I Was the Violent Kid Nobody Knew How to Deal With

Posted on December 16, 2012 by marandaelizabeth

I wish I could have a conversation with my childhood self, my teenage self. Although I have mostly accepted that the past cannot be changed, and some of the bad things I lived through are what led me to being the awesome weirdo that I am today, I do still find myself thinking about what could have been done differently to help me cope with troublesome environments, interactions, and thoughts/behaviours that would have made growing up less difficult. I can’t say for sure what would have been useful for a crazy, violent, destructive kid; being pathologized and locked up probably weren’t/aren’t the best solutions, but that is what happened.

Maranda back then (pre-adolescence & early teens) probably would have wanted privacy, a notebook that wouldn’t be read by others, books filled with stories they could actually relate to, and meaningful friendships. Instead, my bedroom door was taken off its hinges, I felt unsafe writing anything real, and I was isolated from my friends by well-meaning parents who thought either that I was a bad influence on them, or they were a bad influence on me (depending on which parent was initiating the separation).

Still, these small, simple measures wouldn’t have taken the craziness away; they wouldn’t have quelled my violent thoughts and urges, or ensured that I grew up happy, healthy, functioning, or well-balanced. What about access to mental health care, you ask? Well, I talked to a lot of therapists, counsellors, and psychiatrists when I was a kid, but those conversations and those meds didn’t stop me from bringing a knife to school; they didn’t stop me from stealing meds from the kitchen cupboard and collecting them for the suicide I was planning at age twelve, didn’t stop me from throwing dishes at my sister when we fought, didn’t stop me from cutting myself with broken glass and stolen pink Bic razors, didn’t stop me from every screaming match I had with my mom when I refused to go to school yet again. And, of course, they did nothing to protect me from the traumas I lived through in the process. The professionals / authority figures were people I felt unsafe and uncomfortable with. I didn’t know what they wanted from me or why they were taking notes. I didn’t know why they were asking me so many questions, or how to answer. I was silent and sullen. (They did, however, provide me with an excuse to get out of the classroom, another unsafe space, early.) (Also, silence and sullenless were recorded as symptoms, not reasonable reactions to fucked up situations.)

In mental health treatment programs (such as inpatient hospitals and outpatient group therapy), we are taught healthier communication skills, healthier eating habits, and the value of creating a steady routine; we are encouraged to keep a journal, drink lots of water, and learn the difference between thoughts, emotions, and actions. We are given medication. We are treated as though we have a simple case of mild depression, and just need a pill, a diary, a daily routine, and an occasional pat on the back to cure us. While this process has sometimes helped me in small bits, I know that it is not enough. There is so much I want from the mental health care system, from people in general, and it seems impossible; it seems like too much to ask.

My latest experience with the mental health care system was yet another disappointment. In October 2011 (five months after being discharged from a two-month inpatient program for depression, anxiety, and “mood disorders”), I was back in the ER with suicidal thoughts and major depression. I was put on a waitlist for outpatient Emotional Regulation group therapy. One year later, this past October, I finally heard back from them; my name had come up on the waitlist, and I needed to call them back to ensure my spot in the program. I was told that if they didn’t hear from me by a certain date (my birthday, incidentally), I’d be taken off the waitlist. So I called and called and called. I left countless messages, each one more desperate. Nobody ever answered the phone and nobody ever called me back. I was, presumably, taken off the waitlist.

I don’t want to be cured of my craziness. I don’t want to go back to a small, grey room where the nurses tell me to make a cup of tea when I feel like cutting myself, where they train me to wake up early and interact with others and think about the resumé I’ll write when I get out, so I can get a job as a cashier at the mall and hope that the routine keeps me sane. I’m not looking for sanity. I’m not looking for a normal life. I don’t want to ruin my life by trying to live up to somebody else’s idea of success. My craziness has been good for me. My craziness is why I write, why I invest time and energy in trying to create meaningful friendships & relationships, it’s why I try my best to help other weirdos do what they can to survive (conversely, it is also why I understand and respect when they choose not to). It’s bad, sometimes (a lot of times), yeah. But it’s me. And instead of trying to “fix” myself and pretend I’m okay in this world, I want… I want to know how to finish this sentence. I want something I don’t yet know how to name.

It’s been thirteen years since I’ve seen the inside of a detention centre and a year and a half since I’ve seen the inside of an inpatient treatment centre (I have yet to experience the cells of prisons, but have spent more than enough time in the cells of police stations & courts), but I still remember those periods of my life so vividly, and I am still easily triggered during conversations (read or spoken) about youth violence, youth mental health, the legal “justice” system, “bullying” (harassment and assault are closer to the truth), and mental health / treatment/recovery programs in general.

So far, I’ve grown up to be someone who thinks critically, keeps most of their violent impulses to themselves, and has the self-awareness and well-developed methods to take care of themselves during crises; but there is no guarantee that that will remain the same. What if I really do lose it someday? What if I really do kill somebody? Who will you choose to blame? Is access to mental health care the only viable solution? What if that mental health care is shitty anyway? What if it makes you feel crazier? Is allyship to crazyfolk even a possibility? What if these are all things that we can’t prevent anyway? What does “better mental health care” actually mean? What does it look like, what does it feel like? What if it’s not the answer? What if writing isn’t enough to save me forever? (As usual, I have many more questions than answers.)

Violently Yours,
blogsignature

P.S.: I am keeping many of the details of my childhood and teenage years to myself to protect my family from having to re-live it in any way, and also because I don’t want the telling of my stories to appear as a negative critique of my family’s skills or experiences, or as bitterness about a past that I cannot change. I fucking love my family, actually. I’m not a parent and I don’t intend to become one, and I know that each parent does the best they can, so I’m not gonna try to tell anyone how to do it better.

P.P.S.: If you’ve benefited from my writing in any way – if my words have inspired you, helped you feel less alone, or sparked some weird feeling within you; if you’ve felt encouraged, or curious, or comforted – please consider compensating me by offering a donation of any amount. Whether you’ve been reading my writing for years, or just stumbled into me this afternoon, I invite you to help me sustain the process!

Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Comments Off on I Was the Violent Kid Nobody Knew How to Deal With

Thoughts after my Toronto book launch.

Posted on December 12, 2012 by marandaelizabeth

I’ve learned two things recently: The first is that publishing a book is not a cure for depression, but it’s a pretty magical treatment nonetheless; the second is that I have a family who is supportive and proud of the weird stuff I do, and good friends who support me, too.

