The Cosmic Cuttlefish

Teenagers are not between a child and an adult- teenagers are a thing of their own- viciously going about- rebelling, separating themselves from society. 

The babiness of their face- their supple features- what is a teenager but everything? 

I don’t know. I’m tired, and I have a red spot on my nose from where I botched a pimple popping. 

PPSA: (personal public service announcement) I can’t pop pimples on my nose- my skin is too tight. 

PPSA: Don’t ever go on Facebook ever! It will make you feel bad as I see various romantic/sexual interests succeed in life. 

I was not with them. I did not date them. There they are succeeding. I will literally stalk them and feel shitty for stalking them if I keep this up. Stop it. Stop it you.

Okay I’m going to go apply for something that my crushwhocurrentlyhasagirlfriend posted and then go to bed. 

6:18pm

Today’s not a very good mental health day. I rode my bike all the way to UBC starting at 5:30am in the dawn and I’ve been kind of paralyzed because of perfectionism. However, I told Blyue that I didn’t want to do acting auditions anymore and feel better for it.

   When I’m not thinking about the terrible things, like how I want to smash my fist into a boulder or the sleepy silence of death, when I manage to become mindful of my surroundings- the curling yellow of a rosebud, the cooling wind, the green grass I’m struck by this fear inside of belly. It ripples into my elbows up to my forearms and ricochets down my calves begging me to collapse into a fetal position.

On a bathing in my bathing suit, my ankles caked in water, looking down at the seaweed rippling in the Pacific peripheries, I stand stupified. Tenseness is crawling up my shoulders and my jaw feels heavy, that urge again to crawl and disappear.  

To avoid stimuli, talking, noise, a milk carton left on the table. The fear seizes my shoulders again as I swing open the door and move it to the fridge.

I want to snap out at people, stay away.

Then when I’m alone I want to be around people because they keep me safe from tall tall things and bad bad decisions.

I do like it in a way through. Now safe, in the bathing suit on my duvet. I’ll get yogurt, watch a movie, and relax.

It’s been getting harder and harder to relax in you’re average moment.

I noticed it when in taking photos:

“Get that person, no that person, go just do it!” a promise to make the discomfort subside, paired with the same defensive voice screaming “Stop! Run away!”,

I sit by the tree, fiddle with my camera and take a break.

I try a new strategy: Feel the two voices colliding and go to take photos anyway. But it doesn’t save me from the fearful recoil afterward.

It’s like this, some demanding obsession which absorbs my total attention and then afterward, a wave of crippling fear.

My all or nothing thinking is worse, “If I don’t make a chart explaining this, I won’t have an epiphany!”

While swing dancing, trying to be the most personable likable individual.

“Smile, ask someone to dance, be witty.”

Afterward, faced with the fear and the impulse-like electricity running through my neurons, to hurl myself into the subway tracks,

Not loud enough that I’d actually do it, but a buzz like a mosquito.

I watch the SNL audition tapes. My heart picks up speed. Shivers all around, excitement within me. A smile across my face.

8:53pm

Merry Christmas!

I am so relived that I am choosing to get over my obsessions, it makes life so much brighter and filled with so many more possibilites.

So I’ve been obsessing for crane climbing the past two weeks, but I feel like I may finally be getting out of that. Even though I have doubts like:

“Oh. You’re a failure.”

“God damn. You’re a coward.”

“You’ll never have any adventure ever.”

I’m willing to work through, and that feels good.

How can something be wrong... if I feel this good, even if I feel like a bit of a coward because of it. I can work through that, a life of obsession. I’m trapped in that.

I had this dream before I came home, this dream where I did it over and over. That dream fucking sucked.

I want something, but I judge myself for it?

I don’t want to climb a crane: You’re a coward.  I don’t want to do that cliff jump by myself: Where’s your adventurous spirit?  I want to do something different: You’re a fool.

December 15th 2017

6:11pm

   I can’t even handle my obsessions right now. Namely, climbing a crane. Okay, so this is what we know. We know my obsessions aren’t just because of one thing. They have multiple components. 

1) Lack of dopamine. Needing a rush. See, ADHD

2) Emotional shit. Feeling worthless, less than. Alone. Needing to prove myself. Inadequacy. 

