The Sparks of A Bipolar Heart

                            

 "He Was there the Whole Time" ~ 1 of 1 Original Artwork by Wenelda Zurrin.

The above framed artwork was gifted to me, on the day I was baptized. 

It would take 21 years for me to complete my novel and to fulfill my purpose. I feel this quote sums it up best...

“It is never too late to be what you might have been.” ~George Eliot

At first, this post was going to solely be about the journey of my book, Under the Sitka Tree.

Mainly because a promise I made over twenty years ago, to my daughter Shayla (who died in 2011), was finally coming true! However, as what happens when I sit down to write…the words found within the storage of my heart, want to be released in their own way. 

Therefore, this post is also interwoven with the journey of my mental health. It is for all of those who sparks may have diminished. To those who sparks have been gone and to all of those, who need someone to come along and re-ignite their light within.

In sharing this, I am owning everything that stems from what has taken place in specific circumstances. All of which, impacted my mental health, over the years.

Included in this, are the days spent investigative reporting on sexual/human trafficking, which took me down some dark, sordid roads- with some shady characters. Additionally, the perils of last years displacement (which triggered a stroke, aneurysm and a breakdown in my mental health)- severed a 40 year friendship in the springtime.

While my sincere apologies were not accepted, I know within my heart of hearts I meant every word. The most importantly part for me, was to acknowledge I was in crisis and then I reached out to my Doctor and Specialist. All of whom offered help and understanding in dealing with my insomnia and a new medication that interrupted my path of wellness. 

This post , while about my mental health, is also about the journey which brought me full circle some two decades later, with my book. As I write, I am well aware that had it not been for the grace of God and the compassionate hearts of other, I would not be able to compose this.

For what I believed long ago- was a journey of one- is really an compilation of kindness, mercy and support, I have been given.  

In my venturing soul that yearned to fulfill a promise to my daughter, I also needed to traverse the invisible mountain, placed in front of me… in order to complete my novel.

There are four songs chosen for my post. Each one holds links to chapters throughout my life.

The first, Hold On, is about a father and son relationship, ripped apart by suicide and expressed in a dance/story-telling sequence.

Derek Hough - Hold On (Official RIV Dance Story- *Trigger Warning)

https://youtu.be/zKxvx-lVdIA

I relate to this heart wrenching video- in the shame I carried. My earlier life passages, contain three separate, suicide attempts. 

All of which, were prior to receiving a life-changing positive diagnosis, of Bipolar. In typing my words, I look back and cannot imagine the hell I would have put my only child through and loved ones, had any of the attempts taken hold. When I watch this powerful video, I envision Shayla sitting in that chair and the tears began to flow.

Thanks to God, there was salvation for me after all of the darkness and the semicolon I proudly wear on my wrist; is a profound reminder of my faith and resilience...to carry on. 

While there Is more to my story, it is not merely about me. For the past year has made history in many tragic ways. It is about a virus introduced that carried over communities, nations and our world. The pandemic that has ravaged our schools, our hospitals, our churches and our connections with one another. At the root of the past, there has been an infiltration of fear, intolerance and unease. Add to the tragic discoveries of hundreds (exceeding now) of unmarked graves at former residential schools…causing us to acknowledge our scattered past, while fires wreak havoc on our country, already in jeopardy.  

It is then I pause to recognize those who are no longer with us, for various reasons. I am mortified by 2020/2021's anguish and sorrow. Yet, all the while humbled enough to understand that if I can openly share from within my heart- the one with a hole in it- it is to give what spark I have left, to others.

This year saw me continue to work on the one promise I have been striving to keep...the publication of my first novel, Under the Sitka Tree.

What I want readers to understand, is I would like to also pay tribute to those who are working from home or out in their communities. I acknowledge those who are under tight deadlines, which is affecting their mental health and well-being.

To those I call friends, who have had to work 100% more than me, for their income, who have challenging days and cope with exhaustion. Yet, they still 'show up to work' and give everything they have, in order to survive and provide.

For me, my appreciation for them, is paved with the respect of all that they do!

When my time isn’t spent on getting my novel in print, I have been working on re-building my short term memory issues, along with my other health concerns. I also spend time everyday in prayers, holding in reverence my 22 yr. old nephew Matt, who passed away. Matt died, on the same day (July 28th, 2020), I had my ischemic stroke. 

