Diary of an Angry Girl


I’ve been reading about what to do with your journals before you die. It’s been that kind of week I guess.

I have been writing in a diary off and on since I was about 8. I think my first “journal” was something called an “autograph book”, and my grandparents gave it to me. I went around to mostly family and some friends, and asked them to sign my little book. Most had sweet little messages, some wrote little rhymes starting with “roses are red”; it was like a yearbook for my 8-year-old self. At some point I moved on to the lock-and-key style diaries. Those were always gifts too. And I never forgot to lock it and hide the key under my mattress. I was always a private person. My sister on the other hand, used to read hers out loud to me, as I plugged my ears in defiance.

I sometimes wish I had written with the notion that someone might read them someday. But that would have defeated the purpose for me. I wrote with potty-mouthed abandon, and channeled all the negative energy from my little body onto those pages. I had a lot, you see. I’m not sure I will ever really understand where all that anger came from. We’ve all had to deal with imperfect childhoods, but not everyone came to be host to a little monster. And my little monster grew; at times, it outgrew me. And I would catch up, and it would grow again….

I’ve often wondered over the years what it would be like to have someone read them. No, that’s not quite true; I haven’t wondered, because I know what it would be like–mortifying. I think it would still be so even if my family read my diaries from all those years ago, let alone the ones I wrote in my adult years. But like so many other things in my life, seeking out and destroying my journals has been put on the list of things to do at a later date. But that later date may never come. What if I die before that happens? Who will read them? What will they think? Will they be shocked? Disgusted? Hurt? Will they wonder if they knew me at all?



Young & Beautiful

I’m contemplating this feeling of disconnectedness from the past, I think I will start there. But where is there?

I’ve decided. There is here, at the intersection of music and melancholy. This is where nostalgia lives. The music I choose is often bittersweet; it can conjure wistful feelings and spark sadness.

Young & Beautiful


“He’s my sun, he makes me shine like diamonds.”


What a perfect pairing this song is with The Great Gatsby.  The glitz, the excess, the recklessness reminds me of youth, when everything is new and shiny and you feel like you will never grow old. It’s a fever dream.

Sometimes, I look back on my youth, and wonder how things would have been different if I had been braver. I didn’t make a lot of choices in high school, I just kind of floated around like a ghost and waited for things to happen to me. At some point, those “things” were mostly boys.

He is like the sun. Without it, I could never truly shine.

I came back to life when I was in lust or in love. There were high points in between, but for the most part, without the sun I felt invisible. The sun made me feel warm. And wanted. And like anything could happen. Being in the sun allowed me to live in that fever dream of youth.

The problem with beautiful dreams is you have to wake up someday, and be crushed that none of it was real. If I had known that, would I have done anything different?

When I’m feeling low (which, let’s face it, is often), I start thinking maybe there really was nothing there, that I was always just a shell of a person and for a while that shell was attractive to some. Now that I’m older, and continually trying to come to terms with all that that means, I wish I could go back and fill that shell with laughter, and experiences, (the kind you remember the next day), and courage. My youth experience was all about avoiding people or following people or devoting myself to a single person while neglecting the rest. There was no balance. Only excess.

I was young and beautiful for a while. I have a hard time accepting that that phase is over, that I had my chance to make the best of it and now those days are gone.

Many people say that if they had the chance to go back, they would not — no regrets. I wish I could say that. But the truth is, if I could go back in time, knowing what I know now, I would. In a heartbeat.

If you could go back in time, what would you change?




Neither here nor there

I exist in a vacuum –there is no past or future, no history that created me, and no where to go from here. Disconnected.

There’s that word again.

Determined to finally write a post, I revisited what I had written in the past. To try to reconnect with it. But those posts, though they all ring true, were not written by me. It’s not possible. I don’t have a past. I only exist here and now.

You might be thinking it’s a good thing, I’m just living in the moment, but I’m not sure it is. It doesn’t feel healthy, it feels like having nothing to hold on to; nothing to look back on. And nothing to look forward to.

I avoid this blog. Sometimes I open it up with good intentions, but when I feel so disconnected from the world, from the me that started this blog, it’s hard. But I’m here now. And at a loss for what to write about.

But, since I’m contemplating this feeling of disconnectedness from the past, I think I will start there. But where is there?



It’s been over a year since my last confession…

Listening to Grimes, trying to block out the circus upstairs. Caught up on some blog reading, and remembered, hey I have this marypoppinz thing I haven’t thought about in a while. Every time I do this, I expect to not be able to log in. Like my absence will trigger ostracism for absenteeism.

But here I am. All logged in and ready to type.

The seasons are in transition again. We had a brief interlude with fall, and now it seems to be winter already, snow and all. Every year I think I can’t take another winter here. And yet every year, I am here. Trying to mentally prepare for the bitter ass cold.

It’s been so long, where do I begin? Long narrative gaps leave me feeling lost on here. Last time I wrote about being in some research for Trintellix. That research is over, as of four months ago. While I was on it, I couldn’t really feel much of a difference, and I came to the conclusion that I would not continue taking it after the research. A couple of weeks after I stopped, I realized my mood had plummeted and the ADD was very strong. I can’t be sure of the cause. Does it mean that the Trintellix was working for me and I didn’t even realize it until I stopped? Does it mean my brain kind of backfired from the change? Or was it just part of the ebb and flow of my moods?

