Vulnerable.

Like an open wound. I feel like a big nerve. Like everything that is said or which touches me does so with the sting of a thousand emotional wasps.

Words feel like daggers. I don’t hear what you say, I hear what I think your statement is loaded with. I don’t hear the support or the positivity, I hear pity. I feel like I’m failing. I feel like a burden.

This is the face of depression for me.

It started when I was in my teens. I was diagnosed with clinical depression at some point. In between my never sleeping and my obsession with black lights and records, I degenerated into a slug for a long time.

In time, I began self-medicating with a highly addictive substance, leading me to be a full-fledged addict for a number of months.

I suffered a traumatic experience which pushed me further into my addiction, until one day the universe showed me the future by leading me to a home in North Van. It was horrific. I can barely remember, but at the same time I’ll never forget. A girl, a binge, her brother, his friends, a flood, a dog, a bite, blood, a fight…

I escaped the situation and I don’t know what happened to anyone else involved. I know I placed a call from a payphone at Phibbs exchange in North Vancouver, and I don’t remember how I got home. It was a cross roads for me where I made a conscious choice that I didn’t want to be that girl. That girl who’d had her baby taken from her. That girl who I’ve never seen again.

I looked to my doctor for help. Came clean about my drug abuse. She sent me to Children’s Hospital for a psychiatric evaluation. Moderate to sever clinical depression with addictions issues. The report was detailed in twenty one pages. I kept it for a long time.

I took wellbutrin and effexor for two years. It’s been about eight since I quit. I don’t know exactly why I did, but I felt sick a lot of the time and things were okay. I was coming out of the clouds and I was doing alright.

Three years ago I suffered a bout of anxiety. I hated the way I looked. I was prescribed valium and paxil, both of which I hate, but which allowed me to get over the hump and get out of my house. I was bordering on agoraphobic. I was afraid of people behind me, especially on stairs. Some days were worse than others.

But as I started losing weight, I started focusing on something outside of me. Food. The food system. I was distracted by my baby. I was busy most of the time.

Still, I am aware that depression symptoms fade, but they generally don’t go away completely without help. Not real depressive symptoms, anyway. At the core of me there are undeniable reactionary issues. My view of myself is skewed. I’m fearful and defensive.

It is not EASY to write this. In fact, it is quite hard. Admitting support for those with mental illness is one thing. Admitting that I’ve struggled with it in the past is another, but admitting the depth of my brokenness and my struggles today is extremely challenging. It is an admission of weakness. It is a topic that makes folks uncomfortable.

The silence is loaded.

It started in September? Maybe October? It’s been a lifelong struggle but there are days that are harder than others. Over the last two years one of the most outstanding developments that I face daily is unreasonable jealousy. At first it was a feeling that I would never have the THINGS that other people had, which was then followed by guilt for being so materialistic.

The jealousy for THINGS turned, somehow, into a jealousy for people. As I reached my target weight goal, I looked in the mirror and the person I saw would vary from day to day, hour to hour, minute to minute. It rarely reflected what people were saying. I only see my too big nose on my face. Tiny eyes. Boring mousy brown hair. Too wide shoulders. Stretch marks and belly fat that hangs when I bend no matter how much I walk and work on cardio. The moments of pride are spread further and further apart and I feel like I’m sinking.

But I soldier on.

Until I stopped smiling quite so much.

People started asking questions. Missing my bubbliness. Missing that person they used to have fun with. And so I express concerns. Different ones for different days. “I’ll never…”, I say.

Advice flies at me. The most persistent one from many places is to seek therapy. I rage. I cry. I punch a wall or two.
I don’t WANT to leak my thoughts to a judgmental stranger. I don’t want to make a crazy first impression. I don’t want to give these feelings and thoughts power by making them real. I can’t bring myself to pick up a phone to call anyone without degenerating into a three year old.

I stomp my feet. I kick the ground. I don’t fucking want to.

“It’s stupid.” I tell people. “I know what my main issues ARE. And I know what the three events are that trigger my embarrassed state of self hatred. What good will it do to go rehash old wounds to someone?”

But they persist. And persist. And instead of listening, I want to stop hearing it. I want to say what I’m really thinking to everyone who suggests it. “If therapy is so great, how come you’re all still a mess??!?”

But I smile and nod, and if I can’t say something nice, I stop talking.

Meanwhile growing more detached from my friends. Tired of that loaded question, “how are you really?”, I distract myself with some new friends. I distract myself by writing. By walking. By being someone else. My inner voice continues to tell me that no matter how much I try, none of it matters. We’re insignificant in the universe. We’re of no consequence.

