My Battle With Depression

My Battle With Depression

Depression.

I'm not sure when my battle with it started. Maybe it was lying dormant within me for years, and all the shit life can throw your way finally got to me. All I know is that it's forced me to fight demons and talk about the past. And when your past is a painful one, that's a really hard thing to do.

Early years

Looking back on things, I'm pretty sure this path to depression started back in 1990, when I was just in Kindergarten. There was a teacher (who shall remain unnamed, but not because of their innocence) who thought nothing of hitting her students. I can't speak for any of my classmates, but she made my life a living hell. I still see her from time to time, and while I've forgiven her for her misdeeds, I'll never forget how she made me feel.

But I digress.

I think that because she got away with what she did to me, others then saw that it was okay for them to do as well, and they wouldn't get punished. Years of teasing and bullying ensued. I was near tortured. I was pushed around, had a chair hauled out from under me, had broken paper clips put in my food (I'm forever thankful to a Pastor’s son who saw it and told me, and gave me money for food), and stuff stolen from my locker and burned. My life was a nightmare.

Home offered only temporary relief. My folks did the best they could, but their seamlessly endless bickering drove me to hide away in my room, away from all the noise. My room was my one safe place. As long as I had my books and my music, I was okay.

Things got a little bit better upon entering high school. Note I say “little bit”. The bullying stopped, as people grew up and out of it. Even though I still didn't fit in anywhere, school life was tolerable, especially in part to a few wonderful teachers that made me feel like I matter.

But then, in Grade 11, I was diagnosed with Aspergers Syndrome (high functioning autism). For weeks, months, maybe even years, I hated the diagnosis. This was just another thing that made me different. Add in my parents divorce, and other horrific events in 2002 (including having to give a statement to a police officer and watch a loved one get arrested), and its a wonder how I made it out of that year unscathed.

But something good did happen that year, something that I'm still thankful for. I discovered Great Big Sea. And in them, I found a place where I belonged; somewhere where I fit in. And it was at my lowest point that they pulled me back from the brink.

Highs & lows from Ontario

August 2009 should've been a happy time. For the first time ever, I got on an airplane and left Newfoundland for a few days. I flew to Ontario where I met up with Janice, Amelia, Paddy, and Chad. We had all meet earlier that year for a Great Big Sea show in St. John's, and had reunited for a show at the Molson Amphitheatre.

The whole trip was amazing. I got to see Niagara Falls, attended my first (and now only) GBS show outside Newfoundland, and even got to go to the Hockey Hall of Fame (a dream come true for this Habs fan).

Coming home was hard. I didn't want to leave. The thrill of being somewhere new was one of the best moments of my life. I didn't want it to end. But it had to, and I was left with a horrible low. Upon my return home, I crashed. Hard. My emotions became uncontrollable. I was sad and lonely despite being with family. I was convinced that I was a burden upon said family, and convinced they'd be better off without me. So, I did the only thing that made sense to me at the time:

I attempted suicide.

In the moments that followed, I remember tucking my knees to my chest and turning on music. I just wanted the pain to end; I was done with life, with everything. And then, something amazing happened.

Ordinary Day. It came crisp and clear through my headphones, and it was a wake-up call. And in that moment, I realized that what I had done was a mistake. Right around the same time, my Mom figured out what I'd done, and we rushed to the hospital. They made me drink this vile tar-like substance which made me sick. But at least I was still alive.

In 2014, a few wonderful things happened. First off, a bunch of Newfoundland celebrities (and their friends) got together and created a video about mental health awareness (click here - https://youtu.be/nOqbTHl7b1M). In watching this video, I felt not so alone in my fight. I finally felt that someone understood, and that it was okay to talk about what was going on.

And I did. I tweeted a couple of the guys who had appeared in the video, thanking them, because their support meant a lot to me.

