Lacking in Love

The emotional rollercoaster never lets anyone rest, it seems.

I'm going to spare details and just get right to the chase: Life is interesting, life is strange, life is frustrating. 8/10 you don't get what you want, and on the odd chance that you do, you better be really careful for what you wish for.

However, the other 1/10 times, life works out. And more often than not, this clarity comes over time. They say that hindsight is 20/20 and I am really seeing now that this is true. It sucks, but it is. If I had known that all of this were to happen and that I would eventually feel the way I do right now, then I would have stopped myself ages ago.

But then again, would I really have listened?

Recently my anxiety hit a peak and I found myself feeling extremely stressed, overwhelmed, and depressed. It disturbed me because I got this tattoo that was supposed to be my symbol of strength. That was literally a week ago, and in a week, things have changed so much. Life was not going my way, and in fact it has probably the furthest from what I had ever wanted for myself.

The other night I had a much needed heart to heart with one of my closest and respected friends who is like an older sister to me. We talked for so long about what I was going through and how I was getting frustrated with myself. I was frustrated that time after time, I was finding myself in situations that were reruns of previous ones, particularly that of relationships with guys.

While we had our conversation I was reminded of something that I was told once when I was going through other hard times. God puts these situations in our lives not to make us miserable, but because He wants us to learn something, see from a new perspective, or gain strength from it. When it comes to learning something, most of the time situations can lead to instances of deja vu if we haven't learned from it. With that, my friend latched on to that and asked me what I thought God was trying to tell me.

I thought about this so, so hard, and I didn't get it. I reflected in a whirlwind all of the relationships that I had been, romantic or otherwise, where I had gotten hurt. And I didn't get it. Yes, some things were my fault and my own undoing, but other times, I was the one that got caught in the fire. So what was this lesson that He wanted me to so desperately learn?

She then asked me this: Did I love myself? Could I honestly say that I loved all of myself?

The answer was a solid and resounding no.

All my life I had gone saying the opposite: that I loved every flaw and part of my personality. I got knocked down so many times but continually told myself that I was okay and that I was doing just fine.

But over time, though I was saying all these positive things about myself to the rest of the world, I really wasn't believing it in myself. With every failed relationship, it was more reinforcement to me that I was incapable of love and that I didn't deserve to be loved.

Getting over people, whether it be a friend that you just don't talk to anymore or a guy that you liked for a really long time, is hard. Getting over missed opportunities or life's detours like not getting the job you wanted is hard. Any kind of loss is hard, but if you've done your due diligence, you worked hard and did everything out of love, then what more can you ask for?

(From http://www.doyouyoga.com/15-quotes-to-inspire-self-love-82227/)

This has been one of my biggest character flaws growing up, and recently it has been more rampid than ever. Admittedly I over think things a lot, I tend to go to the absolute negative and blame myself for everything that had happened. Bad things happened to bad people, I would tell myself. And over and over again I would show myself that I was a bad person. I know now that I shouldn't be doing that, and neither should anyone. We need to engage in positive self-talk, not so that we can one day worship ourselves and think of ourselves as better than others, but to remind ourselves that we are here, and that we are trying. And if we are trying our best, then that's all that we - and the world - can really ask for.

I recognize that this is not going to be an overnight change, and that I can't expect myself to automatically begin loving myself once I hit publish on this piece. I am a work in progress, and my life is a beautiful story, and more often than not I forget the real reason as to why I am here.

Do your best and be yourself. Be someone who doesn't just say love, but is and shows love, and finally, keep on fighting the good fight.

Stay awesome,

x R

INKED // in it for the long haul

Most people that know me know that I'm a pretty safe person. I'm a pretty wimpy person. I'm not good with roller coasters or horror films, I will probably never go sky diving or bungee jumping, and if you had asked me years and years ago, I would have probably said "no" to the possibility of getting a tattoo.

But I guess people change and Rachels get a lot less wimpy. In fact, I would like to think that this particular Rachel, over time, has become pretty bad ass.

30 minutes after the deed was done

And no, I'm not suggesting that I'm going to get a motorbike license and join a cool all female biker gang anytime soon.

Let's go back to the tattoo for a second.

August 3, 2016 will go down in my personal history as a momentous day and a personal victory for me. That's because on this day, I marched proudly into a tattoo parlour downtown, confidently sat down in the chair and didn't flinch until it was over. It's official, friends: Rachel has a tattoo.

