Hello Everybody! I know it's been a while and I'm sorry about that. I just had a couple of months of nutsoness and couldn't write. But I'm back!
The other day my boyfriend, Derek, and I were walking through the forest on a date. Because who doesn't love a fall walk to see pretty colours on trees? It probably not a smart idea, because it was fucking cold. Like Canadian winter cold. But, I digress. We were walking through the forest and somehow we got into an argument about who was more Canadian. Romantic, right?
Me: Why did we do this? It's cold.
Derek: Ha. I'm not cold, therefore I'm a better Canadian than you. (He says to the girl who lived in -50 degrees Celsius for almost 13 years, while he's wearing 7 different layers. I kid you not.)
Me: I'm so Canadian, I play hockey
Derek: I'm so Canadian I ride mooses instead of driving cars
Me: I'm so Canadian I only drink Tim Hortons
Derek: I'm so Canadian that I live in an igloo
Me: I'M SO CANADIAN I HAVE MAPLE SURUP RUNNUNG THROUGH MY VEINS
Derek: ......
Me: Can you imagine bleeding maple syrup?
Derek: It would taste better than blood, that's for sure.
Me: True. And then females would have a use for period blood. Or period syrup as it may be.
Derek: .......
Me: Oh my gosh, I'M BRILLIANT!! I need pancakes and period syrup, STAT!
Derek: ...........no
Winner: Canadian females. And pancake makers. And everyone who isn't Derek.
Monday, November 12, 2018
Friday, July 6, 2018
Warning: You May Need Icecream
For all of you who actually follow my blog (all two of you. Love you guys😜) you may notice I haven't posted much lately, so I think you're all due for a life update. So... What's gone on since I last wrote? Well I didn't die of a caffeine overdose (thank goodness. Can you imagine what the obituary would read? "She tragically passed away at the age of 17 because she is a dumbass who drank too much coffee. She will be missed) (for all those who don't know what I'm talking about, go check it out: https://perfectlybrokenandbeautifullyunique.blogspot.com/2018/06/my-epic-battle-against-tuberculosis.html?m=1) I finished Highschool for the summer! Only one more year to go! I woke my male best friend up at 3am to discuss the finer points of our escape plan should Weiner Dogs take over the world (He told me I'm not aloud to wake him up that early anymore unless I'm dying. I helpfully pointed out that we would all die if we didn't go over the plan and he told me to go to sleep. But, INSOMNIA, Seth. I can't sleep. Ever.) And I got forgotten by my Nana.
I know what you're thinking: how do you write something funny about getting forgotten by your Nana? And the answer to that is: you can't. So, warning now, if you came here looking a happy post, you're looking on the wrong place. Go back and read something else. Or, continue to read and if you get too depressed, go get yourself ice cream. As a matter of fact, go get yourself Ice cream anyway, because who doesn't love ice cream? Nobody, that's who.
My Nana is an absolutely amazing women who really inspired my life and helped me become who I am today. She was a perfectly broken teen in the 50's when she was just called crazy and moody. She has severe bipolar disorder that went undiagnosed until about 20 years ago. Yet despite all of that she was and is the best mother and grandmother anyone could ask for. She'd always call me Melted Chocolate when I was younger because she claimed that I'd melt into her lap when we were cuddling. My biological mother had me as an older teenager and struggled a lot with that. My biological mother and my father split up when I was about 2-years-old and my biological mother grew deeply depressed and got into a lot of drugs and became very neglectful and abusive. As a result, I was raised a lot by my Nana. She was the one who helped me get diagnosed with all of my various mental health problems and helped me learn how to cope with them in a healthy way and accept that they were a part of who I am, but they aren't me. She is the very embodiment of absolutely fucking awesome, Perfectly Broken, and my hero.
About three years ago, my Nana was diagnosed with alzheimer's. It started with small things at first like she couldn't remember the word for fork or her cousins names. It was small. And as the years went on it got worse and worse until she would call my biological mother by my great aunts name and such. But no matter how bad it got, she always remembered me. She knew I was Sara and when she saw my face she knew who I was. Then a few months ago I was visiting her and she called me Catherine. I gently reminded her that Catherine is her sister and I'm Sara. She remembered then who I was and called me Sara for the rest of the visit. A few weeks ago, she didn't remember my name. She said that she recognized me and that she knew I was important to her, but she couldn't remember my name. A few days ago I visited her and I hugged her and was talking to her about absolutely nothing important before noticing that she was looking at me strangely. I asked if she was alright and she kept looking at me strange. So I asked if she knew who I was, and she shook her head saying she was very sorry, but she couldn't place me. After a few more minutes of awkward conversation attempts I excused myself, went home, and cried. Like a two-year-old. For days.