3) OCD???? Like this feeling on not being satisfied until it’s done, type thing?

This is all stuff I need to work on. But right now, at a base level I can tell you I’m fucking sick of obsessions. It’s the same story every time: 

Girl meets obsession. Girl feels like obsession is the only way to feel good/normal/worthwhile. Girl thinks if she doesn’t do obsession she will regret it forever. Girl becomes obsessed. Girl thinks “Okay. I’ve got this under control. I don’t need to do it.” If I’ve got in under control though... maybe I do need to do it!!! Cycle starts again.

I hate my obsessions. I don’t want to do them. I don’t care how cool it promises me I’m going to be. I DON’T WANT TO DO IT. It’s obsessive. If I can keep that in  mind, I can conquer some other stuff; like being scared of being scared, or feelings of worthlessness. 

I don’t want to keep doing things to make myself feel worthy. I don’t wan to run away from emotions. I want to enjoy my life. 

I don’t want to be bullied into obsessions. They make me depressed.

Knowing that, I can move forward. 

I hate them.

I hate this.

This whole: “Maybe I should. Maybe it’s the right thing to do. Crazy Russian kids do it, so should I! Maybe this will be the last one.” Is part of the illness.

The bottom line is it’s my choice; and I hate it. I don’t like it. I don’t like having to con myself into it and feeling all depressed in the mean time. 

December 10th 2017

8:55pm

It feels like I’m back to the beginning all of a sudden. I felt the need to go climb things, so I did. To get the dopamine, to release frustration. It’s hard. Like this is my life now maybe? To see cranes and climb them. To get that build up till I just don’t care anymore and find something high. 

To be flung over my impulse.

That’s how it was before.

Before the eating disorder.

Today, I climbed a few things. A big storage bin, a wooden cover/gazebo, a deciduous tree. None of which was too my liking or perfection.

This morning I was despondent, the words had trouble coming out of my mouth, I knew that if I was to walk alone I would do something risky, so my dad came with me. I don’t deserve them sometimes. The parrot watched me as I was crying, and then bit my hand like a maniac, mum healed it for me. 

I think, not taking medication is a bit of a self sabotaging thing. Like, I need my life to be terrible in order to change. That is cycle isn’t bad enough as it is. That it isn’t bad. That I’m just a coward if I don’t climb this or do that, y’know? Like I need to man up and sneak into construction sites, so I can get that release and feel freakin’ normal. 

This impulsiveness. 

This depression.

This frustration....

I can’t seem to own it. 

When I was doing those things tonight, it was all coming back to me. I haven’t climbed on stuff in ages. I remembered what it was like to go places and have to grapple with the compulsion to balance and scale and go into places and get into trouble. 

To get that “rush” and then, then with the perfectionism, obsession, and addictive personality piece... how I can never climb high enough, or be out long enough, or balance close enough to the edge. If I can- how the bar keeps raising...

Is this normal? 

Do those people that climb cranes feel this too? Are they driven by the unplayable compulsion of “needing to climb something”? Do they need release?

Or, better...

Do they feel relief when they’re safe at home and can’t be crazy anymore? 

I think that’s the real question...

Are they relieved when they have a structure and an itinerary so they can expand their soul to fill up that space? Instead of pushing away barrier after barrier, challenge after challenge, in order to feel normal. To get that rush. 

There are dares, which loop in my head without stop and berate me, but then there is just that “I need to do something dangerous.” I don’t care what it is. 

Maybe I’ll post this question on reddit. 

December 8th 2017

Mum comes downstairs.

Mum: How was Bryn?

Me: Good, I think she's kind of depressed though.

Mum: What makes you think she's depressed?

Me: She has all the symptoms of depression. Or, a few symptoms of depression anyways. I suspect she's got some deep emotional stuff she's suppressing.

Mum: Like what?

I continue to prepare overnight oats in the pantry.

Me: Oh, probably similar stuff to me. Not feeling like it's acceptable to be sad.

Mum: I think your full of baloney.

Me: (#triggered. Looking up at mum.) What?

Mum: Margo, where'd you ever get this idea that it's unacceptable to be sad?

Me: I think from you guys...