Okay, so maybe most of that was embellished. Emma, my friend who accompanied me and served as cheerleader and chief hand holder, would testify that I walked in a nervous manner all the way down. I wearily signed the forms that I was finally of age to sign on my own, and I almost suggested to the tattoo artist that he tape down my arm so that I wouldn't move. It was kind of embarrassing actually. However, I can say for certain that I didn't cry, and that I hung on until the very end.

I now know how I'm going to be like when I have my first born child: I can't stop looking at this beautiful thing on my body.

So what exactly did I do to myself?

On my right wrist, off to the left side, I got a semi-colon that is probably about the size of a quarter. Not overbearingly big, and not so small that it could pass for a ($100, cosmetically added) birth mark. It's prominent and it's important to me.

At this point you're probably asking all the why's: why a semi-colon? Why that location? Why get it now? Why get it at all?

Cool, okay. I love questions. I also love answering them. So:

Why a semi-colon? The explanation is actually twofold, and it works even more now than it did when I first had the idea of this particular tattoo.

When I was in high school, I was first introduced to the proper use of a semi-colon. One of my English teachers lamented how kids these days would use the semi-colon incorrectly in their written work. I made it my personal mission to prove that I knew how to use it. According to The Oatmeal,  "the most common way to use of the semi-colon is to connect two independent clauses."

About that same time, I had hit a brick wall with my emotions, relationships, and overall well-being. I was depressed, skipping class, getting into fights and arguments, pushing my friends away and consistently anxious. I wanted to run away and just tell people to leave me alone, but I couldn't deal with the silence and my own thoughts. I spent months - years even - pretending like everything was solid, everything was good, everything was awesome. But the people that got the abuse were people that didn't deserve it at all. I tried so hard to blend in with the rest of the school, but with each day I risked falling deeper into my thoughts and having a sudden and angry outburst. Panic attacks were frequent and at one point I couldn't handle the overwhelming emotions. I couldn't handle my pain and I couldn't handle how I was treating people. I couldn't handle myself, and if this was what life was supposed to be for me, I had no choice in my mind but to commit suicide. I had countless thoughts, numerous plans and wills and suicide notes typed up and written out.

But one night while I was brewing in my own demise, I came across this simple device, the semi-colon, in a mental health context. At that time my thoughts were too jumbled to comprehend, so I left it alone. It stuck with me, however, and I would think about it all the time. As I started to get help, I slowly re-integrated myself back into life as I once knew it, with more ups than downs, and realizing that my emotions were okay to have. That bad days come with the good days, and that I shouldn't be ashamed of what I was feeling.

It wasn't until earlier this year that I came face to face with the semi-colon again. This time I fully understood the meaning of it in the context of suicide:

"A semicolon is used when an author could've chosen to end their sentence, but chose not to. The author is you and the sentence is your life."

As a writer (or someone that loves writing and takes it very seriously), the use of the semi-colon as a metaphor for my life journey was enlightening to me.

Why that location? You know those pesky ideas that you become so enamoured with that you just can't let go? That was me and this tattoo. Forget my pain tolerance, forget my parents, forget disapproval for a second. This was about me and this tattoo. Once I found out what the semi-colon truly meant, I woke up the next morning looking at my right wrist, and I could see it right there. I put my left index and fourth finger there, as if I was feeling my pulse. The spacing was perfect and it just clicked. From then on, I knew that that was the place it was destined to go.

But why now? 20 seemed like a reasonable age, in part because I was already age of majority (and therefore didn't need my parents to sign anything), and also because it was three years in the making. I knew that this was a life investment and that I couldn't rush into it. When the idea was first conceived at 17, I gave myself a year to think about it and see if it was something that I really wanted to get. Though I didn't think about it constantly, things would remind me of this semi-colon. Over time it became more and more prominent, and as mentioned above, this year proved to be the year that tipped me over the edge. As for date, there really is no significance. I decided to be spontaneous for once: I booked the appointment on a Friday, and the following Wednesday I was walking into the tattoo parlour. The rest is history.

But why get one at all? This is what my parents asked me all the time in the lead up to it actually happening. Is it really necessary to alter your skin in this way? they asked. It's permanent, they said.

Shout out to Oceanne for this amazing photo!

And yes, I am fully aware that I can't go in a week later and ask them to get rid of it. I got it not to spite my parents and not to pretend to be a rebellious and angsty kid. Ultimately this was for me, to serve as a reminder to myself that this was my past and that my future is full of potential. I hit bumps in the road, and even some major sink holes, but I climbed out of them and continued on. It also reminds me that my life will never be perfect and that there will be bad days, but it's my resilience and my faith and support systems that will keep me going.

