Month: December 2020

I wrote this poem to show awareness of those suffering from mental health. This poem is about depression, and what it feels like when it gets out of hand.

Quarantine not only creates the perfect environment for depression to worsen but limits people’s health resources.

(Picture above – “A hug from mother nature” – Juliet McGauchie)

 

 

The Death of Myself

 

The wrath of melancholy blankets my raw body.

I feel nothing, for I have become bedridden.

I lay upon ice and swords of steel, 

black ink seeping out my shallow wounds.

 

A hollow pulse,

   a hushed cry,

      a bleached breath.

         I ask myself, what have I done?

 

A girl stands above me, watching as I sink deeper into the Lethe of hopelessness. 

Her tears like the river of Hades, trickling down onto my chest.

She holds my hand and opens her mouth and whispers ever so softly,

what have you become?

 

She looks so disappointed, so upset with what I’ve done.

I have lost all sense of what it feels like to be happy.

All sense of what it is like to be normal. 

All sense of myself. 

 

Weak in the knees, she sits down beside me. 

She kisses my forehead and stands up once again. 

Her face a mirror, a reflection of my former self.

I watch as my ghost walks out of the room.

 

I have become frivolous. 

I have become the person I deemed never to become.

The room becomes darker, and the cries become louder. 

I yell as loud as I can but the darkness inside will not budge.

 

I am possessed with barren emotions.

It latches onto my veins.

Blood no longer flowing, my heart no longer beating.

I can feel the emptiness swallow me whole.

 

I seep into the floorboards, 

my mind merely untouched.

I am now nothing but dust on your shelves.

The air thickens with silence, the emptiness deafens. 

 

I have given up.

   Lost all control,

      all mortality, 

         all feelings. 

 

I am now one with the rest,

those who are broken with pain that had never left, with cold hearts but warm tears.

Those who have failed at loving oneself, those who were afraid to seek help,

those who we think are okay.

 

The wrath of melancholy fills the room,

and all that remains is ice and swords of steel,

for the darkness had gotten ahold of another one who was too afraid to 

 

                                                                                  ask for help.  

First off music is a huge part of my life. I spend as much time noodling as I do writing. With that said the only thing you really need to listen to is Song for Caden. It sums everything up so beautifully. What do I mean by everything? You decide.

        “Which came first: the chicken or the egg?” It’s an innocuous question. Pick one: Someone created the chicken that laid the first egg or a chickenoid animal laid an egg that evolved into the first chicken. What is a chicken though? When does a chicken stop being so chickenlike that it ceases to be a chicken? If we glue feathers to a man can we say “behold a chicken”?  I find that I’m in a similar situation myself. On October 10th 2019 I was diagnosed with bipolar (on world mental health day of all days. A sign? It’s -kind of funny in a cosmic sense.) so 2020 was bound to a(n) — adjective of your choice — year. Experiencing an unimaginable range of human emotion for much of my continuing adulthood has had an undeniable impact on the developing of my world view, however, where does my bipolarity end and where do I begin? If I were able to say “behold myself!” all would be saved or lost. For some reason I have an inexplicable fascination with duality and all that comes with it. Was this some innate attribute waiting to come out and my bipolarity accelerated the process or maybe this created something new. Physics says no but metaphysics says possibly.

        Exploring such an intense range of human feelings creates such conflicting views of the world I live in. I’ve felt the full insignificance of myself and my actions, felt powerless, been swallowed by pessimism but I’ve also drowned in self-importance, “transcended” past the concrete and abstract constraints of being human, and viewed the world through a rose-tinted kalopsopic telescope. So, what’s an enby to do? It’s a confusing as all hell, especially when I get mixed states where both sides somehow decide to happen at the same time. Both sides have some valid points and some believable lies. Filtering that is too much work. Deep introspection like that is a one-way ticket into a philosophical stupor. Being self-aware is pretty much useless in terms of trying to be your honest self. It means you’ve gotten good at deceiving yourself. Another issue is that as time progresses things becoming needlessly meta and always ends up becoming “I am self-aware that I am self-aware that I am self-aware” which is nothing perpetuating nothing for the sake of itself. Having no reference point to what is “normal”, (Re: standardized) I’ve come to the realization that I need to act as if both sides are absolutely true or else. Now there is no need to honestly filter what I am. I.e.  Politics Isn’t About Right Or Wrong; It’s About Winning (To be used only for good.)  