I nearly stop talking. I can’t even look people I love in the eye. Alone most of the time, I build up reasons why they hate me. Why I deserve to be alone. While being unable to find the energy to do the things I should be doing, I beat myself up for the things that go undone.

Neglect and avoidance. These are my hats. If I put something outside, or in a closet, or on whatever surface I find… I no longer need to see it or deal with it.

Until someone who loves me slaps me upside the head. Dumps all my worldly possessions (and things I was meaning to get rid of but never had the time) onto the bedroom floor. Tells me that avoiding it is exactly what I do with everything I don’t want to deal with.

I’m practically a hoarder, only hoarders live alone so that no one can do this to them. I break down. I hate myself.

And from here things get messy.

So today I woke up from a light and fitful sleep. Realizing that, if for no one else, I need to sort myself out so my daughter has a healthy mother. Unconvinced that “talking” about it is going to help, I’ve been told more than once that I’m not DOING ANYTHING to fix myself, and yet I’m still complaining. I’m sure these people meant well, but their words serve to stab into me. If I continue to be sad while refusing to “deal” with these things in their way, I’ll find myself alone in ten years, with everyone I love having deserted me because I’ve deserted myself.

I look back on my changes to my physical self. Every day being a chance to make better choices. Every day being a chance to eat better and move more.

I don’t FEEL like I can conquer these thoughts and emotions. I feel like I’m drowning. I head to the doctor because Abby needs a checkup. In tears I express, slowly and in words that Abby won’t completely understand, that I need someone to help me. I don’t want medication, I tell him, I just want to learn to cope.

I’m handed a pamphlet for a local service put on by a non-profit…

When I arrive home it takes me time, a lot of time, to bring myself to dial the number. It’s a work up, but I remind myself of all I stand to lose. These people are important, and they need me back.

The voice on the other end of the phone informs me that the Crisis line service no longer exists.

I’m given the phone number for another crisis line, who has no information to give me based on my distant municipality. The voice on the other end of the phone suggests another number to me, which fails yet again.

I phone back the doctor’s office, letting them know that the information they’ve got is outdated. They phone me back with another phone number.

One on Vancouver Island. The voice on the other end is kind. She’s not a mainland geography expert, so I tell her which cities may be helpful for me. In the end, I’m given the number for the Surrey Crisis line.

I’m baffled and overwhelmed. But I’m more determined than others. After all, I’m here now. I’m not going to be turned away to face another day alone. Tears are streaming down my cheeks as I dial Surrey’s crisis line.

The voice in Surrey is kind, and though I’m instantly annoyed at her crisis counselling training and it’s commiseration with me, I keep my snark to a minimum as I explain my position. Four times so far I have had to swallow my pride and ask for help, each time more upsetting than the last, as though the universe is rubbing my nose in my weakness.

“It sounds like it’s been very frustrating to not be able to find the resources you need in this situation.”

I chuckle a bit, “you could say that.”

She asks me how I’m coping. How I’m taking care of me. I tell her that if my music is loud enough and I’m walking fast enough, I can’t hear anything but blankness. We decide on three resource centres which may be able to help.

The Tri-cities mental health association seems to be the most relevant to my home and to my needs for support. I hang up the phone and give myself a  breathing break, trying to come to a place where I can speak again.

When I get through to this group, the reception is that of someone who has far better things to do than answer phones. When I explain that I don’t know where to start looking for help, I am told that this is not a crisis line and that I should probably go to an emergency room. Horrible visions flash through my head: who would pick up Abby? How would my family feel with me in a psyche ward? No… No… I can’t do that. I won’t do that. I can wait, I tell her. I’m not convinced, and she’s probably not either, but she takes my name and information and tells me that two weeks is the estimated time it will take to be contacted by an intake worker.

Not a crisis line, they tell me. As if there might be one that would help me.

As if I haven’t already told her that I phoned four.

Today is Budget day in BC, meaning that politicians from all over our beautiful province are talking about how much of our money they get to spend on their wages. It’s a poignant day for me to find a lack of support and resources for the mentally ill.

I don’t want to be sick, and I don’t want to ask for help. But I’m here, and I am, and I find myself subject to funding cuts and backlogs.

Supporters of the InSite in Vancouver have often said that addicts only want to quit and recover for a very short window of time. This is partially why counselling and resources are available to addicts who need to get into rehab or another program right away when they’re ready.

The government of British Columbia has neglected and swept mental illness under the rug for a long time, and today’s experience for me made it abundantly clear. While our politicians sit in Victoria and discuss which programs to fund and which to cut, I want them to know my story. The story of someone who was ready for help and couldn’t find it.

