Living with My Mind

Sometimes living within my own brain can be

a challenge. Making decisions, figuring out what I want and then dealing with it after.

In my car, the volume can never be on an odd number. In my mind, if it’s on an odd number, I have a greater risk of getting into a car accident. This is what my brain tells me. I will freak out if you ever adjust my volume. Don’t ever do it.

My therapist always points out.. Thoughts.. Feelings and Behaviour. It’s a triangle that I can’t always follow. Usually it goes to FEELINGS AND THEN BEHAVIOUR without the thought process.

When I was 15 I wanted to be a Psychologist. When I was 25 I wanted to be a Clinical Counselor. The thought of helping other people with their own thoughts isn’t frightening. The thought of getting my own thoughts and feelings in order is.

There is a point where people need to freely admit they cannot handle dealing with their own thoughts. I do this every day. I get angry. I get sad. Mad. Upset. Hurt. Happy.

In my life, if things don’t go my way, it makes me angry. Because in my mind, things not going my way means that it’s a big mess and I fucked up. Even if I try so hard and fail, it’s still all my fault.

Suffering from all of thisĀ  cliched manic depression is not all it’s cracked up to be.

There are days where I become obsessive with things. If I have something on my mind one day, that whole day will be spent thinking, plotting, doing, testing, something.. If I have a recipe I want to try out it has to be the best one or else it won’t suffice. It’s just so scary at times. I just can’t make a decision on the spot anymore, it’s gotta be research. Even for the simplest thing like a recipe.. It can’t just be an Apple Cake. It has to be some sort of upside down caramel apple cake. Crazy Town – Population: Myself.

Maybe this is all normal and you experience this too.

I guess this is why I’m writing a book. So I can share my experiences, my toils and troubles, my happiness and my sadness.

This is my Mother’s womb, with me in it. Just to show you where this all started from.

I care, but I don’t.

People hate honesty.

They despise it. They don’t want to hear the truth. Especially when it’s about them.

I’m here today to tell you that I do not want to solve the World’s problems. I want to solve my own. How in the hell am I supposed to help starving children in Africa when there are starving children in my own backyard?

Where is the fine line between helping others? I’ve always wondered about this. Oh look I’ve sponsored a child in Papua New Guinea, but there are thousands of starving children in our own backyard. I never got this. Is it compassion? Is it something that we need to feel good about?

Do you see where I’m getting at? How are we as a whole supposed to help everyone else when we’re in need?

I’m guilty on all counts. How can I help the people that are close to me, the ones that are starving, the ones that are homeless.. the ones that are here when I’m too busy helping the world?

I don’t get this logic. I have never heard a good argument. It’s not an argument or a debate, it’s just the truth.

Does anyone ever see ads for helping the hungry children of Vancouver? No.

Get on it. I’ll help. Metaphorically this can all be taken in any way, shape or form. I don’t want to fucking help China or Africa or the Dominican Republic, I want to help my own fucking country. Is that so bad?

Remember September

September 29th is what would have been my 13th wedding anniversary if I didn’t leave him in 2007.

This year on September 29th passed me by without even a thought about the date. Except today, it hit me.

Being married for almost 10 years is a chore for people. It was for me. I know that being married is very important to some, but now that I’ve had the chance, I can’t see myself falling into being married again.

For everyone it’s a different reason. To me it’s a piece of paper and more of a chance to get divorced. So if you’re not married in the first place you can’t get divorced, so it leaves little chance to do so. That’s how I see it anyway.

I was never a big fan of weddings anyway.

I can’t actually find an exact figure of the divorce rate this past year, but it seems to be around 40%. Not to mention those that are separated and are not actually divorced.. I’m sure that’s another statistic as well (and I’m sure it’s MANY, considering my Mom and Dad are still married and they split when I was 6).

Can you imagine when you get married that almost 40% will be divorced eventually? Yes, that might sound cynical, but it’s the truth.

I’m a skeptic at heart, so I analyze these things. Why? I don’t know. It’s fun, and sometimes I like to take part in being right, even though it’s apparently negative (you lose friends this way, but clearly if they were your friends in the first place you wouldn’t have an issue, but I DIGRESS now..)

And so, I’m not saying to never invite me to your wedding or take part or photograph it, it’s just not for me.

And the Devil is a Cross Dresser.

The Rolling Stones sang about putting on your red dress ’cause we’re going out tonight. Well, we ain’t.

I have never ever worn a red dress in my life. Red screams confidence. I mostly wear black. Black is comfortable. Red is confident. Today I wore the red dress because I wanted to feel confident, I wanted to feel like I was contributing some sort of colour palette to society. I am also getting my period, I think.

You get told a lot that you don’t wear colours. Why should I wear something I don’t want to? Why can’t I just wear black all the time? Maybe I like it. Maybe it makes me feel good.

Red makes me feel good, but in a different way. It makes me feel like I’m going to kick someone’s ass.

I wear a lot of dresses. I hate pants. I have big thighs and pants accentuate them. Dresses make me feel pretty and I get to hide my thighs.

Hips you can’t hide, they’re a mile wide. But a pretty dress and a pretty smile can get you far in life.

Except Jane Austen had something to say:

“Dress is at all times a frivolous distinction, and excessive solicitude about it often destroys its own aim.”

It’s been a Whale, I mean.. While

I’ve decided that I’m going to write a book. I don’t know that this book will ever be published (whatever, yes it will, and you know and I both know this), but I think

that writing a book is going to be great.

Reasons why:

1. I get to relive all the memories (the ones I can remember)
2. I get to talk about my Family (writing a book gives you permission to be an asshole)
3. I get to talk about myself (we all know how much I love to talk about myself)
4. I need a reason to live other than going to work everyday, having sex, eating and sleeping (writing a book seems to be that reason)
5. My Mom is writing a book too and we both like to compete with each other (I mean she is a bocce ball champion, and I’m just a lowly peasant)
6. I like making things up that ARE TRUE that people think I make up but I really don’t because my life is a series of fuck ups, make ups and LOVE (and how fun would it be to put it into chapters?!)
7. I can relive all my therapy sessions on paper!
8. I like it when people laugh at my jokes (and the whole book will basically be a big true joke.)

I think I have enough cred to talk about my life. At 31, I’ve experienced a lot. A lot of bad, and a lot of good. However you look at it..