The Life of Riley; A Story of Resilience

  I was always that kid that took the risk, that got that super short pixie cut. I remember being in grade four when Posh Spice decided to rock that super short but fashionable (come on, she’s called Posh Spice for a reason, and she was much favourite) cut. A friend of mine had invited me to a Spice Girls themed birthday party, and you had to come dressed as your favourite Spice Girl. Now, I could have just dyed my hair dark brown and be done with it, but I had to take it to the next level. I walked into that party in that little black dress, jewelry adorning my wrists, neck and ears, and that super short, yet fashionable hair cut that I learned only Victoria Beckham can pull it off. Grade nine hit. I was a music festival kid. I lived and breathed theatre and music for one week a year. That year, for musical theatre, I was given a song from “You’re a Good Man Charlie Brown” with my role being Lucy. Lucy has black hair, and mine was a dark blonde. But do you think I even considered ...

  This whole ordeal has been very tiring. My heart ached for my son as I missed one of his music festival numbers, the very first performance of his that I’ve ever missed. The only song he didn’t take first place home, and I will forever be convinced that it’s because I couldn’t be there to cheer him on. He ended his week with three first places, and one second place. He even earned the Junior Musical Theatre trophy and a couple of scholarships. Pretty damn good considering he only practiced the week before festival. It’s easy to forget these things when your mom is going through brain cancer treatments, but he still went out and did his best, had fun and made me proud. This was going to be my first week that I stayed with my aunt and uncle for two nights. Much closer to the city, and opportunity to get some real rest as a lack of responsibilities really does make you take it easy. I spent my evenings dozing on the couch, cuddled up to Daisy the Pug and Ruby the Boston Terrier. If ...

  When I turned thirty years old, my whole life changed. After spending most of my life questioning why I made bad choices, or hurt people with my words, or overspent money or acted irrationally and impulsively, I finally had a diagnosis. Bipolar type one. If you ask my psychiatrist, It’s clear from my records that I could have been diagnosed at eleven and gotten the help twenty years sooner. Still, at least I had an explanation to everything I had ever done that I couldn’t explain. I knew why I ran high with lots of energy, not sleeping for days on end. I also knew why it physically caused me pain to even crawl out of bed, or even just have a shower. It made sense. We started treatments immediately. Lithium, Seroquil, Xanax, other medications for the restless legs that these medications cause. I also started therapy with my favourite therapist thus far. And trust me, I’ve done a lot of therapy with a lot of different people, but my current therapist is hands down the best fit for ...