Too early to be crazy

The phone rang early this morning, I didn't answer it. Hubby took the message and when he told me who it was, I was like who, WTF? No, take a message, I'm **@@!! sleeping. I'm not in the best mood in the early morning as you can tell. Honestly, unless I'm going on a trip or I'm going to make $1200 that day, I don't want to hear from you unless it's bad news or incredibly good news.

Later I figure out it's the counsellor I talked to a couple of weeks ago and we had an appointment for 10am. I didn't forget, it's in my date book. She's calling from another province and obviously didn't comprehend my area code means I'm 3 hours behind her. Sigh. Rolling of the eyes. It's a common mistake with easterners. (I too believed that the whole world revolved around my city. Now that I'm safely ensconced behind the Rockies, I now only vaguely think about them.) My wacky uncle from England does it all the time but he's in his late 60s, but after the 10th time he did that at 5am, I just told him I'd call him later. I returned her call and left a message that we should just forget this counselling thing. Then of course, hubby wants to know who that was, I tell him and now he thinks there's something wrong with me and why didn't I tell him? Oh, brother. If he was privy to every thought in my head, he'd be sleeping with one eye open all the time!

Just press zero for better mental health

In the mental category, really working on trying not to have any more panic attacks, so I had a phone counselling session. It's free, what can I say. How did it go? Well, I launched into my story and then she gently interrupted me. It's never good to interrupt me when I'm in mid-rant. Even my husband knows this. I had to fight irritation as I had to go through a lengthy questionnaire with the counsellor on speakerphone: are you going to kill yourself or others in the next five minutes? Uh, no. Are you experiencing any of these symptoms all time, half the time, less than half the time, very little at all? Uh, not sure how to answer that one. Sigh. What do you expect to get out of this? Uh, I don't know. Better mental health? She did ask me how much alcohol had I consumed in the past 12 MONTHS. Yep. Had a little trouble answering that one. I was going to say, well, I am infertile so A LOT!!! CAUSE I CAN!!! I ALSO DELIGHT IN EATING UNPASTEURIZED CHEESES AND DELI MEATS ON A DAILY BASIS. But I didn't. I think I passed the how to spot a wingnut test.

Well, I did call and ask for help, didn't I? Now that I've done some serious chanting and received guidance between the time I made the appointment and the actual conversation, I'm not so sure what I expect the counselling to accomplish. Would it give me some objective person to be held accountable to or did I just need someone to listen to me ramble on and commiserate with? I think I'll just stay open, I'm not in crisis anymore, I'm just dramatic. We'll see. Our session was up and my mental health professional chirped some reassuring words my way.

My friends and I have started a Buddhist acting group, so I went to that, and I feel a lot better. It was nice to be reminded that I am still good at something. Creativity makes me happy, so I'll be making renovations in that area as well. The sun is shining, and in this city, you never how long it will last, so off I go. I have to go get something accomplished today and something nice for myself.

How not to go crazy - part 1

In my various areas of life that need fixing/attending/renovating - I've included both mental and spiritual. In the mental category, I decided to make a phone appointment with a counsellor that I get for free via my wildly insufficient actor's insurance. (I say insufficient because the less money you make, the lower your coverage and my acting income has dropped by 2/3 in the last couple of years. ) I just call a toll free line and place an emotional order with a caring operator who gingerly suggests a "how to handle your stress kit". I would prefer magic faerie dust but instead settled for a phone appointment. Mmmm, they used to offer face to face contact, I guess in these hard times, they're packed. On the bright side, I can stay in my pajamas. More on this tomorrow.


In the spiritual category, I spent the weekend attending Buddhist meetings while hubby was away. At the women's group meeting, you won't believe one of the questions that came up. It asked how to deal with raising a daughter in adoption. So we had 4 adult adoptees in attendance, one of the them being the national women's leader. They were all encouraging and emphasized openness and a great deal of love and compassion. They shared the common trait that they had felt "rootless" their whole lives and that didn't change until they met their birth families. One woman stressed the importance that the child know (in an age appropriate way) that they have been adopted from an early age via story books. Even as mature adults, these women were still in the process of healing their lives.