I didn’t know what to expect of my Toronto book launch. Should I bring five books or fifty? Who’s going to show up? Will they bring their friends? Am I gonna cry again? Does anybody care about what I write? What if it rains? What if it snows? What if I read too much or not enough? What if nobody shows up? Blah blah blah. (Sidenote: I have been to readings and workshops where nobody showed up. None of them were disastrous; we read our stories to each other anyway and we left feeling satisfied and grateful.)

I brought as many books as I could (almost-)comfortably carry. It was a clear, chilly, beautiful day, and snow didn’t fall until after the reading. Plenty of people showed up: friends, friends of friends, faces both familiar and new-to-me. I signed fucking autographs (with sweet notes because that’s what I like to do), listened to amazing, wondrous, heartbreaking stories, and had conversations that were sweet, sad, cute, inspiring, and silly. I almost cried but kept it in (but I think that crying in public, and/or crying in front of people can be good, healthy, and not-embarrassing). My mom showed up with flowers.

I didn’t know my mom was coming to my book launch, but there she was with her grey-purple-pink hair, black leather jacket, and a bouquet of a dozen white roses. I suppose it could have been awkward and embarrassing, but if radical honesty and weirdo pride are what I do, my family might as well know. They might as well hear my words. Also, it is a privilege to be able to read out loud my own words about mental health, depression, and genderqueer identities and experiences; a lot of people aren’t able to tell their parents or other family members about that kind of stuff; for so many people, to do so would be risky and unsafe. As a genderqueer and crazy person who also has a good relationship with their family and can share their creative work with them, I am a rare creature.

(Background: I was in a lotta trouble when I was a kid, arrested a few times, I left school when I was fourteen and never returned, I was a weirdo and a fuck-up, and although my family was always encouraging of my writing & creativity, they probably vacillated between thinking I was gonna grow up to be a Famous Writer or thinking I was gonna grow up to become a Serial Killer – so they are probably both surprised & unsurprised that I have in fact found a way to Do What I Want With My Life (-ish) without taking the conventional route of going to school and getting a real job and all that boring stuff that I intend to avoid forever and ever.)

The book launch was dreamy (because I actively try to create/experience dreamy moments in each of my days, to talk to my friends & listen to them, to find all sorts of good things in the bad things, and not because things just work out well all the time and everything is peachy keen – I mean, I was also nervous and overwhelmed and people misgendered me at my own event, I just don’t feel like writing about it right now). Me, Sarah Mangle, Clara Bee Lavery, and Dave Cave read in what I call Mix Tape Order, where we read whatever/whenever we feel like it, instead of having openers and headliners because that kind of makes me uncomfortable.

I still struggle with so many aspects of my writing, and I know that I always will. There are times when I know that my words are valuable, and that I am accomplishing my goal of not only surviving, but encouraging other weirdos to tell their own stories, and to know that there are other ways to live than the ways we are taught. There are also times when I am unsure about my writing, don’t know who I’m writing for or why. But I keep on writing anyway.

I Missed the Toronto Book Launch / Where Else Can I Get Your Book?

SchoolForMaps.Etsy.com
NeelyBat.Etsy.com
MendMyDress.com
MendMyDressPress.BigCartel.com

ALSO, upcoming events:
Montréal Book Launch
Peterborough Book Launch
& more

Launchingly Yours,
blogsignature

P.S.: If you’ve benefited from my writing in any way – if my words have inspired you, helped you feel less alone, or sparked some weird feeling within you; if you’ve felt encouraged, or curious, or comforted – please consider compensating me by offering a donation of any amount. Whether you’ve been reading my writing for years, or just stumbled into me this afternoon, I invite you to help me sustain the process!

Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , | Comments Off on Thoughts after my Toronto book launch.

If This Makes You Feel Awkward, I Don’t Care

Posted on November 12, 2012 by marandaelizabeth

♥ PART ONE: Sometimes I Don’t Like Guelph ♥

I write about the search for community a lot, and think about it much more than that, but the truth is, I think I am choosing to give up that search here in Guelph. I’ve always been a loner and a weirdo and had trouble making friends; Guelph is no exception. Although I’ve met a few good people here, I still feel overwhelmingly separate, especially when I try to go to shows, workshops, and events, or when I volunteer in various spaces. I don’t like parties, crowds, or alcohol, which makes it difficult to navigate my way through so-called “punk” and “radical” communities, and it is within these communities that I have felt alienated and invisible, and that I have been publicly and personally misgendered (in print, to my face, and behind my back) over and over again. My attempts to, for example, join collectives, participate in conversations, or simply talk to someone, have consistently left me feeling disappointed and discontent, and highlighted my need to create something better for myself, as well as to distance myself. Stuff I used to get excited about has become stuff I now avoid.

These feelings became especially evident to me when my sister visited from Montréal. Despite my declarations of massive love for this town over the last five years, there was almost no one I wanted to introduce her to, and nowhere I wanted to bring her. I felt embarrassed and like I was letting her down. Guelph has provided me with a few good adventures and good conversations, yes, but it’s also given me countless examples of lack of support, lack of critique, and lack of participation.

Of course, the same things happen in every town. I’ve always been critical of people who leave for bigger cities, expecting that that is the place where they will finally feel happy and find the community they’ve been dreaming of; we can’t run away from ourselves, and moving to another town without the intent and action of changing things can only leave us perpetuating the same problems. I have dreams of Halifax, Victoria, Chicago, Philadelphia, and yes, even sometimes Toronto, but I know that I’d only encounter the same problems, and that I’d be the same person when I got there: alone, sad, and shy.

Punk and radical communities, and zine communities especially, are small. Despite the hundreds of thousands of people involved, I am constantly finding connections I wasn’t aware of. Mostly, it’s been wonderful, but unfortunately, it also means that I find myself connected to people who’ve done shitty things to people I love, and so I feel constantly conflicted as to what I want my participation level to be in these communities, how I want to communicate about them, and wondering if I should avoid them altogether. It’s partly due to these connections, as well as to my own experiences, that I no longer want to participate in punk and zine communities in Guelph. It’s due to these connections & experiences that I gave up trying to organize a zine fair in our town, gave up trying to organize anything at all, and just plain quit showing up.

