Darkness

I wish I had answers.

I always do.

Truth is, I don't have a clue.

Chemical imbalance, illness, emotions.

They're all just words. You can find them all in a dictionary or on google. You can seek their definitions and be able to recite them word for word.

Unfortunately mental illness changes from person to person. There isn't one clear meaning or reaction. No matter what the internet, doctors and dictionaries say.

We all spiral differently.

There are shades of darkness.

Some of us fight the darkness with substances.

Some of us fight the darkness with self harm.

Some of us don't fight the darkness, but embrace it like an old friend.

If we hurt other people, we're hurting ourselves twice, three times, four times more.

I am still in my break down.

The start, the middle, the end, I don't know.

I still wake up every morning wishing I hadn't.

Take that as you will.

My life is not my own, it belongs to a curly haired little girl who loves me more than I think anyone ever has.

I don't have choices of my own.

Right now my choices belong to my daughter and my illness.

They want very different things.

My illness tells me I don't care. My illness tells me sleep. My illness tells me everything and everyone can fuck off.

My daughter tells me she loves me. Tells me to play. Tells me to read. Tells me to live.

I will never have answers, I can only hope for solutions.

If it takes 18 hours of sleep a day to spend 6 with my Monkey, I accept that for the moment.

I feel safe in the darkness. Like a warm blanket on a cold night.

I don't know what will or is happening. I know I fight in my own way. You may not see it, you may not like it, you may not accept it but this is the control my illness has.

Beyond The 140: Part 4 (My Talk)

I should have known.

I should have known that Jeff Pulver introducing me would yank my heart out before I even stepped out on stage. My beautiful friend could not have honoured me more with his introduction, I felt like he was introducing me to a friend, not a room full of people and an internet full of strangers. Warmth, love, heart radiated, sounding like a proud big brother he said;

"Who's here from Canada? Not that I pick favorite speakers, ever, but when I was in Kitchener-Waterloo, KW, the reason I came back to KW again and again was for the next speaker. There's something amazing about this woman who is just so real. Whose story is hard but she makes a difference in what she does, and she matters, a lot. And I'm really happy to be able to call Jodi a friend of mine, and I'm even more happy that   she's going to come on stage and share something very special."

I was floored. Not even on stage and already floored. I believe my "welcome to the stage hug" included me whispering "how am I supposed to live up to that?". I didn't have time to think before it was just me and a spotlight. The air was heavy in my lungs, the floor was hard under my feet, the people were watching and waiting...

"Hi, my name is Jodi, and I don't know who I am."

The air changed. I could feel the curiosity in the room. I had their attention.

To be honest, I dont remember what I said. I know my message got across, I know I cracked some jokes, I know there was real emotion from me and I know real emotion came back from the audience. I remember holding out my hand to the people and watching it shake uncontrollably. I remember telling myself "this is your chance" and stripping down the fronts to tell it like it is. I told the world I wasn't perfect, I was far from it. I told them I was a mental health thriver. That I was ok with it.  I was more than ok with it. I am not ashamed of my mental illness and that no one should be. I remember talking about my tattoo and what it meant to me. That "Let It Be" wasn't just a lyric from a Beatles song. It was a way of life.

I remember doing something I've dreamt of doing my whole life.

Terrified and shaking... I sang.

Anyone who knows me knows my two dreams. To advocate for those of us with mental illness and to sing. Jeff had given me a platform to do both and maybe start a life based on these two passions.

Grateful, humbled, amazed, in shock, I watched the audience get to their feet.

It didn't register at first. This standing ovation was for me.

The standing ovation was for me.

To be continued...


Previously recorded by my friend Greg Bisch and I (On an iPhone lol) - Let It Be

listen to ‘Let It Be - The Beatles as performed by Jodi Sonoda & Greg Bisch’ on Audioboo

**As soon as the individual videos are posted I will post my talk here**

I am the Phoenix

Ive been trying to write about my #140conf12 experience, and I will, but first I need to get something out there.

I miss my family.

My #140conf family.

Leaving New York has been a painful heart wrenching experience.

