notanotherphony.

woke up with really bad diarrhea. i think I have sat on my toilet fourteen times already and it is only 10:19am. my stomach has been bothering me for the last week and it all came to a head this morning. I have a zoom audition later today so I am trying to figure out if it is just audition nerves or a bigger problem. I want to take Murphy for a walk but I am worried. I want to run but I am worried. diarrhea is bigger than people make it out to be. You are always on edge. you need to be ready. you need to be close to a toilet. You worry when heading outside. i take a breath and try to be mindful. I am really working on trying to be mindful. day three into my meditation course. before I sit down to meditate I feel anxious and restless but right after I feel great. confident. aware. life is very weird that way. my mind plays tricks on me. i am sure it plays tricks on other’s too. i am always both curious and fascinated by my audition nerves. one line. thirty lines. no lines. they all seem to create an anxiety and it frustrates me as well as excites me. mindset is key. mindset is always key. sensitive. alive. aware. too aware sometimes. too alive sometimes. too anxious sometimes. extremes. always extremes. i would love to be normal for a day. a week. a month? no. not a month. just a few days of normalcy before I get bored. always bored. always restless. stomach still rumbling. mind still…for now. racing thoughts and racing cars. conquer the mind. I must conquer my mind. healthy mind, body, and spirit but I want to do this by still functioning in this world. I don’t want to be hiding in a cave or under a rock.

Oh…by the way…Rogers can be soooooo frustrating. Rogers. Telus. Bell. The big three. all bad customer service. constantly being on hold. constantly being passed over to someone else only to be put on hold again. what seems like a simple plan of action, upgrade our cable, becomes a task of monumental effort. time wasted listening to atrocious music and bad robotic messages. how can these companies try their best to offer up the worst customer service possible still be soooooooo successful, financially? the big corporations offering the worst customer service always beating out the little guys with the best customer service. a parallel to our world. big bold useless leaders with big mouths and little hearts and little penises running the world while smaller but smarter men and women sit in the shadows working for these incompetent men. incompetent women. a sad reflection of life but a reflection that never goes away. TRUTH. open your eyes and feel with your hearts. also, open up your ears. be aware. watch. listen. observe. constantly observe rather than constantly talk. stop talking and start listening. start growing. start learning. learn. really learn. with your own eyes and your own ears. DO NOT REHASH BORING WORDS FROM BORING PEOPLE.

I wish this pandemic would go away. the lack of human contact is starting to bother me. the lack of normalcy is getting to me. the uncertainty is affecting me. the boredom. the routine. the lack of leadership. the lack of direction.

hope.

hope?

love.

empathy.

I feel really bad for the elderly and I feel really bad for the kids. such a difficult time for them. so weird. so odd. so sad.

kids are resilient. they will survive.

the elderly?

what a sad way to end your life. alone and isolated. masks on.

fear.

lowered my dose of Zoloft recently and it didn’t work. I became manic again. hyper again. lost and unable to function again. back to my “normal” dose of 75mg a day. not too high but high enough (so far) for me. My never ending search to be functioning. to be free. to be alive and worthy.

Signed up for Sam Harriss’, Waking Up App, last night and began, once again, my journey of meditation. I am on Day two and feel hopeful. I always know “what to do” but I don’t always do what I know is best. Human beings are weird that way. We all know that eating healthier is good for us. we all know that exercise is good for us. we all know that eight hours of sleep is good for us. smoking kills. drinking too much is not good for us. sitting in front of bad television and consuming garbage content is not good for us. we know all of this and yet we, many times, refuse to do this. why? why can life be so simple and yet we make it so difficult? and then we pass on these bad habits to our kids and they pass them on to their kids and so on and so on. why?

I started the meditation and feel great. Two days of dealing with technology has rendered me frustrated and stuck. always frustrated. always stuck. too many passwords for two many things. why don’t I use the same password for all things? everything harder. everything more frustrating. too many buttons and not enough connection. not enough love. too much commerce and not enough love. too much fighting and not enough love. too much lies and not enough love. phoniness over authenticity. basement keyboard experts over science and clear thinking. people fighting tooth and nail to be right rather than wanting to learn and wanting to grow. why do so many adults stop learning and stop growing? how many kicks in the ass does it take to wake up and make changes? what is life about? what is the meaning of life? what does life mean for you? what do you want from life? do you love people or compete with people? do you mature? do you learn? are you “right” all the time and if you’re “not right” do you lash out at people until you have proven your point that you are right and they are wrong? do you really think you have proven your point? did you ever think that people stop engaging because to engage with someone who will not listen and only barks only brings frustration? the Trump loving conspiracy theorists can join hands and start their own platform. they can agree with each other. they can yell and scream. they can share memes and share Youtube clips from random doctors and random guys living in random towns. share away. share away. share away. does all of this help? do you engage in discussion? does anybody engage in discussion. a mountain of misinformation and a mountain of shit. do you really think or do you follow other rehashed opinions from rehashed men and rehashed women and then pretend that you are NOT a sheep. do people read novels anymore? is Facebook your novel? is Facebook your school and Youtube is your Post Secondary Education? what are you trying to accomplish? are you happy? what did you do today that made you happy? do you want to grow or do you want to fight because deep down you believe that you are right. and right about what? what is your goal? what makes you happy? are you interested in “we” or only interested in “me?”

do you breathe?

do you breathe?

do you breathe?

when was the last time you read a book?

