I was into my 5th year as a Funeral Director & Embalmer I felt pretty confident in my embalming skills as I was running a city morgue before 25, that’s kinda my thing Miss practicing my skill but this brain needs a few more patches and repairs yet. I had a great opportunity to learn how to operate a crematorium, never really knew what it was like I knew but never really thought about the exact manner of disposition. Cremation is a process of breaking down and disposing of human flesh by using extreme Heat/torching flames leaving on the skeletal system and often metal hips, pins, screws any metal inside your body. Then with a large metal broom the perfectly laid out skeleton is swept into a ash tray under the front of the oven chamber. Then the broken up bones are crunched down and a magnet is run over to gather all the cremation container nails and all mentioned above. The remains white bones are swept into a large metal processor exactly the same as a food processor, once the bones are ground into a powder form they are poured in the urn of choice. In no time I was on my own cremation often 2 per day sometimes more ontop of my embalmings of the day it was a very busy but lovely position to be in. I had a few incidences that are normal I learned after the fact and a part of me died of horror and freight. One morning no different than any other I started first thing with starting a cremation it takes around 4 hours to complete and cool. I completed the paperwork required to complete a cremation, rolled the pine box into the chamber the rollers still spin as the box hits the brick floor. Door is lowered and sealed as I press that red button the rumbling roar of massive flames like a blow torch begin to incinerate the wood box. I always watched through the glass window as the flames roar the box is gone. The first thing to ignite is hair it instantly melts as does the skin, the human body is full of fat this turns into a scalding flames that increase the breakdown of flesh. Once the far liquifies the oil begins to make the human body crackle and move like bacon on the pan. It’s a sight I could have gone my life without seeing again. This particular cremation just began to egnite the crematorium just stopped…. I hit the button again.. click.. click.. nothing. I look inside and it’s obvious the body is well into the process only muscle remaining. I was panicked!! I ran to my manager and we tried everything, no one anywhere could help. The next morning was the funeral service for the person so this process had to happen now. The only thing we could do was to go grab a new wooden box. We knew we had to get them out of there but how? 3 Directors a long flat blade to lift flooring and muscles we were able to get them off the chamber floor into that box. Off as fast as possible to another funeral home to use their retort. At the end of the whole ordeal the urn was there.
Well I’m a week into a very difficult patch. Like I’ve said there is no cure and for myself I will dance with my disease forever. I get up each morning despite waking up even more tired than the morning before. I know first thought that today I will struggle it would be easier to just lay down and sleep through all these uncomfortable symptoms. I get up! I can’t guarantee it won’t hurt, be difficult or that it will take all I have to get past it and at times my knees will buckle and the strength used will run with hope down my sad face. I get up!
I start. Wash up, get dressed, brush my teeth and make coffee. I get up. I cook breakfast though I’m in slow motion under very heavy sedation a fog of dumb. I get up. The kids needs always come first. Off to school my son goes happily bouncing off into a very exciting day of learning. Husband leaves for work and my baby watches her Cinderella in a tu tu and one shoe. Every single person and creature big and small is content, cared for and happily enjoying their days. Because I got up.
I’m deep deep down tired, my bones hurt, eyes appear to be bleeding, swollen nearly shut, bag of peas works great for this. Preparation h as odd as this sounds it really helps me shrink down my sad black circles eyes. Tip for anyone who’s struggling. Concealer hides the black eyes. I stay up!
Once up that’s it. Though I’m held up with one frayed string I know I can do this. I CAN get up. I CAN fight. I CAN do so much more than my broken heart and mind feel possible. So can you!!!!
Today I feel so sad. I feel weak. I feel unloved and more yet a feeling can’t control your Will. Get Up!
A few days ago a familiar enlightenment of my eyes and uphoric sensation of numb skin began. I know this feeling well, not as often do we I’m now a week into a pretty strong mixed state. With being bipolar I have extreme mood changes from catatonic to I’m god. With medications and regular psychiatrist visits and recently letting people know I’m not well. My symptoms have reached a level of exhausting and non controllable. I’m a rare form of bipolar disorder I’m rapid cycling. This means I flip from one mood to another quickly appearing as crying while laughing, quick to anger, great pain feeling all shined up and ready to be dropped. This being a mixed rapid cycling state. It’s been some time since I’ve had to say help. All these supports I have all lined up because I care about my mental state, I just call and the ward takes care of me from there. I’m currently under outpatient care. We are adjusting medication, sedating for sleek, very very important I sleep. We have to watch me closely at times like this as that familiar static can travel the voices and visions. I’d prefer to not go there.
