CHAPTER 21
IT IS TRULY THE LAST FINALE, BECAUSE I AM SCARED THAT AFTER THIS, I WILL RUN OUT OF IDEAS…
This week, I met my doctor to tell him what has been going on since the start of May. We jointly decided to change once again my medications. I had an appointment scheduled for today anyways from months ago written on a little piece of pink paper which I was given when I left the “brain” hospital last time. Time had passed since the start of the month of May.
We mutually agreed to change my medication yet once more. Conveniently, I had an appointment with him today, as specified on that little piece of pink paper which I was given by a nurse on the day I left the psychiatric ward of my local hospital… It was the second time only that we met at her private practice, her and I, she was young enough to be my daughter for $%? sakes!
Thinking it was my very last appointment with her, I opted for my fuchsia-coloured dress draped at the front.
My lolly pink coloured water bottle completed the ensemble… fitting, since it was that very bottle which started the whole girly pink fashion phase after all…
I confided in her about my projects for the future, my web sites under construction, showed her videos of the accident I closely avoided…
Unfortunately, she responded as the psychiatrist she was… and not as an impartial human being, which I was hoping she would once again, like she did last time we met, when she noted that I didn’t look like a drug addict…
- “Why don’t you tell me what it is that a woman who has to live with such excruciating pain on a daily basis that she has to resort to numbing her pain using an illegal drug in order to ease the pain somewhat in order to survive living another day of suffering?” I would have like to tell her.
After our meeting, she swiftly called my very worried husband who agreed to all she said. She failed to understand that, after so many years of continuous suffering, I finally started to think more clearly as my thoughts had finally started to flow out more freely.
At lightning speed even: all I wanted to avoid at all cost was to go backward… Never again!
I didn’t get to choose that day, faith had already chosen for me… An episode of bi-polarity coming up (and what else while you’re at it?).
I cried as I stepped into my car that day… As I realised that I parked in a disabled bay but had forgotten to bring my parking sign… And I didn’t have my pink walking stick that day. What will people think?
The radio was tuned to a station I had never listened too before. It was the only with a signal at the time so I had no choice but to listen to it.
They were talking about death, and about the fact that, when we use cannabis, we apparently become closer to God. I listened more closely now.
Dammit no! I want to continue on with my projects, mostly, I didn’t want to start smoking ever again! Now I am crying again. Why didn’t my incredulous husband protect me from that psychologist who was speaking against me?
I went back to sitting at the computer: with my previous medication but in the latest selection, she removed one pill which was rather effective at reducing pain and added a plethora of other pills which once again totally disrupts my lucidity! Help me someone! People won’t believe me anymore! I’ll be just another disturbed woman!
I was very annoyed; no, I was enraged with her at that time.
I however I thankfully had left myself a note not to forget to include in my book a comment about “Ginette Reno’s comment in photo magazine “La Semaine”. Then I prayed in my own way using my pink pen to confirm with my winged pals.
After my usual introduction prayer to make sure our conversations remain free of unwanted visitors during our weekly exchanges with the “other side”, I gave them the control over my pen: I was merely supporting it. They were all there this time: even my long-deceased baby girl who repeated a word I was not familiar with: cacament. I researched it’s meaning refers to the use of animals to test medication and products!
http://www.dailymotion.com/playlist/x15w0y_shivaluck888_mais-di-caca-ment/1#video=xfb5m9
I am sitting comfortably in my car listening to the music. Once again, it succeeded in relaxing me.
- “It’s not a big deal my love, it can be cured!”, he told me right after I had eaten a medium portion of chips at Maccas (i.e. fries at McDonald’s) as part of my new potato-based diet since my damn pills make me:
« PUT ON WEIGHT! » no matter what…
Then I saw the first poem I wrote when I started this whole project…
Written in my lilac coloured book with pink lines…
Actually, about my weight, I have learned to accept that it will be an incessant problem. I recently found in a magazine, an inspiring maxim from one of the most beautiful women in Québec as far as I am concerned (she is even now a spokesperson for a chain of clothing for the larger woman) who made me so happy when I first saw her on tv in those ads, having the guts to succeed in a craft where I didn’t because of my attitude towards my weight. Her name is Sonia Vachon. Filled with such talent!
“I will never correspond to the established standard of beauty, but my happiness will never be defined by my weight”
- Sonia Vachon
Thank you, Sonia!
***
Long ago, before I had finished high school, I decided to go for an audition for a television role. Well, I was told by the casting director: “sweetheart, if only you could lose a good 10kg, I would hire you on the spot!”.
After that moment, even though the smack on the face sort of “forced” me to loose weight, as an attempt to try to correspond to the accepted norm in the industry, it turned out that my self-esteem and my confidence had been so brutally damaged that I never attempted another audition again whilst Sonia, who might have experienced similar situations had the tenacity to perseverate. Respect Sonia!
Also, I hated the clothes that theatre people were wearing in those days (the hippy look which we called “freak look” in my neck of the woods) ... In those days, I much preferred the little summer dresses, way more “chic”.
Pity really, because our local Cegep was the most renowned establishment in the field of theatre and connecting arts (in Québec, we have a weird education system where primary school corresponds to the first 6 years, then high school lasts 5 years. After high school, education geniuses decided that we needed a transitory period before university which we call “cegep”. It normally lasts for 2 years although you can opt for the technical option courses which last longer and are more specialised like a mechanics degree which could lead to a job in that field).
To get away from it, I decided to exile myself and leave the area altogether so I opted for an island wedged between the north shore and the island of Montreal called Laval.
Well, after my decision to abandon the field of theatre, I quickly realised that I had inadvertently created another problem:
Chances are I am likely to regain the weight eventually now but I realised I just gave away all my bigger clothes to charity!
Jean-Pierre! Help!