Mum: When? All you ever did was cry when you were a kid! You got lots of sympathy from us!

Me: Well... like you're doing now! I felt sad, but it felt like you were always trying to fix me. Like, when at Christmas time and I was depressed saying I was ruining it for everybody. Feeling responsible for your emotions!

*Outside the gate of the pantry door I see mum walk off. Without another word*

I begin to feel guilty, unreasonable, selfish, bratty. But nah. Still invalidated. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Invalidation of emotions isn't some thing for special snowflakes or marshmallow emotional people. It's a fact.

"You shouldn't be so sad."

"Get it together."

"Do you like being miserable?"

This gives the impression we have control over our emotions and we should try to change them, or feel ashamed about them. We don't have that kind of power. We can explore emotions and act on/cope with them in different ways. We don't control them.

The idea that we can and should is what leads to shame, suppressing, hiding, and a whole plethora of unhealthy shit.

I was crying to hard in open talk the other day. So mad at my parents, it felt like that scene in Spirited Away in the bathtub where the cork is pulled.

I was so mad, SO MAD! At my parents for doing this to me, this lesson that I need to be happy. That being unhappy is a undesirable, unlovable condition and that I need to be fixed and patch up my emotions. That there was only so much sad they could take and I needed to carry the weight of the house.

Even then, I took "making space for emotions" as "make space to get rid of" now I know better. Bad emotions aren't bad, anxiety, obsessions aren't bad. Therefore I'm not bad. I'm not wrong. I don't need to be proven. Wow.

I was dead after that open talk, chest heavy, yet incredibly light. Spent through gasping sobs.

"I need to re-jig the entire puppet show now." I thought.

Even now, talking about it I want to start justifying what a bad kid I was... how I was "bratty", (I remember when dad and mum called me that. "Am I acting like a brat dad?" "Yes. I think you are. It hurt so much.) difficult, headstrong, how it was my fault, not their own. I could've been better.

But it's always the same story, I complain and then I'm told I shouldn't complain or I'm being ungrateful/unreasonable and that's that.

December 2nd 2017

11:22pm

It was a great day today. I’m wondering if I should stop using this blog and go back to journaling. Like, I need to learn to type more efficiently, but for what purpose am I doing this for? Who am I blogging to? Who reads this really? Or, the better question, how is this bettering my life? It feels like an obligation, and I usually spend time wasted on the internet prior to actually putting anything down. I guess the benefit is that It’s easy to copy/paste for an autobiography. Psh. I’ve got so much stuff that I want to write and do. Maybe journaling will allow me to draw lines and scribble and connect the dots...and plan.

I’ll say this. Today Brody and I had a great day. We went for a walk in the forest, he hardly complained. I listened to him. We went to a Christmas market, then we wandered around for a couple hours which was arguably the most fun part of the day. We say some soccer players and leaped around on the playground. I felt like a kid! We ran down a forest path in the rain, (It’s so nice he’s not concerned for me and exercise anymore) and then ended up paying $30 to play table tennis at this club. $20 for both of us to be admitted, $10 for two rackets. Since this was my third time coming in, being unsure of whether to do it or not, she gave us the rackets for free. That’s nice. Then we got sushi and saw Coco which was so inspirational, lifts something up in my soul, melts some of the obsession away and makes me want to work for Pixar. I ate a lot of popcorn (with butter) and candy covered chocolate covered almonds, BECAUSE RESTRICTION SUCKS

Well, I’ll say this. It won’t be mandatory for me to write on my blog anymore. I’ll say I can if I feel like it, otherwise I’ll journal.

It might make it a little easier to get stuff done, the stuff I want to get done. I try to think of this stuff as difficult life experiences I need to work through, because If I don’t it will choke me in an emotional grip hold forever.

Or maintenance. Like maintenance on my life.

No obligations.

I started doing this blog for Dr. S. That didn’t go well, that theraputic relationship.

What was I doing one year ago, today? Time machine time! *WHHHHzzchhhhjkadffzzzz*

December 2nd 2016

10:49pm

I am mad at myself because I didn’t tell my dad what I was in the mood for when he made me a snack and I ended up downing a giant bowl of chocolate ice cream.

