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The Depths of Love and Depression

Depression is a real experience. I can entertain for a while that  it is a symptom of something larger than ourselves- moderns day society, the planets and/or genetics

Regardless of the cause,  it is real and has physical/social  consequences.

TW Personal experience with depression/C-PTSD/ADHD a touch of Ableism because I think the way I describe my experience with depression is problematic. 

Now, there is a part of me that wants to launch in an intellectual  dissection of the ramifications of spirituality (pseudo or otherwise) contributing to the stigma of mental health. Maybe another time though?

This post is a positive one even though it is vulnerable.

I want to introduce to you my reemergence from a depressive episode as captured by this piece. I ran a Title contest for this piece over on my Facebook page  and the community generously delivered the name as “The Depths of Love”. I took the liberty of adding the Depression bit 😉


The entries included:

  • “Dharma”
  • “Soul Searching”
  • ” Offering To Myself”
  • “Self-Care”
  • “Depths of Love”

and a few others.

What I find cool and curious about this piece is the similarities of this piece to the actual PET Scan. I am a firm believer that your inner compass KNOWS a lot and sometimes I wonder if I appreciate just how much.

My experience with depression feels cold. It is a deep rest where I freeze. My passions, my laughter, my need for food or social interaction crumble. It is an implosion of listless hours where I can’t cry or really feel all that much. This has lead in the past to what is deemed as “thrill seeking behaviour”. I had the habit of venturing to the arenas of danger, harm or adventure seeking to feel. I have worked with several counsellors and psychiatrist over the years as this behaviour can be extremely maladaptive. I am so deeply grateful for the medical community even though sometimes they can be invalidating, inaccessible and frustrating.

To me, having a diagnosis is a great tool- just like movement, spirituality or creative outlets. It helps me communicate my experience to others in a way that is generally well understood. It gives me words to chip my way of the cinderblock that is my mind trap.

To me, this piece is very much a reminder of my own love… for my smallest most fragile self and my biggest/brightest and baddest Self. Both of these inner aspects get me through EVERYTHING life throws at me. I have so much faith in myself because of BOTH of them.

I used Van Gogh’s “A Starry Night”, as inspiration to capture the movement in this piece. I wanted it to convey that ever tender reaching out to loved ones- to the shine, to the sparkles, to nourishment and out of the frigidness. I usually have remember a kay aspect of myself, or have been humbled and awestruck by the many people who still choose to be around me.  I am thankful for the elements of myself that bring me to experience nothing-ness so purely, sadness so deeply and joy so fully. It can be very problematic operating in this society with these aspects of myself but that’s why I LOVE my diagnosis- because I can express what is happening to me. So, it all winds up being pretty damn beautiful.

At the center of this piece, and of my life, is my heart. Even when I am at my “worst”, I listen to it beating a steadiness of aliveness into my body. I listen to it whisper and feel it smile when I stir. It lights up when teachers/healers show up on my path and it sounds the alarm when it’s time to close the door.

I really love this piece and have worked with it for months now. I want it to go to someone who knows their struggle and desires a loving reminder that their heart is golden and that this too shall pass. Are you that person?


“The Depths of Love and Depression”


Acrylic and Mixed Media


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Hateful Excuses… TW

Personal responsibility and psychiatric calamities shall be the title of my first fucking memoir.

If anyone cares to know, I am righteously angry at the moment. So if you want to read some angst and rage… PROCEED. If not, go away. DSC_0223

Why can’t you tell a psychiatrist to go fuck themselves? Well, it’s socially not reccommended since they can institutionalize you. These elements of social etiquette infuriate me; just another subtle means of establishing control on people. All the subtles you shouldn’t do this add up and wear at me over time. Hell, even crying in public is so fucking frowned upon because it seems the majority of the populace is so disengaged with their emotions. Plus, all the “spiritual” folk are neurotically avoiding “negative” emotions because they don’t want to “take others energy on”.

Is there a place in society for rage and sadness? Is there a place in the world for these big feelings? IS there a place in the world for me?

Yet, those deemed with expertise and a side of arrogance can steamroll all over vulnerable persons with technicalities, ridiculously overpriced drugs and a general lack of empathy that makes me think Lizard People might actually exist.

Part of me cautions to be compassionate, after all doctors and other health practitioners are people too! They aren’t supported in their jobs… they have problems too… are what I say to mayself as I slowly back myself off the precipice of a mental breakdown. I resent myself in part for keeping myself from tipping over the edge… maybe I should just fall of the cliff… maybe it would feel liberating to not exist… maybe it would be more okay if I just numbed out to this existence.

All of this is coming up inside of me in reaction to a series of inconsiderate events regarding my forms for my Ontario Disability application (admitting that I am making one makes my throat constrict) starring at least 4 doctors, 2 social workers and a few handfuls of office staff.

There are so many problems with the system…  The most highlighte for me today is the systemic victimhood and disempowering policies that are entrenched in the Ontario medical system-especially in regards to mental health. I am rocked and whipped into a a storm of rage that pours out hot tears.