All the things I do in my regular life help me heal faster, stay well longer and induces good hormones, it can be frustrating to work so hard and still a good dance with my demons must proceed as to humble me with just how real they are.
I find these times so overwhelming, I’m anxious all day and night to the point of soaking shirts sweat. I’m pacing and can’t seem to stop, back and forth like a cougar in a cage desperately pacing away the great big scary feeling. I cry a lot, not in a fall apart way just a warm stream or puddle in my eye, just tears. My eyes hurt, burn and itch worse than any allergy. I am hiding in basements and spare rooms to take a moment to allow the pain show. Then I go at the day again. I find the worse I feel physically and mentally the more I need to do. I force my aching low running self up and I do everything I’d normally do, period. Sitting down is never going to help you through the big bad feelings. I find that meditation through movement that leaves a obvious achievement is a fantastic thing. Gets tgat high energy focused and when your don’t can step back and enjoy whatever to did. For me I clean, garden, hike, exercise and of course do things with my kids. Let me toss this in here now. Because I’m a mother who lives with several mental illness does not mean I’m a vicious mean monster who’s too unstable to care for them properly. Not true. My little turds are very happy even though I’m their mother. We will keep them involved in our family programs to help them understand mommies disease, never will they feel it’s because of them that’s the furthest away for the truth. Every single good thing about me is within them. The very best of me.
I feel so sad, so linely and scared inside, what if this beats me down enough to take the wheel, ugh! I worry about everything,
The world hurts. It hurts. Hurts. I feel heavy lead lined skin of burden. I struggle ever so greatly with being around others, not for a lack of want and at times a craving to be alike, similar would be a familiarity to focus on a spot on the fall as I spin between realities on a chemical roller coaster influenced by the feeling that come from. It hurts.
I hold myself responsible for my negative actions, I beat blame myself forever over my unlikeness. Do I offend people? Yes. I’m blunt, sometimes emotionally absent or reactionless or over charged emotions that do not fit in any average rational scale of behsviour. Because it hurts.
I’m held accountable for my minds reaction to a life situation as does a diabetics sugars rise when they eat sugar, causing the symptoms of faint, sweat, nausea to suggest a few. Now at times in life when I can’t find words or a way to say or form a feeling into a word. Overwhelming life circumstances and fatigue are to my brain as set diabetic to sugar. My symptoms are not measured by a test it’s right there, in your face down right ugly and odd, rude, aggressive, teary, frantic, breathless, gasping.. these are the mild ways of showing my internal chemical reaction to set life experience. If I’m in emotional distress, falling apart wounds raw and ravaged by symptoms. I’m alone. Why? As a courtesy to all the world and inside I still feel great shame after a “fit” I want to… but.. it hurts.
Teach. In order to survive with the human contact I still need though my actions say else wise I love to be around people. It saddens me deeply to be on the sidelines cause I can’t guarantee I’ll be there, be ok or that I won’t be “off” “odd” or let you down there because. I’ve let so many down. It hurts.
May the agony inside today be a foundation of healing for our future.
Terms are often used at times of disbelief. We teach for anything to explain the uncomfortable feelings towards awkward topics, talk.
My hearts heavy and hung in my throats aching each swallow.
It just fucking hurts!
I ache from my bones to my soul.
I scream to the Stars free me from this quest relieve me of the sorrow catching my chest.
As I doze off my medication warming my aching muscles finally relaxed.
Still it hurts.