I'm sad that my life only has moments as life changing and inspiring as 140. I'm grieving the loss of support and love that I felt all week. I'm angry that I can't seem to connect dot A to dot B to make something amazing out of my life. That I have to come home to a life that involves counting quarters to buy milk for my baby girl. I can spend 4 days changing lives, inspiring people, standing in a city of light and love and singing my heart out. Hundreds of people were involved in my moment of musical heaven and now? Now?

I'm sitting in my government housing apartment full of crap wondering which bill gets paid this month.

And no, its not about money. Its about being capable of greatness and waiting in mediocrity. Its about not being able to give the most beautiful girl in the world the same experiences I'm having. Its about knowing I have the power to change lives through words and music and be shouting them out into the wind that just takes them and blows them away from me.

My sweet little girl deserves better than this. Dammit I deserve better than this.

I DESERVE MORE WORLD!

The post conference fallout is so painful. I'm still getting amazing messages from people inspired by me, people I've just met but fallen madly in love with and yet I can't shake this feeling. I want to wake up in the morning and be scooped up in hugs and kind words and giggles. I want to make people feel. I want to inspire every day. I want to change the world.

I don't want to drive by a dream, be so close, but never know if I'm going to make it there.

I want people to know it is ok to have a mental illness and you can succeed in life with one.

I want the world to see you don't need "traditional" beauty to BE someone.

Selfishly I want to be able to eat everyday without worrying. I want to know I can see friends without running out of gas. I want to not have to think about buying a treat and if its going to make it so I cant have a phone. I want to travel. I want a car that I can trust. I want a computer that works every time I turn it on. I want more.

FUCK!

I can change the worlds opinions about those with mental illness so why... why can't I make my own life better.

I know people are going to look at this and say "You just had a free trip to New York. Spoke and sang on a beautiful stage. You have a roof over your head. What the fuck is wrong with you?"

Please trust me when I say I am in awe of how far I've come and all the blessings and people I have the privilege of calling friends. Every time the key goes in the door, the fork goes in my mouth, the phone vibrates... I thank the universe for having just one more day to enjoy it. But I am worth so much more than this. I will never stop fighting to be more than this. To be the woman people think I can be. To break the cycle.

The phoenix doesn't float on the surface of redemption... it rises from the ashes.

I am the Phoenix.

Ten Minutes (#140conf)

I wish I could just open up my brain and let you see whats going on inside of it. To try and put it on paper is proving to be a more difficult than I thought it would be.

I have so much going on right now.

I'm going to focus on the State Of Now (aka #140conf) conference in New York City coming up in less than 2 weeks. An amazing man who I have been lucky enough to become friends with over the past year, Jeff Pulver, invited me last September to speak at his conference in NYC. At the time I didn't know much about 140 or Jeff but I knew New York City and immediately said yes. Now? Well the more I learn about Jeff, the conference and my fellow speakers the more nervous I'm getting.

It's anxiety, but its good anxiety. It's nerves. This is the opportunity I have been waiting for. A global stage. A global stage in a room full of people who inspire, support, and amaze daily. I am lucky enough to be speaking with some of my dearest friends, Jacki Yovanoff, Heather Hamilton, Taylor Jones. And some people who inspire me greatly, Wes Prankard, Mark Horvath, and the man himself, Jeff Pulver. This certainly is helping with the nerves, knowing i'll be surrounded by friends. However knowing i'll also be surrounded by people such as Deepak Chopra, Carlos Delgado and other amazing people, sky rockets the nerves again. I know people are just people, but my god... Just... my god.

I have two major passions in my life. Educating and advocating for those living with mental health issues and in poverty and singing. My dream would be to sing as a career, make enough money and gain enough popularity to be able to make a viable impact on the stigmas surrounding mental illness and poverty. To be able to say to people, "I have a mental illness and I lived in poverty, but I never gave up dreaming. Now I'm living my dream and not hiding in the shadows". I would totally be happy doing just one or the other. I need a platform though. I need a mentor, a guide, a plan. I think #140conf is where I am finally going to be able to meet people to show me my path and influence how I continue to move through life.