We met later on for coffee and I shared my struggles with her. Yeah, well, the Coles Notes' version. And in turn, she shared hers. Turns out we had a lot in common. And the Buddhist guidance part was very encouraging. She mentioned something that I've heard before - she said I was very hard on myself. True. It occurs to me I've slandered my Buddha nature. That just means, I haven't TRULY appreciated who I am and what I've done. I still find fault at not being good enough and so she counselled me to chant that with the belief that my life is so precious and every cell in my body to be bursting with life force and happiness.


There is a Buddhist saying: "Never seek the Gohonzon outside yourself". In other words, never seek happiness outside of yourself. In looking at what I don't have, comparing myself to others, of course, I found myself lacking. And to be honest, sometimes I just want to pull the plug on this whole thing cause I'm just plain tired of disappointment. I had such an amazing creative time in Banff and then I came back to reality. I think that if I had this or that, I would be happy, I would be complete. It is in this world of hunger that I suffer so much because I'm dominated by this craving for a child, for approval, for gigs, for "fill in the blank". I could have all of that and a bag of chips and STILL be unhappy, do you know what I mean? You probably know people who have it all and still bitch and moan that they can't find a good butler. Good news is that there can be Buddhahood even in hunger. One can still yearn for the happiness of oneself and others and work towards it. I need to appreciate and treasure the incredible life I do have. Every day. There are no guarantees of one's security in this world, only the opportunity to build unshakeable happiness.

"Worthy persons deserve to be called so because they are not carried away by the eight winds: prosperity, decline, disgrace, honor, praise, censure, suffering, and pleasure. They are neither elated by prosperity nor grieved by decline. The heavenly gods will surely protect one who is unbending before the eight winds."


I so appreciate and thank you for all your encouraging words and listening to me whine and stamp my feet. (I also need to stop watch N. Suleman interviews on TV - it's making me crazy!) I'll be fine. I just need to practice loving kindness towards myself a bit more and stay the course. There needs to be a shift somewhere inside of me so instead of attracting problems and barriers, I get a flow of abundance and ease.

Cracked Open - Part 3

Having a couple days off in Banff. Have been reading blogs all morning - oh, my sisters, my heart is always with you!


Was reading WordGirl at Blood Signs and something occurred to me. She talks about making peace with the love that her stepson can offer her. Not the intensely personal mother/child bond, but another type of love. It inspired something in me. An echo.


When my sister and her family came to visit, her little boy woke up late one night and came down the hallway and snuggled with me and my husband while we watched TV. Eventually, I picked him and he wrapped his 4 year old self around me and I put him back to bed. I loved that feeling. That he was at ease with me, trusted me enough to wrap himself around me as I carried his heavy self back to bed. The hole in me seemed smaller for just a blink of an eye. So soothing to be the one who did that. But it expanded again because I yearned for that type of unconditional love for myself. The one that would silence the "you're not good enough, worthy enough, smart enough, pretty enough, skinny enough, accomplished enough" voice that haunted me. There's this saying we have - "Never seek the Gohonzon outside yourself". I'm sure you can find a similar quote of faith that resonates with you. That's what I was looking for. Something outside of myself.


What I had planned to happen had failed to materialize, depression and infertility had thrown me off kilter, my faith and marriage had taken a beating, and everything in the world seemed to be hellbent on reminding me of what I didn't have. It felt deeply personal and I took it personally. People kept telling me how exceptional I was, yet I was still looking for the rewards, the proof of this. If I was supposed to be happy, then why the hell wasn't I working on a wildly successful TV series and pushing my baby girl down the street with my adored Sampson by my side to meet my gorgeous husband for coffee? Expectations too high? Okay, how about just pushing my baby down the street (no series, no dog) to meet my gorgeous husband for coffee? Okay, at the moment, it's just me and my demented mother meeting my gorgeous husband for coffee.



It occurred to me that my hole that only demands unconditional love in the form of a child says more about the state of my ego than it does about an actual child itself. In a way. Do you know what I mean? I'm sure it's just a part of it, but one I'd like to touch on this. (Cause I have the luxury of time to do this.) I'll just speak for myself though, cause I don't know about anybody else. I hinted at it in my previous posts. The "winning" part of the equation. The "I win, I win!" feeling. It's called rapture in the world of Buddhism. It's short term gratification when one's desires have been achieved. It can still revert back to the world of hunger or hell. The ego craves this exhilaration. Negative pee stick. World of Hell. Positive pee stick. Rapture!