Some days I can’t step back and look st the life I live in, the choice I made to live. It’s ridiculously goofy to be honest. I’m a well non conformist from birth so it gets me into trouble as I can’t help doing things I can’t rationally explain to myself why I can’t. I’m sitting here having my after school coffee note it’s a hour and a half to and from school on foot, ridiculous! I’m gonna be a lean machine. Anywho, as I was saying prior to my constant sidetracked thoughts, I’m here with my black Vietnamese pot belly pig, ya, see what I’m getting at here. She arrived on my doorstep 3 years ago a wee piglet dying. The owners had heard somewhere that if you don’t feed s pig it will remain small like a piglet, see people want things small and cute forever, odd. So daisy pig was brought to me cause I’m known to lend a helping hand to critters in distress. I can still see her dehydrated eyes all sunk into her skull, the rapid breathing and bones oh dear a pigs bones should never be seen. My husband and I administered water slowly, introduced baby like foods to here and she survived that night and each day thereafter that adorable hooved beastie grew stronger. They just gave her to us, like nothing. She had been left in a dog crate her while little existence, with much torture like holding her upside down till she stopped screaming, a form of submission used to break farm animals as babies. Disgusting! The owners would ping her snout as correction a pigs nose is as sensitive as genitals that’s how they explore the world, how cruel. They had fun telling there big dog to chase her, sick her they would say she came with scars and scratches on her Hyde. As I nursed her to health this little soul captured my heart. So here’s my mini pig that 200 pounds under my feet like a great dog. Kids love our daisy pig. When the time came to release her I could not justify one reason why I couldn’t keep her, other than the I suppose toos I never did find appealing. So I have a pig. And so many other rescue animals. Floyd the guinea pig, doddie the puppy mill dog, a blind rabbit named hervin a fish & recently a injured craw fish. Yes it’s a lot of work no doubt but this is no bother as each one of these weirdos are enjoyed wouldn’t have it any other way.
I really enjoy my silly life. I’ve seen the deepest of dark, saw the other side as chemicals slid my life away so these simple laughs and life I’ve created is all I ever wanted, needed my biggest accomplishment my children, a family that’s not violent or filled with addiction based rage. We act like children, we are ridiculously proud of every thing we achieved despite the blows along the way not many could survive eh. The wonderful gift that was given to me by the monsters I’ve seen is that the sun feels warm, the sky looks free, my dreams are possible and my ability to love is stronger. I live with every fabric of my woven patched heart. The greatest gift the pain gave me was love, I know little of that and each person who loves me feels so warm and comfy. A craving I’ve had just love.
Anxiety is the biggest pain in the ass! Honestly my nervous social symptoms are humiliating, sheesh! My son is just entering the school system so with that comes daily interactions with a lot of people, love it yet my body betrays my emotions. I sweat! I kid you not it’s not just look she’s glistening cause it’s hot out oh no ever single pore in my body when under anxious terms pours. The other day my sons teacher asked to speak to me, cool totally normal interactions yet anxiety you massive jerk kicks in. I walk over all cool and calm totally laid back I could feel the sweat running down my face, into my eyes, like really! By the end of it she was looking at my forehead and kinda like are you ok? So I blurted out every so honestly I’m sorry I’m just anxious. I have to explain myself and as that is going on I’m sweating more cause I had to have that awkward chat, ugh! I need to find a way to tell people hey it’s not you that’s causing me to melt infront of you, not you it’s me. I want to talk to you even though I’m sweating like a sinner on Sunday. Honest to Pete I’m going to start carrying a cute hankie cause I know my eyeliner was under my chin when I ran out those doors, phew!
My body completely betrays me, the other week I got uncomfortable in public felt the freight train of impending doom roll in, just a smash of yuckies. So what happens, I’m all cool like a cucumber a clamy wet cucumber. I got a sharp stab to the tummy. Ya sure lets get diarrhea in public. I don’t use public washrooms, ever! I’d rather shit behind a shrub then bring my lady bits anywhere near that seat of contagions, shiver! Well I didn’t have a choice cause for some odd reason my bottom hit the eject button. I did the calm jumping clenched arse running walk to that God awful bathroom. Of course it’s full, why not universe! So a room full of woman, I have mommy issues and now I have no choice but crouch over the plague with diarrhea, why can’t these things be silent? Why all the theatrical noise? Oh god I hung around that stall until I felt sufficient time had passed for every woman that heard the explosive splashes of humiliation, I died a little. The giggles oh dear ever cry while you poop? Well accomplishment here! Woot!
