Don't Shame the Family

The Vagus Nerve and Me - Mind Blown!

noreply@blogger.com (Margeaux Delacroix) — Thu, 18 Jan 2024 21:00:00 +0000

Dear readers, recently I’ve been experiencing yet more medical issues. During my research on my potential new diagnoses, I made a rather startling connection. My mind has been blown with what I’ve discovered. Today, this post may be a bit of a rant as I connect all the dots. It took me five years to make all these realizations.

My entire life I was ruled by responsibility, I even accepted responsibility for things that weren’t my fault – just to keep the peace between the man who donated his sperm for my mother’s eggs and his bed-warmer. I try not to hate him or blame him and accept responsibility for my own well-being but I’m in a place in my life where I can longer ignore his role and it makes me mad. Livid, really. From the beginning of my existence, SHE told me there was “nothing wrong” with me and to stop being a hypochondriac like my grandmother. I believe, truly that neither of them really wanted to raise children – they just seemed to want a maid (her) and to not die alone (him). None of my needs were met by them. They didn’t even believe in ADHD, and I see now that I got punished for things that were completely out of my control because they believed I lacked discipline. Raising my kids now makes me hate them both even more. With each diagnosis or genetic disorder, I’m left feeling depressed, let down, abandoned, used, and abused.

I won’t get into the science or anything like that, but trust that everything I write here and how it relates to me is based in real science. Medical science.

The vagus nerve is at the root of everything that is shit in my life. The vagus nerve is the main component of the parasympathetic nervous system, which oversees a vast array of crucial bodily functions, including control of mood, immune response, digestion, and heart rate. The thoracic and abdomen cavity is impacted by the function of the vagus nerve, decreasing heart rate, bronchoconstriction, and increasing gastrointestinal activity. Trauma has a way of holding onto us. It puts us on edge and keeps us in a persistent state of fear–in part by overwhelming the vagus nerve’s ability to keep us calm. The vagus nerve helps the body recognize when a threat is no longer present, but this process can be disrupted by trauma – like c-PTSD. Trauma disrupts the function of the vagus nerve(s) and can lead to dysfunction in other parts of our body.

Messages we receive from outside of our body may impact our heart rate, i.e., trauma and complex trauma.
Heart rate may decrease due to dissociation-a relationship may exist between the heart and dissociation symptoms. This is how I survived my childhood – I dissociated. I still do that today when I get overwhelmed with life.
The content of a trauma memory may contribute to the heart decreasing to a harmful level, i.e., less than 60 beats per minute.
Trauma memory leads sometimes to the production of excess stress hormones that lead to physiological effects (e.g., thyroid, gastrointestinal issues, and asthma symptoms).
Environment cues impact physical reminders of safety (or lack of safety).

When I get anxious, my heart races, I start shaking and sometimes I start sweating, and my muscles can tense up. This is the fight-or-flight response in action, giving me the energy to escape or challenge an oncoming threat. My sympathetic nervous system is responsible for these effects. But since I’m not always under threat, my body needs a way to “cancel” the fear response.

Enter the parasympathetic nervous system and the vagus nerve. The vagus nerve, which travels from the base of the brain down to the organs and muscles, sends signals to the body to slow heart rate, lower blood pressure, and otherwise calm the body down. Mine is pretty broken, but I’m learning, in therapy to change my automatic responses. It takes a lot of hard work and it’s taking a really long time. It stresses me out.

Complex trauma (complex PTSD / c-PTSD) refers to exposure to multiple traumatic events that are severe and ongoing, such as exposure to domestic violence, childhood abuse – physical, sexual, emotional or neglect of a child’s basic needs (like love and affection, being taken to a real medical doctor when ill, etc.).

While many people think of trauma as being a mental or psychological experience, trauma is also “stored” in the physical body–think “muscle memory.” And, because of the mind-body connection, our mental and physical experiences can feed off each other. The force of this is very strong in me.

Your emotions have a direct influence on the activity of your parasympathetic and sympathetic nervous systems, meaning that they also impact associated organ systems. Trauma is frequently associated with depression and anxiety via vagus nerve activity–or lack thereof. This is because the vagus nerve is responsible for counteracting stress, for me i was never NOT in a state of stress so my body doesn’t know what to do with that. Sometimes I end up sabotaging myself for a familiar reaction.

Depression and anxiety are common responses to trauma, enabled by the sympathetic nervous system. Depression is associated with a sympathetic “freeze” response, which triggers an emotional and/or body shutdown. Anxiety connects to the sympathetic “fight” and/or “flight” responses, which result in a heightened state of tension. The vagus nerve is an important part of our physiology that helps reign in our physical stress response, thereby directly impacting our emotional experience and feelings of well-being. Without enough vagus nerve activity to combat chronic sympathetic activation, trauma survivors may experience persistent feelings of depression, withdrawal, or worry which is why I am left with c-PTSD.

Trauma can cause us to get “stuck” in the fight-flight-freeze response. Following a traumatic event, our body starts to more frequently anticipate threat which is why I’m often very jumpy or startle very easily. The vagus nerve may not inhibit this fear response as it would before the traumatic event–its normal functioning simply may not suffice after trauma. This physical change to our nervous systems happens in our body’s attempt to prepare us for future threatening events. For ideal well-being, we want to cope with, process, and eventually accept or move on from our trauma. Being stuck in a fear response keeps us stuck in coping mode. That means we don’t get the chance to heal and move forward. I feel like I’ve done a lot of work on this, and I still have a lot to do. In therapy, I work on remembering how I was treated, identifying the emotion, and crying through it then I can actually SEE and realize how wrong it was and how shitty and unprotected my father left me which makes me cry all over again. When I’m done crying and I feel I can move on my body feels like it released some anger and hurt.

Feelings of safety emerge from inside the body, and humans, are on an enduring lifelong quest to feel safe. C-PTSD symptoms may be viewed as the product of a reconditioned autonomic nervous system that developed during extreme and/or repeated exposures to threat like when an individual’s sense of safety, or danger is sensed.

When humans feel safe, their nervous systems support homeostatic functions of health, growth, and restoration while they become accessible to others without feeling threatened and vulnerable. When the nervous system detects danger during a traumatic experience, a withdrawal of the parasympathetic system is initiated in the fight-or-flight response as a protective mode. While the fight-or-flight response is adaptive in acutely dangerous and life-threatening situations, in the context of everyday life, it can become damaging.

In environments that are considered safe, a chronic fight-or-flight state is maladaptive and may lead to significant hypervigilant psychosocial distress and poor health outcomes. Post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) is a maladaptive, debilitating neuropsychiatric condition that involves the dysregulation of normal fear processes. Patients with PTSD often experience abnormal fluctuations in the autonomic states that influence the fight-or-flight behaviors of withdrawal, immobilization, and dissociation without an intervening calm state. The symptoms of PTSD for me, often include persistently re-experiencing the traumatic events, intrusive thoughts, flashbacks, dissociation, and an intense negative emotional and physiological reaction to being exposed to the traumatic reminder. Problems with sleep and concentration, irritability, increased reactivity, increased startle response, hypervigilance, and an avoidance of traumatic triggers also occur.

Over time, changes in autonomic, endocrine, and immune function contribute to deteriorating health, which may be expressed as mental health disorders, asthma, cancer, back pain, peripheral vascular disease, gastrointestinal problems, thyroid disorders, and cardiovascular disorders. I already have severe food allergies, IBS, back pain, and pain all over, really, including debilitating migraines.

When I was little, I had ADHD. That’s why I wasn’t supposed to eat red candies or things with too much sugar, etc. except that they also told me ADHD doesn’t exist and it’s because kids don’t have enough discipline! ADHD is a Neurobiological Developmental Disorder, meaning it’s related to the brain, runs in families, and impacts a child’s development and ability to learn. The main symptoms include impulsivity, hyperactivity, distractability, poor concentration, racing thoughts and emotional reactivity. Interestingly, these symptoms can also be seen in chronic hyper-arousal after trauma. I was being traumatised every day in their “care”.

I assure you that I did all of these as a kid and at any point it could have been the ADHD or the PTSD:

In response to trauma, I was programmed to “look out” for behaviour, activities or events that were perceived as threatening. This is “hyper-vigilance” in trauma, but it was also hyperactivity and distractability associated with ADHD.
What appeared as inattention and “daydreaming” behaviour was nearly always symptoms of dissociation or subconscious avoidance of trauma triggers. As I heal from my abuse, it now becomes part of my ADHD.
Intrusive thoughts, memories or other reminders of trauma made we always feel confused, agitated, and nervous which probably got confused for impulsivity and aggression.
Brain development studies for ADHD and child maltreatment show significant similarities in the areas of the brain that are affected (areas responsible for emotional regulation, decision making, memory, social processing, and concentration). I remember very little of my life until I moved to attend university.

Perfectionism can be understood as a function of shame and having been shamed as a child – my father was an expert at making me feel shame. The development of perfectionism in an ADHD brain is that people growing up with ADHD are statistically more likely to have been shamed for their behaviours, despite the fact that these are brain-driven behaviours originating outside of their immediate control. As a result, ADHD brains as more likely to be ‘on guard’ (involuntarily, and at all times) against any possible sign of not measuring up (and have a nervous system with a similar involuntary counterattack ready to go, at all times). As an adult, I have remained an island unto myself, acting ‘strong’, not wanting to rely on people for fear of feeling the shame and isolation of being ignored again, why I didn’t have a well-developed skill of strong self-advocacy, or the ability to ask very clearly for what I want or need.

So to recover (permanently is my goal) from c-PTSD, I have to make new brain connections so that I stop repeating my survival habits. But to do that, I have to go back to my past and re-experience the bad things because I never emotionally dealt with it and that’s what causes my depression. My anxiety is caused by hypervigilance and my worry about the future. Being stuck in the fear response mode means being flooded with difficult thoughts, images, and feelings that are often pushed to the side or avoided.

Once in a calm state of body and mind, I can begin to face the reality of my trauma. As I examine the impact of my trauma, I have discovered distorted thoughts about myself (such as feelings of shame, beliefs that I should have done something differently to prevent the trauma, and thoughts of helplessness).

With my psychotherapist, I work on challenging these thoughts, with a focus on separating them from the reality of the trauma. Upon challenging these beliefs, the trauma can then be processed for what it is, but it’s a delicate process. Simply re-living one’s trauma can do more harm than good. The processing has to be accompanied by a purposeful examination of one’s thoughts and beliefs related to the trauma.

So that covers the mental health aspect of me… hahahaha here’s the physical.

The vagus nerve is one of the connections between the brain and the gastrointestinal tract as well as closely related to the control of mood, immune response, digestion, and heart rate.

Lynch Syndrome – you know what that is by now, the cancer gene. Essentially, a broken communication system activated this disorder in my body because my immune system has been very much impacted negatively by my entire childhood and so I had a 50/50 chance of being a carrier but never developing cancer. Unfortunately, that’s not what happened for me.

Ehlers Danlos Syndrome – For a lot of people hypermobility isn’t an issue at all. But that’s not applicable to me! I have to laugh, or I swear to god I’ll just cry all day every day.

Dysautonomia refers to problems of or dysfunction of the autonomic nervous system. Since the autonomic nervous system regulates automatic or involuntary bodily functions, such as controlling the activities of organs, glands, smooth muscles, and cardiac muscles, when the autonomic nervous system malfunctions, the organs it regulates malfunction. For this reason, when individuals suffer from dysautonomia, they often exhibit numerous maladies and symptoms.

Postural Orthostatic Tachycardia Syndrome (POTS) is one of the dysautonomia that many times has a ligamentous or instability cause. POTS sufferers often present with numerous musculoskeletal conditions, as POTS is frequently associated with hypermobile conditions such as Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome.

There is a strong connection between Joint Hypermobility Syndrome (JHS) and autonomic nervous system dysfunction. In fact, significant dysautonomia is observed in JHS patients with symptoms such as orthostatic intolerance, palpitations, chest discomfort, fatigue, and heat intolerance. These symptoms are significantly more common among hypermobile patients. Autonomic abnormalities in patients with joint hypermobility are typically manifested as POTS.

Symptoms of dysautonomia include exercise intolerance, due to an inability to alter heart rate and regulate the cardiovascular system. Excessive or insufficient sweating is a problem due to problems regulating temperature (for me I don’t sweat enough, and it makes me break out in painfully itchy rashes). Slow digestion causes nausea, loss of appetite, bloating, diarrhea or constipation, and difficulty swallowing. Problems with vision include blurry vision or the failure of the pupils to react quickly enough to changes in light and also my eyes don’t produce tears and they’re always so dry and that contributes to my blurred vision. And the list goes on…Fatigue, abnormal breathing patterns (I have sleep APNEA), vertigo, gait problems, hypoglycemia, “anxiety,” insomnia/non-restorative sleep.

The sympathetic nervous system helps make adaptations to current situations by adjusting heart rate, blood pressure, and breathing rate to dramatically increase when exercising or during physically demanding tasks. The parasympathetic nervous system is an energy management center. When you are done being in “fight or flight mode,” or are using techniques to end a panic attack or to catch your breath, or calm yourself down, the parasympathetic nervous system helps automatically reduce heart rate and blood pressure.

The sympathetic nervous system and parasympathetic nervous systems main highway of communication is the vagus nerve of which there are two running down each side of the neck. The vagus nerve has a great impact on heart function, as the cardiovascular messages to the brain. The majority of work the vagus nerve does is getting messages back and forth from brain to heart. These messages “in” go through the nodose ganglion (nerve bundle) which sits in front of the atlas (C1 vertebra). If the C1 vertebra is unstable and causes problems of “nerve pinching” this is how upper cervical instability can affect the heart rate variability. Many of the vagus nerve sensory fibers that regulate blood pressure are in the carotid artery and the glossopharyngeal nerve fibers. The nerves are part of a network that carries impulses to the brain that tells the brain what is going on with heart rate and blood pressure moment to moment. I have issues with those vertebrae.

Although joint hypermobility has primarily been thought of as a rheumatological disorder, increasing evidence shows significant associations between EDS and inflammatory disorders. To date, the strongest associations of these two conditions are with anxiety disorders, orthostatic tachycardia, various functional gastrointestinal (GI) disorders, and pelvic and bladder dysfunction.

Mast Cell Activation System (MCAS) is an immune, inflammatory disorder. A suggestion is that something is causing a misfiring of the autoimmune system. Mast Cell Activation Syndrome is primarily found in young hypermobile females, including those with EDS and POTS. Dysautonomia is far more common in EDS, POTS, and allergic-type disorders than in the general population. Mast Cells are in the connective tissues, near blood vessels, where they store and release histamine and other immune-modulating substances in response to antigen and other pathological stimuli associated with tissue injury, inflammation, and autoimmunity. Mast Cells are critical for proper microbial defense, epithelial integrity, immune regulation, and proper neurological activity of organs and tissues.

EDS patients are at risk for Mast Cell Activation Syndrome (I’m pretty sure I have this, but I’ll be tested when I see the specialist at the EDS clinic in 6-8 months) through many mechanisms including loose connective tissue in the GI tract and blood, being on medications that raise histamine levels as well as ligamentous upper cervical instability-induce dysfunction of the vagus nerve.

What is Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome (EDS)? A group of inherited disorders that affect and weaken the connective tissues such as tendons and ligaments. Primary sites of involvement include skin, joints, and blood vessels. Joints are typically hypermobile with excessive joint range of motion as a result of a defect in collagen formation.

Is Ehlers Danlos painful? Yes! Overall, approximately 90% or more EDS patients suffer from chronic pain. Common sources of pain include tissue trauma, myofascial, joint, and nerve-related pain. Hypermobile joints are unstable and susceptible to sprain, dislocation, subluxation, and hyperextension which can cause muscle, tendon, ligament, and joint injury and pain.

Does hypermobility affect the spine? Yes, and this is why my son needs to go to Sick Kids’ EDS clinic to be evaluated for his scoliosis. The lumbar spine is comprised of 5 intervertebral bodies and discs. The lumbar spine is stabilized by supporting muscles, tendons, and ligaments. The supra, interspinous ligaments, and thoracolumbar fascia in the low back are critical stabilizers and can be affected in patients with EDS. Laxity of the supporting ligaments and fascia can result in injury to the disc, facets, and lumbar nerves.

The sacroiliac joint can also be a source of low back pain, which is my major issue. In real life, all these things are manageable… it’s my body slowly falling apart or turning to absolute rust that I’m having a really hard time with. For me, it means chronic pain whether I’m asleep or awake. the feeling of being tenderized with a mallet all over my body. Not enough to break bones, but hard enough to leave bruises.

My joints are lax, and messages get mixed up between the brain and where they’re going meaning that doing the most routine of things (like standing up) requires my muscles to work extra hard. It makes me tired. Things like going from standing to sitting and then up again can be exhausting. It explains how I can sleep like fifteen hours straight and wake up exhausted still. My body must work twice as hard as normal people. My joints can move and bend a lot more than what most people experience. My body makes all kinds of noises sounding like I’m full of pop rocks. Was that a gunshot? A firecracker? Nope, it was my foot hahahahaha.

For me a flare-up begins with a low fever, next comes the pain. Every day is painful with EDS. It brings pain and an increase in symptoms to my entire body; pain, GI distress, MCAS reactions, dislocations, subluxations, dysautonomia symptoms, insomnia, fatigue, brain fog, a sense of being “wiggly” or dangerously clumsy.

At least I feel like I actually am getting to know ME better.

Read from the beginning:

Prologue : Family
Chapter 1: The Early Years
Chapter 2: Protector: 1979-1981
Chapter 3: Pre-Teen Years 1981-1987
Chapter 4: Teen Years: 1987-1993
Reality Bites - The Truth Reveals Itself
Chapter 5: University: 1993-1998
Chapter 6: Young Adulthood
Healing
Chapter 7: Parenthood: 2007 - now

C7 #2 Parenting Me and Parenting Them

noreply@blogger.com (Margeaux Delacroix) — Fri, 24 Nov 2023 20:28:00 +0000

Dear readers, it’s been a while since I last wrote a blog post and my life hasn’t gotten much easier since then. As I cope with my new diagnoses, I am faced with difficult real life decisions. All these choices also kick up a lot of emotional trauma and I’m having a really difficult time swimming these shark infested waters. Let’s recap, shall we?

In July 2022, I caught Covid-19 and was ill for a full three months. Not only that, but it also caused long Covid and those symptoms did not dissipate until the following spring/early summer 2023. What does that look like you ask? I went from being able to walk 15 km + a day to not being able to get out of bed for days at a time, severe joint and muscle pain, the inability to walk more than 1 km, I can no longer stand for more than 30 minutes at a time. My feet hurt, my ankles hurt, my knees hurt, my back hurts, my shoulders hurt, my elbows hurt, my wrists hurt, and each and every single joint in my hands hurt.

Eventually, I couldn’t take the pain anymore and asked my GP to send me for a CT scan to see what was going on with my body (February 2023). While I waited for those results, I googled what a CT scan could potential reveal and I discovered something called EDS (Ehlers Danlos Syndrome). Fast forward to May 2023 where a Physiatrist confirmed my EDS diagnosis along with moderate to severe carpal tunnel in my right hand. In May 2023, my GP sent a referral to the EDS Clinic in my province and I was subsequently informed that it’s currently a 2 year wait list for a specialist appointment. In the meantime, I was referred to an orthopedic surgeon for carpal tunnel.

In September 2023, I met with the surgeon about my wrist and potential carpal tunnel surgery. The surgeon examined both my hands and thumbs specifically and said that if my pain worsened in my hands that I could return and he would recommend treatment. I went home and took pain pills rather than book a follow up appointment as I decided to wait until after my carpal tunnel surgery to deal with my hands. In the meantime, my shoulders became unbearably painful and I ended up at the Joint Clinic in my area in early November 2023. They injected cortisone shots in both shoulders and told me not to use them for 6 weeks to allow sufficient resting of the joints and to allow the inflammation to go down. After 5 years of not being able to raise my arms over my shoulders, I’m looking forward to these 6 weeks to be over.

Encouraged by the positive results of the cortisone, and after suffering through several days of not being able to use my hands, I decided to make a follow up appointment with the orthopedic surgeon. After that follow up visit, he informed me that I would need to first get a new referral from my GP for my hands specifically, and he then asked if I’d ever seen a Rheumatologist. He asked me to make a fist with both hands several times, noting that my fingers are slowly turning towards my pinkie finger, which may indicate Rheumatoid Arthritis. My face must have told him something because he quickly assured me he had a lot of experience injecting cortisone into the hands and that I would most likely experience relief and to return to see him after I had x-rays done and a new referral. Discouraged, I contacted my GP and asked for a full body MRI because what the orthopedic surgeon does not know is that my hands hurt far less than the rest of my joints combined. I didn’t intend to return to see him, rather I wanted to see a different specialist to address my pain in general. If I could just get an appointment with the EDS Clinic, I would be able to see all the specialists through them, but I have to wait.

My GP said that an MRI would have to be ordered by the specialist so I requested blood work again. She said that I did have this blood work done in March 2023 when I went it complaining about joint pain in my shoulders, knees, feet and wrist. At the time, the Rheumatoid Factor came back negative, but my GP said that we could certainly repeat it. While I contemplated the fact that I was probably just a hypochondriac as I was told my entire childhood, I sat on the blood work requisition for about a month.

I finally did the bloodwork a week ago and my RF factor came back low, but now my Nuclear Antibody test has come back positive with a speckled result indicating either Sjögren’s (Show-grins) Disease or Lupus. Wonderful. When I look up the effects of Sjögren’s it definitely explains everything I’m experiencing. Though I did test negative in March 2023, the disease can be triggered by a viral infection which can cause this autoimmune disease. Considering my long Covid only cleared up in May-ish 2023 it would make sense that I’ve now tested positive. My GP has now sent my referral to a local Rheumatologist.

A few days ago, I was also contacted, finally, by the EDS clinic for my initial assessment via Teams for December 2023. My carpal tunnel surgery has also been scheduled for late January 2024. Fingers crossed that I am able to meet with the wide variety of specialists who will soon become available to me via the EDS clinic. I suspect that the joint pain / Sjögren’s will be best treated with the joint specialist rather than seeing multiple unrelated specialists.

Mentally I’m handling all of this much better than I would have 5 years ago. I have the mental capacity to hold space for myself now and not lose my shit too much. I’m able to take a step back and evaluate what is best for me. I’ve now started updating my home to make it more marketable by slowly updating my kitchen to meet my physical needs, but also to make it more attractive and I’ve also installed a heat pump to save money on my utility bills. In 1.5 years my oldest starts university and my youngest will follow shortly after. As much as I love my home, I’m no longer able to maintain it. I have to rely on my children to clean it because my joints simply won’t allow me to do so. Now I have to sit with the sadness that I have to move and find a bungalow so I can live on the main floor. I had contemplated a condo but there are too many rules with a condo and I want a back yard to garden and let the dog out. No, my spouse isn’t much help to me at all. He is in his own hell and I don’t anticipate that will improve in the short or long term. How am I managing will all this? I compartmentalize.

Compartment #1-PTSD and therapy. This compartment was tough before, but compared to where I am now, my past therapeutic journey was easy. Now I am dealing with “Them” and what my past trauma has done to my body. I can no longer ignore the fact that my childhood trauma is the cause of much of the pain I now experience. Significant studies show a link between trauma and immune system disorders, Fibromyalgia, MS, and a slew of other diseases. My positive result of (potentially) Lupus is a tough pill to swallow because my mind keeps comparing this to Maeve…. Literally ANYTHING but Lupus would be better. SHE has Lupus and my brain keeps playing this cartoon video for me where, despite my best efforts, I morph into her. As in, I wake up one day, look in the mirror and her face and body is exactly what I see in the mirror. I’m terrified by this. Terrified. I spent an hour this past week crying about it in therapy.

