Over the past 5 weeks. 3 students. 3 Young intelligent minds attending post secondary school. Ended their lives. It is not easy to find this information. The U of A and surrounding post secondary institutions do a fantastic job at hiding it. This is unfortunate. As a former student and a depression sufferer. I never saw a light. I never saw any way out of school. If I did, I was told I would never live a happy financial comfortable life.
In some cases. Yes, you may not get your dream job unless you incur 50 thousand dollars of debt and have your emotions bludgeoned by your GPA.
This is the sadness that is school.
Happy smiling faces on the post secondary websites! Get the Career you want! Easy, Flexible courses! Great Professors! Crippling debt and anxiety!
Wait. That last one is forfeited from the advertisements. But, why? If you are preparing young people for the realism of life. For the realism of the world. For the realism of school and the life after school. You should advertise that mental health is a major role in post secondary education. It is that simple.
You should offer mental health services. Not to take away from the U of A. But, You have thousands of students. Most of whom do not know they need help. You do not help them or point them in that direction. Terribly, you omit any realism of depression. You have "psychologists" or mice in training. Who act about as efficiently as talking to yourself in the mirror. So, say you get help. They talk to you (maybe) tell you that your personal life might be effecting you and you should not take school as seriously.
Wait a minute.... At a school, telling you not to take school seriously. I take 5000 dollars seriously. Apparently they don't.
So, you talk to them. You expect medication to help stabilize you enough that you can swallow 3 labs and 6 courses and the constant berating from professors. Nope. You have to wait 2-3 months.
That's great. People in need now, who may need meds urgently. Or at least a placebo.
They are told "Cool man, wait 2 months. Enjoy school, though"
That is not professional, it is not caring and it is not healthy. It is cruel and damn well criminal.
It might be the sheer amount of students needing help, it may be the lack of activity in the work force. It may be you just want the money to afford that house looking over the river valley.
Whatever the case
U OF A, YOU ARE TERRIBLE AT HANDLING MENTAL HEALTH ISSUES OF THE STUDENTS WHO KEEP YOUR BILLS PAID AND BUILDINGS RUNNING.
You hid 1 suicide completely, considered one a "hazardous waste clean up" and the third one was because people had released it on social media. Tell people to help themselves. Tell people to become a healthy mind before they become intelligent. They can regurgitate information while they battle demons. But, the demons will remain in the brain. Never the information.
I'm ultimately concerned of the suicides that may have happened and we never know. I'm concerned about the future of the minds of students.
Student Union, Professors, Faculty, Deans and the institution in general has failed on a colossal scale. No one has said anything.
Maybe someone will read this. Maybe they won't.
If you are a student. Call a hotline, call a friend, tell your parents that you are depressed. Whether they can help you or not may not matter. Being able to tell someone that you are sick is invaluable to your health.
Best Regards,
Devon
________________________________________________________________________
Devon is a survivor of 3 years of post secondary. He will never recover from the damage done from living with the depression that comes with post secondary.
Devon can be reached at devonmhunt@gmail.com
This is my life, contains anxiety and the constant struggle with the unknown.
Tuesday, December 2, 2014
28 days
I've become a cliche.
In biology 20, if you have ever taken it that men... In a way, do have a menstrual cycle. Sans bleeding. But, we totally want the DVD of beaches and the 6 bars of Jersey Milk. Men go through a period of anger, sadness and in some men.. A series of depressive events.
I am one of those men.
I have learned my demons take a vacation (or staycation if you will) and come back ever 26 days.
In that time, I question my life, my existence and revisit the night I decided not to end my life. It has become a visit.
Just the demons wreck shit on their way out. This is what depression feels like for me.
I do not enjoy it. But, in a cynical way. I have become to expect it, and welcome it. As a weird introspective way to view myself. It is never positive. But, it does help me understand my functioning brain.
Over the past 5 weeks, 3 students have committed suicide at the U of A.
Please read next blogpost for follow up.
In biology 20, if you have ever taken it that men... In a way, do have a menstrual cycle. Sans bleeding. But, we totally want the DVD of beaches and the 6 bars of Jersey Milk. Men go through a period of anger, sadness and in some men.. A series of depressive events.
I am one of those men.
I have learned my demons take a vacation (or staycation if you will) and come back ever 26 days.
In that time, I question my life, my existence and revisit the night I decided not to end my life. It has become a visit.
Just the demons wreck shit on their way out. This is what depression feels like for me.
I do not enjoy it. But, in a cynical way. I have become to expect it, and welcome it. As a weird introspective way to view myself. It is never positive. But, it does help me understand my functioning brain.
Over the past 5 weeks, 3 students have committed suicide at the U of A.
Please read next blogpost for follow up.
Sunday, October 26, 2014
My Biggest Regret
If I could. I wouldn't. It has been about 4 years since that incident. It never bothered me, until September. I got to see the face of a person who has been told the worst thing they can hear, and have never truly recovered. I would say your name, but for protection I won't.
Maybe one day you will read this. Maybe one day you will be directed to it, JW.
Know this, my life has changed. Some of it for the better, some of it for the worst. I battled for my fiancee. I was willing to battle to wits end. Sadly, I went past that and I went below the belt.
That day I told you to kill yourself. I remember all 10 minutes of the event. What we were talking about, who was around, what was played. Where we were. I remember it because I recount the day in my head about 3 times a day as of recently. I wish I played it differently. But, that's perhaps the most bitter things about life. You do not get a redo. You do not get a 1 up or a rewind button.