The Port Moody Fire and Rescue team is made up of two stations and approximately forty five firefighters. Fire Hall number two is literally blocks from our door, and the kids were totally excited to be able to learn about the Firemen, the fire hall, and some of the equipment that gets used. They even got to check out the old Fire Truck, circa 1950, which is obviously no longer in use, but which is used for events and  festivals occasionally.

Aside from myself and Abby, we brought Abby’s best friend along with us, and our long time family friends, Michelle and Seth. Everyone was stoked as we walked over to Fire Hall number two, all of us holding hands in a line.

We were greeted at the door by a Firefighter named Greg, and he conducted our tour with the help of another firefighter named Brody. The two of them were infinitely patient with the kids, and held a great sense of humour through the chaos of our three kids. We brought some pictures that Abby drew, including one that said, “Thank You Fire Hall Number 2, Port Moody”, and we brought a bag of pumpkin muffins with raisins in them too.  It was a small way for me to say thank you, because I know that these guys were busy. It was really special for them to take the time out to play with us for awhile, and I know that the kids all had a blast.

After checking out the really cool antique fire truck, the kids all got the chance to sit in the actual fire trucks that are in use today. They each got a chance to try out the helmets and the headsets that firefighters use during calls, which allow them to talk to one another as well as protecting their ears from the loud noise of the siren.

I bet that this experience is one that the kids are going to remember for the rest of their lives, not just because of the really interesting things that they got a chance to see, but also because of the kindness that they were shown during our visit.

Next, Brody brought out the oxygen tank and mask, and put them on so that the kids could get an idea of how it works and what it might be for. The older girls knew that it would help the firemen not to breathe in all that yucky smoke in a fire or emergency, but Seth wasn’t too sure about the mask because of the noises and chirps that it made. This was a really great segue for Greg to explain to the kids that if they were ever in danger, and they saw someone coming with the mask on… They might look a bit frightening or sound a bit different, but that they were still the same firefighters as they had been, and not to be afraid. I thought that that was great advice to give to kids, who often fear what they don’t really understand.

The kids were invited to even tap on the mask that Brody wore to see what it felt like and how it was strong.

Just before we moved on to the second fire truck in use at Fire Station No. 2 in Port Moody, BC, we set up the hose so it’ would be ready to play with before we left the hall. Seth really wanted to go back into a fire truck, though, so once again the kids piled into the back of the truck and tried out some of the equipment.

Even mommy got to try the hat on!

When the kids were asked who wanted to try the hose, they were ALL excited. Starting with Abby, everyone got a turn to play Firefighter while holding the hose (with help). this was HILARIOUS and adorable, but as any waterplay goes, it deteriorated into wanting to get wet fairly quickly.

Finally, The fire engine was put back indie the station, and our munchkins waved goodbye with goody-bags on fire safety in tow. They were all truly stoked to have gone to meet the firemen at Port Moody’s hall no. 2, and I was really happy that they found the time and energy to help us out.

Together we all walked home, and then had some more play time and lunch before going to the park for awhile.

I was told that it was “Saturn Returns”; The period of unsettling stuff that occurs to us as we travel back into the same astrological alignment that was experienced when we were born. It is a time of intense enlightenment, if we let it wash over us. But it is also a time of intense unrest and difficult communication.

I feel sometimes, these days, as though I’m speaking with cotton in my mouth. As though I’m listening with cotton in my ears. And then in moments of clarity, it all seems clear. There is no secret. There is no point. It is what it is, and it’s here to enjoy.

I’m trying to form relationships, built and based on trust. I’m trying to heal from the things I have experienced which I perceive as having hurt me. I am trying to gain perspective. I am trying to come out of my own head and become a more happy and open person with my life.

I want to learn to touch without fear. I want a lot of things for myself, for my family and for my future. And sometimes, when I am having those days where I’m stuffed with cotton, I can’t see or hear those wants for our future because I’m so stuck up in my worries.

I’m moving forward. And whether it has to do with the moon, the stars, the earth, my age, or just my own self awareness, I feel as though things are changing in many ways. And in many ways I’m anything but ready.

But hold your breath, because here it comes.

I’ve met a lot of kids in my life, and I would venture to say that a great many of those children LOVED marine life. From whales to octopi, the sea has so many amazing things for us to study, research and understand.

The Vancouver Aquarium has some really great features happening right now, that I wanted to be sure and share with my readers in the Vancouver area.

