Día de los Muertos 2020

This is an altar I made for my passed loved ones. 🖤

🖤🖤🖤

Is anybody out there? AKA The Return of the Mack

First of all, my apologies for the silence. I hope people are still open to reading this blog that I maintain for pure selfish reasons.

Secondly, I decided to get back to this hobby of writing. I have to admit sometimes I get down, and I look up some of the more positive entries of my blog, and by doing so, feel like I’m having an uplifting conversation with myself. That being said, even if no one reads this, I commit to writing in my blog as often as my busy schedule permits.

Which brings me to my last point…

Thank you so much to everyone who has supported me and encouraged me to continue blogging. You know who you are, gracias.

OK- So yeah… expect more blogs from me now.

Peace. 🙂

AQ

Bell Let’s Talk 2019: My Journey with Bipolar Disorder I

Bell Let’s Talk 2019: My Journey with Bipolar Disorder I

By Ayenia Quintanilla

Every year since Bell Canada launched its first successful Mental Health campaign, conversations have been popping up all over social media on the topic of mental health. For all intents and purposes, I chose this platform to open-up in a very public way about my own struggles with mental health. I do this with the hopes of minimizing stigma for other people who have had similar experiences.

To begin, I was formally diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder in 2016 following extremely stressful events in my life. Nevertheless, I could trace my first onset of the illness to 2009, which not surprisingly, also happened after some experiencing acute stress. While I remain mostly in remission (no symptoms) between episodes, recently, I have found myself fighting manic symptoms which, once again, came to height because I unsuccessfully attempted to manage other less noxious stress in my life. While there’s no way of knowing extactly what activates my BP symptoms, it’s easy to draw the conclusion that it is stress related. Having said that, the symptoms usually range anywhere from hypomanic (pressured speech, restlessness, high levels of energy, emotional sensitivity) to manic (psychosis, paranoia, extreme emotional reactions, insomnia, etc.). More often than not, my manic symptoms give off the impression that I am intoxicated even when I am not (as a rule, I try not to drink when I know I am either hypomanic or manic).

Because the restlessness can become boredom quite quickly, an awful symptom usually sets in: impulsivity. Impulsivity is the one symptom I personally find the hardest to manage. In this state, one can do things quite easily without pausing to think about the consequences of such actions. It is an awful thing to find yourself creating havoc, then coming back to your senses, and struggle to fix all the damage in a panic. I call it BP Damage Control. Such an example would be making big purchases that do not reflect my budget. Another example is staying up late when I haven’t slept in three days, and that was not a euphemism—Sleeping patterns can range from 0-3 hours of sleep a night for months on end.

A common misconception about Bipolar Mania is that those who are struggling with it rather remain high on that mania. This is wrong. The mania is just a polar extreme to depression, people struggling with mania are not “extremely happy”, they’re depressed and while it looks like they are compensating for a void they’re afraid to confront: mania is depression.

Most people with Bipolar Disorder cycle into mania usually following a period of severe depression. As such, a lot of the impulsive behaviour is an extreme opposite reaction to depressive symptoms such as anhedonia (lack of pleasure) and suicidal ideation (that is, the idea of wanting to end one’s own life, without the actual intent, necessarily). Again, this is just my observation from a lived experience perspective. I am not a mental health professional.

Furthermore, people struggling with Bipolar Disorder are usually more open about their symptoms related to depressive an anxious states of mind but will often attempt to hide their experiences with psychosis because of the shame and stigma associated with it.

The truth is that there are some symptoms which seem more acceptable to discuss, whereas other symptoms associated with loss of control are not, such as dissociation and psychosis.

I wrote this article to demonstrate that anyone can suffer from mental health. This issue affects all of us. Psychosis affects some of us directly, but indirectly, there are many people who suffer as a result of caregiving for someone who struggles with reality. As such, we need to open up more conversations throughout the entire year about the difficult, and lesser known symptoms that cause so much damage and harm to the people who spend many waking hours trying to manage them.

#BellLetsTalk2019 #aboutallthesymptoms #MentalHealthisMoreThanYouRealize

Sorry for the silence… but I needed a break

*Trigger warning. The following post contains subject matter that be disturbing to some readers. It deals mildly with subject of child abuse and violence. If you suffer from PTSD or mental health anxiety, read the following post with discretion, and a safety plan. Thank you.*

 

Hi Blog-Followers….

I know it’s been a year since I last wrote… But I am finally coming back to writing.

Because I value honesty and transparency; I want to be honest to those who have been following my story, both on a personal level and on a “virtual” level.