See these are the things that happen. Just anxiety,, ya ok
A wish upon a star, sent out in hope to the afar
A dream held tight , Shawn from that star in the cool night
A heartbeat is a wish, a baby a life of bliss
A wish upon a star, sent out in hope to the afar
That summer was one of the driest scorching dull heats the village had experienced in years the old ones said at the store every time anyone walked by, ’twas the hot topic, giggle. It was just the beginning of summer break I spent everyday in, on, near that tobique river my heart still beats to the flow. That summer many of the girls I was growing up with had began to experiment with the super duper awesome world of self expression via cosmetics. Oh the colours, styles, patterns. The way other girls began to dress and act intrigued me so much. I would watch grown women put on lipstick and stare cause it was so pretty, womanly. I see all things nice and “girly” perfectly wonderful for girls to enjoy. When did feminism become not feminine? My mom did not at that time take care of herself at all, embarrassing really sweat pants and google glasses just given up barely alive miserable worn out look. To see other moms style their hair, place the backs on earrings, the makeup all these lovely things made me giggle inside. I wanted to do it too. I wanted to be just as pretty and as a girl I associated pretty with what made me feel happy. When does that logic stop? So much going on that summer as a young girl explores the waters of womanhood. The breasts that ache all the time as your chest swells, you awkwardly hide these new developments uncertain the whys. The first time shaving my legs, the Knicks and scratches, oh dear had to wear pants most that summer. Boys began to act strange, feelings are developing that are so incredibly foreign.
All things pretty & frilly for me.
I remember walking into Greers store on main street this wee store that held every imaginable thing you could possibly need. The two doors swing in and I remember touching all the ladies garnets as I walked past, I have a need to touch fabrics textures are very important. In the second first isle was a section for ladies products and on the bottom shelf a box popped off the shelf, none else did I see. I held up my first box of hair dye, a beautiful women with this vibrant fiery red hair. The lady on the box was tossing her gorgeous hair back with this warm smile, she was the most beautiful woman. The box red “paprika red” I was in love I could see my face on the box, that woman was who I wanted to be, to look like I connected to the image greatly. I got home before lunch from town with my grams with that box of dye hidden in my bag. I was so excited to get home and instantly become this red bombshell who I personally selected. Liking picking your identity like a random image in a tattoo parlour. I knew mom and dad would not be home from work yet dad was never home and mom was working driving the roller paving our road route 385 the road up river. I mixed up this orange paste and randomly squirted it on. I’m sure I was staind red I had no idea what I was doing, dear girl.
It burnt, stank and itched it felt like forever with red rice crispies on my head. That moment I took the pink towel off my head I saw that brilliant red, that’s all I saw, so incredibly joyous I got dressed, put on some snickers watermelon roll on lipgloss and a smudge of cotton candy perfume. I fluffed, I puffed, I brushed and turned around admiring my first choice towards the image I naturally was drawn towards. Down over the steps the pebbles under foot on my bike and down the road, just like I was flying as I rolled down the big hill towards the pig house. The warm sun on my face, my red hair blowing in my face, catching the sun like fire twinkling in the sun. The air lifts my heart I felt so very beautiful. I really felt some special. Red stains and all I was on cloud nine. I took the wide swing at the bottom and stood to paddle back up. As I crowned the top I could see the truck letting you off in the driveway. That blue & white cooler in hand. You hated working, hated it. I’ve seen you sabotage yourself to hurt yourself in order to be off. From allergies to lupus, imaginary bone pain in a metal joint. It’s always been something so you didn’t have to work. When you did it was horrible! You became the worst tyrant known while you counted the hours till you’d fall into a ditch, twist your ankle if and the I fell over a tree one that got you a year income while you laid in bed. You were miserable all summer. I rode up to the top and as you looked my way I saw your eyes glare me down. You threw that cooler and charged at me, knocking me into the gravel. “You destructing whore! Tramping up and down the road like a painted tramp. Get you fat face inside, you trollip. I ran into the house I could hear my heart pounding… I ran up to my room and fell all apart. You stood at the bottom yelling up the stairs.. I could only hear me trying to gag back my noises as to not instigate you further. I pulled the covers over my head and things go blank……
my young brain going into shutdown mode. I have so many blanks that randomly burst into images. Like this feeling I had. Today as I vainly glanced upon myself this hit me like a brick. I loose my ability to maintain rhythm in breath, my hart stops, catches in flutters that hurt. The sweat pours and tears fill.. I’m transported to this exact moment.
