You don’t like my point of view, you think that I’m insane.

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I do doubt if we are, in fact, from this world from time to time. I secretly wish we are not. Well, maybe I am not that secretive about it.

Sometimes I believe we have a soul. It happens when this world stops making sense. For instance, when I’m staring at the mirror for so long I don’t recognize myself anymore or when I say my own name over and over. “Michele, Michele” what the hell is a “Michele”? What a weird word that is!

Also, there are always those dreams when you see someone you know and they look different, but you still recognize them. Right?

That leads me to believe that there’s something else hidden inside all of us we’d still recognize even without an specific body form. Like an energy.

And that’s probably the kind of crazy shit that’s got the psychiatrist thinking I was borderline schizophrenic. I do emphasize the word “borderline” (as in ALMOST, not as in the disorder!) ’cause she said I was not going to develop it. But don’t get me wrong… I am, apparently far, far from normal.

There’s something on my brain that makes me wonder. I wonder about tiny symptoms that could kill me in minutes like no one else does. It terrifies me. And then it’s gone.

My friends say it’s depression. But I don’t feel sad. I feel terrified. Like there’s a huge black bear running on my direction and a cliff in front of me. Which reads to very little chance of survival and high heart rate! Except, I’m sitting in the office. I forgot.

She suggested medication, but only if I wanted to. That is, only if my mind wonders to the point where I can’t concentrate on life or actually suffer from things I somatize into my body or things that aren’t actually happening.

Which I do.

But isn’t that what makes me, me?

Yes, the crisis suck. But what kind of boring person would I be if I worried about society or money instead of how infinite the infinite is?

Unfortunately, being crazy is not always fun and games. There are always those days when the tactile hallucinations take over and don’t allow you to enjoy a sunset or a board game with your kids ‘ cause you think those are your last minutes on this earth. So, yeah… I guess the medication would be the “responsible” thing to do even though I am torn.

I mean … a medication that controls your thoughts and your personality seems so… so… what? “Controlling” I’d say.

I’d very much like to believe that I CAN control my own brain. Well, at least my thoughts. But hell, no I can’t do that! I can’t even control my weight! And that’s like the mechanical act of putting chocolate into my mouth!

I also need to say I am curious about the medication and what it actually feels like. Will it make my annoyingly happy like a smurf? Or will it have absolutely no effect and I’ll keep waking up in the middle of the night thinking who the f&^% is that person lying next to me and what room is this?

The first week is supposed to be bad – like, people try to kill themselves (WTF?) but, eventually, the sertraline on your brain is controlled and you’re all good.

*scoffs*

Yes, I doubt it.

For the record, I’d like to say that I considered the psychiatrist to be very superficial on her analysis BUT since the medication she suggested is also used for a bunch of stuff I absolutely agree that I have (like the hypochondria that I mentioned) , I’ll give it a try. Had she only picked up on the fact that schizophrenia runs on my family and decided that I had something related to that, I wouldn’t agree with the medication. Not ’cause I’m on denial, but just basically because I am pretty sure the radio is not talking to me. The closest I get to that kind of situation I believe is writing here as if someone was reading this and I find it quite offensive to the people who actually suffer from this terrible, terrible illness that is schizophrenia that the disease was even brought up.

Having said that…

Experiences with panic disorder and hypochondria medication, anyone?

It’s never too late to start again, take another breath and say another prayer.

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Like some humans, I have a constant need to be heading somewhere. I am not cut out for the whole “sitting at the porch and waiting for death”  routine. In fact, I am not cut out for routine at all.

As I look at the people around me I cannot imagine how it’s possible that some of them have been coming to the same building, staring at the same desk, and doing the same choirs for over 10 years.

Go to work, go home; Go to work, go home. Repeat a few times. Die. Is that it?

If I were God, I’d interfere… specially since this killer routine refers to the lucky people on this Earth. The ones who have a job and a home to go to.

Shit, that’s messed up. – on my humble opinion.