A peanut butter and banana sandwich, I should’ve requested, yogurt! Anything with value! But I obeyed my eating disorder and stayed quiet about my desires.

I am a bad person, a terrible daughter and sister. I would run away or die but it would only hurt my family more. They do so much for me. Like paying $300 for a lifeguard course, and my dad staying an hour and a half at the pool to wait for me to finish because I’m scared to be left on my own. But I mess it up and don’t even try to change, time and time again.

I deserve awful.

It’s not true, but as my dad called my mum who was sitting upstairs with his cellphone to “come down and watch her” because he was scared to leave me with the ice cream, I almost believed it.

If my family wasn’t here I would have nothing to work for. They’re honestly the only reason I’m not dead.

I’ve got thousands of reasons to self sabotage, and here they are spending thousands of dollars to get me better.  

I don’t fight them too much because I love them. I don’t lie because I hate it.

I get better because I don’t want to live like this forever, but mostly because my family is standing there like a barrier.

By resisting I get nowhere, and in the process I only wear down and hurt them.

I hurt them because eventually they find out about exercise and hiding food. Because I can’t keep secrets, I hate lying.

Keeping my activities forbidden actives secret would be worse, because eventually they would grant me more freedom on a false recovery.

I’m a piece of shit.

No I’m not.

I just need work.

*BSSSHHHWWwwwwZzxxxZZrrr*

Well, past me. That makes me sad to read. You were going through a lot, weren’t you? It makes me... really sad to read. Because I’m reliving the pain all over again.

Makes me feel like I need this blog all over again.

                  Back form the rabbithole of the internet, in one of my posts I wrote a fact that an eating disorder specialist told me. People with anorexia nervosa, 40% of people relapse within one year, 70% within two years.

Today I ordered my popcorn with butter and ate a bunch of candy coated chocolate coated almonds. Today I noticed my critical inner voice and replaced some of it with compassion instead, to the best of my ability. Today, when I left the theater to get napkins, I resisted the urge to go downstairs. That 70% can’t be me. I have to beat the odds. That can’t be me. It won’t be me, and in this moment that is true and that is good enough.

It can’t be.

I’m in a different place, ready to be introspective, ready to be compassionate, ready to move on.

Ready to journal.

Jeez-us.

Where I was

Where I am,

December 1st 2017

My mum seems to bring her own baggage everywhere. She’s kind, I may be being judgemental. I just feel like some tenderness it missing. What can I say...  I miss that.

Julius says that the key to releasing yourself from destructive behaviors you want to hold onto is recognizing the function they serve and then finding a better way to deal with that.

Ono says that for most people being okay with being afraid is common sense. For me, it’s self compassion. I really like Ono.

I was struggling today with obsessions. Just, not being able to stop and judging myself for not buying a homeless guy a thing.

The massage didn’t go as plan. “Gomery?” “Montgomery. With an M” “I’m sorry ma’am I’m going to ask you to not look at my computer.” She looked like Barb from stranger things. “You’re not registered. The online booking system can be finkicy. We’re fully booked. Sorry about that.”

I wrote a song on my ukulele.

Partially.

November 29th 2017

8:39pm

  I don’t even know why I’m here. Why I’m typing this. I have nothing to say, nothing to say to the computer that I wouldn’t rather write in a journal. I will say that I used to think I was an independent person who didn’t need friends ever. Now, because of a 1-1 session with the nurse I realize it’s actually probably because of this linear progression in time.

1) Margo in grade 4 is very clingy, wants friends tries to hang out with popular girls.

2) Gets rejected by popular girls.

3) Margo middle school, Tries to hang out with boys by being cool. They like people that are cool. Cool is climbing up tall things and like... parkour. If I do that, then I’m cool. (This turns into le’ obsessive-dares)

4) Is not really accepted though. Cannot gain the respect of the gentlemen.

5) Begins to internalize the message of “You’re just very smart/ahead of people. That’s why they be h8ing on you.” so Margo begins to distance herself and move on with life. That’s how it is tho’ get it? Get it?!