I did once try, really hard. If you’d talked to me around this time last year, you’d see that I was distributing zines and fliers all over town, talking about making the zine community in Guelph more visible, vibrant, and active, working on getting our zines stocked in local bookstores, and was in the midst of organizing the first Guelph Annual Radical Zinefest, a zinefest that was meant to be a positive counter to my shitty experiences at Canzine, Expozine, and Kazoo, and help local weirdos, creatives, writers, and activists get together and talk, make stuff, organize. I tried really hard and I got burnt out. I’m still burnt out.

Sometimes I feel the need to officially remove myself from any kind of “alternative” community in Guelph – but then, what does that leave me with? I guess it leaves me with what I’ve always had: Myself. Loneliness, frustration, despondency, and discontent are not new feelings to me. Moments when I am not experiencing one or all of these things are rare. And since I’m still here, that’s evidence that I know how to get through these feelings, I know how to give myself reasons to keep on living. Yes, it can be lonely working from my own little cozy corner, always being distanced from local communities (by my own choice or simply by circumstance), but it’s the only way I know how to be right now. I want my feelings to change, but sometimes it’s just too much work and too much disappointment. I’ve given up on a lot of people in Guelph, but I haven’t given up on myself.

♥ PART TWO: Sometimes I Do Like Guelph ♥

Yesterday, I held a book launch in my livingroom. The most honest story I can tell of the hours leading up to it is that I woke up not in the mood to be near anyone at all, I ran out of anxiety pills and settled for a Tylenol 3 instead, with a mug of coffee, and I made a row of twenty-seven cuts on my thigh in the bathroom after I got dressed. I felt like I was going to snap at everyone and cry my way through the reading. I took my sweet time in the shower, on the brink of tears, and hid in my bedroom, sending texts to my sister downstairs to please bring me water and pills. I felt better when Clara Bee arrived, but continued to feel unsettled throughout the entire event. I did finally burst into tears as I was reading; it was another moment where I read something I wrote five years ago, realized I have exactly the same problems today and am writing so much of the same stuff today, and felt like a total failure, unable to take care of myself or change things.

Even though (or because) I was crying, I wanted to keep on reading. I wanted to find a hopeful ending. And I said to everyone, “If this makes you feel awkward, I don’t care.” That should be the title of my autobiography, right?

Logically, I know that I have made a lot of changes in my life; just not enough. I was so worried that a) nobody was going to show up, and b) no matter how many people showed up, I would feel disappointed anyway (I am really good at feeling disappointed). And despite my own inner issues, the truth is, my book launch was Really Fucking Lovely. A bunch of us sat in a circle, I read from my book, Clara Bee read from her newest zine, Radio Antarctica, Amber Dearest read from The Triumph of Our Tired Eyes #1, and Sarah Mangle read a beautiful piece called We Both Have Little Troubles. Rather than simply listen to the readers, we all told stories and asked questions. I like my events to be participatory rather than observational. After everyone went home, Amber dug out some mix tapes we had made as teenagers, and we sang along to Pulp, Concrete Blonde, Cyndi Lauper, Joan Jett, The Smashing Pumpkins, etc., and I nearly passed out on the couch, exhausted.


An earlier photo of me reading at Dave Cave’s house.

I wrote Part One a few days ago but waited until after my book launch to share it. I wanted the book launch to change my mind about this town. Like, please come to this thing I organized and prove that my discontent and cynicism are just an illusion! The discontent and cynicism are still very real, but the sweetness and comfort and hugs are real, too. I don’t feel totally satisfied or content with myself, my writing, my life; it’s hard; I want everything I have to be enough, but so much of the time, it is not. But I guess that is why I need to keep on trying (and try not to give up).

Discontentedly Yours,

P.S.: If you’ve benefited from my writing in any way – if my words have inspired you, helped you feel less alone, or sparked some weird feeling within you; if you’ve felt encouraged, or curious, or comforted – please consider compensating me by offering a donation of any amount. Whether you’ve been reading my writing for years, or just stumbled into me this afternoon, I invite you to help me sustain the process!

Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Comments Off on If This Makes You Feel Awkward, I Don’t Care

How to Be A Good Friend to Crazyfolk

Posted on November 3, 2012 by marandaelizabeth

I’m crazy. And I’m okay with that. I’m learning how to live as a crazy person, how to take care of myself, and I’m learning what I want and need in various friendships and relationships. There are so many aspects of my craziness that I need to share (and some I’d rather keep to myself), and it’s important for us – crazyfolk, and our allies and pals and potential friends – to have meaningful discussions, to have compassion and understanding, and to be open to all these things and more. I also think that those of us with mental health conditions need to seek out one another, befriend one another, get together and strategize/organize. How do we take care of ourselves? How do we take care of one another? Are there times when we need to admit that we are not always capable of those things?

Support is a really big word. And it’s different for all of us. I’m writing as someone who has been diagnosed with depression, anxiety, borderline personality disorder, and chronic pain, among other things, and I’m writing as someone who grew up in and continues to live in poverty. I’m also writing as a queer, an introvert, and someone whose life has been consistently inconsistent. So that’s where I’m coming from, that’s part of my history. What I’ve written isn’t going to be true for everyone, but it’s what I know for myself, and I hope it will help you navigate your own conditions and boundaries, and those of your friends as well. I hope it will open discussions and I hope it will inspire you.

I’m going to begin with ideas on how to support us while we are in the hospital, and then move on to how to support us in our daily lives. And then I’ll provide some self-care tips for crazyfolk as well.

When We’re in the Hospital

Last Spring, I was in Homewood for two months, participating in a treatment program for those with depression and anxiety. Homewood is a treatment centre in Guelph with various inpatient and outpatient programs for people with mental health conditions, addictions, eating disorders, and so on. It’s been around for more than one hundred years. Although I’ve always been aware that treatment is, unfortunately, a privilege, not a right, I really had that drilled into me after I was referred to their depression and anxiety program. My first suicide attempt was in November 2006. I spent a few days at Guelph General Hospital having my stomach pumped, regaining consciousness, and talking to various nurses, counsellors, and psychiatrists. From there, I was moved across the street to Homewood Health Centre, where I was admitted to inpatient for one week. I was added to the waitlist for IMAP (Integrated Mood and Anxiety Program), and told that, since I didn’t have money or insurance, the waitlist would be quite long; maybe three to six months. I needed help immediately, and I freaked out. Instead, the waitlist turned out to be four and a half years. In the meantime, I fell apart a few times, put some of the pieces back together, and learned a hell of a lot. Nine months after being discharged, my life continues to be in a wonderful, adventurous state of transition, and my learning processes and self-care processes continue to develop. That’s where I’m at right now.