Maybe I will try taking it again. When I told my regular physician, he just up and gave me a huge box of samples to take home just in case. I guess that’s good, considering the psychiatrist that invited me to the research has not followed up with me at all despite his promises to do just that.

I’m still with S.O., Musician Guy. Most of our relationship has been long distance, and he only just moved back to the city two months ago, like four blocks from where I live. It’s quite a change having him here, so close, all of the time. Still processing how it feels. I’m afraid I’ve become so accustomed to my reclusive lifestyle that I won’t be able to handle having a “normal” relationship. Time will tell I guess?

I’m still “working” on my novel I started another lifetime ago. I feel stuck. I sometimes wonder if it’s because I feel stuck in life.

That’s all I can muster in this update for now. Stay tuned for more updates on the trivial pursuits of marypoppinz!



The Parent, the Child and the Monster: inner conflict and making choices

My therapist has helped me to see that there’s a little kid inside me desperately trying to tell me what it needs, and that I should respect her voice. This has led me to the thought that at any given time, I am made up up three “people”: the child, the parent and My Monster D. And they are always fighting.

I had a pretty good day yesterday. I went to work, I went to yoga and a night market with a friend, and then we went to see Mad Max (great movie btw). But now my friend is trying to persuade me to go to a swing dance club tonight, and I don’t really want to.

But it’s never as simple as that. The “parent” inside is saying It doesn’t matter if you want to go, you should go. You need the social interaction and you need the exercise, and you need to be a good friend.” The child inside is going But I don’t wanna! and the Monster is threatening with You better not, or else.

So…majority rules? Or does parent know best??

Just Be.


In February of this year I found a therapist. The last time I went to therapy was with a counsellor at the university (and I don’t even want to think about how many years ago that was). I’m not sure yet if the therapy is making a real difference, and I’ve had to downgrade the frequency of our appointments due to using up my insurance coverage.

But, since starting therapy I have been trying to be more active again by getting outside for walks, and buying a yoga pass. I even bought a bike which is something I’ve been putting off for years, (in part because it all felt so pointless and in part because my anxiety makes shopping for a bike a nightmare). But I did it, and it’s locked up outside my door, just waiting to be used.

If nothing else, meeting with my therapist has given me a reason to get out of the house on the weekends, when I’d really rather play hermit and watch Netflix. Once I’m out of the house, I try to take advantage of it. I usually end up at a coffee shop with a book or my work-in-progress. I’m trying to be okay with just being there, among the humans, without getting too frustrated that I can’t concentrate in public. My therapist has pointed out that I tend to think and do in extremes: it’s all or nothing. And most of the time I choose nothing because I’m somewhat of a “perfectionist”.

So I’m trying to just be –outside, in public, visible.

My therapist also pointed out to me that I might have ADD. I never really thought of my symptoms as ADD but she’s right. She asked me to set up an appointment with a psychiatrist to get an official diagnosis. Two months later, the appointment is over. Yes I do have ADD but “let’s treat the depression”.

Because I’m not too keen on starting antidepressants again (last time I took them was in 2005), my psychologist thought treating the ADD would help me get back on track, give me the focus and energy to make positive changes in my life which would then help my depression. I made peace with taking something like Adderall. However, I got to the psychiatrist and he agreed that I have ADD but wasn’t at all interested in focusing on that.

He’s quite convinced that I need meds for depression, and wants me to start with a newer drug called Trintellix because it might also help with the cognitive symptoms I experience, like problems with memory, focus, attention-span, executive functioning of the brain. I remember the long list of side effects of antidepressants and the severe discontinuation symptoms that lasted two weeks or more when I very responsibly weaned myself off of them. I remember the vertigo if I forgot to take one pill. I remember feeling that the minimal improvement to my mood wasn’t worth it.

I left his office feeling defeated. I didn’t agree to anything. I can still call him back and say no, I want ADD meds only, or I can go the Trintellix route. I can also be a part of his research for this drug which would at least mean more follow-up. He also told me about ECT treatment, which I was interested in, but apparently it means two months in a hospital, so that’s probably out.

I don’t know what to do. And I need to decide soon.

My therapist suggested I start a chronology of childhood memories, because mine seem to be so scattered and hard to reach. This seemed a daunting task. But I’ve been working on it. I’m going to post some of them here in hopes that it will motivate me to continue with it.

In the meantime, just trying not to spiral too fast so I can get my footing again.

A Random, Jumbled Mess

Right now I’m sipping on herbal tea, trying to soothe my raw throat. I’ve been quite sick since Thursday and it seems to now have developed into a dry, painful cough.

My throat feels so restricted I’ve seriously thought about what I could use in my place if I have to keep it open to breath. (I settled on the empty shell of a pen if you were wondering. Or maybe….the exercise tubing I got from my physiotherapist, at least it’s flexible).

Am I overreacting? Maybe. Here’s hoping.

I haven’t been on here in quite a long time, once again. I don’t know why that happens. Everything’s going swimmingly and I’m writing on a regular if not sporadic basis, and then bam, I’m all like “forget this shit, it’s pointless”. But I’m here to try, try again, cause isn’t that what it’s all about? Try and try and try again until you’re dead?

I was told once that the narrative suffers when posts are spread out so far apart. Kinda like life. There are these slightly higher, lighter moments but they’re just so fucking spread apart that my life story becomes a random, jumbled mess with no real point.

Maybe I should get some sleep. Sigh. (raspy, painful sigh)