My therapist and I now get to work on this … sounds simple, but I really don’t want to pick this apart. I really don’t. I want to crawl under a rock and never look at the emotions I have about it. What are these emotions you’re asking? Hate, gratitude, owing them a debt, and anger. When I look back at my childhood I have a few mental videos that play in my mind. One is a short 10 second video of the visions and memories of Maeve’s kindness, when she smiled at me, times when I felt she genuinely ‘liked’ me, maybe even loved me, and the memory of her believing me and being on my side when I told her I had been molested by Bruno. The longer movie, the one that wants to override my ‘happy movie’ shows her screaming face, the spittle that would spray when she screamed at me, her shaking index finger pointed at my face, calling me a whore, useless, her facial expressions of contempt, her lack of empathy, her lack of compassion, her accusations that I make her sick, I caused her Lupus, I caused her bladder infections, that I’m the cause of her misery because “you are so rebellious”.

All these accusations as a child are what led to my very firm belief that I am truly responsible for the happiness of the people in my life. When my partner’s mood became so intolerable and he would yell at me and tell me not IF but WHEN he killed himself that it would be my fault because I don’t help him enough, I believed that. I internalised all those feelings until I became a rabbit and hid within myself for years.

One day, I woke up and I realized that I am not responsible for him or anyone else for that matter. I am responsible for myself. Our relationship changed once I started pushing back and not accepting responsibility for his behaviour. My children also positively changed because they felt empowered to ignore his daily outbursts, shouting, cabinet door slamming, and loud cursing. They, like me, realized that major depressive disorder is terrible and we are not responsible for it and we don’t deserve to walk on eggshells. We no longer do, we ignore him now. Which, is probably also not the best reaction, but none of us are equipped to help him. He’s tried every single SSRI and none of them are for him because the side effects are absolutely terrible and do not go away. He recently decided to stop his mood medication, which has made things worse for him. His time to wait for a psychiatrist is 3 years. He has 18 months left to wait. He is now grappling with suicidal thoughts, again. The helplessness is what’s most difficult because I am a doer, a fixer, a problem solver and I can only sit by wringing my hands.

Now, I have to face my own emotions surrounding my strong sense of obligation, responsibility, guilt and shame that I carry from my childhood to adulthood. Therapy now is unraveling why I feel so responsible, why I feel so indebted to my step-mother for showing me kindness. In reality, she did not show me kindness, she was ‘normal’ for a few weeks per year, but my inner child, like all children seek approval, kindness, warmth, understanding, and love. I confuse love with bad behaviour, apologies, and being nice. I still don’t want to look at any of this with my therapist because it’s hard and THIS is where I’ll see just how terrible my childhood was: devoid of actual love, kindness, acceptance, empathy, and compassion. It’s hard because deep down, I choose to believe they loved me and they were kind and loving when in reality this is the fantasy I made up. My internal movies prove it to be false yet I refuse to accept it and instead I choose to just put up a wall of anger and blame which separates me from them and somehow makes me feel strong, but also keeps me tethered to them.

Compartment #2 is my home life now, in the present. There is significant overlap with my past because I used to have and hold five different versions of myself. Now, I think I’m down to 3 versions of myself: Work me, home me, past me and somewhere in the midst of them is inner child me and she floats between all 3 with her past experiences informing her judgements and opinions of today. Confused yet? I am.

Compartment #3 is my work life. Compartment #3 is where I am not ill, I am not sick, I am confident and feel empowered. The woman in this compartment is who I want to be full time. This person has self-esteem, confidence, speaks up, has knowledge, and is open and honest. The woman in compartment 2 is getting there, she is still uncertain, doubts herself, second guesses herself constantly, but feels immense pressure and a sense that time is running out because she wants to integrate all versions into one to be a good role model for her children.

Compartment #2 Margeaux is sad, depressed, and feels very alone all the time. Compartment #2 is the ill woman, the woman who deals with her pain in silence because there’s too much happening at home and her voice is silenced. She doesn’t feel like complaining because her partner takes up too much space and her home life needs to feel happy, balanced and safe. Compartment #3 Margeaux tries to live in compartment 2 to bring strength and to insulate herself from the terrible situation her home feels like. Compartment 2 Margeaux embellishes her space with a pretty kitchen, wall paint, and other pretty things in case she ever decides to run. Compartment 3 won’t allow her to leave or run, but compartment 2 needs the assurance that she can if things get too rough and she wants to disappear, or if her husband does kill himself, she needs a space to retreat.

Only working through Compartment #1 can I integrate Compartment #2 and permanently live in and with Compartment #3. It’s a process and it’s so very difficult to navigate each area of my life, but keeping them all separate is what is keeping me sane. It’s like being a toddler and having a plate with 3 different sections, none of the sections are allowed to touch each other so the plate itself is safe an uncontaminated. I can visit each area of myself and never get so overwhelmed that I feel like I’m in breakdown territory again. When I had my breakdown, I lost all the separations of my compartments and nothing was filed the way it was supposed to be filed away. My brain was a big messy disaster. Like the toddler’s plate where the peas are touching the potatoes and now it cannot be eaten because it’s been contaminated. Now my brain is stronger, but it’s also resistant to revisiting the past because I’m deeply afraid I’ll make excuses for their behaviour. I’m afraid I’ll feel kindness, compassion, and empathy for the 2 people who raised me and I’ll go back for more.

My resolve to never return is strong; I’ve also slammed the door on my past emotions. This past week I noticed that I haven’t quite thrown the key away and those emotions are just below the surface. A little bit of poking, is all it takes to bring back that shit storm of feelings. I also understand that I have to “live in the past” in order to “feel the emotions”. Until I dive in, allow myself to re-experience my childhood, I’ll never be over that deep cutting pain. I have to feel it all so that I can identify the emotions, sit with them, and rationally see for myself how wrong my childhood really was. Right now, they’re just words to describe my experience. Only once I’ve confronted and can see how detrimental holding in all my feelings and actively refusing to admit how abusive my experiences were, can I truly let go of the anger thereby severing my trauma bond.

This is why telling trauma victims to “not live in the past” is so very unhelpful and offensively insulting. The reason we suffer from trauma is precisely because we never dealt with the past and the only way to deal with the past and move on is to relive it. The only way to relive it is to revisit and briefly live in the past. It certain doesn’t mean I intend to unpack and live there, but I do need to process what happened otherwise it will haunt me and hang over my head forever. I really want to be free of the chains that bind me to the dark places I used to call home.

I’ve decided to put a bit of a time limit on processing my past. My goal is to slowly make my house a happy home so that when I’m through processing all the shit I’ve been through, I can move to a different home, one where those 2 have never set foot. One where I don’t move anything they ever gave me. I intend to purge every single last possession they gave me, purge the emotions they imprinted upon me, and start my retirement years in a home that makes me happy. A home that doesn’t remind me of my father telling me I am a poor parent while standing in my kitchen, or the place where I had a mental breakdown, or the place where my neighbours attempted to bully me. So, Karen, Kyle, Caren and the other jerk should take note that 4.5 years from now once the kids are off in post secondary I will move and likely be able to semi retire. I say semi-retire because I truly feel I’ll die if I do nothing, but the pace at which I’m living my life now is unsustainable.

Being a parent, breaking the cycle, being a role model, and teaching children how to navigate life is the hardest thing I've ever had to do. It's even harder because I also have to re-parent myself. I am always aware that I'm being watched and that what I do, how I do it, what I say, what I don't say will have a long lasting impact. It's a lot of pressure, sometimes it feels like the weight is too great, but it's also very rewarding because I'm excited to see how they turn out. I'm excited to see who I really am.

Read from the beginning:

Life is Pain

noreply@blogger.com (Margeaux) — Thu, 08 Jun 2023 14:27:00 +0000

I haven’t written a blog post in a very long time and here I am to catch you up!

I’ve been very busy with a strong focus on therapy and healing my inner children. Having a childhood filled with so much trauma, I have several inner children that need attention, love and understanding. I struggled with this idea and concept for at least 4 years thinking it was utter bullshit. I’m finally in a place where I understand that the parts of me that were sacrificed to please others, the parts of me that weren’t permitted to exist, the parts of me that were told she wasn’t important - they all need to understand that it really had nothing to do with her and everything to do with the adults in her life.

Today’s post isn’t really about my childhood. Today’s post is all about grown-up me. It’s been a tough year. I celebrated one year of no contact with Jack and I honestly feel free. I feel happier and I feel like I’m true to myself. I don’t have to pretend to be someone he wants me to be while I roll my eyes at him in silence. The hard part is the judgement from others, but I’m over it now, I think. Other people haven’t walked in my shoes so I cannot really expect anyone to understand. I feel like the judgement will increase 10 fold once he passes away. He was recently diagnosed with bladder cancer, which (I think) has now presented in his prostate. At least I know what my next cancer will be and I’m fortunate enough to have an excellent Urologist who tests me for this cancer, specifically, every year. I can’t help but think that had Jack just not been selfish and taken the blood test, like I asked five years ago, he too would have been on a cancer screening protocol and he wouldn’t be where he is now. His choice, he knows everything, after all. He KNOWS the cancer gene didn’t come from him.

Interestingly, when Roxanne called me to give me the news about Jack, it felt like she was talking about an acquaintance, someone else’s father, not mine. It is when I realized that the reason my last year was so difficult was that I truly did spend my time grieving my loss. The loss of my father, but more so the loss of the father I should have had, the loss of the man I thought I had, the image of the superhero is finally dead. I faced my reality square in the face and realized that he is a weak man who prioritized himself and left his daughters to be abused. The man didn’t even properly care for me medically - that’s what this post is about.

When I was younger, I had great fun discovering my flexibility. I used to sit in a W position and even sleep in that position – it was very comfortable for me. I remember my shoulders could just pop out at will and I used to be able to do that by simply extending my arm and shrugging my shoulder – never once did that cause pain. I could bend my fingers back so they nearly touched my wrist. My finger joints, each one, could individually flex and I could lock my finger joints in place. To this day, I can still get my ankles up over my head and I’m 49 years old! I remember when I went for my first ever massage and the therapist being a little freaked out because he said that he could literally feel my rib cage move when he applied light pressure.

With this ability also came pain in my feet. My feet started hurting when I was about 12 years old. My big toe started turning inward on both feet by the time I was 14. Despite complaining about the pain when I walked, Jack never considered taking me to a doctor. Instead, he diagnosed me with arthritis and the remedy was applying warm olive oil on to my toes using cotton balls. I assure you this did fuck all except teach me to stop complaining. It wasn’t until I was 28 years old I was told that I have very high arches that collapse when I walk and that I should have been wearing orthotics or better shoes from age 5. I have an over pronation where my feet roll inwards. It’s rather painful. I even tried cortisone shots in my toes and toe joints – it didn’t do a whole lot so I didn’t continue with that remedy. I did get orthotics and they did help, but I stopped wearing them because they hurt the skin under my feet. Rather than continue with that, I chose to dispose of most of my shoes and invested in a ridiculous amount of Doc Martens, Birkenstocks and 4 inch wedge shoes instead of 6 inch stilettos. I also saw a specialist 3 hours away who would treat my feet with a strong laser therapy, a treatment that helped manage the pain for an entire year.

By the time I was a teen, my back would just go out on its own whenever it felt like it. I later discovered that my SI joint, which I was told ‘fuses’ and doesn’t move, actually does and is loose, in my case. When I was pregnant, it contributed to my requiring walking with a cane and I probably should have used a wheelchair. One time when I was about 14, I had a skiing mishap where my left binding didn’t pop off but my knee cap sure did! That was the most painful experience in my teens. I remember laying on my back in the snow, screaming in pain and crying. Jack was late picking us up from the ski hill, as per usual, and I was tired of waiting nearly an hour and I decided we should use our downhill skis to cross-country ski home. Jack finally arrived and told me to take a deep breath; he straightened my leg and home we went. After I fell down the stairs at 16, hitting every single step with my coccyx, I spent 3 days walking bent over at the waist before being taken to a chiropractor. Another very painful experience having some large man manipulate my back. It did not help. God forbid I see a real doctor. I lived in a senior’s residence so I just started eating Naproxen as if it was candy for a few weeks. Eventually my back healed, but it’s never been the same. By the time I was in my mid-20s I suffered from severe and chronic migraines, severe dysmenorrhea, knee pain, back pain, neck pain, and foot pain. I knew it was ‘just arthritis’ so I ignored all the pain for several years.

During my first pregnancy, I had to get used to wearing flats once I hit 7 months pregnant. It was incredibly painful because my Achilles tendon had shrunk. I was an expert at wearing heels; I could even sprint in them. I owned over 200 pair. I loved my heels – they made me feel beautiful and tall. By the time my maternity leave was over with my first baby, I wasn’t able to wear heels! It caused so much pain in my feet… I bought more Docs. I even bought a pair of heeled boots with a thick sole. I love them. But I have a hard time wearing them even 16 years later. Now I spend my time wearing Vionic shoes and they’re all flats. I even own not one, but two pair of running shoes. I don’t much like wearing them, but I have to.

A few years ago, I dug up all the grass from my front lawn and down by the curb in favour of a perennial garden. I’m allergic to grass and touching it would make my skin develop welts which were not only itchy but rather painful. I thought I’d dislocated my shoulders doing it, or aggravated my arthritis and of course, I ignored the pain for a few months. Eventually I went to the doctor and she prescribed Naproxen and some x-rays. The x-rays came back ‘normal with minor arthritis’, but nothing to explain the pain I was experiencing; I decided I was just a whiner and felt it best to suck it up because obviously if it was minor arthritis I was being a hypochondriac. Except three years later, I was still unable to raise my arms over my head and now my elbow and wrist felt excruciating pain. Some days I had to place my entire arm in a sling because just minor movement would bring me to tears, I couldn’t even drive if my right arm was ‘acting up’. I wore splints 24/7 for months.

I called the doctor and told her I should do physiotherapy and she agreed. After 31 sessions I was cut off from my benefits and told, I couldn’t use physio for ‘maintenance’ but by this point I only saw minor improvement and I could barely do my job because typing was also incredibly painful. I went back to the doctor and she sent me for an ultrasound and x-ray to see if perhaps I had carpal tunnel syndrome. Results came back with everything showing ‘normal’.

In the meantime, my therapist had suggested that many people who have suffered trauma have unexplained pain later in life. She further explained that body pain is very common for those with PTSD and it will manifest in the body years later as migraines, body fatigue, physical muscle pain, etc., your body’s way of telling you it’s time to rest. “BULLSHIT!” I screamed internally, I respect my therapist too much for that to be said aloud, but given the blank stare, she received in return, she knew not to push it.

I went back to my doctor and told her that the tests were wrong because I could no longer feel my hands and my bones physically hurt. I could, in all honesty, accidentally reach in to my oven, remove pots, and not even feel it. She decided to send me for a cervical spine MRI to see if maybe I had a pinched nerve in my neck. I decided to do a Google search on “what can be seen on a cervical spine MRI”. Google did not disappoint… I noticed one of the things you could see was joint issues and soft tissue disorders and I clicked on that link wondering if I could find out what a normal shoulder looks like on such a scan. I’ve always been hyper-mobile and I was curious to know what THAT looks like on a scan… then I fell down the rabbit hole. Eventually, I clicked on a different link describing a rare connective tissue disorder called EDS (Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome). Wouldn’t you know it… I have all the markers. This shows what I'm still able to do:

My scan results came back: Normal. By now I was convinced I had carpal tunnel syndrome even though all the tests came back negative. I asked to be sent to do a nerve conductivity test. She quickly agreed and I had my appointment about 6 weeks later. During my appointment to request the EMG test, I also brought in all the research I’d uncovered on EDS and she agreed that it was suspicious but fortunately Toronto has a clinic, the only one in Canada that specializes in EDS. She sent the referral in March 2023. At the time, the wait list was 12 months. I bought a walking cane, a knee brace, more wrist splints and decided to patiently wait my turn.

By end of March/early April, I don’t know what happened, but I found myself in incredible pain seemingly overnight. When I woke up in the morning my entire body felt like I’d been beaten. I’d wake, undress, and expect to see bruises all over my body, but I had none. I was in pain everywhere. Ehlers-Danlos is responsible, big surprise!

Prior to my EMG appointment, I researched the physician, of course and discovered he is a Physiatrist (a doctor whose specialty is Physical Medicine and Rehabilitation (PM&R)). The same type of doctor I’d been referred to at the EDS clinic, which by now was a 24 month wait. Dr. Jay and I met virtually and he spent 40 minutes with me taking notes. I also mentioned my suspicion that I had EDS and why I suspected it, I demonstrated my abilities and told him my own score using the Beighton scale was 7/9. A score of 4/9 qualifies for an EDS diagnosis.

I met with Dr. Jay in person for the EMG test about 4 weeks after our virtual meeting, where I also informed him that the wait for the EDS specialist was now 24 months. He tested me in office prior to the EMG test and confirmed my suspicion. He also told me that I could not wait 24 months given the flexibility in all my joints and my difficulty with walking. I was also told my cane was inappropriate and I’d need a crutch, a walker or a wheelchair. Made sense when he told me because my hand goes numb when I use my cane as it causes my wrist to hyper-extend. He also called me highly intelligent to have worked this all out on my own – not many people can. Turns out I also have severe carpal tunnel in my right hand and require surgery. Dr. Jay sent the surgical recommendation to my GP and also sent my EDS diagnosis recommending that I see an Occupational Therapist while I wait 24 months to see a specialist. I am over the moon.

Every day is pain, pain, pain. I can no longer walk my dog because my knee hurts if I walk more than 500 m. Some days I climb the stairs in my house on my hands and knees. I’m so grateful to Dr. Jay because in about two weeks the Occupational Therapist will assess me in my home. I anticipate needing a brace for several of my joints to improve stability: right shoulder, left wrist, right hip, left knee, both ankles and hopefully my feet start to feel better. My future is a wheelchair and I try not to think about it. EDS progressed so quickly in just a few short months that I’m terrified I’ll be trapped in my body too soon. EDS is similar to MS in many ways.

I find myself screaming at the universe, “Why? Why can’t I get a break from my life? It has literally sucked from the beginning. Is this it? This is all I get? Pain, pain and more pain? Really? Well, FUCK YOU.” I’m moving up all my retirement goals to now and getting everything done before I can no longer walk, or I die of bladder cancer.

Read from the beginning:

Warr;or

noreply@blogger.com (Margeaux) — Tue, 24 Jan 2023 16:34:00 +0000

Warr;or, my ass

I used to think I was a warr;or, that I was strong, courageous, brave and capable. Used to.

Lately, I feel as though I’ve been rapidly spiraling through Dante’s circles of hell and I haven’t landed yet.

I survived the Christmas season by renaming the holiday entirely to save my mental health, we now celebrate Winter Break for a full week instead of some imaginary guy’s birthday - don’t even get me started on the fact that the guy who apparently floats above the clouds wasn’t even born in December, but September. I finally had the best Winter Solstice ever, in my entire life. I baked like a crazy person and instead of hosting one large family dinner, I hosted two smaller family dinners plus one with my little family on the 24^th after a full day of board games and stuffing our faces with not one but two batches of homemade cinnamon rolls. Best week ever. I went completely non-traditional and made full vegan meals too because, well, it’s my house. The food was delicious and in the future, if I have one, mini-family get-togethers are the way to go. Way less stress – for me.

The kids enjoyed their time home with me and got to use all their gift certificates for experiences. This year, in lieu of gifts and more crap they don't need, I opted for fun outings, pre-paid for the teens in my house. They enjoyed sky diving, movies, rock climbing, swimming, the Playdium, and the trampoline park. I bought the gift cards for 50% off thereby saving a little money.

However, since early January, things have taken a nosedive for me and I am not strong enough to fight the pit that is calling my name. It’s an oddly comforting location. I never in a million years would have guessed that my depression lurked this close below the surface. I thought I was content with my life, maybe not joyfully or ecstatically happy, but I felt much better. So what the fuck happened?

Pain happened.

Ageing is happening.

I’m tired. Tired of fighting. Tired of the endless battles that rage within me. Giving up is easier, but I don't think I'm quite ready to take the plunge.. yet, but I do think it's just a matter of time.

I want a pity party, but I refuse to entertain any such thing. It’s not helpful and I know it will make everything worse for my mental health, if I let it all bubble to the surface. I cannot change the past, I don't want to grieve everything I didn't have or all that time lost to surviving.

I also didn’t realize I compartmentalized my depression and suicidal thoughts until … yesterday.

My life just fucking sucks and if I was childless, I can honestly say I’d be dead by now. It’s actually not off the table, in fact, I came up with a better plan for my inevitable demise. A plan I made when I didn’t even think I was depressed.

I’ve been in physical pain for some time now. It started with my shoulders then my arms then my hands. I went to physiotherapy for carpal tunnel (31 sessions!) and my hands still go numb. The x-ray and ultrasound showed my wrists were normal; yet many days I cannot hold a knife to chop vegetables for dinner. Now I wait for an MRI appointment to see if perhaps the discs in my spine are compressing a nerve. I love painting and like to paint my house every 5 years, but for the last 4 years I’ve had a really hard time raising my arms over my head and holding a paint roller, well, I sometimes tie an elastic around my hand attaching it to the roller (when there’s no one home to watch me!).

My left knee makes it incredibly difficult to do stairs some days, or even walk. Just after the New Year, I thought adding more or different exercise would help my pain so I bought an online 1 year yoga program only to discover that no, I cannot do that, just doing the poses was excruciatingly painful for my hands. I now strongly suspect I have osteoarthritis in my fingers, knuckles and wrist of my left hand, on top of whatever is causing my hands to go numb, arbitrarily. So then, I bought the wall Pilates workout which I did do and did enjoy. Now I find myself absolutely unmotivated to do anything. At all. I gained 10 pounds over the Winter Break and I actually don’t even care.

I’m too young to be in this much pain already and I cannot imagine living another 20 or 25 years with it just getting worse. It’s bad now and I was told the x-ray showed “mild” arthritis in my lower back, wrists, and knees. Maybe it has gotten worse over the past few years, but I feel like I’m always complaining about something to my doctor. I don’t want to be a strain on the health care system either.

I no longer have a psychiatrist either because he retired last year and I managed to convince him I’d be fine. An act I now regret because it’s a full year wait-list to get in for a mere ‘consultation’ – that’s not even a consult with a shrink but a Nurse who will provide you with a few prescription options and send you on your way. No follow up either. I already take 50% more than the recommended dose of Cipralex, as prescribed by my psychiatrist and refuse to take Abilify for the side effects.

My brain cannot compartmentalize pain. Depression was easy to tamp down, but now I see all the things I will soon no longer enjoy, like baking, cooking, typing, writing, walking my dog, gardening, home improvements, etc. I haven’t been able to knit or crochet in nearly two years. I washed the walls with a mop a few weeks ago and couldn’t use my hands for 3 days after that. I’m 48 years old for crying out loud. I’m useless already. Useless. I'm a mouth breather. My arms hurt just thinking about it. Soon I won't even be able to drive because... my hands sometimes have trouble gripping the steering wheel.

Isolation is where I prefer to be right now. My walls took so long to come down, a lot of work in therapy and in a day, I’ve built them halfway up already. It’s comforting to wallow in depression alone. Why bother other people with my ridiculous bullshit anyway.

On top of all of it, rising interest rates have me panicking. I'm simply too exhausted for a part time job on top of my full time job. I’m not even in debt – yet, but I soon will be (although I do have a mortgage, but that's all). I don’t believe my salary has kept pace with inflation at all which is why I can’t even afford to go on vacation and haven’t been able to for the past 5 years. I have a good job, a University degree; I should be able to see my country one week a year by car.

My kids start university in 2.5 years and at the moment, if anything happens to my vehicle, I cannot even afford a car payment. I’m honestly worth more dead than alive. I have until I’m 52 to really decide because my larger insurance policy expires at age 52. My brain knows it and it likes to remind me, arbitrarily, that I have a plan. A good one, whereby if, and when, anyone actually figures out what’s wrong with me and what I’ve done to make it so, my liver will have already failed and it’ll be too late for a liver transplant. I often wonder if a DNR applies to someone who’s attempted suicide. I hope so, one day I’ll find out, I guess. I just don’t know when that day will arrive. It's pretty clear that I don't want any measures taken to save me, yes it's just below my sternum:

The trouble is, I’m chicken. I love my children and I really want to see how they turn out. I’m torn…. Should I make their lives financially a little easier or see the fruit of my labour as adults? Or, am I terrified of proving Big M right by failing and thereby proving her theory that I'm just an attention seeker?...I’m not afraid of the pain involved, I’m afraid of the permanence – which is weird considering I want a rest. I want to just fall asleep and succumb to the darkness and never wake up. Except I cannot have it both ways. I never get what I want in life.

