She'd been fast asleep, that girl, living in a bleak, grey dream
Once upon a time there was a neurotic girl who lost her way. She'd had a plan on how she wanted her life to go, but things got a little complicated in the middle.
It started when she dropped out of school because she was overwhelmed and burnt out (3 jobs with a full course load will do that to a person) and spent the next two years serving full time, trying to find her 'way out'. While serving, she worked on her social skills, and got herself out of her shell a little more; she began wanting to blend in instead of stand out. Where she once prided herself in being naturally pretty, she caked her face in makeup in order to get better tips; she allowed drunk men to ogle her legs in the uniform skirt and look at her chest in her low cut shirt instead of her eyes. She had conversations with entitled men who tried to impress her with words such as 'I dropped out of school because I hated people telling me what to do' or 'When I wave my empty drink in the air while calling you over, it means you weren't fast enough in getting me a new one'.
And then finally, she thought she'd found that way out she'd been looking for. She'd found a job that enabled her to travel across Canada, while getting paid extremely well. For the next two years, she worked her plan around this job; but the more she worked, the heavier she became.
Now, on the one hand there were many parts of the job that were considered perks, pluses, pros; She met new people, saw new places, explored new cities and lived life well while getting paid.
The cons were harsh, on the other; 18+ hour days, late trains, being gone from home for 6 days at a time, being around people that were hard to please, being surrounded by a lot of negative energy. Getting yelled at for things out of your control were a norm on the train, and as much as serving had hardened her and made her capable of working through the tough times, sometimes it was too much.
And still, she pushed through, telling herself it was for the best.
She got lost in the wonder - she'd been lost for a while now, without realizing it. She'd put all her plans to sleep in the back of her mind, and focused her entire self on 'one day at a time,' going back and forth, Toronto-Vancouver, Vancouver-Toronto, Churchill- Winnipeg, Winnipeg to, well, everywhere.
To a stranger, to anyone on the outside, this life might sound absolutely amazing.
And it was.
--
The moment, sitting on a rock at Alouette Lake, feeling that sense of wholeness, of oneness with the world and its nature. Jumping in the water with your clothes on because you didn't have a bathing suit, laying in the sun to dry; awake and happy.
The physical experience of overcoming fear on the treetop course in Whistler, over 80 feet in the air, where my views on fear changed forever, by the sole realization that it CAN be conquered.
Kayaking with Beluga whales who only wanted to play with me, bumping the underside of my kayak like I was one of their own, paddling at full speed on the Hudson Bay, cruising with their pod, together as one.
Finding an old bookstore with a book-vending machine at Murphy's Paw in the outskirts of the city, on a forgotten street in Toronto. Putting in a toonie and getting an old copy of The Hardy Boys in return. The thunk of the machine brought a childlike excitement back to the surface of my mind. A surprise gift from a mysterious box; it was so much fun.
--
She had moments where she remembered herself. She remembered what she was.
But those moments were few and far between.
Back home, she'd gotten a room downtown in the city where she lived, at a pretty cheap rate in order to save some money - this wasn't her home, but a place to sleep.
She'd organize trips and places to go, made a list of things to accomplish in the next few years, using the money she made in the summer. Peru, Costa Rica, Italy, Australia, New Zealand. Hawaii again. places to see, without purpose, just pleasure.
She calculated the idea of staying at this job forever, just for the money, even if it meant added stress, negative surroundings and unhealthy relationships.
She chose money over happiness.
And so, on a trip in the fall of her second year, she goes to Brohm Lake in Squamish, BC, ready to take back that feeling of oneness she sometimes felt with nature, and force it back onto herself. She wants to wash herself of her uneasy feelings, scrub all the negative anxious energy away, yell at it to be gone.
And as she swings into the water on a rope swing made of fear, wanting to prove to herself that she could overcome this stupid feeling and that she was the boss of herself and she'd be damned if this emotion took that away from her, like it already took so much,
something happens.
She gets caught. The rope intertwines with her, hugging her right arm and leg - she almost rolls down the rope and finally - finally- hits the water, her left hand still holding the ridiculous thread, while her body marinates in the lukewarm lake water. Others would tell her how surreal it looked, how it happened almost slowly, and with an amazing amount of gracelessness. It would later be described as an embarrassingly uncoordinated floundering mess.
Letting go of the rope, she started to tread water, telling herself that she was fine, while simultaneously cataloging her entire body in her mind, checking for pain, making sure she was whole, and unhurt. On the shore, everyone is asking if she's okay, and she replies yes, but her mental cataloging notices that her fingers feel funny.
