Visiting Family

https://www.gofundme.com/shaunda-does-canada&rcid=r01-153843859136-c869829f0b5e4888&pc=ot_co_campmgmt_w

 

I started this as kind of a joke but then I got donations from people who want to see me so I thought I would pass it along to people. If I raise the money? I plan to take a month of respite and travel across Canada to see my family and my friends.
They money is for Greyhound tickets. Anyone who donate will get pictures and updates all along the way. I have friends and family who will put me up along the way.

But, yeah, here it is. Donate or not. Share or not. But thanks for reading this far.

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Morning Methheads

I checked into the emergency psych health recently. I will write about the situation more soon but I need to write about this part while it is on my mind. I got home today and this is only a short part of two days but it is significant enough I have questions.
When I woke up in the hospital yesterday morning around 6:30am to go to the bathroom there was a gentleman in the common area who was an overnight arrival. He was clearly agitated and paranoid, shouting out about the nurses behind the glassed in nursing station ‘talking shit about him’.
 
I tried to get back into my room but it was not a real room (they had put me on a mattress in the conference room for lack of beds). I found the door was locked. I was locked in the common room while they had their morning meeting and ignored what was happening outside the glass.
 
When he started pacing around the room and addressing them directly? They came out and talked to him. When they were afraid of him? They went back behind closed glass and left me alone with him in the common area.
They called security. Security arrived but went behind closed glass with them to talk about it which amped him up more. No one checked to see if I was safe while I was alone with him addressing me directly about their actions.
Finally, another young guy came in the area (addict, looking for a place to sober and rehab but calm and cool). He sat beside agitated guy and just tried to reassure him no one is talking about him. When agitated guy addressed me? Other junkie spoke up some kind of calming answer that left me out. He made me feel safer.
Security eventually came out and tried to convince ‘agitated’ he needed to go to a quiet room. They worked on him for twenty minutes or so with the help of nurses and social worker while he threatened others in the room. Particularly myself and the female nurses.
“Oh I’d never hit a bitch, but I have no issue telling them they’re bitches. Right, you fucking cunt looking at me?” (that was directed at me even though my eyes were in my lap and my headphones were on)
A doctor came out and asked him a bunch of questions. One result was, “yes, he had smoked meth about 4 hours ago, right before he was brought in”. Also, that going to a quiet room would be like putting him back in the prison cell he spent most his life in.
My fear factor shot up. This guy was a raging, meth-high, tatted, tear-dropped, ex-prisoner. However, the doctor felt Mr. Agitated had calmed down enough from their chat he could stay in the common room. No sedatives administered.
By that time it was 7:30am and people were coming into the area for breakfast. I met a lovely woman and we had our breakfast together, discussing our own situations while trying to deal with his ranting to everyone about how everyone in the room is talking about him. He got very angry when K and I ignored him. Called us foul names and gave “I’d never… but I could” kind of threats.
So many nurses and aides walked through the room as this was happening. They just kept telling him “it’s not all about you, they aren’t talking about you”. No one checked to see if we felt okay or unsafe, but he got offered warm blankets to calm him.
K asked if I wanted to go back to her room to get away from it and we did. We had a great talk and we bonded. But you can only sit for so long before you want to stretch your legs. We went back to the common area, grabbed some coffees and sat in the corner to chat more.
That’s when hell broke loose. Mr. Agitated started getting upset about the nurses ignoring him. It was because they were talking about him. Every person in the room was talking about him. K and I MUST have gone away to talk about him. What kind of shit were we saying? Was I saying he stole my blanket? Bitches like us just need to get raped. You know, he could rape a little kid and all he would get charged with was child rape but he could almost get away with doing us….  His rant went on as we cowered over our coffee, scared and unsure what to do and nurses sat behind glass.
It took three minutes of him pacing in front of us and verbally abusing us for another patient to alert nurses and them to call a Code White. Security came. And they tried to talk him down again.
And when they couldn’t? K and I were made to leave the common area, not him. So we cowered in her room until they finally had RCMP come and take him away.
I’m a rape victim with anxiety. How could they leave me in that room with an admitted methed up person while they hid behind glass? How could they leave him in the room after admitting he was that high and was already acting aggressive? Just because he calmed down for a moment? He terrorized more than one person. Why was he allowed to do that?

Yoga At The Beach

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Wow! Yoga is not as easy at it looks.

I’m VERY flexible so I assumed yoga would be an easy way for me to incorporate muscle training into my walking regiment.

However, yoga? It’s requires a few things. Focus, balance, flexibility and commitment.

I did Yoga at the Beach today. I thought I would be good at it because I have the stretchiness (flexibility).

Turns out I have minimal focus and zero balance. Resulting in about 10 new bruises.