If anyone recalls, last year I posted a piece that talked about a very sad and traumatic event in my childhood. For those who didn’t catch that post, I spoke about sexual abuse. This was very difficult for me to do, but I did so because I truthfully believe that writing this blog has helped me get through my darkest moments, including when I first broke up with the first and only serious boyfriend I’ve ever had. After I grieved that, I felt empowered, and felt ready to share my experience of trauma.

This was a decision that I thought carefully about, and I did it because I knew that so many people unfortunately have suffered from an event such as this, and especially if it happened to you as a child, the healing process is very complicated. That is not to take away from adult victims, it is only to say that child victims sometimes go through life with undetected PTSD, which later can develops into a host of worse mental health problems.

Back a year ago, I wrote my piece/peace… and when I hit “publish” I felt so relieved. I had been wanting to tell my story for years as a form of healing, and also as a form of advocacy for the silent victims. I wanted to be that person who said…” What happened to you was awful, and it should not have happened, but you can and will survive this.”

Basically: It gets better.

That being said, sharing publicly did in fact put me into a deeper crisis. Not because I regretted it, as I am impervious to the stigma and shame… but rather because I felt like others had a nervous energy around me. They forgot who I was… and they questioned my reasoning for going public with this issue that so many people expect you to keep private.

But I’m not a private person.

At least not in my writing style.

I write well, because I write about what I know. I write with lived experience.

Needless to say, the anxiety of that, topped with the continuing grief of not being completely over my ex-partner at the time (another story for another time)… I had a rough year.

A very rough year.

And things happened that I will eventually talk about when I’m ready, that caused me to retreat from where my center was. I stopped living authentically true to myself, and I fell into a very deep sadness… the kind of sadness that robs you of the ability to see your own worth and merit… the kind that blocks you from living to your true potential.  The dark sadness that falls upon a person that was never really done grieving the tragedies that she or he lived.

I hid it well.

I hid it, because I was afraid. Sadly, I escaped one prison of stigma, only to enter a new one. From one tyrant to the next.

2016 was a hard year. I needed a break, and as such I stopped writing. Which is sad because writing has always promoted in me a sense of mindfulness.

I stopped writing though because it was becoming too difficult to do it. For me, the style of writing I mostly use is very tough because it requires me not only to speak my truth, but also to be mindful of how your words can affect other people…

I couldn’t handle the pressure, and needed to focus on other priorities, such as my mental health and trauma-healing.

All that being said, I’m back.  (Happy Face).

And I think for good?

I can’t make any promises, but if you have been following me up to now, I think you’ll find the new articles I will compose will be even more enlightened and insightful than ever before.

Stay tuned for more upcoming posts if you are interested

xo,

Ayi

 

Ask For Help and Be grateful

Never underestimate the power of gratitude.

Not only does it make you a better person when you practice it, but it is a way of being mindful of your blessings when life seems unfair.

Recently, I went through a life experience that felt like “one of those days” every single day for months on end. I wasn’t happy, even though I was trying to be. It wasn’t something I could just shake off, it was a deep disruption to my emotional health, and by trying to deal with it without any help or support, I was doing myself more damage than good. It was like trying to get rid of an infection, without any antibiotics: Sure, it’s possible, but difficult considering the cut ran deeper than I realized.

I hit my bottom,  and I finally cried out for help. This was difficult for me to do, but it was the best thing I ever did. I began to unload some of the weight off my shoulders, and so many good people stepped up to help me. With less on my plate (metaphor overload, I know), I finally was able to do the work I needed to do to heal that emotional cut that refused to close.

Having said that, the work of healing never ends for the wounded, and part of the process demands gratitude. A small way of restoring balance, a simple act, gesture or word of gratitude goes a long way.

And gratitude does not end with people, whatever you believe in, or don’t believe in, we all have positives in our lives to be grateful for even when the negatives seem to eclipse them. A way of pulling oneself out of that negative mind frame is to be thankful, because it reminds us of our strengths. Yes, the world is not perfect, but in it’s imperfections lies the beauty of living and taking risks for the sake of learning.

For that reason, today I am going to be grateful for my family, my friends, and basically all the people in my circle who have shown me what true love and compassion feels like. Seriously. Thank you 🙂 That includes all you readers and followers who have encouraged me to not only continue on a healing path but have made me feel good about sharing parts of my story online. Thank you for encouraging me to continue writing… as writing has been my saving grace since I began to journal as a child.

Honestly… I encourage everyone to try it and just observe the reactions you get. Because most of life and the relationships we create are about cause and effect. To every action, there is a reaction. If your actions towards others are positive…the self sustaining positive revolution amplifies. Think and thank.