Matt loved the stars, the galaxy and all that was in it. There is a cherished photograph of him in the open air, sun setting upon him and in a world full of joy. That is how I chose to remember him by, with love and a shared passion for the outdoors.

Matt also loved quotes and when I heard this for the first time, I thought of him…

“You can’t wait until life isn’t hard anymore, before you decide to be happy.” 

~ Jane Marczewski/Nightbirde

In taking the time needed to seeing my book to completion, I also became a learner of all things Sitka. For when I hired a skilled Editor in Liam Ford, to work with me on the novel, I thought this was it. I would find out; the easy part… was writing it 😊

Next came a Copy Editor, whose questioning methods, made me sharpen my storyline. Just when I felt my manuscript was finished…I was introduced to Leon Oldale. The dedication, he gave my novel, was phenomenal! As a formatter, Leon worked on every section with a keen eye. He devoted his time to each sentence, punctuation and cross-referencing. Being a family man, I know he stretched himself thin. For all the while he dedicated to my novel, and us going back and forth; each new day brought a greater appreciation for self-publishing! I know with all my heart that the hands upon Sitka from George, Leon, Marty, Karen, Ben-Lee, Lindsey and Craig are all part of the roots, which make up Under the Sitka Tree.

The transformation that took place within my book, also took hold within me and I discovered my true writers voice, in the pages being turned.

“Where you are planted, is not where you have to remain rooted.” ~ Billy Chapata

Every minute spent in the artistic origins of Sitka, saw me blessed with additional inspiration, after my prayer and bible reading. For each creative soul out there, has a go to….a song or mantra, a place or some peaceful meditation.

For all my readers, I would love for you to meet Gary Miracle. His amazing journey is something I tune into every day! For he had his chapters interrupted by septic shock that forever changed him. I would hope more people would watch this video and see that a man given the last name ‘Miracle’…actually became one!

Mercy Me – Say I Won’t (The Gary Miracle Story/video of Hope)

https://youtu.be/UhTHgaCjTJs

On a side note, for those interested and having watched the above video- last month Gary Miracle received his legs and YES! He did take his first steps.

After watching Gary’s extraordinary story on a daily basis, I realized that my dream was possible. I was more than capable of accomplishing All things through Christ who strengthens me. In my prayers, I understood if I was going to fulfill the promise I made to Shayla, then I would need to release all control to God and ask for him, to be the ink inside my pen!

God delivered in ways… that I understand had his hands all over Sitka, from the beginning to completion!

The next chapter to unfold,  came with an awe-inspiring understanding of who I am and what is my purpose?

Need to Breathe- Who Am I

https://youtu.be/Iooys8xC3QA

Only now, am I able to reflect on the beautiful truth about those individuals; who much like lofty branches, carried me along the way towards my goal.

Only days before I am scheduled for surgery on my heart, to close the hole in it, have I completed my book and moving forward.

Everyone kindly keeps on telling me that I will be okay, and I believe it!

For I hold close the following:

It is not me who is in control, but the one God, who created me.

I feel honoured and grateful to embrace the story, I was gifted with, over twenty years ago.

“Under the Sitka Tree,” echoes my faith journey of love found and lost, the pathways of bereavement and the simple magnificence of bringing beauty out of ashes.

In my last chapter, I came to realize, without my infusion of Bipolar…. I could never have imagined ‘Sitka.’

For every bit of struggle, rejection, sorrow and valued time spent, I can lift my hands to the one and praise Him that throughout it all…he has ALWAYS been there for me…

So with every heartbeat in my chest
Lord, I surrender all that I have
The days yet to come and the days in the past
I'm giving You all, all that I am
With lifted hands…

Ryan Stevenson - With Lifted Hands (Official Lyric Video)

https://youtu.be/7drEyGsF-Vo

 

By TL Alton 

 

The Promise Part 1

“A book does not complete itself. There are hands upon it, a keen outlook and insight upon every page. Much like a photograph slowly developing; a book takes time, patience and love, to bring it to its full glory.”  ~ TL Alton

20 years ago, by a surging riverbed, a seed of love took root within.

Under the Sitka tree, began by writing the ending first and wound around a magnificent Sitka spruce tree, on the central coastline of British Columbia.

Never could I fathom, all that I would endure, in order to complete and seek publication.

Over the years, I pressed on towards the goal, intertwined with my faith journey.

