October 31, 2017 § Leave a comment

I haven’t done much of anything the last year. Few years. How do I change my mind to recognize the positive changes? Except when you’ve gone so dark, it becomes more difficult to recognize how you’ve pulled yourself out, no?

I’m not sure.

I was supposed to be more than this. I have my childhood memories. I have my parents’ interpretations of me, my teachers and what they said I’d become, not a specific position but that I’d be someone great, someone gifted.

I remember liking things. I try to remember when the last time that was. It’s difficult. I remember enjoying to draw. I did it all the time. I loved drawing people, faces. I wrote, early computer times. I wrote “novels” on our giant old microsoft desktops. They weren’t school assignments, I just did them. I became obsessed with the last Tsar and his family in Russia when I was about 8-9. I think it was because of those princess diary books, that series that was always on the scolastic book order list. Remember those? Oh jesus. I want to go back to that. I got the Anastasia ‘diary’ and somehow that led me down a rabbit hole.

My grandpa Jim, it’s strange to talk about anyone deceased now…I’m very bad at it…but him and my…I suppose step-grandma Helen provided me with a breeding ground for my academic compulsions, by way of Helen, mostly. Jim was amazing, but I need a separate post for him…I’m selfish…I suppose you know already.

I remember their old house. We always had strange gross dinners for holidays…creamed corn from cans and the like. But that wasn’t what I liked. My brother and I always had the greatest time in their basement because my grandpa Jim had this extensive miniature train set. He had a whole little neighbourhood set up downstairs. We used to play with it and my dad always meant to create a similar set up in our basement but life got in the way I suppose. We had characters, we had towns (which, really, were set up already), but it was one of the things I always remember about him.

I miss that house…I come back to my obsession that somehow began but blossomed in their home…about the Russian Revolution, specifically about the people involved in the last Tsar of Russia’s family. I love history, but mainly I love people. I want to know them, why are they the way they are? Why did they do what they did? Why did what happen to them happen? etc. etc. etc.

I remember hours on their computer which was positioned in a roll-top wooden desk (i want one of those btw, i don’t know if it’s the nostalgia, but fuck it, it’s one of my top searchable home pieces), on their computer, late into the night searching information about the last Romanov family, printing out pages, fascinated. Helen gave me books she had, one on Nicholas and Alexandra, another on learning the Russian language. She was and is amazing. I think it’s very telling (perhaps I am saying too much), but the fact that we love visiting her and talking to her and feel she’s part of the family even though our grandfather is gone…has been for ugh…just did the math, just over 25 years. She’s so intelligent, always has been…who decides a 9 year old girl could understand a book about learning the russian language? But she did.

I remember those years. I remember myself in certain ways. I remember how engaged I was in certain topics, learning…in anything really. It stopped. I can’t say the specific point. But it stopped. I stopped enjoying things.

It’s tricky to discuss…but it’s also so fucking hard right now…I’ve done a lot, but it’s really fucking hard to go back to memories when I remember loving certain things, doing certain things. How do I get back there? I can do the same but it’s NOT the same….how do you….get back to yourself? Is that the right wording?



October 31, 2017 § Leave a comment


Photo inspo: #putanailinit Paint your left ring finger purple to raise awareness for domestic violence (it’s been Aug-end Oct). Sorry I’m late. #safehorizon

I’m waiting for my phone. For a noise above me. This past month….i’ve become a godzamaghan.

My landlords informed me they were selling the house early September, which includes the apartment I’m renting. A little foreshadowing of times to come because it came amid a series of phone calls from various sources of stress and mistakes that caused such [eg. I’d enrolled in classes again in September and tuition and other shit that went wrong, rent for that month in gen, emails/texts about other possible problems and/or opportunities that I couldn’t actually deal with in time or in person because I was in Halifax (amazing trip though, don’t want to discount that)]. Unfortunately I became an evil monster lunatic (for everyone dealing with me) but even to myself. Fucking renos above me, requests that I really couldn’t handle but my compulsion to people-please ended up with me cleaning and moving various parts of my apartment, my life. At a second’s notice… I understand it’s tough in their [landlords/real estate agents’] own lives, selling a house in Toronto in this market….but I’m worried it’s broken me…showings every day…an hour’s notice, sometimes not even that…the noise..the increased paranoia I’ve acquired for sound, for glimpses of relevant images through the windows…I was doing so much better and I have reverted into a strange version of myself…I was already socially paranoid, prone to frequent panic attacks, obviously weak in my cravings to self-medicate…but I was working so hard…and this was all so circumstantial. I honestly wouldn’t have signed up for courses (distance courses with Queens again, to get my feet whet) if I had known this would be something I’d have to go through.