It's hard to explain how it felt for all y'all's who've never been through it. It felt like she died in all honesty. And I miss her even though she's still here and alive and I can still see her. But it isn't really her. It's a shell of her or an imposter wearing her skin. Okay, that sounds super creepy and serial killer-ish. Like a mask made of the skin of their victims. But, really, why stop at masks? If we're going to wear peoples skin, let's make an ENTIRE FUCKING JUMPSUIT! We can add glitter to it and maybe some stripes and colour. Keeping it classy.
Back on topic. I miss her. I miss the childhood I spent in her arms which is now a half forgotten dream. I miss skinned knees and bee stings and ice cream cones and gardening and boy advice and first days of school and whispers of "I love you, my Melted Chocolate" and attempts at teaching me how to crochet which now only I remember. I miss her a lot. More than I could've ever imagined I would while she was still alive.
Like the fucked up icing on the very tragic cake, I am a high functioning depressive with severe anxiety disorder, severe clinical depression, a moderate self harm issue which stems from childhood trauma and an impulse control disorder, avoidant personality disorder, mild OCD, moderate post traumatic stress disorder, insomnia, arthritis, athazagoriaphobia, and imposter syndrome. While that's my full diagnosis the only word which you need to register from it is athazagoriaphobia. (Auto correct is trying to tell me athazagoriaphobia isn't a word. I assure you, Auto correct, it's a word and it's a real thing and it sucks.) For anyone who doesn't know, athazagoriaphobia is the fear of being forgotten. Not only have I lost Nana I've also been having severe panic attacks too. To say this past week hasn't been the most fun ever is just a little bit of an understatement. I'm taking a short break from being Furiously Happy right now just to be sad and to grieve. Because those are emotions I can feel thanks to my Nana and a shit load of medication and Nana wouldn't want me to shut those out. Besides, I'm lucky I'm sad because only things that you truly care about hurt to lose. How does that quote go? "How lucky I am to have something which makes saying goodbye so hard"
To wrap this up, the world lost one of it's best this week though she is still alive. She will be remembered and loved long after she is gone and everything within my power will be done to keep her comfortable and happy and to remind her how loved she is until she leaves us. I still miss her though. I hope you all enjoyed your ice cream, because I need ice cream now too. Enjoy an extra scoop for me!
I know what you're thinking: how do you write something funny about getting forgotten by your Nana? And the answer to that is: you can't. So, warning now, if you came here looking a happy post, you're looking on the wrong place. Go back and read something else. Or, continue to read and if you get too depressed, go get yourself ice cream. As a matter of fact, go get yourself Ice cream anyway, because who doesn't love ice cream? Nobody, that's who.
My Nana is an absolutely amazing women who really inspired my life and helped me become who I am today. She was a perfectly broken teen in the 50's when she was just called crazy and moody. She has severe bipolar disorder that went undiagnosed until about 20 years ago. Yet despite all of that she was and is the best mother and grandmother anyone could ask for. She'd always call me Melted Chocolate when I was younger because she claimed that I'd melt into her lap when we were cuddling. My biological mother had me as an older teenager and struggled a lot with that. My biological mother and my father split up when I was about 2-years-old and my biological mother grew deeply depressed and got into a lot of drugs and became very neglectful and abusive. As a result, I was raised a lot by my Nana. She was the one who helped me get diagnosed with all of my various mental health problems and helped me learn how to cope with them in a healthy way and accept that they were a part of who I am, but they aren't me. She is the very embodiment of absolutely fucking awesome, Perfectly Broken, and my hero.
About three years ago, my Nana was diagnosed with alzheimer's. It started with small things at first like she couldn't remember the word for fork or her cousins names. It was small. And as the years went on it got worse and worse until she would call my biological mother by my great aunts name and such. But no matter how bad it got, she always remembered me. She knew I was Sara and when she saw my face she knew who I was. Then a few months ago I was visiting her and she called me Catherine. I gently reminded her that Catherine is her sister and I'm Sara. She remembered then who I was and called me Sara for the rest of the visit. A few weeks ago, she didn't remember my name. She said that she recognized me and that she knew I was important to her, but she couldn't remember my name. A few days ago I visited her and I hugged her and was talking to her about absolutely nothing important before noticing that she was looking at me strangely. I asked if she was alright and she kept looking at me strange. So I asked if she knew who I was, and she shook her head saying she was very sorry, but she couldn't place me. After a few more minutes of awkward conversation attempts I excused myself, went home, and cried. Like a two-year-old. For days.