I was inspired by J.R.R. Tolkien, who spent twelve years, to write Lord of the Rings. I was fascinated with all the breaks he took, which added onto the length of writing. In total, it took seventeen years. As with Tolkien, he never was truly done.

Another source of incredible motivation was Karen Hill. She devoted 20 years to writing her novel, Café Babanussa. When she passed unexpectedly, it was her brother, Canadian author Lawrence Hill who saw her book published. In 2016, I attended The Sunshine Coast Festival of the Written Arts, in Sechelt, BC. After hearing Lawrence Hill speak, I eagerly took my place in line to meet him. I had tucked under my arm, a book. The array of Canadian Literature written by Mr Hill, includes The Book of Negroes, The Illegal and Dear Sir, I Intend To Burn Your Book.
Once I approached, we shared in conversation. In presenting the novel I had purchased and wanted autographed, it was his sister's novel, Cafe Babanussa. I gravitated to her as a gifted author and someone whose journey with mental health, I can relate to. 
The threads of connection Karen and I shared, are the intricate complexities of Bipolar. 
In reading the story she penned, I felt at times my life, faded into hers. 
The comfort I found nestled in the pages of her writing, were like that of a familiar friend.

In writing Under the Sitka Tree, it was full of surprises. As the author, I could not help myself from tinkering, changing, and deleting. I first wrote it on the cusp of being diagnosed with Bipolar. Once I leveled out, I had the clarity that had once seemed unattainable. Going back into the pages of my book, was to unravel the threads of creative madness and extract the story, waiting to blossom.

My daughter, Shayla Rae Dawn, grew up watching the surges of mania and descents into depression. She was a fierce advocate for me and during the turbulent times of upheaval, Shayla encouraged my writing. My daughter was a fan, when I could not hold a pen or string the words together. She refused to give up on me or my novel. Once I stabilized in my life and re- learned my 'new normal' by society's standards, Shayla encouraged me to revisit my book; to edit with the purpose of completing it.

One day, she came to me and asked to read a few chapters. I wanted my book to be perfect. Therefore, she was given, only the first couple of pages. Afterwards, my daughter came to me with such emotion, I could tell the story line spoke to her soul. 

At my desk, she leaned over and looking into my eyes, she said: 

“Momma, you have to promise me, you will get your book finished and published.”

The intensity was on a deeper level and I replied: “I promise you Shayla, I will.”

Extending her hand towards mine, she curled her pinky finger. 

With a smile that melted hearts, she added: “Pinky promise.” 

I was overwhelmed with sentiment. Taking my pinky in hers, we locked our fingers together. As mother and daughter forged a vow, I gazed into her beautiful blue eyes and pledged my oath to her: “Pinky promise, babygirl.”  

Only a few years later - right before Christmas 2011, my beloved daughter and only child, was tragically killed in a car crash. 

In my immeasurable grief, I felt I could no longer write. My heart was fractured, as was gone the opportunity of Shayla to read, Under the Sitka Tree.

As time carried onward, I would recall the promise I had made. I began to take my pain and use the gift of creativity to rebuild. I became a leader in a faith- based bereavement course called “GriefShare” ~ which offers support to those, who have had a loved one, pass away. 
Connecting with others, helped me back on my writing journey.

I also discovered, the spark that was my daughter, had originated from me.

Returning to my novel, I found my writer’s voice and picked it up with a newfound passion. In taking moments of my life, I saw the purpose in releasing my remorse, the good along with the bad, onto the pages.

I learned the beauty in fiction writing; entwining what is real and what is not, into a story where readers will feel a part of it all.

I hired a professional editor, Liam Ford, who devoted his time to my book. Liam brought a fresh approach to what I had been writing- on and off- for two decades. He came alongside me as an author and helped oversee any changes. At times, I felt challenged by my own words. Yet, I could see the value of Liam’s skills, as he took me to what lay beneath the surface. His insight was essential and because of his editing, I developed better sentence structure and voice of each person. 
More importantly, I avoided instances of colorism and white privilege, as my editor showed me the use of a character's power over prejudice.

There was also a special moment, when after meeting with Liam, I agreed to acquire his services.

He leaned into me with his pinky. I had shared what transpired with my daughter and this sudden gesture, threw me off guard. As I held back the tears, Liam Ford offered me his pinky and as I linked mine with his, the gesture symbolizing the pinky promise, he smiled and said:

 “Let’s do it for Shayla.”

