The Unwanted Visitor

I can't make any promises about not writing about this again a few times before June. It's my 10 year out of the cult into the real world anniversary coming up. I feel really good these days. My friends say I look great again, not the way I used to, all skinny and sick. I can honestly say I'm happy.

I feel like Margaux 2.0, just ten years older and a bit more weathered. That doesn't mean however that I won't have relapses. I've been through a lot of change this past year. I feel it's helping me grow, but people worry about me when I feel down. My therapist says that once you've been through a major depression it's prone to re-visit.

Sometimes something triggers it, sometimes it's just being tired, sad or frustrated. Sometimes it's because I really miss someone I've lost. I've learned coping skills on how to move ahead when that happens, but that doesn't mean it will stop it from happening once in awhile.

The reason I speak out about it is I feel I'm helping people by breaking the stigma. We could tuck it away in the closet and pretend we're fine all the time but I think that's what makes people crazy. Now my go-to is: Let it out. Cry. Spend a whole day wallowing if you need to. Take a nap. Watch something fun on Netflix. Then wipe your eyes and get up tomorrow knowing it's a new day with no mistakes in it yet. Depression Lies. Tell your unwanted visitor his time is up and he has to leave now.

I've always been a tiny (huge) bit dramatic and that's what us writers and artists are, aren't we? I don't think I'm that dramatic anymore because I feel safe and secure, but I still have those days when I need to focus on self-care. We were going out the other night to watch the Raptors play. On the way there Jay was like "Who's my crazy girl? You are. But you're MY crazy girl". He's right. I can be crazy. I'll go out for a walk and come home with a puppy or a kitten or someone who needs to crash on our couch indefinitely.

At the end of the day, it's refreshing to have someone who loves me not because were in the same cult or they're trying to control what I do, but because they think I deserve to be loved. Who sits with me when I cry sometimes. Who holds my hand through anything and everything and always says "we got this". Who helps me lock the door when my unwanted visitor comes calling. Who shows me I'm so much more than just someone who was raised in a cult, abandoned by most family and friends, who deals with depression every now and then.

This is real love and I know it doesn't happen every day. Whatever you're going through, there are people are out there who will love you regardless. Find your people. You have the power, you just have to believe in that for yourself. The sun is shining again and ps. get a dog :)

If you can't love yourself how the hell are you ever going to love someone else? Can I get an Amen? *RuPaul

Sullivan out.

Blackbird

I had a lovely afternoon. It's not even May and my friend and I took the afternoon to eat oysters and mussels on a patio. It got really cold and they offered us blankets, which we were grateful for.

This person has had a different experience than me. I don't judge. We all have our own path. Whatever. He told me that maybe I should stop speaking out. Maybe that would change the outcome I've come to accept with my JW family. He's never been shunned, he doesn't even understand what it's like. How awful it is.

I appreciate that he will still risk being seen in public with me. I'm pretty famous for being completely dangerous in the JW community. He said you could still change that. I can't. The damage has been done.

I made a choice and I stand by it. I wouldn't go back and change anything. Even if it meant I got to have that completely fake superficial relationship with my mom and sister. I told him CBC wanted to interview me. I didn't end up doing it. He was like, good for you. For every ex-JW who thinks that, there are two that think I failed them.

If someone else would like to take my place as an apostate who talks openly about the cruelty and hatred of this organization that promotes love, be my guest. I will step down. It's exhausting to be honest and there's no reward in it for me.

The only reason I started writing again is because I'm happy now. I didn't write for a long time. And y'all were like, where did you go? I didn't go anywhere. I never left your side. I just took some time to take care of me. I needed to at the time.

I guess there is a second reason. Jay got me a writing desk as a subtle hint that I was denying my true self by just shutting up. I took off my blackbird necklace ages ago. The one my girlfriend got me for Christmas that time. But then my little brother bought me one that was a feather. He was like, you know, because of your whole bird thing. That's what I wear every day.

This is who I am and it doesn't hurt me anymore to do it. But if y'all want me to shut up, I can do that too. A lot of people think I should: my family, my non-JW family, my mentor, some of my friends. If that's only because you're worried about me, you shouldn't be. If that's because you're worried about them? You should be. Russia has just banned Jehovah's Witnesses for being an "extremist group". Good on them. The right thing to do is not always the easiest thing.

I'm still the Blackbird.

Sullivan out.

Why is a Raven like a Writing Desk?

I've had that quote from Alice in Wonderland stuck in my head all week. Ever since Jay decided I needed a writing desk. Apparently the reason I'm stuck somewhere between writers block and hating the whole half book I've written so far is because I didn't have a proper desk.

I'm not a raven, I'm a blackbird, but close enough. As usual, Jay solved that problem.

You know what the challenge is with writing a book? On a blog, it's real time. However I feel today, that's what I can write about. Short and sweet. Get it out of my head and move on.

A book is complicated. If I go back to the beginning. I guess I could start somewhere in the middle, but nothing would make any sense.

I thought I was living a dual life and I honestly didn't know which side was the real me. Was I a saint or a sinner? I've been both. I've been loyal and I've betrayed. I can turn on a country song and feel an ache in my heart for home. I'm also a certified city girl. I love my hippie dresses and my Kate Spade purses equally.

The people I love now, they're just as imperfect as I am. I don't care anymore about religious sides in this silly war. I don't care if you're happily married or happily living in sin. Straight or gay or undecided. All I care is that you're happy. After a lifetime of judging people and trying to convert them, finding this truth makes me very, very happy.

That's why I still think I should tell my story. So people know there's an afterlife in this life. There's a happy way out, even if you have to go through hell to get there. I won't lie. It is HELL. But it's worth it. The JWs are wrong. Paradise is the here and now. It's messy and not all that easy sometimes, but it's better than spending a whole life believing in fairy tales. We make our happiness in this life.

So I promise to put this desk to good use. It actually makes me feel inspired. I'll dust off the book and see what happens.

And if you're going to go to bed wondering why the raven is like a writing desk? Google it. While you listen to some country music. There's room in us for all the different parts that make us up. That makes us something beautiful.

Sullivan out.