It's hard to explain how it felt for all y'all's who've never been through it. It felt like she died in all honesty. And I miss her even though she's still here and alive and I can still see her. But it isn't really her. It's a shell of her or an imposter wearing her skin. Okay, that sounds super creepy and serial killer-ish. Like a mask made of the skin of their victims. But, really, why stop at masks? If we're going to wear peoples skin, let's make an ENTIRE FUCKING JUMPSUIT! We can add glitter to it and maybe some stripes and colour. Keeping it classy.
Back on topic. I miss her. I miss the childhood I spent in her arms which is now a half forgotten dream. I miss skinned knees and bee stings and ice cream cones and gardening and boy advice and first days of school and whispers of "I love you, my Melted Chocolate" and attempts at teaching me how to crochet which now only I remember. I miss her a lot. More than I could've ever imagined I would while she was still alive.
Like the fucked up icing on the very tragic cake, I am a high functioning depressive with severe anxiety disorder, severe clinical depression, a moderate self harm issue which stems from childhood trauma and an impulse control disorder, avoidant personality disorder, mild OCD, moderate post traumatic stress disorder, insomnia, arthritis, athazagoriaphobia, and imposter syndrome. While that's my full diagnosis the only word which you need to register from it is athazagoriaphobia. (Auto correct is trying to tell me athazagoriaphobia isn't a word. I assure you, Auto correct, it's a word and it's a real thing and it sucks.) For anyone who doesn't know, athazagoriaphobia is the fear of being forgotten. Not only have I lost Nana I've also been having severe panic attacks too. To say this past week hasn't been the most fun ever is just a little bit of an understatement. I'm taking a short break from being Furiously Happy right now just to be sad and to grieve. Because those are emotions I can feel thanks to my Nana and a shit load of medication and Nana wouldn't want me to shut those out. Besides, I'm lucky I'm sad because only things that you truly care about hurt to lose. How does that quote go? "How lucky I am to have something which makes saying goodbye so hard"
To wrap this up, the world lost one of it's best this week though she is still alive. She will be remembered and loved long after she is gone and everything within my power will be done to keep her comfortable and happy and to remind her how loved she is until she leaves us. I still miss her though. I hope you all enjoyed your ice cream, because I need ice cream now too. Enjoy an extra scoop for me!
Monday, June 25, 2018
My epic battle against tuberculosis, prostate cancer, and a caffeine overdose.
I have an important question for all of you out there in Internet land. Can somebody please tell me how much caffeine an average 105 pounds 17-year-old girl can ingest before being in danger of overdose? Pretty please? Because nobody else is taking it seriously.
I tried web M.D., and now I'm pretty sure I have to Tuberculosis and prostate cancer too. Then I tried asking my male best friend, but he just got all yelly at me. It was something along the lines of "what do you mean you've drank three pots of coffee in the last two hours?! Why were you left alone?! This should not be aloud! You're dumb!" I tried telling him he should be nicer to me because for all we know I may be on my deathbed. Not only am I going to overdose on caffeine, but my tuberculosis or prostate cancer could strike at any minute. He didn't take that seriously either. He has terrible bed side etiquette. Instead he just told me to text him when I stop trying to kill myself with caffeine. I calmly pointed out that I haven't slept in 36 hours so I'm not trying to kill myself with caffeine. If anything I'm doing the opposite. I'm trying to survive off caffeine. Then he got all yelly again and said "Why the HELL haven't you slept in 36 hours? GO THE FUCK TO SLEEP!" So I reminded him I HAVE A POTENTIALLY LETHAL DOSE OF CAFFEINE IN MY BLOOD so how the hell am I supposed to go to sleep now? His only response was "If you're texting, you're not sleeping" which roughly translates to "you have made a very good point and I'm not sure how to answer but I refuse to admit I lost." He is supremely unhelpful for a boy who just learned his best friend is going to die of tuberculosis, prostate cancer, and caffeine poisoning.