But at the moment, my heart is in my throat. How in ten minutes do I explain to the world who I am. My failures, my successes, the miracles I have seen, felt and been a part of? That my world is full of beautiful, amazing, awe inspiring people. That I have been to rock bottom and been lifted back up from the bottom by people who I have never met or met through social media alone. That I've been able to provide things to my daughter that I would never have been able to provide alone. That I've been given strength and support I have only dreamed of. That even in my darkest days of mental illness, I have never felt completely alone.

Ten minutes to explain my history and reach out and grab a hold of my future.

Ten minutes.

Sadness, Being Depressed and Depression - Do you know the difference?

Yesterday my boyfriend broke up with me. I am sad. Horribly, painfully, heart wrenchingly sad. I feel like I've been punched in the gut. No he is not an evil monster or an asshole, he is still the incredible man I fell in love with. Brilliant, beautiful and passionate. This in itself makes me more sad. I am hurting and even the thought of Adele songs is making me weepy and increasing that horribly empty feeling in my chest. This is sadness. I am sad.

In the states a young man was shot and killed by a neighbour. The only thing the boy did wrong? He wore a hoodie to the store, was black, and walked in front of a over zealous neighbourhood watch persons house who happened to be racist. Trayvon was shot for wearing clothes while black. This depresses me. It is depressing that we live in a world where that kind of hate still exists. Being the mother of a biracial baby it also scares me. Terrifies me in fact. Trayvon could easily have been a relative, a friend, a mentor, a colleague or my beautiful girl. I am depressed about how Trayvons death is being handled and I am depressed that Trayvon lost his life. This is being depressed. I am depressed.

Last night I came home and took my medication cocktail. Anti-depressant and anti-anxiety medication. I have a mental illness, more then one actually. My brain misfires and the chemicals often are imbalanced like a grade 7 science project gone wrong. I have depression. It is a medical condition. I can't "snap out of it". My highs and lows are intensified. I often feel overwhelmed by emotion for no reason. I have vivid nightmares and confusing thoughts. I twitch, I have both racing and slow motion thoughts. I will be medicated for the rest of my life and I am ok with that. I will have good days and bad days that I do not control. This is depression. I have depression.

BULLIED

I've been thinking about this a lot. Watching the news there seems to be a young person committing suicide every other week because of some kind of bullying. These are just the ones that we hear about, I'm sure the numbers are much higher.

We hear people saying "It gets better" or "hang in there" and I have to put in my two cents on why telling people it will get better simply is not enough.

I have attempted suicide.

I have harmed myself.

I have been deeply impacted by bullying.

From the time I was young I was bullied. I was never the popular kid. I was loud and dramatic and sang all the time. I was also "the fat girl". Funny enough I wasn't that big in school but thats another story. Kids have an uncanny ability to feel out insecurities and play on them. Being the biggest girl in the class as a kid made me different and insecure. I knew it, my classmates knew it, my bullies knew it.

I had numerous people that were unkind or mean. Baby bullies, they wern't as direct or harsh but they had words that cut me none the less. My bullys name was David, I can still hear his voice and picture his face 20 years later. A time I should have been playing and having fun, I was begging to spend recesses indoors or walking around with the teacher on recess duty.

"You're fat"

"You're ugly"

"No one likes you"

I was terrified to sit on the school benches, I had been convinced I would break them.

I hated gym class, I swore I could feel eyes watching me jiggle.

I refused to eat at school, afraid I was being watched and judged.

As the years passed I lost friends, I avoided the usual life lessons of young love and friendship. Group projects were done solo and I spent all my spare time hiding in my basement.

The Basement. My personal prison.

During junior high I gave up. I lived in my basement, coming up for food and very little else. My mother tried to push me to go to school and I would leave the house and then return as soon as everyone was gone. The thought of going to school made me physically ill. I slowly retreated more and more until full fledged agoraphobia kicked in. I would hide in the dark basement away from people and sunlight and the world and scrape at my skin. I would get an itch and scratch it until it bled. My arms and legs held scars hidden by long sleeves and pants. My family tried everything to get me out of the house. Threats, demands, the police were at our house numerous times as we fought tooth and nail.

All because I didn't want to go to school.

Because I hated myself.

Because I was being bullied.

