ever do so.  Yet I don't believe I've expressed enough thanks for everything he ever did.  He's had a rough time of it from the get-go, yet he only concentrates on how he can help everyone else.  His three boys are awesome human beings.  They've always been super nice to me and I don't have a clue why, because I feel like I'm this selfish leech who takes and doesn't give enough.  One of those boys, I've caused a lot of heartache to because of a bad judgment call based on silly beliefs from the past.  He's forgiven me for that.  I haven't been quite as kind to myself.

Talking about giving, there's another brother of mine who arguably did his best to step up to the plate as a father figure after our dad died.  Actually all my brothers did that, and this guy was really selfless.  He included me in a lot of the things he did, and treated me as much like a son as a little brother.  He would go to bat for me when no one else would.  I'm a drummer because of him.  When I was thirteen, just a year after Dad passed, he got me this little drum set to bang on to serve as a distraction to the upheaval that was going on at the time.  I taught myself to play, and it brought me immense joy through the years, and indeed, being a drummer served as an outlet for frustration when I needed it the most.  So what did I have to offer in return?  An inadequate amount of appreciation.  That's the way I see it.

Then there are my two sisters, one who I don't know much, mainly because of my own ignorance and lack of appreciation.  The other whom I tormented as a little kid, that seems to have stuck with her over the years.  And to be completely fair, she's given through her life to me to which I've given back nothing.  There's been a lot of hurt that happened back and forth with us, I think mostly of my own doing.  I haven't gone to visit her in years nearly completely out of guilt of having been an asshole for the entirety of my life.  There was one point a couple of years ago where she alluded to that which confirmed this belief.  Thus, rather than spoiling the picture with my inclusion, I removed myself from it. 

I have an ex-girlfriend/current friend that commented on something that made me realize how much I screwed up that relationship that we had.  One time she spent a lot of cash on an item I'd wanted for a long time, I think only to be reciprocated with an inadequate amount of gratitude.  That probably happened on too many occasions.  I broke up with her countless times over countless dumb reasons due to my own lack of good judgment.  I can forgive myself a little with that, chalking it up to growing up, except I wonder sometimes if I ever did.  Since we re-acquainted ourselves with each other, I've expressed opinions and criticisms that have offended her that nearly ruined the friendship we now have.  This all makes me wonder if I'm even capable of learning sometimes.  Or am I too stupid or selfish to?

There's one friend of mine who's stuck with me through the years that didn't need to.  I was her best friend in the late 80s-early 90s, only to screw the whole thing up, which is what I seemed to be best at especially during that time.  She rightfully disappeared for most of the rest of the 90s, and I was grateful enough to have her back in my life after she'd left it all behind.  She's still around, too.  One of the very few that still are.  Although I think I've been doing a bang-up job of making her feel awkward and perhaps regretting reuniting with me. 

Through the years past, I was involved in a lot of band arrangements with different friends that either amounted to fun jams or serious gigs.  When I reflect on those times, I realize quite a few things.  Namely how much of an ass I was in those bands.  I wasn't very good, but was too stone-headed to realize it.  My drumming sucked, my voice sucked, and my decisions sucked.  All of this just put strain on the bands I was in that had to accommodate my ego.  The songs always had to be perfect.  It was all cover songs that we did, and I always insisted on it being perfect to the last note, foolishly.  I wish I could have been more supportive of personal interpretation of the songs we covered rather than mirroring them.  I think I was just weird...or am?  I did get into a band that made its own songs, but didn't get far with it because of my own dumb decisions, besides the fact that I'm just not very good.  One bandmate that I've had the most consistently through the years essentially gave up on me a few years ago, for good reason.  It was due to a misunderstanding in scheduling at the time, but I know now that there had to be far bigger reasons for it.  Chiefly being my lack of talent, which is clear in retrospect.  It's caused me to re-evaluate my standing as a player of any sort... I hesitate to say "musician"... but also to be realistic.  I'm not in a band because I don't deserve to be.  Period.  I even got a guitar amp years ago so anyone who wanted to jam with me could just pick up the guitar I have and plug in and we could go at it, but no one ever did, even once.  Why would anyone!  Thus I'm selling all this stuff.  Why be pretentious?  I don't even listen to music anymore.  My love of all of that just died.

There's a reason that I don't get included in a lot of things, like family affairs, jamming and band things, or gatherings of any sort.  A friend of mine just got buried and I wasn't even told about it.  Why?  It's clear!  Who wants that Sad Sack weird wannabe drummer guy around who's just gonna make everything awkward?  I'm not upset with anyone about it.  I'm upset with ME.  The more I shake the picture like I've done the last little while, the more clearly I see that the common denominator with all of this is myself.  I refuse to blame anyone for anything anymore, except myself.  I've made my own bed.  You know the rest.

There are so many others who left my life that I completely understand why now.  Every year I look back and wonder why I did certain things.  This year I look further back and wonder why it's taking me so long to fully become human.  If someone leaves my life, it's because I'm an idiot.  I've been such a dumbass for so long, but at least I've come to terms with it.  I'm done laying any blame whatsoever except to the mirror.  Including my medical professionals.  Even my own psychiatrist gave up on me.  How bad does it have to get for that to happen???

In the end, I still have my wife and daughter.  Except I've put them both through hell.  My daughter moved out before she was even out of her teens.  It's no secret as to why she did.  I went through breakdown after breakdown, with my two ladies being left to pick up the pieces and put me back together again, only to see me self destruct repeatedly.  My wife is a virtual saint to endure what she's had to with me.  I've made her cry and be upset so many times with me, only to have her support and forgive me for the numerous things that happened.  She's witnessed me literally nearly beat myself to death, bleed out from extreme nosebleeds, go through ridiculous bouts of self-pity and self-loathing, and crazy crying spells to the point where she could have left simply out of self-preservation, but didn't.  I do hope that I've given her the appreciation she deserves, but I feel I didn't.  And I have great sorrow and regret for how I mishandled fatherhood.  An actual jackass could have done a better job being a dad than I did.

I realize how much of a downer this post is.  But these are the musings of a person who is mentally ill.  It's my state of mind, and I've chosen to stare back at it, in the hopes of.... I don't even know.  I guess after all these years, I don't know what's left to do. 

It's all nobody's fault but mine.

Y or Y not?

If you've been following my blog here, you might know that I suffer from depression and anxiety since I was a teen.  I've tried multiple treatments.  Some have had a positive effect, some negative, some nothing.  But one treatment I've come to know that is consistently positive has been exercise.