I have no practical experience of how a child would impact my own personal life. Though apparently, I'm on that path come hell or high water. I can imagine, I can intellectualize, I'm not an idiot, I've got eyes, I'm old enough to know that I will cease to be the centre of my demented world (which includes my demented mother). I want to do it because I believe we have a lot to offer a child of this world. I have to admit at one point, because I felt I had truly nothing else WORTHWHILE to accomplish in my life, I figured having a child would give me meaning. Hell, even my husband, at one point said that he wouldn't have brought up his dissatisfaction with me and our marriage HAD WE HAD A CHILD. Because that would have made me the MOTHER of his child. I would have had A JOB, a PURPOSE, a DIRECTION. That would have made me RESPECT WORTHY. These are my caps, not his. I felt rage and disappointment in myself and I hated his guts for a time. He was right. I didn't have any other true purpose, a direction, a passion in my life at that time. I just cruised along in automatic, waiting, waiting, waiting for my miracle to arrive. I certainly didn't have unconditional love for myself. My dog, maybe. I put all my eggs in one basket and my eggs, plenty though they were, didn't want to stick around to turn into a child. I had become a woman of a certain age, prone to depression and bloat. And while I ignored the stones hitting my back, I certainly felt the brick thrown at my head.



I knew that even had that miracle child sprung out of my loins, and he did leave me, I would still have my child. I would have had a noble purpose to cling to. Certainly more noble than taking care of myself. More important. The bond that would never be broken even if my kid grew up, rejected me and took up drugs. I'd still be a MOTHER. Like a universal "sir" or "duchess" or something. A title per se. Satisfying to the ego. And you know how well regarded that title is. Cause if you give up your job to raise your child, you sacrifice your own needs for your child cause it's the most IMPORTANT job in the world, don't ya know, then your life was worthwhile.

Unless you are the type of person voted most likely to find the cure for cancer.

You know, even if you fuck up with your kids, they still love you even if you're a piece of shit. Honestly. You know this is true.

And for those you didn't get that special title, the ego was all too quick to condemn you to the garbage dump. What would happen if I found a new way to define happiness? Would I be a better mother? A better person?

Cracked Open - Part 2

Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall. Humpty Dumpty had a great fall. All the king's horses and all the king's men Couldn't put Humpty together again.

Now I know this is a nursery rhyme, though not a particulary nice one. But I have a couple of questions. Now I don't know what one expects from horses - why were they called in? What's a horse gonna do? Did the King's men bring in a bucket of water and wash all Humpty's bits away? Existential angst aside, I had felt like Humpty at one point. And like my pseudonym, I certainly felt like I had imploded like a dying star. Simultaneously dealing with my mum's stroke and dementia and trying to get knocked up at the ripe old age of 40 was a bit .... stressful. By failing to conceive and carry a child to term it felt like the universe had conspired to doom me. Now I know that's not true, I just didn't have a stellar womb and science couldn't defeat my biology. I'm certainly not unique in that experience of infertility. My pretty good life took a turn down What the Fuck? Lane. It went from heady excitement and smiles and cheer (had even picked out a name!) to grim determination in the face of infinitesimal odds of success. At a certain point during my IVF days (I'm pretty sure it was when I was in a supply closet recuperating from my first egg retrieval) that I went down the proverbial rabbit hole. I came out of it 3 years later when I used the last of my frozen embryos on the last vapours of my hope, faith and our Visa card. I got up from my knees and went about my business as best as I could, I didn't have a nervous breakdown or anything. Well ..... mmmm. Maybe I did.

I thought I was putting my dreams to rest and moving forward. I thought I would finally be free from the grip of the world of Hunger. You know that world. The one where you just NEED, NEED AND WANT more than you think is sane. I needed to let go because I was sinking. I decided that I was sick to death of being traumatized by blank pregnancy tests, blood labs, swollen ovaries, doctors, and fertility clinics. I was SUPREMELY PISSED. And I was not me anymore. The ascerbic but basically happy go lucky woman who believed that love conquered all, shopping cures all ills, and I know the answer to everything. I was a good person and so when, pray tell, was the good karma law going to come into effect for me? I had endured a generous amount of physical pain and discomfort, and always looked on the bright side. If I worked hard enough, endured enough, DIDN'T GIVE UP, I would be rewarded and I would get to tell my tale of how our child came into this world. Why should I care about the shitty odds? What's a number compared to my the sheer force of my will? People would applaud and wipe the tears from the eye and I would be a symbol of hope and sunshine and roses would come beaming out of my ass and oh, brother, what an EGO! I WAS A GOOD GIRL AND GOOD GIRLS GET THEIR CANDY IF THEY BEHAVE. Even DH told me once that once we started down that path, it was like HE HAD TO WIN, he had to ACHIEVE and BE NUMBER ONE! (insert waving foam finger here) GO TEAM GO, WIN, WIN, WIN!