As well, I wanted to show off that I am proud of my past and where I came from, and to show others that this is something that we need to discuss in our discourse. We're getting there, in the way of Bell Let's Talk day and other campaigns. But stigma still exists and people are still afraid to seek out help because of it. I hope that this small sign can be a sign of solidarity and openness.

Finally, this design also worked out to fit my pain tolerance, my ability to cover it up if needed, as well as it being simplistic if I want to walk around with bare arms.

To conclude, there are so many people I have to thank. Firstly to Mike, the tattoo artist, for being so zen and calm and just a great energy to be around while I got my first tattoo. All the staff at Adrenaline on Granville were just amazing and helpful, so I highly recommend. Emma, for being my chief handholder and the one that pushed me to follow my heart on this one - my gratitude for you runs so deep and I am so honoured to call you a friend. My family, for supporting me through the tattoo even though we may not have seen eye to eye on it at the beginning - thank you for loving me all the same, through my hardships and struggles, and for helping me find help when I can't find it myself. My friends for being my strength and support - I don't know what my life would be without you. And last but not least to my God, thank you for throwing me countless life preservers when I was drowning and keeping me afloat even on the nights when I was too weary to swim. I shunned you and shut you out and cursed your name, and yet you still love me and call me back home to open arms. Glory to you, Lord.

My story is far from being over, and I know that my struggles will still haunt me as life goes on. But knowing that I chose to continue my story instead of end it gives me so much joy and gratitude. I look forward to what is to come and am thankful for the second chance.

stay awesome,

x R

What It's Like to Be Catholic... and Depressed

I can proudly say that I am a Catholic. Though I have had my fair share of ups and downs with my faith growing up, it wasn't until getting to high school that I was really able to embrace it and share it. It has become much easier now to share with others that I am Catholic without feeling shy about it.

However, being opening up about depression is a different story altogether. It wasn't until recently that I began to open up about my struggles through different pathways such as this blog and the Speak Out Blog, for which I contribute to.

I have begun to talk to more and more people about mental illness and other things that surround the topic. I'm not really sure what came over me, but I guess the biggest thing is that I wanted to stop finding excuses to validate my depression.

We don't need reasons to be happy, because sometimes we just are. In the same way, we shouldn't need reasons to explain why we are down or depressed or anxious.

But there was just one, tiny problem. I remember talking with other Christians about the whole issue of depression and suicide. It is through those conversations that I opened myself up and talked a little bit about my past experiences - namely, I've been depressed for a while and had thoughts of suicide in high school.

The people I talked to would look back at me in disbelief. "But you're Catholic, you aren't allowed to be depressed. God said so."

Now before I go on, I would just like to pause and say that this is not me having beef with other Christians, nor am I ragging on them for their seemingly narrow-minded ways. I am open to other Christians - I have friends who are Christians and non-Catholics. And while there are minor differences in certain practices, the God is still the same. The paths are different, but the end goal is the same.

Okay, push play.

In conversations that followed, I got more or less the same reaction, along with sprinklings of "you need to be baptized ASAP" and "you're going straight to hell". It made me question all my feelings, but it also made me somewhat fearful. Was I really going to hell because I had thought about suicide a couple times?

But the hardest hitting one, and the one that sparked this post, was this one:

"Why are you acting so selfish? Are you not grateful for what God has given you?"

Whoa, okay.

(umm... from giphy.com)

Let me be clear of one thing: I am not just grateful, I am EXTREMELY grateful. I know how lucky I am to be born in this part of the world and to be in a family that loves me. I have access to a home, to food, to education, and I am healthy. I'm lucky that I wake up every day so that I can write more pointless words so that people can read them (though I really hope that they aren't pointless).

Having depression, or any other mental illness, does not make you selfish. Wanting to commit suicide is not selfish, and committing suicide is not selfish.

Any person who has suffered from depression will know that we have very heavy hearts. We feel more than sad - we feel down on life, like the world's odds are stacked against us. On top of that, we feel like we are burdening everyone - family, friends, and others - with our depression.

So we don't talk about it, in part because we don't want to burden people, but also because 1) we don't want to admit that we need help and 2) we don't want to be shunned or thought of as "problematic" or "different". But as we all know, not talking about any kind of problem perpetuates more problems, and suffering alone sucks. It absolutely sucks.