How can we support our friends when they/we are in the hospital?

1. Ask if we’d like visitors! And if we say yes, show up! When I was in Homewood, almost nobody visited me. A few people talked about visiting, asked about visiting hours, sent well wishes, but when it came right down to it, they did not show up. That’s not useful; it’s disappointing. You don’t need to be afraid of making plans with us, of coming onto hospital grounds, of hanging out. We are still human! We can still have conversations, we can sit down and drink coffee together, talk about our days, share stories, and it doesn’t have to be this weird, awkward thing. If you think it is, that’s your problem, not ours. Investigate those feelings. Talk about them. Get rid of them.

2. If you’re comfortable with visiting, please also understand that we will have days when we don’t want to see anyone. Don’t take it personally. Our days are mostly spent talking about difficult things. When I was in Homewood, a lot of my time and energy were spent on anger, depression, confusion, rage, and regret. Many of my conversations revolved around depression, anxiety, abuse, self-harm, trauma, and so on. By the end of the day, I was exhausted. I sat in my bed reading, journaling, napping, or daydreaming. The majority of our days on inpatient are spent in group therapy settings, and, for me, carving alone-time in each day was absolutely crucial.

3. Don’t forget we exist! Maybe we can’t participate in everything that’s happening on the outside, but we are still here. We probably miss you, but we need to take a break and take care of ourselves right now. Please don’t create unnecessary distances between us, or treat us like we are somehow different than we used to be. I don’t want to feel like a total freak when I come back to my supposed supportive communities (at least not anymore than I already do!).

4. Remember that these lists can and will change for different people at different times. The best you can do is ask us where we’re at, ask us if we’d like visitors, ask us if we want to talk about our mental health or anything but our mental health. Ask if you can share stories from your own life on the outside as well; we still care!

I feel like I would have had more visitors if I had been at the Regular Hospital instead of the Mental Hospital. Mental health conditions are obviously treated different than physical health conditions and injuries and whatnot, and while in some situations, that makes sense, I think that when we are in an institution where we are isolated from our friends and our communities and the routines of our daily lives, we need support and comfort no matter what the reasons are for us being there. If your friend was confined to a hospital bed because they’d broken their leg, you’d probably visit, and you probably wouldn’t pretend that the cast on their leg was invisible. So if your friend is in the hospital because they’re being treated for a mental health condition, visit. Talk to them. Don’t pretend it isn’t happening.

When We’re at Home

For those of us dealing with mental health conditions, and many others as well, communication can be really hard. I am shy. I find it difficult to initiate plans and conversations with my friends, though I am trying and I feel like I am getting better at it. Sometimes it’s easier for me to hide behind my computer screen and talk to you on the internet, or to write a zine and photocopy it and hand it to you, than it is for me to simply call you up and invite you over. I also have a difficult time making plans because my moods change rapidly and unpredictably, so I might make plans when I’m feeling super-pumped about life, then wake up the day of our get-together and feel pretty much unable to get out of bed. I don’t like cancelling plans, but sometimes it’s necessary. I’m learning what kinds of communications and conversations I need in my daily life, and I want to help others learn about their own needs and boundaries as well. I want to share these things, talk about these things, develop awareness about our various kinds of so-called crazy.

How can we support our friends in our daily lives?

1. Come visit, or invite us over to your place! I am not always comfortable in crowded places, and I’m usually broke, so while I do enjoy going out from time to time, it’s not something I like to do overly often, and I am usually too broke anyway. I like meeting up and hanging out at cafés, but can’t always afford a cup of coffee, so I’d rather just hang around at my place or yours, drink coffee or tea, and have good talks. You don’t need to worry about keeping me entertained or being the most interesting person in the world, and hopefully neither do I. I’m into cheap hangouts and good conversations, but then again, I’ve never turned down a trip to the bookstore either.

2. On a broke-related note: Disability! I’m on disability, and so are many other folks with mental health conditions and/or chronic pain. Please don’t judge us for a) where our income comes from, or b) what we choose to do with it. ODSP (Ontario Disability Support Program) is well-known for not providing a reasonable living wage. So I can’t always go out and spend a lot of money, see all the shows I want to see and buy all the records I want to listen to and all the books I want to read and eat out at restaurants all the time and buy a latté everyday. So please don’t expect me to. Let’s hang out without feeling pressured to spend money!

3. Please respect our boundaries. For example, I often need to go to bed early because I take meds that make me tired and make me require more sleep than the average person to function in my daily life, and I also have histories of insomnia and mania, so encouraging me to stay up all night is not always a fantastic idea. I do like to stay up late sometimes, and I miss my past night-owl-ism now and then, but it’s best for my mental and physical health if I try to maintain a fairly regular sleep schedule. Similarly, I require quite a bit of alone-time to recover from social situations, and I also require quiet-time and one-on-one time with my pals in general, so please respect that.

4. Listen to our stories. Don’t imply that we are Too Crazy or Not Crazy Enough. Both of these responses are incredibly invalidating and judgemental. Treat us with respect and compassion and care.

5. Don’t take the effects of our treatments personally. For example, a lot of the meds I’ve been on over the years have caused memory loss. I am not good at remembering names, sometimes I ask questions that were just answered five minutes ago, sometimes I forget the plans we just confirmed, and sometimes I am simply very scatter-brained or very groggy and blurry. It’s got nothing to do with you, just my weird moods and the chemicals in my body and my brain and my thoughts moving too rapidly to catch up with.

6. Ask us what’s going on in our lives, ask us how we’re feeling today. Ask us if we’d like a hug!

7. Do not give us unsolicited advice! It’s annoying and condescending. While I am totally open to listening to your stories and discussing what has helped you or what has helped your friends and family, I am absolutely not okay with the assumption that those are the things that are going to help me, too. I’ve tried many treatments; some have been helpful, some have not. Some of the treatments I’d like to try are entirely inaccessible to me due to my low income and lack of coverage. I don’t like being recommended treatments that cost money; that goes for various therapies and “alternative” treatments, as well as diets, vitamins, and supplements as well. If I could try them, I would, but that’s not where I’m at right now. If your next sentence begins with, “You should…”, then maybe just keep it to yourself, please and thank you. (But if I ask you for advice, hopefully you’ll be willing to share!)

8. Say and do things that let us know you value our friendship.

9. Discuss these lists with your pals. Talk about what you’d add, what you’d take away. Write your own lists. Share them.