I lost my faith. And when I stopped chanting, I lost hope. I lost joy. And for a long, long time I believed that somehow I had made a wrong decision somewhere along the line and mentally I kept going back to try and and figure it out. Which is ridiculous. I had to figure out just where I went wrong. Cause if I could figure out when, then everything would make sense, right? Ego, ego, ego was running the show. I resisted in seeing my reality in every sense of the world. Both my husband and I looked at each other and went - who the hell are you?!

Why I am still writing about all this? Cause I still feel the hole. It's been a year since our homestudy was signed, sealed and delivered and still there's a hole. I've tried to fill it. I've tried ignoring it. I definitely think it's become smaller. Like my pant size. The hole has even served me in ways I could never have imagined. It certainly has made me more compassionate. Even served with a slice of bitter betty pie, I've managed to keep my sense of humour. And the point of chanting came back to me. To have hope and joy is indeed possible. For what the hole has taught me, I am very grateful. GRATITUDE. I looked into the eyes of a dying woman and something cracked open inside of me. I'm still battling my ego, fear still whispers in my ear. I know what it is now though.

The old me is gone, may she rest in peace. I missed her, mourned her but there's no going back. Just forward. I like the hole, I've gotten used to it. Not sure I could live without it. Why would I want to be put together again, when there's such a great future ahead of me?

"... but my hope is that with deep prayer and practice, I can transform my karma, connect with the stuff of the universe and create as many stars as I can. Be a star again. And not just any old star. But a Sun. Brilliant and fierce."

Cracked Open

I posted this video because I was watching Dreamgirls the other night and it brought tears to my eyes. She sings it when she realizes it's time to step up and claim her own voice and her own life.

Here's the lyrics if you want to know. That song has been on my mind since I've decided that this is the year I start living large. I think I'm still feeling the ripples of D's death. It cracked me open. I didn't want to be just this childless housewife waiting for my life to begin when I was approaching the half century mark. At times, it's like treading water. I've got dense bones, people, I sink. Waiting for a child, waiting for a gig, waiting for a project to direct, waiting for the cheque in the mail, waiting to be skinnier. It's like going to medical school, learning all the theory of medicine, going out and buying all the gear and then doing surgery a couple times a year and being an orderly the rest of the year.

On the list of things to do better, was my relationship with DH. I've noticed that due to stress he's really been on my case about a lot of things and I've also noticed my lack of desire to put up with it. After Sampson died, there was this huge hole in our lives and grief was once again sitting in our living room. I think I was smothering the poor guy. So I was either going to have to repress my emotions and end up miserable or learn to communicate with love. So I sat down and chanted with my all of my heart. Then when he came home, I was ready to let him know how I felt about some things. And I was as bone tired of not being listened to as he was. We had one of those aha moments. At my request, he even read a chapter of Eckhard Tolle's A New Earth. The chapter on the pain body. He was also open to doing "homework". Not entirely sure what that's going to be, but we'll figure it out. I don't think we need counselling, we just need to truly hear and have compassion for one another. We've both had to readjust our identities and our expectations quite a bit over the past few years. He expressed his confidence in our marriage and our ability to overcome adversity. I felt like I had found my best friend again. And it even occurred to me that I had to become my own best friend.

Something is shifting inside of me and I can't not speak. I will be heard.

It's Okay, I'm Just Neurotic!

Why the hell do I need to see a psychiatrist? I don't. When I booked the appointment, it was because I was tired of the throw this against the wall and see what sticks kind of approach. I was hoping that maybe someone who dispensed anxiety meds might have some sort of experience with drug combinations or dosages or something. Perhaps all I needed was a little bit of this and a dash of that. And maybe, he could even offer counselling. However, I think I already realized that I was willing to walk the unmedicated route for a little while cause I was feeling much more motivated about my life. Watching one of my dearest friends in the world die in front of me gave me a certain perspective on life. I've seen my Buddhist friends look head on into BIG FUCKING ILLNESSES and glow with such high life conditions. I'm not looking for any big illness wake up lessons. No thanks. I'm full thank you. So I went to my specialist appointment and he asked me a bunch of questions and I answered.