“If you seek authenticity for authenticity’s sake you are no longer authentic.” 
― Jean-Paul Sartre,  
“We are what we pretend to be, so we must be careful about what we pretend to be.” 
― Kurt Vonnegut, Mother Night 

        You might be thinking to yourself “Wait hold on. This sounds awfully close to some Orwellian 2+2=5 doublethink type stuff”, and you would be correct. There’s nothing wrong with that though. This is your head we’re talking about, not some oppressive totalitarian regime trying to gain power. There’s nothing wrong with that either. It’s your life so taking control of so it is probably high on your list of priorities to do that anyways. The world fucking sucks, so, some delusion does us good. 

Self-deprecation is a scarily good example of this phenomena.
—”I am stupid”
—I know I am not stupid I just made a simple mistake
— If you tell a lie big enough and keep repeating it, people will eventually come to believe it. – Some dude, I think it was hitler someone that propganda-ed around
—”I am stupid” 

Change that with nice and good and cool and nice things and your perception of yourself has changed. 

        Okay but what does this have to do with writing aesthetics and 2020? Something probably. Well, I already was spooked and incapable of going outside not much has changed in that regard. Without the… distractions for lack of a better word, there’s a lot of time to sit around and wade through the confusion. My neuroses (Although, I’m not particularly neurotic. I thought I would just throw that out there.) are fairly prominent in my regular life and I’ve learned to analyze them so it’s morbidly interesting to me how social isolation and information fatigue affect people and have brought out those neuroses that would have stayed hidden otherwise. Combine that with my experiences and there’s my explanation for why I love media that loves to unravel how people work. It should cut through me like a knife. There’s always a part of me that’s aching to be discovered. That’s why I think experiencing things so deeply helps me a lot in that regard. I end up having a lot more mental/emotional material to work with and writing it all out helps ease that pressure. 

        Notice how time feels like it’s not even real. Yeah, that’s me. Not in it’s my doing but rather that it’s something I experience on the daily. When I experience the “big sad” time moves like molasses. It’s a meditative molasses but a molasses nonetheless. I spend a lot of times watching walls and waiting for the day to pass by. In essence I am a human sundial, however, I do not get much sun because I stay inside and isolate so much. Everyday ends up, or seem to, be the same day repeated and repeated over and over. Then there’s the complete opposite where I move so fast it feels like the world can’t keep up. The wonderful dancing of free-flowing ideas (which uh oh I’m experiencing now), clang association, extreme sociality, and talkativeness is addictive. However, the world is slow, it cannot keep up with me, other people cannot keep up with me. It gets lonely to be like this. As the adage goes: “those who dance are thought to be mad by those who cannot hear the music.” If only there was someone who would dance with me 

There’s some magic here. Something about my anxieties towards domestic life? The effects of LSC on society? Who knows. Not me. It speaks to me.

        so, that’s something I like to play with a lot: the passage of time. The paradoxical nature of time has revealed itself even more than it usually would. Does it go faster? Does it go slower? Who’s to say? It’s like in Adam Sandler’s (NAME DROP BITCHESSS) Click where we see the time and have control over it, or rather what we do with it, to an extent while it relentlessly moves forward. A lot of what I write doesn’t make sense timeline wise. It’s all very manic. Time jumps around along with setting, things are impossibly over described in an impossibly short amount of time, does this section go in this part of the story, is it happening at the same time, etc. Does it matter in the first place? According to eternal recurrence no. 