But, yeah. Anybody more helpful than my male best friend, you're advice would be greatly appreciated. Thank you very much!!!!! I hope I don't die. In case I do, I love you all <3 and wish me luck on the next great adventure :)
I tried web M.D., and now I'm pretty sure I have to Tuberculosis and prostate cancer too. Then I tried asking my male best friend, but he just got all yelly at me. It was something along the lines of "what do you mean you've drank three pots of coffee in the last two hours?! Why were you left alone?! This should not be aloud! You're dumb!" I tried telling him he should be nicer to me because for all we know I may be on my deathbed. Not only am I going to overdose on caffeine, but my tuberculosis or prostate cancer could strike at any minute. He didn't take that seriously either. He has terrible bed side etiquette. Instead he just told me to text him when I stop trying to kill myself with caffeine. I calmly pointed out that I haven't slept in 36 hours so I'm not trying to kill myself with caffeine. If anything I'm doing the opposite. I'm trying to survive off caffeine. Then he got all yelly again and said "Why the HELL haven't you slept in 36 hours? GO THE FUCK TO SLEEP!" So I reminded him I HAVE A POTENTIALLY LETHAL DOSE OF CAFFEINE IN MY BLOOD so how the hell am I supposed to go to sleep now? His only response was "If you're texting, you're not sleeping" which roughly translates to "you have made a very good point and I'm not sure how to answer but I refuse to admit I lost." He is supremely unhelpful for a boy who just learned his best friend is going to die of tuberculosis, prostate cancer, and caffeine poisoning.
But, yeah. Anybody more helpful than my male best friend, you're advice would be greatly appreciated. Thank you very much!!!!! I hope I don't die. In case I do, I love you all <3 and wish me luck on the next great adventure :)
Friday, June 22, 2018
#Iwillbleedforbetterreasons
Alright people, confession time! If you ever meet me in person one of the first things you'll notice is my charming personality and incredible sense of wit. Or my absolutely stunning beauty. Or my humbleness. One of the second things you'll notice is the hundreds and hundreds of scars which decorate my wrists and thighs. Though I suppose you'd only see my thigh scars if I were in a bathing suit. Or shorts. So the second thing you may notice is my potential as a bathing suit model. A I don't blame you. But the next thing you'd see would be scars. Here's the thing, I am number 25. I mean I'm probably not, there are probably hundreds of number 25s, but you know what I mean. Unless you don't. In which case you should go buy a copy of Jenny Lawson's book Furiously Happy and read it. Go on, I'll wait.
You're back? Great. Amazing book, wasn't it? Anywho, now you understand. I am number 25. I would put a trigger warning here, but honestly this entire blog and life in general needs a big flashing neon sign saying "Warning: this may upset you!" So I'm not going to, you have been warned, let's get back to the story. I wanted nothing more than to end my life. But then I read other people's stories about losing friends and loved ones. And when I opened up to my male best friend about my struggles, he started crying and telling me he cannot lose me. He changed my world by making sure I didn't.
This is while my mental health problems were still undiagnosed. I didn't really know what to do, so I turn to self harm as a coping mechanism. Not the best choice, btw. 0/10 I do not recommend. And I knew very well that it was unhealthy and that I could die. I had seen the statistics. But the thing was, a) I just didn't care and b) I was addicted. It sounds like a funny thing to get addicted to. Be all like "WOOHOO LET'S GO SPLIT SOME SKIN! YAY!" But that's not quite how it worked. Prepare yourself for a probably inaccurate science lesson: when you get hurt, your body releases either serotonin or dopamine or endorphins. I can't remember which. Maybe all three? I don't know. I'm not a scientist, people, stop judging me. But the point is your brain releases a happy feeling chemical. And that's what you get addicted to. Especially when your brain doesn't make enough of that as it is.
But when I got diagnosed, I started getting help to stop self harming. At first it was really really hard. And some days it still is. And somedays I still relapse. That's perfectly normal. But on the hard days I have a saying I like to tell myself: "I will bleed for better reasons today". Is it morbid? Slightly. But I don't care, because it's true. When you think of every injury you get, of every time you bleed, there are plenty of better reasons to bleed than self harm. It's become a bit of a mantra for me: I will bleed for better reasons today. And so will you.
So let's take a stand. Let's help everyone hear this. Shout it from rooftops! I WILL BLEED FOR BETTER REASONS TODAY! YOU WILL BLEED FOR BETTER REASONS TODAY! EVERYONE WILL BLEED FOE BETTER REASONS TODAY! All Ophrah style. For those who are struggling, remember you are strong. Remember depression lies. Remember that you are not alone. Remember that you will bleed for better reasons today. For all those who have other mantras, what are they? Let's fight this together. #Iwillbleedforbetterreasons
You're back? Great. Amazing book, wasn't it? Anywho, now you understand. I am number 25. I would put a trigger warning here, but honestly this entire blog and life in general needs a big flashing neon sign saying "Warning: this may upset you!" So I'm not going to, you have been warned, let's get back to the story. I wanted nothing more than to end my life. But then I read other people's stories about losing friends and loved ones. And when I opened up to my male best friend about my struggles, he started crying and telling me he cannot lose me. He changed my world by making sure I didn't.