The Heights Drive is crumbling.

society is crumbling. humanity is crumbling.

human connection is crumbling.

the pandemic will, eventually, be gone and then what? have you wasted your time? have we all wasted our time?

at the end of your life will you look back and think…”SHIT!!! I WISH I HAD MORE TIME.”

regrets can be painful. regrets will be painful. regrets are painful.

i do not want to be in pain.

why are the loudest usually the dumbest?

why are the loudest usually the most confident?

the tree is blowing in the wind.

my dog is at my feet.

the sky is grey.

i am peaceful today.

i am breathing today.

i will choose love or over hate today.

i will choose to not engage in needless and useless arguments on facebook today.

i am fifty-three years old.

i am quiet.

i will listen more and talk less.

growth.

growth mindset.

healthy mind, body, and spirit.

listen. really listen.

i am smart.

when I breathe and listen I am smart.

our world can be a great place.

our world can be an awful place.

make a choice.

choose the life you want.

My stomach is still rumbling. My eyes are tired. My mind still busy. I woke up with excitement for the day. Had a coffee and sat down to log onto my virtual screening with CAMH. still trying to figure out my life. still fifty-three years old. still lost. still searching. I turned on my computer and clicked on the link for my meeting. nothing happened. nothing worked. I asked my wife to help me and she tried to no success. I wonder how people with severe mental illness manage. My problems pale in comparison to some and are monumental to others. such is life. such is life in a pandemic. such is life in a pandemic with failed leaders at the top and smart citizens stuck in limbo as a result of poor planning skills and poor leadership skills. the pandemic is real. the response has been sad and pathetic.

Anyway, I digress. I always digress. But now I’m back. My computer does not seem fit for zoom calls and web meetings. I have had two failed meetings in the last week. Let’s hope next week is better. Now I sit at my computer after a failed CAMH meeting and a two hour walk with my dog. he is sleeping at my feet as I drink a coffee and attempt to write. I guess I am writing so there is no attempt. I AM WRITING.

Back to the Heights Drive. the first act of my life is set in The Heights Drive. A townhouse complex filled with recent immigrants from Britain. Rows and rows of townhouses to go along with a few apartment buildings and an outdoor swimming pool. As a kid I thought that this place was the best. When I drive by it now it is rundown and old and dirty. I wonder if the pool is still functioning. I wonder if the old scary Superintendent is still there. if she is she would probably be one hundred and twenty-five years old. She’s probably dead. Memories. lots of great memories. Lots of sad memories. Lots of scary memories. the bad usually outweigh the good but why? I want to find out why? Am I doomed for failure? Is my mindset negative? Can I change my mindset? Can we change? can we really change? I continue to try. i continue to cry.

Back to The Heights Drive. The first act. After our successful breaking of the old scary Superintendent’s window Merrick and I gained some confidence. lost some fear. we were now looking for more excitement. we were now looking for more fun. kick the can. hide and seek. road hockey. soccer. football. hockey cards. throwing the Indian Rubber Ball against the wall. playing on the swings. playing in the nearby creek. childhood fun. childhood friends. free and fearless. happy and free. few rules. few fears. few problems. and when there were few problems we did our best to create them. nothing has changed. nothing ever changes.

Merrick and I met up with each other around nine am but time was never important back then. there may have been someone else with us but my mind is not a hundred percent. so Merrick and I met up and we ran around our complex. playing in the sun. it was hot. i remember it was hot. it was the summer. i remember it was the summer. we ran and ran. we played and played. we were about to go to my house for lunch when we looked inside the laundromat that was for our housing complex. it was on the ground floor and it was small and usually dirty. yellow boring walls and dirty floors. but this time it was different. it had a fresh paint smell. there were cream coloured tarps on the floor with paint drops on them. there were open cans of blue paint. there were open cans of yellow paint. the professional painters were not there. they must have been on lunch. Merrick and I walked inside and looked around. we didn’t see anyone. we both grabbed a can of open paint and picked up a roller and started painting the freshly painted walls. we were screaming and laughing. big smiles on our faces. we painted them blue and yellow and then spilled paint all over the floor and then threw paint on the walls and then ran. we always ran. Screaming. Yelling. Excitement. FEAR. ALWAYS EXCITEMENT. ALWAYS FEAR. do they go hand in hand? Merrick ran one way and me the other. I ran straight home. I always ran straight home. I looked out the front window of our house and could see across the parking lot to front entrance of the laundromat. I saw some people mingling around. I saw two men dressed in painting clothes. There was a commotion. I was scared.