Turns out? Ha ha. There is not ‘turns out’ because it was expected.

My anxiety about being in a new situation with strangers, one of them touching me because she is the instructor? Of course my focus was off even though I muddled though it.

My other health issues that affect my muscles and make them twitch? That makes balance hard on the best of days. Trying to balance with twitching muscles while dealing with anxiety of being touched?

I got through it. Fell more than once in difficult poses but I got back up on the horse.

I LACK focus and balance.

There is that fourth component though. I’ll make up for the lack of focus and balance with commitment!! Next class is next Tuesday so I have all weekend to Youtube beginner yoga videos and practice. Get my BF to help me strength train so I am not falling on basic poses. Not be so much of a falling fool.

Yoga on the Beach! I can do this!

Where Imagination Began

My imagination is all my own. I’ve had a wild imagination since childhood. Nowadays? My doctors call it stuff like paranoia. Or say maybe I’m not really seeing things the way they are (delusional).

My imagination? Is like an older sister in a close family. It has been my best friend and my nemesis at the same time.

When I was a young child and was ‘grounded’ to my room until I cleaned it? I imagined I was in a cabin in the woods. Tiny and secluded. Being grounded gave me a desire to be alone and the okay with being alone with my own imagination.

I was grounded a LOT. Not doing homework, not cleaning my room, sneaking to wear make-up or whatever other reason. I spent a lot of time alone with my imagination.

It sometimes feels like my only real ‘socialization’ could have come from the time I was in school? However, I was ‘grounded’ to my desk without breaks for the majority of the time. Not doing my homework mostly. Sometimes for passing notes.

At the most crucial moments I should have been developing social skills to carry me forward in life ? I was continually forced into isolation.

It’s in isolation my imagination took hold of me. I began to write journals and stories. My isolation kept continuing because of my ‘day-dreaming’ and not doing the things I was told. It meant detention at school and grounded at home.

It think that’s when I decided it didn’t matter. In my imagination? It didn’t matter. Wherever I was in reality, or why? I was in a tiny cabin in the woods. Taking care of myself and writing stories.

 

Amazon Prime

I’m not a rich person. It means I am always looking for a way to save a buck where I can. I read my flyers, buy bulk on sale, cut coupons, use points programs and even do surveys online to find ways to save. I made it into a hobby or game. Like, how much can I save today?

I pay for internet. Cheaper than getting cable was to get Netflix to get movies, TV, etc. Netflix n chill was working well for less per month than cable.

I order things online. I don’t like travelling to the ‘big city’ for things and can’t get everything I need around here. So I’ve been paying shipping on regular items. Hmmm.

I mostly order from Amazon. Why? Remember those surveys? They pay me with Amazon gift cards.

Amazon Prime is $76/year. Netflix? $11/month = $132/year

Amazon Prime has better TV and movie options. Their TV shows are star studded.

Oh, and by saving $56/year on my TV habits? I also get free two-day shipping. I spent close to $70 last year in shipping alone. So that’s more savings and huge convenience.

Lastly, Amazon Prime gives me discounts on things I order regularly. My cat’s food? Cheaper on Amazon, delivered to my door with free shipping.

Making the switch to Amazon Prime has significantly affected my budget to the positive.  If you order online and watch internet based programming? I recommend Amazon Prime!

TD Canada Trust

I love my bank!

Today is TD Customer Appreciation Day. I had banking to do so I received my cookie and mints LOL It’s not why I am writing this.

Over a decade ago? I didn’t have photo ID (only my birth certificate and SIN).

I was an administrator, responsible for bank deposits for the company I worked for, so I saw commercial bank tellers at TD every day. One day? I casually mentioned I wished my personal banking was as easy as my bosses. The teller asked why it wasn’t.

“I don’t have photo ID or good credit. No bank wants to take me with a birth certificate and a signature.”

The business relationship where I had to be there every day for one of their multi-million customers? Got me a bank account on a signature.

I’ve been with TD for more than a decade. I recommend them to others and have had three or more friends open accounts there.

Now? I still love my bank! They recently changed their hours back to more like banker hours (in my area, at least) and that’s a bit inconvenient. Very minor!

In the past six months? They helped my boyfriend and I set up savings. They helped reduce our fees based on how we spend. They helped him with credit and gave me great info on how to build mine. TD is the bank that encouraged me to open my RDSP account and it is growing all the time.

I love my bank. As much as one can love a bank.

If you have to participate in fiat currency? They’re they place I recommend!

Struggling To Write

I’ve been trying to figure out WHY it has been so difficult to write these days.

Depression is the obvious answer. I’ve sort of clung to that one as the excuse even though I have a multitude of things I would love to be writing about and writing would help the depression.