September ended up going decently well, even though we were fairly broke because of said Halifax trip. October also began quite well…it’s usually my favourite month because of Halloween. Halloween has gotten a bit bleaker for me ever year though, I try not to think about it. But I love costumes, I love dressing up, I really enjoy going above and beyond in most things, (a burden and a curse, my black an white thinking) but I actually love creating….costumes….strange variations on characters, makeup, creating my own characters. My darkened perspective, my lowered ideals of myself throughout all this have affected how I interact with everyone else, how I think, how I remember. I started thinking today…the amount of people through the years who ask me certain questions that feel strange, make me feel unusual, but usually I’ve viewed that as a good thing. Now it’s changed.

I’m sure I am filtering all of this through my neurotic, social phobic thought processes, but I have to answer to so much “why do you care about that?” “why do you bother with that?” “why don’t you throw that out?” “why do you spend the time on that? it’s not that big of a deal.” etc. Those were terrible examples of dialogue but fuck it.

This has gone on for years. I love making costumes, I love decorating my apartment, collaging obsessively (and I always try to keep the pictures/poems/posters I love most for my walls as much as I can, even if I’ve re-sticky-tacked them from my first apartment until now), I love keeping my old books, I love rereading and keeping the copies and their margin notes, I love ugly furniture and memorabilia of my childhood and having that visceral pull back to times I loved and want to keep with me, fear I’ll forget.

I write it more beautifully here…but I’ve been pulled back this week where I got too in my head, thinking about how many times people have questioned me about my priorities, about why I’d be interested or spending so much time with/on certain things and hobbies….and I have to say “because I love it.” It’s not work for me. I’m 27 fucking years old and I still have to explain…and I am not trying to say I’m exceptional in having this conflict, but more that I feel upset that I haven’t overcome it. I should have gotten over it long ago. I should have been able to say  and believe ‘fuck the critics’ (those that come solely from opinion, not of interest and offering productive comments)…ughh I should have written trolls? I should be able to not care. But how do you not care when you’re such a ghost human? Who are you? What do you want? Who do you want to be?

I’m a mist. I’m a fog.


October 12, 2017 § Leave a comment

The title is literally just from watching Tim&Eric at Just for Laughs in Toronto a couple of weeks ago and introducing my brother to said sketch (I know, we’re evil) to introduce him to their comedy.

And it has nothing to do with what I’m going to write about.

Because I’m a mess. A fucking mess. This post (as per other posts where I rant about how shit my brain and mental state and all that junk is crap) will not be the best. We had Thanksgiving at my parents’ place which went fairly well and I had better plans for my week beforehand…we had a Thanksgiving/birthday celebration for Andrew on the Monday. I was supposed to finish an assignment on the Tuesday, I had a midterm (online) begin at 2 pm and ends at 2pm today. It takes 30 min, so I need to start at the latest, 130 but obviously, earlier is better.

Before the Thanksgiving/birthday thing on monday, we went to see an apartment, because we have to move. Another fuck-you in my life at a shitty time. I’m such a whiney bitch though, I shouldn’t be complaining. I don’t know if it’s all of that, exams, stress, moving, more of a reminder being with my family and in school having been such a failure in recent years….whatever, I can go on. I don’t know if that’s what it is, but I haven’t felt like this in quite a while. I was getting so much better.

Some stuff I can’t write…but yesterday, especially, I’ve just been in bed for the majority of the day. I have such little motivation, energy, inspiration. My boyfriend’s birthday being two days ago, I showed him what I’ve started because I’d been making him a painting and I had been trying to paint it whenever he was working or away for whatever reason, which was tricky, but now he knows. I’d meant to try to finish it as much as I could because I’d gone to buy paint colours I was missing and baking ingredients the day of his actual birthday, and the day after, his hours were 3-11pm and that worked better for me to work…I was meaning to study, paint, to bake something for him (as per the painting and baking purchases the day before) and nope, just was borderline comatose.

I shouldn’t even be writing this because I need to study. But I’m kind of resigned to just being fucked. As per usual. I can never change? Jesus….I’m a waste. I’m sorry, this is such a terribly written post, I don’t want to read it myself because I know it’s shit and I’m shit right now. I don’t know. I’ll be okay right? I’ll pretend I believe that.