So she brings up her hands from the water, and seeing the damage, she is suddenly filled with dread.
The first and only thought to occupy her mind for the next hour is 'I wish I could take the last ten seconds of my life back.'
A dislocated middle finger, a fractured bone in 3 parts on the fourth, and a sprained middle finger on the left hand. Not to mention the bruising all the way down her right leg and arm, as well as the rope burn on her hands.
She was very lucky, she would note later on; no missing limbs, no protruding bones, no life threatening injuries. The injuries themselves were not the obstacle to overcome, it was what came after.
--
(Disclaimer: Every single person that was with me that day was absolutely kind and wonderful. They'd helped me put my clothes back on over my bathing suit, made sure to get me some Advil for initial pain, found the nearest emergency room and drove me there; and that was after helping me hike back the way we came in unruly mountainous terrain, filled with protruding vines and sheer rock drops. They waited with me at the emergency room for four hours, and drove me back to the hotel when I was done. I will forever be grateful.)
--
Something I noticed quickly was that people tend to not realize how useless you feel when you lose the use of your hands. They brushed it off, saying 'its just a broken finger, suck it up.' What was once my favorite part of myself, however, a part of my body that I cherished in times of low self esteem, that on the days I didn't think I was pretty I could always admire my slender fingers, my smooth palms, and especially the acute nimbleness and dexterity of my hands; that had all been taken away in a matter of seconds.
And I couldn't really explain the feeling I got after it all happened - when everyone else went back to work, and I stayed behind, lost once again. Lost within my lost life.
I hadn't done anything dangerous, or risky, or extreme, either. No matter all the gossip that would churn - and churn fast it did until the incident lay forgotten - what happened was quite frankly a massive fluke. It was a well secured rope that many people knew about (my emergency room doctor even knew exactly what rope I had fallen from) but even so, I was called a reckless risk taker that 'was better off keeping her adventures back home'.
I fully take the blame for what happened - I did with full knowledge swing off that ledge, but the sheer disapproval in those words sparked a great amount of hurt.
It's ironic, that this was said to the utmost cautious and neurotic girl you could find on that train. That would over think her every move, would question all decisions, would be so afraid to make herself vulnerable in any possible scenario. I knew I was not a reckless person, I knew I was a good worker, but somehow, I hadn't proved myself enough. I couldn't please everyone.
I returned home a different person. I wouldn't get out of bed, I'd order take out every day, wasting my money, and did absolutely nothing for six weeks. In a place that wasn't mine, that wasn't my home, wasn't a place to heal.
--
(Another Disclaimer: The girls I lived with were the most phenomenal girls, and generally the nicest souls I'd ever met. I am grateful every day to have met them. I was in a dark place, and they never made me feel bad or uncomfortable about it. They understood, and were there for support when needed.)
--
But because of my negative mindset, I felt attacked in all directions, and everything about my life was wrong. I pushed everything away; friends, coworkers, my roommates, and even parts of myself.
My escape during my days off would usually consist of longboarding in Birds Hill Park, or rock climbing at Vertical Adventures. Even if I could technically still longboard, I told myself I couldn't, that I was broken, that I'd just fall and hurt myself again anyway - and the rock climbing? Not a chance. Mixed in with my intense fear of burdening my friends and family with my utter uselessness, there was no wonder I stayed home.
And the bad things kept on happening. I found mice in my closet, chewing on my things, and my car kept getting its tires slashed or broken into. My insurance papers were taking longer than normal, and my fingers were constantly wrapped up in splints. I pushed everyone further, and further, until I couldn't even look at my phone without disgust as my immediate reaction.
The more the bad things happened, the more negative I became; until, one day, I was a shell. I didn't know what I wanted from myself anymore, and I didn't have a purpose.
Did you know, according to the Myers Briggs personality test, INFJ's need purpose in order to lead a happy healthy life? That is is suggested their career/job caters to a purpose usually towards helping people, or the environment in some way? They need a reason, need to work, they need to be useful.
I've seen what no purpose looks like on me, and I never want to see it again.
I remember going to see a Reiki woman, someone that was recommended by a family friend, who would hold sessions in her own home. I knew I needed to start fresh, I needed answers and I needed to leave this rut. So I figured why not.
She told me I wasn't aligned, that I was stuck in a stressful job just for the money. She was right. She told me many other things that hit home, and that's when I realized; I needed a home.
I needed a place to heal and restart. I needed to unlock the part of my mind that I'd locked away some years ago.
And by unlocking that part, I opened many more things, more parts of myself that I'd denied long ago.