“What’s going on Christie?” my Nana asked.

“Oh nothing.” I responded.

It was always nothing.

“Did you want some lunch?”

“Yes please.”

My Nana cooked me a grilled cheese sandwich. I think. I am guessing. Maybe it wasn’t a grilled cheese. But I seem to remember a lot of grilled cheese sandwiches.

“I wonder what’s going on at the laundromat?” said my Nana.

“Why?” I answered.

“There seems to be some sort of commotion. Maybe someone died.”

And with that my Nana continued to cook. I watched tv. I wonder where Merrick went.

I saw Merrick the next day and we never spoke about the laundromat. we walked right by it and never looked in. we were so present in those days. we lived in the moment. so free. so fun. so happy.

life was simple.

Didn’t drink last night. Can’t remember the last time that I didn’t drink. My stomach has been bothering me and I’ve been getting shitty sleeps and with the sore stomach, diarrhea, and lack of sleep which also means lack of focus combined with Zoloft, Zoplicone, and numerous multivitamins I haven’t really been accomplishing much other than a daily 10k run and a daily one hour walk with Murphy. I’ve also managed to learn how to cook but I am fifty-three years old and learning how to cook at my age isn’t really a big accomplishment. So I didn’t drink last night even though there were many times that I almost caved and cracked open a beer. But I didn’t. My sleep was much better. still not great but better. I am functioning a little better today, so far. I have energy. I have focus. I have hope. Have a few zits and at fifty-three one would think that that worry would be long past me but it’s not.

Now onto my story. My story of my life. My never ending search to find out what is wrong with me and how did I get to be this way. I will go back to The Heights Drive again. I am three now but don’t remember anything about being three. Does anybody else remember their lives at that age? My Mom and Dad had another baby in November of 1970 but I don’t remember anything about it. he was a boy. they named him Dominic. Dominic Alexander Sean Mckenna. A long name. He was my brother. He still is. Not quite sure where he was born. what hospital. I know that he came out feet first and my Mom almost had to have a C-section but other than that I have no memories. no recollections. I don’t remember much about the early years. As I said earlier, I remember street parties for my parents with lots of booze and lots of laughs. I remember the swimming pool and my crush on the “great” sixteen year old swimmer whose last name was Thomson. I remember riding around in my fake plastic car and I remember Merrick and I getting into lots of trouble. I remember falling from the balcony and getting a concussion and ending up in the “H” hospital for three days. I remember throwing an Indian Rubber Ball against the side of the end house and having all kinds of fun. I remember my first kiss with some girl up on level two of the complex. there were monkey bars and swings there. I forget who all my friends were. I remember Merrick and the McQueenie’s. I also remember Ewan Geddes. I also remember the girl who would walk our dog Snoopy. She was so nice but one day she came back to our house screaming and crying saying that Snoopy was dead. She was bawling. we all ran out to the main street and there was Snoopy laying on the ground dead with a TTC bus stopped beside him. The driver was sad. The girl was sad. we were sad. what a sad day.

One day Merrick, myself, and maybe my brother, although I am really not sure, threw a big boulder through the front window of our Superintendent’s small apartment. She was very old and scary. She would walk around everyday with some sort of spear that she used to pick up the garbage. But she also waved that spear at us often as we were always bugging her or causing some sort of trouble. Merrick was a troublemaker and I liked him and, therefore, I became a troublemaker too. It was fun. we were kids. but, now, looking back on it, we were mean. anyway, we threw a big boulder through her front window and all ran our separate ways. I really do forget if Dom was there because I ran directly home and closed the front door after me. My Nana was sitting on the couch watching Coronation Street. she always watched Coronation Street. What a boring show. They all are. Anyway, I ran inside and quickly ran upstairs.

“Is everything alright?” Nana asked me.

“Yes.” was my short reply.

I was soooooo scared. What was fun and exciting for twenty minutes was now terrifying. What if I get caught? what if the old lady knows that it was me? what if the police arrest me? what if my Dad finds out? so many thoughts. so many fears. I tried to block them out but it didn’t work. I think I was seven years old but, once again, not too sure. really not too sure about anything which makes it difficult to figure out your life.

Anyways, after an hour of sweating and worrying there was a loud knock at our front door. I think it was four o’clock. I listened as my Nana answered the door. I heard male voices that sounded serious. I was soooo scared.

“go away. go away. go away.” I kept hoping that they would just go away but they didn’t.

“Christie. Come down here please. There’s someone at the door who wants to speak with you.” Nana yelled up.