Until February 29th, The Vancouver Aquarium hosts Whales of the North, the new Beluga show. Beluga whales are elusive and hard to study because of their climate and habitat, but thanks to the beluga whales at the Vancouver Aquarium, exciting discoveries are being made that could eventually serve to help aid the belugas in the wild. With this show, you’ll learn more about the ecosystem of the Arctic and how it affects wildlife. For more information, be sure to visit the Vancouver Aquarium’s website!

If you thought that the Vancouver Aquarium was just for children, well, check out the After Hours event on March 1, 2012. Instead of experiencing the Aquarium with a few hundred rambunctious kids, you can experience calm, behind the scenes tours and special programs with this Adults’-Only experience. This event will be held from 6pm-10pm and offers you the chance to visit the Shark Penthouse, which is normally closed to visitors.

And don’t miss the incredible 4D experience at Western Canada’s only 4D theatre. Planet Earth: From Pole to Pole is guaranteed to be twelve minutes of educational adventure to dazzle the whole family.

Sea turtles are incredibly neat, and if you’d like to know more about them you’re in luck! Spotlight on Sea Turtles is on now at the Vancouver Aquarium and can help you get acquainted with really cool details about sea turtles. Did you know that sea turtles can’t pull their limbs or head inside their shells? And that they have flippers instead of feet?

If you’re looking for somewhere to take your kids in the coming weeks, it’s easy to see that the Vancouver Aquarium has a tonne of things to keep your family entertained.

I love the jellyfish at the Vancouver Aquarium. Do you have a favourite exhibit?

I LOVE dessert. I’m not exactly one of those sweet tooth people who would prefer chocolate to anything, but I do love a delicious berry dessert every now and again. The only thing is that those little teeny sponge cakes that are so iconic for strawberry shortcake? We can tell just from the way they feel that they’re at least a percentage of chemicals… so I set out to create a Sponge Cake that I could be proud to serve, and which would be amazing to share with friends. I’m glad to say that this sponge cake was the first thing that I made in my new Kitchen Aid standing mixer and that it worked out well! I don’t think I whipped my eggs quite enough after I added the sugar because mine turned out a bit heavy, but with the berries and whipped cream, it was still super tasty as a dessert for our family.

I hope that your family enjoys this berry shortcake as much as mine has!
• Sponge Cake:
• 6 lukewarm (room temperature) eggs
• 1 cup sugar
• 1 tsp vanilla
• 1 cup flour
• 1/2 tsp baking powder
• 1/3 cup melted butter
• 1 pinch salt

1.  Sponge Cake: Line bottom of  springform pan with parchment paper; greasing the sides.

2.  In electric stand mixer beat eggs at medium until foamy. Gradually beat in sugar until pale yellow and batter falls in ribbons when beaters are lifted, about 10 minutes. Transfer to large wide bowl. Add in vanilla.
3.   Sift together flour, baking powder and salt ; sift one-third over egg mixture and fold in. Repeat until all combined. Transfer one-quarter to another bowl; fold in butter. Fold back into remaining batter. Pour into greased and lined circle springform.
4.  Bake at 325°F oven for 50 to 60 minutes or until cake springs back when lightly touched in centre and side pulls away from pan. Let cool in pan on rack for 10 minutes.

You can slice your cake horizontally if you want and fill with jam or whipped cream. A trick to making whipped cream stay more solid in cakes is to use gelatine in it, which helps it to set.

This is a delicious cake, that really isn’t as difficult as I would have originally thought. It was straightforward and worth doing myself!

but aren’t most homemade things usually?

Part of why heading to the Island is so beneficial is because I’m able to get more time to shoot photos than I would at home. Not to mention, there are so many great subjects to shoot on Vancouver Island which differ from the things I would get to shoot under normal circumstances.

My shot of saying goodbye to Vancouver from the ferry….

Happy to see the dogs… And to see the dogs loving time with each other.

I’m so glad Crusoe has found a place to call his own. He fits in great on the farm.

Abby could hardly wait to say hi to the equines.

Cody the cat was up at the barn saying hi.

And Crusoe nearly never stops barking when he wants sticks thrown in the water.

Miss Aurora is still kicking out at the greenhouse…

I also love the small details that I find when I’m crusining around the workshop at Ron and Kathy’s.

Every working man needs something to stay warm.

What will, in 6 months, become beautiful BC blueberries:

Such a classic view on a farm.

A rake for my “pattern” assignment for #FebPhotoSkills…

Rusty Hummingbird

A gauge…

Super sawdusty…

Screws

Stirrups

And rides for the kids on the quad with Kathy.