Liam Ford was more than an editor; he was the keeper of my words, to a story yearning to be told.

As I type, the emotions are surfacing…there is no way to ever convey to Liam, what his actions meant to me as a mother, who still grieves her best friend.

Later this year, as I returned to my book. I revisited yet again this magical place I twisted and formed around my characters. In doing so, I discovered the promise I made to Shayla... was unearthed in the forest containing a Sitka spruce tree.

All along, the rawness of my immeasurable loss, lay guarded in my world…waiting to be released, in the form of my novel.

It has taken me twenty years on this journey, to be brave enough to let go,  so as to keep a promise to my babygirl.

Under the Sitka Tree, is dedicated to Shayla Rae Dawn. An extraordinary young lady, who helped me find my heart light again ✟💛 In order to shine in a way, which is reflective of the Creator.

“A Promise is a Promise.”

by TL Alton 
 * Please check out the website for my novel, which has been updated with new quotes, a shorter version of 'The Promise' and new pictures. www.tlalton.com  
Liam Ford Wordsmith https://www.liamford.com/

Between a Rock and Reality

As a writer, I could not imagine I would be putting words to paper, during a pandemic.

No matter what, I feel it is important for me to continue edits on my book, composing drafts, and releasing my fears through font.

Being an imperfect believer, I feel every aspect of what our world is going through, God is part of the coronavirus… but not what some may think.

In reflecting on the past months, I can drawn a straight line and correlate the before and after of my journey. In doing so, I see things may not always be, what they appear. Pieces of a bigger picture that if one were to map it out, over time, the clarity of each situation has brought me to the place where I am at.

When I was evicted and thrust into the middle of the virus, I needed to believe there was purpose in my pain. In seeking shelter, I had to pray more than stars aligning to bring me luck. I found myself packing up and moving out in only 10 days, by landlords whose motives became clear. Friends had facilitated me securing work and one helped me move, some of my things into storage. As I scoured the landscape looking for a place to land, I found The Days Inn on the Harbour. From the minute, my feet stepped into the hotel, I was welcomed by Lynn. Her warmth was evident in the way she spoke. She offered assurance, the Days Inn would do all they could, to accommodate me. I was planning to stay for a few nights, in order to figure things out. At the front desk, my room was upgraded to a kitchen unit, with two beds. I opened the curtains to reveal an incredible ocean view, spanning across the inner harbour. Walking over to the nightstand, I opened the drawer and pulled out The Holy Book. Flipping open to a page, I let my eyes scan to the passage of hope, I needed.

While a guest at the hotel, I was able to pour over more edits; Liam Ford https://www.liamford.com/ had spent his valued time on my novel. I went through every line and compared, making notes. Being able to solely focus on my book, allowed me to settle on any adjustments, I felt were needed. As I neared the end, I held back on the last two chapters, as I pondered the next setting I would be in.

One month later, I found myself checking out of The Days Inn on the Harbour. I had been treated with utmost care and outstanding customer service by staff. Lynn, Mike, Mark, Lavern, and Gabriela, made my stay, a comfortable one. We shared in conversations, laughter, and some normalcy in the midst of COVID-19. One of the Front Desk Managers, Mike- was a combination of a young Hugh Laurie and Kiefer Sutherland. When my movie channel played a week of Sutherland flicks, Mike took all the silly jokes I teased him, with a good sense of humour. Lynn went beyond any customer service expectations and I was treated to beautiful gestures, from the heart.

Easter treats from Lynn

The General Manager, Darryl Wilson extended his services, by engaging in talks of community matters. When I was laid off my job, the hotel offered their support. When it came time to search for a new place to move into, Darryl gave me a pep talk, which lit a fire underneath me. He also offered, if I required it, to provide a reference for me. I was humbled by this, as how often does a General Manager of a hotel, offer to do so!

It was during my time at the hotel and before packing up, I researched the origins of where I had been staying. Lynn had on one occasion asked me, “Why did you chose here, to stay with us?” I pointed to the heavens and replied, “I think there was a higher power at hand.”

In my room, sitting at the desk, I began reading with interest about the founder of The Days Inn~ Cecil B. Day.

