Purple Angel

I know that this has mostly been a personal journal for me but, I need to write about something that has been in the media for the past few years. A little girl, who loved the colour purple, her name was Tori Stafford. Her life was cut violently, tragically short.

 April 8, 2009, Tori was kidnapped from her school in Woodstock, Ontario. It was to be the first day she was to walk home by herself. She never made it home that day, nor will she ever again. Michael Rafferty and Terri-Lynne McClintic made sure she didn’t. They kidnapped her and did horrible things to her.

 I normally don’t pay much attention to news cases, especially about missing children, it’s just too painful when you have your have your own child. However, Tori’s case touched a nerve in me, a raw one at that. I’m not sure because it happened so close to home, that they passed through my town, or that Tori was almost the same age as my daughter but, I felt as if she could have been my own child.

 As of yesterday, the legal debacle has come to an end. Michael Rafferty was convicted of first degree murder, kidnapping, and sexual assault causing bodily harm. The jury was out for one full day in their deliberations. They did a commendable job, especially with what they had to view, and hear on a daily basis during the nine week trial.

 After the conclusion of the trial, the public learned yesterday about some very disturbing things that were found in the possession of Michael Rafferty. Unfortunately, due to a court ruling, they were not admissible at trial. He was found to be possession of child pornography, and videos of children being tortured. Just writing these words makes me sick. It’s not the first time.

 Rafferty found a willing accomplice in McClintic, and they took a little girl away from her family, the story of her last hours can be found in many articles online. It’s too graphic for me to post, I can’t read it again. I have it in my memory and that’s bad enough. I can only imagine the terror and fear that Tori felt in the last hours of her life.

 I wish we had the death penalty in Canada. I know that it would not bring Tori back but, at least we could feel safe knowing that scum of the earth like these two would be gone from the face of the earth forever. Canada needs stiffer laws to protect our children, and the public as a whole.

 It’s my personal belief that anyone caught with child pornography should receive an automatic life sentence, with no possibility of parole, ever. I have read of so many cases in the media where offenders are let out of prison, only to re-offend again, and again. Child molesters, people who distribute, make, and download child pornography, are sick individuals. If I had it my way, they would all be shot in the head, with no chance to re-offend.

 I wish there was something I could do to stop them.

 Rest in peace, Tori. I know you are a beautiful angel.  

Beyonce Saved Me. No, not THAT Beyonce.

WARNING:  EXPLICIT LANGUAGE.

Beyonce saved me. Not THAT Beyonce. Beyonce, the big metal chicken. She is a creation of Jenny the Bloggess, and is the reason that I am able to be a part of the world today. I forget how I found her blog, but I will always remember how it made me re-consider leaving this world.

Back when things were normal, Jenny Lawson wrote a post called “And That’s Why You Should Learn to Pick Your Battles”. It was written last June. In December of 2012, I was in a bad place mentally, like considering how to end my life bad place, and I needed to laugh. I needed to laugh like a diabetic needs insulin.

I went back to the post, which I had done many times, and I read it. I started laughing. And laughing, at first it was that hysterical type of laughter. Then it was, hey this shit is funny! Then it was, there is light at the end of the tunnel. Then it was fuck you, PTSD. I am going to do this, and I am going to SPIT IN YOUR FACE WHILE I DO IT!!!

Her blog is full of real life shit. Not all unicorns and rainbows, and la di da. It’s Jenny’s life, and how she has struggled with depression, and other mental issues. She made me feel it was ok to be me. It’s ok to be broken. She’s also funny as fuck, and you should totally check her out. If you haven’t heard of her, I need to ask what damn rock you live under and how big it is.

Back to me and Beyonce, I felt like I could actually learn how to do life again. Be a person who gets up in the morning, ready for whatever is going to happen. Beyonce helped me see that I can be a person who is broken and afraid, and it’s ok. I am not sure where the premise that everyone needs to be perfect came from but we need to get rid of that bullshit.

Life is what you are, it’s who you are. Whether you are broken, mental, disabled, different, or just plain off your rocker. People with different views on life are what make life interesting, and if we all liked Coke, who would we have to argue with about Coke and Pepsi (which is vile pond scum, by the way).

Right now, some people may think that my life is a shambles of what it used to be, and the way I see it, it can only get better from here. I am going to push myself to be a better me, and enjoy my life, whatever comes my way. It can certainly be worse, and it has been. I always make it back from the brink

Disclaimer:  I am not in any way affiliated with The Bloggess, I  just think that she is a great, fearless, amazing person.