So, that should also explain why I haven’t been able to type any new blog posts in a very long time… as I said, everything I enjoy and live for, is slipping through my fingers.

Read from the beginning:

Baby Fever

noreply@blogger.com (Margeaux) — Fri, 18 Nov 2022 16:03:00 +0000

In April 2006, my sister Roxanne announced she was pregnant! I remember feeling shocked, happy, disappointed, and excited all at once. When we were kids, we vowed to go through the pregnancy journey together, when we were grown up and married. I was married in 2004, but I definitely didn’t feel like an adult even though I’d just turned 32 when my sister told me she was pregnant. I remember thinking she told me because she wanted me to take her to the clinic… so I offered to attend the abortion with her since she wasn’t yet married. Fortunately, she saw my good intentions and assured me she was ready for motherhood and that she and her partner had plans to marry after the baby was born. Her due date was November 2006. She was so beautiful, pregnancy definitely agreed with her; labour not so much as I recall she had ‘back labour’ and was in a lot of pain.

I remember feeling guilty that I wasn’t pregnant at the same time so we could experience growing a human being together. I also remember warming to the idea of having children maybe, but having a difficult time reconciling my deep desire and personal promise to never have children of my own. I knew, deep down, I would abuse my children and I didn’t want to do that to them; or worse, I’d give birth to children who would abuse others and be pieces of shit as adults. I remember calling my sperm donor to ask about our family health history because I had preferred to perhaps adopt or be a foster parent and maybe adopt children that way… you know…. so I wouldn’t pass on my wrongness. Jack assured me our family medical history was clean – nothing to see here. For several months I pondered what it would be like to have my own children. I knew I would never have just one, I’d have to have twins or 2 kids born very close together so they’d each have a lifelong friend. In case I was a piece of shit parent, they could at least console each other.

After experiencing baby-fever myself once I planned my sister’s baby shower that summer, I was admittedly, excited at the idea of having a baby… I mean all the gear was adorable, the clothes were tiny, and everything smelled fresh. I had never even been around babies before and everything was new. As a seeker of knowledge, I have to admit, I was very curious about perhaps having my own kids and seeing what happened. I was still terrified to jump in that pool because my entire 20’s and 30’s I’d vowed never to consider it. I spoke to Mr. GQ and we decided to give pregnancy a try. I also had a timeline I was working with; I didn’t want ANY babies after age 35, old sperm and old eggs could lead to unhealthy babies but mostly I didn’t want to be 70 when my kids were in high school.

My next step was visiting my family physician and asking about getting pregnant. She told me that because I’d been on birth control since I was 14 years old and for the past 7 years I’d had a Mirena IUD, I’d likely need to be patient for at least a year. My brain immediately made a plan. This was actually perfect. I could have my IUD taken out, Mr. GQ and I would try to get pregnant for 3 months and if I didn’t get pregnant, then obviously it wasn’t meant to be. Satisfied, I made an appointment with my GP to have my IUD removed at the end of November 2006; a week before my nephew Hunter was born.

Mr. GQ was cool with us trying for 3 months; obviously, he was fine with or without having children. Three months seemed like a reasonable amount of time to try. No, I most certainly did not tell him the GP told me I’d need to be patient for an entire year and hope I’d get knocked up. Situation settled, I was 32 years old in April 2006, I felt confident that I could say “I tried to have children and it just didn’t work” so I could then have my tubes tied. That was my plan anyway… as we know, life rarely goes to plan.

I remember this like it was yesterday, based on my cycle I knew approximately, when I would ovulate and I kid you not, the first time we actually tried to get pregnant, I felt implantation happen – December 16, 2006. At the time, I didn’t know the pain I felt in my hip was implantation, but when my period was 2 hours late, December 27, 2006 I peed on a stick. Sure enough, I was pregnant. I was shocked, I mean, by science’s standards, this should not have happened this quickly. We both partied, smoked cigarettes, did everything we were NOT supposed to do if we wanted to get pregnant. My plan to “try” and say I did to move on with my plans to travel the world with my savings was in the toilet. The first person I told about my positive test was Jack. Mr. GQ was working nights so I made Jack promise not to say a word to anyone that he was the first to know. I waited for Mr. GQ to get home that morning to tell him the good and shocking news. I then told him what the GP had told me and how we were lucky that I had always been on birth control because apparently we were very fertile.

Having watched my sister go through pregnancy and experience it as such a joyful experience, I was absolutely unprepared for the opposite experience. First, my body image issues reared their ugly head and I just felt fat because I have wide hips and most people never even knew I was pregnant. I didn’t really start to show until I was 7 months along; it truly did look like I just gained a bit of weight (in total about 30 pounds). I am hyper-mobile so while pregnant, all my joints hurt, especially my SI joint in my back. Once the Relaxin was being produced in my body, I walked with a cane because I was in constant pain and my joints would just move out of place on their own. I remember having weekly chiro and massage appointments. My massage therapist used to use electric current shock treatment on my low back so I could have pain-free mobility during the day. With my pregnancy came pregnancy insomnia also. I was unable to sleep more than 3 hours per night. To make myself tired I walked to and from work every day for a total of 3.5 km. I didn’t like driving because I would normally forget I drove to work, or forget where I parked, or was just too tired to even drive home after a long day and I preferred to take the TTC, even though nobody gave me their seat. I suffered through my entire pregnancy with back pain, joint pain, severe nausea (no vomiting, fortunately), severe pregnancy insomnia, and I couldn’t even tolerate black pepper on my food! I was used to eating everything super spicy. The one thing I did like about pregnancy was my boobs… they doubled in size the first 4 months. Hahaha

In August 2007, I gave birth, after 30 hours of labour to a beautiful, healthy baby girl. My husband and I took a very long time to decide on a name since I wanted our names to “match”; my name starts with an M and I wanted hers to be original, French, and it had to start with the letter M; we settled on Mazarine. I was so happy when my bundle of joy was born 3 weeks early weighing 8 lbs 3 oz and 21 inches long. I was even more thankful I chose a midwife for my delivery. As exhausted as I was during my entire pregnancy, once Mazarine was born, I don’t think I’ve ever slept better. She was such a great baby, easy to put to sleep and feed. She was a true dream baby. Had she been a colicky baby I never would had a second.

To prepare for having a family, I decided I could absolutely not raise a child in an apartment and over the first 6 months, I doubled down and cleared all our outstanding debt, including my student loan. In May of 2007, we found a house for our family. Because of the childhood I’d had, it was really important that I find my ONE house in a good area for stability. I did not intend to move my children to different schools every other year. I was going to do everything better. I even potty trained my daughter by age 14 months using cloth diapers. She wore pull ups over night until she was 18 months old. Smelling her popcorn breath, and seeing what a joy a baby could bring, I was determined to have a little partner in crime for her. My husband and I started trying for a second baby 3 months after she was born. We weren’t successful until later, but it was fun trying.

Read from the beginning:

How I got Cannabis Haters to Grow Weed, VOLUNTARILY!

noreply@blogger.com (Margeaux Delacroix) — Fri, 04 Nov 2022 19:31:00 +0000

Hello to all my readers and my most sincere apologies for the lengthy delay in my follow up post. Life in the Delacroix household has been very hectic of late.

This post begins in 2018 and will be a long read.

The reason I purchased this home in particular is that it had 9/10 “must haves” I was looking for: 4 bedrooms, hardwood floors, tile, 2250 sq. ft., attached garage, in ground heated pool, but most importantly, a South facing backyard with little to no shade. WINNER for this sun worshiper! As a pool owner, you are responsible for the proper maintenance of a fence so you don’t get sued.

In August 2018, I was diagnosed with colon cancer and told I would need to undergo immediate surgery – it happened so quickly it made my head spin. At the time, the ORs were all closed as a cost saving measure but from my colonoscopy to my surgery, 10 days elapsed. I returned home to recover on September 6. The following fall we had a series of severe thunderstorms and though I knew our wood fence was in bad shape, I didn’t realize just how bad it was until the South East corner of the fence completely folded down on itself. The neighbour, let’s call him Donald, propped up the back fence with a post after the storm.

I was using cannabis heavily to recover from my surgery. The doctors had sent me home with opioids, but I refused to use any of that opting for Tylenol #3 to help me sleep and a cannabis cocktail thru the day. Having a right hemicolectomy is rather unpleasant and one of the most painful surgeries you can have because they cut through all your nerves and in my particular case, the 25 cm or so tumor caused me to lose two feet of my colon. I returned to work healed, and 35 pounds lighter, in November 2018.

By May of 2019, I was in a full mental breakdown and had just been diagnosed with PTSD after having received the devastating news that I had genetic cancer, I was MSH6 Lynch positive and I would require more surgeries to prevent further cancers. In addition, I would have to be monitored yearly by several specialists because all my internal organs are susceptible to developing tumors. What caused my breakdown, in my opinion was the knowledge that I had doomed my children to certain death. I was fine knowing I’d die of cancer some day, but I was unable to deal with/process/handle the thought that my wrongness would kill them too.

I had been in touch with my landscaper to get a quote on the fence, but so late in the season, I wasn’t able to get anyone to come by. Not to mention, I was pretty exhausted mentally, my surgery, subsequent diagnosis, and PTSD had taken a toll on my emotional well-being. Believing you are going to die will do that. I decided to defer until 2020.

I was deeply depressed and in a pit of total despair for several months. I had severe insomnia, didn’t like to speak, be touched, leave my house, or even go outside. I didn’t go outside during the day. As a sun worshipper and someone who loves her pool, this was highly concerning to my family. Instead, I would sit on my front porch late at night and well into the wee hours smoking cannabis and admiring my garden by soft torch light. I was at peace between 11:00 pm and 3:00 am because not many people were out and about meaning I didn’t have to communicate with anyone… just sit and smoke my joints one after another.

Eventually, I remembered about the fence. I sent Donald’s wife, Carine an email stating that I knew the fence needed replacing and that I’d be contacting service providers for quotes and would get back to them (likely) in early spring. I did not receive a response and completely forgot I had sent the email. I reached out to several companies in 2020 but was unsuccessful at finding anyone to come and provide me with any quotes. It seemed I had to reach out to people in the winter to schedule any work for spring. In the meantime, my husband added boards on the fence to ensure it did not fall over. He drilled wooden 5-foot length boards across the top and bottom of the wood fence for additional support.

In June 2019, Donald updated the light fixtures on the front of his house to super bright LEDs that no longer had a back or side cover making my nightly porch vigils impossible. In addition, Donald added a motion activated flood light over the side door of his garage. My porch and my little sitting perch are right between both lights. A few days after the lights were changed to ultra bright LEDs and the flood light set to a sensitive motion setting, I went over to Carine’s house with several bags of clothes my son had outgrown. While we were chatting, I mentioned that the fence needed either repair or replacement and I told her I would follow up and send her an email. She said “Sure! No problem! While I was at it, I also inquired about the possibility of perhaps changing the light back to what it was, blacking out the side and back (please) because it hits me square in the face while sitting in my living room, thus causing migraines. I also asked if they could turn down the sensitivity on the motion sensor. Carine was very amenable and stated she’d ask Donald to take care of it. Satisfied, I went home.

A week later, the lights were now even brighter and stayed on until 4 a.m. I had taken photos because in the middle of the night, coming down for water, I definitely didn’t need any of my interior lights on – in fact, I thought I left a light on downstairs! Nope, it’s their front porch light and sitting on my sofa, I could easily read the titles on my vinyl records a few feet away. The brightness of the light would trigger daily migraines and in the morning, I asked Mr. GQ to please follow up with Donald and ask when the light bulb would be changed for a less “car headlight blinding” colour. Mr. GQ didn’t really want to go speak to Donald, but I was seriously not in any condition to be speaking to many people without crying, or checking out, or shaking, or, or, or…. I was terrified of everyone, and intimidated by Donald because of his size, the fact he always had his face in my backyard, peering over the fence when I had friends over, was alone in the yard, or what finally sent me over the edge, when he would be ogling my 12-year-old daughter while sunbathing. Even my sister notice while we were hanging out poolside with our kids just having wine, chatting, enjoying the day when all of a sudden Roxanne turned to me and said “Who the fuck, and why is that guy always looking over here?” I rolled my eyes and said, “He’s the creepy neighbour I told you about, that’s why I want a wooden privacy fence now, all the way up to the maximum height.”

When Mr. GQ came back inside from speaking to Donald that morning, not all was well, Mr. GQ looked livid. I already felt guilty for asking him to speak to Donald about the lights on my behalf and now Mr. GQ was super pissed about it. Donald flat out told him the lights would be staying because we “smoke weed.” What? In April 2018, cannabis was legalized in Canada and I had a prescription to grow my own supply. In 2018, I had grown 4 plants and at the time, my prescription was for 3 oz a month. During my recovery from surgery, my prescription was increased to 8 oz a month which was financially unfeasible and the reason I applied for a production license thru Health Canada. Once my PTSD diagnosis came in and I required more cannabis, my prescription was increased again to 15 oz a month. In 2018, I was paying $300 for 1.5 oz of medical cannabis – no way was I affording my full prescription.

Donald, Carine, Karen and Kyle were all fully aware of my diagnoses, I mean I’d been living here since July 2007 after all and I’m pretty open about my mental health. The fact that Donald was livid that we smoked weed was … kinda shocking to be honest. For one, Donald and Carine rarely picked up their dogs' shit and that smelled very ripe come spring. Both of the homes I’m sandwiched between are pretty hard core tobacco houses, so… what’s the difference? I hate the smell of tobacco, my kids have never been able to open their windows since we moved in to this house. The Karen and Kyle house was the party house and they’d entertain in their yard every weekend until super late… not a big deal, but Mr. GQ was on shift work at the time, so again… no one in my house could open a window. and I never complained… I figured they put up with me I put up with them, right? Wrong. I’d also never lived in a residential area because I was raised in a business, in the commercial area of town.

After the light incident I was even more terrified of my own shadow because now I needed to replace a fence and I didn’t want to fight with the neighbours. I just wanted my privacy and my right to enjoy my backyard, but the enjoyment of my own property was quickly ruined by 817¢π 7717$ Donald. I call him that now because of Covid. He gained like 40 pounds and in my own personal opinion, he should definitely consider a man-bra.

I’d just started seeing my psychiatrist in June of 2019 and he was adjusting my medication for severe depression and severe anxiety. Apparently, the constant shaking and upper lip sweat was due to constant panic attacks. I had no idea… it just felt like the inside of my body wouldn’t stop vibrating. After a month, I found myself on 30 mg of Cipralex, a dose 50% higher than clinically recommended and advised to consider adding Abilify to that cocktail. When I asked my psychiatrist about the side effects, number 1 was weight gain and my response became a hard no. I already have issues with my weight, and self esteem and he was on crack cocaine if he thought I was gonna gain back the now 45 pounds I’d worked hard to lose… not really, I just stopped eating after my colon cancer surgery.

At first, I stopped eating because everything gave me gas, everything hurt because there were just too many ingredients in a typical meal so I stuck to one egg, a slice of toast and an avocado for weeks. Then I got used to “Intermittent Fasting” as I call it. Works for me. Yes, I still eat that way… only some days I don’t eat at all and I’m 4 years out of my surgery. I’m terrified of gaining weight and waking up one day looking like HER. I’ll never ever let that happen. I’d kill myself first, so intermittent fasting it is.

While I was trying to unpack my life and figuring how I even found myself in the position I was in, I still had to deal with daily life … and my main panic of the moment was a fence. We had 5 broken posts, it was the middle of a Covid pandemic and now I couldn’t get anyone to come and attend my property or even give me a quote. I had to wait another year. I was seriously stressed out.

In October 2019, I decided to send them an email so I’d have a written record that I did try to deal with the fence. I never received a response to that email. When it seemed that relations were less tense, I mentioned I’d sent it to her. She said it was an email she didn’t use all that often, curious, I thought since it’s the email she uses for Donald’s business. [It’s also the EXACT same email they used to correspond when they finally hired a paralegal!].

Copy of the email I sent in October 2019:

I contacted 3 contractors in February 2021 and they agreed to come and provide me with a quote. I texted Donald to give him a heads up in case he saw the guy on the property line… the situation between them and us was uneasy and awkward. I read the Town By-Laws and followed the rules to the letter because as a pool owner, I am legally responsible for a well-maintained fence. The fence I currently had was not safe or stable.

The contractor I ended up selecting came in $1,000 under all the others and he could fit me in at the beginning of the season, which came as a great relief to me. I was hoping for the fence to be installed before the pool opening so I could then plan my 15 cannabis plant locations. As stipulated in the Town’s By-Laws, I sent the quotes by registered mail to both Donald and Carine, along with the back neighbour. The original tentative date for the fence was to be early June. Three weeks later, in March the contractor returned my deposit and I found my address blackballed by all the contractors in my Region. I soon found out why… Carine and Donald had called my contractor on numerous occasions and threatened his business and livelihood if they touched the fence. They said they would take them to court, sue for trespassing, and destroy their family business. I had left the contact information on the quote I included because it never occurred to me that I lived next to fucking assholes.

The contractor told me he had been harassed by my neighbours and in the 3-page response letter, she details how many times she contacted them:

Once I figured out I had been blackballed, I called the Town and complained about the assholes’ actions next door. Yes, I was legitimately pissed off. I didn’t even want them to pay for the whole fence, in fact, I just wanted to open a line of dialogue. The complete opposite happened. In response to a QUOTE FOR A FENCE, I received a 3-page letter outlining what dicks they are. Included are pertinent and hilarious screenshots in this post so you can all read it too. For the record, I have weeping tile in my yard which was installed when the pool went in because our subdivision was built on a swamp. The two f&$#5@!& next door haven’t figured out it’s a swamp yet… I’m not entirely sure why not… but probably because they're not playing with a full deck.

For the record, whenever the fence needed repair, Donald disappeared and we ended up doing the work ourselves.

First quote and see attached photos of the fence leaning significantly thanks to a broken post and one of the boards holding my fence together:

Because this is my first ever home I’ve owned I was unsure how to proceed and didn’t want to get charged with trespassing. The Town was very unhelpful saying I needed a proper fence but how that happened was a ‘civil’ matter. I hired a paralegal to ask her advice and followed her guidance. Long story short, it cost me $3K in legal fees and I now have a beautiful full vinyl privacy fence, with a 25 year warranty, installed by a wonderful company located in the West-end of the Big City. Best of all, I hired Russians…. cuz momma didn’t raise no fool. I was done with their bullshit and done with them ignoring every single letter sent by my paralegal in an attempt to come to an agreement. I offered 2 options: a) please black out the back and side of the front house light and reduce the motion sensor sensitivity and I’ll pay for the entire fence myself of b) we split the cost. I felt that was fair but…. apparently, I’m the asshole.

For the record, I moved to this house July 2007 so.. in 2021 we’d been neighbours for nearly 14 years because they moved in December 2007. In addition, I never smoked TOBACCO in front of my kids or family… I never had a problem with cannabis, but clearly they spend their time spying on me if they claim to know ‘what I do’ in my own backyard. Furthermore, all my friends smoke cannabis and WHO THE FUCK DO THEY THINK THEY ARE TELLING ME WHERE TO SMOKE MY OWN LEGAL CANNABIS?

Under my paralegal’s advice, I booked my fence replacement and provided them with notice as soon as I had a date. Technically I’d already provided them with several months notice back in early March 2021. My fence was finally installed in August 2021. I was still afraid of getting sued for something later down the road and it was important to me that we have something in writing… you know.. because I trust NO ONE. I pursued the issue and demanded payment – mostly for a response, any response. They finally did respond and offered $400 for their $1,600 portion. I accepted, I didn’t really care at that point and just wanted to move on with my life.

I got what I wanted… my new fence is too tall for the perv to keep staring at me, my now 15-year-old daughter, or my friends. Why is wanting privacy so wrong? I moved to a house I love. I didn’t move to Wisteria Lane. I had no desire to be friends with my neighbours…. I just wanted to be left alone, to swim in my pool, sunbathe topless or naked if I want and grow cannabis. Let me be happy and leave me alone. This was too much to ask.

Once I received the cheque for $400, I knew relations weren’t good with 817¢π 7717$ and his 7¥47 ¥4¶¶|€ Carine, but …. Whatever, life goes on. I had planned to wait a bit and send a “sorry I was bitchy, here’s a gift basket, let’s at least be cordial” type thing…. However, that’s not what happened.

This is where Karen and Carine (see what I did there?) decided to join forces. In May 2022 I heard Karen say she planned to grow male cannabis plants to destroy my medical garden. They put up that “fuck you” structure so we moved all our pool equipment in to the garage. I needed to replace the fence on the Karen and Kyle side too because it was wood and falling apart and, because I wanted a matching fence, but mostly because the stipulation of my cannabis production license is to ensure it’s secure with cameras, proper fencing, not allowing photography or videos, etc, etc. Having learned my lesson with 817¢π 7717$ and the 7¥47 ¥4¶¶|€ , I decided to erect my fence in front of the old one thereby saving me the cost of a fence removal. I had planned to extend the fence to the front of my garage but the water pipes for the pool are under the property line, I was not able to do so this year.

Once my fence was installed, I most certainly did have signs made advising against photography and videos. It’s my property and people cannot just take pictures of my stuff without permission. The End. That’s in direct contravention of my production license stipulation and to cover my ass, I decided on signage. In the meantime, the 7¥47 ¥4¶¶|€ sent the police to my house on Canada Day 2022 claiming we threw a full bacon sandwich in to her yard. Yup. WTF?! Even the cop who showed up asking about it looked embarrassed. First off, as I told him, I don’t eat. Definitely not bread and I’m definitely not throwing bacon away. Who does that? Second, I verified whether this “incident” occurred in the back or front yard? Back yard… OK.. well, my husband was in the back yard all week building a deck and I assure you that he wasn’t throwing full sandwiches over the fence either. The case was closed and no report was even filed. Karen likes to feed the seagulls and other birds so .. that’s probably where the bread came from. Like I care.. I really think she just called the cops to stay relevant in my life or something. I don’t know, but from my point of view, the issue was closed. I have a fence and I have privacy.

A few days later, in early July, the police were back at my house accusing me of destroying Karen’s baby pot plants. The police in this Town can’t even see the forest for the trees, I reserve comment because clearly they’re going to believe the ones with the best story, honesty obviously doesn’t matter. I don’t even think they investigate in this Town. If you read news reports, most of the time the police in this Regions are being accused of corruption, toxic work environments, or beating teenage boys when parents call for wellness checks, etc. so.. really, what was I supposed to expect? I’d rather be on the shit end of that stick because being on the other end says something far worse about you. For the record, I thought I was dying of cancer and all I did was sleep for the first week of July. I slept extra hours so I could attend one concert before I died of stage 4 something or other.. it wasn’t until mid July I discovered I had Covid-19 and ended up sick for 8 weeks. I even have long Covid now. But yeah, OK.. I’m jumping over fences in the day? night? I don’t know…to destroy pot plants? No, I don’t think so.. what I did do was get legal advice. I maintain Karen destroyed her own plants just to see if she could have me arrested… looking back now, the 7¥47 ¥4¶¶|€ was unsuccessful at whatever charge she was aiming for and 3 or 4 days later another attempt? Come on. I didn’t just fall off the turnip truck.

In early or middle of August, I noticed that 817¢π 7717$ and the 7¥47 ¥4¶¶|€ were growing 3 pot plants on their deck. They had them hidden behind a wall; I assumed to hide their hypocrisy. Back when I was on speaking terms with Karen, she used to tell me all about how “Hairy’s grandmother” uses cannabis. Karen calls the 7¥47 ¥4¶¶|€ son “Hairy” IRL because she trash talks everyone. For me, trash talking a 7 year-old was my breaking point and I started to step back and really started to question her motives. She really hated Carine too and look at them all now… BFFs.

I sent Donald a text offering to help them with a successful harvest – truly, I offered a truce to help his ailing mother in law. Just because I think he’s a fucking asshole doesn’t mean I feel some poor little old lady should suffer in pain… I provided some tips: “remove all the yellow leaves, and by the looks of the branches, you really need to fertilize.. I use chicken poop.” I even offered to provide some of my own to bridge them, no hard feelings, you know? I thought maybe it was all water under the bridge. But no. Apparently they grew a male plant to destroy my medical garden.

In reality, they destroyed it for smoking… but we’re making hash with it and I have all winter to work out an incense recipe for canna-scented incense. I love the smell of weed and I hate the smell of tobacco and in my yard, weed rules. So, this spring and summer and fall, when I smell tobacco I plan to light some incense.

I fail to see how I’m the loser in this scenario, I mean, I got 2 different households to voluntarily spend money on soil, pots, and deck space for MARIJUNA PLANTS! They VOLUNTEERED! I don’t care if they grow males… they grew plants on their deck, RIGHT OUTSIDE THEIR DOOR. Guess they learned they don’t smell that bad, right? Yes, they made sure to take down their male after we took down all our females. LOL who cares. Next year I’m growing autos and I’m growing clones. I hope they’re reading this because at this point, it’s all gibberish, I'm sure. Fortunately, Margeaux knows how to make the best of a shitty situation. Hahahaha I really do love my resourcefulness. If I’m successful at making cannabis-scented incense I intend to sell it on Etsy and use THAT to create a fund for anyone in need of legal assistance because they have a-hole neighbours. I already have the lawyer onboard…

You know the funniest part? I no longer require 15 oz a month. I grow because I enjoy it. I can grow what I need in my basement, but my giant plants offer me privacy because I use them as hedges. I’m also considering growing hemp next summer so I can harvest hemp seeds and use that in my baking as additional protein. Granted, it is more convenient to grow 15 plants outside and get my entire year’s worth… although this summer I only grew 12 as I’d planned to reduce my forest to a more manageable size and perhaps grow vegetables in my giant planters, but fuck that noise.

But… really. die hard pot haters grew weed. I hope they do it again next year… I honestly haven’t had this much fun since my sister and I lived together. I realize I’m not supposed to be having fun with it.. but .. seriously.. they didn’t even get creative.. they took my word and I don’t even think they researched anything at all… I’m disappointed a little.. Child’s Play.. I also didn’t think they liked it when I sunbathed topless.. but I guess they must otherwise.. why wouldn’t they want me to have my privacy? In any case.. I’m putting up an extended privacy fence this spring and I’ve got at least 18 bamboo shoots I’ve started in my winter garden. By next year, the light will not even be a bother and I hope Karen and Kyle have to hire a crane to remove their hot tub from their yard when it breaks down. Grown adults attack my children’s health and well-being: smoking; operating a generator, they set up directly under the kids’ windows during a 5 day-long power outage during a heat wave, meaning the kids had their windows shut tight so diesel exhaust wouldn’t make them ill. Later, we had to get rid of the pool heater because they erected a fuck you structure. GROWN ADULTS picking on and name-calling children is disgusting… but really, what did I expect from a grown ass 58-year-oldish woman who says “I wonder WHAT is moving in next” whenever a house is up for sale? I know because I lived with a crazy woman… I know to expect a racist, childish, immature ‘woman’. I’m glad we don’t speak, I realize I only want to surround myself with caring, empathetic, genuine and authentic people who don’t like narcissists. I hope Donald and Carine figure her out before too long… not because I like them.. but because I’m a human being.

TLDR: Keep written records of everything. Just do you and fuck everyone else.

Read from the beginning:

Chapter 6 #5 Stop being so selfish

noreply@blogger.com (Margeaux Delacroix) — Thu, 13 Oct 2022 13:32:00 +0000

In April 2001, I was laid off from my first job as an Executive Assistant to the CFO. All was not lost, the former CEO and current Chairman of the Board for the telecom company I would be leaving hired me to be his Assistant and Office Manager at his new venture. Before starting that role, I booked a vacation to the Dominican Republic with Mr. GQ, my BFF Natasha and her boyfriend who happened to be Mr. GQ’s best friend, Freddy. I was over the moon to be going away on a REAL vacation. This was my first real vacation ever. I remember spending 3 weeks researching resorts, towns, activities, cross-referenced reviews and costs to make sure it was affordable for everyone. Once I selected the resort, I went back to search for the absolute best price. I think I got our trip for less than $700 all inclusive, at a 5 star brand new resort. I had an amazing time and crossed off several bucket list items at the time.

Upon returning to real life I worked my butt off setting up a new office and assisting my new boss with his new venture. Once the office ran itself and I felt guilty taking a salary from a charity, (I felt my role was only needed part time), I decided to move on. In September 2001, another former boss (from the telecom company) approached me and lured me to the oil and gas industry. My skills were in demand and life was finally going my way. I didn’t quite know what I wanted to do as a job, but I seemed to excel as an executive assistant. I was able to anticipate needs, get a vast amount of work done in a very short amount of time and became a valuable employee at the company for 10 years. I didn’t realize that my anxiety is what made me good at this role. I was always jumping out of my skin looking for my next task.

In 2003, Mr. GQ and I had been dating and living together for 3 years. Mr. GQ seemed happy in his new full time job with benefits so when the company announced they would be moving their headquarters 265 km east of their current location, we had some choices to make. I approached my current boss and asked if I could work remotely while coming to the office once a week by train (I didn’t have a driver’s license at this point). To my great joy, she accepted my proposal, paid for my train ticket to and from and life went on. We moved to another University Town in the summer of 2003.

Before deciding to move with Mr. GQ, I was looking for something more from our relationship. I was moving for a guy and I wanted to know that he wasn’t going to dump me for some office fling, if he was even having one. Moving to a different Town for a MAN. My anxiety started to spin in my head and because this is a really ugly monster, my anxiety convinced me that if I didn't support Mr. GQ and go with him, it meant I was selfish… too bad I had no idea I had anxiety. I ended up confronting Mr. GQ in the parking lot early one morning as we were heading out for breakfast demanding “What are we doing here? Like… where is this relationship going?” OMG I cringe with embarrassment thinking about it now. I didn’t want a marriage proposal, I wanted a commitment but I didn’t think I wanted to get married… I had no idea what I wanted but I was freaking out about moving and maybe losing my job and having to start over again for a man. I even said something along the lines of “I can’t shut the door on having kids, I mean, I don’t want any, but it can’t be a hard no. what if I change my mind?” I had no intention of changing my mind, but I was probably having a mini-meltdown. Eventually Mr. GQ agreed that we were together and we weren’t breaking up.

I was 29 years old and I had a pact with an old friend that if I was single at 30 we’d get married. I didn’t know what to do. I mean, I made a promise and my loyalty to my friend was conflicting with my desire to know if Mr. GQ and I would break up soon. Remember, this was my longest relationship ever to this point in my life. He reassured me that he loved me and we were together. To make a conscience effort to not be selfish, we packed up my shit and left my all time favourite apartment behind for a new adventure.

I like University Towns, the energy, the events, the live music, etc. We found a cute apartment in a terrible neighbourhood (the student ghetto) and went about our lives. We explored the downtown and as a foodie, I looked forward to eating at ALL the restaurants. I have to say, I was hugely disappointed in the food quality and choices. I didn’t enjoy this University Town and really wanted to return to the Big City after 2 months. I steam-rolled on and reminded myself that we weren’t here for me, we were here for him and I knew I needed to get my selfish traits under control. Life isn't about me, it's about us. I felt it was time that I put someone other than myself first and I wanted Mr. GQ to have a chance at a promising career for our future together. I hated living here. I did get my driving license though, so that was a positive.

One day in August 2003 Mr. GQ and I were sitting on our balcony enjoying morning coffee and I just knew … Mr. GQ went inside and came back to the balcony acting shifty. He was nervous. In that moment, the gears turned and I knew what was about to happen. He got down on one knee, opened this little black box and asked if I’d be his wife. I didn’t even have to think about it. I love my engagement ring; it looks just like a gift-wrapped present. He could not have chosen better. It made living in this Town better somehow.

In October, our apartment was broken into and all my jewelry was stolen. They stole everything else, but my jewelry is what upset me the most because nearly all of it was the real deal and gifts from my mother, my grandmother, and my stepmother. I decided to be honest with Mr. GQ and tell him I hated it here and I wanted to move back to the Big City. After the break-in and the fact that salaries were at least 50% less in this Town, it wasn’t a hard sell. Mr. GQ didn’t really like his job that much after all. He’d accepted the offer to move for the cash bonus in order to buy me an engagement ring.

In December 6 months after having moved to University Town, we packed our shit up again and loaded our moving truck one day with plans to depart the following day. Our moving truck was broken into that night; our final farewell from this shit-hole. I was really happy once we were settled in the Big City. I was less than thrilled that all the items I’d bought for our wedding had also been stolen and because I’d bought several pieces from eBay, I wasn’t sure if I’d get the money back. I was most upset over my wedding band because I’d bought it from a jeweler in Florida who was going out of business for $200. I replaced the exact same band for $2500. None of that mattered, I was back in the City I loved and still had my job. Now I had a wedding to plan.

The wedding I was planning was a small intimate affair for two people only. I imagined a Tahiti beach wedding where we would scramble to find two witnesses the day of. I had never intended to invite people. Early in the planning phase, Mr. GQ announced he couldn’t possibly get married without his parents in attendance. Hopefully, by now, you’ve read enough of my blog to imagine why I was so confused. Why would you want your parents there? I didn’t want to have to invite anyone. Period. From my point of view, it was nobody’s business what we did. Alas, a wedding is a union between two people so I compromised. I selected the PERFECT beach resort and my financé told me his parents would refuse to attend our wedding if we picked a Communist country. WTF? Who’s wedding is this anyway? I was picking the bloody Communist country to guarantee Jackass wouldn’t even consider coming to the wedding. After that, I really didn’t care where we got married, it was no longer anything I wanted anyway. I quizzed my fiancé and re-sorted my spreadsheet by price, closed my eyes and pointed. Dominican Republic is apparently, where I pointed to for our wedding day. I admit I was pretty discouraged because my first marriage was a necessity and this one was supposed to be my “dream wedding”

Remember, my parents always told me I would have to pay for my own wedding because they were paying for my “education”. I wanted to spend the money on “us and our honeymoon” not share my time with other people. A private affair, just the two of us, on a beach, barefoot, by the ocean. That’s all I wanted. I made the best of it… I still got married barefoot on the beach but we had 20 guests with us. I still haven’t been to Tahiti. In September 2003, I sent out “Save the Date” postcards to everyone we knew, along with the contact details for our travel agent. If people wanted to attend our wedding, perhaps they could postpone their winter vacation to May or not. Whatever.

I remember receiving a very excited phone call from Big M gushing over what she would wear assuring me she’d be there “with bells on”. We chatted about my plans, my dress, my ring and then she handed the phone to my father. My father congratulated me on my upcoming nuptials then said (well, laughed the words at me); “Pfffff I’m not going to your wedding. If you want me to walk you down the aisle and attend your wedding, you’ll get married in The North. I’ve travelled enough in my life and I’m not leaving my house.” Asshole. I responded with “Cool, does that mean you’re paying for my wedding?” when he was done laughing, I replied with “I didn’t think so, come or don’t come I really don’t care.” <<< That, ladies and gentlemen, is how a selfish asshole treats his children - with abandonment all over again.

May 4, 2004 was still a happy day and 18 years later, it doesn’t matter anymore. The irony is that neither of us even likes the Dominican Republic; but it was a beautiful day, I got to pick my blue flowers and we had our reception at the on-site French restaurant. My best gift I could ever have possibly received was the fact that my father and his bed warmer refused to attend. I think it was supposed to hurt my feelings. Their absence is what made my day special. With them there, it would have been all about what they like, want, desire, etc. It would never have been about MY wedding. My mother walked me down the aisle in a beautiful gown. She was so happy and proud of me that day. It was perfect. Truly. I was so relaxed without a care in the world. Mr. GQ and I enjoyed an extra week at the resort once the guests left.

We returned to Canada after the wedding and went on with our lives. We had already used up our vacation time with wedding plans and our upcoming vacation to Paris planned for the week between Christmas and New Year 2004. A repeat of our 2003 holiday. I remember being over the moon looking forward to our alone time. I got a call in June 2004 telling me I was being summoned to The North for a wedding reception. Wait, what? Fuck Me. This is like the last thing I wanted to do.

I was made to feel selfish and ungrateful for not wanting to “run up to The North for dinner.” In my mind, I got married, they refused to come and now they felt guilty about it and this was their way to make themselves feel better. My father sold trees from a plot of land he owned and with that $5,000 planned a wedding reception. I wasn’t asked about anything. I was told. At this time, neither of us owned a vehicle, we both worked full time and couldn’t take anymore vacation time off. Mr. GQ had started his new job that year and we’d already negotiated his vacation time based on our flight tickets and reservations.

The parental unit were very unhappy to hear that we literally would be flying up on Friday night, reception Saturday and we’d be coming HOME Sunday. No vacation, no extra time. In fact, this was the last thing I even wanted to do. It would have been so much nicer if they’d just given us the $5,000 instead of the gift of a wedding reception neither of us wanted. I hated having to be fake nice and happy. I just wanted to be me. I felt even worse for feeling this way. Big M could tell this wasn’t what I wanted but “your father will be so happy to do this for you, you’ll make lots of money in gifts, we’ll pretend it’s your wedding.” I didn’t see this for the ploy it was. I packed up my wedding dress and we flew up, stayed in a hotel, did the thing, and flew home. In truth, the trip ended up costing $2500. It doesn’t seem like a lot of money now, but back then, I was budgeting our finances and I’d planned our vacation/trips/etc. This $2500 was not good news.

Most of the attendees purchased actual gifts, I guess they didn’t know we didn’t have a vehicle, that we already had all our domestic items because we’d been living together for 4 years and needed absolutely nothing but money for a house down payment. The gifts stayed in the hotel room because I had no way of taking them with me. The entire time we were at the reception, I truly felt like I was just a trophy on display. It felt awkward. I was so happy my mother came with my Québec family because they made that ‘party’ fun and I felt supported by them. I wasn’t able to put my finger on why I felt shame at my own wedding reception… I thought it was because I felt ungrateful and I felt like I was acting like a spoiled brat. I felt shame because Big M made me feel horrible about flying “in and out, stayed in a hotel room and didn’t even spend any time with us, after we planned a party for you.” OK, but I told them I didn’t want one to begin with. I didn’t have vacation time left and I certainly didn’t have the budget, I also had no say on the date, colour scheme, food, or music choice. Doesn’t really sound like it was my party at all.

Reading that last sentence now, in 2022, still makes me feel like an ungrateful little bitch who deserves to be hated for being so selfish. Just STOP BEING SO SELFISH!

Read from the beginning:

Chapter 6 #4 The happiest of my happy places

noreply@blogger.com (Margeaux Delacroix) — Thu, 06 Oct 2022 14:37:00 +0000

I feel calm, relaxed, carefree, and loved - much like any normal kid should feel. I only feel this way when I’m at ‘la cabine’ with my grand-parents. Grand-papa would come pick us up at the end of June in his burgundy coloured station wagon and drive the 45 minutes to the log cabin he built with my father many moons ago. My grand-maman would be waiting for us in the cabin’s small living room, which doubled as the dining room complete with wood stove that made great toast in the morning.

The cabin was built in the early 1970s using logs, tin for the roof, and pink insulation. The cabin sits on a parcel of leased land for a 99-year term. The small structure contained a small workshop for my grand-father’s tools, a main area, 2 window-less bedrooms, a loft with several mattresses on the floor for when my cousins visited, a small kitchen, a tiny bathroom (illegal because he installed a septic tank for my grand-mother because she didn’t want to use the outhouse). The kitchen also contained an old school washing machine – the ones that have rollers to wring the clothes out, a sofa bed, 2 refrigerators and an electric stove.

My sister and I weren’t permitted in the loft area so we slept on the pull-out sofa. Grand-mama had a large mural that took up an entire wall. I remember it was a forest scene with moose, bears, plenty of trees, hills, and mountain peaks. I also remember Big M always making fun of it behind her back calling it ‘childish and stupid’ because grand-maman loved to draw and would add her own little flowers to it. She would also allow us kids to add our own marks – usually scratch and sniff stickers.

Grand-maman was always on the frail side. She was tall and very thin with a pronounced upper back bump that made her hunch over a little. She was kind, great in the kitchen, a talented artist who loved to do crafts. I remember grand-maman spending hours just staring out the window and enjoying the view of the lake and the field across from the cabin. Grand-maman also liked to garden and bake pies using the rhubarb she grew and sending my sister and me to collect berries in the field. I think we ate more than we collected. I remember picking strawberries, raspberries, and running back to the small 2-bedroom cabin to bake pies. Grand-maman taught me how to draw, create crepe-paper flowers, knit, how to make pickled beets which were her specialty, and make ‘pouding chômeur’. Her favourite fish was sole and she cooked it in a small fry pan with milk and fresh herbs.

Grand-papa’s specialty was making dessert for breakfast: slice of bread, topped with brown sugar, then finished off with either cream or milk. So good. I miss them both dearly. They treated us as their own and truly cared for us. They even enjoyed spending time with us – something we weren’t really used to experiencing. Grand-papa even got my sister and me rabbits one summer. I loved them and I couldn’t wait to have my own pet at home. I was 9 or 10 when I got the bunny from a local farm near the cabin. Grand-papa told me I’d need a cage for my bedroom, but for summer, they were kept in a large shared cage in the yard so they wouldn’t get eaten by predators. Grand-papa taught me natural healing remedies because I am hyper-mobile and I always rolled my ankles while running on the dock and launching myself into the lake. Grand-papa would make an egg white cast for my ankle, wrap it in plastic wrap so I could still go swimming and ride my bike. He took me fishing, trapping, and on long walks thru the forest.

I loved exploring the nearby forest and fields, chasing frogs, finding tadpoles, and spotting wild animals. I spent most days in the water and eating fresh chips from the chip stand then running to the cabin for simple dinners cooked with love. I dreaded the day that I’d see dad’s truck come to take us home.

I remember bringing our bunnies home and dad kept them in the large cage outside the family business. I was told to keep the cage clean, but I don’t recall being provided with supplies to do so. I was about 9 or 10 so I needed straw, and I’m not really sure what else. Dad didn’t really tell me how to care for the bunnies. I was waiting for a better cage, in my mind, something like a large hamster cage. I was feeding them carrots and greens. I really thought that in winter I’d be cuddling with my rabbit in bed. I had visions of putting my doll diapers on him.

One day, I came home from school, 6^th grade, and the rabbit cage was gone. Dad didn’t say anything in the truck on the way home so I thought, “Cool, I get to bring the bunnies inside now!” I walked in the kitchen and noticed we were having stew for dinner. I looked around and didn’t see the bunnies so I asked dad where they were. He said I had neglected them so he made stew and that’s what we were having for dinner. It was only as an adult that he told me he took them to a local farm (which I strongly doubt, I’m sure he did feed them to us). I was devastated but didn’t want to show my emotions because Big M often liked to make fun of my tears and Jack often laughed with her… saying I was “too sensitive” or that “it’s nothing” implying I’d get over it.

Later, after my grandparents passed, the cottage was used by my aunt and her kids. Eventually they stopped using the cabin so when dad offered me the keys to the cabin and said I could have it in 2002 (I think) I jumped at the chance without hesitation. I got the keys in winter and dad said I just had to pay the property tax on it. At the time, I assumed he meant upcoming, but no, I paid three years in back property taxes. I was really excited to make this cottage “ours” so Mr. GQ and I made plans to improve the property.

In May, over the long weekend, we drove 12 hours to our little place in heaven to see what we were dealing with. We cleaned the dust, got rid of old and tired furniture, replaced the water heater, re-wired the electricity since Jack had the service cut just to avoid the hydro service delivery fee. We took stock of what the cabin needed before returning home to The South. I researched how cabins in Colorado are maintained and purchased perma-chink log sealer to replace the pink insulation previously used between the logs (it wasn’t cheap, the amount I needed plus shipping came to over $1,200). Next, I purchased stripper, and log wash to remove any grime from the exterior before I applied several gallons of transparent stain and sealer. For the inside, I invested in several bottles of Murphy’s Oil.

Mr. GQ and I recruited another couple, loaded up the trailer with our supplies and made the 12-hour trip up North just in time for Summer Solstice. We worked our asses off for an entire week and were rewarded with pink skies until 4 am. I had forgotten how light it stays overnight up North in June. My total investment, thus far was close to $5,000. I had intended to cut out two windows for the bedrooms, but I didn’t get around to it. We purchased a BBQ and other miscellaneous items for the cabin.

One of the reasons I was excited to inherit the cabin was because I thought it meant my father would come visit me there seeing as I was not on speaking terms with Big M at this time. My father never came South to visit saying “I've travelled enough in my lifetime and if you want to see me you can come here.” I assumed that if I drove 10 – 12 hours to reach my little vacation spot, my father could drive 45 minutes to say ‘hi’. I was very wrong. He never came to visit, not once. After a year, the cabin wasn’t worth the drive up if I didn’t even get to spend time with my family. I decided to sell the cabin and at the very least re-coup my expenses.

Jack said he would spread the word that it was for sale and assured me it would sell quickly because there is excellent year-round fishing in the area. He was right, it did sell quickly, but to this day, I know Jackass fucked me over. He told me the cabin was mine and I invested in the structure then, all of a sudden, he sold it from under me for a price he negotiated with the buyer. I was completely cut out; I didn’t see the cheque, I have no idea what happened. He sent me what he felt I deserved, less than $4,000. I remain convinced he pocketed a significant portion of the sale because he’s a fucking cheap bastard. He did nothing to that cottage – not even keep up with the property tax. I’m still bitter about it because I feel he acted dishonestly which was completely opposite to how I saw my father up to that day. He did things behind my back and I promptly ignored this massive flashing red flag.

I felt like I didn’t matter to him, I mean he couldn’t even find time in his day to come say hello. I was expected to get in the car and drive to him after working 12 hours a day on the cabin. Drive to my former house that I hated. The place where even when I visited on vacation, I worked for hours. The place that made my body shake with panic attacks that I didn’t know I had until I was well into my 40s. I had wanted to turn the cottage into a vacation spot for my future children, nieces and/or nephews so they could at least get to know their extended family; something I was robbed of because Big M hated Jack’s entire family. HATED THEM for being French. I understand today that my entire existence, my sole purpose was to ensure my father’s happiness.

When Big M decided we should be ‘friends’ again, or at least ‘civil’ it was always to make “your father’s life easier”. Easier because Big M would scream at him about his useless daughters, the slut, the whore, the alcoholic. If we were all on speaking terms then father didn’t have to listen about his offspring being pieces of shit and his children were more prone to visit the North. If we were not on speaking terms, he had to listen to her repeat how useless his entire French family was. My extended family numbers in the hundreds and I can honestly say, I remember less than 10 people in his family. Big M’s family? Yeah, I remember meeting them all, including several cousins from overseas. Apparently the English and the Irish are the only worthy people. I was reminded that Father likes “peace”; which for him means, his daughters do all the ass kissing to inflate his bed warmer’s ego and in turn she lavishes him with positive attention. Don’t get me wrong, the attention felt good, she would lavish us with many material gifts also – whatever we wanted, money was no object. I never felt guilty for accepting their gifts or money; I saw it as payment in exchange for putting up with their bullshit, payment for all the manual labour that I was never remunerated for. Payment for the university degree I was promised in exchange for manual labour that never came to fruition. Payment I was owed and am still owed and yes I do feel entitled to it. I don’t feel entitled to all their money, I just want what they promised me. Money I’m certain Big M thinks Jack did in fact give us. His response when we ask about promises made is usually:

“I didn’t promise that, SHE did, so you have to get it from her”; which is impossible because he considers the money all “HIS” money because, and I quote; “she never worked, I did, she lay in bed all day and then spends it faster than we can earn it at the mall.”
I never said that, she did
I don't remember that
I remember that differently
Who told you that? Hahahaha no.

I became very skilled in playing them one off the other just to see what happened.. and I only did that with little things, could you imagine if I’d told them what they used to tell me about each other? One of them would be dead by now and I’m not certain my father would be the victor. I remember Big M trying to kill him with a butcher knife late one night, I woke up to screaming and crying then a loud “THUD” and silence. I thought dad was dead. Then I heard him say, “Are you done now? Have you had enough?” He said that she’d lunged at him with the knife, he’s deflected it, punched her in the face which left her with a black eye, but he’d knocked her out. We had to tell people she’d walked into the cupboard door if they asked.

After we moved out, Jack became very dependent on Big M for everything. In his mind, he told me, it was payback for him having to do all the work while she was sick with Lupus, then cancer. Therefore, he decided she would serve him because he was done serving her and he decided the tables needed turning. What did this look like, you ask? Here are just a few examples:

She had to bathe him
Wash his back
Towel dry him after each and every shower
Pick up his clothes off the floor and do his laundry
Cook his steak every night
Do all the activities he likes doing and none of what she likes doing (OK this isn’t new, but it was new for her to participate)
Convince herself that life is grand because they no longer argue
Remove all the tags from his clothes because they’re “scratchy”
Buy copious amounts of expensive wool sweaters because … he likes the attention
She even dresses him

Later in life, I nickname Jack the Toddler. He loves this nickname. Damn it; he was supposed to be shamed into acting like an adult, not wear it like a badge.

Whenever I ask father questions with specific examples from my childhood and ask why he let it happen his answer is always “I did my best.”

Read from the beginning:

Chapter 6 #3 I am broken

noreply@blogger.com (Margeaux Delacroix) — Thu, 29 Sep 2022 12:19:00 +0000

PTSD is a bitch. When you live and breathe it daily, you don’t know any better. It’s like being born with a headache; you don’t know you have one until it’s gone. As a teen, Big M told me I was moody and depressed – a typical teenager. She also told me daughters and mothers never get along in the teen years, which is also totally normal. Uh Huh.

As a young adult, I knew more than anything that I would never be a parent. Ever. I didn’t know how to relate to children, I’d never spent any time with children, I’d always been surrounded by adults; but mostly, I believe children were a burden. Deep down, I knew I’d be an abuser. I was terrified to be alone with children. I assumed I’d be a sexual deviant and if I wasn’t, I’d probably just beat them black and blue. When I told my family every time they joked to “wait until youuuuu have kids!” I was always met with shock and mild horror that I didn’t want to shoot watermelons out my vagina. I don’t think those living outside my family unit truly realized what my familial journey had really taught me.

My upbringing created a resourcefully independent woman. That’s it. You know what else it did? It made me unable to communicate my needs, wants, and desires and made me incapable of saying “NO” to anyone. I was raised to always obey, trust, and respect adults. For the better part of 45 years, I felt my only purpose was to serve others to ensure everyone else’s happiness because if everyone around me was happy, then so was I. I knew that my happiness didn’t matter, if I had a good job and friends that meant I had succeeded in life – something I bought into for many years. It never explained the huge gap I could feel inside me. I was just a shell. I subconsciously hid my true personality because I was trained to do so. I lived in a house where I was not valued for my uniqueness but for how hard I worked, how physically strong I was, and for my resourcefulness.

I adored and worshiped my father for who I thought he was - a kind, strong, intelligent, caring, honest man. All the things I now know he is not. That realization was as if a landmine went off inside my body – how could I have been so deeply fooled? So humiliated in my shame, I buried it deep and refused to feel the betrayal. That’s how I feel about my entire childhood, deep shame and betrayal; shame for believing it and betrayal for the exact same reasons. This is why I was never able to trust others, how do I know they’re being honest and truthful? How can I trust their words? I can’t, that’s why I prefer actions. Don’t tell me you love me, show me. I don’t fall for nouns or action words.

When I first moved to the Big City and found my first real ‘job’, I was lucky enough to have found a manager who saw my gifts, potential, empathy, and kindness – things I had no idea I even possessed. Claudia saw something in me and hired me without even meeting me; she read something in my resume. Claudia treated me like a daughter and taught me more about compassion, kindness, empathy, and respect in two years than I learned in the 13 years being screamed at. Claudia taught me to take meeting minutes, how to structure policies and procedures, how documentation, filing, and accounting works. She taught me how to read financials. Under her tutelage, I flourished and went from a $25K/year Gal Friday to a $55K a year Executive Assistant to the CFO. I accomplished that in less than 6 months back in 2000. It’s because of Claudia that I had confidence in this one tiny area – my work life. I knew I could accomplish anything I set out to learn. The trick was not telling anyone I didn’t know how to do something because I could figure it out in no time.

I struggled with speaking up (I still do), but not on someone else’s behalf. I discovered that I would fight to the death for anyone who is the societal underdog or anyone who had been wronged. I have friends who consider me a great source of knowledge because I enjoy researching topics that strike my fancy. As an example, I got my first tower computer at age 21 as a gift from my mother. The first thing I did was take the entire thing apart to see how it worked and then I installed various hardware by myself, with some guidance from the Radio Shack salesperson. I was incredibly proud of having done this on my own. The internet was in its infancy at the time and I just wanted to see what this “information highway” was all about; I desperately wanted to read ALL the information it possessed. They say curiosity is a sign of intelligence.

I see now that the way I was raised set me up for failure. I failed at friendships, relationships, but I had a strong work ethic so at least I could fall back on that. In my relationships, I either overshared or didn’t share enough, or was dishonest in my attempt to hide my not-so-Leave-It-To-Beaver family. I didn’t know who I was or which version of me I should be for people to like or accept me. I truly believed, deep down, that I didn’t deserve love which is the reason I told everyone I never wanted to get married. Why would I do that when I knew my husband would hate me and then just divorce me when he was done with me? Why would I want kids for them to just hate me later in life and spend all my time fighting with people I wanted to be close to? My past showed me that family hates each other, they treat each other like shit, but you’re also supposed to give them everything you have until you’re exhausted. You’re supposed to share every detail of your life with your parents so they can throw it all back in your face later. How do you learn to trust people when that’s the expectation? You don’t. You learn to divulge information you’ve already sterilized, so to speak, or you only divulge information you’re prepared to have spread around the entire town.

I struggled with that last part which is why I started oversharing all my life experiences with complete strangers. It served a few purposes, but the main purpose was that people would hear my story from my own horse’s mouth rather that the lies and bullshit and crap being spread about me in my hometown. I quickly realized it was a way to make friends… as in those who couldn’t handle my oversharing disappeared and those who could keep up with my drinking and enjoyed the humour with which I told my stories stuck around. My stories were always true, but I often added humour or made jokes at my own expense because, well, what else am I supposed to do? It happened; I had to learn to cope somehow. In life, there are funny people and there are those who had a wholesome, loving childhood… which is why I’m fucking hilarious!

My mid-twenties I label “Duty”. I had a duty to:

Have friends
Have my own apartment
Have my own money
Have a good job
Not be a waitress
Not clean toilets for a living
Call my parents every week so they know I love them
Find a mate
Be normal
Ignore all my past hurdles, so to speak
Forget my past
Be a responsible adult
Not be crazy

Those were my areas of focus, which prevented me from living in the moment. I was always focused on the next hour, day, week, and month to anticipate what would come at me. I was a girl guide in my youth and believe in always being prepared! I didn’t even know I had anxiety until my GP diagnosed me with anxiety in my early 40s. NO IDEA. Those butterflies you all get when you’re nervous? Multiply that by at least 1,000 and now image that never goes away because that’s just your state of normal, plus I was running around with undiagnosed ADHD and un-medicated for the better part of my life.

Relationships in my life were usually one-sided. I learned a lot about other people and unless I was drinking people didn’t really get to know me much beyond my likes:

The Tea Party – I’ve seen them in concert nearly 40 times
Beer
Gin
Hard Rock
Metal
Live Music
Weed
Working
Cats
Swimming
Water
Camping
Boys

My list of dislikes was shorter and pretty simple back then: Country music, short men, Big M.

It never occurred to me that relationships don’t have to be tumultuous, painted in hate, or filled with screaming matches and unfelt apologies. If my friends and I argued I always assumed that was it. Friendship over and I would walk away. My friends were the ones who needed to chase me. Same with men. I didn’t know how to be in a relationship, but I did know I did not want to be in one where everyone screamed, yelled, and called each other names daily. If I even got a whiff of that in my relationships, I was out the door in a flash. It also meant I had to sacrifice my opinions, thoughts, and desires and usually deferred to my entourage so I didn’t rock the boat. I’m glad that’s not me anymore. It was a terrifying place to be in – to feel you only have friends because you have to agree on everything and like all the same things.

My challenges in life boil down to two main categories: Being incapable of experiencing emotions (including not being able to name the emotion I’m feeling) and being incapable of interrelationship communication. When you think about it, you can see why I was a sarcastic bitch for most of my 20s. I remember Big M coming to visit when my sister and I lived in the same apartment building in Greek Town. I ran into the corner store to buy cigarettes while Big M and Roxanne waited for me in the car. While they waited, Big M asked Roxanne why I kept calling her ‘an asshole’. Roxanne giggled and said “don’t you remember? That was your nickname for her growing up.” NO was the response. NO! Because of course not. You called me names and treated me like garbage during my formative years which was a normal fucking Tuesday for you.

I’m surprised my friends see anything worthy in me at all. I was fun though so I guess that made up for my failings. My friends quickly discovered that whatever was mine was theirs if they wanted it… a result of growing up without boundaries, at all. I couldn’t even say no to my friends, my version of no was to ignore the question or change the subject. That’s pretty fucked up. I did want to rescue people though. I remember living near a teen shelter and I wanted to bring one home to show them life didn’t have to suck. Except I lived in a one bedroom and I was not a real adult… I was still a kid in a grown up body. I’m glad Mr. GQ never let me adopt a stranger. I was really close to it once, well more. Instead of humans, I started collecting cats.

I feel very fortunate that I’m not dead to be honest. I did not realize that my home life had created an adrenaline junkie either. My heart constantly beat in my ears and my anxiety ran through the veins in my body. When I left home and lived on my own, my body couldn’t deal with the lack of stimulation and constant body buzz. I see now that’s why I participated in dangerous activities. I’m not supposed to take a short cut down a dark alley? Pfffff I’d pull out my keys, keep them at the ready, and would march down a dark alley daring anyone to attack me, try to rape me, or just come at me. Doing that terrified me, which heightened all my senses and felt oh so familiar. That sensation is what I needed to feel daily just to survive otherwise I couldn’t feel anything. I did stupid shit like that all the time. But at least I could identify that feeling… I called it home. My other emotions were anger, sometime excitement. Mostly anger.

It wasn’t until I had children that the flashbacks and triggers started. I didn’t realize I’d packed so much of my life away and compartmentalized all of it. That feeling I described? The adrenaline rush one? That’s how I felt when my daughter turned 3. I couldn’t figure out what was happening, and my slow spiral began. One day it would come back to bite me in the ass.

Read from the beginning:

Prologue : Family

Chapter 1: The Early Years

Chapter 2: Protector: 1979-1981

Chapter 3: Pre-Teen Years 1981-1987

Chapter 4: Teen Years: 1987-1993

Reality Bites - The Truth Reveals Itself

Chapter 5: University: 1993-1998

Chapter 6: Young Adulthood

Healing

The Green Forest

noreply@blogger.com (Margeaux Delacroix) — Thu, 22 Sep 2022 13:04:00 +0000

al·le·go·ry

/ˈaləˌɡôrē/

noun

noun: allegory; plural noun: allegories
a story, poem, or picture that can be interpreted to reveal a hidden meaning, typically a moral or political one.

Today’s post comes as an allegory… my blog is ‘being watched’ so I don’t 'antagonize' anyone. I’ve given this a lot of thought….Welcome to the Green Forest!

Nose in the air Papa Bear can smell him from several kilometres away… “Ma! Ma!” Mama Bear had been enjoying the fermented blueberries “she’s sleeping,” he says to himself when she doesn’t respond. Papa Bear sits in wait for the Badger to approach.

Badger: Hello there!

Papa Bear nods in greeting, he’d just finished some of the mushrooms those caribou were eating before they completely lost their heads!

Badger: Hello there! He says again

Papa Bear: Yup, hi, how can I help you? (Papa’s trying to stay focused and ignore the matrix of lights all around him); the Badger is the law in these parts

Badger: I was called over to Chippie’s tree (the chipmunk Mama Bear was hoping to never see or hear from again).

Papa Bear: Oh?

Badger: Chippie says she had some blueberry bushes that were set on fire. I know Mama Bear has serious MENTAL PROBLEMS. She says Mama Bear destroyed the berries for revenge.

Papa Bear: Oh? Mental PROBLEMS? Interesting. Revenge for what? And why is Mama Bear being blamed?

Badger: Oh I know these problems are really valid, but Chippie says someone told Mama Bear that Chippie infected the blueberries with a strain of blossom blight to destroy all the nearby berry crops.

Papa Bear: I see. Did Chippie tell you what she did to start this feud?

Badger: No, did something happen? Chippie said Mama Bear started all this by marking her territory.

Papa Bear: Well, Chippie became very aggressive just before our long nap. Mama Bear did mark her territory but that’s because Chippie started burrowing holes into our den in several areas. Mama Bear is protective of our winter stores and Chippie was trying to spread her Blossom Mold spores to let Mama Bear know that we are on her hit list. Look, I even have a drawing of her digging holes in my den and then creating a blockade at the exit of our den, just to make Mama Bear’s life difficult. Chippie is trash talking Mama Bear to anyone who listens. She is trying to destroy Mama Bear’s standing in our community. Before any of that even happened, Chippie pretended to be Mama Bear’s friend only to rear her ugly head and start attacking Mama Bear when Mama Bear was in a very bad mental head space.

Badger: OK, but why did she mark the territory?

Papa Bear: To protect our boundary, our food, our cubs, and our home. To let Chippie know she’s not afraid and will push back. Chippie lost her mind and Mama Bear suspected that Chippie would want to avenge our family decision to step back from Chippie and her unacceptable behaviour. Chippie is lucky Mama didn’t just eat her. Our friends, The Beaver Family watched as Chippie rolled around in the dead blueberry bush then rub her fur all over Mama Bear’s blueberry crop.

Badger: I spoke to Chippie and she says Mama Bear is to blame. Mama Bear put up drawings to keep Chippie out. These drawings could be perceived as antagonistic.

Papa Bear: Antagonistic? Did you not see what she did? How are we supposed to protect our property? You think we’ll just let her do what she wants? We want to put up a barrier around our entire den so we never have to see or deal with her ever again.

Badger: Oh, is that your plan?

Papa Bear: Yes, a barrier. I want my privacy. She needs to stay in her tree and out of my den.

Badger: Can we talk to Mama Bear to see if she knows anything about the burning bushes? It’s pretty clear her mental problems are the cause of this unfortunate outcome.

Papa Bear: No, no she’s already asleep and there is no waking her up. Come back and I’m certain she’ll be pleased to clear up any questions.

But the Badger did not return for an entire week; he was busy investigating the crime of the burning bush.

One morning, early, Mama Bear was ill, due to her loss of smell she did not even smell him approaching, she had lost her voice when the Badger came knocking. She dragged herself out of her warm bed and sat outside the den to answer for the crime she was being accused of - burning Chippie’s bush.

Badger: Hello! I’m the law around these parts

Mama Bear: Uh huh. Ok.

Badger : First, I know you have serious mental problems….

Mama Bear is very much holding her claws back at Badger’s very offensive tone and lack of sensitivity. She can tell this is not going to go well. How is this Badger even allowed to talk to people?

Badger continues: But I know you have valid reasons for your problems (while waving his tiny arms around in some petting gesture insinuating that he approves of Mama Bear’s mental illness).

Mama Bear is trying not to rip the Badger’s head off with every spoken word. Does Badger really think Mama Bear needs his approval for her mental health issues? Issues that she has because she was mistreated? Issues that she is working through? Issues that are very painful and should not be treated in such a demeaning way? She bites her tongue and realizes she isn’t paying any attention to the Badger.

Badger: I investigated the crime of the burning bush but there are no witnesses and so we came to say we aren’t pressing charges but we know someone from this household burned the bush.

Mama Bear: Uh Huh. Well good then. No one from this household touched her bush. In fact, we want nothing to do with her. She keeps trying to engage us in pettiness.

Badger: Well, we spoke to Chippie and told her you have a right to your blueberries.

Mama Bear: Uh Huh. So next year, when Chippie starts this bullshit again, rubs her mold all over my crops, what do you expect me to do? I called the Wise Owl and asked for his help first; he told me I needed to collect many salmon before the Eagle would even entertain court to hear my issues with Chippie. It will take me many years to collect that much salmon to pay for the Eagle’s time. Then I spoke to the Raven and the Raven had no idea how to help me prevent Chippie from destroying my property.

Badger: You should call me if you think she’s planning to destroy your property.

Mama Bear: Why would I do that?

Badger: That’s my job. I investigate and look into these issues. I talk to all parties involved.

Mama Bear: Investigate? Like you’re doing right now?

Badger: Well, mold isn’t illegal and Chippie can breed it.

Mama Bear: Yes, but in respectful circles, breeding mold is done indoors so you don’t destroy other people’s property.

Badger: So, what’s up with the drawings you put up on your barrier?

Mama Bear: My drawings? Those are my house rules. I expect all guests to obey my rules.

Badger: Well, Chippie feels the drawings are antagonistic.

Mama Bear: I’m sure she does. They tell her exactly what not to do… like Don’t burrow holes into my den, don’t take pictures of my blueberry bushes, and if you destroy my bushes, I will seek pay back.

The Badger is the protector of the forest. The problem is that the Badger has no idea what he’s protecting or why he’s even protecting it. The Badger doesn’t even eat or like blueberries. The Badger doesn’t understand that Chippie’s actions would not only destroy my blueberry bush, but that the mold she intends to release would destroy all blueberry bushes in a 20 km radius. As soon as the pollen hits the flowers on the blueberry bushes, fruit production stops and only seed is produced. Badger simply doesn’t understand the magnitude of the problem because the Badger Force lacks training. Once the bushes are destroyed, it’s too late.

Badgers should be trained in their field like they do in other Northern Forests. Mama Bear believes that Badgers should be required to study for 4 years in the field of mental “problems” and crime like is expected from the Wise Owl or the Eagle. Then, after 4 years of study, they can do their 2 years of patrol training. Otherwise, the Badger only believes the animal with the biggest tears and the best story.

Mama Bear has a better plan for next year… she’ll plant her blueberries and will be able to avoid Chippie’s mold because Mama Bear isn’t stupid. She also has been collecting salmon, just in case she does need it in the future. Mama Bear now has cameras all around the outside of her den. She even has the video and sound saved of all the conversations with the Badger and Chippie. Next year, when Chippie decides to breed mold, Mama Bear will have it all on video to take to the Wise Owl. Next time Mama Bear contacts the Wise Owl and goes to see the Eagle, Mama Bear will have all the video proof to support her request that Chippie never be allowed to have blueberry bushes ever….

Mama Bear also has all the salmon bones to show she had to pay to deal with Chippie’s barrier, and had to pay to call the Wolf to measure the den property, and even the salmon bones left over from Chippie forcing the Bear Family to remove their fire pit for the den. Mama Bear also has 5 years of notes on Chippie she has been saving just in case. GreatMama Bear didn’t raise a fool.

PS. Sarcasm is a one-liner not several lines of text.

Read from the beginning:

Chapter 6#2 Mr GQ

noreply@blogger.com (Margeaux Delacroix) — Thu, 15 Sep 2022 12:00:00 +0000

I loved living in the Big City! I loved clubbing, going to concerts, drinking and dancing all night. I loved treating men like crap only to find out they seemed to enjoy it… or maybe they thought I was funny. I was super sarcastic and I knew the world was my oyster. I spent as many hours as possible with my best friend Natasha. I had a ‘ditch-able’ boyfriend for every occasion. At one point I had 4 different men I dated for different reasons. Mark was a nice guy and he liked to introduce me to his favourite restaurants, we were never intimate but I saw the potential; I was content with him providing me with weed until I found a better dealer (my office caterer, but that’s a different tale).

I dated my boss for 18 months too, but clearly that was because I was stupid. He was married with children and at that time in my life I didn’t care. I wanted to experience all that life had to offer and I wanted to be ‘bad’. I felt that I’d always followed the rules my entire life. I knew it was a bad choice, bad decision, but the sex was amazing (because it was forbidden 'fruit'). I dated an Antonio Banderas look-a-like solely because of his looks, ignoring the fact he was horrible in bed and nearly 20 years older than I was. When I dumped his ass, he started courting me, but it was already too late. He proposed as a last ditch effort to ‘keep me’. I don’t think he understood that he was just Mr. Wednesday Night. I also dated a few other guys in between.

One Saturday I decided to visit a psychic to see what she had to say about my future. I didn’t put much stock in it, but I thought it would be something fun to do. I spent $50 for a 2-hour reading. I won’t lie, everything she told me hit the nail on the head. I saw the psychic in March 2000 and never thought much of it until later that year and as I got older. I know people make fun of psychics, but all that came true. All of it. Here’s how the reading went:

Psychic: I see 3 men in your life right now. I see you leaving them all and choosing another. A tall man with blue eyes. You will marry him.

Psychic: Ahhhh this is far in the future, but never ever work for a man named Larry. Run in the opposite direction when you meet him.

Psychic: I see you living in the area when you’re older with your spouse, you have two children, a girl and a boy, I’m not sure if they’re twins but if they aren’t they are very close in age.

Psychic: You will never be rich, but you will be comfortable.

Psychic (palm reading): This is your lifeline, this broken line indicates a divorce, and this means you will have significant health problems.

In August, Greek town holds a food festival but due to Covid, it hasn’t run in a few years. Natasha and I loved to eat, drink, smoke weed and sit on patios; we always had the munchies so a food festival was definitely where you would find us. This August in 2000 Natasha invited her brother-in-law to join us and another friend of hers, Damon. Damon and Natasha knew each other from a past sales job and had recently reconnected. Damon had a new girlfriend he wanted Natasha to meet. At the time, I didn’t realize I had anxiety or PTSD and my feelings erupted in anger to cover up my jealousy. I was afraid Natasha would like new girl better, but I tucked my feelings away and focused on Jared, Natasha’s brother-in-law.

Jared seemed nice, we chatted while sitting at the bar waiting for Natasha’s friends to arrive. Damon and his girlfriend Jessica arrived an hour later with another guy. I was interested in the other guy; he was tall, wearing pink sunglasses and deeply tanned which contrasted with his platinum frosted hair tips. He wore a white t-shirt, showing off his armband tattoo, blue jeans, and a wide smile. I suspected he was gay. I say that, and I know it sounds bad, but I needed a reason for him being out of my league. All gay guys are hot and gym rats, I have the wrong parts and I *knew* he wouldn’t be interested in me because everyone I did date broke up with me for being “too excessive”. To be sure, I asked Damon if his friend was metro-sexual or gay and he said he had no idea what his friend’s sexual preference was. That confirmed it. Gay. He’s gay and I had no chance.

Knowing I had no chance, allowed me to relax around the hottie and speak to him. I remember asking him if he was dyslexic because he was wearing pink sunglasses. He looked confused so I rushed on explaining that in my Psychology class in university they discovered that wearing pink lenses helped people with dyslexia read text in the correct order. I felt really stupid after that because he looked kinda confused and chuckled saying no, he just liked them. Gay.

We walked back up to Natasha’s apartment and I decided to go home for a nap. I was super exhausted from partying the night before and there was no reason for me to go over and get to know Damon and Jessica, I felt awkward and out of place; I didn’t know or share their memories. The next day Natasha was disappointed that I had decided to stay home and mentioned that Damon’s friend asked where I was and if I’d be coming over. Ohhh he asked about me? Maybe I do have a chance.

In September, Natasha planned her birthday bash (September 8) at a local Cuban place and invited Damon, Jessica and several other people. I showed up with Mark, my ditch-able date because I intended to take Damon’s friend home with me that night and see just how gay he was. Damon showed up with Jessica and his gay friend, I now referred to him as Mr. GQ, brought some hideous looking date with him. Like, seriously? Didn’t he know we were supposed to hook up? Jesus. I spent an hour trash talking his date in my head, picking apart her appearance and noticing ALL her flaws. Once I'd have enough, I told Natasha that Mark and I were heading out and we’d be back to meet her at the club. I was pissed and needed to show off that I could play that dating game too. At least I knew Mr. GQ wasn’t gay and I needed to step up my game!

Mr. GQ started showing up more and more at the venues Natasha and I danced and drank at and we got to know each other casually. Officially, we had our first date on October 27, 2000. We went to the midnight showing of the re-released Exorcist movie. I really wanted to see Regan do the spider walk on the stairs and after that scene I passed out. Mr. GQ took me home and I happily confirmed there wasn’t a gay bone in his body. In all honesty, he never left after that night. I broke up with my boss the very next day. He was disappointed but understood… score one point for honesty. We unofficially lived together from that point until 2003, when we made it official. Mr. GQ always kept an apartment but never slept there. I fed him, did his laundry, and we merged our circle of friends, so to speak. Natasha even dated Mr. GQ’s best friend for a short time.

Later that year the tech crash began and by April 2001, Natasha and I had been let go from the telecom company because they filed under Chapter 11 protection. The President of the Board hired me to help him start a new philanthropic venture but before doing that, I went on my first vacation ever to celebrate my birthday, I would be 27 later that month. I planned a trip to the Dominican Republic with Mr. GQ, Natasha, and Freddy (Mr. GQ’s best friend who was also dating Natasha). The resort was absolutely stunning and we explored many of what the island had to offer. Unfortunately, for Natasha and Freddy, they broke up the first night of the trip but remained friends. We returned to the Big City and Mr. GQ and I decided it would be an amazing job and opportunity to apply to become vacation representatives. I had finally gotten around to fixing up our resumes and faxing them to all the vacation airlines when I heard over the radio that the Twin Towers had been attacked… bad timing.. nobody was traveling and our dream of living an island life went up in smoke.

Mr. GQ was the tall blue eyed man the psychic had told me about in my reading back in March 2000. I mean, look at him, he's gorgeous.

Read from the beginning:

Prologue : Family

Chapter 1: The Early Years

Chapter 2: Protector: 1979-1981

Chapter 3: Pre-Teen Years 1981-1987

Chapter 4: Teen Years: 1987-1993

Reality Bites - The Truth Reveals Itself

Chapter 5: University: 1993-1998

Chapter 6: Young Adulthood

Healing

Chapter 6 #1 I'm still unimportant

noreply@blogger.com (Margeaux Delacroix) — Thu, 08 Sep 2022 13:00:00 +0000

I had moved all my belongings into a storage unit my sister had arranged for me through one of her customers. I was very lucky to have the space for free. In exchange for a rebate in rent, I donated my nearly new appliances to our landlord. My sister and I slept together in the same room and bed until her ex-boyfriend moved out. He was such a douche. He seemed to refuse to acknowledge they had broken up. I had fun because I had someone to pick on and take my aggression out on… I was very sarcastic and quite the bitch in my 20s. I didn’t realize it, but my bitchy sarcasm was my wall of steel, my fortress – better to chase people away now than get screwed over; those who saw thru the façade had a chance, but not really, nobody got ‘in’ to know me. No one. I liked it like that. My long-standing opinion is that people are not to be trusted; they all just want something from you. Those who were too dumb to run or thought they saw through the façade would eventually face my brutal honesty and oversharing; my way of weeding out the weak. Only those who had past trauma tended to be able to stomach my life and even then, I didn’t make connections with people, when I got close to someone I would sabotage the friendship. This is something I’ve come to realize, thanks to therapy.

Albert, my sister’s ex who was sleeping in my soon-to-be bedroom had no idea who he was dealing with. I remember that he never cleaned and just took up space - typical mouth breather. My sister and I were raised to be clean freaks; except my sister doesn’t have ADHD and her energy is not limitless, so while she studied for exams, the house never got cleaned unless I did it. In this respect, it annoyed me that she could leave the house in a state of disaster all the time… so I cleaned like a woman possessed and I made meals for us. Albert’s pride and joy was his stereo system. I didn’t give a shit about it. I just wanted him to GTFO so I could move my stuff in. I had my cat with me, Coucouche and it was a hard adjustment period for both of us. I kept him kenneled overnight because he was safe in his cage, but my sister’s two male cats sprayed him constantly….. it was that or he’d get the shit kicked out of him and raped nearly nightly. I had to get Albert out of the house.

I love Pledge. At home, Big M insisted we dust with just a damp rag, but once I moved into my own space, I used Pledge on everything! That shit makes everything shiny and I love it… I don’t care if it’s wax. Albert told me Pledge is bad and should never be used on his stereo system. Huh. Well then…. Every Saturday when he was on the sofa, I’d pony-up my hair, grab my Pledge, a rag, and start with dusting the tower speakers. He moved out 2 months later. His mother then started to send us (Roxanne and me) hate mail! She was upset that my sister had broken Albert’s poor heart and that we mistreated him. Seriously? The first thing I did was correct all her grammar and spelling mistakes then posted her 7 page letter back to her. We kept up this up for several months until I got bored … the woman was so clueless, we just stopped responding.

That December, Roxanne and I decided to surprise the ‘Rents with a visit over Christmas. I had left my husband, which I felt was the cause of the friction between my parents and I and figured all would be good now! I had a full time job, I had a part time job as a receptionist, I was getting divorced, and soon I’d have enough money for first and last, would find my own place and move out of my sister’s apartment and achieve true independence. Roxanne and I were so giddy at the prospect of surprising them! I had purchased all the ingredients to make the PERFECT family Christmas dinner. Roxanne had recently purchased her first car so we packed our stuff and headed out after dinner on December 23^rd.

We didn’t get far because we discovered the car didn't have working window washer fluid and the windscreen needed to be cleaned more often than one could stop on the side of the road to throw snow on it to clear the salt which was causing glare from the oncoming traffic headlights. Tail between our legs, we returned home. The next day, Roxanne found a resourceful technician who was able to add a switch in the dashboard bypassing the broken electric switch. Renewed with a new sense of excitement we left the South and headed North for Family Christmas!

What a fuckin' disaster.

We made it to the North in a car that probably never passed safety but was still sold to my sister: it had bald tires, no heat, and a variety of different mechanical problems. We’re lucky to have made it to The North in one piece. It was colder than -45^oC and my sister and I drove up in blankets and heavy wool socks with slippers; scrapping the glass on the inside of the car – we even slid in the ditch a few times during the snow storm. We had no idea we were also driving with different sized tires.

We finally made it to The North and Jackass declared he already knows that the only thing the car needs is a rad flush and that will make the heater work; so down to Canadian Tire he went. In the meantime, I am over the moon with excitement at finally being able to host a family dinner where I cook for just the four of us on December 25^th.

On December 24th, I hear Big M talking to someone on the phone and all of a sudden, we can’t have family dinner on December 25^th because Big M has invited her newly adopted charity case – a family of 9 to dinner. Roxanne and I can have dinner at her friend’s house – Kandace, her #1 employee and we can have a "nice family dinner on December 27th instead" (Big M knew full well we were leaving for Québec on the 27th - she often played these little games assuming we'd pick "home" over our biological mother). Truthfully, Kandace treated us better than Big M ever did and I’m fairly certain she cared more about us too. I left my groceries in the trunk of the car so they’d remain frozen. If we couldn’t have a nice family Christmas dinner here ON CHRISTMAS, I’d have it at my mother’s for New Year’s when Roxanne and I made it there in a few days.

Big M hosted her new family with Jack and we celebrated quietly with Kandace. No apologies were made, Big M had just made new friends and was 100% love-bombing these folks. They were Aboriginal and Big M decided to take them on as a charity case. They took everything she would give them and once the family patriarch passed away they realized how crazy she was and ditched her. Good for them, too bad for me because she gave them all my belongings that were left in the basement and that I actually wanted - namely my first communion dress.

December 27^th my sister and I were ready to visit maman in Northern Québec with our newly ‘inspected’ car. At least we’d have heat four our 4.5 hour trek in another storm in very cold winter weather. Sure enough, 40 minutes into our travels, the heat gave out and we were bundled up in our blankets, coats and scarves once again. We decided to take a B highway to shorten our journey and wound up in the ditch again requiring a tow. We finally made it to Québec: 2 little ice cubes requiring 2 hours for our toes to feel again. Maman took the car to her mechanic for a full inspection. When she picked up the car, $1800-ish dollars in repairs later, she was absolutely livid! The technician informed her we were lucky to be alive. The wheel bearings were loose with several missing, the tires were bald, different size, and a few other things, the rad needed a complete replacement and new brakes were required. After we left, she called Jack and gave him a piece of her mind. He acted like he’d done us a favour by having the rad flushed… for $40. My mother accused him of not caring because an inspection would have cost more. She was 100% right, selfish and cheap Jackass.

After hearing that I was robbed of a nice, quiet, family Christmas dinner, maman insisted that December 31 would be just “us” and exactly the Christmas we never had: peaceful, quiet, cooking, in our pajamas just watching the snow, talking, and not being yelled at. Such a simple Christmas I only got in my 20s. I cooked the entire meal and it was delicious in fact, my mom still talks about it 24 years later. We returned to The South in a safe, warm car, with working windshield wipers too!

My sister and I lived together for nearly 18 months. I moved after finding full time employment in the downtown core working for a telecom company. I was hired as the Gal Friday in June 1998 and a few months later I was promoted to Executive Assistant to the CFO that saw my salary double overnight. No, I had no idea what I was doing, but anytime anyone asked me if I knew how to do “X” I’d say “Yes!” and then look it up or ask someone else. To this day, no one has a clue that’s how I did my job. I was the corporate policies and procedures writer working for the Office Manager before my promotion. I was already an expert in Microsoft Word after having worked my government job for just three months then I took all the trainings offered and became an expert in all the other Microsoft applications. I got tired of the 90-minute commute on the subway and found an adorable one-bedroom apartment just north of Greek Town.

While working at the telecom company I became best friends with a co-worker. In reality she was like the older sister I never had but always wanted. We did everything together; spending nearly every waking moment together; she even moved to an apartment building one block away from me. We were hot, blonde, inseparable and ready to mingle! Natasha and I were glued at the hip, did everything and went everywhere together. We spent nearly every night dancing at the bar/club taking Sundays and Mondays off. I loved her like a sister.

We both loved to cook and she introduced me to Mary-Jane. Together, we ruled the downtown scene attending many concerts, events, and mostly… making the absolute most of our 20s. She was one person I trusted nearly immediately – another trauma survivor, I didn’t have many walls up when we were together. Eventually we also met other friends and jealousy tore our friendship apart.

Neither of us was willing to accept that we could have other friends in our lives and it wouldn’t affect ‘us’ but we were very much “all or nothing” – or maybe that was just me. It just felt like at one point she made me choose and regretfully, I didn’t choose her. I should have apologized but .. I met my stubborn match in her and.. well.. that was the end of that. I like to say I live my life without regret, but I wish I had had therapy back then to recognize the signs that I see now… communication would have solved our problems, but I didn’t possess the skills nor did I know how to communicate effectively; I was raised to believe I was always in the wrong. More importantly, I was absolutely out of touch with my emotions and always had been. Instead of talking to her like a normal person, I accepted that I was wrong. But now I realize we just needed to re-visit our boundaries. She made a friend with someone I absolutely hated and I did the same. Fitting that this posting is coming out today, September 8, Happy Birthday Natasha... you know who you are 💕.

Natasha and I had so many adventures and misadventures together, I feel like I actually grew up in our short years as BFFs. We attended Taste of the Danforth yearly and she even introduced me to Mr. GQ - more on that soon. My fondest memories are of her and I together. I miss her, truly and deeply.

Read from the beginning

Prologue : Family

Chapter 1: The Early Years

Chapter 2: Protector: 1979-1981

Chapter 3: Pre-Teen Years 1981-1987

Chapter 4: Teen Years: 1987-1993

Reality Bites - The Truth Reveals Itself
Chapter 5: University: 1993-1998
Healing Chapter
Chapter 6: Young Adulthood 1998-2006

Neall

noreply@blogger.com (Margeaux Delacroix) — Thu, 01 Sep 2022 11:31:00 +0000

Neall was not a bad person; he just wasn’t the guy for me. While we were married and our marriage was crumbling, I’m not proud of how I acted at times but in fairness, neither was he. Neall had a really good heart, he had empathy and compassion. Neall’s biggest problem was that he wasn’t motivated. Neall suffered a lot of trauma in his own childhood also. In my early 20’s, I didn’t even know I had suffered trauma so I was not able to recognize the signs in him, let alone myself.

Neal grew up in Southern Ontario, he was adopted and had an older adopted sister. His parents provided a nice loving home. His mother was a TV personality in the 1970s with her own yoga TV show while his dad worked in HR at a manufacturing plant. Neall recalled feeling happy until one day his parents divorced. His father had an affair with his assistant and left his current bride, a successful and well-respected Jewish businesswoman for his Catholic assistant. Neall remembers feeling hated and like his new stepmother didn’t want a son. Neall started working at a young age building houses, he learned framing, tiling, caulking, mudding and taught me several of these skills over the course of our short relationship. Neal had been converted from Jewish to Catholic once his father remarried.

Neal was kicked out of his house at age 16 and found a home among skinheads. Neall was a very outgoing person and made friends with several singers of the punk bands I idolized as a kid. Eventually Neall moved on from skinheads after landing an assault charge and made friends with the local biker gang. When his future started to look bleak and his sister moved to Ottawa to attend University, he packed up and did the same. Neall lived in Québec and was bilingual which allowed him to make friends very easily. He was always very popular with the women.

Neall decided to explore the country, eventually left the party scene in Ottawa, and made his way to British Columbia. He was unemployed and on social assistance so he rented a room at the Cecil Hotel. When Neall lived at the Cecil, a popular strip club graced the main floor. Neal remembered cheap food, cheap booze and making plenty of friends. Eventually he befriended an American, Travis and they became best friends. Travis was a Thalidomide baby, born without the lower half of his legs. Travis and Neall watched football together, drank heavily together and discovered cocaine. When Travis moved on to crack, Neall moved back to Ottawa but kept in touch with Travis.

When Neall moved back to Ottawa, he had found a place to stay with his ex-girlfriend’s best friend in Mont Bleu, Québec. Neal and I met just 3 days after he had moved to the area. I enjoyed his company, he was a lot of fun and a breath of honesty. Neall always told it like it was and he didn’t care how you took it. I really respected that; plus he had a great sense of humour. Looking back, he would have made a great best friend or a friend-with-benefits, but desperation on my part, changed all that. Neall and I loved the same music and he introduced me to White Zombie – this band resonated with me on a level that I couldn’t begin to explain. It led to my search for alternative, heavy-metal, heavy bass, creative music. Throughout my relationship with Neall, our breakup and all my life’s ups and downs, White Zombie and Rob Zombie is how I released my rage – dancing, screaming along with the lyrics. The Tea Party saved my life in other ways, by allowing me to connect to calmness I could only achieve while listening and feeling their lyrics; and they were my ‘bedroom’ soundtrack.

Neal and I were instantly drawn to each other, mostly because of the sarcasm; we really enjoyed the banter and really had a lot of fun with it. Neall was really easy going and I could relax quite easily in his company; the copious amounts of alcohol certainly helped. For the first few months of our relationship, all we did was bar hop. We didn’t eat out, he loved my cooking and it never occurred to me to go to a restaurant to eat… I went to drink. After the restaurant/bar, the only acceptable food was street-meat (sausage or hotdog). Neall was my steadfast protector when we were dating; he made me feel safe. When we went out and if men leered at me in a disgusting fashion or grabbed my butt, Neall was in their face before I could even react – he had a very strong sense of… protection, I’ve not experienced that since. He once told me he had been sexually abused as a child so perhaps that is where his strong desire to protect others came from, I could relate because I felt the same.

When Neall and I lived together it was always a party until one day, it struck me that he didn’t seem too motivated to work. His excuse was that he didn’t have any skills and didn’t have any references, and I made our life easy. Let’s face it, I supported us both; but I hadn’t planned on doing so forever, I had thought he would want to contribute and I didn’t understand by he couldn’t just read my mind. Instead, we would argue because I would feel used and taken advantage of. He would work temporary work through an agency for a few weeks then the cycle would repeat. I guess he didn’t take me too seriously.

Over time, he fell deeply in love with me and he thought I had also. On some level, I knew he had, but I had not and then I felt deep shame and humiliation that I made him fall in love with me and could not reciprocate. I feel really guilty that I let him think I felt the same because it was easier for me. However, when we spoke I was clear to remind him, gently of course because I didn’t want to hurt his feelings, of the reason we got married to begin with. He really thought we would be together forever. When he mentioned this, I would then always ask when he’d be getting a job and how he planned to afford a house, in my mind establishing that our relationship would not work as is.

Conflicted is a horrible word and doesn’t adequately describe what happened within me over time. I feel like I put the part of me focused on graduating, the girl with one mission and one goal – B.A. Social Science, on the back burner when I was with Neall. The girl who lived in the future, the one who already had a B.A., an excellent secure job, a mortgage, and was established; was playing house in the present and I often was in love with the fantasy – this way of thinking, backwards, is how I survived my childhood and how I was able to live happily in the present. I can see how Neall would assume, think; feel that I was in love with him. I was in love with the idea of being in love and I was all in with the feeling. I think I was also very safe with Neall and that feeling wasn’t one I had ever experienced before.

About 6 months before graduation, my life and situation hit me full on and I realized I had to plan my break-up. Neall and I were arguing more and more frequently and to me, it felt like the relationship was already over. We drank heavily all the time so speaking to one another sober was not ever an option. When we weren’t too drunk I approached the subject of dividing all our belongings in half and packing to move and not renew the lease to the house. Neall apparently had different plans; he wanted to ask the landlord about renting to own our place. Together. Uh oh. I told him that I didn’t see us together in our future and he got incredibly upset. He convinced me we could make it work so I agreed and planned to show him exactly why we didn’t belong together.

He was stubborn and refused to recognize the warning signs. After our argument in December 1997 and he returned home, I had told him to move out of our bedroom and he did. When I returned from visiting my sister, he knew I was serious and that I felt our marriage was over. He was absolutely not willing to give up or let me go. The begging and crying started, he was very adamant that THIS TIME he would get a full time job. Unfortunately, I’m not big on believing what people say, I don’t trust people, I trust and believe in patterns and actions. Given my 3.5 year history with Neall, I knew it was all bullshit. I was also ill equipped to handle any of these conversations, I was never allowed to speak or disagree as a kid and furthermore, had zero idea how to argue, or fight for myself. All I knew 100% is that Neall would never let me go. Ever. In that moment, I realized I would have to leave without telling him. Escape and start a completely new life, again.

I cannot adequately describe how crushed I was. I absolutely loved everything about my life, except my living situation. I liked my job, I loved the city, I loved the smell of the Town in the morning, the stillness of the market early in the summer… all of it. Leaving Ottawa, to this day, is the biggest heartbreak I have ever experienced and one I’ve never grieved until recently. I left on January 5, 1998 and I really did not look back.

My mother paid for my attorney so I could file for divorce once I moved in with my sister. Neall called a few days later to say he was sorry and that I didn’t HAVE to move 5 hours away, I could have stayed locally and he would have given me the space I clearly needed. He thanked me for the cash I left him, the rent and utilities I had pre-paid and I made sure to tell him he was on his own March 1. Once the divorce papers were final, about 6 months later and Neall was served, he refused to sign them. I was over the moon that I had moved away; I was right, he wouldn’t have let me go.

One year, out of the blue, he called me to say he wanted to get divorced and would I sign the papers? Of course I would! I asked him why he changed his mind and he said he had met a girl and she didn't like that he was still married. I said I would absolutely sign and to send them my way. We signed in March 1999 and the divorce was official April 20, 1999. I had technically been married for 5.5 years. I wished Neall all the happiness. They eventually broke up.

In mid to late 2000 he called to tell me he was actually getting married! He had vowed never to remarry after we divorced because he wasn't able to hold a relationship on account of his ex-wife being on a pedestal. He had met a nurse a few months prior and he decided to take the plunge. I was so happy for him and and he sent me pictures of him and his bride during their honeymoon in Jamaica.

He called me 2 months later to say his marriage was over. When I asked him why, he said no one could ever replace me. She couldn’t make any of his favourite meals, he didn’t like her cooking, she didn't know how to clean or keep a tidy house; she wasn’t smart, and essentially, she wasn’t ME. I can honestly say, I had not expected this. He actually told me I had ruined him for other women permanently, he was still and always would be in love with me. I don’t think I believed him.

At the end of February 2018, I received a phone call via Facebook messenger. I won’t lie, I let it ring a long time as I debated whether to answer or not; I’m glad I answered.

Neall: Hey, are you?

Me: I’m good! I haven’t heard from you in forever! How are you?

Neall: Well, I have a kid, a daughter.

Me: Congratulations!

Neall: Yeah, her mom and I are separated, she won’t let me see my daughter so I moved to Calgary and do sheet metal work.

Me: Interesting, I didn’t see that coming.

Neall: I make really good money, poupée, I have roommates so I send a lot of money for my daughter. She’s in figure skating.

Me: Awwwww you must be so proud.

Neall: I am, but that’s not why I’m calling.

Me: …. Ok… what’s up?

Neall: Well, I uh, I wanted to talk to someone who once cared about me, and I know you did, I hope you still do.

Me: Of course, I care about you! We spent several years living together, no one else really understands that period of my life except you.

Neall: I’m in the hospital. I have a brain tumor. I have brain cancer.

Me: What?

Neall: I was admitted a couple months ago when my whole left side was paralyzed, they told me I’d never walk again. You know me “poupée” (French for doll and his nickname for me) I was walking again. I did the physio and I’m pacing the hall right now.

Me: Well, you are one stubborn SOB! That’s amazing! Good for you! So how is everything, else?

Neall: Well, I lost my apartment and the doctors tell me I have another tumor. I have 2 tumors. I’m scared I’m gonna die. I’m not gonna die. But I needed to tell someone who knows me and cares.

Me: You can call me anytime. My best friend just died of colon cancer at the end of November and another of my friends died of stomach cancer in September just before that. I’m happy to be here for you whenever you need to talk.

In early March 2018, he called me again:

Me: Hey! How are you?

Neall: [in a frustrated voice]: Table, down! Wall.

Me: I take it the tumors have progressed.

Neall: Water!

Me: Aw, I’m so sorry you are going through this. I called you a few times but you didn’t answer.

Neall: mmm grrr.. dooooooo dd dd go!

Me: I do care about you Neall and I’m thinking about you. I’m sorry you’re alone in Calgary.

Neall: Hi! Tape.

Me: I’ll call you on the 26th and wish you happy birthday

Then he hung up.

He died March 23, 2018 age 47, alone in Calgary.

Read from the beginning

Prologue : Family

Chapter 1: The Early Years

Chapter 2: Protector: 1979-1981

Chapter 3: Pre-Teen Years 1981-1987

Chapter 4: Teen Years: 1987-1993

Reality Bites - The Truth Reveals Itself

Chapter 5: University: 1993-1998

Chapter 6: Young Adulthood

Healing

Chapter 5 #6: Where’s the body?

noreply@blogger.com (Margeaux Delacroix) — Thu, 25 Aug 2022 17:01:00 +0000

December 1997 I focused on work and on breaking up with Neall. It was uncomfortable living in the same house, but after a lot of begging, I caved and I said OK we could give it one last attempt. A few weeks later, we took the bus up to The North (12 or 16 hour bus ride if I remember correctly). I had a lot of time on the bus to prepare Neall for the few days would be staying at home:

Don’t smoke in the house; in fact it would be better if you didn’t do it where they can see you
Don’t drink during the day, even if they insist
Keep it to 3 beer in the evening, after dinner
Do not talk about politics
Don’t talk about religion
Don’t tell them my mom has been helping us out financially
Don’t tell them I was on welfare
Don’t tell them I was pregnant
Don’t tell them anything unless they specifically ask
Whatever gift they give you, even if you hate it, pretend it’s the best thing you have EVER received and make it over the top
Don’t disagree with either of them
If they argue, yes, it’s all normal it's how they are
There will be people coming in and leaving all the time, a constant stream
Our house is old and dumpy

He ignored all of that.