Sorry talking heads is one of my favourite bands 

        I’m an incredibly claustrophobic person. If claustrophobia were a person it would be me. I don’t mean like afraid of tight spaces, or maybe I do. I do, but that tight space is me. Myself. The self. Like I wrote in that Kafka (I refuse to say it) story it sometimes feels like I’m looking through a window that is my eyes rather than just looking out my eyes. This disconnect makes me feel the same way I do towards other people. I suppose that’s why I look at other people a lot. To transcend existence is not exist at all. As Charlie Kaufman said in his movie Adaptation “You are what you love, not what loves you.” and my way of finding purpose and meaning is falling in love with everyone I see, taking myself out of the equation. Otherwise, I see no other outcome than becoming a stranger to yourself. 

         Compared to other parts of the world “the west” has a very solitary culture and that leads to a lot, like a lot a lot, of alienation between people. With covid that alienation has gone up and it ends up feeling like we’re fading away as opposed to feeling ourselves disintegrate. 

        I would leave it here but Kafka says it better than I ever could in his  story The Street window in regards to my last paragraph.

Best wishes to you all,

Cee

 

 

Ps. Do I sincerely believe everything I said? Maybe. Doesn’t matter, go be your own unreliable narrator.

I never realized how much I value the company of others, until about halfway through this year when I found myself sitting alone in my room, wishing more than anything that I could bask in the presence of another human being…

11:59pm New Years Eve, as my family and I watched the clock count down on the kitchen stove, I thought to myself; “this is my year”. 2020 was a new decade, a new chance to actually start my life the way I want. I remember running downstairs and, as per my own little tradition, writing down all the things I wanted to achieve in the new year:

1. Lose weight / actually use my gym membership
2. Get over my fear of letting people down
3. Learn to love myself / develop a selfcare routine and stick to it
4. Be more social / make friends
5. Move out

The list covered several pages, but these were the most important to me. Take a stabbing guess at how many were actually accomplished this year…

This was going to be the year that I finally begin my life the way I want. To give some background context, I have a really big issue with the desire to please and put the needs/wants of everyone I love above my own. I’d rather make myself completely miserable then let someone I love down. For example, when I was 3, my mom put me into piano lessons. Since then, I’ve been unable to quit, as the way she tells people how proud she is to have a daughter who is a musician, and the way she lights up and cries when I play for her, pretty much makes it impossible for me to tell her that I really don’t enjoy piano. It got so bad that I actually went as high as getting my Grade 10, and now currently teach piano lessons in a studio of my own. It’s not like I didn’t try to ask if it’s okay if I stop taking lessons over the years. But every time I brought up the conversation, it would be matched with anger and the words “waste of talent and potential”, not to mention how many people would be disappointed if I quit playing the piano. Perhaps that’s where my fear of disappointing people stems from…

This year I had decided enough was enough, and I was finally going to begin my dream of starting my own business, quitting school, overcoming my fear of letting people down, and finally begin living my life for me. A few things this year made these goals a little tricky…

I had finally saved enough money to afford three months rent and move out. This beautiful modern apartment down by the lake fell right into my price range, and I had even taken a tour and put down the first months rent. Then quarantine happened…

Businesses were shut down, new health regulations were put into place, and families had to choose to either isolate together, or isolate separately and not see one another for who knows how long. I, being young and having never lived on my own before, decided to wait and move out once this whole thing was over (or at least until everything calmed down and I could hire a moving company). I was thankfully able to get my rent cheque back, but put my dreams of living in this gorgeous two bedroom apartment by the lake on hold.

The world shut down, and life moved online. It was a new experience for everyone. Universities now required the discipline of the students to watch the recorded lectures, and stay up to date on assignments and deadlines from the comfort of their own homes. Schools, doctor’s offices, therapy sessions and music lessons all moved online and fell at the mercy of high speed internet and good wifi connection. Even shopping for groceries and necessities in person became a thing of the past, as renting someone else’s time and energy to do your shopping and deliver it to your doorstep became a must for many. Life changed so much, and people’s mental health and wellbeing were put to the test.