That's a dirty word to a lot of us.  Going to the gym isn't necessarily a fun thing, but, if you go enough and see results -- or let me clarify:  FEEL results -- you find yourself forming a habit and addiction that's actually good for you.  A good sweat session clears the head, purges negativity, and increases confidence.  While it may not be a cure-all for everyone for depression and/or anxiety, it's going to have a good impact on your body and soul if you let yourself in the right mindspace in conjunction with physical activity.  I wholly endorse it. 

Many years ago, the wife and I made the decision to join our neighbourhood YMCA once our taekwondo club closed its doors.  We didn't want to continue with martial arts, so we elected to take the plunge and join the Y with its large gym facilities.  It's just a five minute casual walk from where we live, to boot, so it was almost like it was meant to be. 

Our finances were in a bit of a shambles at the time.  We were very green to the process of buying a house, and we took the one we have out of desperation and necessity, since I was more or less dying of mould poisoning at our previous residence.  For real.  I went to the ER several times from not being able to breathe.  As it turns out, moving away from where we were to this house saved my life.  But, as I said about being green to the world of mortgages, we unknowingly signed into a horrible deal where we were going to pay an insane amount of our lifetime earnings for our dwelling space.  We did resolve this eventually, but not without considerable trial and error. 

With that in regard, spending over $100 a month on a gym membership was rather daunting, but we took the plunge anyway.  Months later, we realized we couldn't continue with it, and we sought out and tried other gyms, all of them considerably cheaper.  Then we learned about the Y's subsidization program, where you pay a fraction of the designated monthly fee once they see proof of your income and expenditures.  We wound up re-joining and staying with them for many years with this plan because it was affordable to us.  Their policy is that they never turn anyone away, and they didn't with us.    .......yet.

Janice lost an incredible 75 pounds through training at the Y, and I think it may have saved her life.  She developed courage to fight her numerous diseases and defied doctors who told her she couldn't do any kind of even moderate physical activity; she was even told she was going to wind up in a wheelchair.  But she persevered and transformed herself.  The welcoming atmosphere at the Y was just what we both needed to keep going back.  For myself, the consistent exercise that I decided to make a part of my lifestyle very much helped me manage my anxiety issues.  This was an integral part of the therapy needed to keep my issues somewhat at bay; not a cure by any means, but it made a world of difference. 

The counter staff were always very gregarious and understanding of our situation when it came time to reassess our income and expenses to meet the standards of the subsidization program.  Until March of this year.  During our last reassessment, a newer person discussed our situation with us, and upon this person's own view of our finances, starkly decided we didn't qualify for the subsidization.  This left us both in shock.  Nothing had changed, yet, although we knew with the new year coming, the time was going to arrive where we actually would be able to pay the full price of membership, but not until then. To make things worse, on the statement in question, there was a $200 balance in our account, which seemed to convince the associate that we were actually doing fine financially.  Telling this person we had car repairs to take care of that week did nothing to sway her opinion (those repairs wound up costing us $800, to make it worse).  But this associate was quite cold and demeaning to my wife when Janice pleaded her to reconsider and shut us down.  This left us both in shock.  We were welcomed there with open, friendly arms for years.  Now all of a sudden, we were virtually thrown out.

I was quite upset at the welcome mat being very rudely yanked out from underneath us, so I decided to contact the YMCA through their Facebook page via their messenger, on which they claim to typically respond within a day.  I sent this message in March.  I'm still waiting for an answer.  I know the message was read back then, because it's denoted on messenger that it was.

We made the decision to join another gym in the city, though nowhere near our neighbourhood, but the price for membership there is comparative to what we were paying under subsidies with the Y.  We're happy at this new gym, though.  It's open 24/7, is clean, with new machines and a spacious free weights space and stretching room.  It very well suits our purpose.  But we still feel very burned from our exile from the YMCA without any conversation whatsoever.

I figured six months was plenty, and so I'm going public now with the message I sent them.  I doubt this will have any affect whatsoever, but I do feel the need to put it out there.  Perhaps they can enlist any individuals at their desk with some kind of sensitivity training to learn how to properly deal with those reaching out for help, like we did.

This is the message I sent to them.  All of it is true and without exaggeration or embellishment. 

Hello, Just wanted to send you fine folks a few comments before my wife and I depart your facilities. We've been members of the Y for roughly 10 years, with a brief break somewhere in the middle. We came back after that break when we found out we could apply for subsidization, as we left in the first place because, with our modest incomes, we couldn't afford to go anymore. My wife and I both have registered disabilities. She suffers from psoriatic and rheumatoid arthritis, fibromyalgia, thyroid disease, and even other illnesses that challenge her daily. Going to the Y helped her enormously in mind and body. It was with you that she lost 75 lbs and made new, healthy habits to give her hope in leading a better life than fate had first laid out for her. I'm very grateful for your part in this. As for myself, I'm 53 years old. In my youth I suffered a number of serious head injuries, resulting in concussions that would leave me with permanent lasting effects that I have to face every day. I wound up with severe depression and anxiety issues that rather hinder my ability to handle matters of sociability, and other things, not the least of which are self-harm episodes.. My wife handles most of our communication dealings, because my anxiety issues prevent me from articulating properly. Of course, this does not apply to writing. I take medication and am under care of a physician and psychiatrist to try to help me handle things. My wife deals with her illnesses much the same way. We have drug plan coverage which pays for the cost of our very pricey meds that, without them, we simply couldn't live a normal life. My wife struggles sometimes, but with her medication and physical activity, partly through help from the good people at the Y, she does well. As for me, as you likely know, physical activity is great medicine for depression and anxiety too. Thus, we've been regulars at the Y for these many years. We also had troubles financially through those years, which is why help through you for our memberships was a Godsend. But we couldn't afford to go to the Y any other way. As of right now, for example, at the beginning of every calendar year, each of us has to pay a $150 deductible fee before our medication is covered. My wife's is paid up. As for me, I'm rationing my medication until we can get our finances together to bring things to balance. These are just facts that we're forced to deal with. When my wife was summoned for re-evaluation, as per every six months or so for subsidies with you, the person who looked after us told us we were no longer eligible. We don't want to mention names or get anyone in trouble, so we won't, but it left us rather shocked. We'd never been treated quite like that from you before. Tonight, my wife and I made the regrettable decision that we have to leave because of affordability issues. We thought we might hear something like, "is there something we can do?", but it was the same person we dealt with before, so that didn't quite happen. We wish you offered some kind of program where lower paying members only required the use of the wellness center section, since we never use the pools or gymnasium or anything. Perhaps in the future? As it is right now, we can't afford to stay. We weren't looking for a hand-out, as much as we were a hand up. We regret having to leave, because the staff and fellow members are top notch. You really do have the best gym in town. Unfortunately, we don't even feel welcome there now in light of the treatment from this desk server. We have till next Tuesday left on our current membership. We will take advantage of those few days left and figure out what to do and where to go from there. We didn't want to leave without being honest with you first as to why we did. We'll miss the staff in the wellness center, and hope that you don't take this as a hasty act on our part, as we've carefully considered everything. We don't ask that you beg us to stay or anything, but we do hope you consider our story and remember it in the future for when you deal with others like us, which I'm sure there will be many. Once again, thank you for the years of support. We do hate to go. Regards, Michael and Janice

Shaking Like a Human Being

Here's three unwelcome words:  Summer is over.  Sorry.

Summer has been very good and very bad to me over the years, like a lot of people.  I know I'm not unique in that way.  But my mental illness issues always dictate to me what kind of a season it's going to be.  Last year was quite nice, even the year before.  I exercised a lot, didn't really go anywhere trip-wise, but I was with my wife pretty much 100% of the time.  Whether or not she's with me doesn't necessarily determine if things will go smoothly, but when she's there, the chances of the good outweighing the bad always skyrocket.  I'm enormously blessed to have her in my life.  I've said it many times:  if not for her, I wouldn't be around today.

I have a friend named Tim who I've often proclaimed as a brother, and that's permanent.  He's a no-shit, good willed man of faith who's always willing to help someone in need.  When he expressed interest in seeing one of our mutually favorite bands, King's X, in Portland, Maine, I was all in, on the condition that Janice was with me.  That wasn't even in question for Tim, as he already knew.  His soon-to-be wife Marley was in on the trip too.  We had a lot of fun over the almost three day run.  Janice got sick to her stomach one day, we suspect because of carb overload - it's happened before - but she recovered quickly, thank God.  On the very positive end, the King's X show was incredible.  We were front row center in the club called The Aura, where apparently a lot of pretty good acts go, and we surprisingly got to meet the band after the concert was over.  I had a short discussion with Dug Pinnick, the bass player and lead singer, about how much many of his lyrics mean to me, particularly those about his battle with depression.  I told him how much King's X music helps me and has gotten me through some pretty hard times.  He was genuinely touched and there was a distinct connection we'd made there that Janice was witness to, having been at my side through it.  It was a lifetime moment for me.  I thanked Jerry the drummer and Ty the guitarist profusely for all they do and have done through the years.  We got pictures taken and autographs, the whole nine yards.  I thought of my friend Steve a lot through this whole thing, because back in the late 80's when I was a store clerk for Green Gables, Steve was the one who loaned me "Gretchen Goes to Nebraska", King's X's second release.  I didn't really 'get it' upon first listen, or second.  Or tenth, even.  But I kept playing it, and something clicked.  King's X's music is so rich with detail and rife with influences like Rush, the Beatles, Metallica and Black Sabbath, even KISS (King's X actually played on the KISS Kruise a couple of years ago), that I grabbed onto the sound and sought out the other two albums of the time, "Out of the Silent Planet" and "Faith Hope Love".  "FHL" actually made me rediscover my faith in God and Christianity, which has stayed with me since.  Anyway, with Steve being a hardcore King's X fan, we had a lot of discussions about their music through the years.  We even attended a show, with Janice, for the "Dogman" tour in Toronto at a club called Gasworks back in '91.  That too was amazing.  Steve pretty much arranged that trip and acccomodations, forming unforgettable memories I'll cherish forever.  We also all saw the KISS "Revenge" tour around the same early 90's era.  We amusingly made it onto MuchMusic TV as we waited outside the studios for KISS to make an appearance.  When host Erica Ehm asked fans what their favorite KISS ballad was, Steve proudly answered, "God of Thunder."  Classic Steve! 

So, this summer was going along pretty good.  Janice and me have been inseparable, except for when we have to work.  She keeps me grounded.  On the Portland trip, we were unaware that we were going to be gone for two nights, so I missed a couple of rounds of my meds, and so did Janice.  I wound up with elevated anxiety that I was able to manage with her help, and of course, I reciprocated in taking care of her as she dealt with the pain from her lack of medication, which can become intolerable if she goes without for too long.  It also probably contributed to her being sick.  All in all, it was manageable, and a great time was had by all of us.  But... I have this 'voice' in my head that tells me afterward how much of an ass I acted like, that I should have behaved better, that I shouldn't have said or did certain things... such is the life of a person with chronic anxiety.  I always feel guilty about something.

We've been going to the gym pretty regularly since we've joined Fit4Less several months ago, after we'd left the Y.  I'll get into why we left in the near future, because we departed under dubious circumstances that we're still upset over.  But Fit4Less turned out to be a good change.  Exercise has many benefits for everyone, but one in particular for me is to clear the cobwebs and just feel better.  I don't think I'm super fit or anything, but I'm probably in the best shape I've ever been in, providing I don't get derailed from going.  Still, at least 75% of the reason I do go is Janice.  Exercise is absolutely crucial to her mobility, where her multiple illnesses ranging from chronic arthritis to fibromyalgia threaten to freeze up her body unless she keeps moving.  The two of us going is a whole yin-yang thing.  We help each other by training.

But one thing that does derail us from going, typically in the winter months, is work.  The retail Christmas season can be torturous.  My job is very physical as it is when it's calm, but when things get busy, it can get increasingly stressful.  I used to cherish the post-Christmas season, because that's when things typically level off, but this year it just didn't.  The best way I can describe my job as a receiver where I work is warehouse work.  There's lots of lifting, carrying, and moving things around, and I put a lot of miles in running around the place, chasing the doorbell for deliveries while I'm doing something else.  I typically work through my breaks and lunches, because I like to get things done.  If I'm going to literally put my name on my work, I want it to be the best it can be.  And I get upset if it's otherwise.  I want to be an asset to my employer, and I'm passionate about it. 

People go on vacation during the summer, of course.  That's just logical.  But when someone goes out where I work, that person isn't replaced, and it puts a strain on the rest of us.  Business didn't drop off very much at all after last Christmas.  At times, it even got more hectic.  The busier it gets, of course, the more stress there can be, especially when manpower decreases.  Thankfully, I had a week off in July myself with Janice.  It was a much needed breather for the both of us.  She also suffers from a lack of manpower where she works at a post office kiosk, of which she's the manager of.  But her higher ups hesitate to give her more workers.  Thus, for much of the year, it's been just her and our daughter Alexandra working there.  It's quite ridiculous, if I'm being starkly honest.  She's much smarter and stronger than I am, though, so she vents with me and it seems to help. 

News struck us a month ago that our dear friend Steve passed away suddenly in his home after a sudden illness in Halifax.  I felt like it was a horrible dream that I desperately wanted to wake up from.  The last time we saw Steve was when KISS came to the Maritimes, visiting Saint John and Halifax, and we went to both shows.  Steve hitched a ride with us for the second show, in Halifax, and we got what I now cherish as time that I wouldn't ever trade for anything.  He welcomed us in his home before the show, we had some deep conversations ... par for the course with Steve ... and Alexandra got to know him more and developed a sweet bond with him.  He gave me a copy of his album "Fresh Footprints", an instrumental disc dotted with his trademark humor and deft musicianship throughout.  In fact, it was my favorite record I'd listened to that year, I loved it that much.  I would have taken a copy of it to give to King's X when we went, but I selfishly didn't want to part with my own!  I told him how much I admired it and his talent, and he was profuse in his appreciation for my fandom.  I stand by it today, "Fresh Footprints" is a professional, bonafide classic that I think everyone should give a chance.  I wish that it got more recognition than it did.

When I went to Halifax with Alexandra (Janice had to work, hence the manpower issues) for Steve's memorial, as I drove into town, I distinctly felt his presence.  I know how corny that sounds, but it was a feeling unlike any other.  I so miss the guy, and I know on some other plane of existence, he knows that.  Along with the many others that were at his memorial.  I saw a lot of familiar faces there, and many friends, all of us more than heartbroken at the fact of the reason we were present.  Alexandra was heartbroken.  Steve was always very kind to her, and always treated her like an equal adult, even in her childhood years.  That's why she respected him so much.  She always was entertained by our conversations because they were so deep!  One particularly about the Mandela Effect, a deja vu type of theory that muses on whether or not people actually died when it was publicly announced that they were.  I witnessed an instance of it myself once, when Tom Wilkonson's death was announced on TV while we were in Welland, Ontario visiting my brother Pete.  It was right there on TV, but months later, he showed up on TV promoting a new movie of his.  Janice may not have been at Steve's memorial, but she certainly was in spirit.  Her and Steve always had that humorous greeting... he'd say "hey man!" and she'd answer with "hey woman!" which he always responded to with his distinct laughter.  When the memorial was over, there was a reception that we didn't stay for, as I didn't know how I'd react because of my elevated anxiety.  That was probably selfish on my part.  But I also feel like I don't really belong in that group of friends anymore.  That's on me, not them.  But I digress, as I don't want that topic to be about me at all.

But needless to say, Steve's passing weighed heavy on my heart ever since.  I think about the guy a lot, and I'm thankful for having known him.  His friendship and brotherhood were indeed a gift that I'll never overlook. 

We are both now just starting our second week of vacation as I write this.  And it couldn't be more timely.  This past week has been horrendous to my body and mind.  I've worked nine to ten hour days all week, no breaks or lunches, and it still wasn't enough to get done what I wanted, although I'm admittedly picky when it comes to my work.  But these long days ate into my downtime, and the fact that I work two of those days starting at 5am cuts into my sleep.  We were only able to go to the gym together one day this week.  A stressful work year only got worse with all these factors pitching in to take painful cracks to my endurance.

Last night was the first night of vacation after I'd finished up a 9 1/2 hour shift at work on four hours sleep.  I expressed to Janice how hard a time I had with it all, but perhaps I was a bit lax in describing it.  She's actually seen me work, but she doesn't really know the scope of what I do.  I know no one at my work recognizes it.  It's the most thankless job I've ever had, but I work at the level I do as a matter of pride. I left the building yesterday as a man on the verge of melting down under the stress. 

My brother Roy is celebrating his 70th birthday this weekend, and the party was yesterday, which I most definitely was in no condition to attend, very regrettably so.  We said we'd go today for a visit at least.  He's got a cottage with my other brother Greg at Caissie Cape, a community I'm familiar with because of Steve's family's history there.  He used to look after his family's A-frame cottage in the summer, and host his friends for parties there a lot.  My old YQM band actually recorded our demo at his cottage.  That community will certainly have a different feel now, sadly.  But at least I have family there.  And I just know Steve's spirit will be wandering around with us when we visit.  I only wish that the Mandela Effect would prove itself in bringing dear Steve back.

But we will go under the specter of what transpired last night.  I was eventually overcome by stress and anxiety to the point that I couldn't bottle it up anymore.  I shook uncontrollably... paced and ran around the house ... SCREAMING at the top of my lungs ... quite literally beating my head against the wall ... laid on the floor nearly naked quivering trying to get my bearings back.  And Janice witnessed all of it.  It obviously upset her terribly, as she cried and pleaded to help as she watched it all unfold.  The more questions she asked, the more anxious I got, which is not her fault whatsoever, of course!  But a man with my condition faced with making even the simplest of decisions can be very overwhelming, in this case, nearly catastrophically.  Janice gave me some cannabis oil, which after some time, calmed me down to the point where I was coherent and not shaking anymore, and ultimately calm.  She may have even saved my life with it.  Again.  She never left my side even through all this.  I love her.

I woke up today sore and stiff all over from last nights events.  I'm now faced with visiting family which I won't be able to see again for months if I don't go, so I must.  I shouldn't be anxious about it, there's no reason to be.  But I am. 

I need to also point out that I still haven't heard from my psychiatrist or doctors since my last visit months ago.  I now hesitate to go, because I truly don't feel they believe me when I tell them what goes on.  Hell, the government doesn't believe me either, because they no longer recognize my disability!  My only real hope is Janice.  She talks to my doctors for me and stresses to them that what I'm dealing with is indeed real and indeed serious.  Apparently, that's what it takes.  What I also worry about, is others who deal with the same kind of issues that don't have anyone to vouch for them.  Where do they go to for help??  We need the medical community to take depression and anxiety seriously, once and for all.  And government needs to smarten up about the fact that it needs desperate attention.  I'm skeptical about that ever happening, though.

But to anyone who may be reading this, I need to say...... if you are suffering, if you have anxiety that gets the better of you at times, if you're feeling depressed, you absolutely must get help.  You must!!  And it's best that you have someone to advocate for you, the way my wife does.  I do get taken far more seriously when she goes to bat for me.  She is my guardian angel.  Find yours.  It may be your wife, husband, mother, brother, sister, friend, or work colleague.  But find someone who takes you seriously, especially if your medical professionals won't.