Then I thought maybe it was moving. As awesome and amazing as my home is? Any kind of change throws my body and brain for a loop. I’ve been tired, sluggish. I’m trying to put any motivation I can muster into creating a home.

Today? I had a new idea. One that seems more like the real one.

I wrote a LOT about my sex life last summer. Pics included. I’m okay with everything I have shared. Admittedly? It gained me a few followers (thank you).

But when I got back together with my boyfriend? I stopped writing as much sexy stuff. Reading went down. I expected that. People have requested more sexy stories (thank you). I expected that.

But that rampant outburst of promiscuity? It’s a symptom of my health issues and I know that. It’s that ‘manic’ side of manic-depressive. I know that. More importantly? When I exposed that side of me? It’s what gained me the most attention online. Which made it more difficult to go back to different writing. That’s the narcissistic side of BPD.

So what do I do? I started this blog as an online diary. I want to write every part of my daily struggle and I am not. Why? Because I don’t feel like I am writing sexy enough?

I decided I am going to write more often about all my mundane BS. My mental stuff, my health, my relationships. Because I really need to write about that. And writing will help me!

For those of you who really enjoyed my sexy stuff? I’m going to start a new, separate blog with sexy stories, truth and fiction. I’ll post a link to it in this blog.

The Hope Chest

When my grandma died she left me her hope chest. Cedar lined and so beautiful. It was the only piece of furniture I dragged to Alberta with me when I left Winnipeg. I had it in my tent.

When we left Alberta it was on foot and we both had to give up anything we could not carry in a back pack. My grandma’s hope chest was left behind with a little girl I babysat and had come to love.

Today? My boyfriend surprised me by taking me to a second hand store. He’d found some T-shirts but also a chest. Did I want it? It reminded him of my grandma’s. And it should. It’s a duplicate.

Except?

My grandma’s was in great condition on the outside. I had managed to bang it up inside through moves. An ex broke into it so the lock was broken. And it smelled more like ‘how to hide my shit’ than cedar when I left it behind.

This ‘new’ one? The outside is so banged up like it saw a life that was moved around, etc. I wasn’t sure about it until I opened it. The inside? It still has the lining covering the cedar. Nothing was ever stored in it and it smells so fresh.

I gave up something I loved dearly. My boyfriend knew that. Today it was replaced with a perfect duplicate.

Perfect why? It will still remind me of my grandma. Only this one is more like me. Banged up on the outside with a fresh new start on the inside.

 

I’m THAT Friend

We all have a THAT friend.

What is THAT? Talks to much, swears too much, is inappropriate at the worst times. Dressses too slutty? Always needs to borrow money without paying back? The friend that goes back to every bad relationship? Drinks too much. Smokes too much.  Is over-controversial. Too political?

I’m not all THAT. Maybe a few though.

What else is THAT? The friend who will always babysit for free so you can have a girls night or make it to your sports game. The one who remembers you so hard they look you up after 25 years. The one who helps pack boxes and move? The one who shows up at the hospital to hold your hand while your loved one dies? How about THAT friend who will will always lend you money even if you don’t pay it back? Or sends letters so you get love in the mail.

I’d like to think I am more of THAT friend.

Okay, I’m crazy in my own ways. But I will never forget you and I will always have your back in any way I can! (And I always pay my debts LOL I’m NOT that friend) I value my friendships sometimes more than my family.

I’m THAT friend.

Unashamed

It’s been a long time since I have written. I get ‘couchbound’ where I can’t do anything. It’s where I am right now.

I have so many things to take care of. My ‘free Canadian health care’ gets less free when you neglect to file your taxes. My provincial MSP plan is on my back for payment. I need to file my taxes before I call them or I can’t go see a doctor. Not filing taxes or calling MSP back will affect me negatively but I haven’t been able to do either. I made some small steps like loooking up paper work and phone numbers to get it all together. I can’t gather the motivation? initiative? gumption? to make the call.

Other things to take care of? Well, personal hygiene would be good. Watering my plants which are footsteps from my house might be nice because watching them die from my couch isn’t. Cleaning my personal space.

The fact it is so difficult for me to accomplish even doing my dishes? Is embarrassing. I SHOULD feel shame.

However? When my BF comes home after a long day of work and sees I am still in my PJs on the couch? He doesn’t shame me.

He recognizes any effort I have made (like packing him a lunch that day or washing some of the dishes).

And when I get so far gone I can’t take care of my own hygiene? He doesn’t even shame me then. He offers to run be a bubble bath. Like I’m the one that had a hard day, not him.

Those kindnesses he gives me takes away the shame of what I go through when I struggle every day. Because of him I survive better. There were times in my life I was bedbound from my mental health. Now I am couchbound but with encouragement not shame.

Next question.

How do I take this new feeling of being unashamed about my lack of inclination and use it as a catalyst to incite motivation?