Notes About Self-Care for Crazyfolk (and Everyone Else)

Self-care is the most important of all! I can’t stay sane or functional if I’m not making efforts to take good care of myself. Self-care means so many things to so many people, and it can change and evolve everyday. For example, sometimes I take care of myself by recognizing when I need alone-time, and staying home. Other times, I take care of myself by recognizing that I am using alone-time as a way of hibernating and isolating, so I instead force myself to go outside, or make plans with friends.

The following is a small list of some of my methods of self-care. The trick is not only to recognize when you need to devote some time and effort to taking care of yourself, but to actually do it instead of just thinking about it, writing lists, procrastinating, etc. It took me a long time to figure that out, and I feel like I am re-learning it everyday.

Ideas for Providing Self-Care

1. Write it down: journals, fiction, zines, letters, whatever, I need to write to get stuff out of my system, and sometimes I communicate better through writing than talking.

2. Turn off all technology: internet, radio, music, cell phones… Give yourself a break from life by creating a silent, calm atmosphere.

3. Keep up your basic daily self-care rituals, like having a shower, brushing your teeth, eating a decent breakfast, even if you’re not planning on leaving the house.

4. If you have animal companions, take time to snuggle with them and talk to them.

5. Slow down. When I am rushing through my activities and my days, I start to feel really crazy and jittery and like I’m constantly running out of time. When I make the effort to simply walk slower, prepare my food slower, focus on one thing at a time, I feel more calm and safe in my own body.

6. If you are doing things that are harmful to your psyche or your body, ask yourself why. Ask yourself what you are trying to accomplish, what feelings you would like to be experiencing, and then search for less harmful ways to find those things.

7. If you need to get out of the house, but don’t want to talk to anyone, go to the library. I like wandering the aisles and seeing what catches my eye, and I feel really great when I come home with my backpack filled with free books.

8. Declare a Self-Care Day! I do this sometimes when I really need to. A Self-Care Day means I get to do whatever I want all day long – within reason – and I don’t allow myself to feel guilty about not running important errands, or cancelling plans so I can stay home, or ignoring my to-do list in order to drink lots of coffee and make art, or whatever. Self-Care Days, for me, usually involve staying home, daydreaming, working on writing projects, not bothering to respond to emails and whatnot, reflecting on the state of my life in my paper journal, and burning yummy-smelling candles. I especially like to declare Self-Care Days on what I call Bad Anniversaries – certain dates that roll around each year and make you feel bad because something terrible happened that day however many years ago. Those are the days that I really need to be aware and take care of myself. Your Self-Care Days might look way, way different from mine, and that is absolutely okay. Do whatever you need to do to keep yourself alive.

These lists could go on forever, and they will vary and warp and change and grow for each person. I highly encourage you to try out some of the things on these lists, to write your own lists, and to discuss them with your friends and family. It takes an incredible amount of time and energy to figure out what you want and need, and it takes even more effort and guts to share these things with people in your life. It’s gonna be hard, but it’s also gonna be wonderful.

Crazily Yours,

P.S.: If you’ve benefited from my writing in any way – if my words have inspired you, helped you feel less alone, or sparked some weird feeling within you; if you’ve felt encouraged, or curious, or comforted – please consider compensating me by offering a donation of any amount. Whether you’ve been reading my writing for years, or just stumbled into me this afternoon, I invite you to help me sustain the process!

Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Comments Off on How to Be A Good Friend to Crazyfolk

On Being an Introvert (Part Two)

Posted on October 14, 2012 by marandaelizabeth

Read Part One here!

Now I am thinking about what it means to be an introvert in the communities I am involved in. Within punk and radical circles, I feel there is a huge emphasis on working in groups, organizing in groups, hanging out in groups, adventuring in groups, studying in groups, partying in groups… Everything in groups! I feel like the stuff we make isn’t quite as visible unless it’s a collaborative effort, the most obvious example being, of course, a band. I’ve never played in a band. When I was a kid, I wanted to take guitar lessons, but we couldn’t afford them; instead, my nana & poppa gave my twin and I acoustic guitars picked up at yard sales and beginner’s books on learning how to play. I didn’t understand the books, and instead, just strummed along to my Nirvana MTV Unplugged in NYC cassette and pretended I was playing the songs for real. I also dreamed of playing bass, but had no one to play with. Although I have many imaginary bands (because I like coming up with band names and making up songs in my head to play with a xylophone or ukulele, or just to scream), I have very little desire to actually play in any sort of band. When I think about the process of writing lyrics and music with other people, I know that that’s not truly what I want to do, and I know why I choose to write.

“When you have friends, you form a band. When you’re lonely, you write.” – Marilyn Manson

Each time I try to participate in a social activity, I tend to feel separate from the events going on; more of an observer than a participant. I thought this was a quirk of my Being A Writer, and perhaps it is, as I know plenty of other writers feel similarly, and it is helpful for our scribbling proclivities; I also attributed it to my inner sense of constant loneliness and discontent, and it is part of that, too; but it’s also due to my introversion. I’m trying to accept this feeling while also continuing to at least attempt to get involved by going to shows and events. I used to feel inspired when I went to shows, but now I usually just feel lost and alone. Parties are the worst. I’ve never enjoyed parties; even when I was a drunken wreck, I couldn’t understand the point of it all, and knew I didn’t belong there. It was impossible to have a conversation with anyone, and I mostly just preferred hanging out with my twin anyway. I still try to go to parties sometimes, but they are just more spaces where I feel separate; a queer dance party sounds like the most fun in the world until I get there and realize I am still the same awkward weirdo as always and I’d rather go home and read a book.

And each time I am social, even with only one person, I need time to process and re-energize. Just spending an hour with a friend over a cup of coffee takes a lot outta me; it’s not necessarily a negative thing, just something I need to learn how to deal with, and learn how to accept rather than change (or feel guilty for not being able to change). Although I often have intentions of texting my friends and inviting them to meet up and hang out, I usually end up choosing to be alone.

Often, I feel like a bad friend. I don’t hang out with my local pals as much as I want to, and I end up canceling plans more frequently than I’d like to admit. Along with my raging need for incredible amounts of alone-time, I also have chronic illnesses that prevent me from going out; headaches keep me at home and require plenty of recovery-time; I’m heavily allergic to synthetic scents and cigarette smoke, so sometimes just walking through downtown can trigger a headache or potential migraine, and if somebody wearing cologne or perfume sits near me on the bus or at a café, or stands next to me in line, I’m screwed. (One trick I’ve learned is to keep a small bottle of peppermint oil with me, and dab a little under my nose either as a preventative measure, or when another scent starts invading my space; I’m not allergic to essential oils, so this has proven useful for me.)