Being a Catholic was an extreme clash inside of me. On the one hand, I know exactly what the Church teaches on life and death - we value from conception to it's natural end. So that's why we care so much about abortion and euthanasia - not because we want future babies and terminally ill people to suffer, but because we don't dictate the value of life and we don't decide who's life ends because of our socially constructed "life value". Similarly, by taking our own lives prematurely, we would be going against the same Creed we recite every Sunday.

However, God is good. He knows that we make mistakes, that we all fall down, and that sometimes, life is hard. Feeling depressed does not make you ungrateful. Committing suicide does not make you selfish.

Hearing these conflicting ideas, I think, ultimately kept me from going through with anything serious. There were many points when I wanted to end it all, but in those quiet moments where I felt something that had some semblance of sanity, I weighed the pros and cons. Sure, my pain and suffering would be over, but I would rot in hell. This logic ran through my head over and over, and I felt incredibly guilty for it. I didn't want my family to grieve, and I didn't want to be labelled as selfish, as a failure, or as someone who just couldn't suck it up.

(http://nedhardy.com/2013/09/24/24-comics-that-capture-the-true-essence-of-depression/)

Admittedly, despite the fact that I have met some incredibly supportive friends and have done more research on the topic, I have always felt guilty of my depression and thoughts of suicide. But it wasn't until a few months ago, when I watched this video about Kevin Hines, a man who attempted suicide by jumping off the Golden Gate Bridge. He is one of the very small percentage of people that survived the fall, and now shares his story with others in hopes of bringing more awareness to the topic of mental illness.

You can watch the video here - and I encourage you to take 5 minutes to do so:

Regardless of your faith, know that you are not being "selfish" or "ungrateful" if you are depressed, anxious, or suffer from any other mental illness.

You are still human. You don't need reasons to feel this way - and you shouldn't have to provide reasons either.

Sorry for ranting,

x R

                                 

Silently Judging You (Coming Clean pt. 2)

Judgement: it's everywhere. And believe me, we are all doing it. You're even doing it right now while you're reading this.

According to clinical psychologist Linda Blair, on average it takes about seven seconds to judge a person after we meet them. This is even before a firm handshake. It is literally one glance, up and down, and you can make your own assumptions about the person.

Case to point - if you were to see someone dressed a little simpler with ripped and tattered clothing and an overall disheveled appearance on the Skytrain, you probably would be heading to another spot ASAP. 

I can't condemn other people for judging, because I know that I do it too. It's something that we don't think about because it just happens. Everyday we make little judgments that lead to poor assumptions and misconstrued beliefs. 

I bring up this point because it somewhat ties into my most recent post about coming clean. I came to realization that the judging that we do on a regular basis in turn makes us self-aware and self-conscious about what other people thing of us. How are other people judging me? What would they say or think if I wore this outfit, did my make up in a certain way, ate a certain amount of food or drank a certain beverage?

Coming clean, as I found, was a lot simpler in writing than in reality. Having my story out there enabled people to read what they wanted to, interpret it how they wanted to, and ask questions. Telling people was a whole other story.

To best explain, my plan was in two parts: one, to just get it out there for people to read at their leisure, but also to physically have conversations with people that I have known for a long time and who deserve to know. Not because I want sympathy of any kind (because I don't), but because I want my friends to know who I am. I want to be able to be truthful and explain the inconsistencies that they may have found in my life without any further lies or stories. I wanted them to know the truth, the whole truth, no matter how ugly it was.

By doing this, I was able to break down a judgement barrier for myself. I have gotten to a stage in life where, despite the occasional feelings of insecurity about my physical appearance, I feel good about myself, physically and emotionally. While the journey was not ideal or perfect it has taught me great things about myself. At this point, I know that my depression doesn't make me less of a person, less of a human, and less of a child of God.

Last night, I began my odyssey into coming clean, beginning with one of my closest friends. We met in kindergarten and have been friends ever since. This year will be going on 14 years of friendship, and yet we never had a evening just for us.

I always found it difficult to share my story with others, but I think it is especially difficult for friends that are so close to me. As I began to tell her the story, I prefaced it by saying that, "I didn't say anything earlier because I didn't want to lose you when I was already losing everyone else."

The story slowly tumbled out, and after my sharing was done, she told me that it gave her the courage to tell her own story, prefacing it also by saying that she didn't want to tell me because she didn't know how I would feel. She didn't know if I would judge her, and she didn't want me to be disappointed in her.