6) Margo, senior school- present day, has “friends” but they feel superficial and hard to maintain. Needs to feel better than others in order to feel good about herself  Is lonely deep inside. People feel like a pit stop, or a check in check out. She doesn’t connect. Hanging out is like trying to get a good review, or be cool for them. Distant. Unconnected. Self sufficient, independent. Not realizing what shes missing.

7) Margo realizes all this. Maybe looks to make changes and create a network.

The end goodbye.

November 29th 2017

12:19pm

Never stop using your imagination. It’s not childish to get lost in your mind. It’s a necessity for the human spirit to soar.

I realized today, that the scariest thing is not “not giving into my obsessions.”

November 27th 2017

11:26pm

Danny the Wizard says there’s no such thing as a mistake. So, I’ll take his word for it. There are only opportunities to learn and grow. Appearntly I can’t go on the computer after 9pm AT ALL because it turns into an hour and a half of wanting to get off the computer, not getting off the computer, feeling crappy, and temporarily the crappy feeling by watching OneMoreVideo™ which only results in me feeling crappier still.

11:19pm

November 24th 2017

10:38pm

A therapist today basically put my mental struggles in a concise way that I had never thought of before.

Something along the lines of: I’ve evolved to see fear as a red flag. A sign of weakness, and being less than and unworthy. Something that needs to be ratified. Therefore I fear fear.

Here I am like, nodding my head. Yup. That sounds right to me.

I also shared my feelings about my harmful experience with my previous therapist and this thing that happened yesterday.

Where, in a goodbye group I said: “I am so confident in you Paz that I bet $500 you will succeed against Pippa here.”

“Ouch” said Pippa. Julius said I should apologize since it was Pippa’s last day there.

I realized though, telling the whole thing to Naida, that is came across that I thought Paz would succeed and Pippa would fail.

That made their reaction make a whole lot more sense.

I meant to say (I rehearsed this walking to the subway home as I was going to explain myself in post group) that I was so confident in Paz that I was willing to bet Pippa $500 she would succeed.

Anyways, I felt like crying because of that the whole day yesterday. Then, at yesterday’s dinner for one reason or another I began talking about my cat’s eventual demise.

Then Pippa said under her breath “This is a cheery subject”.

I just put my glass in my teeth and looked up at the ceiling, thinking: “Shit. Now I’m going to have to bring this up how this hurt me at group.”

Which I did. I’m glad I did. Pippa apologized, saying all she meant was that it was kind of a dark thing to be talking about at dinner.

After post group, I asked, crying, if we were okay. She said “I don’t know.”

“Are you mad at me?” “Of course not.” “Okay, well I’m not mad at you. I just want to make sure we’re okay before you leave tomorrow.”

“Of course”

Her green eyes were warm, but behind them, in the nooks of her jaw bone, there was something different. Something colder.

I know Pippa holds some deep “I don’t have enough value” issues for herself. 

I hope she’s okay.

Today, I also brought up how I feel I need to be the most venerable and honest patient all the time. Like, if I have a thought and I’m scared to say it and I don’ t I obsess over it.

“Why do you need to say it?” Said this therapist, whose name is Aldona.

“Because I need to be brave.”

“Ah.” Said Julius, “There’s that cycle again.”

I need to be brave, I believe I’m not good enough.

This evening on the car ride home I was telling dad about how the only thing holding me back for reusing a story for an upcoming competition, is perfectionism. That I can’t stop until it’s write.

“Ah, It’s a blessing and a curse that perfectionism isn’t it?”

“No. I hate it when people say that. It’s fucking stupid. Determination is a blessing, perfectionism is a curse.” “True.” Said my dad. “You want to know what a blessing is? Insulin. You know what’s a curse? Diabetes.”

One of the nurses suggests that this weekend I try not to enforce my values on my brother, or change his iPad behavior. I don’t like it because I feel like it insults me.

He talks a lot.

Today, at the end of nutrition group Eli said that when something is forbidden people want it more. “Legalize drugs” I shouted out. There was awkward laughter, “On that note...” Said Harriette

The group ended.

We left the meeting room to go to the washroom.

“Hey.” Said Harriette, I knew, in a second what she was going to say. “I realized, what I said at the end of group could be interpreted in the same way you interpreted Pippa.” 

“No. Not at all.” I assured her. “That’s not at all how I saw it.”