As an introvert, I also frequently feel left out of conversations. Whenever I am at a loss for words, somebody will inevitably say, “But you’re a writer!” Yes, I am. That means I’m good with words when I’m writing, not when I’m speaking. I’m just not good at formulating thoughts / ideas / opinions / etc., out loud; I need time to think, process, write. In group conversations, I tend to keep to myself. I find that the more people there are in a group, the more people tend to interrupt and the less actually gets said. I actually really really can’t deal with being interrupted. It’s so disrespectful. When you interrupt someone, you are essentially saying, “Shut up! What I have to say is more important than what you’re saying!” It takes time and effort for me to collect my thoughts into anything coherent, so when I attempt to express them out loud, I truly need to get them outta me, and when somebody chooses to interrupt me, I lose my train of thought, and I lose my will to continue the conversation.


How to Care for Introverts [Please tell me if you made this or if you know who made this! Posting stuff without credit makes me angry!]

Lately, I’ve been having Fight Boredom Write Anything Club gatherings, and “quiet parties”; inspired by my twin and the work-on-stuff dates she’s been organizing, quiet parties are dates where a few pals get together and do stuff like write letters, draw stuff, make zines, get crafty, and drink tea, and keep each other company without the pressure of having to entertain, or even having to talk. And the Fight Boredom Write Anything Club is similar; it’s an informal gathering of people who wanna write stuff in the company of others, whether it be zines, letters, journals, ficition, whatever. Sometimes it’s just me writing alone, and that’s okay. Sometimes I have writing dates with my partner, or sometimes my housemate and I work on stuff together in the livingroom, relatively silent, but with the comfort of a rad friend nearby. I find such great beauty in these little dates.

The Rise of the New Groupthink has also been giving me plenty to think about. The article was written last Winter by Susan Cain, author of Quiet: The Power of Introverts in a World That Can’t Stop Talking (a book I very much want to read but am waiting until the softcover version comes out because I find hardcover books to be ugly, clunky, and uncomfortable), and discusses working in groups vs. working in solitude.

“Solitude has long been associated with creativity and transcendence. “Without great solitude, no serious work is possible,” Picasso said. A central narrative of many religions is the seeker — Moses, Jesus, Buddha — who goes off by himself and brings profound insights back to the community.”

“The protection of the screen mitigates many problems of group work. This is why the Internet has yielded such wondrous collective creations. Marcel Proust called reading a “miracle of communication in the midst of solitude,” and that’s what the Internet is, too. It’s a place where we can be alone together — and this is precisely what gives it power.”

“And most humans have two contradictory impulses: we love and need one another, yet we crave privacy and autonomy.”

Ten Tips for Parenting an Introverted Child, by the same author, is also useful, inspiring, and thought-provoking.

Tell me about your own introvert experiences!

Introvertedly Yours,

P.S.: If you’ve benefited from my writing in any way – if my words have inspired you, helped you feel less alone, or sparked some weird feeling within you; if you’ve felt encouraged, or curious, or comforted – please consider compensating me by offering a donation of any amount. Whether you’ve been reading my writing for years, or just stumbled into me this afternoon, I invite you to help me sustain the process!

Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , , , , | Comments Off on On Being an Introvert (Part Two)

On Being an Introvert (Part One)

Posted on October 14, 2012 by marandaelizabeth

Read Part Two here!

I’m an introvert. I always have been. And learning more about introversion has been helping me make sense of some of my personality “quirks,” such as a preference for hangouts one-on-one or at least in very small groups as opposed to parties and shows and big events, a preference for writing letters and communitcating over the internet rather than having in-person conversations, and a preference for working alone rather than organizing with collectives and working on collaborative projects. As a child, and still today, these preferences are often mistaken for shyness, anxiety, and a tendency toward the antisocial. I was the kid who hid behind their mother’s legs at family gatherings, or sometimes even waited outside in the car while my mom hung out with the family. I made her late for work on summer mornings when she dropped my twin and I off at the Boys & Girls Club to wait for the bus to summer camp, and when we got to the conservation area where the daily camp was held, my sister and I would refuse to participate in games and swimming lessons, instead separating ourselves from the groups to read or talk to each other. Learning more about introversion also helps me see why I constantly feel like such a misfit at shows, events, and parties, even when I’m surrounded by queerdos and punks and crazies who are surely misfits themselves, and perhaps feel just as awkward and shy as I do.

Reading 5 Things to Know about Introverted Children on Parenting From Scratch brought back memories of my childhood. I remember being introduced to people as a shy kid, and I remember being encouraged to interact with the other kids at summer camp, family gatherings, and birthday parties, and just not wanting to. If more knowledge of the innerworkings of introverted children had been accessible, maybe these little quirks of mine would have been accepted, respected, and encouraged, rather than viewed as a problem. Not only did I constantly feel like I was unwanted and in the way, I also felt like everybody else was in my way; but I didn’t know how to communicate any of these things because, you know, I was a kid. I just knew I was weird.

I’m still learning how to communicate these things. As an introvert, I have some pretty major boundaries to set on my interactions with others, and my need for silence and solitude, but because I was raised in what the literature of mental health and BPD often refer to as an “invalidating environment” (through little fault of the adults around me but perhaps through the fault of society as a whole), I have always had great difficulty setting boundaries and saying no, and I often make decisions to please others rather than myself, a habit that is very hard to break and that I sometimes continue to do without even realizing it. I tend to feel like I owe something to everybody and I need to be as nice and small and quiet as can be. This works to my detriment, of course. I do want to be kind, yeah, but I am still learning the difference between being a nice person and being a total doormat.

I’ve always known that I work better alone, but again, this was always viewed as a problem. I grew up as one of the top kids in class and generally had the highest marks of the class in English and French. I remember finishing my work before everyone else and feeling bored and restless; I was also frequently argumentative with students and teachers, and occasionally violent; I remember yelling at teachers, shoving desks aside, and threatening further violence. My Grade Six teacher made me tape blank paper to my desk so I would stop drawing on my schoolwork. In the same grade, a friend and I petitioned to have benches installed in our playground since we felt too mature to play anymore, and wanted somewhere to sit and chat at recess. I often stayed inside at recess and volunteered in the library, tidying shelves and cleaning tables, and once caught the teachers in the staff room beside the library making fun of me for being such a weirdo. We weren’t given the benches we asked for.