Why are we always so scared with letting our true colours show and letting people see who we really are? Our society tells us to make flawless first impressions with the people we meet. We are expected to come across as perfect in the eyes of strangers.

But the truth of the matter is, I AM NOT PERFECT. I have my moments, my flaws and my insecurities. This is true for all humans, and yet we still break each other down with judgement and negativity. 

My fear of judgement was the reason why I didn't get help sooner, and I truly feel that judgement is preventing others from speaking out and getting the help that they need.

I know I can't stop other people from judging, but I know that I can think twice before I make a generalized and uneducated comment about someone else. Everyone is facing a different and unique battle - one that we may not be able to comprehend or understand. Because of that, we need to be more sympathetic and aware of the situation of others.

And to you, all of you: remember how special and lovely you are. Be confident and take heart.

x R 

No More Pretending: Coming Clean

It's been a while since I have been here, and I do apologize profusely for neglecting you, my blog! With all the changes that has been happening in my life, it's been hard to keep up. My journal entries have been backed up for weeks on end and I always find myself writing for weeks in between to catch up.

Recently deep within me, I have felt a strong sense of untruthfulness. This is not to say that I have been lying through my day to day life per se, but in many ways, I suppose it could be said that I have. I feel that I have been communicating poorly, acting in surprising ways and therefore confusing others and myself. It was not until  I wrote a recent post for Speak Out Blog and a personal hurdle that I decided that I needed to come clean.

In short, I know that I am blessed with good things. I have a family that loves me, good financial and educational situation, friends that care for me and an inkling of a future life. However, being a human that has very human desires, I am bound to fall short and make mistakes. I always want more of myself and the world, and sometimes with my shortcomings I am merciless towards myself.

As a kid, I loved the concept of pretending. You could be who you wanted to be without any pretenses or fears of exposure. As I grew older, I continued to use pretend at great lengths wherever necessary so as to keep my true self from showing.
              

But who was my true self? During high school, I didn't know for sure. I went through careless relationships, pushed away true friends and held onto people and things that didn't care for me. High school, while it was a magical and unique time, it was also a difficult time for me.

My true self was always someone that I wanted to prevent the world from knowing - and who could blame me, considering that I know of my true self as somewhat of a Debbie Downer. I didn't like who I was. I was dissatisfied, jealous and felt so worthless. I went through phases of the D word - depression. I was anxious and angry.

The world, as I knew, didn't want another angry and moody teenager, though sometimes my alter ego slipped through my fingers. People told me to suck it up, buttercup - and I did. I held everything inside of me, pressure building until it couldn't hold it in any longer. And when I got angry, people knew. But they didn't know why.

I spent my evenings planning my own demise. What would it feel like to disappear? What would people think, say, or do? How much pain would I feel? All these thoughts began to put a damper on my alter ego, my sunnier ego, and suddenly the two mixed into one and I had no control over the two.

It wasn't until I was ordered by a teacher to go see a counselor that I even began to think that I had an issue. Of course, I didn't go down with a fight. The mere thought of setting foot into that office left a bad feeling inside of me. All my life I had had people whispering behind my back, and I knew that going to see a counselor would make the whispers grow louder behind me.

Unsurprisingly, the help from counselling was what I needed to begin my turn around. My panic attacks began to subside, I felt less angry and more self-confident. I didn't have to pretend that I was happy anymore - I was happy, through and through. It would be unrealistic to say that my 180 came over night - it was a process, and I needed to put a lot of effort into it.

So why share all of this?

I wanted to bring to light one big lesson that I learned throughout my journey. As mentioned before, society, as forward as it may be, seems to still have a hazy cloud around the whole mental illness thing, be it that we don't understand it, we don't get it, or worse, we don't want to acknowledge it. True, medicine has advanced so much that we now have a label for every last disorder and illness, but that doesn't mean that we truly understand it. The stigma that surrounds mental illness is still a big one, and I hope that in time to come, this stigma will diminish with more education and dialogue.

I am not telling us to WebMD ourselves and diagnose every feeling that we have to educate ourselves - that is not closing the door on the stigma. But I hope that people can become more open and more ready to be available to those in need. Why should there be a stigma that going to a counselor makes you a "weirdo"? Why should we be afraid of saying "no, I'm not okay" and explaining why when people ask?