As fate would have it, I would see one of those guys the very next month. And although he had not responded to that tweet, I knew he saw it, because the first words out of his mouth that night were “How are you doing?”, as he gave me a much needed hug. And that night I had the courage to ask him for lyrics (Ordinary Day) for my suicide survival tattoo. Although somewhat surprised, he agreed.

It's still a great source of strength to this day.

2015-Now: Seeking and receiving help

Last year, I finally sought out help. I knew that my depression and mood swings were too much to handle on my own.

In the midst of that hard time, I once again decided to get a tattoo that would help me through the dark times: Shine On.

From the moment I heard Shine On from Alan Doyle’s 2015 album So Let's Go, it resonated with me. Every word of the song felt like my life. It's like my thoughts had been sung out loud. I loved it and still do.

I had been planning to get a semicolon tattoo for sometime, a reminder to myself of where I'd been but would never return to. But there was one hitch. I couldn't nail down a design.

But then, I thought of Shine On and thought how perfect it would be. So I explained it to Alan on Twitter, and he agreed to send me the lyrics (as luck would have it, he misunderstood my request, and sent the lyrics to the entire song and they are now hanging on my bedroom wall. I got the tattoo after, and its still a bright light, a reminder to find some good in every day.

And then in October I started going to counseling, and taking meds. That combination has made me feel like myself again, a functioning and happy adult who is pursuing her passions and isn't afraid to take on the world.

Final thoughts

To those of you who may read this and are struggling right now, please know that you are never alone. Reach out to a friend or a loved one. Seek help. Talk to your doctor. There are people (and medications) out there that can help you. I can promise you that it does get better.

And I'm living proof of that. Never ever give up!

So you don't stand out, and you don't fit in. Weird

I hate bullying. Not a bold statement, but as a person who's been bullied her whole life, I feel that it's finally time to tell my story. And the names used in this post are those that hurt me in some way. I'm not going to cover up their misdeeds against me.

It all started in Kindergarten (1990), a time of innocence and independence, as a child is learning to spread its wings for the first time, much like a young bird first venturing away from the nest. It was in that tiny classroom that I first encountered the cruel world of bullying. The culprit was not who you might think. It was not one of my classmates. No, instead it was one of the people my parents trusted to educate me. Yes, my teacher, Ms. Joan Brinston. She thought nothing of hitting students with a ruler if she thought they were out of line - it didn't matter where, either. Of those who had to endure the slap of the ruler, most of us were lucky if we got it across the hand. There are others, who I'll not name, who got it over the head. I remember a ruler breaking at one point. But when you're a child, and you're told this is someone who you can trust, you don't speak up. The mentality becomes that it's acceptable, because a person of authority is getting away with it. To this day, it was denied that there was ever any wrong doing, and that teacher took an early retirement. Although many will say that it was because she found another calling. But many of her former students know the truth.

From then on, it became clear that I was an easy target. The next year (1991), during lunch time a fellow classmate, Phillip Piercey, punched me in the stomach because we were fighting over a toy. I know he was told that it was wrong to do, but I can't remember if he was punished. I've since forgiven him, but I'll never forget how it felt.

There were numerous incidents throughout my school years. I remember one lunch time that someone broke paper clips and put them in my food while I wasn't looking. I'm not sure who would do such a thing, but I am thankful that another classmate saw that person doing it, and warned me not to eat it. I hate to think what might've happened had he not told me.

Another thing that stands out was someone pulling a chair out from me, thinking it was funny. Again it was one of my fellow classmates, Korlee Stacey, although I've since forgiven her as well. I remember something being done about it that time, which was a rare thing. The principal at the time went berserk. He had a friend that'd had a chair pulled out from them, and because of that, what one person thought was a harmless joke, his friend was now confined to a wheelchair for the rest of their life. Bullying is not harmless, and that's just the physical side of it.