I tried everything I could to stop the bullying. I told my teachers, I stood up for myself, I stole from family and stores so I would have the coolest new thing or so I would have money to buy things for other people and look popular. It didn't work. Nothing worked. The insults would continue to fly and I would lash out verbally at my bullies and end up in trouble myself. This just aggravated the problems. No one was on my side. In trouble at home, in trouble at school and hated on the playground. I had no where to turn.

The more depressed I got the more I ate my emotions. The insecurity I was fighting so hard against was my one comfort. Food. I was ashamed. I would hide food, empty packages, dishes so no one would know I was eating. I wasn't fooling anyone. I was hiding in baggy clothes and behind long bushy hair. The weight I continued to put on did not go un-noticed. I was disgusted with myself, so I would stop eating for days and then binge. Cartons of ice cream, full packages of lunch meat, cookies, cheese, crackers, chips, hot dogs, kraft dinner... anything I could get my hands on. And then the shame, the self hatred, the hiding evidence and myself.

The emotions and mental distress of bullying was clearly visible in every aspect of my life.

The self hatred, the shame, the feeling that I had no one to turn to... I gave up.

Pills were my method of choice.

No one was home.

I didn't care what it was as long as there was a lot of them.

I swallowed handfuls of pills until there were none left.

Then I laid down and waited to die.

I'm fairly sure I left a note apologizing for being a horrible person but everything is a blur for awhile. I know someone found me. I know I ended up at the hospital. I know I was forced to drink charcoal until I threw up. I know I had my stomach pumped.

I know I didn't die.

I know nothing changed.

I know I tried again.

and again.

and again.

Until at 14 I was admitted to a juvenile psychiatric facility for suicidal tendencies. Such a nice way to say I wanted to be dead and wouldn't give up. Most people chase their dreams, I think I was chasing my mothers nightmare. I spent 6 months locked away. Group therapy, one on one therapy, art therapy, music therapy, medical tests, medications. I came home numb. Heavily medicated and numb. I no longer knew how to feel. I couldn't sing, I couldn't write and I couldn't think.

I knew one thing. School was where I was hated and ridiculed and terrorized. I knew I wouldn't go back. I wouldn't give my bullies more ammunition by having them find out that they broke me. That they had won.

I muddled through in independent learning until I was 16 and I dropped out. I was done. I felt exactly the same in independent learning that I did at school, I was an outcast. I was different and people were watching me and waiting for me to fail. I took a minimum wage job and moved out. My mother and I were at each others throats and I hated everyone and everything.

The years since then have been hard. I'm not going to lie, suicide has been an option many times. Luckily I have learned better coping, kind of. I've had problems with drugs, problems with alcohol, I am a hoarder, I have horrible anxiety, and some days, I still hate myself.

I have done a lot of work over the years to slowly improve and better my life. I still have to work very hard every day not to swirl into a black pit and just say "To Hell With It" to everyone and everything. I am a work in progress. I am bent but not broken.

Bullying did this to me.

Bullying destroyed my mental health.

If I close my eyes I can still see and hear my bully as clear as if they were standing beside me. The words they spewed still cut me inside. Their hatred so thick in front of me still that I can taste it.

If your child is being bullied or suddenly has a major personality change, please, I'm begging you, get them help. Be on their side. It will be the hardest thing you may ever do in your life, but it can save their life. Give them hugs. Give them understanding. Give them time. Give them love.

No one should ever grow up to be me. It is preventable. We can't change other peoples kids. We can't fix bullies. They will always exist in some form, what we can do is save our own children through educating them, empowering them and being open to giving them any help they may need. Therapy is not bad. Medications are not bad. Reaching out is not bad. We seem to think that we need to be super human and capable of dealing with everything on our own as parents. That to ask for help is a sign of weakness and a failure of parenting.

Asking for help will save your childs life.

Depression: Truth In Words

I have severe depression. No I am not just over-dramatically sad sometimes. I am not an attention seeker. I have a diagnosed mental illness that will require medication for the rest of my life.

Telling me to "cheer up", "look at all you have" or "tomorrow will be better" isn't going to change anything. Using "tough love" and telling me to "pull it together" or "stop being dramatic" also isn't going to change anything. You can't talk me into being happy.

Depression is not an emotion.

Though depression manifests as a complex series of emotions, it is not. It is an illness.