Clearly I am not a doctor or any sort of field expert on the issue.  I am passionate about erasing the stigma of mental illness in our society. I am passionate about helping others get through their hurdles in life, regardless of shape or form. I want you to know that if you are feeling this way, that it is not just a you thing that you have to figure out on your own. There is help everywhere around you - we all need to be open to talk to others, but we also need to be open to accept others as well.

Despite the occasional feelings of high anxiety, stress and panic attacks, I have felt a significant improvement in my life. I couldn't have done it without the support of many - my only regret is not finding help sooner.

Ignorance and fear should not be the norm. We need to stand tall and firm in the face of it and become more aware of it. Through this solidarity, the stigma will diminish.

x R

Let's Talk... About Mental Illness

Today is an important day for me.

Over the past couple weeks, bus stops, billboards, newspapers and the Internet have sported the hashtag #BellLetsTalk, with notable personalities such as Olympian Clara Hughes, comedian and TV personality Howie Mandel and sports journalist Michael Landsberg accompanying this message. All of these personalities have dealt with their own battles with mental illness.

But what is this initiative, Let's Talk?

Currently in it's fifth year, Bell launched an initiative to end the stigma of mental illness among youth and adults, at school and in the workplace, and has to date committed $67.5 million to mental health initiatives in Canada. Through every llong distance call or text made on the Bell network, every tweet that has the hashtag #BellLetsTalk, and share of the image put on their Facebook, Bell will donate 5 cents towards these initiatives.

Last year, Bell raised nearly $5.5 million dollars for mental illness awareness.

So why does this matter? And why do I care?

And perhaps, why should you care?

Mental illness has increased in visibility over the years through news and media. And because of how media sensationalizes many things, along with our sometimes poor awareness and understanding, we are left to fear certain issues and things.

The definition of fear is "an unpleasant emotion caused by the belief that someone or something is dangerous, likely to cause pain, or a threat".

If we "fear" mental illness, then I can see why.

Time and time again we hear about shootings of innocent lives because the person behind the gun was "mentally unstable" or suffered from Schizophrenia. We hear of bridges being closed off on both sides, creating traffic jams because emergency personnel are trying to coax a person who was about to commit suicide off of a bridge. With all this information being hurled at us left, right, and center, it really is no wonder that many of us fear mental illness and people with it.

I have mentioned in a previous post that I myself had my own battles and dealings with inner demons and wrestled with the self-acceptance of who I was and what I dealt with. I can firmly admit that as a young teenager, I did not understand the pain that I was feeling and the emotions that ripped through me. But one thing I did know was that I would not go and seek help from anyone.

Of course in retrospect, I shake my head at my 15 year old self. Help and support is the first thing that someone needs when you are bullied, when you are depressed or suicidal. Help should never be feared.

In retrospect as well, I can combine the knowledge of what I know with my previous actions. I myself had internalized within myself that if I needed to go seek help from a counselor, then therefore, I must have a mental health issue. I must be mentally ill.

I know now that this was all fear circulating within me. I could not afford to have people that I knew watch me walk into the counselor's office. I knew I would be outcast and labelled as "mentally ill". This fear is indeed an unpleasant emotion, and it built up what I knew and what I thought I knew about mental illness.

Growing up, I had instantly connected "mental illness" with autism, Down syndrome, dyslexia, and many others. Growing up and not having a full understanding of these issues, I was scared to hear people tell me to go see a counselor. I thought it confirmed that I did in fact suffer from mental illness, and having people tell me to go see a counselor validated that people saw something in me that I refused to see.

(from giphy.com)

                                 
But of course, going to counselling saved my life. And this is why I care about mental illness and the campaign that Bell has started.

As I read on Facebook this morning, "mental illness isn't as scary as we make it out to be", I firmly believe that this is true. If you Google "list of mental disorders/illnesses", the list has familiar names as well as names that have never been mentioned in media. But just because you suffer from anorexia, obsessive compulsive disorder, dyslexia, social anxiety, narcolepsy or depression, it does not dehumanize you. You are still you, and nothing less than you. You still possess the gift of yourself, something that is precious and necessary for the world.

Just like many other initiatives that raise awareness for various causes, I hope that Bell Let's Talk is even more successful than it has been in previous years and is not just a one day affair. Mental illness is a very prevalent issue among youth and adults in our society, and many times it goes unnoticed because we either do not fully comprehend it or are too afraid to start the conversation. But I want you all to know that mental illness, while it might sound terrifying and personal, needs to be brought to the forefront.

