The Bloody Doors Off

I’m 30 minutes into The Conjuring and I had to pause. I love horror films, mostly because – while they can scare me – I know they’re not real. The mark of an excellent horror (for me) is when they get my imagination working for them. And they’ve done that already. It’s a 2 hour movie. Holy hell. This better not let me down.

Right.

I missed posting yesterday. First day since I’ve been out of the hospital. Small regret; this is a personal project of mine, to write every day. But nothing I’m going to get down about. I was out late at Subspace, and had a friend crash on the couch last night. And today was the Koster Christmas party, so I knew I wouldn’t be writing beforehand.

First off: 14 hours of snow and counting. Welcome to winter, ya bastitch. It was barely dandruff when we got up; by the time we were out the door (factoring in extra time because you know people can’t drive when the flakes fall) I still ran late. But thankfully the roads were clear from Scarborough to Oshawa. Despite the downfall here, it hadn’t gone east yet. (It did by the time we left.)

I felt like I was dragging my ass all day. Been having back pain since last night, and around 7am I’d woken up and took a big-ass muscle relaxant. It kept on all day. I was downing coffee like I was 30 and spending the majority of my evenings at Tequila Bookworm (so many coffee pots died for our pleasure back then). Still, it was an enjoyable affair with aunts, uncles, cousins and second generation cousins. Food was plentiful and the conversations engaging.

The big surprise, for me, came at dessert. Ginny, Pat, Boni (aunt, uncle, aunt) and Karen (cousin) were talking about Peggy (an absent aunt). She has her own struggles with depression, anxiety, paranoia, social anxiety. We’ve all known for years, and have tried to help. They were talking about the latest developments and expressing frustration over what to do/how to act.

And I spoke up. I told them about my own depression. How I self-admitted to hospital in October. That I had a plan, but not necessarily a timetable. And how, when you’re that ‘low’, you never really think you can talk to people.

I’m still a little shaky over coming out like that. I could tell Karen was a bit shaken up. She had a great comment: if someone tells you they’re ill, if they had cancer, you’d have an idea of how to help. Whether it was to help them clean their place, run errands, cook for them, take them to chemo. But how do you help someone who fights against mental illness?

This was a huge step for me tonight. I’ve talked about it with my brothers, and my mother, father and step-father knew I’d been in hospital but that was it… they didn’t want to know more. The rest of the extended family were unaware. I … stepped out into the light, I guess. And I said something that really hit home: you really can’t take one person’s experiences and apply them to another. I told them what works for me might not work for her. But I did recommend some ideas on how to find out how they might help.

My doctor says I need to be proactive. And tonight I think I was.

Imagine that.