At the ages of thirteen and fourteen, I spent two two-month intervals in a detention centre after being arrested for several crimes. There was a classroom in the detention centre. We were assigned books to read and given simple assignments. Each student would read out loud to the class until the book was complete. In one of the few encouraging actions for an introvert that I remember from that period, the staff at the detention centre let me work alone in my room instead of attending class with everybody else. Once again, I finished the books and the assignments before everyone else (though it was remarked upon that I needed to stop writing different names on all my schoolwork and choose one identity to stick with), and was left with time to write my own stuff and read other books (these books were usually Anne Rice’s novels, Kurt Cobain biographies, Stephen King, and Shakespeare, as that was the general selection from the small bookshelf in the detention centre).

These days, I’m still figuring out what everything means. Being an introvert, among other things, explains why I don’t fit in with certain communities, or at least why I only fit in from a distance. It explains why I choose to sit in corners when I go to shows, restaurants, and parties; it explains why most of my closest friends are long-distance pen pals; and it explains why I chose to drink so much in my late-teens and early-twenties as I attempted to be social and make friends for the first time since leaving school at the age of fourteen. It explains so many things!

When I was diagnosed with borderline personality disorder last year, as I started doing my research, reading books about the diagnosis and memoirs by others with the same diagnosis, everything began to make so much sense to me that it was actually kind of ridiculous. Like, suddenly there were all these explanations for my behaviour and my history, all these answers on how to deal with it, and all this validation that I had never felt before. I was actually kind of elated and grateful to finally have a diagnosis that made sense.

Well, that is the same feeling I get as I learn more about introversion. Things make sense. And suddenly I’m finding all these answers on how to feel content and in control as an introvert, how to communicate with my pals about my introversion, and how to discuss my boundaries and learn how to say no. It’s like, finding hope, you know? I know that word is kind of overused or whatever, but when you actually feel it, it does truly mean something.

Introvertedly Yours,

P.S.: If you’ve benefited from my writing in any way – if my words have inspired you, helped you feel less alone, or sparked some weird feeling within you; if you’ve felt encouraged, or curious, or comforted – please consider compensating me by offering a donation of any amount. Whether you’ve been reading my writing for years, or just stumbled into me this afternoon, I invite you to help me sustain the process!

Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , , , , , | Comments Off on On Being an Introvert (Part One)

Turning Twenty-Seven

Posted on October 12, 2012 by marandaelizabeth

In four days, I’ll be celebrating my twenty-seventh birthday. When I was much younger, I thought my twenties would be like an episode of Friends, but by the time I reached my twenties, I was so suicidally depressed that I doubted I would make it through even the first half of this decade of my life. Twenty-seven is an age I never believed I would see. Right now, I feel like I am looking for more direction in my life, still working on that neverending project of Figuring Shit Out. This involves thinking hard, writing lists, and getting ready to take actual action. Twenty-seven is a Big Deal for me. I’m sure you’re familiar with “The Twenty-Seven Club”. I think about these artists a lot and wonder how my own twenty-seventh year will be. I am determined to live through it, to dedicate myself to creativity, adventures, and self-care, and make this a truly magical year.

October is my favourite month, and typically an eventful month as well. This year, October has me publishing my first book, hanging out with my twin, celebrating six months with my partner, celebrating 18 months sober, and tabling at the Philly Zinefest. This month has been pretty rad so far. I’ve been drinking homemade apple juice from the trees in my backyard, writing letters & postcards, re-learning how to feel posi again… There have been some really difficult times, too. There’ve been difficult conversations with friends, getting used to living in my new home and sharing space… Last week, I had a four-day migraine that kept me bedridden and barely able to open my eyes, sit up, or eat. I ended up in the ER. After that, I realized that my migraine had likely been brought on by stress and busyness, and that I need to make more efforts to not overwhelm myself, to take better care of myself, work on preventing the exacerbation of my chronic physical illnesses, slow down a little. I feel constantly overwhelmed by plans, projects, communication, etc., and I need to sort out my jumbled brain and get my priorities in order.

I’ve also been reading some good articles that I want to share with you: Gala Darling offers advice on How to Survive Your Saturn Return, Veronica Varlow shares The Day the Muses Showed Me the Map, Alexandra Franzen talks about How Getting (Slightly) Famous-er Has Made Me a Better Person, Tavi tells us How Not to Care What Other People Think of You, and Sady writes On Taking Yourself Seriously.

I know this year is gonna be really good. How do you feel about turning twenty-seven? What was your twenty-seventh year like?

Twenty-Sevenly Yours,

P.S.: If you’ve benefited from my writing in any way – if my words have inspired you, helped you feel less alone, or sparked some weird feeling within you; if you’ve felt encouraged, or curious, or comforted – please consider compensating me by offering a donation of any amount. Whether you’ve been reading my writing for years, or just stumbled into me this afternoon, I invite you to help me sustain the process!

Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Comments Off on Turning Twenty-Seven

Telegram Zine Anthology Pre-Order!

Posted on October 10, 2012 by marandaelizabeth

My book, Telegram: A Collection of 27 Issues is now available for pre-order from Mend My Dress Press. The book will ship out to you on Halloween, my favourite holiday, just in time to curl up for Autumnal reading & adventuring, and putting your Winter survival skills into practice. I am in the midst of organizing local book launch events and other exciting zinely happenings, so stay tuned for more news!

In Telegram: A Collection of Twenty-Seven Issues, Maranda tells tales of daily adventures, friendship, gender identity, falling in love with bicycles, getting tattoos, moving out, going crazy, and their experiences with inpatient hospitalizations. They also write about their relationship with their twin sister, and learning how to take care of their mental health within and without conventional institutions, identifying as genderqueer, getting sober, living a creative and meaningful daily life, and finding reasons to keep on going.

At its heart and in its guts, Telegram is about seeking magic in the smallest things, staying crazy in a world that wants us to fake sanity or die, and learning how to take good care of ourselves and each other.