God bless you, and thank you for reading.   

The Nature of the Beast

I get a fair amount of feedback on my posts about my dealings with depression and anxiety.  I'm guessing because of my outright honesty pertaining to it, and my frustration with getting adequate help.  Now here I go again with another frustration-laden post, so, spoiler alert.

There's still no word from my psychiatrist about a follow-up appointment after the one in the spring.  I don't get it.  I'm admittedly a basket case sometimes who's had self-harm issues and suicidal thoughts, yet it doesn't seem to warrant the attention necessary to remedy more attention than that of what I ask for.  So yeah, I'm on my own there.  Folks like me shouldn't have to go it alone on things like this.  Specifically with depression and anxiety.  When us patients with these problems actually muster up the courage to talk about it, you'd think it would be taken seriously, but I know I'm not the only one who feels this isn't happening.

You know what does get a lot of attention though?  The media gets all hot 'n horny over stories of gun-toting killers who are eventually discovered to be victims of mental illness.  Consistently.  In fact, more often than not, when you hear of a mass shooting or beating or whatever, I'd almost bet that most of the time, the perpetrator is a victim of psychiatric issues.  I won't take the assertion that these men (let's face it, they're pretty much all men, right?) have a crutch to lean on with their illness that justifies them to do such dastardly acts.  But let's face it.  In a broad number of instances, people are driven to madness to become these monsters in the media not necessarily for the attention, but because those around them for years leading up to these terrible events didn't bother to acknowledge the warning signs that they are, indeed, ill.  Neither am I blaming the people around them.  Rather, I just don't see the help readily available for those looking to get it that could prevent these things from happening to begin with.  I can speak truth to this, because I can't seem to get adequate professional support myself.  Not that I want to lump myself in with mass murderers, of course.  The big danger with me is to myself, and thus, those around me watching me disintegrate before their very eyes.

I can tell you that I'm okay one week, or day, but then the next everything seems to change.  I can have a great streak of days only to wake up one morning, like today, and feel this black cloud of dread blocking the sun from my consciousness.  That's the nature of mental illness.  Every day is a roll of the dice as to how easy or not it will be to get through the day.  Medication helps, if you have the right stuff.  But even if you do, you can still get derailed, and that's why professional help is still needed.

When I'm having one of these excruciating days, it's a good time to call off work and recollect my wits about me.  But I can't.  I'm allowed one paid sick day off per every two months of attended work.  That's pretty tough to accumulate.  I wind up being stuck between a rock and a hard place; the rock being work, the hard place being my illness.  99% of the time, I have to muscle it out and go to work.  If I don't, I know I have two days of work the next day waiting for me, because my shifts don't get replaced, and my work not covered.  This, obviously, creates heightened stress to get things done, which is obviously detrimental to my health because of my condition, the reason I called off work in the first place.  It's a vicious circle.  But we live in times where shareholders and CEO's dictate whether or not their workers are worth being cared for; in most cases, they're not.  And never mind going on disability benefits for any amount of time as I did last year... the tax collector will reclaim that when the season comes around.

And with mental illness survivors, it's tough being us.  We're always being told "it could be worse", or "help is available", or "be thankful for what you have".  Let's not forget the classic "only you can change your outlook".  If you want to know how to isolate someone with depression and anxiety even more than they already are, talk to them like that.  You might as well take the shovel away from them they're digging a hole with and be giving them a back hoe tractor.

As far as it goes with me, I've re-evaluated things a lot over the past year or so, at least.  I now see myself as the problem and the burden.  How else is one supposed to feel if they get shunned by the medical professionals they're pleading to get help from?  One of them virtually insinuated it was 'all in my head'.  Hell... when I got in-person counseling from a professional for a while, which I thought kind of helped a little, it ended with the person giving me a written evaluation of my writing work that I had submitted.  I was encouraged verbally to keep writing, but the criticisms written on my work made me stop cold.  This was nearly two years ago.  I don't know that my illness was taken into consideration when that kind of critique was administered to my work.  That's why I'm a little dumbfounded when I get compliments on these blog posts I write.  I'm grateful, but with all apologies, I can't help but question the sincerity.  "They must just feel bad for me."

I hear stories and see pictures of friends and family gathering and realize I'm not in them anymore, and it feeds support for my theory that I really am a drag to be around.  I have one person in my life that genuinely wants to be around me that I can clearly tell, that being my wife.  If I have a conversation with someone else, I try to avoid the topic of me, knowing that I'll most likely just scare them off.  I've learned from past mistakes.  In recent years, I've had friends that I was open to that I would share my feelings with, only to never see them again or have them become the hi/bye type.  I know that's my fault.  I know that's on me.  So why do I keep hearing that people like me with mental illness should talk more, and more should listen?  I even feel like I get the bum's rush from my professionals when I look for help.  I feel like my allotted appointment time can't be expanded and thus, sorry about your damn luck.  Happy trails. 

The only remedy for that which I can think of is to just remove myself from these pictures and gatherings before they happen.  A couple of weeks ago, I cried uncontrollably for a whole day when I came upon some of these such things.  I realized how irrelevant I've become at the expense of my illness.  And I am truly sorry to those that I've brought down, and I will refrain from it from this point out.  Such is the nature of the beast that I fight daily.

I don't purport to be a musician or percussionist or anything, because I really don't think I'm any good -- I've been told that enough.  So after years of owning drumkits since I was 13 shortly after my father died, I'm giving serious thought to selling all my gear and just getting real about it all.  I had a friend named Wayne who was kind enough to talk me out of doing just that many years ago when I was in a band with him for a short time where other members weren't too keen on my drumming.  Wayne insisted that was wrong.  I believed him at the time.  But times have changed.  It's kind of hard jamming with yourself, but, here I am.  And I'm wary of pity.

You might be asking yourself, "he's given up writing, his music, what's next?"  Now I guess it's just survival.  I know I won't get the help I need, so I'll keep going to the gym for a distraction -- at least until I give that up too -- and watching TV and being with my wife until she reaches the point she can't deal with it anymore either.  Which she insists won't ever happen. 

Ultimately, this post is yet another testament to how broken the health system is in treating those with mental illness.  I live in a part of Canada where medical professionals are leaving in droves because their workload is ridiculously heavy and they are underpaid.  Yet we have government after government telling us people in need they're in the process of fixing it.  The check is in the mail and... you know the rest.

But this blog post should at least serve as a shout out to those who are also suffering, to tell you, you aren't alone in your frustration, as much as it feels like it.  We have to stick together and hang in there and support each other.  And for God's sake, Don't.  Give.  Up.