I recently after 20 years of having jet black hair to hide behind. A convenient look of my youth that said leave me alone what I should have said was help me. Never leave me alone, Help. I stepped outside a big security blanket I used to fade my face, blend in, unattractive even at points. I decided all over again like that young girl I sat in a salon while my blanket bleached and giggly picked a colour any colour in a book of white to green I saw only one.. a rust auburn, this perfect color popped off at me. With your voice screaming your ugly fat face… fat face… round fat face.. fuck you!!! I said yes. I’ve been loving my hair each day. It’s long again since you made me cut it off for prom to a pixie cut. My big, fuzzy fluffy hair now red…. eeeeeek!!! Loves it.
Another blank filled in.
Today’s my mothers birthday. For me this day still brings me to my knees, my chest aches in such a heavy throb all damn day. I’m a logical, smart realist and this be a day my heart & mind battle. September 22nd. I have so many awful yuckies and from September 1st on I’m trying to prepare with non stop pep talks, like a Harvard football coach, if geniuses play football. No self chat can stop my heart from crumbling today, the little girl today deserves to have a day to come forward recognize her sadness, visit those memories bursting to the surface. Let my guards drop the swords and hug her. It’s ok to not be ok.
I have relived this day like Groundhog Day of nearly 30 years of broken hearts. I remember your disappointed face, the yelling, the guilt, dad forgetting the violent slap around they had for hours when he did come home. Dad was known to sleep in the logging truck rather than come home. I can’t blame him I did the same by staying with so many other families just to sleep without worrying awaiting her to bust in raging over who knew what. On puns & needles they say no no on gernaides of uncertain hate beat downs. I’m looking out my window watching those beautiful autumn leaves fall, I love fall I love where I am, it’s gorgeous.. boom! I’m 11 and your hitting me over and over cause I ruined your birthday, I remember you running, slamming doors, crying and whaling in complete distress because our gifts were not good enough. Never ever good enough. I can see your scary eyes bulging out as you yelled on my face. Yell, yell, name calling, crying the insanity, the pressure the tension always scared. Not s year that the day didn’t end in at least a week in bed not talking to me, the silent treatment., the not looking in my direction, that guilty fucking sadness with no reason just no reason .
I was pretty young I can see white strap top shoes going up the Riley broom general store porch, hollow dry boards creeked. At the back of the old store between the coke cooler and front cash was a glass display area that had a few gifts you could buy, just about anything you could need was there. I felt fear not excitment as gazing over the cute coffee cups, clocks, plates and spoons with fancy patterns. I was so afraid to pick anything, what would please her? Just a smile. I picked up a glass plate that had a farm wagon painted on it, a prairie looking round wagon. I knew you loved little house on the prairie, instant certainty calmed my knotted tummy. As my aunt wrapped up the plate and little wall hanger I paid with my milk money I had saved. My grams drove me home I ran up the steps into the house. You were standing at the kitchen sink back towards me/ you never turned to acknowledge I entered the room, ever! Just cold awkward silence. I could feel I was inconveniencing you yet I knew this plate would fix your day of crying. I spoke not sure exact words, immediately you turned quickly with a sharp knock in the teeth because of that graduation ring, those wedding bands.. that familiar metal taste of annoyance. You saw the bag in my hands and ripped it away, snorting and pulling yourself together. I remember you opening the paper and seeing the plate… nothing for the longest time.. your eyes began to fill with darkness, I knew.. I just knew. As I back away the smash of the plate hit the floor in front my shoes shattering into dust it felt. I just turned and ran. I ran to my grams house, I wanted to cry, I felt that deep throb inside but I knew the biggest rule… never say a fucking thing to that God damn cunt! That’s how she referred to the woman I loved the most, my gram. There again I sat wishing I could just say it. Mom hit me and threw s plate at me.. I knew.. just knew not.
Thats the only uncomfortable flash back in time today. I’ve visited the tantrums the rage the aching tummy. It’s all very real, very very real and I can’t no matter my realism make this stop. I can help myself get through these memories and deal as best with the horrible anxiety I feel. Yet I continue my regular duties, hiding here and there to catch my breathe,, fighting the yuckies with a straw today but tmr I’ll begin to rise my sword again.