The End of the Weekend….The End of My World

I hate the end of the weekend. Most people probably think I’m crazy. I’m not crazy, I have PTSD. Lol. No, I hate the end of the weekend because it means that I have to send my daughter back to my Mom’s. Due to circumstances, she can’t live with me right now.

 At first, it was because I was not in the proper mental state to be a mother due to my PTSD. It was the hardest thing I have ever done, send my child away to live with my parents. Even now, as I’m typing, I’m getting tears in my eyes. The important thing, my therapist says, is to allow myself to cry. To feel what I’m feeling.

 In December of 2011, we were evicted from our apartment because we couldn’t pay our rent. When you live paycheque to paycheque, and one of you can’t work, financial chaos happens very quickly. December 16 was the day we moved into the hotel where I am now writing this from. We are currently staying here, and our room is paid for by social services. Unfortunately, our time here is running out soon, and we are having trouble finding a place to live because of our financial situation, as both my other half and I aren’t working at the moment and I am waiting for my employment insurance benefits to kick in. It’s not a bad hotel but, not a great one either, so my daughter stays with my parents.

 She has her own room there, and toys to play with. They take good care of her, and her school is right next door. My Mom always tells me not to worry about her but, that is like telling someone not to breathe. I will always worry about my child, even when she is 85. I worry that having her live there is going to make her think that I don’t love her but, I sent her there because I do love her. She is my everything, her laugh is the best sound in the world.

 Have you ever loved someone so much that your heart physically hurts when you know that they are having a bad day?   

Mental Illness is just that. Illness.

Mental illness has always had the same thing associated with it. You are seen as crazy. Not a person with a mental health problem but, basically, just someone who doesn’t have their shit together. There always whispers, and stares, and that’s why so many people refuse, or don’t want to, get the help they need.

After my life trauma, I had a lot of trouble accepting that I had acquired a mental illness as a result of what happened to me. I felt crazy, and disorganized, out of control but, I had so much trouble admitting I needed help. Mental illness has always had so much stigma attached to it, so many people would rather walk around sick than get the help they need.

It took me three weeks to admit that I had a problem. At first, I brushed it off as everything had just happened so of course I would be traumatized. After a few weeks, it became very difficult for me to act “normal” around people, even my family. PTSD plays tricks on you, shows you shadows that aren’t there, forces you to re-live every single moment, while amplifying every single thing that happened.

I still remember the first panic attack I had, I had been watching 48 Hours Mystery (a show on TLC), and they were showing a story that had similar issues to what I experienced. As had become my normal, I immediately changed the channel, and forced myself to think about something else, anything else except what had happened.

This also happened to be the first day I was left alone, for an extended period of time. I started watching a show on HGTV, and my mind was not letting me think about anything else. For the very first time, I was being forced to re-live the anger, pain, and sheer terror I felt from being attacked. It was running on a loop, like a cassette tape in my head and I couldn’t make it stop. I started breathing faster, my palms were sweaty, and I was crying so hard I couldn’t stop, or breathe. I felt like I was going to die. I was literally paralysed with fear.

That first panic attack gave me a whole new understanding on life. It was my mind’s way of forcing me to deal with what happened. I wasn’t ready for it yet. I’m still not. Even now, talking about what happened is hard for me, even writing about it, makes me a little apprehensive. I want to talk about it, I just can’t.

Some of my friends have had trouble understanding how I am, and how I am dealing with what happened. The only answer I have for them is that everyone deals with trauma in their own way, and I am dealing with it my way for now. Some of them think I should just “get over it”. I wish it were that easy!

Mental illness, whether it be acquired, or genetic, is not something to be ashamed of. It is part of who you are, and it always will be. Getting rid of the stigma surrounding it will only help others get the help they need. If you were a diabetic, you would take insulin, wouldn’t you? Depression, PTSD, bipolar is the same way, it is a disease, and it’s not your fault.

If you or anyone you know is experiencing mental health issues, I urge you to get them (or you), the help you (or they) need. It’s not a crime to be physically ill, it shouldn’t be a crime to be mentally ill.

The Sh**storm That Is My LIfe

CAUTION: THE POST BELOW CONTAINS EXPLICIT LANGUAGE, IF THIS OFFENDS YOU, GET OFF THE PAGE!

I was laid off from my job last week, and other half has just lost his job. Whoo fucking hoo, back to square one.

When I was in school, frankly, I was not a good student. I didn’t realize how important school was to my future. I wished I would have, the only person in my life that encouraged me to be something was my biology teacher, I’ll call her Mrs. D. Mrs. D was the kind of teacher that made you feel like you mattered, who was “cool”.