God bless and thanks so much to care enough to read.

Darkness and Light

I hear it's Mental Health Awareness Month.  Being a person who's dealt with mental health issues all of his life, I wanted to throw in my own thoughts on the issue.

Firstly, "Awareness".... it's not really the appropriate term.  Not to me.  Everyone knows about the issues surrounding mental health illness and its pervasiveness.  The real, true issue is the lack of action taken with it.  There's lots of talk, lots of corporations (I'm looking at YOU, Bell Canada) getting kudos for raising so-called awareness about it and trumpeting how much cash they're throwing at it, but from what I can see, few benefiting from it, other than the businesses getting all kinds of publicity because of their grandstanding on the subject.

Don't get me wrong.  I'm glad people are talking about it more.  I'm glad the stigma is coming down.  I'm glad that more people take it a lot more seriously now than they used to, say, when I was a teen back in the 80's, when no one would blink an eye at the word concussion because they didn't think they were all that bad.  I had several of them in my teen years.  Clearly, today medical professionals would keep an eagle eye on someone who's gone through something like that.  Me in the 80's?  Not so much.

Concussions are a big deal now in the sports world.  Namely football, hockey and pro wrestling.  This month a lot of discussion is being made over the death of a young female wrestler named Ashley Massaro, who broke into the WWE through a talent competition many years ago.  Her career was dotted with an array of concussions, and subsequently, she joined a class action lawsuit against WWE over consequences related to those injuries, holding the company liable for not taking better care of their talent.  She suffered from depression, mental lapses and suicidal thoughts, and ultimately took her own life, leaving behind a young daughter and countless supportive colleagues in the pro wrestling world.  This re-ignited discussion on the care, or lack of it, being taken in sports, or for that matter, life in general.  My concussions never arose from sports injuries, for example.  But, I experienced similar, if not identical, symptoms as Massaro had.

I don't think I need to write much about the correlation between concussions and mental illness, as pretty much everyone knows the major connections.  My concussions didn't end with my teens.  There were others that occurred in the following years, but they were brought on by self-inflicted injuries because of the those troubles I had in my formative years.  To this day I deal with self-harm issues.  Perhaps not as frequent in this present day, thanks to medications that are actually working, but as little as two months ago, I suffered from suicidal thoughts.  I brought this to the attention of my physician and psychiatrist, both.  My wife was in attendance with these professionals when I saw them.  So what actions did they take?

How about a big fucking fat nothing?  Not even a follow-up appointment.  THIS is the state of mental health treatment in the world today, at least in these parts.  There's actually a sign in my psychiatrist's office waiting area that states not all treatments are covered by medicare.  That's pretty damn encouraging, isn't it?  If I had a broken bone, a major cut, even a bruise on my head, I'd be seen promptly and given treatment.  Now, when I proclaim to my doctors what happened in my past and my suspicions that it contributes to my illness today, I get a proverbial shrug like they're questioning whether I'm telling the truth or not.  I've experienced the same in the past with friends and family.  This is maddening.  But that's where we are right now.

There are plenty of people who would say, "well, you're dealing with it at least, good for you!"  Self awareness of it is a major, massive first step, but it's a step I took back in 1996 with the birth of my daughter.  It was then when I went through some wicked self-harm incidents that I realized I need to get better for my daughter and my wife.  I must note, I was never abusive toward anyone else.  It was always to myself.  Through the years, I was plagued with self-loathing and an extreme lack of self-confidence.  That hasn't waned, either.  Indeed, it may have worsened.  I continue to battle it daily.  It ebbs and flows, and I have to deal with it whenever it rears its ominous, ugly head.  I've stated many, many times, if it weren't for my wife and daughter, I would not be alive today.  That is 100% true.

Thank God I have the understanding of those two.  I'm certainly a handful to deal with sometimes.  I try to keep things in check, like putting myself down in front of others and insulting myself, but the fact is that I'm literally ill.  I will be till the day I pass.  I just have to keep looking for ways to deal with it.

When I say I'm a handful, I mean I am with everyone.  I can be a jerk (read:  I think I AM a jerk), and that's something I'm working on especially recently.  Over the years, I know how opinionated I was, and it's only in the last several months that I've come to see things through the eyes and ears of those I see and talk to.  I hate having my feelings hurt.  Why would anyone else be different?  Realizing this made me re-evaluate myself as a person in a major way.  I think that's a good thing.  The bad thing is, it has the potential to bring on more self-hatred.  It's very tricky.

With Mental Health Awareness, it's good that focus is on the young and women, but the truth of the matter is it's a human issue.  I don't believe people should be categorized and grouped into neat little boxes for the sake of statistics.  Mental illness is something that needs to be attacked head-on without discrimination.  And I say especially mental health, because if there's too much focus on one group than the others, that sends a message to the others that they don't matter as much.  I sure as hell feel that way.  I'm a 53 year old male, and my category isn't talked about at all.  And I don't want my category talked about.  I want the entire problem to be handled and addressed, without bias or priority.  It's the fairest and most responsible approach for all victims of mental illness.

I participated with my wife in a corporate sponsored run open to the public that donated funds to, among other women's issues, women's mental health.  This might make me sound hypocritical, except that I know that the funds raised do for a fact go to a local women's shelter.  I applaud that kind of effort to combat such challenges facing women in these modern times.  I only wish that those outside the limiting parameters of such fundraising could benefit from these kinds of things as well.  You don't see a lot of active causes raising awareness for middle-aged victims of mental illness, for example.  At all.

But I digress.  It shouldn't be about isolating one group that seems to be affected more than another.  For that matter, all the fundraising that happens continentally didn't seem to help the likes of Massaro much, if at all.  Ignorance seems to have taken the top spot on the podium in that case, as is all too common.  To those struggling to find help and understanding, it's incredibly frustrating.  We keep hearing, "speak up!  Talk about it!  Get help!"  I don't know how long Massaro sought help for her condition - probably a long time.  But I do know I tried in vain to see a psychiatrist for years... over a decade, almost two... only to feel like I'm being rebuffed, despite getting some help with appropriate medication.  These are the challenges men, women and children face when we try to make people listen to us.  We do speak up.  We do talk.  We do get help.  But all too much, it's like trying to break through a concrete wall with a plastic spoon.