So I started seeing a therapist, and we began to work on it all.
It's weird to say this, but the truth is, my breakthrough where things started to change was only when I started playing dodgeball twice a week. My brother had invited me on his team, and my friends asked if I was joining them for the season.
Even though I was absolutely not cleared by my physiotherapist to do any kind of activity, I still went, taping up my crooked useless fingers, invalid and pretty much nothing more than a pawn who couldn't throw a ball with any strength or precision to save her life.
But my mind began to change. I was getting my blood pumping, my body was working again, the right endorphins were coursing through my veins, and my mind clung to this new purpose; Sunday and Monday nights were the highlight of my week.
After that, therapy started to make sense. I wanted to get better, I wasn't reveling in my pain anymore like the masochist I used to be; I started to make new plans, I found a home, and my fingers, slowly, started to get better.
I took a hiatus week from life to visit some family in Whitecourt, Alberta, and fell in love with my little cousins. I also rekindled a relationship with what felt like a long-lost older sister, and befriended her husband who had a lot of interesting new points on interests I'd long kept buried. My love for zip lining and harnessing came back, surprising myself at how much I'd missed it.
I'd opened up and accepted my nurturing side with those kids, something I tried so hard for years to keep buried.
This was a time of acceptance. And this was when I started to look for the 'me' I wanted to be.
--
Things were changing, and it felt like someone decided to push her off that ledge that day; someone made her hold on to the rope tighter instead of letting go - someone decided to kick her while she was down, yelling, screaming at this sleeping girl to WAKE UP.
She really wanted to go back to school. She wanted to finish her Creative Writing degree, she wanted to apply for a joint program in Creative Communications, and even take a few courses in Conflict Resolution studies. She still wanted to take that five month Adventure Tour Guide course in New Zealand, because, why not?
She's planning on starting a blog, and is looking into freelance writing. Something she hasn't lost is her desire to write, even though she stumbles over the keys a little more than she used to. She's okay with that.
She's rekindled her love of writing fiction, and is looking more into short story contests, screenplay writing, even going back to poetry, something she had loved long ago. Even the idea of starting up her video diaries once again had come across her mind, even if just for her own amusement.
She is filling her life with positivity and mindfulness, she's following role models that encourage her to live the life she wants.
She's got so many plans, so many new ideas, and even though she has much less money than she did four months ago, she knows it's going to be okay.
She chose happiness this time around.
It started when she dropped out of school because she was overwhelmed and burnt out (3 jobs with a full course load will do that to a person) and spent the next two years serving full time, trying to find her 'way out'. While serving, she worked on her social skills, and got herself out of her shell a little more; she began wanting to blend in instead of stand out. Where she once prided herself in being naturally pretty, she caked her face in makeup in order to get better tips; she allowed drunk men to ogle her legs in the uniform skirt and look at her chest in her low cut shirt instead of her eyes. She had conversations with entitled men who tried to impress her with words such as 'I dropped out of school because I hated people telling me what to do' or 'When I wave my empty drink in the air while calling you over, it means you weren't fast enough in getting me a new one'.
And then finally, she thought she'd found that way out she'd been looking for. She'd found a job that enabled her to travel across Canada, while getting paid extremely well. For the next two years, she worked her plan around this job; but the more she worked, the heavier she became.
Now, on the one hand there were many parts of the job that were considered perks, pluses, pros; She met new people, saw new places, explored new cities and lived life well while getting paid.
The cons were harsh, on the other; 18+ hour days, late trains, being gone from home for 6 days at a time, being around people that were hard to please, being surrounded by a lot of negative energy. Getting yelled at for things out of your control were a norm on the train, and as much as serving had hardened her and made her capable of working through the tough times, sometimes it was too much.
And still, she pushed through, telling herself it was for the best.
She got lost in the wonder - she'd been lost for a while now, without realizing it. She'd put all her plans to sleep in the back of her mind, and focused her entire self on 'one day at a time,' going back and forth, Toronto-Vancouver, Vancouver-Toronto, Churchill- Winnipeg, Winnipeg to, well, everywhere.
To a stranger, to anyone on the outside, this life might sound absolutely amazing.
And it was.
--
The moment, sitting on a rock at Alouette Lake, feeling that sense of wholeness, of oneness with the world and its nature. Jumping in the water with your clothes on because you didn't have a bathing suit, laying in the sun to dry; awake and happy.
The physical experience of overcoming fear on the treetop course in Whistler, over 80 feet in the air, where my views on fear changed forever, by the sole realization that it CAN be conquered.