Lord, I was born a ramblin’ man

July 31, 2017 § Leave a comment

Video! Go easy on me, my first time vlogging. Some updates and junk, sorry I talk too much and go off on tangents but that’s me so I’m trying to be okay with that, just talking as myself without editing or judging too much. Thanks everyone!


Connecting the dots. Update to previous post.

July 12, 2017 § Leave a comment

So I thought I’d just show anyone about how crazy I have been the past month or so, which I discussed in the last post, if you’d like to give it a gander. I actually have bruises, little finger bruises I’ve made on my chest from pushing into my chest trying to feel it, what was my pulse (to be honest I probably have bruises around my jaw too, or maybe I will, I never really thought about that hmm). Here’s some shots for reference:


NOTE: Sorry these are “chest” shots, they’re not meant to be like check out the cleave (which there is none HA) but that’s just where I was feeling my heart, where they ended up.

Anyway, Just more so to show how insanely paranoid and terrified I’ve been. I’ve really had a rough month as I know so many of you are going through and have and will probably go through periods of this, relapses of any kind or something will emerge you never thought possible. These problems, anxiety and panic disorder are real. So are the other varied and debilitating mental problems that exist as well, usually co-morbidly.

This will just be short, I just wanted to show you how crazy this whole thing has and still has been making me. It’s hard to be talking candidly like this, but I’m trying to become more publicly active in the discussions on mental health, addictions, eating disorders, etc. etc. Especially the stigma. Let us speak, let us hear, let us help and be comfortable asking for help without fear of disdain and disgust. No one suffering should have such fear that we’re seen as useless, have no control, we’re making it up, attention seeking, the list goes on.

I am ending this, however, on a good note (just wait for it though, it starts off quite the opposite). I had a very messy experience of the same again yesterday, ruining what was supposed to be a day out, a picnic with my boyfriend for the months we’ve been together and it all got wrecked (I really tried to keep myself from saying I wrecked it…I mean I did…no…my mental shit right now wrecked it for both of us. It’s really hard to say without self-blame). I tried to keep myself okay the whole day but it started off rough, I felt the same preemptive feelings thinking something would happen, my heart was going to go. I ended up not able to eat I was so nauseated (and every time I even had water I threw it up, sorry about it!) This fucking spider scared the shit out of me in the apartment which exacerbated the whole thing, me thinking oh my god I can’t be scared like that, my heart, omg. And I ended up calming myself down somewhat because I really wanted to make our plans work and celebrate and have a beautiful day. Soon after we left, I started to have palpitations and couldn’t breathe very well as we continued, feeling weaker, as if I might faint, not being able to think properly, sort of in a fog. It ended up with a culmination again, me sweating and clutching my chest and throat, my heart beating out of my chest and I just broke down saying please please can I just get checked out, I really need to, I might be dying. What if something is really happening? etc. etc.

Silver Lining: I was seen by a lovely woman at a clinic close ish to where we were at the time (Sorry, I can’t remember the name), who listened to everything I had to say, about my life, all of the horrible self-destructive choices I’ve made, that I really don’t seem to be reaching right? There maybe really IS something wrong right? I could be that one rare person. She listened to how it’s affected my life significantly as I mentioned in my last post and checked me out as I asked, as best she could at the clinic, and gave me medication for the interim until I see the doctor who will be my new doctor in Toronto where I can get all the check ups and work down and help I want and need currently.

AND they’ve helped immensely. I’m still having slight bouts about things, keep having my mind wander to what-ifs and researching symptoms and things online but I’ve improved immensely. I’ve been able to clean today, to read, to actually BE somewhat functional. Which is such an improvement I can’t even tell you. And it is and will be for my poor boyfriend as well, who has been so supportive but I know this whole month has been really rough on him as well. He’s been amazing and I feel so lucky to have someone who I can trust and who is just there for me in all the ways I need him.

Thanks everyone!

Last scene of all […] mere oblivion, sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything

July 8, 2017 § Leave a comment

I think this will be a short piece. And I’m going to try and get it up as is, because I don’t want to push myself into too much editing or the oh so common thought barrages of mine that always accompany any work, or really anything that I do or say.

This is important. I have been having a fairly rough time lately. This is partly why I feel it is necessary to address, but also so fucking difficult right now.