#ThankfulThursdays. It should be a thing.

Happy Thursday friends.

 

 

Preview: Military Pin-Up 2016

Hello Bloggies!!

This is just a preview of a photo shoot Miranda (model) and I worked on yesterday with the help of my stylist friend, Esmeralda, who worked on Miranda’s hair.

Miranda and I actually met over 15 years ago, more or less,  in Air Cadets. We both attended 44 Sarnia Imperial Air Cadet Squadron, and bonded in spite of minor age and rank differences.

Recently we both reconnected, and decided to go against your typical reunion date at a cafe, and actually reunite with a themed that both reflects our multifaceted personalities, and also our past.

Please stay tuned for more photos coming in June. These are just a preview of what is to come…

What I need from you…

I need you to trust me…
Help me when I ask for it. I won’t often ask for it because I am fiercely independent. Because of this, my loneliness often flies under the radar. But trust me when you hear me cry for help that whatever I asked for is because I am overwhelmed and exhausted from carrying around the heavy barrel filled with the apples and lemons that life has passed on to me.
Sometimes, I need to be called out respectfully because I make decisions that even I quadruple guess, but if I say trust me… I need you to trust. Me.
Even if I’m wrong… I need to be allowed the freedom to make mistakes. Mistakes happen, and I’m humble enough to acknowledge I’ve made many already. It’s from these past mistakes that I’ve learned everything I know about life. From my mistakes, and from my wins.
I love deeply and truly, and I need to know you love me too. In whatever way you love me, I need to feel it. The only way I’ll know is if you tell me honestly…Trust me when I say I trust you… and with that, you’ll lift a great deal of anxiety off my shoulders. With that, you give me space to be who I am… with that, you give me the strength to continue.
I just need to be trusted.
Yes. I’m a bit broken, who isn’t? But the labels I wear do not define me. I’ve always been who I am, I’ve always carried these issues in my heart. The only difference is that now you know.
Don’t leave me standing in a world that is so cold.. simply because you don’t know how to show me that you trust me. Love me for who I am because I am every piece of the puzzle you’ve put together so far.
Trust me.

Xo,
Ayi

In a field of bright yellow flowering weeds…

It was a bright sunny day…

Circa. 1993. Our small two level apartment in a low-income housing zone somewhere in  Missisauga was a haven. Many things could be said about my upbringing. Sometimes good things, other time bad things; regardless… One thing that could be said as a factual statement was: My parents had style. Always an eye for quality items on my father’s side, and always an eye for a great deal (whether by bartering or upcycling), my mother has always had a talent for securing the resources my father needed to allow him to be creative (while classy). Yes. That much can be said… To each their own, but my parents have style.

I have many fond memories from that short-lived period in that Missisauga apartment, of them, I fondly recall the picnics we shared with our neighbours. There was a young girl of my brother’s age, Simone, and our *vecinos, Eric, Marjorie, and Leslie. Together we would organize picnics, or build winter forts with the snow. In the Summer, we’d swim in puddles, in the Fall, we’d play with leaves.  In the early Spring, however, we’d collect flowers, and try to make crowns to wear, and in our own little kingdoms, pretend we were princesses from foreign lands, gathering together in this new country our other friends knew as Canada.

We did what we had to shelter ourselves from either the overbearing empathy that good-willing **Canadienses had towards us, or the distancing xenophobia we sensed from others. If we’re going to be completely honest…sometimes even those who projected xenophobic behaviour were people of our own ***raza. Sadly, this is a phenomenon that still happens today (think about the tension that exists in London between Latin-Americans that hail from different nations). These tensions are easily picked up by children, and sometimes make-belief is the only way to shelter ones own spirit, to avoid falling into despair. Despair from losing one’s identity and destiny that could have been, had we stayed in our countries where our ***ombligos were buried.

One sunny Missisauga day in 1993, my mother took me to a field of dandylions that grew in a public space annexed to our ****vecindario.

“Ew mami!” I remember saying, disgusted at the smell of the weeds that tainted my beautiful dress. “Why here?”

Packed with nothing other than a disposable camera, my beautiful and strong mother looked at me and chuckled the kind of knowing chuckle a mother usually lets out when they know better…

“trust me *****hijita. These weeds are beautiful. They are strong, and they are resilient. Just like us.”

“Ok.” I said. I was young, but old enough to know when to trust my mother.

Together we spent hours in that field. We collected dandylions, and my mother braided them into crowns. This is where I finally perfected the art of flower crowns.