Kayaking with Beluga whales who only wanted to play with me, bumping the underside of my kayak like I was one of their own, paddling at full speed on the Hudson Bay, cruising with their pod, together as one.
Finding an old bookstore with a book-vending machine at Murphy's Paw in the outskirts of the city, on a forgotten street in Toronto. Putting in a toonie and getting an old copy of The Hardy Boys in return. The thunk of the machine brought a childlike excitement back to the surface of my mind. A surprise gift from a mysterious box; it was so much fun.
--
She had moments where she remembered herself. She remembered what she was.
But those moments were few and far between.
Back home, she'd gotten a room downtown in the city where she lived, at a pretty cheap rate in order to save some money - this wasn't her home, but a place to sleep.
She'd organize trips and places to go, made a list of things to accomplish in the next few years, using the money she made in the summer. Peru, Costa Rica, Italy, Australia, New Zealand. Hawaii again. places to see, without purpose, just pleasure.
She calculated the idea of staying at this job forever, just for the money, even if it meant added stress, negative surroundings and unhealthy relationships.
She chose money over happiness.
And so, on a trip in the fall of her second year, she goes to Brohm Lake in Squamish, BC, ready to take back that feeling of oneness she sometimes felt with nature, and force it back onto herself. She wants to wash herself of her uneasy feelings, scrub all the negative anxious energy away, yell at it to be gone.
And as she swings into the water on a rope swing made of fear, wanting to prove to herself that she could overcome this stupid feeling and that she was the boss of herself and she'd be damned if this emotion took that away from her, like it already took so much,
something happens.
She gets caught. The rope intertwines with her, hugging her right arm and leg - she almost rolls down the rope and finally - finally- hits the water, her left hand still holding the ridiculous thread, while her body marinates in the lukewarm lake water. Others would tell her how surreal it looked, how it happened almost slowly, and with an amazing amount of gracelessness. It would later be described as an embarrassingly uncoordinated floundering mess.
Letting go of the rope, she started to tread water, telling herself that she was fine, while simultaneously cataloging her entire body in her mind, checking for pain, making sure she was whole, and unhurt. On the shore, everyone is asking if she's okay, and she replies yes, but her mental cataloging notices that her fingers feel funny.
So she brings up her hands from the water, and seeing the damage, she is suddenly filled with dread.
The first and only thought to occupy her mind for the next hour is 'I wish I could take the last ten seconds of my life back.'
A dislocated middle finger, a fractured bone in 3 parts on the fourth, and a sprained middle finger on the left hand. Not to mention the bruising all the way down her right leg and arm, as well as the rope burn on her hands.
She was very lucky, she would note later on; no missing limbs, no protruding bones, no life threatening injuries. The injuries themselves were not the obstacle to overcome, it was what came after.
--
(Disclaimer: Every single person that was with me that day was absolutely kind and wonderful. They'd helped me put my clothes back on over my bathing suit, made sure to get me some Advil for initial pain, found the nearest emergency room and drove me there; and that was after helping me hike back the way we came in unruly mountainous terrain, filled with protruding vines and sheer rock drops. They waited with me at the emergency room for four hours, and drove me back to the hotel when I was done. I will forever be grateful.)
--
Something I noticed quickly was that people tend to not realize how useless you feel when you lose the use of your hands. They brushed it off, saying 'its just a broken finger, suck it up.' What was once my favorite part of myself, however, a part of my body that I cherished in times of low self esteem, that on the days I didn't think I was pretty I could always admire my slender fingers, my smooth palms, and especially the acute nimbleness and dexterity of my hands; that had all been taken away in a matter of seconds.
And I couldn't really explain the feeling I got after it all happened - when everyone else went back to work, and I stayed behind, lost once again. Lost within my lost life.
I hadn't done anything dangerous, or risky, or extreme, either. No matter all the gossip that would churn - and churn fast it did until the incident lay forgotten - what happened was quite frankly a massive fluke. It was a well secured rope that many people knew about (my emergency room doctor even knew exactly what rope I had fallen from) but even so, I was called a reckless risk taker that 'was better off keeping her adventures back home'.
I fully take the blame for what happened - I did with full knowledge swing off that ledge, but the sheer disapproval in those words sparked a great amount of hurt.
It's ironic, that this was said to the utmost cautious and neurotic girl you could find on that train. That would over think her every move, would question all decisions, would be so afraid to make herself vulnerable in any possible scenario. I knew I was not a reckless person, I knew I was a good worker, but somehow, I hadn't proved myself enough. I couldn't please everyone.