I wish we could all just wake up every day and think “what kind of exciting new adventure are we having today?” you know… probably the way rich people live – until they realize it’s all so easy and  start doing drugs. But that’s not what I’m writing about today.

Well, I obviously am not rich, so let’s cross that off of my list…

Instead, I decided to make a plan for the future. Not the “one day I might…” kind of future, but this year’s future. I made that decision the other day when I got home and realized life was kind of all figured out and I wasn’t that excited about it.

I was very thankful we were all healthy and happy. Don’t get me wrong! I am oh-so-thankful. Yet, I was surprisingly  bored.

I had had my beautiful daughters, moved to another country, got a pretty decent job, we moved to our first real house (not a basement anymore!) and we finally got a car.

Now what?

 

I set on the couch and stared at the wall. For some reason I couldn’t enjoy the quiet. I was not quiet inside. I wanted to jump, explore, go somewhere, change the world, bake a cake… just figure out where I was going next! There was no way that couch was my final destination in life even though it was a pretty nice couch with everyone I loved around me. I could stare at my girls forever, but I also wanted to enjoy the ride a little bit more… since we had been blessed with a pretty smooth ride.

I decided I’d learn a new language and visit the oh-so-beautiful French speaking cities in Canada. Who knows… maybe it’ll be love at first sight and we’ll end up moving there.

Hey, Shell… are you projecting your problems into the city you live and thinking that by moving away oh-so-many times you won’t bring your problems with you?

Well, dear reader… I have thought about that and the answer is ” not really”.

I was very excited to leave Brazil and then very excited to leave Ajax. If I couldn’t move anymore I would definitely stay in Ottawa. It is by far the best place we have lived (taking in consideration stuff that is important to our family and  other families might think differently). We are learning about a new place and we have the “privilege” to be alone here, which allows us to move around without having to cut any strings.

For as beautiful as downtown Ottawa is, it does not compare – to me – to Montreal or Quebec. I do like it a LOT better than Toronto… but I’m not in love.

I wanna be in love! And it looks pretty easy… look:

 

The architect inside be needs to be around very, very old and warm looking buildings and the husband put his foot down on the whole moving to Europe idea (we are greatly afraid of the upcoming world war =/ )… so, that’s it. I need to see it. I need to fall in love with a place before I write our story there. Explore, until we find our new home. Start over. Delete the old entries on this blog.

Sounds like a plan to me!

What will you be doing next?

Please, take me home.

I was reading this beautiful blog and it got me thinking about things…. The way she describes Canada as her home and also the home of her great, great grandparents with so much love and affection got me thinking about what it must feel like to be home.

I’ve been fantasying about walking into my own house, to find my family sitting by the dinner table, or perhaps just having a video game slumber party in the living room for way too long. The house in my head is not big and beautiful. It’s small and cozy… it’s also ours and it makes us not want to leave.

It is a sad thing to not feel at home where you live, to not have your own house. It’s a feeling of abandonment. You want to go home, but home is nowhere to be found.

Ever since I was a young girl I wanted to leave this place. I remember opening my window and crying over the view. I was seven. Everything was deteriorated  and poor and just plain sad. I didn’t belong here. It wasn’t the worst place in the world, it was just not where I wanted to be. I can’t really put my finger on the reason why I’ve never liked it in here… but it’s there, lost in my memory somewhere.

That same window has been threatening me for 33 years now. I haven’t moved an inch, but things are about to change. We are leaving, finally.

People say I should stay and fight for this place, but I don’t think it’s really my battle to fight for a place I’ve never loved. I think I’m lucky to leave. I’ve never wanted to stay.

I just need to be somewhere where I can open my window and smile even if the sky is gray. Specially if the sky is gray, actually. I seem to find the winter rather poetic and welcoming. I’ll finally see the snow.

I hope we all find our homes… and I also secretly, or not so secretly, hope the people in this new place don’t see us as intruders. I hope my girls are well accepted… I’m not really worried about me, as long as they are fine.

I’m keeping my fingers crossed and my hopes up. A better life is about to start.

Wish me luck,

Love,

Shelly