“Day founded Days Inn on Tybee Island, Georgia, in 1970. He proposed the idea as a means of using a piece of land he owned on the island. When the first Days Inn opened, Day could not find maid service, so he had his children make up the rooms' beds. Also, a truck that delivered furniture was too heavy for the bridge onto the island, so Day's mother hauled furniture onto the island in her station wagon. Despite the criticism that Day faced from friends for wanting to start a new lodging option on a "no-name island" with a flagging tourist economy, the first Days Inn was 100 percent occupied by April 1970. Through the 1970s hotel guests could take home a paperback Bible from their guest rooms for free. Day, who was a devout Christian, also offered a network of chaplains to provide ministry at each motel.”

Source: Wikipedia

Closing my own Bible set beside me, I smiled and nodded my head. Upon final check-out, I said my farewells and mentioned Cecil B. Day. It was confirmation of the Lord’s grace upon me, during these trying times. Before parting, Lynn gifted me more presents, which are now part of my new accommodations. I will never forget, the kindness shown to me, when I had been ousted to the streets. Looking back, I am comforted to know, these caring hearts saw someone in need and helped me.

My beautiful parting gifts from Lynn included 3 tokens of Guidance, Strength and Peace, plus more!

In securing my new place, I turned to Airbnb. Having previously stayed at various locations, I had great experiences. Much to my delight, my research brought me to a place, where there was a tree house for rent! To say I was over the moon is an understatement. I thought of completing book edits, in a place which is featured throughout my novel, Under the Sitka Tree. After speaking with the owner, we agreed on a time to travel the distance to see the tree house. That morning, I woke up early and before I could depart, received an email. The rental was no longer available. The door was closed, and I was dejected.

I found myself in prayer and asking the Lord to guide my next steps. Going back on-line to Airbnb, I was not ready to give up. Soon, I found a single cabin on a farmhouse acreage. I loved the idea to be surrounded in a space, where I be inspired.

Having a sense that this was where I truly was meant to be, I booked it and as my post is being written, it is from my little cabin. The details to my lodging show craftsmanship, ingenuity, and lots of personal touches. I was welcomed with farm fresh eggs, bread, proper bacon, and chocolate chunk cookies. Upon putting my clothes away in the drawer, I made a discovery that instilled in me the Lord had brought me here. A small Bible with a cross and the word Redemption, had been left by a previous guest.

Since my experiences with Airbnb has always been positive, I felt it was a wonderful choice to stay, even for a month. Previous Hosts have given me terrific feedback. Along with the Hotel Manager glowing remarks, this helped me to overcome the ordeal I went through, at my very last house and pet sit.

Often it takes months, sometimes years, before we can truly have an idea of the ripple effects on our lives- by the misguided actions of others.

As I thought about my journey, I could see both the good versus the bad. Looking at times where I might have blamed God, I made the decision not to. This has helped me march on....

In my progression, I was free of anything that anchored me to the enemy. A strong example of this is when my daughter, Shayla died. Never once did I hold the Lord responsible. It was a man-made faulty design of a treacherous road, wrapped around an overfilled, frozen reservoir, which caused her death. Shayla’s in-experience as a new driver and a car overloaded with her stuff, also were contributing factors.

I have said it from the beginning in December 2011…Jesus was never at fault. Instead, he was there to welcome her home.

Since the coronavirus has struck earth, taken lives with a merciless force, and forever changed our world, I have watched…and heard, repeated by some: “Why did God do this?”

In the depths of my soul, I do not believe Our Creator, is behind this.

Looking at the possible source, it points to a man-made decision. One in which spread across the nations, in a fury of deaths, losses and destruction. While I talk of lives that have succumbed to this terrible virus, I am also speaking of the demise of other important matters: the end of a family business, the loss of our freedom to hug a grandchild, not being able to attend the funeral of a loved one and our vulnerable elders. Consideration also needed to be given to those who as a cultural, are feeling the deep rooted pain of racism and segregation.

As an angry filled ocean of those looking to blame, continues to swirls around us, we as a society find it hard to take responsibility. We may look up, down and all around, but the source of where this originated from, has a hard time facing it in the mirror.

The reality is when great things happen, we all give high- fives or pat ourselves on the back. Yet when bad things happen, the backslide is to shake our fists to the heavens and declare:

“What kind of a God would do this?”

When I read the updated numbers- on those who have died of COVID-19 and who has survived- my prayers on my knees, are equal.

As we open up and see for ourselves, the HOPE that has come out of something so evil, maybe we will ensure the right source, is held accountable.

by TL Alton