I returned home a different person. I wouldn't get out of bed, I'd order take out every day, wasting my money, and did absolutely nothing for six weeks. In a place that wasn't mine, that wasn't my home, wasn't a place to heal.
--
(Another Disclaimer: The girls I lived with were the most phenomenal girls, and generally the nicest souls I'd ever met. I am grateful every day to have met them. I was in a dark place, and they never made me feel bad or uncomfortable about it. They understood, and were there for support when needed.)
--
But because of my negative mindset, I felt attacked in all directions, and everything about my life was wrong. I pushed everything away; friends, coworkers, my roommates, and even parts of myself.
My escape during my days off would usually consist of longboarding in Birds Hill Park, or rock climbing at Vertical Adventures. Even if I could technically still longboard, I told myself I couldn't, that I was broken, that I'd just fall and hurt myself again anyway - and the rock climbing? Not a chance. Mixed in with my intense fear of burdening my friends and family with my utter uselessness, there was no wonder I stayed home.
And the bad things kept on happening. I found mice in my closet, chewing on my things, and my car kept getting its tires slashed or broken into. My insurance papers were taking longer than normal, and my fingers were constantly wrapped up in splints. I pushed everyone further, and further, until I couldn't even look at my phone without disgust as my immediate reaction.
The more the bad things happened, the more negative I became; until, one day, I was a shell. I didn't know what I wanted from myself anymore, and I didn't have a purpose.
Did you know, according to the Myers Briggs personality test, INFJ's need purpose in order to lead a happy healthy life? That is is suggested their career/job caters to a purpose usually towards helping people, or the environment in some way? They need a reason, need to work, they need to be useful.
I've seen what no purpose looks like on me, and I never want to see it again.
I remember going to see a Reiki woman, someone that was recommended by a family friend, who would hold sessions in her own home. I knew I needed to start fresh, I needed answers and I needed to leave this rut. So I figured why not.
She told me I wasn't aligned, that I was stuck in a stressful job just for the money. She was right. She told me many other things that hit home, and that's when I realized; I needed a home.
I needed a place to heal and restart. I needed to unlock the part of my mind that I'd locked away some years ago.
And by unlocking that part, I opened many more things, more parts of myself that I'd denied long ago.
So I started seeing a therapist, and we began to work on it all.
It's weird to say this, but the truth is, my breakthrough where things started to change was only when I started playing dodgeball twice a week. My brother had invited me on his team, and my friends asked if I was joining them for the season.
Even though I was absolutely not cleared by my physiotherapist to do any kind of activity, I still went, taping up my crooked useless fingers, invalid and pretty much nothing more than a pawn who couldn't throw a ball with any strength or precision to save her life.
But my mind began to change. I was getting my blood pumping, my body was working again, the right endorphins were coursing through my veins, and my mind clung to this new purpose; Sunday and Monday nights were the highlight of my week.
After that, therapy started to make sense. I wanted to get better, I wasn't reveling in my pain anymore like the masochist I used to be; I started to make new plans, I found a home, and my fingers, slowly, started to get better.
I took a hiatus week from life to visit some family in Whitecourt, Alberta, and fell in love with my little cousins. I also rekindled a relationship with what felt like a long-lost older sister, and befriended her husband who had a lot of interesting new points on interests I'd long kept buried. My love for zip lining and harnessing came back, surprising myself at how much I'd missed it.
I'd opened up and accepted my nurturing side with those kids, something I tried so hard for years to keep buried.
This was a time of acceptance. And this was when I started to look for the 'me' I wanted to be.
--
Things were changing, and it felt like someone decided to push her off that ledge that day; someone made her hold on to the rope tighter instead of letting go - someone decided to kick her while she was down, yelling, screaming at this sleeping girl to WAKE UP.
She really wanted to go back to school. She wanted to finish her Creative Writing degree, she wanted to apply for a joint program in Creative Communications, and even take a few courses in Conflict Resolution studies. She still wanted to take that five month Adventure Tour Guide course in New Zealand, because, why not?
She's planning on starting a blog, and is looking into freelance writing. Something she hasn't lost is her desire to write, even though she stumbles over the keys a little more than she used to. She's okay with that.
She's rekindled her love of writing fiction, and is looking more into short story contests, screenplay writing, even going back to poetry, something she had loved long ago. Even the idea of starting up her video diaries once again had come across her mind, even if just for her own amusement.
She is filling her life with positivity and mindfulness, she's following role models that encourage her to live the life she wants.
She's got so many plans, so many new ideas, and even though she has much less money than she did four months ago, she knows it's going to be okay.
She chose happiness this time around.
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