I told him that I had recently come off of Effexor because the side effects were outweighing the benefits. I had reached a big question mark, not quite clear of the withdrawal, but given my grief issues, I was certain to be a little emotional. Yes, it did its thing, my mood improved and I got a lot of stuff done. That's always a good thing. Getting out of bed is always a good thing. Pretending you have life under control when really you don't is not a plan. It's a disguise. But I don't see why I have to put with intense itching, dead taste buds (wait, that was a good thing cause skinny tastes good), no libido, crazy ass dreams that make you wake up in DREAD and the threat of burning up on a spin bike. He made a comment that perhaps some of the side effects were psychological. Oh. No. He Did. Ent.

I smiled sweetly. I told him what difference did that make? If one feels the drug is giving you a nasty side effect, it's still real to the person affected. He conceded quite graciously on that point. Or maybe my smile looked homicidal, I don't know.

And then he gave me his professional opinion. He told me I probably could use some psychotherapy cause I had some "life issues" but that I wasn't suffering from severe depression and I didn't need medication. If I had indicated that I just wanted to try something else, he would have gone with that. (That was something he could "fix". ) I asked him if he could refer me to any low cost or free therapists. He told me he didn't know anyone and the last psych at the clinic that did that had retired. So. Ah. I'm good to go.

I told him that it's always nice to have a symptom addressed and treated but it rarely addresses the total health and wellness of a patient and I impressed upon him that it would be really nice if one could really do further research to offer assistance and reassurance to those who might not know how to proceed next if one might find themselves in a situation similar to mine. Not suicidal, just "neurotic". Was that polite?

Yeah, I guess you could say I have some issues with medical professionals. Given that I have more than just a casual acquaintance with the medical system for a pretty healthy individual (mainly for hoo haw malfunctioning and maybe that's why I'm bitter/cranky/sensitive). I feel like I can say with confidence that GENERALLY SPEAKING western medicine is only focused on the eliminating the symptom or treating a disease. Not preventing a disease, or getting to the real cause of a symptom. Don't get me wrong, I love pills. They don't call me the pharmacist for nothing. I won't tolerate discomfort if I can take a pill for it. But did you ever notice that when someone really hears and acknowledges what you have to say (even if it's only in 5 minutes) you actually FEEL better? Especially with your spouse. Even if it's just "all in your head". What's wrong with seeing a doctor and feeling less "stressed" coming out then when you went in? Did you know that some people's blood pressure actually goes up a bit just from simply seeing a white lab coat? Do you know the real reason why some cancer patients just turn away from the medical establishment. It's not that they don't want to live. It's not that they don't want treatment. It's because sometimes the treatment feels WORSE than the disease. So. Don't. Even.

That's my rant and thanks for listening. I feel better already.

I thanked the doc for his time and on my way out I formulated an action plan for myself. I felt grateful that at least he saw me as perfectly capable of handling my own mental health. That's a positive. I really can't afford to spend several hundred dollars a month to see my old shrink, sweet as she is, but I do have a program through my actor benefits that will allow 6 visits without any money down. Of course, you spend a couple sessions bringing the counsellor up to speed and then wrapping up, but hey, I might just be able to find a good "coach". Maybe I'll drag up a new skeleton out of the closet. I actually know what most of my "issues" are and how they came about, I'm actually good with that - it's just the how do I change that thing that is no longer working for me - that's the sticky part.

So here's my plan, stick with the chanting, exercise and treating myself well, I've got some amazing creative work to look forward to (yes!!!!) and acknowledge that crying about my friend and my dog is grief and it's okay to feel sad. I will continue to write action plans and post up positive notes and Buddhist encouragement on my bathroom mirror and tell people to back off when they get on my last nerve. I will own up to bad behaviour and apologize where needed (cause I hate apologizing cause I'm HARDLY EVER WRONG) and I will work on demonstrating the love, understanding and compassion that I so desire. I am also a bit cranky and will firmly but lovingly place my foot up the ass of the person who gets on my last nerve.

Good plan.