I went to the hospital a few weeks ago. Those who know me, know that I worry a lot but I so very rarely get help from anyone, least of all doctors, unless it’s very dire and/or I am brought there by someone else. This time followed a week or so of intense anxiety that I tried very hard to ignore, tried to tell myself it was just my mind, it’s nothing, you’ve gone through this before, etc. But no matter my efforts, the feelings and symptoms of what I thought was happening kept returning, culminating in the event where I called 911.

My anxiety was over my thoughts and feelings that something was wrong with my heart. I kept thinking I had heart disease, I was going to have a heart attack. I am almost 27, which scares the shit out of me anyway, and I’ll address later, BUT I know 26-27 is young in terms of heart health. I know this, logically. However, I also don’t think it was too far reaching of me to think I was dying in this fashion due to how horribly I’ve treated my body for so many years. I don’t want to go into too much justification of that because I am struggling not to think about it as we speak, trying to keep myself functional enough to write this.

On that particular day, I had been having anxiety about this all morning. I was alone, except for the cat. But what added and what continues to add to my fear is being alone because what if I died alone? If someone was there, if I couldn’t make the call, help might’ve been able to save me if I couldn’t etc.

In the evening, my fears abated somewhat until they returned beyond anything I’d felt before. Still similar feelings but exacerbated, to the point where I felt the need to make the call, honest to God, thinking I was having a heart attack. My heart was beating through my chest like a drum, I felt like it would explode out of me and my left arm started tingling and kept appearing to be a blotchy purple and white. I only grabbed my phone, left my keys even, not locking the door, because again, this was a terrifying experience for me. I thought I would pass out and die before I could finish the call, give my address, they could find me, etc. I wanted to be out on the street so neighbours and passersby could see and help hopefully and it would be the fastest I could get help.

I did not die. My heart rate and blood pressure were very very high, for a very long time as well, although I started to feel better, especially with regard to my arm when I was there with the paramedics. They calmed me down just with their presence, but also assuring me it was most likely a panic attack, my EKG was normal, etc. They even said I could go home again (we actually hadn’t left my street at this point, again strangely reassuring me that I wasn’t in as much danger as I thought). I had that option or else I could still go with them to the hospital to have everything checked out, which I did, because regardless of my feeling better, I think I could have very well had a panic attack shortly after in the night if I didn’t get myself completely checked in the ER first.

I ended up appearing to by fine. It’s attributed to a panic attack. Thank god.

HOWEVER, I have had about a panic attack now about once a week since then and even before that, I think I had one a few weeks before my 911 call here. It was different that time. That prior experience, I felt like I was losing control of my body, that my brain was fucked up, I had very intense vertigo and couldn’t think straight so it was harder for me to explain and to make the decision to call anyone. It passed after a while after I lied down but not before a lengthy and horrifying period of pain and fear and actual bodily ramifications.

I’ve written before about how I have felt very different lately. I am not suicidal or that borderline-suicidal where I engaged in things and substances I knew were extremely dangerous and knowing it could end horribly, but didn’t care about the outcome. If I died, that was fine, and if it wasn’t a suicide, my very sad and selfish brain thought that at least it wouldn’t hurt people that loved me as much. It was more an accident. This type of thinking is horrible and I cannot stress enough that it kills people. It is a very real threat to the mentally ill and it’s a horrible way to live for everyone invested. It’s strange though because at the time I wasn’t hurting from the way I thought. It was just normal to me and it felt right. Now that I’ve changed remarkably (still lots of work to do obviously), I care. I can see the difference and it makes me very sad for myself then.

The other big problem, which I’ve discussed already in my blog posts, is that now that I’m actively trying to get better, it’s actually really fucking hard due to my regrets. My head is clear, etc. and thoughts and memories of how horrible I was to so many people, so many bridges burned, my reputation with so many people, the years that seem lost and wasted to me, along with my “potential”, I can go on and on. Along with that, is my health. How has my body been affected? How badly?

And there’s the rub. With my now somewhat clearer head, one that is now more inclined to LIVE, this knowledge and the thoughts of what I’ve done have accumulated into this  relapse of anxiety and slew of panic attacks (I keep hoping that’s really all it is, but anyone with anxiety similar to this knows how fucking hard it is to accept that, and not continue to think what IF I really am the rare person of this age to die of heart failure etc).

I also just said relapse. So, what has been hard as well is that I have had panic attacks in the past, however it has been a very long time, almost ten years now and when I had them then, they were very different. I couldn’t breathe, had intense head rushes and my throat felt very hard, like it was turning to stone, or crushing into my neck, suffocating me. It was also very terrifying then, but different. That’s also in part what’s gotten me into this state now, because I’m constantly thinking, this isn’t a panic attack then, it’s different than before, I think I really am dying, etc.