The worst incident that I can remember still bothers me to this day. I was in Grade 8, I believe, and it was around Valentines Day. I had brought Valentines to school to give out to my friends (what few I had), and classmates. I had placed them in my locker before class and had gone about my day. Come lunch time, I decided to get my valentines and give them out, but imagine much to my shock and horror that my valentines were missing. I came to learn, through the honesty of a few good people that they'd been stolen from my locker, and burned. The culprit? Ryan Reid. Was he punished? Yes. But he merely got a slap on the wrist (1 day in school suspension). Why did he get off so easy, you ask? Its because his mother, one Cathy Bailey-Reid was Vice-Principal at the time. I'll never forgive her for that.

And what happened if I dared speak up for myself or push back when I was pushed? Good question. The principal called my home, telling my mother. Thankfully, she knew everything that I'd been through, and in not so many words told the principal not to call there again unless it was really worth calling about. Thanks, Mom.

Thankfully by the time I got to high school, things got better, but only because I hid the way I was. I was diagnosed with Aspergers, so I hid it. And although I didn't discover it until much later, I was bisexual. So I hid that too. Being different at that school made you stick out like a sore thumb, thus giving the bullies further reason to pick on you. Hiding my differences was just a way I got through high school.

But I got through it. I thought that once I was out of school, things would get better. And for a while, they did. Through Messenger, and later Facebook, I began to build a circle of friends who I trusted. People who cared about me. But with the joys of social media can also come the downfalls. Many the times I was called out through Facebook, or harassed on the old Great Big Sea website (if you can imagine that), or even worse, slandered on twitter. There's not much that wasn't said about me: I wanted to have Alan Doyle's kid (that I'll never deny. He's a good looking man. But its not going to happen, so the point is moot), I wanted to kidnap his son (um, what? Seriously? I'd never do that!), the accusations were endless. Thankfully that's all since stopped, and was ignored by the person who they were trying to get their point across to.

And there was the JUNO Awards dress blog post, where I was harshly made fun of for what I wore. My then girlfriend spent hours and a load of money to make that dress. To boost my confidence, and for that night, it did. Several people were quick to point out how good it looked on me. And I can honestly say that was one of the nicest feelings in the world.

Thankfully for now, there's been no bullying (well at least not that I know of), and life is good right now, but I want to leave you with this:

If you're a bully, I urge you to stop and think about what you're doing. You really have no idea what you are doing to that person (or maybe even people) that you're bullying. It doesn't matter how you do it; physical, mental, its all the same. Every form of bullying hurts.

If you see people bullying someone, tell someone about it, please. You don't know just how much that means to the person being picked on. It could be your actions that finally bring an end to what they've been going through.

And if you're being bullied, please stay strong. I know what its like for you, because I've gone through some of the same things, felt some of that same hurt. I know how hard it can be,but trust me, ending your life is never the answer. If you need a hand, I offer you mine. If you need an ear to listen, I'm here. I offer you my friendship and love. You are never truly alone!

Chin up, tomorrow will be here real soon!

You Want a War Bitch? You've Got One

So, I've been wanting to do a blog for a while now, but never had a good reason to do so. Well, up until last night that was. 


I had just arrived home after spending a wonderful evening with my mother and stepfather. We'd gone for dinner, done some shopping, and I had bought a couple of concert tickets to two upcoming shows that I wanted to see, but I digress.


I get a message around 9:00 pm last night, from a friend alerting me to a nasty blog that had been written about me. So I followed the link, and I set in to read. And let me tell you, what I saw certainly wasn't the kind of thing you want to read about yourself.


This person was clearly bashing me, and at first, I was angry. How could she talk about me like that? I then drafted a response on my own Facebook page, but later deleted it. I did not want to be reminded of her.


But that didn't work. Because some how this bitch has posted comments from my wall on her blog, and is making all kinds of snarky remarks about me. http://farkthis.livejournal.com/

You want a war bitch? Oh you've got one now. You don't mess with me and expect me to just roll over do you? Hell no bitch. I am not that kind of woman. I can be nasty and down right mean when it serves me good, and come to think of it, I haven't gotten mad at someone in a very long time. You might just be that outlet that I need. 


Oh, and for those of you interested, this is her: