Hi, there. Thanks for visiting. I'm starting this blog as an advocate for mental and physical health. I'm a freelance writer and also own a home based medical transcription business. I was diagnosed in 1978 with paranoid schizophrenia and started to become acutely ill three years prior to that, unmedicated, frightened, confused, and in trouble with the law. I graduated from university with distinction the year I became ill. I've never regretted learning how to think at university. I struggled with my illness for 35 years and have reached the top of the mountain now, I think, or the other side, where the grass is greener and the path easier. There's hope for all of us, the whole human race, and never think there isn't hope or joy no matter your circumstances. I'd love to hear your thoughts and experiences with mental illness in all its forms: depression, brain injury, autism, schizophrenia, bipolar, anxiety disorders, etc. and your positive experiences as well as those lies and half truths society and even therapists would have us believe about ourselves.

We are different folks, and we are beautiful. The whole human race is beautiful. Let's celebrate life.

Tuesday, April 12, 2011

A Paper Rose

A paper rose is no substitute for a real rose. And I'm not living on Fantasy Island anymore. I will live for the moment finally.

If that doesn't happen then something just as exciting will happen to me because I'm a woman of action. As the CNIB will tell you, they with whom I no longer volunteer. I see my elderly blind friend about once a month now, and continue to help her write her memoirs. She's a delight and a strong and intelligent woman. I'm glad I volunteered with the Canadian National Institute for the Blind for the three or four years I did as I met this delightful friend.

There are some people who would judge me without hearing or knowing the real story. There are people who put other people in boxes and don't allow them to be free. There are people who put themselves in boxes and aren't free. That's the story of most of my life, what I've fought against for the past 40 years, people who would put me in a box and not let me be free. I couldn't see beyond the box myself. A female friend of one of my brothers put me in a box and harangued me for my delusional illness last fall. She was a clinical psychologist before she went on disability insurance. Enough said.

There are paper roses in the world with no scent, paper roses that crumble and fail in the rain. Sodden pieces of scrap.

I want a real rose. And I will have one. A strong and handsome deep velvet burgundy rose who loves the Celts and Robbie Burns -- "my luve is like a red red rose..."

And June is coming for the first summer of my life for a long long time. Autumn may well be the season of discovery.

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