I am talking about mental health to support Bell Let’s Talk Mental Health Awareness Month. It is no secret that I live with mental illness diagnosed with major depressive disorder, seasonal affective disorder and generalized anxiety. For years, I have … Continue reading
I see a child I see a cat I see grace I see art But I don’t see an autistic child Extraordinary art of Iris Grace living with autism.
Sleep. Too much sleep or sleeplessness. A serious side effect of mental illness when it’s activated. This time, I cannot sleep. Sleep. Depression, anxiety, or stress often disrupt sleep that worsens the disorder and further sleep problem. I cannot sleep. … Continue reading
The first time I saw him, he was standing beside a massive dog, unperturbed, licking himself. He was six weeks old and the last litter. I came to claim him and named him, Maurice, pronounced with a French accent. … Continue reading
A year ago, I wrote a letter to my nephews and nieces. Did not share it with them. This week, I decided to share it on my Facebook. In Facebook, my fans are my family, and the feedback from them … Continue reading
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“Perpetua is not allowed to talk.” ? ? ? Is it because I speak poorly? Or I speak honestly? Or I make sense? Well then … I will write. Write, I will.
First I go fly a kite and read the list to stay in shape, This is what I do to keep my mind active. Should my mind get stuck, I return to the list. Write. I blog. Pray. If I … Continue reading
He was willing to bare all if even one person could relate to any part of his story and find strength in their family and friends, but most importantly within themselves. – Repurpose a story.
Safe. I felt safe being there. Stay. The ward is a lock-down facility to keep me safe. Mind. I didn’t mind the least bit. I don’t know where to go; don’t know where to stay. When in doubt, do nothing. Minding what is safe, I stayed, for a while.
The ward is equipped with TV, funny magazines, pool table, jigsaw puzzles, coloring books; items to keep me amused or occupied but none of these interest me. So I sat on the floor at the end of the long corridor looking out through the glass door. Here alone I played Tetris, read CareNotes and rolled the prayer beads with my fingers.
Tetris, a gift from my sister Poteet. A game she took away from my nephews. As I recall, the new computer game was causing problems that the boys were glued to it and neglecting to go outside to play the real stuff. I don’t like any kind of computer programs. I was once a computer geek in my younger days writing programs, test programs and application. It drove me crazy trying to solve someone’s programming that has no logic. But Tetris became a real stuff for me inside the ward. It helped me focus. It helped me solve problems. It helped me shape and organized my mind objectively. It helped rewire, build blocks and expand the plasticity of my brain.
CareNotes is all I can find at the Chaplain’s office. The Chaplin’s office is always closed. Never saw him, never met him, and never talked to him. The notes hang outside his office. I know he came around when there are new CareNotes. I collected them all. Dealing With Suicidal Feelings, Climbing Up From Depression, Believing in Your Own Inner Goodness, Finding Strength to Survive a Crisis or Tragedy, Making Sense Out of Suffering, Bearing the Special Grief of Suicide, Easing the Burden of Stress, Encountering Midlife, Emerging Renewed, Finding God in Pain or Illness, Walking with God Through Grief and Loss, Letting Tears Bring Healing and Renewal. CareNotes is an endless resource giving meaning to my question “Why Me?” Now, these CareNotes are my bathroom companion, at home. Good reads not just for me but as well as anyone that uses the toilet.
Prayer Beads enclosed came in a card from my other sister and she wrote: April 5, 1992. Dearest Lady, A priest in Toronto who cares deeply is giving you his personal rosary. This has been blessed and carries with it his own prayers for your well-being and that you will find it in you to pray the rosary. Lady, believe in the power of the rosary and you will be fully alive again. Love and prayers, always. Thelma.
I did not pray the rosary. I do not know how to pray, then. I carried it with me, though. I clutch it when I go to bed, never let it go. Should I wake up in the middle of the night with no prayer beads on my hand, I panic. Searching for it in the darkroom, the beads glow in the dark and with a sigh of relief of finding it, I kissed the cross and went back to sleep. The rosary is now gone; I don’t know how I lost it. But I still go to bed with a rosary on my hand. Can’t sleep without it just like a child with a teddy bear to snuggle with to have a goodnight sleep.
My family reads my blog and provides me articles in relation to the topic that I write. My sister Carmen sent me a Report on Business at the Globe and Mail about ‘Irv’. Irv and I share a common ground: Mental Illness.
It has been a long week of Let’s Talk. Stay well and be well, Perpetua.
A blank piece of paper is transformative. Look at it and you can repurpose it by splashing colors of broken lines to circles. White is an absence of color and black has too much pigmentation. There are only three basic colors: red, yellow and green. What do you see?
On a busy street of West 12th and Granville, I see cars with its tailpipe spewing exhaust gasses; he sees dragons breathing fire and brimstone. Is his mind broken? No. Or is my imagination eschewed? Yes.
Lots of things are invisible, but we don’t know how many because we can’t see them. What we see are the good and the bad, the rich and the poor, the saint and sinners. With him, he can only see the goodness of others as they march by.
For other people, his life has turned up-side down. With that thought in mind, he literally took the word, reinvented the meaning of it, applied it to his last name and no matter how you read it up or down, it will always read SIGLOS.
So, what is the purpose of life. There is no single purpose. We just have to keep repurposing our talent and be of service to all.
There is always a reason whatever that may be. But thoughts are funny for some reasons just do not make sense.
I will use myself as an example. And this is the bubble of my thoughts.
I post. I trash. I post. I trash. Repeat.
I wonder if Hemingway’s bubbling thoughts is similar to me. Did he learn to forgive?
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There are many smiling and happy faces when #BellLetsTalk January 28 mental wellness dialogue was a huge success. It resulted over 122 million talk.text.tweet . Translating that in dollars and cents that’s about $6.1 million for mental health funding. We could never been … Continue reading