On the evening of December 24, after a few drinks too many, we had started to argue and I just could not do this anymore. We went to the bedroom out front near the main door to the building and started screaming at one another. Fortunately, no one could really hear us because the main floor’s five rooms were unoccupied, we had shut the heavy wooden apartment door and my parents were all the way at the other end of the house. However, my sister’s boyfriend did hear us since he was in the bedroom across the hall from us. Eventually he fell asleep, but Neall and I argued until about 4:00 a.m. He left to catch the bus to return to Ottawa at 4:05 a.m., we were definitely over, he understood there was no hope and I just wanted to move on with my life. His promises to get a job and do better didn’t phase me since I’d heard it all before.

I woke up about 3 hours later and went into the kitchen to have breakfast with my sister, her boyfriend, and the parental unit. Breakfast was a cup of black coffee for me, like most days, plus a cigarette, but I didn’t have the energy to go stand in the -45^o C weather. You could cut the tension with a knife and I felt deeply humiliated. My parents asked where Neall was and I told them he left.

They didn’t believe me.

Maeve: Where is he?

Me: I told you, he got back on the bus and went home

Maeve: Where’s the body?

Me: ? What are you talking about?

Maeve: You will never get away with it. You need to bring your father to where you hid the body.

Me: Seriously, there is no body.

Maeve: Trust your father, he knows how to get rid of a body.

Me: I did not kill my husband.

Maeve: Your father knows the bush like the back of his hand.

Me: You’ll see, he’ll call once he’s back in Ottawa.

I walked out of the kitchen and went to sit in my room for peace and quiet with my own thoughts. I was distraught, upset, I couldn’t figure out why I felt this way. This is what I wanted, after all, to break up, get divorced, and start a new life. I knew better than to show that I was upset in front of my father or Maeve, I was met with incredulous laughter “Why are you upset? He was such a loser, Margeaux. You are much better off without him.” Perhaps those were all true statements, but for 3 years he was literally the only human being in my city who gave a shit about me. I still cared about him, I just didn’t love him. Those emotions were confusing because I’d never experienced them before. Sure enough, Neall called at 21:00 and only after Jack said hello did they believe I didn’t murder him.

Christmas dinner was quiet, except for the many happy remarks about “Good riddance Neall is gone”. I didn’t have to be back at work until January 2^nd, so I decided to visit my sister for a few days before returning to Ottawa. We drove from The North to the South on December 27^th. I spent a few days accompanying her to work, a popular watering hole walking distance to her rental house where I cried in my beer for a few hours every night before I was drunk enough to start dancing. Her boyfriend was the kitchen manager at the time.

While I was with my sister, we hatched a plan. I had no idea how to say “no” or really stand my ground so I decided to follow my mother’s example. My sister and I agreed on January 5, 1998 she would drive from The South to Ottawa to help me move out. Neall had called to tell me he was going to be working from 6 a.m. to 6 p.m. on January 5; he had landed a new temporary janitorial contract at Public Works. PERFECT. I could pack up my entire house in a day, I knew I could and today, I know it was ADHD that got me through.

I submitted my notice to my boss on Parliament Hill on January 2, explaining that I was leaving my husband to move to The South, that I sincerely apologized about the short notice, but I had an opportunity and I had to jump on it to make my life easier. She absolutely understood and even offered to provide me with a reference if I needed one in The South. I met up with James and told him what I had decided and we exchanged addresses to keep in touch. I waved good-bye and never saw him again, but we did write to each other for quite a few months.

That weekend, I was an absolute basket case, but Neall didn’t notice and we were sleeping in separate bedrooms anyway. I stayed in the master bedroom watching TV in my office. I had started packing and hiding boxes in the closets and I made a mental list of all the people and companies I would have to call in the morning so I wouldn’t be responsible for any expenses after Monday. I went to bed and barely slept at all. I woke up at 4:00 a.m. and cleaned the house from top to bottom before Neall even left for work around 5:30 a.m. As soon as he was out the door, my real work began.

We had experienced a major ice storm the day before so I knew it would take my sister longer to arrive. She said they were leaving right after closing the bar and I estimated they would arrive around 10:00 a.m. I busied myself packing and to this day, I cannot believe I managed it alone. There were items in the basement I needed to get out and I could only do so through the basement door. When I tried to open the door, the ice was about 4 – 6 inches thick and I was not opening the door anytime soon. My landlord had left some tools in the basement and one tool I found was a heavy duty curb edge. I picked up the edge, went back upstairs, through the back door and put everything I had behind chipping away at the ice. I should have used boiling water. 90 minutes later, I was able to open the door enough to carry out all my larger items I had stored there,

I called all the utility companies and then my landlord. I told her I was giving my 2 months notice so she better come by before 6 p.m. today or Neall will have spent the January rent. He could take 2 months to find a place, a job, and move. I took half our belongings and what was exclusively mine, no more. My sister and her crew of 4 arrived around 11:30 a.m., we packed everything up and we were on the road by 15:00. I cried the entire way home in gut wrenchingly painful sounds. I had never before experienced heartbreak like that EVER. I was so thankful that the boys were all in the moving truck leaving my sister and me in the minivan alone so I could stuff my face with an entire 12 pack of Tim Horton’s donuts. I cried until I didn’t have any tears left then I cried with no tears. My eyes swelled shut and I literally felt like my heart had split itself in half and would never recover. I cried because I loved Ottawa and I didn’t want to leave; I loved my job and I didn’t want to leave; I cried because for once, I actually thought that maybe James and I could have had something positive; I cried because whenever I was just a little bit happy my life always turned to shit. I hated my past and I felt like I could never escape it; I decided that I would bury it and then RUN. All I knew is I would never ever feel like this again. Ever.

We arrived in The South around 20:00 and I knew there was no way I would fall asleep, I was overtired and high on pain. We spent that night in Tim’s (my sister’s boyfriend) basement. I needed to watch a comedy and I remember watching Romy and Michele’s High School Reunion. OMG I still love that movie now and watch it when I need to cheer up. My sister and I laughed so hard and I think we eventually passed out around 4 a.m. I woke up around 7 a.m.; Tim informed me I had a job if I was interested in starting as soon as possible? Hell ya! Just the distraction I needed. I forgot that I had provided my sister a few copies of my résumé just in case some of her customers needed a hard worker. Tim drove me to my new place or work: A real estate office where I’d be working as a part time receptionist.

Read from the beginning

Prologue : Family

Chapter 1: The Early Years

Chapter 2: Protector: 1979-1981

Chapter 3: Pre-Teen Years 1981-1987

Chapter 4: Teen Years: 1987-1993

Reality Bites - The Truth Reveals Itself

Return to Chapter 5: University: 1993-1998

Chapter 5 #5 Bipolar

noreply@blogger.com (Margeaux Delacroix) — Thu, 18 Aug 2022 13:09:00 +0000

After the bathtub incident with the bowl of pills, I somehow found myself with an appointment to see a Psychiatrist. I actually don’t remember the events leading to this; if I told my GP or if Neall told someone at the University Health Network; but here I was nevertheless. I remember sitting in front of an older man with grey hair, a goatee, wire rim glasses, behind this massive desk surrounded by several bookshelves bursting with various publications. The room was very brown, dark mahogany everything and leather sofas and chairs, a gorgeous Persian rug on the floor. The room seemed to absorb sound.

I remember him asking me why I tried to kill myself and I simply said, “Because I need a change of scenery.” He asked me various questions, until I just said, “look I think my problem is that I am Manic Depressive. I’m happy one minute then I’m absolutely in the lowest place, I blow up my credit card shopping for things to feel the adrenaline high, so I really think I need Lithium.” He asked about my childhood and I responded honestly and even volunteered personal opinions on my abusers. He must have agreed with me because I walked out with a prescription for Lithium.

I was convinced that Lithium would lift me up. I have no reason why I actually believed this, but I did. I thought Lithium would make me happy or at least happy enough to get to my Convocation ceremony. I had never experienced actual joy in my life before and I felt that clearly, this is what was wrong and why I was broken. I just wasn’t happy enough. I didn’t know how to appreciate what I had, I felt that I was just blaming everyone else for my misery and that if I wanted to be happy, then only I could make myself happy.

Neall had started working another government contract and when the contract ended; he took the opportunity to apply for training through the E.I. program and decided to study to become an ECE. At the time, I was just ecstatic he would be out of the house and maybe, finally, focused on a career. This training course also included placement in a daycare. After he discovered he enjoyed the setting and working with children, we applied to have his Assault charge pardoned. It had happened when he was 21 back in Hamilton. We went to court; the judge requested a $200 donation to any local charity in exchange for the pardon. We provided the charitable receipt the next day.

Jack and Maeve started calling me more after “the incident” and I recall Maeve saying she was sorry she was “so hard on me and could we start over?” or something to that effect. I agreed because I didn’t know I had the option to disagree and quite frankly, Maeve had told me that mothers and daughters very rarely get along so I assumed this was normal. We made plans for Neall and I to visit at Christmas and I invited them to my Convocation ceremony planned for October 1997, well, when I say “invited” that’s not quite what happened. I told them I was graduating and they invited themselves. Only my biological mother was originally invited. I absolutely did not want Maeve there so I gave Jack Neall’s ticket. I was not buying tickets for people who had not supported me thru University. I felt an obligation to provide Jack a ticket given he was my father. Neall stayed home drinking and chain smoking with Maeve.

In August of 1997 I had started a job on Parliament Hill, at the Parliamentary Research Branch and I loved it! I was working full time with the promise of a permanent full time role within 12 months. With the salary, as a 23-year-old earning $35,000 per year on contract, I was able to quit 2 of my 3 jobs. I kept the job at the Westin hotel because I still liked to meet James for coffee and he worked nearby.

James and I were getting a lot closer and I felt that the friendship was evolving but the timing was all wrong. I really liked James but I didn’t want to cheat on Neall either. I didn’t want to tell James about Neall because it was a source of humiliation for me - I didn’t tell anyone about my family or what led to my getting married; I always let people come up with their own story. I knew I was flirting with disaster and my feelings for James were very strong, I was falling in love with James and didn’t realize it until it was too late. I had never had feelings like this for another person before. He wasn’t my type at all; he was a clean cut Navy man who was really smart and well traveled, and I liked long-haired tattooed bad boys with criminal records, apparently or rock singers.

I also know now that I tended to shy away from people who seemed too “stable”, I knew those people would see I was wrong or somehow damaged and I always ended up hurt after being rejected. James was different. I think he saw me, as in he saw past my walls and I think he liked that I was kind and intelligent with opinions that were not stupid, like my dad thought.

By October, the Lithium I was on had made me gain a lot of weight, maybe 30 pounds and my clothes were ill fitting. When Jack and Maeve arrived, she was excited to see me at 180 lbs and no longer called me fat, but ‘pretty’. I went from a size 9 to a size 16 and I hated myself. Maeve made me feel like I was floating on cloud 9 and took me shopping for an entirely new wardrobe, an apology of sorts. She still wasn’t coming to watch me walk the stage. They returned to The North the next day hating Neall and convinced I was on a path of destruction.

To this day, I’ll never forget what Maeve said to me when I got home after graduation, “See what we did for you?” SEE WHAT WE DID FOR YOU? I was screaming in my head… what’s that? I’m in debt to the tune of $63,000, I cannot go to law school because I can’t afford it, I got married to a loser to afford this degree, and you lied to me. Yes, what did you do for me? You abandoned me and made me strong by forcing me to figure out life on my own in a very short time. Thank you, Cunt.” Instead I looked at her, spun on my heel, went to the kitchen and opened a beer and lit a cigarette. My house, I’ll smoke in it if I want.

While my sperm donor and his Bedwarmer were visiting and glowing and clapping themselves on the back for MY SUCCESS.

Maeve suddenly says, “Oh, you still have everything I gave you. I thought you smashed it.”

Me: Of course I do, why would you think I smashed everything you gave me?

Maeve: Well, Sally told me you smashed and destroyed every single thing I ever gave you.

Me: What? Why would she say that? She’s never even come to visit me she wouldn’t even know.

That’s when it all made sense. When I first moved to Ottawa, I didn’t know anyone. Sally had a friend in Ottawa, Mona. I invited Mona over for dinner and she was floored at my apartment, I remember her comment “definitely not a student apartment”. Mona would have 100% told Sally about all my new furniture, etc. Sally would have absolutely lost her shit in jealousy assuming Maeve and Jack bought this for me and not my mother. Sally always expected Maeve to support her, buy her a brand new Jeep, put a down payment on a house for her, or pay her tuition. She is very entitled and feels the world owes this to her. THIS IS THE LIE THAT CAUSED MY PARENTS TO CUT ME OFF, AND ABANDON ME. They didn’t even apologize, just huffed at their great parenting skills since, you know, I made it. They forgot I did it ON MY OWN. This is when I was finally able to be honest with myself and admit I hate Maeve.

After graduation I was so conflicted, I wanted to be a grown up with a great life, great job, and independence. I had a degree, a job, and a husband but it was all wrong. I did not want to be married; I was too young and I wanted to be with someone who was motivated. I worked hard and ate a lot of shit to get to where I was and when I looked back; Neall was in the exact same place he was in back in 1994 only worse off because now he knew I could support both of us with my new government job. I realized that I could not make him the man I wanted. I couldn’t change him and I didn’t love him. I loved the idea of being an adult with all the things adults are supposed to have. That’s when I realized I was not Bipolar, I just hated my life and needed to move, I was right, I needed a change of scenery. I really wanted to stay in Ottawa for my job and because I was close to my mom, but I also knew that Neall would never leave me alone. He was far too dependent on me because I had turned into his mother.

In November, while Neall was at work, James dropped me off at home and he wanted to come in for coffee. I remember making an excuse that the house was a disaster and I went in, did the flight of the bumblebee and put any signs that I lived there with a man in the bathtub. James came in, we had coffee and cigarettes, and I avoided a potential kiss and said good night. By the end of November, I knew what I had to do. Over coffee with James, I told him everything and that I was planning to leave Neall in the next few months, I just needed a plan. I wanted to be rescued. I made an absolute mess of my life and I knew it. Nevertheless, I made my bed and I lay in it.

Read from the beginning

Prologue : Family

Chapter 1: The Early Years

Chapter 2: Protector: 1979-1981

Chapter 3: Pre-Teen Years 1981-1987

Chapter 4: Teen Years: 1987-1993

Reality Bites - The Truth Reveals Itself

Return to Chapter 5: University: 1993-1998

Chapter 5 #4: My Fantasy World

noreply@blogger.com (Margeaux Delacroix) — Thu, 11 Aug 2022 10:30:00 +0000

In my first year of University, I had befriended an older man in my Political Science class. In my second year, I had a student loan, but not all the classes I wanted to take were offered during the times I was available. I had decided that I was very much interested in International and Treaty Law and would perhaps like a career with the United Nations. I focused on taking classes that would advance this goal which happened to see me taking classes at Carleton University via shuttle bus from Ottawa U. Turns out that my friend, James was in the Navy and taking the same classes I was at Carleton U. We started meeting up for coffee and talking about world politics. We hung out often over my student career. James and I are still friends on Facebook; in fact, he’s the only person I remember from University.

Our apartment directly in front of the University didn’t last very long and Neall and I moved out in June or July just three or so months after we moved in. The landlady began thinking she was our mother and would just walk into our apartment without knocking on a regular basis. We found a large two bedroom on the second floor of a building with only three other apartments in it. The location was quite good. I liked the large window overlooking the park and I could still walk to school. I didn’t realize the $735 all-inclusive apartment was so cheap because we were now in “hooker’s row”. Oddly, it felt like the safest place in the city because there were always people around. I liked the location because it was also quite close to the Ottawa Market. Maman came and helped us paint the place after we moved in because I was in exams and I had been living with a three week migraine. I remember the pain was excruciating.

I also remember that because I hadn’t received my OSAP yet, and after I paid for the first and last months’ rent, I had no money left. Neall was still drinking and not working and I was panicking, I had never not had money. Neall had decided to apply for welfare while he “looked” for a job; I went to the office with him because we were married. I assumed they’d need me there. I remember part of the application was also a home visit, I can’t recall why, but I remember the social worker asking why I wasn’t applying also; I explained that I was waiting for OSAP. I also added that I was working part time; he said it wasn’t a problem that I could receive temporary assistance under the student umbrella of the program. Neall was told if he didn’t get a job by the time OSAP came through he would have to repay the amounts he collected. (This part is important because it wasn’t told to me or I didn’t hear the social worker say this to Neall.)

It was in this apartment, on Cumberland Street about a year after I married Neall that I realized our relationship was over except my degree was not finished and I didn’t know I could get divorced. At that moment, I wished that I had parents who actually cared about me. I wished that I had not needed to get married just to finish University. I thought I had to be married for the entirety of my degree. In fact, I could have divorced him 6 months after we wed. I wish I had known that then because my life would have certainly ended up far differently.

Our relationship slowly started going downhill because of the amount of drinking we were both doing, which inevitably led to a lot of fighting. Our Superintendent called the police once because one argument got very loud and violent. I didn’t know at the time that I was in a flashback, I just thought I was drunk and seeing shit. I was in my uncle’s basement and when Neall came to touch my hair I punched him then kicked him; he got really angry and then tried to grab me by the throat but we were near the front closet so I picked up his hockey skate when I ducked under his arm and threw it at his head. The blade embedded itself in the wall and I assume that’s when the Super called the cops.

The police came and separated us; the cop with me was really kind and he must have known that yes I was hammered but I was also in distress and he just talked to me until I was calm and knew where I was. No charges were laid which was fortunate because Neall already had a criminal record for assault.

Three weeks after moving into this apartment the bank repossessed the building and I thought they’d kick us out. We decided to move again, in November 1995 after we ended up finding a 3 bedroom, 2-bathroom house with backyard in Hull, Québec for $600 per month plus utilities. It was a great little house. I loved it there. I repainted the entire house, we put a patio in the backyard, my landlord came over and helped me plant tomatoes and he would visit me every day. I loved having a clothesline to dry the clothes.

My new Portuguese landlords thought we were the perfect couple! They also liked that I paid the rent for the entire year at once with my OSAP money. After my rent was paid, I filled my chest freezer with food – dairy, meat, anything perishable that could be frozen. I liked living in this house, it was like I had a real family, even though it was just Neall and I living there. I could see a family living here and I desperately wanted to have a family that loved and accepted me. I knew that it was something I would have to do myself.

The area at the time was predominantly Portuguese and they were very friendly, but none spoke much French or English. We all shared our specialities from homemade wine, to spicy crushed chili sauces, to whatever I was cooking that day. My neighbours grew Concord grapes and I made jelly and shared it with her and the local convenience store owner.

Living in Hull allowed me to live my ‘married-life’ fantasy and I decided I was just unhappy with Neall because there was something wrong and broken in me. I decided that I would be better and do better starting by being the perfect wife. I had no idea how to do that and set a schedule with a list of tasks; I started my day at 4:30 am and cleaned the entire house from top to bottom before walking to school across the bridge from Hull to Ottawa – about 4.5 km which took just under an hour. I prepared meals a few times a month and froze them for easy dinners throughout the month. I worked every day at various jobs accommodating my class schedule. I started going to class because in 3^rd year, the classes were actually stimulating and I wanted to learn about the law and have coffee with James.

The convenience store owner had let Neall run a tab for alcohol, which I didn’t know about until he requested payment one day. Buying your booze at the corner store was certainly cheaper than drinking in a bar, but we definitely couldn’t afford $300. That was a lot of money back then.

This wasn’t the future I had imagined for myself and I realized that I had been right all along and I let this fantasy house come between me and my goal. My goal was a degree. I didn’t have it yet, but I would have it soon. Moreover, I knew I didn’t want to be married because this had never been a goal in my life; nor were children. I lost sight of what was important to me and I walked off the paved road and I wandered onto the gravel in heels. I wanted a good job, which could only be achieved with a degree. Then I wanted lots of money so I could travel and be a foster mom when I retired with my millions. Before I could do any of that, I needed to go to law school and be hired by the United Nations. This guy? This loser on the sofa who chain smoked, watched football, and got drunk every single evening was not the date I wanted on my arm at galas or the professional balls I imagined me, as Cinderella attending. I didn’t love Neall anymore. I didn’t hate him, I cared for him and knew I always would but I needed to get the fuck out.

Except, I couldn’t. I felt trapped. Trapped by my parents abandoning me for “having too much money” when the irony of it was:

· I needed to complete a degree they convinced me was required for my adult happiness and amazing career.

· A degree they told me they would pay for in exchange for my working in their business.

· A degree I didn’t want to begin with.

· A degree I would achieve to prove them I wouldn't fail.

· A degree which required a wedding because they “earn too much money” for me to qualify for OSAP as their dependent.

That summer I decided to work only 35 hours a week Monday to Friday and keep my shifts at the Westin on the weekends, quit my job at the pharmacy, and doubled down on classes signing up for two over the summer, one in the afternoon and one in the evening on the same day. I wanted to enjoy my new backyard more during the evening and during the day on weekends. I thought Neall would look for work and after several arguments; he finally did get a contract for a few months as a janitor for Public Works. When that ended, he sat on E.I. until it ran out, we would argue and the cycle would repeat.

One night we went to Le Bop, I was always happy when dancing and drinking. We couldn’t afford concerts now, but at least living in Québec meant expenses were more manageable than in Ontario. I’m not sure what happened, but Neall and I got into a huge argument and I left him there and went home. On my walk home, all my negative feelings from the week, the year, my life it seemed, came gurgling to the surface. I got home, collected all the bottles from the medicine cabinet, and put them all in a bowl. I grabbed some wine, pressed *94 on the phone to reduce the phone rings to 1, poured a bubble bath, stepped-in and started swallowing pills with wine. It was around 1:30 am.

I remember thinking, Maeve will be so pissed to find out I didn’t use a really sharp kitchen knife to slice UP the veins from my wrists to my elbows, like she told me to do if I was “serious and not an attention seeker”. Well, in fairness, I was OK with dying but I also wanted someone to help me. I knew I wasn’t well. I didn’t know what was wrong with me and I researched my symptoms of “I’m happy, I’m sad, I’m happy, I’m really sad and racked up my credit card, I’m floating on Cloud 9, I want to die.”

I felt the odds that I was Manic Depressive were quite high (pardon the pun) but at the present moment, I wanted my life to be over. I was exhausted and decided that if my own parents didn’t love me and could just walk away without a word, would anyone even notice if I died? Would anyone care? Would they show up to my funeral? Would they cry? Would they give a shit then? I decided to test a theory.

I passed out in the tub halfway through my ‘over dose’ of Imodium, Benadryl, and Tylenol and maybe some Cold and Sinus medication. I was too drunk to stay awake and swallow more than maybe 3 handfuls of pills. Fortunately none of what I had taken would actually kill me… or, maybe unfortunately depending on which character you are in this post. I woke up to Neall on the phone with my parents; like what was he doing? Why would he call them? He later said Maeve was cold about the entire thing and told him to just take me to Emerg to “have her stomach pumped; clearly this was a cry for attention” because I hadn’t succeeded and then hung up.

I wasn’t going anywhere except to bed.

Read from the beginning

Prologue : Family

Chapter 1: The Early Years

Chapter 2: Protector: 1979-1981

Chapter 3: Pre-Teen Years 1981-1987

Chapter 4: Teen Years: 1987-1993

Reality Bites - The Truth Reveals Itself

Return to Chapter 5: University: 1993-1998

Chapter 5 #3: Survival

noreply@blogger.com (Margeaux Delacroix) — Thu, 04 Aug 2022 13:39:00 +0000

My first 2 years of University were plagued with bladder infection after bladder infection and the odd kidney infection. I had a great new female doctor who prescribed an inexpensive antibiotic. I’m going to take a guess and say I needed to drink more water and less beer. Neall and I partied HARD every single night we could easily drink a case of 24 beer, or a couple bottles of wine, or a bottle of Wiser’s. My parents were not in contact with me but I did try to keep the lines of communication open because I just assumed they were irritated with life and that it wasn’t really about me.