I walked down and saw two police officers standing beside the old scary Superintendent lady.

The police were polite. they were friendly but they asked me if I knew anything about a boulder being thrown through the Superintendent’s front window.

“no. no I know nothing about that.”

Nana looked at me with judgement.

“Are you sure?” one of the police asked me.

“yes…yes I am sure.”

“So you are positive you know nothing about this?”

“yes I am positive.”

I was terrified. The old scary lady was looking at me. My Nana was looking at me. the two policemen were looking at me. was God looking at me too? where was Merrick?

“Okay then. thanks for your time and have a great day.”

“Thanks. You too.” Nana replied.

Nana closed the door and we both sat on the couch. A commercial for Mr. Clean came on the tv. I don’t remember a lot of things but I remember Mr. Clean. What a weird thing to remember. weird thing. weird lady. weird life.

another terrible sleep. deep sleep until Murphy woke me up after four hours. 2am and then wide awake. tossed and turned for the rest of the night. one and a half sleeping pills mixed with three glasses of wine and seventy-five mg of Zoloft not doing the trick. a terrible sleep equals an unproductive day. i must learn to fight through the tiredness. I must learn to fight through the sleep issues. I must learn to fight through the opinions and the aches and the pains and the lack of quality doctors and lack of love. lack of care. I refuse to blame though. Extreme ownership. i will own my life complete with my decisions and my problems. i will also own my life complete with my successes and my fun.

I am fifty-three years old. still alive. still lost. still energized. still hungry. still thirsty. everything is still except me. moi. myself. I cannot sit still. No matter how tired I am I need to move. I need to run. i need to hike. i need to write. i need to do. meditation? relaxation? I wish. i always wish for what I do not have. psychological issues? psychological problems? too smart and unable to do anything with it? lots of questions and very few answers. STUCK. ALWAYS STUCK. ALWAYS HUNGRY. never satisfied. satisfied?

I was born on March 23, 1967. My parents were from England but met in Canada. My Dad, Bernard, was a young and talented architect. My Mom, Mairi, was a young and talented Advertising Executive. They were happy. they were young. they were fun. their whole lives ahead of them and now they had a son. me. March 23, 1967. I was born. I am now fifty-three years old.

The first house that I remember living in was in the Heights Drive. It was a townhouse complex in the Don Mills and Lawrence area. it was filled with recent English immigrants. Lots of young families who enjoyed sports and enjoyed boozing. great conversations for the adults. fun and freedom for the kids. life was so fun back then. I also remember my Nana living with us. I remember her being around sixty-five when we lived there. not sure why I remember that. I remember a lot of random events and random dates but I also forget all kinds of important events and important dates. My mind may not be at full capacity. I loved my Nana. I also loved my Mom and my Dad. The Heights Drive. My first memories. Driving around in fake cars. Playing hide and seek. Outdoor parties for the adults. A few adult drunken fights with loud talkers and loud yellers. The outdoor swimming pool where we had the swimming protege who won every swim meet every saturday morning. lots of people watching her. I remember having a crush on her but she was sixteen and I was seven or eight. I think her last name was Thomson. Bad memory sometimes. great memory other times. I would apologize but I am trying my hardest to stop being a people pleaser. I am trying my hardest to stop being a perfectionist. Those bad traits have stopped me from creating. stopped me from living. stopped me from growing. I will no longer allow my mind to stop me. Keep writing. Keep working. Keep typing. Every saturday morning running up to watch my first crush swim. I witnessed how everyone adored her and cheered for her. She was the center of attention. I wanted what she had. I wanted to be the center of attention. I wasn’t a good swimmer but I was really good in soccer and hockey. I played for Don Mills in soccer and for Flemingdon Kings in hockey. I loved both sports. I loved the cold rink and our yellow and purple jerseys. I loved scoring goals and I loved my friend, Merrick. He was a tough kid. He was loud and got into lots of trouble but I liked him and he liked me. My Dad was friends with his Dad. His Dad was also named Merrick which I found weird. His Dad was also loud. his Dad was funny. he was a loving man but he also drank a lot and many people called him an alcoholic. I think he may have abused his wife sometimes. Her name was Chrissy. She was nice too. They have both died. Merrick Junior and his sister, Tina, are still alive but I don’t see them anymore. Life is long and friends come and go. What seemed so intense and important at the time becomes forgotten over time. A childhood filled with so many friends and so many memories becomes forgotten. details forgotten. friends forgotten. events forgotten. I will attempt to remember and attempt to write and attempt to piece my life together in order to move on and enjoy the rest of my life but it may take time and it may be disjointed. I will accept this and I hope you will too but I can no longer worry if you can or if you do. JUST WRITE JACK. JUST WRITE. JACK? CHRISTIAN? BENNY? BONER? MCKENNA? CHRIS? CHRISTY? CHRISTIE? who am I?