This is while my mental health problems were still undiagnosed. I didn't really know what to do, so I turn to self harm as a coping mechanism. Not the best choice, btw. 0/10 I do not recommend. And I knew very well that it was unhealthy and that I could die. I had seen the statistics. But the thing was, a) I just didn't care and b) I was addicted. It sounds like a funny thing to get addicted to. Be all like "WOOHOO LET'S GO SPLIT SOME SKIN! YAY!" But that's not quite how it worked. Prepare yourself for a probably inaccurate science lesson: when you get hurt, your body releases either serotonin or dopamine or endorphins. I can't remember which. Maybe all three? I don't know. I'm not a scientist, people, stop judging me. But the point is your brain releases a happy feeling chemical. And that's what you get addicted to. Especially when your brain doesn't make enough of that as it is.
But when I got diagnosed, I started getting help to stop self harming. At first it was really really hard. And some days it still is. And somedays I still relapse. That's perfectly normal. But on the hard days I have a saying I like to tell myself: "I will bleed for better reasons today". Is it morbid? Slightly. But I don't care, because it's true. When you think of every injury you get, of every time you bleed, there are plenty of better reasons to bleed than self harm. It's become a bit of a mantra for me: I will bleed for better reasons today. And so will you.
So let's take a stand. Let's help everyone hear this. Shout it from rooftops! I WILL BLEED FOR BETTER REASONS TODAY! YOU WILL BLEED FOR BETTER REASONS TODAY! EVERYONE WILL BLEED FOE BETTER REASONS TODAY! All Ophrah style. For those who are struggling, remember you are strong. Remember depression lies. Remember that you are not alone. Remember that you will bleed for better reasons today. For all those who have other mantras, what are they? Let's fight this together. #Iwillbleedforbetterreasons
Wednesday, June 20, 2018
Hurricane from Hamilton
How many of y'all know the song "Hurricane" by Lin-Manuel Miranda from Hamilton? It's a really good song. And it needs more recognition. Alexander Hamilton was suicidal at one point. Everyone he loved had either died or left him and he didn't understand why he couldn't too. He wanted to end his life, but writing showed him a future. It really helped him overcome his struggle. It took him sometime, but he finally did realize he was worth greatness. Which is REALLY FUCKING COOL if you ask me. He was all like "yeah. I'm gonna write and it's gonna be okay because I'm HELLA great!!! Hell yeah!!"
But here's the important part. You, whomever you are, are also worth greatness. There are gonna be people who say you're not. There are going to be people who say you can't do whatever you're going to do. Those people are liars. Do not listen to those people. Instead, try looking at them in the eye, and saying "watch me". You can also add a obscene hand gesture for emphasis, but that's optional. Whatever you do though, you must sing or dance or read or write or do whatever it is that you do to get out of your hurricane. Because that hurricane is also a liar. Depression is a manipulative liar. Don't trust it. Fight it. You will make it. I believe in you.
But here's the important part. You, whomever you are, are also worth greatness. There are gonna be people who say you're not. There are going to be people who say you can't do whatever you're going to do. Those people are liars. Do not listen to those people. Instead, try looking at them in the eye, and saying "watch me". You can also add a obscene hand gesture for emphasis, but that's optional. Whatever you do though, you must sing or dance or read or write or do whatever it is that you do to get out of your hurricane. Because that hurricane is also a liar. Depression is a manipulative liar. Don't trust it. Fight it. You will make it. I believe in you.
Tuesday, June 19, 2018
The End of a Chapter
Today is the end of a chapter for me. I have been dancing for 14 years now- since I was three-years-old. And today was my last day as a dancer. I sat in my studio for the last time, I talked with my teammates for the last time while I can consider them my teammates, Friday was the last performance I'll ever do. The last 14 years of my life have been dedicated to this sport and part of me will always love it. But part of me is also very burnt out. And as I walked the halls for the last time, I did feel a twinge of loss and sorrow. But, mostly, I felt excitement and just a little bit scared. I don't know what life not dancing will hold for me, but it's an adventure I'm excited to take and a new chapter in my story I can't wait to read.
Wish me luck, guys :) Adventure is out there🎈
Wish me luck, guys :) Adventure is out there🎈
Monday, June 18, 2018
Something I Heard In Highschool Pt.2
Guy Number 1: Do you want to do just do laps of the school?
Guy Number 2: No. That requires stairs.
I have never heard anything I relate to more honestly
Guy Number 2: No. That requires stairs.
I have never heard anything I relate to more honestly
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