I'm not trying to say to others that you need to treat people with mental illness with kid gloves or walk on eggshells.  I'm only trying to point out that care needs to be taken when it comes to common sense observations.  Exclusion is one of my biggest enemies.  If I'm shunned or left out of something, even if it were short-sighted, it ignites doubt in my self worth and how much I matter.  Whether it be a gathering of friends or family where I'd most often be invited; even if I didn't go, it counts in a big way to be thought of, at least.  I've dealt with exclusion a lot over the years, but it doesn't get easier.  It may even be getting worse.  I don't blame those that don't want me around.  I've mentioned I realize I'm a handful!  But it also signals that I'm not worth dealing with.  And I get it.  I can be quiet and reserved, perhaps not terribly outgoing, I hate talking on the phone with a passion, etc.  You might say I'm only asking to be shunned.  Or, if you knew what I struggled with, you might see me differently.  I'm a wide open book when it comes to my depression and anxiety.  I tell everyone in my challenge to help me defy the consequences of what can become of my behavior.  But it might be a failing strategy.  Perhaps speaking up, talking about it and getting help doesn't work at all?  If not, then what does?

In the end, I do still implore those with depression, anxiety and other mental illnesses to seek out help and talk about it with loved ones and professionals.  I did find at least two people that listened, with my wife and daughter.  My boss at work understands somewhat.  Sometimes even my doctors listen.  My point is, if you don't try at all, you're guaranteed to not make any traction.

If you know someone suffering from any of this, I invite you to be a lamp post on that long, dark road.  The more light that's shed on that path, the less likely the car is to go off the rails.

In Pursuit of Happiness

Time to break the silence.  It's been a long time since I've posted.  And I do know there's the odd person who does read these, so I figured, why not.

It's been quite a while.  Let me get you up to speed, if you're not regularly in touch with me.

I took the first three months of '18 off because of a breakdown that I had at work.  As anyone who knows me realizes, I'm very open with my mental illness issues, in the hopes of getting others who are silent to open up and get help.  There is no shame in it.  Anyway, Christmas of '17 was particularly stressful... not unlike many Christmas seasons, especially if you work in retail like I do... and where I work, as a receiver, I'm out on the floor of the store when I worked every third weekend.  Weekends are busy there, and the clientele is particularly bad mannered and cranky.  If you're dealing with mental illness, this kind of stress is very hard to deal with.  My way of dealing with it is removing myself from it, but if I'm working, that's somewhat near impossible.

In early January '18, just after New Year's, it got to the point where someone attacked me verbally in the store and made me look and feel stupid.  This is one sure fire way to ignite an anxiety attack in me and confront myself.  Long story short, I found a place in the back where I would be alone and concussed myself and dragged my box cutter across various points of my skin, leaving me bleeding and in a lot of pain.  I'm not proud to exclaim this, but I figure the more open I am about it, the more awareness to the issue it brings, not just to myself - but others suffering with depression and anxiety.  I do know some of  you, and believe me when I say, I am with you. 

I was at wit's end on this day.  I wrote a note to my manager telling him I wouldn't be back to work until further notice, and I'd gotten things taken care of.  He does know that I have issues with anxiety, to the point that it can get quite debilitating.  This was a major step that I needed to take, although the idea of not going to work and earning my keep played on me.  The thought of going on paid leave for mental health issues felt defeating in a way.  In retrospect, I see it as a bit of a brave act, just not one I care to repeat.

Three months at home passed while I decompressed from the stress and anxiety of the holiday season at work, and that every third weekend there, where my blood pressure was tested as well.  My family doctor took me off work in increments of about three weeks at a time, subject to evaluation.  Janice accompanied me to my appointments to give her input on how I was doing, both to corroborate my own claims and offer information I might not be quite open enough to give.  As the visits passed, I finally went back to work in April, rested and relaxed, on new meds and ready to try to make things work once again.  It was good being back to work.  Being at home not working bored the crap out of me, but it did force me to rest and find peace.  I did worry about how things would be at work while I wasn't there, as I felt that I might be missed since I work quite steadily.  That worry was unfounded, as they made out fine without me.

However, about a week in back to work, an incident happened at work that caused me to deal with another bout of self harm.  Without getting into too much detail about that, it thus caused me to lose faith in my meds altogether, and I stopped them cold turkey.  I would not recommend anyone on meds to do this.  It's actually quite dangerous and could lead to very serious consequences.  But that being said...

I went through the rest of April with the presence of mind that not taking meds will likely affect me adversely, so I braced for impact, so to speak.  Surprisingly, I made it through a whole month, before I took another serious anxiety attack and immediately rebooted my meds.  It got to the point where I was a danger to myself, and thus, to Janice -- not in a physical sense, but her watching me go through it was quite distressing to her.  But she is a kind, loving devoted soul, and was with me through thick and thin.  And is. 

As things turned out, this rebooting of my meds seemed to kickstart their efficacy.  As I leveled off, I experienced a sense of normalcy I hadn't experienced in years.  Add to that the good news that my manager gave me all weekends off, which did miracles for my peace of mind, knowing that I didn't have to stare down the anxiety monster every third week and hope for the best.  The way my work is, anyway, is I do 8 to 4's, except Tuesdays and Fridays where I go in at 5am.  As you might imagine, as someone with lifelong brain injury issues, this played a factor in my sense of security within myself.  Knowing I didn't have to face this seemed to have lifted a very heavy weight off of my head.  This coupled with rebooting my meds did a whole lot for my mental stability.

Last summer was one of the best I'd experienced in my lifetime.  My mental health was in the best shape it had been in years, and with Janice constantly by my side, I felt like my life had been renewed.  Our daughter was doing much better, too, and would continue to improve as the year progressed.  Although the one issue with her and her boyfriend is their living quarters; I feel like they deserve so very much more, but they're cash-strapped too much to change it -- although things are getting better for them financially due to work upgrades, so I have high hopes that this issue will be rectified soon.  Janice and me have been there, after all, in virtually identical circumstances.

As time went on, it caused some reflection, where I would look back on how I handled things and how I approached problems in general.  Of which I'd give myself a failing grade, really.  I have to be careful not to be too hard on myself, but these periods of refection also help guide me how to handle things in the future.  Looking back, I see myself assigning blame from time to time that wasn't warranted, and I realize that perhaps I was this way because of my mental illness issues in the first place.  I was often reactionary to sudden issues, and looked sometimes... not always.... to others to lay culpability to.  Now, I have to be careful not to blame myself too much, or risk suffering more anxiety attacks.  So there's a fine balance there, middle ground that I have to seek to find where it's stable enough that I won't fall, and just as importantly, don't bring anyone down with me.