It’s been very hard for me the past couple of months with all of this. I am honestly, barely functional. Because I can’t get this shit out of my head or out of my body. Even now, my chest feels this heaviness and I’ve been continuously checking my pulse, I get scared of doing things like showering or going to bed because I am scared that it’s more likely for me to die and then to not be able to get help, plus I’ll be ugly and/or naked when they find my body and that’s terrible and I don’t want that, I need to lie down, not do anything remotely hard to my heart, ugh…that was my rant but again, I’m writing this because these are really my thoughts and the way I’m thinking CONSTANTLY these days.

I also know that it sounds really selfish, I’m probably fine, I need to get my mind out of that place, but again, if you don’t know what it’s like, PLEEEEEEASE try and not say that to anyone you care about who has thoughts like these or any kind of  anxiety. Please just be there for them, hug them, tell them it’ll be okay, you love them. Don’t tell them they’re delusional/making it up/only thinking about themselves/need to focus on positives, whatever version of that. Because I know, and I can only speak with authority about my own experiences, but I know I don’t want to be like this. If I could stop this and stop thinking about myself like this all the time I fucking would. And I try, not hard enough maybe at all times, but I do. I try mindfulness and meditation and taking walks and a lot of other shit, which does work somewhat, for which I am grateful, BUT it keeps coming back. And I’m fucking tired. It’s fucking exhausting.

Anyway, I would like to know, from anyone with similar experiences, what you think, what you’ve gone through. And also, have you had a slew of panic attacks and anxiety where the symptoms of it were a specific way and then later on, panic attacks came back but the way they made you feel in your body/the symptoms you were feeling were very different? Anyway, that’s all. I really needed to say that, and I am hoping I am somewhat better soon because this is not a life right now for me. It’s awful.

I have a doctor’s appointment in a couple weeks and I’m going to request a full physical work up because I really just need to know there’s actually nothing physically wrong with me. Even just for my anxiety’s sake, I need that. And I’m obviously going to discuss more therapy options etc.

Thank you everyone that cares and loves me and always apologies to all the people I really do care for that I’ve hurt in the past, namely my family, but there’s many more, you know who you are if you are reading this. Thank you, be safe everyone.

Title quote, As You Like It -the Bard


Alternative Facts

January 26, 2017 § Leave a comment

I hate myself, in part, for writing this today. I haven’t written for quite some time and to return today, seems wrong for myself. Although not posting today if I wanted to is just as wrong as posting today when I didn’t want to, just because it’s “Bell, Let’s Talk” day.

I haven’t been on here much, partly, because I chose to go off of my medication cold turkey end of August last year. Not that I was healthy in any way, shape or form before that when I was on said meds, but after about three ish months, I did change. There was a come down. It was noticed moreso by others than myself. And only when I began to question the changes in myself did anyone tell me they’d noticed differences. I was sick on and off, tired and barely able to do anything besides go to work which I forced myself to do, even then, not always being able to stay. I stopped my medication, in part, because of side effects, but a lot of it had to do with curiosity. Who would I be now?

The brain is such a strange place. Lately I’ve had dreams, or I’ve woken up with fear that I’m dying. I’ve had certain related fears before, but now I care. I used to imagine my death, I used to live for myself where I honestly didn’t care if I died, sometimes I’d envision it, write out plans, enact some of them out. I’d make mistakes, take pills or drink myself to what should have been my end, gotten into cars with strangers, and I was satisfied with whatever might happen to me.

I had a story I wrote, thought of, many variations, how I’d wanted to die. Now I don’t want to. I remember in the past thinking about this, how I’d end up in the future, wanting to live long and healthily and have a home and a family but I’d only realize this shortly before discovering I had some disease and was dying. Where I would hate my past self so terribly, what was I doing, how stupid and naive I was. There was a separation for me, I think there still is, of a me “then”, “now”, and perhaps a future Maghan. I’ve always written myself like a character throughout my life, a fiction.

But it was always me. I run away from my problems, try to erase them, but they are always there. I still refuse to be certain things and I am not sure whether these traits and choices of mine are strengths or weaknesses. They’re both really. The labels don’t matter. It all exists. All of me exists. The way I was, the way I am. My brain then to now, my actions, my choices. It’s all me. I am all of it. And I can’t get away.