Firetrucks left by the side of the road…

And kids swinging from trees like they’re Tarzan.

‘Na is nearly fifteen years old now…

Abby got tonnes of exercise…

And Taio was a great helper with the kids.

A bald eagle flew right over my head…

And Eli helped out, too!

Crusoe is always where the action is, even when he’s enjoying a bone.

It was great to get away to Vancouver Island, despite not feeling like I was there long enough. My heart hurts for the place as I float further from it and towards the business of the routine in the city, but I know that before long I’ll make it there for good, one way or another.

Okay, so it sounds final. It’s really not. I used to make a point of heading out to Vancouver Island at least once a month. It was my place for quiet. My place to relax. My place to get away. And yet, for the last year I just haven’t “had the time”… I got a job, writing on a regular basis for blogs and webpages freelance. I took on some more responsibility as a parent, being slightly (only slightly) more involved with Abby’s school. I planned a trip to California, and then a trip to Toronto. Granted, I was busy.. But it occurred to me recently that it wasn’t exactly for lack of time that I stopped going. That is to say that it wasn’t time that did it. It was me who stopped making the time to get away. I stopped making my mental health days a priority. And once Abby was in school, well, I could hardly find the time to pull her out of class without a good reason.

But I am a good reason.

I need to get away every now and again. I need to recharge. With friends who are more like family. In a place where I feel at home, and comfortable. It’s something that I started to take for granted because I was feeling the effects of my getaways all the time. I was refreshed and rejuvenated.  And now that it’s been nearly a year since I’ve taken time away, I’m feeling overwhelmed and unhappy. Perhaps there is something more to this getaway schedule than I thought.

As I step on the boat, I feel like dancing. My cares are lifted from my shoulders. Perhaps the view of the sea and the rocking of the waves is good for me, as I breathe in that air and feel the wind on my face. As the boat runs along side the coast of Canada, I feel relieved that I finally did it. That nothing came up. I cut my ties to the mainland and step away. I can breathe.

You can get your own BC Boating License today.

What would I get? I wondered to myself, what would suit me? I found myself looking at this picture, care of the Suicide Girls..

And I just loved this look. Really a lot. Now, obviously I don’t look like this girl, but she inspired me to consider a lip ring where I never had before.

By 3:15pm the next day, I was in the chair at Sinister Skin in Port Moody. My piercer was a super nice guy named Justin, and he was knowledgeable while straightforward and easy going. He answered all my questions and was gentle and quick.

I pierced my lip on the right and my nose is pierced on the left. Because of the use of my ipod as a camera, some of the photos are reversed.

The piercing was pretty easy and mostly painless. I still think my upper ear cartilage was the worse for pain… And this one, being oral, has healed very well so far.

The last pic of me, piercing free….

Here’s the first picture of me with the new piercing. I love it! This was in the car and I’m bleeding a bit.

Here it is later that evening, and you can see the bruising is starting to show.

But by the night of the second day? It was quite bruised indeed!

Somewhere around here, my ball popped off and I had to rush down the hill, into Port Moody to Sinister Skin. Just as I got off the bus, my bar fell out too, so I was in a bit of a panic, but Justin fixed me up with a longer bar and apologized for my purple face.

What can you do? I bruise easy!

That was last night…

And this morning the bruising has gone down quite a bit, while the hole itself continues to heal nicely and itch slightly. The piercing still doesn’t hurt, and I can tell that it’s something that’s going to suit me for as long as I keep it! The aftercare instructions that were provided to me include a dermal saline soak for 5 minutes a day, and the use of antibacterial mouthwash three times. These instructions have worked wonderfully so far, and I am completely happy with having done this.

Sinister Skin was also where I got my tongue pierced, and I found their service to be fast and comfortable both times I’ve gone there. The prices are comparable, and they were definitely there for me whenever I had questions or needed follow up.

My friend Michelle’s family is also one that is mainly used to bus travel. Each of our households have found individual ways that work for us to get around the city, and it generally involves bus or foot travel mixed with the occasional friend or relative who can aid us by driving somewhere. We have encouraged healthy habits in our children by exposing them to different places through public transit, which introduces them to so many different smells and sights and sounds that you would never hear or see in a car.

Michelle and I often take our kids for walks along the Fraser River in South Vanccouver, among other places. But Fraser River Park is a great place to visit because there are tonnes of nice people, cool landscaping, animals and boats to watch. There are great grassy hills to play on and plaques to read, plus lots of little docks, wharfs and paths to discover.

I wanted to share these photos of our day at Fraser River Park.