In early March 1994 the Superintendent of the building gave me a document about my apartment. I wasn’t quite sure what it meant, I thought I had to move. The terminology used in the document wasn’t something I was familiar with and at this point, my parents weren’t exactly speaking to me and I still wasn’t sure why. In any case, I was confused about the terms of the Lease Renewal so instead of accepting I told them I was moving out on April 1^st. I ended up losing my last month’s deposit, but I didn’t really care.

The building manager called my father to tell him I was moving and to tell him I hadn’t given proper notice, etc. My father was also on the lease, of course but as pissed as he was he was powerless to do anything about it. If he wanted to know what was happening in my life, he should have asked. Someone should have probably given me a copy of the lease and told me what the rules were. I had no idea I couldn’t just decide to move and that I had to give a notice period.

In mid-March 1994, I got another really bad kidney infection and the doctor prescribed Macrobid for 10 days. On the 9^th day I thought I had the Chickenpox. I called Jack to ask if I’d had Chickenpox as a kid or the Measles and what they looked like. Based on Jacks’ response that no, I’d never had the Chickenpox but did have the Measles and that Chickenpox looks like acne all over your body I wasn’t too worried. About 30 minutes later I was struggling to breath and my eyes swelled shut, my lips started to swell so Neall and I hailed a cab on the corner and went to the ER. I nearly died of anaphylaxis due to a severe allergic reaction to Macrobid; I was kept in hospital for several hours, released with Benadryl, and warned to advise medical professionals that Nitrofurantoin is not a chemical compound for me.

A few weeks later, I discovered I was pregnant. No one had told me I couldn’t take antibiotics while on birth control. I went back to my doctor because I was still only 19 and not intending to become a parent. My doctor said, “I don’t do that procedure but I’ll refer you to the hospital for a D and C.” Interestingly, when I was a child, my father loved to tell me his abortion story:

Jackass: "Your mother called me in a panic because she was bleeding and the doctor said there might be something wrong. I raced over to the doctor's office just in time to see him unhooking the abortion vacuum from the wall. Your mother wanted to have you aborted."

I'm proud to say that even as a nine year old, I didn't think he was telling the truth, but I had no idea that he was this much of a liar back then.

Neall and I had found a larger apartment with more light in a private building close to the University. Neall was not working yet, he was doing occasional contract work here and there, and I supported us both working. I didn’t mind because in my mind, that meant everything was mine and if we broke up, he had to leave.

We found an apartment directly across the street from the University; it was large, on the main floor of a townhouse, nice Juliet balcony, dishwasher, bedroom with a little storage area, and free cable! It was more expensive than I had wanted to pay and heating was not included, hydro was separate. The apartment was around $900/month and the landlady seemed really nice. We moved in on April 1^st.

April 1994 marked the end of my first year in University. I finished all my classes with no less than a B average. Not bad for someone who didn’t attend class very often. I can tell you that Big M was sure I’d flunk out of first year and having not done so made her less than happy. My sister Roxanne would be headed to Germany in the summer to start her student exchange program. I was really excited for her to get away from home for a year. The first week of April is also when I had my first and only abortion. I learned my lesson after that.

I received my tuition statement in the mail and sent it to Jack in the mail for payment. Upon receiving the invoice, Jack told me that he had been saving money for my education and that I needed to contact an organization called CST to have my tuition paid or I would have to “just get a grant through the Métis association.” What? Even I knew you have to apply for these well in advance and they don’t just hand money over to anyone with a claim of being Aboriginal, you need proof, status cards, etc.

I contacted CST and discovered that I had less than $2,000 in the account and that this would definitely not pay my year’s tuition – it would cover the cost of my books though. I explained to Jack that the amount wasn’t enough and he simply said nothing. I knew then I was on my own. This was a breach of our agreement on HIS part and not on my part.I remained silent, powerless because I didn't even control my own money and to this day, don't know if there was a balance remaining in my joint account.

I was pretty screwed because he could have told me sooner that he was only paying my first year University. I was fuming; not only did I really NOT want to attend University, I wanted to attend college, but the requirements were I HAD to attend University if I wanted to have my education payed. Instead, I saw this as the challenge I’m sure it was meant to be. Big M was certain I would fail and I assumed they had only ever intended to pay for one year.

I decided to apply for OSAP. I was denied OSAP because, when you’re a student, you are considered a dependent and not an adult therefore; my parents earned way too much money. I then applied for the equivalent in Québec, but was denied because I had never lived in Québec. The message both organizations told me was I had to live independently from my parents for one year before I would be considered an independent adult.

While I came up with a plan, I decided to defer my tuition, I also decided to reduce my course load to 3-4 courses only per semester but that I would go year round instead of taking the summer off. I still needed to pay my tuition, eventually but for the moment, I was able to cover all my costs with my now 3 part time jobs. One of my jobs gave me as many hours as I wanted to work and I would often work 35 hours a week during the day, then work part time in the evenings. I was making $12.50/hour at the surveys place (35 hours a week) and the other 2 paid me $8.50/hour but at the Westin hotel, I got to meet celebrities – Kiefer Sutherland chain smokes Camel cigarettes; Martin Brodeur gave me hockey tickets; I got my mother Roger Moore’s autograph. It was my favourite job and I met a lot of famous people.

In August, a friend of a friend was marrying a friend because she needed to separate herself from her family. This piqued my interest and I asked my friend why she needed to get married. Her response was that it was the fastest way to become an adult. I was definitely more curious; and asked don’t you have to go to court to emancipate yourself? Her response was that her friend was studying law (Québec has Napoleonic Code) and that her parents wanted too much control over her life (this was sounding more and more familiar) so by getting married, that emancipated herself without a waiting period. I turned to Neall and said, “wanna get married?”

I ran in to Trevor and his girlfriend that summer too and we all hung out for several weeks. Neall and I got Spot a friend, Bear to keep him company. Neall had also reconnected with his very old friend my elementary, Bobbie so we had a nice circle of friends. Trevor was my best man at my civil wedding ceremony on October 6, 1994; Neall’s maid of honor was his best friend Lawrence. My mother was aware of my plan to wed for OSAP and had purchased my dress but had refused to attend the wedding fearing my father’s wrath and perhaps she would lose contact with Roxanne until she turned 18. For our ‘honeymoon night’ we rented the Jacuzzi suite at the local Howard Johnson hotel in downtown Ottawa. I reapplied for OSAP and qualified without further issue.

My sister was in Germany and we used to talk all the time, my phone bill was ridiculously high and I worked more hours to cover the cost but I missed my sister dearly. We were literally separated by an entire ocean. Neall still didn’t have a regular job but at the time, I didn’t care I just focused on me, he was a means to an end. When I married him I was maybe in love, but I think I was infatuated with the idea of being my own person. I wanted to sever the ties to my family permanently and getting married accomplished that because I also immediately changed my name. Neall was in love with me and I knew he was but I also thought maybe he would come to his senses and realize you cannot fall in love with someone forever after just a few months together. I figured at some point he would realize it too; I used him for my degree but I didn’t hate him yet.

I thought Neall and I were on the same page… the marriage was just a means to an end; it didn’t change anything between us except we had wedding bands. It was the same as dating in my mind, only more complicated because if we broke up it would involve a divorce. A divorce I knew I’d be asking for in 4 years anyway. I must have sold the fantasy too well because over time Neall fell more and more in love with me and I remained committed to leaving him when I had my piece of paper in hand. I couldn’t focus on anything other than surviving. Surviving now doing the work to get educated so I could live my life later. Surviving so I would never feel like this ever again – like I was in free-fall after my parents pushed me off a cliff. That’s what it felt like the entire time I was in University – truly alone and only myself to rely on… Even Neall didn’t seem too motivated to get off the couch. I absolutely enabled him by supplying all his alcohol so no, he didn’t want to work. I also saw him as a student-peer for some reason and not a man 5 years older than I was who should have had a job.

Read from the beginning

Prologue : Family

Chapter 1: The Early Years

Chapter 2: Protector: 1979-1981

Chapter 3: Pre-Teen Years 1981-1987

Chapter 4: Teen Years: 1987-1993

Reality Bites - The Truth Reveals Itself

Return to Chapter 5: University: 1993-1998

Chapter 5 #2: My People

noreply@blogger.com (Margeaux Delacroix) — Thu, 28 Jul 2022 21:26:00 +0000

My first concert ever was Kim Mitchell in 1986 or maybe 1987; their hit at the time was Patio Lanterns. I remember the experience clearly, because I had recently tie-dyed my Levis jean jacket and after the concert, I asked the band to sign the back with a black magic marker. I was super proud that I had gotten all band members’ signatures too! I had planned to check out the signatures at home and ran over to dad's truck excited to spread my jacket out on my bed. I was running high on adrenaline when I got home and told Big M about the autographs and then spun around so she could see them.

Big M: What the hell were you doing at that concert?

Me: ….

Big M: Jack, look! One of the signed it with “Nice Ass”

Me: [ummm what?] …..…

Big M: ANSWER ME!

Me: I didn’t know what they wrote because I haven’t seen it yet…..

Big M: Yeah, uh huh, sure

Me: Well, they were a lot taller than I was so they asked me to bend over to sign my jacket.

Big M: Go to your room.

….and promptly laid my jacket on my bed… then nearly died in a fit of giggles.

The bass guitarist was the one who asked me to bend over so he could sign it first, I remember him asking if he could just sign anywhere and I said “Of course!” He placed a giant arrow from the middle of my shoulder blades down to about the top of my waist, then wrote “Nice Ass, Michelle” and signed his name. I was in 7^th grade, so about 13. I was addicted to live music from then on, but not one single rock band ever returned to The North while I resided there.

My second ever concert was Moist at a little bar called Zaphod Beeblebrox in Ottawa in August of 1993. Their big hit back then was Push but this concert was just before they actually made it big – they were kinda nobody but had a catchy sound. Turns out, I would hang out at Zaphod’s probably more than at Le Bop in Hull, Québec. Every Tuesday night they had live music for a $2 cover and served cheap pints of lime and lager. I was a regular here from Sundays to Wednesdays unless there was a band I really wanted to see. I liked Mondays here because at 18:00, they had a Bingo game but your prize was beating shit up with a bat… like a broken TV.

Seeing Moist is not actually why I remember this particular evening in August 1993; I remember it for several reasons. First, I remember being incredibly thankful for always wearing my 8-holes to bars, this evening, the floor in the “pit” was flooded with at least 3” of beer. Second, I remember the point I blacked out drunk, but before that happened; and thirdly, I remember deciding it would be a GREAT idea to see what pepper spray felt like and sprayed the entire left side of my face. If you were ever curious, it turns your face into one giant leather blister; worse for me is that it caused shingles to break out and it stuck around for a really long time. This was also my first 18+ concert and it was everything I had imagined and sooooooo much more! My senses were overloaded, I felt super high – an adrenaline high – I was getting hit-on left and right and centre and my endorphins were definitely on overdrive.

This was my introduction to Frosh Week: drinking, concerts, working, boys, more drinking and blackouts for an entire week. At least I always woke up at home in my own bed. Yvon and I got together regularly and became best friends. In October of 1993, I received a call from Jack saying they were coming to visit for Thanksgiving. I was really looking forward to seeing them because I figured we were all adults now; soon I would turn 20. I remember when they showed up, the vibe I could feel coming off them was all wrong and I had all sorts of red flags screaming at me that this, none of this was right; I assumed they’d been fighting the whole drive down. At that moment, I was happy that I hadn’t cancelled any shifts and my feelings of guilt vanished when I saw that nothing had changed. They were here to yell at me.

Interestingly, they didn’t yell at me; what they did do was take a mental inventory of everything in my apartment. I knew they would search every nook and cranny before they left so anything I deemed “punishable” was being stored at the Superintendent’s apartment across the hall. I think he thought I was hot because he was much older and said yes, to whatever I asked. While my parents visited, he held on to my carton of cigarettes and that was pretty much it. My parents weren’t even planning on staying for actual Thanksgiving dinner, in fact; I came home from school or work and they’d already left. I was over the moon until I went to my bedroom to change and noticed they had stolen nearly 25% of my clothes.

The next day, after Jack and Big M got home, Roxanne called me to ask why I sent my clothes home to her. I explained that I had not; the clothes had been removed from my closet without my knowledge while I was out. I didn’t even really ask myself any questions because this was normal behaviour for them.

Every week I performed duty, what I called ‘calling home to talk to the parental unit’ and pretend to be interested in their daily lives; they really only liked to talk about themselves, their friends, and people I had never even met. I noticed that something felt off because they were not engaging with me, they dismissed me, both of them, within 5 minutes.

One day when I called and Jack wasn’t home; Big M told me I quite obviously had too much money based on the amount of magazines, CDs, etc. I owned. Then she hung up. I didn’t connect the dots at the time that what she meant was that I was on my own now. I had tried to explain that, had she bothered to look at the dates on the magazines, she would have noticed that each one of them had been purchased by her and gifted to me via monthly subscriptions. I’m not a big magazine person and I used them as décor in my apartment, to be honest.

The relationship between my parental unit and I disappeared, seemingly overnight. I continued about my student life, working, partying, and doing my school work. I would occasionally receive a call asking about my grades, usually I didn’t know until I received them in the mail; I didn’t live on campus and was not aware grades were posted on Classroom doors (it would have helped if I attended class). Regardless, those calls were sparse, rare, and usually served to “put me in my place”. I just accepted the behaviour, as … who they are. I didn’t realize Big M had a far more cunning plan for me.

In January 1994 over the winter break, I was going to Le Bop more often because the drinks were cheaper and I liked the music much better. On one particular evening, I happened to notice a really hyperactive guy that I’d never seen here before. He was new but he seemed to know all the staff. I inquired about who he was and discovered he used to be a regular before moving to Vancouver; but he was back in Ottawa now. Ethan, the bouncer introduced us by adding, “You’re perfect for each other.” I soon discovered what he meant.

Up until this point in my life, not one single person had been able to keep up with me. Not one person… not even a very famous asshole Flyers’ hockey player. I could drink anyone under the table and my drink of choice was the boilermaker (with a shot of bourbon). In fact, I remember Mr. Flyers’ reaction when I turned him down… apparently he wasn’t used to that and then I got him banned from the bar – Ethan and I were friends and he always looked out for this stupid little girl who always got black-out drunk. Always – he never let anything happen to me; except one time when I got in a bar fight and broke a couple ribs blocking a chair. It’s not an interesting story - some guy hit-on me and would not leave me alone; his girlfriend decided I was the problem; I .. um… strongly objected, objects were thrown, the more you laugh at someone the more pissed they get… so I ended up with broken ribs.

Back to Mr. Vancouver, he definitely piqued my interest because he matched me drink for drink and smoked the same brand of cigarettes I did; plus he hated his parents and got kicked out at a young age. BINGO! I found a winner! He came home with me that night and never left. He had moved back to Ontario from BC with nothing and I was looking to start a new life, a new family complete with (and in this order): a degree, good job, a fantastic man who wants to protect me and take care of me, travel, maybe children [read sex with a regular human without getting an STD to start].

In March of 1994, my sister was in Ottawa with the Rotary Club and I went to visit her with my new boyfriend Neall. She called him a coke-head and we all laughed… I thought she was rude to laugh at him for having a very obvious Jewish nose. But no, Neall admitted to me much later that he left Vancouver to escape his cocaine addiction. How am I this gullible? Neall charmed Roxanne, Monique, and even Trevor when they met.

In April 1994, Treble Charger opened for Moist at Zaphod’s and Neall and I went together. I remember the staff being shocked to see that not only did we know each other but that we were dating AND living together. I absolutely fell in love with Treble Charger’s live set. Neall got stupid drunk and ended up leaving the show early and I stayed behind; bought the bands’ CDs and got them all signed at the end of the show. I remember the massive disappointment I felt when I later listened to Treble Charger’s CD I absolutely hated it and traded the autographed CD in for a Tea Party CD titled Splendor Solis, and 29 years later, is still my favourite CD/Album ever created in the history of music.

After the Treble Charger concert, I realized that this crowd, the people I danced next to, drank next to, didn't speak to, but still had this unspoken bond with over a fantastic musical experience, were, MY PEOPLE.

Read from the beginning

Prologue : Family

Chapter 1: The Early Years

Chapter 2: Protector: 1979-1981

Chapter 3: Pre-Teen Years 1981-1987

Chapter 4: Teen Years: 1987-1993

Reality Bites - The Truth Reveals Itself

Return to Chapter 5: University: 1993-1998

Chapter 5 #1: A new beginning

noreply@blogger.com (Margeaux Delacroix) — Thu, 21 Jul 2022 16:22:00 +0000

It’s Monday morning and I’m watching the sun filter through the vertical blinds leading to my balcony as I gently come awake. My new apartment is very quiet, so much so that it’s nearly 10:00 am and I’m supposed to be job hunting. All of a sudden, the butterflies of excitement in my stomach turn to a more familiar feeling, a driving force of anxiety. I get out of bed and rearrange my futon so it rests in the sofa position. I remember maman checking about 8 times if a futon was really all I wanted for a bed; she was very confused as to why I wanted to sleep on the floor…because if Big M and Jack ever came to visit they certainly wouldn’t be taking over my bedroom and making me sleep on the sofa bed. I feed Spot, clean his litter, make coffee and hop in the shower while listening to Core by Stone Temple Pilots on my brand new Sony 3-disc CD Changer/Radio Stereo.

My favourite uncle, Sebastien, had purchased it for me as a graduation gift while I was in Québec with maman. I remember when Roxanne and I were about 9 and 11; we attended my grandparent’s 50^th wedding anniversary party in a Northern Québec village. Roxanne and I had a blast! That’s when maman and all the other adults discovered that the kids drank all the punch. In fairness, there was nothing indicating we weren’t supposed to drink it. Roxanne was sick of course, but after having a nap, she was fully recovered. That evening, at the party I had asked Sebastien if he would agree to be my Godfather as a formality so I could erase Bruno from my mind. He agreed without a second thought. Playing CDs on my little stereo always reminded me of Sebastien and maman, which inevitably always brought a smile to my face.

After having showered, I styled my platinum blonde hair, put my makeup on, and got dressed, picked up my envelope full of résumés and hit the pavement in search of a couple jobs. I was hoping for one to begin with and see if I could manage my course load enough to add another 2 or so part time jobs. I quickly realized the silence in my apartment was deafening and while I enjoyed my freedom, I had no idea how to relax or sit still or just enjoy the silence. I was so used to my enjoyment coming to a crashing end rather quickly that for many years I partied as I lived my life: Pedal to the Metal.

I popped my Panasonic Discman in my purse, right next to my 5” blade and walked down the main street in Ottawa to the mall. I had the knife because it made me feel safe in an unfamiliar town; I always had a “stabber” as my dad called it as a kid. I don’t remember playing with my “stabber knife” much in my teens, but in these unfamiliar surroundings, feeling my stabber in my purse made me feel calm, at ease, and in control. The main street had some cool shops and I stumbled upon a store that sold leather motorcycle jackets and Doc Marten shoes; I made a mental note of the store and then went to find a job at the mall.

Finding a job was incredibly easy. I walked into the Pharmacy at the mall, went to the back to speak to the store manager and less than an hour later I had a part time job! I would be a cashier and required to wear a uniform to work along with being required to take several training classes in different areas of the city. I was really excited to start training and start working to get money. My money. I would not need a co-signer. My training would begin the next day. I went to a local nearby bank, looked for the one with the shortest line-up; and opened a bank account with some cash I already had. I then made my way to the shop I saw earlier and bought a leather jacket and a pair of black 8-hole Doc Martens; at check-out I bought several hand rolled Indian cigarettes to feel ‘cool’.

Once I returned to my apartment, I put my new purchases away and was about to make an early dinner when the phone rang.

Me: Allô

Maeve: Where have you been?

Me: Pardon?

Maeve: Why do you have an answering machine? You don’t need an answering machine. You should be home to answer the phone.

Me: I….I… didn’t know I had an answering machine (I did not, truly and I was pretty close to having a panic attack).

Maeve: What do you mean “you DIDN’T know”? Get rid of it. I expect you to be home and answer my calls.

Me: Well, I got a job so I won’t be home all the time.

Maeve: Oh, well, I want to know what your work hours are.

Me: OK

After getting off the phone with her, I contacted my telecom company to inquire about the answering machine. Apparently, I did in fact have one included with my telephone line and no, it was not possible to disable it back in the early 1990s. Maeve will be very displeased, I whisper to Spot as I do a happy dance around my apartment. Awesome! The operator even told me I could dial *69 to find out the last number that called. Even better. I could check that religiously to see if I missed any of Maeve’s calls.

The next 2 weeks were spent exploring downtown Ottawa including ALL the bars it had to offer and working. I was in heaven having nobody in my face constantly yelling or telling me what to do… and I definitely didn’t miss hearing the astronaut boots walking above my bedroom. I ran into my old high school friend, Yvon – returning to repeat his first year of Engineering. We hung out all the time, but he lived further away from me so once school was in full swing we saw each other less. He did introduce me to hash though. I swear to Thor, I thought I was going to die the first time we tried roaches on the end of a cigarette in my apartment. I still remembered, very vividly, that drug users always die. I survived and I didn’t hate the feeling, but I didn’t enjoy feeling that sluggish. We hid the hash on top of my Ikea hanging lantern for safekeeping and went to the bar. When we returned to the apartment later that night, we discovered that the cat LOVED hash too and had managed to jump on the lantern, hanging from the ceiling, and open the foil packet containing the hash. By the looks of Spot, hash didn’t make him sluggish at all; he was running circles around the apartment. Yvon crashed on the sofa bed and I passed out on my futon.

Eventually I discovered that the bars in Ontario were *only* open until 3:00 am but just across the bridge, in a small town called Hull, the bars were open until 4:00 am (Thank you Québec!). My new routine was work>home to change>walk to Québec>party until 4:00 am>walk home>repeat. In 2 weeks I was a regular at Le Bop and befriended the DJ who played my top 5 favourite songs every night without my even having to ask, I would just wave my hand hello then flash “5” at him and he would nod.

I had selected my courses while still at home and I quickly learned an 8:00 am class was definitely not going to work out for me if I got home at 5:00 am. I needed to change that and I did. None of my classes started before 10:00 am once I had a routine. I walked to University every day the first month and soon realized that professors just read back to you all the stuff you were supposed to read; then a conversation ensues. Boring. I read the syllabus and saw attendance, for most of my classes was only 5% of the final grade; and the essay is what carried the most weight. Instead of attending class my first semester, I focused on completing all my essays which I did before end of October, and handed in all my assignments. Sure, I’d lose 5% but now I could work more; and work more is what I did. I picked up a second part time job at the Westin Hotel’s gift shop.

I was living my best single life out dancing and drinking every night, getting black out drunk, waking up to a stranger in my bed the next morning. I didn’t understand why none of the boys wanted to see me again. I thought this was dating. How do you date? Aren’t you supposed to make sure you’re compatible? Wouldn’t you need to know if the sex is good enough to bother wanting to see this person again? Except that I just wanted someone to regularly have sex with, I didn’t want to have to share deep private secrets because I knew I would be mocked, ridiculed, and told all parents hate their kids, and that I should just forget it. I was in a new city and I really did want to cut all ties and start fresh. How was I supposed to start my ‘new’ life and be happy if I couldn’t even keep a guy interested in me for more than one night? I didn’t understand the concept of a one night stand.

I’m not sure what the financial agreement was that I had with my parents, it was never spelled out, but I knew I didn’t want to have to call home all the time for cash. Jack had paid my first year’s tuition and books; post-dated cheques paid my rent from money I had earned. Jack didn’t really intend to provide much more for me financially, because whenever I needed something, like a winter coat, I had to beg for money. I figured out I would have to cover my own expenses and I did so with my part time jobs. Life was going really well for me and I felt calmer, almost free; I would only really start to shake and tremble if the phone rang so I made sure never to be home. I feel sorry for Spot because he ended up being alone all the time.

I needed to figure out how to be a responsible adult who didn’t need anything from anyone and who could be her own island. That was my goal. I set myself up to fail over and over again.

Read from the beginning

Prologue : Family

Chapter 1: The Early Years

Chapter 2: Protector: 1979-1981

Chapter 3: Pre-Teen Years 1981-1987

Chapter 4: Teen Years: 1987-1993

Reality Bites - The Truth Reveals Itself

Return to Chapter 5: University: 1993-1998