I still remember the time I came into school with a hickey on my neck (from my totally “cool”, older boyfriend at the time), and she said she didn’t want to see that kind of disrespect to myself ever again. She wanted me to succeed, and wanted me to make something of myself. She gave me something my parents couldn’t, not that it was their fault. She gave me self-respect, and the motivation to do well.

Mrs. D and I are still friends on Facebook today, and her kids have become amazing people. She is one of those people who was born to change and influence the world, and she has. She has been given many challenges in her life but, she is always smiling when I see her around town, and always seeing the glass as half full. She is the person in the world I most admire.

Back to my high school days, I am one credit short of graduating. Sounds sad, doesn’t it? It does, but the worse part is that, even if I do go back and finish the course to get my high school diploma, any college I apply to will consider those marks. Those marks from those courses I didn’t care about all those years ago. Meaning I don’t have hope in hell of getting in.

In 2008, I attended Everest College for Dental Assisting, I am still short on that too. I need to complete my placement to finish that. I am putting that on my goal list for the Spring/Summer 2012. I will finish that, and go on to level 2 so that I can get a good paying job. They are always advertising for dental assistants around here.

So many of my friends and family have been affected by the economy, and so many jobs and lives have been forever changed by it. I do what I can to save money but, there is a real possibility that I will never own a home. In my area, homes are expensive, and I just don’t make enough. I can rent a house but, its not the same. I’m also not willing to be willing to be house poor to own one, a lot of my friends are in that situation as well.

Life is what you make it, and I’ll be damned if I don’t try to make it shine like a diamond.

If you squint…maybe you can see it…just focus!

I have noticed that a lot of the blogs on WordPress tend to focus on one area, or subject. Since this is more of an online journal for me, my posts probably will be all over the place. My life is more than just PTSD, and being afraid. Many important people, places and things, make up my life. I want to write about them all, someday.

Sometimes I may post every day for a week, or not at all for two or three days. I suppose it all depends on what I want to write, or how I want to express myself. I think that for today, I will focus on my journey with food, weight loss, and how it has shaped my life.

I have been overweight for as long as I can remember, and there is only one photo of me from when I was younger that I have seen that shows me at a normal weight. At this point in my life, I have determined that I am meant to be the size I am, no smaller, no bigger. The only time in my life that I have lost a significant amount of weight on my own is when I had a stomach flu last year, and could not eat anything, or keep down anything but gingerale for two weeks.

I love food. I love the way it tastes, smells, feels, and some foods just make you have a “foodgasm”. There are many options I have considered, I have even considered weight loss surgery but have decided against it for now. A family member of mine just had the surgery, and she is now regretting it. I can finally admit that I am addicted to food. I am a food addict.

Food addiction is different from many other addictions in that, you can stop drinking, and avoid it, or stop drugs, and avoid them. You can’t avoid food. It is required to sustain life. Making the right choice is always difficult, and the temptation is always there. I am also an emotional eater but that is another post.

Finding exercises that I can do is difficult right now, with my injury. My knee is very unstable so many exercises can cause me to tip over, or my knee to give away. I do walk every day, and try to make good choices but I know that I can be doing better. I want to try Aquafit, it’s supposed to be really good for people who have issues with doing high impact exercises

 

I know that most blogs, have a focus, or a topic that they tend to focus on.  Right now, I am trying to find my focus, and really, it’s my blog, and if I want to write about unicorns and their poop, that’s my choice.  I’m not here to gain readership, I’m here to tell a story, and it doesn’t matter to me if anyone reads it.

Bagels, and Awesomeness!

Today is a wonderful spring day, the birds are chirping, and the sun looks so warm and inviting. From my window. Other Half and I went grocery shopping this morning. I didn’t want to but when your last two meals have been bagels because that is all you have, a grocery shopping I must go.

Reading over my last post from yesterday, it seems very melancholy, sad. PTSD is full of sad, and bad, but there are good days too. I am hoping today is good day, or at least a better day than yesterday. What qualifies as a better day? It’s a just day where I don’t feel mentally weighed down by all the crap in my head.

It’s a day where I feel like I could take on the world, and tell them to shove it, and not be afraid. I’m afraid of so much now, so many little, inconsequential, things. Just things, that don’t even matter to most people. Like a shadow outside, or a weird noise. Thankfully, I live in a quiet area, so weird noises don’t happen to often.

Spring is supposed to be about renewal, a re-birth of life, and nature. I am hoping that this spring can be my re-birth of my new self. The self that knows she’s afraid but, skydives out of the plane anyways. That woman that everyone sees, and no can tell she’s terrified of life. She grabs it, tells it what she’s going to do, and life just says “OK”.

I am refusing to be at the mercy of my mind any more. I want to be strong, confident, vivacious, and just awesome.

Just awesome.