Everytime I try to rationalize, to calm myself down; my mind tries so many excuses…

“Hey! Blame the Wynne government for all the cuts to health providers!” or

“Hey! Blame doctors because they have no humanity!” or

“HEY! Blame the scary and shitty Big Pharma because that’s who all New Agers blame! or

“Hey! Blame your family for fucking everything up in the first place!” or

“Hey! Blame your brain because it’s all structurally and chemically fucked up!” or

“Hey! Blame your wounded slimy soul that’s tainted by all the shitty and immoral things you’ve done throughout time and space!” or

“HEY! Last resort- we can at least blame the fucking WIFI!”

All of these feel like fake lies you would tell to a child to calm them down.

Yet taking on the full responsibility for these events… crushes me.

I fucked up. I failed. So, maybe I am a failure.

I can write a stupid blog post in 10 minutes. Can I write 2 academic papers in a year? HA!

I can remain calm when someone is yelling at me. Yet, I practically choke on my own tongue trying not to rage at this stupid psychiatrist.

I can apply for 3 jobs a day. Yet, my unemployed life is filled with charity work and burrito blankets.

Today was the first in a long time where I felt I could understand why people kill themselves…

That’s a scary thought, sure, but I had it.

This will probably pass. But in case anyone was wondering, I don’t ALWAYS have my shit together. I’m not always happy. I don’t really buy the love and light bullshit. I am still lovable even at my worst. So there.

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Relationships vs. REAL-ationships

Do you love me for who I am or who I was?

This question has been banging in my skull for a while now.

I have no words. I barely know who I am.
My heart aches in places I didn’t know it had.

Yet, I feel expansion on the rise. Like I am flying to new places but that first feeling of buoyancy as my last toe leaves the earth causes a shiver of uncertainty to run through me.

Some people come into our lives for a reason, some for a few seasons and some stand the test of time.

I know I love you. I know that I have probably loved a version of you before. Yet, this time… I want to choose more. I want my edges to burst…

If I am not excited, not in something full heartedly… How can I permit myself to continue?

It could be timing, maybe it’s just the stars realigning?
I can answer some elements of my part

Yet, what I notice so much is my heart shelters itself in your presence… I can’t permit that to continue


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Poetic Musings from the Spiritual WtFAQ

I have a ongoing document on my computer called my Spiritual WtFAQ. It is basically a journal where I wordbarf all my thoughts when I am feeling discombobulated. I started it when I was trying to make a manual on how to deal with /be me. A lot of it consists of questions I constantly ask myself when I am an imbalanced state- so I can read what I wrote when I was feeling good. That said, I rarely remember I’ve created this document when I am feeling *shitty.

Most of it is fun and there’s some poetry in there- maybe a book one day? Anyway, without further ado- here is an excerpt of my inner machinations. 


Written December 18th 2016

It can feel like I am the ghost writer of my own mind. The internal judgments cloud my eternal desire to communicate my own vision of a grand design.

If someone asked a simple question, without looking into my eyes; I wonder what would I be able to say in front of another person.

Sublimely peaceful in my own small circle of perceived madness. I don’t really want to play well with others.

A glorious disaster or a communicative natural wonder.

A crystal gem or a patch of dirt thinking it is calcified sand.

Universal languages of music, art and nature.

Fuel a divine inspired expression that is loftily met with imagined judgments that I permit to feel like rejection.

I allow myself to get lost in the cause of peace and self-righteous quests for glory.

A perfect storm of a vortex undisclosed questioning stillness and challenging resistance.

A die-hard, try-hard perpetually seeking running full tilt towards accomplishments pushed to a standstill by internal neurotic tabloids.

No real questions come because I speak to fragility and all the songs left unsung.

I am here.

I promise.

I will stay as long as I am needed.

I will always need my self because I know I am the first to love.

A love note to myself when imagined madness can tempt my Highest Good to become undone.

The constant questions I ask myself and others…

Do you understand?

Are you listening with a heartbeat of your own vulnerability?

Can you appreciate the wisdom of a childlike wonder?

Do you really believe the world needs more rewilding?

Are you taking this all personally?

Can I hurt you?

What is a boundary?

Can my creative expression and healing process be met with contempt if I wilfully disallow all attempts at disrespecting me?

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Brain Fire and Moving Onward

“Brain Fire” is what I call being syptomatic of my various mental health diagnosi.

I resent that I have any diagnosis.
I resent that I am compelled to label myself.
I resent that I am encouraged to conform the magnitude of my feelings into a socially acceptable and easily digestible expressions.

When I am syptomatic, my brain is on fire. The world feels louder, smells stronger and I feel deeper. I know and trust that I am not the first to go through these motions.

However, the simple tasks of maintaining a life… seem overwhelming at times.

I was triggered today when a relative said “if you were living in the real world- it wouldn’t be pretty. If I wasn’t shielding you, you wouldn’t make it”.

I wanted to scream fuck you and cry hot tears at the same time.

Am I not in the real world? How am I the villain for someone elses actions? How do they know my experience isn’t hellish?

Anyways, I shared that I didn’t like how that comment made me feel and the conversation resolved to an okay result. There had been a miscommunication, hurt feelings and chronic pain that exarcerbated the issue.

Still though, I felt persecuted. (which I realize is much to strong of a word in relation for the actions that happened- but it’s the most accurate descriptor for me).

I want more energy.
I want more lightness.
I want more money.

There are paintings that sell for millions… MILLIONS of dollars.
I want that level of affluence.

Yet, I am feeling frayed and dismayed… Tomorrow is another day to shift my state. To clean, to renew, to refresh and reset.