A lot of small business were hit hard by these new rules and regulations. As we made the switch at our music studio from in-person lessons to online, a lot of students didn’t feel comfortable making the transition, so decided to postpone their lessons until this whole pandemic had blown over. I went from having 103 clients to 46 in less than a week, as my bills and monthly budget remained the same. Soon, my little nest egg I had built over the years to move out had been given away to cover expenses I could no longer afford, and couldn’t even cancel due to Covid19.

Who would have thought that going from working with other people face-to-face every single day, to working alone and only seeing people through a screen, would be so destructive to one’s mental health. My job as a piano teacher involves building a relationship with my students. I become such a big part of their lives, and we develop a bond together as time goes on. The transition from in person one-on-one lessons to online has not been easy for a lot of my younger students, so in order to keep their focus and attention at home, I’m almost dancing like a clown in our online lessons. But as difficult as it is for students to readjust to these new ‘norms’ of 2020, its also been extremely difficult for teachers. At the end of my days full of online Zoom lessons, I now come home to watch my recorded Zoom lectures for my five University classes, work on my online assignments and papers, and then go to bed. Six days a week, every week, for the past five and a half months. Its sad that I’ve needed to buy an extra power chord for my laptop, as my life now only runs when my computer is charged. It’s sad that I’ve asked three times to increase my depression and anxiety medication without my doctor giving it a second thought. It’s sad that the only social interaction I get with someone other than my parents are the delivery guys from Dominoes who visit our house once a week. The transition from in-person to online has not been one I’ve enjoyed. Being happy and jubilant for other people multiple hours a day has begun to leave me feeling empty and shriveled by the time I get to go home.

Although this year has been trying, we all have a decision to make at the end of the day; how are we going to react to the changes we cannot control? Are you going to allow this time to fill you with grief and use this pandemic as an excuse to let yourself go, gain weight, binge watch everything on Netflix, go broke, not check in with family and friends, and constantly dwell on the depressing shit that the news comes out with everyday. OR, are you going to use this time to reflect on the things you are grateful for, develop an appreciation for the things you still have like your health, maybe use this time to start your own business, take some online courses, grow your knowledge, develop your own at-home workout routine, learn a new skill, read all those books you’ve been buying, or check in on your family and friends through zoom. Just because there is a pandemic going on does not mean we forget our goals and morals.

If it weren’t for this year, I never would have learned how much I appreciate the company of others, or how rich in friendship I am, or even that I really hate being alone, and that my happiness is derived from spending time with the ones I love. I used to think I was an introvert, and at the beginning of this year, the introverts of the world were really thriving. But time will always show us what we truly value and what makes us genuinely happy, and I think this year has been the wakeup call we all needed. Its not like there is only one person experiencing the massive rollercoaster of 2020. We are all in this together, riding the loops, holding hands, screaming at the top of our lungs, laughing at the craziness, and holding on tight as we ride towards the end. 2020 is almost over, and although I didn’t accomplish the goals I had originally wanted to, here are the new goals I unknowingly achieved this year:

1. I learned to enjoy my own company
2. I learned who my real friends are
3. I learned and mastered how to make a tiramisu
4. I realized money does actually make me pretty damn happy, but nothing beats family
5. I learned there is always a bright side to every situation, we only need to choose to see it.

In May we discussed forgiveness. It wasn’t about forgiving other people, though others – everyone – was given as a point of reference. Our talk was about forgiving ourselves.