What else have I been up to lately? Prancing around in my dreamy new purple floral Doc’s, taking photos of all the yarn-bombing in downtown Guelph, participating in 31 Postcards in 31 Days, wearing a purple wig, snuggling with my cats (Lily-Biscuit and Amélie), making plans for when my twin comes to town (!), paper-journalling, reading a few books (Mad, Bad & Sad: Women and the Mind Doctors by Lisa Appignanesi, Creative Recovery: A Complete Addiction Treatment Program That Uses Your Natural Creativity by Eric Maisel, PhD, and Susan Raeburn, PhD, and I Hate You – Don’t Leave Me: Understanding the Borderline Personality by Jerold J. Kreisman, MD, and Hal Straus), and thinking about World Mental Health Day.

What have you been up to lately?

Anthologizingly Yours,

P.S.: If you’ve benefited from my writing in any way – if my words have inspired you, helped you feel less alone, or sparked some weird feeling within you; if you’ve felt encouraged, or curious, or comforted – please consider compensating me by offering a donation of any amount. Whether you’ve been reading my writing for years, or just stumbled into me this afternoon, I invite you to help me sustain the process!

Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , , , | Comments Off on Telegram Zine Anthology Pre-Order!

Self-care reminder.

Posted on September 20, 2012 by marandaelizabeth

I’m learning that feeling exhausted with everything and wanting to take a break from the world are signs that something is wrong and I need to take better care of myself and make my boundaries more clear. Right now, that means accepting that I will never be caught up on all my emails & letters, it means drinking tea & water & taking vitamins instead of relying on coffee & candy to keep me going, and it means writing in my diary & solitude & silence & ignoring everyone for a while. I’m at another transitional stage of my life, and am figuring out how to handle it all. I’m becoming easily frustrated at attempted conversations, feeling silenced from several directions, but not having the energy to respond. It’s a rainy day, and I just wanna hang out in my bedroom and be nice to myself and quit worrying about everyone else for a while.

It’s Okay to Walk Away and Self-Care for Bossy Femmes were both useful and timely reading for me today. 10 Myths About Introverts is essential as well.


The mirror on my bedroom wall; endless mugs of coffee on my desk.

I’ve also been writing lists, trying to figure out my values, identities, and meaningful activities. Making these lists is a recommended activity for people with borderline personality disorder, but I imagine it could be useful for just about anyone. I first wrote my lists when I was Homewood, and last night I decided to go back to them, see what I had written, and write a new one. Because I’m not totally the same person I was back then. This is the beginning of my current process of trying to define who I am, why I do what I do, what I want to do the most… Basically, figuring out my priorities.

identities
writer
weirdo
genderqueer
twin
introvert

values
creativity
weirdness
honesty
anti-oppression
appreciating the little things

meaningful activities
writing (diary, zines, fiction, letters, blog, etc.)
reading
meditating
creating a home
hanging out at libraries & cafés
good conversations with friends
work-on-stuff dates
being outside

Have you ever written similar lists for yourself? What are you doing to take care of yourself today?

Caringly Yours,

P.S.: If you’ve benefited from my writing in any way – if my words have inspired you, helped you feel less alone, or sparked some weird feeling within you; if you’ve felt encouraged, or curious, or comforted – please consider compensating me by offering a donation of any amount. Whether you’ve been reading my writing for years, or just stumbled into me this afternoon, I invite you to help me sustain the process!

Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , , | Comments Off on Self-care reminder.

Best mail day, etc.

Posted on August 25, 2012 by marandaelizabeth

It felt like my birthday when I went to the post office and picked up a package from Mend My Dress Press. Not only had they sent me the Isle Content Anthology by Alexis Wolf that I’d been looking forward to, they also sent A Traveling Song by Colleen Borst, a purple notebook, a telegram-themed notebook, a bunch of zines, and a little purple keyring (I’ve written about safety objects before, and I feel the need to note here that keyrings are a good little safety object to have; when I decided to move, I bought myself a Hello Kitty keyring to put on my new housekey, and now I have a purple one to put on my mailbox key), everything all wrapped up in tissue paper. Holding An Isle Content Anthology in my hands filled me with excitement for the upcoming publication of my own zine anthology; the creme pages of typewritten photocopies of stories & letters & prose were so unspeakably beautiful, and I was reminded that soon enough, I’ll be holding a book of my own creation in my hands, and sharing it with you. Dreamy!


Mend My Dress care package!

What else have I been up to lately? Learning how to do nothing, or do less. I’ve been so busy lately, writing my endless to-do lists, constantly working on various writing projects, dealing with my buzzing brain that never stops, yet always falling behind. I’ve also been getting my shit together to move next week. Busy bee! Anyway, I need to calm down. I need to stop thinking that I need to do & write everything immediately. What I wanna do the most right now is get everything together for the making of my book, catch up on my boxful of snail mail & unread zines, hang out with my cats, hang out with my partner, and create a new home. I’m really looking forward to Autumn!


My diary, flowers, amethyst. Writing about dreams, dresses, and writing.


Hostas growing in Dave Cave’s front yard.


Marigolds in Dave Cave’s backyard.


Dave Cave’s new home.

I often take pictures of houses I find intriguing, and I imagine my life there, if the house were mine, or if only a little corner of the house were mine. A couple weeks ago, before I went to Lindsay, I spent the day in Toronto and went to a Picasso exhibit at the Art Gallery of Ontario. Across the street from the gallery was a café where I had a delicious french vanilla coffee, and a few doors down was a gorgeous yellow & purple house with a cat in the window. And of course I got lost in daydreams of everything I could do with that house if only it were mine.


A dreamy house in Toronto.


Amélie and Lily-Biscuit snuggling in my bed.

I also want to share this article with you, Going Public with Depression, especially this quote:

Now, 25 years later, I’ve lost too much time and too many people to feel any shame about the way my psyche is built. How from time to time, for no good reason, it drops a thick, dark jar over me to block out air and love and light, and keeps me at arm’s length from the people I love most.

The pain and ferocity of the bouts have never eased, but I’ve lived in my body long enough to know that while I’ll never “snap out of it,” at some point the glass will crack and I’ll be free to walk about in the world again. It happens every time, and I have developed a few tricks to remind myself of that as best I can when I’m buried deepest.

What have you been up to lately? What are your plans for Autumn? What do you wanna do before Summer ends?

Dreamily Yours,

P.S.: If you’ve benefited from my writing in any way – if my words have inspired you, helped you feel less alone, or sparked some weird feeling within you; if you’ve felt encouraged, or curious, or comforted – please consider compensating me by offering a donation of any amount. Whether you’ve been reading my writing for years, or just stumbled into me this afternoon, I invite you to help me sustain the process!

Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , | Comments Off on Best mail day, etc.