Last night I went to a Mighty Ugly workshop, and I made a hockey.

this is my hockey

He doesn’t have a name – he is just a hockey. I was accused of making him too cute, and yes – at first glance, he is a little bit lovable. However, the things you DON’T know are what make him truly mighty ugly.

Look at his eyes. See how bloodshot they are.

he is so wasted

In his right hand, a beer – his 7th, at $8 a cup. Yes, he is patriotic and waving his maple leaf around – but when the game is over, he will LITTER that leaf by dropping it in the streets.

Litter is not cute. It is ugly.

fifty six dollars of beer

What about his jersey? Ahh, yes – my hockey is indeed a Canucks fan, and he wears #44 – Todd Bertuzzi‘s number. He’s never gotten over his hero leaving Vancouver, and thinks the suspension handed down for the Steve Moore incident was a “fucking joke”. He is in the minority, but he continues to build his fantasy hockey team with Bertuzzi as captain.

all canucks wear their numbers written in glitter

Did you notice the headphones? They’re connected to a (red) Zune. My hockey is listening to Nickelback.

HOW THE HELL'D WE END UP LIKE THIS WHY WEREN'T WE ABLE

If that isn’t Mighty Ugly, I don’t know what is.

The ugly is in the details, my friends.

There’s a Mental Health Camp going on in Vancouver this weekend. I am not attending, but since I have both mental AND health, I figured I would throw my two cents in on the subject.

The goal of Mental Health Camp appears to be to reduce the stigma associated with mental illness and various discussions on coming out, coping, and celebrating the process. With these topics in mind, I present to you Some Words:

It’s relatively common knowledge (I think) that I’m a little crazy – not the flippant “I’m so crazy, I totally think milk is gross!”, but the “not right in the head/I wonder how long it would take to draw blood” kind of crazy. I’ve been on medication since early 2004, and except for some disastrous experimentation in 2008, will likely be on medication to control my crazy for the rest of my life.

My policy of “share everything” meant that when I finally realized that the way I felt wasn’t normal, my first instinct was to blog about it. I threw out a plea for help online, and a lot of people came to my rescue with their own stories. Never did it occur to me that I was doing something shameful by admitting that I needed help – I reached out to my friends, and they threw me a life line. Isn’t that what’s supposed to happen?

Maybe I’ve just been really lucky, knowing good people who would never think to give me shit for something like being crazy. I’ve never faced any kind of stigma (or stigmata) because I have to take anti-depressants daily, and I just assume that’s the way things should be. They’re as vital to me as birth control, anti-histamines and caffeine – and no one thinks less of me because of my dependence on those, so why would my brain medication be any different? In my happy little hilarious world, this is the way things work – people accept and support one another through the good AND bad, and everyone just keeps on trucking.

I don’t know what I would if faced with a negative reaction to my crazy and subsequent treatment of it (other than be totally outraged and then blog about it). I’m not kidding when I say I live in a bubble – the few times I’ve experienced racism completely floored me, and for all my jaded “been there, done that” attitude I am truly shocked when I learn of friends doing coke or meth or going a2m. I want to think the best of people, so I do. It’s hard for me to think that there are people out there who would think less of me because I took action to deal with my chemical imbalances – seriously, I tried to make myself better and you look down on that? – but they’re out there, and I’m lucky that I’ve never experienced it.

All that being said, I don’t really feel a need to be celebrated or handled with gloves because I suffer from a mental illness (however minor it may be). It’s there, and I deal with it. It’s a part of me, like having brown eyes and broken feet and a huge rack. I definitely don’t demand special treatment because I have crazy; nor do I feel the need to get together with other crazies and compare scars. This is why I’m not attending Mental Health Camp – I’m dealing with my issues just fine, and don’t feel I could bring anything of value to the table or take anything important away. Coping with my crazy takes very little effort, and I like it that way – I don’t have the time or desire to get bogged down in the details, be they mine or yours.

I feel as though there may be some backlash from the community because I am not really on board with the whole Mental Health Camp idea, but I’m not going to put on a false smile and support something I don’t truly think I believe in just for the sake of appeasing others. I wouldn’t ask you to march in my Mandatory Birth Control for Everyone Parade if it made you uncomfortable, so I’m not going to do the same to myself. My crazy and I get along just fine, thanks. We don’t need a Camp to validate that to anyone.

PANCAKES!! >:E