1 in 5 Canadians will experience will experience a mental health issue in their lifetime. Let's raise awareness and stand in solidarity against the stigma.

Today, for every tweet using #BellLetsTalk, Bell donates 5¢ more to #MentalHealth initiatives: http://t.co/qsyUzIANKq pic.twitter.com/Brc2eaT3Dz
— Bell Let's Talk (@Bell_LetsTalk) January 28, 2015

 I wish everyone a fantastic rest of the week and to never be afraid of showing the world who they are. Live high, live mighty, and keep spilling ink while you do.

x R

The Opera That was Too Close for Comfort

It has been a while since I have posted, and this time I promise that it will be more than pointless this time.

I guess just to catch up, it's been a hectic ride, trying to pull up my socks and get into the swing of the academic expectations of university life. I had never written a five page paper before, but I do suppose there is a first time for everything. Thus, I do apologize for the long hiatus. In light of my recent success of finishing more of my research paper than I had anticipated, I decided to reward myself but doing some non-academic, free writing here on my beloved blog.

This had been on my mind for an entire week, and what better way to share my experience than right here. Because I had a week I (somewhat) formulated my thoughts and my feelings, so here goes nothing:

Exactly one week ago, I went to my first opera ever, Stickboy, with my music history class and teacher. Though Stickboy did not meet traditional opera standards (huge orchestra, foreign languages, crazy elaborate sets, etc.), I was so glad that this was my first opera. For one thing, I could understand the singers because they sang in English. The other thing was that I could relate to the content all too well.

Stickboy is based on a book by spoken word artist Shane Koyczan, who was a feature performer at the Vancouver 2010 Olympic Games closing ceremony. As a lover of slam poetry, this was one of my earliest glimpses into such an art that really drove my curiosity and passion for it. Stickboy is raw and uncomfortably auto-biographical, following the life of the main character "The Boy" and his journey through elementary and high school. The Boy was bullied relentlessly no matter where he went, and teachers at the various schools would do nothing to help him, and even blame him for provoking the bullies. The only ray of light in the Boy's life was his grandmother. She raised him and took care of him, listened when he needed someone to talk to and provided a crying shoulder.

Without ruining the plot of the story, the opera closes with a bittersweet ending. There really is no resolution to the Boy's bullying problem except through default - he graduates and is able to move on. He survived the jungle of torment and the desert of pain, but despite all this and his attempt at change, he never is fully accepted by his peers.

With libretto by Koyczan, music composed for a small chamber orchestra by Neil Weisenel, and powerful on-screen animations and projections by Giant Ant Productions, Stickboy touched audience members of all ages and brought many young people into opera theatres. The elderly lady beside me did not have a dry eye from the moment the Boy (played by British Columbian tenor Sunny Shams) opened his mouth. The man beside her, a man in a sharp suit around the age 45, even started crying when the Boy and his grandmother sang a moving duet - a duet with no words, just mere humming.

One of the reasons that I was so emotionally tied up in this opera was the issues that arose surrounding it. Unfortunately Stickboy is not just representative of Shane Koyczan's childhood but also that of many children and teenagers all over Canada and the States. The problem is that bullying is still happening, whether we are aware of it or not.

For me (and this is definitely a spoiler alert, so I apologize), the most profound and touching scene was a scary one. As a teenager, the Boy begins to fall into a depression and begins cutting. The 'cutting' scene is hypnotically orchestrated, looping for a total of nearly 6 minutes to portray his daily anger, sadness and ultimately his despair. Resorting to a blunt box knife, he cuts and cuts until the bleeding does not stop. This hit me like a ton of bricks.

In previous posts I have touched on my own experience with bullying and depression. For some magical reason that I am blessed with, God made blood my demise. I went through depression but was all too scared to cut. However, I could relate to hitting every piece of furniture with my fists and spending night after night screaming and conjuring ways to die. Watching this scene after nearly two years of recovery transported me back to those days, days that I am sad that I went through but thankful that I got through.

I admire Shane Koyczan. Having to live through your life over and over throughout rehearsals is a brave thing to do. The most admirable quality is that not only was he able to make it through one of the most difficult times of his life, but he turned around and made it an important thing to share with the rest of the world. Stickboy is something that everyone should see, whether or not you have experienced bullying.

I was so pleased to hear that a condensed version for one singer and a four piece ensemble would begin travelling all over Canada beginning next year, bringing Stickboy to elementary and high schools. Though the impact would be slightly different, it is my hope that all children and teenagers (and parents) see Stickboy should the opportunity ever arise.