When I am in the midst of a depressive episode I can not see the forest for the trees. I feel like I am being crushed from the inside out. My thoughts and emotions are irrational. I am full of self-doubt and loathing. The chemicals in my brain no longer function properly and often leave me a sad trembling ball of hatred.

Depression can take on so many physical characteristics. The worst of which for me is the feeling that I can not function within my body. I stop eating, sleep more then I am awake and get severe headaches and body pains.

Sadly another manifestation of my personal depression is that I self-harm. I am lucky enough to be able to control it now, I have managed to keep my thoughts rational enough to prevent causing myself harm. I often do this by venting. Instead of turning inward, I turn outward. Most people don't understand this at all. They see it as drama. They see it as attention seeking. They dont see it as a safe substitution to cutting, drinking, or pill popping.

Though my issues are very real, I take them to a place far beyond what they need to be, seeing situations through desperate eyes and a heavy heart. There is no light at the end of the tunnel, no silver lining, only blackness. During my down times I dont have many choices that I am capable of making. If my mind had it's way I'd shut the door, sit in the dark, listen to angst filled music and get drunk while cutting myself. THIS is where I am given my only choice.

Even in complete darkness we are given choices.

I choose not to cut.

I choose to take care of my child.

I choose to cry, vent and sleep my way through the pain.

I choose to survive.

It has taken me years to get to this point. Many people will never get to this point. The demons are often stronger then the will to survive. I have lost friends to all the demons. Alcohol, drugs, self-destruction and suicide.

Reading back this all sounds so hard, clinical, emotionless. Here's the boiled down version...

I didn't choose to have depression. I didn't choose to have social anxiety issues. I don't know why I have them, what causes them or if they will ever go away. What I do know is that I hurt. I hurt from the top of my head to the tips of my toes. Anyone who doesn't believe we have a soul, is wrong. I know this because I feel mine, in the absolute depths of my despair, I can feel it. It's worse then heartache, worse then loneliness, worse then any other pain I have felt.

It. Fucking. Hurts.

No one is perfect. We all have issues and demons to battle. Mine are demons in my head. I quell them with medication and time. I dont judge your demons, don't judge mine.

To paraphrase, "There but for the grace of a higher power, go I."

I'm Still Here

The next few months are opening up opportunities for me to show myself how far I have come over the past 5 years. I've been homeless, I've lived in a strange city, I've been pregnant, I've had surgery, I've mentally fallen apart, I've physically fallen apart and yet... I'm still here.

Do you hear that?

I'M STILL FUCKING HERE!

I have taken everything the world has thrown at me and I. Am. Still. Here.

Yeah, Ive become a mom, I make life work despite poverty, I have a home, I have healed physical wounds. To me though, nothing compares to the fact that I am still here. All the nights i've laid wondering if I could take one more thing, if I was being selfish to include a beautiful little girl in my messed up life, if the sun really was going to come up in the morning and if I would see my breath in the crisp winter air one more time. All the days I used nap time to bawl my face off, took 2 minutes shelter in my room to scream silently into a pillow, the days I broke down unable to contain my anger and frustration.

I'm still here.

I have ripped hair from my head, scratched my arms raw, fallen to the floor and wept like a child. I have experienced death, deception, theft, and gaping open stab wounds to my back.

I'm still here.

The medication helps, but only if you want it to help. I've danced, I've sang, I've written and I have hugged my way out of the depths of a hell my own mind can't help but create for itself. My brain misfires and is fundamentally flawed, but dammit...

I'm still here.

Every breath.

Every tear.

Everything I have done wrong.

Everything I've managed to get right.

I've been pushed to the limits of what a human can tolerate, looked over the edge and said "Fuck you! This is my life and you can't have it!". I have slowly, and with many bumps along the way, taken back what is rightfully mine.

I'm Still Here.

I still don't have all the details, all the answers, all the finances for how I'm going to make any of this happen, but when I step up to tell my story at 140 conference and when I sit down to listen to others knowledge at Blissdom, I will be looking my demons in the eye and screaming -

"You took so much from me but I kept my lungs full of air. I kept my heart beating. I kept my soul full of love and light. I'M STILL HERE!"