I don't judge things like I used to now as a result.  I've learned that I need to be more aware of others' feelings, so I measure my opinions and advice accordingly --  don't tell anyone anything you wouldn't want to be told, unless there is fruit to be harvested from such situations.  Nonetheless, negativity is something I do try to avoid.  Not just coming at me, but especially from me.  Better to prop others up than knock them down, regardless of who they are or what the situation is.  Hate cannot drive out hate, only love can do that; darkness cannot drive out darkness, only light can do that, to paraphrase a certain King.

I went through the better part of a year 'without incident', as I express it, where there were no issues of self-harm.  But I experienced another attack a couple of weeks ago now, where I took something out of context, perhaps, and shamed myself image-wise and gouged my stomach, probably leaving yet more scars due to this stubborn illness.  As I type this, I'm still leveling off somewhat.  I still look in the mirror and see things that others maybe don't.  My self image is admittedly poor; but at this point, I don't know what to do about it.  I've seen a psychiatrist, physician, psychologist, you name it.  But the poor self-image thing is a bitch to eradicate.  Self confidence has always been a tough issue.  I will never feel like I'm smart enough, look good enough, or be good enough to actually succeed and thrive at anything.  I've tried!  But I'm one of those types that doesn't take insults or condescension  very well.  What I need is patience, but I've isolated myself to a point where I don't really give anyone the opportunity to grant me that, beyond my wife that is.

Before I sign this off, I would be remiss not to mention a few things to address some people who've gone out of their way to shine some happiness into my days.  There's this friend of mine I've had since back in the days I worked at Green Gables corner store in the late '80s.  We've stayed in touch throughout the years... him to me more than me to him.  Acceleration of my social anxiety prevented me quite a lot from connecting with friends, which is why I've lost so many.  But Tim never gave up on me.  Tim's a jet-setter, and travels a lot in his line of work.  He often brings me treats from abroad, chocolate and snacks and stuff, knowing that I'm quite the junk food connoisseur.  Sometimes he brings me to a show when a band is in town.  His thoughtfulness is off the charts, if I'm to be very honest.  But this past Christmas, he went above and beyond, I think too much.  Tim and me bonded in part from a band we liked a lot way back called The Pursuit of Happiness, or TPOH.  Back in the day, I insisted to him that he see this band because they impressed me so much when my buddy Pete went with me once.  Tim became a hardcore TPOH fan from that day on, and we saw them several times through the years, until the band went on a sabbatical of sorts and disappeared for many years.  They got back together recently to have a reunion show in Toronto to celebrate the release 30 years ago of their debut record "Love Junk".  So Tim shows up this past Christmas, tells me how good a friend I've been along with Janice, reminisces about the old days of seeing TPOH, and drops tickets on us to see the show in Toronto in January, with round trip airfare.  Needless to say, I was aghast and speechless.  He even paid for our hotel and crazily-priced cab fare.  It was a joyful whirlwind trip where we flew up one Saturday morning, saw the show that night, and flew back the next morning.  We went up the CN Tower again, he took us to the Hockey Hall of Fame, we ate at a couple of great places in downtown Toronto, and of course, joyously saw the show, front row, at the Danforth Theatre.  The place was packed and excited, but none more excited I think than us.  Tim's not just a friend, he's my brother.  Though he's younger by four years or so, I'd say he was my big brother.  For whatever reason, he's always looked out for us.  I'm very glad to say that he's very blessed to be with a woman named Marley with whom I pray they've found lifelong happiness with together.  Marley's a bright, ambitious, beautiful woman that I would dare say matches Tim's monstrously gregarious personality.  It's heartening to see them both so happy.

Recently, like a matter of days ago, I got this package in the mail that I had no idea about.  I didn't order anything... did I?  Janice didn't.  Alexandra didn't have anything sent to the house.  So I opened it up, and it was from my buddy/nephew/brother Shawn from Vancouver.  KISS had just begun their "End of the Road" tour there, and they're pulling out all the stops with their new show to say goodbye to their faithful fans (they're just about in their 70s, after all!).  Shawn only found out about the show at the last minute, and being a huge KISS fan himself... because of me, he says... he took some amazing shots with his phone camera where he was super close to the stage, as he lucked out with tickets where they opened up some seats after stage production was settled, and he wound up right beside them.  In this package among many things he sent were great printed photos from the show, some confetti that fell during the finale, and a guitar pick that he caught from Paul Stanley.  What a supremely thoughtful gesture on his part to do that!  I'm going to frame these pictures and the stuff that came with them as a keepsake of sorts from the very first show of the very last tour of my favorite band, and thankfully Shawn himself is in one of these pictures.  How lucky I am to have such people in my life to think of doing things like this.  Actually all my nieces and nephews are an amazing bunch, like their parents.  I'm fortunate to be a part of such a great family.

Something else that we received a little while ago was this mechanism for pain relief that was given to us by Jana, my awesome nephew Chris's wife.  I'm kind of ashamed to say I don't know what to do with it!  And just as ashamed to say that I've been afraid to ask for help about it.  So if you're reading this, Jana, know that we so very incredibly appreciate it so much, that your thoughtfulness is appreciated more than you can know.  I'm guessing she's read my blogs and seen what we go through and wanted to help.  Yet another selfless family member reaching out.  Again, we are so blessed.

My brother Rick's woman, May, has been instrumental in helping us as well.  Speaking for myself, she's helped in getting medication for us that has helped me find restful sleep again, which is extremely important to someone like me with mental illness.  It may be the most important factor, perhaps, in my dealing with it; certainly one of the most important.  May suffers from health issues of her own, so to look past them and reach out to help us is tremendously appreciated.  I can't thank her enough, really.

I have this friend who's an accomplished author, Michelle, who's always stuck by me too.  She keeps offering kind words of assurance and encouragement and advice, and is yet another one who seems to always watch out for me.  As I do for her.  I care for her a great deal.  She's a wonderful human being the likes of which planet earth needs many more of.

Finally, I want to thank my wife for endlessly and unconditionally supporting me through good times and bad times.  I will always do the same for her.  She knows this.  I have an eagle eye on her health and happiness levels and will always and forever do whatever it takes to constantly make things better.  I've said it many times, I am alive today because of her.  If not for her in my life, I'd be long gone.  I'm just as fortunate to have my daughter faithfully protect and defend us at the first sign of need. 

And thank you, family and friends, for keeping me in your thoughts and your prayers.  Thank you for your patience with me and for being so loyal.  I appreciate and love every one of you.

Till next time, fire up the colortinis and watch the pictures as they fly through the air!

And have a good day, week, month, year and life.