An Unexpected Epiphany

Fifteen or twenty years ago, I used to come here every Monday night. I'd sit right here at the bar after my shift at the restaurant and drink as many beers as I could with a couple of other guys before they closed the bar at midnight. I am still friends with one of them, Facebook being reasonably good at creating opportunities to stay connected with people who would otherwise drift away over the years. That man, Andrew, and I keep our contact up despite him now living in the United States.

But here I sit and who should be beside me but another one of the those men who I had lost track of, now misplacing his name somewhere in my grey matter. This is the first time I have seen him since those days and I was, to say the least, rather surprised to see him. He’s in his eighties now, a frail façade of the man he once was. At first I was glad to see him, his face bringing up many good memories but as I realized what he being here meant I became sad. He has literally been coming here every Monday in the decade and a half since I stopped. He drinks until he can barely walk and then gets in his car and goes home. 

What an existence. What a waste of so many years. Drinking in a bar by himself day after day and going home to an empty house is a life which I, from time to time, have dreamed of. Just enough social interaction that I could not be accused of avoiding the world but never having to deal with people on anything other than a cursory level. My mental illness has made me idolize this man’s existence, something which he would likely say is a choice but is probably something which has been thrust upon him. I’m not sure who I should be more sad for: he and his life of solitude and monotony or me and my streak of green running down my spine as part of me envies his life.

I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that there is an uncomfortably large part of my soul which is awaiting the death of my mother so I can be alone once again. She is a pain to live with. She drags me down on a daily basis. My mom is responsible for a great many of my negative coping mechanisms which have led me down the path I am on and I struggle seeing her do those harmful things she inadvertently taught me so many years ago. I crave what solitude this man of a forgotten name has every day. I am resentful of the things he makes me focus on, no longer able to ignore that dark side of my mind. Self examination is a healthy thing when done in a controlled manner. This is nothing but a trigger and I am facing the consequences as my fingers clack on these keys and I am tempted to sit here and get as drunk as I used to be to try and forget these uncomfortable thoughts.

Comfortable delusions

Sitting in the Murrayville pub, wishin the words I want to come would just appear to me but they are being more stubborn than I. CJ is just settling down to sleep knowing that I’m illogically mad at her for something out of her control. Delusional thinking is a serious pain in the ass sometimes, especially when you know for a fact that it is doing damage to the psyche of others, those you care about perhaps more than you ever have before. 

I don’t often suffer from delusional thinking or at least often recognize it when it’s happening so today is a rarity for me. For some reason I am having antagonistic feelings towards CJ for her not being here today when it’s physically impossible for that to happen. So I’m at the pub, drinking and writing, trying to relax myself and forget the irrational thoughts running through my head. It’s not working, as of yet. My fingers are shaking like scared puppies and simply typing these words is quite difficult. 

I don’t like it when I lose control of myself like this. It’s frightening to me to lose control of my brain and it becomes a nearly terrifying reminder of just how broken, how sick I actually am. I’d rather exist under the delusion that I can function in society without thoughts like this running through my mind, trying to control me. I understand that I’m sitting here getting a buzz deciding which delusions are helpful and which are damaging and I understand just how crazy that may seem, that may be. But, In these situations, I can’t see another way out.

I recently threw my hat in the ring for a front end management position at the new gastropub going in next to the movie theatres in Walnut Grove and although I knew I wouldn’t get it, and likely couldn’t do it even if by some miracle I did get it, it felt good to pretend for a day or so that I was approaching a normal mental state; one that could actually hold down a job and contribute to society. Instead, I sit here trying to survive another day without causing irreparable damage to the people I care about. The delusion of me being normal is fun when it hits but I can never hold on to it for long, the reality of my life eventually tears me away from what I want to face what I am.

I have tried to live my life as one based solely on truth since my first near suicide attempt and the occasional realization that no matter how truthful I am with others I am constantly lying to myself kicks me in the crotch. I don’t like how it makes me feel and, even more, I don’t like how it makes me behave. Denial is a terrible and dangerous way in which to live one’s life. 

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3:56 am

I was asleep by 9:30 last night, perhaps a record for me in these last few stress filled years. I had dreams I remember. One filled with super heroes hooking up in the hotel I was staying in. Another was of me trying to book a flight to London which I could not use due to me not having a passport. I ended up trading the flight with someone who was on stand by and had them pay for me to take a trip to Winnipeg instead. Now, I don’t put a lot of stock in the idea that our dreams are sending us messages but I do believe that occasionally they are filled with random pieces of our day we just had, especially the thoughts or ideas which were taking up most of our time. 

On july 1st, our province moved into a new phase of our COVID response allowing domestic travel but still restricting international travel. This meant that CJ would not be able to visit in September without having to go into weeks of quarantine, still keeping us apart even if she came. I am frustrated to no end by this and ended up projecting that emotion onto CJ. I love her and do not actually blame her for this, obviously, but unable to be mad at COVID itself or the government I was in danger of taking it out on her. To her amazing credit, CJ gave me a little space, the time I needed to figure out why I felt that way and what it all meant.

I really don’t deserve to have someone like her in my life.

Hockey Talks

Every year on this day I pen something about how I wouldn’t be alive if it weren’t for the sacrifice of Rick Rypien and the work of Kevin Bieksa. It would be easy to do that again because it’s absolutely true but this year has been one like no other in my life or in the lives of anyone reading this. Those of us who battle our mental illnesses on a daily basis were not ready to go it completely alone for the last twelve months. In fact, we’ve been told we should never have to and are encouraged to reach out as much as possible.

But things are different now. Psychiatrist, therapist, and counsellor appointments are over the telephone, meaning that the privacy and trust within those office walls are all too often swapped out for sitting in the bathroom crying while your mental health professional is helpless on the other end of a telephone line. Group therapy, cancelled for most of the year is finally getting back up and running using group chat aps like Zoom, but again ,they depend on having privacy in the home. I only deal with depression, anxiety and borderline personality disorder. I can’t imagine what it must be like for  those with chronic post traumatic stress disorder and illnesses like it, where that trust between patient and health professional is fragile and nearly impossible over the phone or video chat.

COVID has changed everything and for many of us, going it alone for the first time in years, the prospect of at least another six months of this seems like an impossible moat which must be crossed. We feel alone, all over again. 

So, I’m writing this with a simple request to those who have friends and family with mental illness in their lives. Check in with them, often. Don’t take “Fine,” as an answer if you are in a trust position with that person for fine usually means that they don’t want to bother you or don’t think you’ll understand or truly care. We’ve been telling those with mental illness to reach out for years now but in this year, at this time, it’s your turn to reach out to us. 

“I’ll understand if you don’t feel like talking to me about what’s going on with you but I really mean it when I say that I’m here for you, even if that just means complaining about the rain to each other. I’m not going away because I care about you, no matter what.”

Trust me. We all need to know we are loved, now more than ever.