Dear little girl:
I can’t take any of this away. If I could protect you I would. I know your in agony today while anticipating the attack that’s sure to come. A card, message who knows what I’ve even gotten flowers with hate notes inside, ripped up photos? A non stop cut off voice mail? Little girl it’s ok. It’s not your hate to feel. You will grow a voice. I hug you and hold you close today, if you need to grieve it’s ok I am as well for your sad little face. I wish you could see that someday you’ll feel safe.
Today will pass as have they all. It’s ok to not be ok dear vulnerable girl.
We will do this.
Happy birthday. I’m thinking of you. I hope my thoughts find you safe. Mom I feel your sadness though miles away. Mom please find peace this is my wish for you, may it be a birthday miracle.
I wish that today as you sit alone because of your actions you decide that maybe just maybe it was time to get proper help & care. Maybe just maybe you will.
Mom I love you.
Happy birthday from the invisible girl
I’m sure I’ve mentioned my children a million times, I’m obsessed with my creations. I know I’m the hands on stay at home mom cliche that can’t let her kids go, yep totally! One tiny little flicker on a black & white micro screen above the rumble of Torontos streets. Just a tiny kidney bean with tiny nubs wiggling like a fish tail, that exact moment I connected to another person so woven in my fibres and instant love. Life jumped up and tipped over my kayak, splash into a new person, a new side is activated. I loved both these tiny humans instantly. Named, rooms done by 5 months. I literally did nothing just to insure they stayed right there. I feel like having such high risk pregnancies has left me traumatized. A unhealthy attachment occurred, I’m so terrified of the world I’ve known to be the one they know too. Well I can’t hold on this close, am I smothering them, I think so. I’m just trying & learning a with no examples or persons to fall on. It’s at times like these that I wish for the idea of a mom, sigh.
I’m not dealing well with a few events right now and I don’t know how exactly to feel, what’s natural? I’m full! How selfish right. In six months I’ve found out that both these amazing kids are going to have special needs and struggles. Dear things right out the gate a hurdle. My son is struggling greatly with what’s expected to be ADHD or some form there of. This breaks my heart. If I could take that coat and wear it for him I would. When I see his bright sunny face looking so scared kept away in a sensory room. It’s terrible. Was it me? Was it the medications I took during his pregnancy? Was it the weekly ultrasounds? Was it the high blood pressure? High sugars? Low placenta function? What if my not knowing till four months during such I lifted all day? Could it have been any of this? Was it me? Is it because I’m so flimsie in deciding
Yet I yell. I yell it’s not a proud thing but my weakness is I bark in a high tone. Is it that? Is my raised voice that made him auditory sensitive? I feel guilt constantly that my poor son spent a year of his life getting his social time with other children at my hospital visits, the surgeries, the doctors, dear boy we took him because we had to. No family the motherless mom. Is it my complete over doing? He has done little for himself, I do it. Is it my shit parenting my ignorance towards raising a emotionally healthy human because I’m a enotionally abnormal person. Is my oddity why? Did I give him any form of my curses? Is it me?
My daughter can’t walk. My perfect radiant little girl sits on the floor looking up at me. We have not yet come to a approach or game plan yet we are in the diagnostics of it. I look at her and feel pity. I carry her everywhere seeing her sitting on the floor scotching in her dear bum breaks my heart. Was it me? I have a shorter leg, is this the issue? Is is the medications once again. Fucking medications. I have no choice but take them. None. I know this and we did everything under a specialists care. Again the same things,,, sugars, and on and on. Was it me?
I’m being a great mom and cheering them along in their journeys not about me here eh but boys I’m a mess about this. I’m all shaky inside, keep feeling like I’m flipping over my heart feels all fuzzy.. it’s a uncomfortable feeling. I have absolutely no clue what I’m doing here. May my ignorant choice and guidance be enough to at least start them in the world.
I question every single thing. Every single thing. I’m clueless and pulling stuff out my ass daily. Is it me? I don’t talk much, if I was alone I could go weeks in silence easily. Actually more comfortably honestly. Is it me not making none stop baby talk? Is it me?
Man old man is it me?
I will always try: I will always be there. Please know your everything.
Your perfect! It’s all me