Dirty with the milky residue on my finger tips, and probably covered in dandy-pollen, my mother placed the crown on my little 6 year old head and photographed me as if I was her little child model.

This may be where my love for photography was born. Once upon a time… In a field of strong flowering yellow weeds.

***** TO BE CONTINUED*****

 

*vecinos: neighbours

**Canadienses: Canadians

***Raza: Race

**** Ombligos were buried: Latin American expression to mean where we were born / our roots.

***** Vecindario: Neighbourhood

******Hijita: Little daughter

 

 

When grief becomes public

So if you’re following my life via my social media up until now, you’re probably aware that I recently disclosed something on my blog, that I warned my readers, would be very personal and sensitive.
Those of you who follow me as a writer probably understand the struggle that happens when your writing life intersects with your offline life.
Yes, again, I understand that what I disclosed is a very sensitive topic; but since we’re here now… I’d like to talk about why public disclosure was both the worst and best thing to ever happen to me.
I have tons going on in my offline life right now (let’s call it the aftermath/damage control)…so I won’t explore the subject too deeply, but I’d like to say these three things:
1) As someone experiencing symptoms of complex post-traumatic stress disorder… I was going through life severely misunderstood. If someone was able to understand me, and tried to reach out by giving me guidance the best way they knew how… I’d immediately retreat into defense mode because I was too scared of everyone finding out what I had gone through.

I’ve had years of experience and done tons of research on the subject and fortunately had the tools to deal with this *public grief* and all of its aftermath. deep down, I knew that I wanted to be true to myself. Self disclosure is a choice, and it is not what works for everyone. It worked for me because I wanted to do this, and I did it at a moment that felt safe. Having been donned with the gift of communication and introspection, I knew I would find the words to tell a story that would resonate with others if they chose to read it.

2) This public grief has given me the space to grieve properly because now those around me finally understand that I’m not broken… just a little bent out of shape for obvious reasons… and with a little help from my friends, I would come bounce back even stronger than before.

3) Public grief is something that happens sometimes to victins without it being their choice. Both out of an act of self-care and an act of solidarity towards all my brothers and sisters of the world who suffered a similar experience, I wanted to demonstrate that life goes on after a crazy heavy event like that and that, yes. YOU CAN pick yourself back up and rise… like a phoenix in flight.

Xo,
Ayi

Open letter to my friends…

To follow another perspective on my writer journey, follow my FB (Ayi Citlalli Nava) or my IG: phoenix.rising87 or my Snapchat: ayiiyii.

I love you blogosphere, but you’re not the entire story. 🙂

 

xo,

Ayi

An open letter to my FB friends:

Hey friends!

So the majority of you know me on a personal level, some of you are more recent friends… but tapping into my deeply spiritual side, I truly believe each and everyone of you crossed paths with me for a reason.

Having said that, I want to make a few adjustments in my social media life…

Those who have been following my blog have noticed quite a change in my writing which may be reflective of my personal life. Those of you with very strong empathy skills understand and the rest is left unsaid. Some of you are concerned, and I appreciate that. Probably one of the reasons I care for you is because you care for me.

That being said, I am growing as a writer and I want to embrace that.

My social media and other activities are a platform, but where I really want to focus my energy for now, is in my writing.

Those of you from my younger years know I always wanted to be a writer. Unfortunately and fortunately, I was born into a context where print media is not necessarily the easiest way to achieve those goals. So I’ve been working to achieve this with the tools I have today. But fortunately because I can do it on my own through my social media.

Yes. I have been going through some rough days. I think that’s more than apparent. But like I in my very personal post (you all know which if you read it) I am a strong believer in authenticity, and I will always stand by what I write, because when I wrote it, I knew that someday, those words would help someone going through a similar experience as me.

I also want to say one last thing, I am an ambivert through and through. In public, it may seem like I am an extrovert (to an extreme) but I am also very introverted and conservative in my personal life. For that reason, I’ve chosen to “renovate” my social media space, and maintain it strictly as a platform for my writing and public personality.

I know you will all respect that, and if you feel strongly about any of my posts, please approach me privately. I’m ok with you sharing things or liking things because in out generational context, this is how we show approval or support to our loved ones. And if you disagree with me, that’s ok too, 1. I welcome the intellectual challenge and 2. I might learn something from you because you have obviously experienced that topic/issue in a very different way than me.

Lastly,
Thank you everyone for your support. I appreciate all of you. smile emoticon

Xo,
Ayi Citlalli Nava (my pen name from now on).

P.S. Ugh the typos! Lol sorry friends… I totally wrote this from my phone and my chubby fingers do not work well with touch screen. Lol

*unedited*