“Unprecedented times” has been the tagline for the year. As an artist this phrase was used time and again by those around me to excuse my lack of productivity. Originally, I had intended to make this a year for “finding myself”. I had just left a half-baked degree at my hometown university and was spending my days working part time and trying desperately to immerse myself in my art. For a bit of context, I’ve always been pretty hard on myself, coming from a family of over achievers, and for the greater part of my life my mental health has reflected that. I just can’t help it. While this trait has afforded me plenty of great opportunities in life it certainly makes enjoying them just as difficult. In terms of headspace, quarantine was no different. When the lockdown began here in Kamloops I was determined that my artistic side should be thriving. I was living alone and my work had put me on an indeterminate leave. Utter solitude followed. It was an entirely freeing and terrifying feeling that permeated my daily life at that point. I spent the first weeks of lockdown at my computer drawing nothing and everything. I played music constantly to fill the silence. I ordered in food whenever I remembered to be hungry. Occasionally my mother or my sister would call or text and I would clear my hoarse voice to sound energetic and optimistic. I’m making so much progress with drawing. Of course, I’m eating. Yes, I’ve been on a walk recently. And they would play along with only minute hesitation. It was entirely unhealthy.

Ridiculously, I couldn’t understand why I was starting to hate everything I drew. In retrospect it seems so obvious – why in the world did I think that sort of lifestyle could be productive? But of course, when you’re in it, it seems to make so much sense. I could commit all my time to my passion, what could be wrong with that? But 2020 vision doesn’t help much in retrospect.

In April I stopped drawing. For all my intents and optimism, I had bludgeoned my passion for art into something almost unrecognizable. I excused this sick feeling in my gut with the busyness that came from a newly re-established work schedule that now had me compensating for a lack of manpower. I was just tired. Exhausted. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to draw, I just didn’t have the energy to commit to it. I tunnel-visioned, explaining my condition away with the looming state of the world. No one around me would question it. We all felt it. Still feel it. Unprecedented times.

For so long I refused to look at the situation as it was. I had been so determined to hold myself to a standard of productivity when all I was achieving was burning myself out, and I just couldn’t let it go. I had been so restless to do well when there was nothing for me to do. I can look back on things and see some humour in my efforts, even if that’s a little absurd, but I know at least I’ve adjusted to things a little more. Progress, right?

It was in May that we talked about forgiveness. My mother was finished playing along with my feigned optimism and insisted I talk to a professional. So I talked. I talked about nothing and everything, about what my life had been and what it wasn’t. I talked about loving art and hating it. On a bright, warm day in May we talked about unprecedented times and forgiving ourselves. Initially I had recoiled at the idea. I didn’t want an excuse for the way I was. But she returned to me with a question: If my best friend or my younger sibling or a coworker or a stranger even confided in me tomorrow that they just couldn’t enjoy things like they used to, that they were struggling to get things done, that the pandemic had gotten to them in way that affected them profoundly, would I blame them? Would I question their character, think of them as weak willed? I told her of course not, how could I, with the state the world was in. She smiled at me and told me I wasn’t to blame, I wasn’t weak willed, that she could never think as such when the world was in the state it was. She asked me if I was willing to forgive myself for doubting my own character. I was taken aback – it felt like such an obvious reversal – and suddenly things felt a little easier to grasp. She instructed me to rest and try again. Before, what had felt like giving up, now looked to tired eyes like starting new. I told her that I could do that. I would.

And I did. Unprecedented times – a phrase I had so despised now gave me a way to reassure my best friend, my younger sibling, a coworker. It’s been hard for everyone, in different, varying ways, but we share in the novelty of it. Changing, adapting, grieving, or celebrating, the ways in which we do so have transformed with us. My art and I healed together, over time. I don’t approach it like how I used to – I don’t force it, I let it come and go with freedom. Over time it comes more easily, pulled into reality more readily. Times are still hard, still unprecedented, but a sense of ease and forgiveness has permeated my life since. I’m still hard on myself, of course, I want to do well. I know this about myself and yet, with everything that has happened this year, I also know that I am never alone in it. If this sentiment can offer some ease on a particularly hard day than that is plenty to hope for.