(Photo by Tim Matheson)

The catchphrase for Stickboy is "There's a bully in all of us". I hope that as time goes on, bullying will be erased and eliminated in our schools, and that the bully inside us does not ever have any possibility of manifesting itself in our lives.

"Be strong and courageous. Do not fear or be in dread of them, for it is the Lord your God who goes with you. He will not leave you or forsake you.” - Deuteronomy 31:6 

So let us strive to put the bully inside of us away for good in our society. Love one another for who they are and build one another up, and continue to spill ink while you do. Happy weekend, everyone. Hopefully I will be back soon :)

x R

"Genie, You're Free"

When I heard of Robin William's death, I was shocked. A man that has graced my generation with his humour and wit has been taken away from us. I can only believe that he is in a better place, a place with no suffering and no pain.

In many ways, the above quote sheds two different rays of light on not only Williams' passing but the stigma of depression and such mental health issues in our society today. On one hand, Williams is freed from his pain and suffering, from his depression, from his demons. On the other hand, his family will forever live with the grief that a husband and father has been lost. In grief, there seems to be no freedom. At the same time, in pain, there seems to be no freedom either.

People hearing of his death are divided on whether or not suicide is the "right" answer. It is a controversial topic, especially among people like myself who believe in the Catholic faith.

My feelings for this event, though I have never personally met Williams, is overwhelming. I think this may have to do with my own suffering, my own demons. Something that I have always tried to hide.

Personally, I would like to admit that yes, I have gone through depression. Yes, I have seen the darker side of my days and no, it was not easy to face. It is something hard to admit, especially to my family, because we believe in facing up to our problems. Toughening up. Finding help if you really need it. Never to give up.

And admittedly yes, I once found myself in my own despair because I did not want to face up to my own problems. I toughened up against people that were willing to help me. When I needed help, I refused it. And time and time again, I gave up.

I can tell you that not everyone's depression "experience" (if you could call it that) is the same. It is dependent on personal experience most of the time - how things affect you, how things hurt you. It is personal and cannot be generalized. The umbrella term of "depression" is actually more complex than it actually is.

For three and a half years, I found myself on the slippery slope of depression. It may have been my already anxious nature colliding with past experiences of bullying that something inside of me occurred.

There is no way to explain how I felt, other than to illustrate it. I would wake up on a sunny day but it seemed like I had my own personal rain cloud. It followed me like a shadow that I could never outrun. There was a hole in my heart that gradually got bigger and bigger. There was a pain that I could never explain, and I constantly tried to push it away. To my peers and teachers and family, I would try to pretend like nothing was wrong. Because in half of my mind, nothing was wrong. I was normal.

The thing with pain is, it demands to be felt. Pretending like nothing was wrong only worked sometimes. This resulted in non stop arguments, pushing people away, and hurting people in the process.

In the months that followed, an already over emotional teenage girl got thrown around even more because of this depression. I was actively pushing away help. At the height of it all, my family lost my grandfather. He had been sick for the longest time with dementia. The last time I saw him in person, he could not remember any of us. He could not remember my dad, his own son.

When my grandfather passed away, my emotions were heightened exponentially. Around the same time I had thought of suicide, to try and escape my own problems. I knew that in a Catholic family, this would not go down very well. Even though I knew it, I never stopped thinking about it. I could not shake the fact that God had given me something so dark to deal with.

To make a long story short, when I thought I had nowhere else to go, there were people following me every step of the way. There were people willing to give me a chance and willing to help me. I am so grateful for them - they listened and helped me. I received counselling for nearly two years. I found that I was good at talking about these things, and talking about it helped me to open up to people. It taught me to trust people again.

The result? I graduated, safe and sound. I have not had a suicidal thought in nearly a year and a half. I still have mood swings and days where I just want to stay at home, but above all, I guess you could say that I conquered the monster within.

 I hope that with this, people never have to think that what they are feeling is wrong. There are people ready to listen. Listen to each other, help each other out. Never belittle what another is feeling. We never know what is really going on in a person's mind - be open and accepting.

And to those going through the storms of life:

(From brokenthimble.tumblr.com)

Never forget the good things God has planned for you. Rest in peace, Robin Williams. You will be missed.

So carpe diem, my friends. Listen to one another, care for one another, and spill more ink while you do. I hope that we can destroy society's stigma on mental illness and create a society of caring and understanding.