The words hang from my mouth. then Shotputted out. Without regard for me or you. I told you, a person who suffered mental illness as much as me to kill yourself. You were better than me. You could admit it to yourself. You were treating it and working on becoming a better person. I was working on hurting you in the worst way so you would never talk to me again. It worked.
That day changed my life. I hope it changed your life or motivated you. If it depressed you more it would crush me. I never understood the magnitude of those words. At this moment if those words were uttered to me it would make me question life.
It was sociopathic, masochistic and reprehensible. There is no amount of apologizing I can do.
I deserved the slap I got. The slap was the most deserving and the most significant.
It reached my apex, bliss with the woman I fell in love with, to doubting everyone and everything.
The slap launched 4 years of mania, depression, anxiety, a series of failures and some of my greatest battles in life and battling everything with the perfect woman.
I am going to marry the girl I fought for. I wish my strategy was better. I wish I could what i said back. Everyday this semester was a reminder of the monster I was/am.
I gave up on myself this semester and in a way, it was my just dessert.
I said the most heinous thing a person could say to another person.
I am truly sorry.
Best Regards,
Devon Hunt
Maybe one day you will read this. Maybe one day you will be directed to it, JW.
Know this, my life has changed. Some of it for the better, some of it for the worst. I battled for my fiancee. I was willing to battle to wits end. Sadly, I went past that and I went below the belt.
That day I told you to kill yourself. I remember all 10 minutes of the event. What we were talking about, who was around, what was played. Where we were. I remember it because I recount the day in my head about 3 times a day as of recently. I wish I played it differently. But, that's perhaps the most bitter things about life. You do not get a redo. You do not get a 1 up or a rewind button.
The words hang from my mouth. then Shotputted out. Without regard for me or you. I told you, a person who suffered mental illness as much as me to kill yourself. You were better than me. You could admit it to yourself. You were treating it and working on becoming a better person. I was working on hurting you in the worst way so you would never talk to me again. It worked.
That day changed my life. I hope it changed your life or motivated you. If it depressed you more it would crush me. I never understood the magnitude of those words. At this moment if those words were uttered to me it would make me question life.
It was sociopathic, masochistic and reprehensible. There is no amount of apologizing I can do.
I deserved the slap I got. The slap was the most deserving and the most significant.
It reached my apex, bliss with the woman I fell in love with, to doubting everyone and everything.
The slap launched 4 years of mania, depression, anxiety, a series of failures and some of my greatest battles in life and battling everything with the perfect woman.
I am going to marry the girl I fought for. I wish my strategy was better. I wish I could what i said back. Everyday this semester was a reminder of the monster I was/am.
I gave up on myself this semester and in a way, it was my just dessert.
I said the most heinous thing a person could say to another person.
I am truly sorry.
Best Regards,
Devon Hunt
Friday, October 24, 2014
I wish I was dumber
Let me preface this with this: Yes, I am smarter than you. No, you shouldn't feel bad. I'm probably more athletic, have a better job. I have a bigger Johnson then you.. And also a bigger dick (badumtsch). I am better than you at every facet.
^^^^
That person is not me (sub the Dick part, I am huge).
... Right?
I look at everyone around me as better. Maybe, it is conditioning. Maybe it is biological. Maybe it is cultural. It probably isn't Maybelline.
I look at everyone around me as better
I look at everyone around me as better.
I go to my old workplace, people I work with who have a slight pay raise. All the sudden better.
I go to school, overhear people talk about grades. A C- is better. The fucking letter grade could be a W. And I'd be like fuck I'm dumb.
This is one of the major things that plague me the most. I think I am smarter than what I am. I think I am dumber than what I am. I am never happy with my knowledge, my abilities or my thoughts. I can't sleep. But... Suddenly I see your asshole toddler having a nap, I feel such emptiness. "That kid can take a mean nap, and a mean dump all at once and I can't even sleep." I eat. I eat unhealthy. I eat healthy. I eat. I judge everything I eat on how I feel after I have eaten... Da fuq is that.
That's me. I wish I was dumber.
I wouldn't psychoanalyze every waking moment of my life. I do. This sinks me lower into my depression. It sinks it's teeth into me like I'm a burger on David Hasslehoff's binge night.
That stark realism that most of the time I don't know what stark means. But, you will understand what I mean. I'll compulsively look that up though. Immediately get angry that I didn't know that. Such anger that a toddler who woke up with a mean dook in his pants would have.
What I'm saying is. I wish I was dumber in most cases, or at least less likely to psychoanalyze myself.
And I want to be able to take a dump in my pants while I sleep without judgment.
Best Regards,
Devon
^^^^
That person is not me (sub the Dick part, I am huge).
... Right?
I look at everyone around me as better. Maybe, it is conditioning. Maybe it is biological. Maybe it is cultural. It probably isn't Maybelline.
I look at everyone around me as better
I look at everyone around me as better.
I go to my old workplace, people I work with who have a slight pay raise. All the sudden better.
I go to school, overhear people talk about grades. A C- is better. The fucking letter grade could be a W. And I'd be like fuck I'm dumb.
This is one of the major things that plague me the most. I think I am smarter than what I am. I think I am dumber than what I am. I am never happy with my knowledge, my abilities or my thoughts. I can't sleep. But... Suddenly I see your asshole toddler having a nap, I feel such emptiness. "That kid can take a mean nap, and a mean dump all at once and I can't even sleep." I eat. I eat unhealthy. I eat healthy. I eat. I judge everything I eat on how I feel after I have eaten... Da fuq is that.
That's me. I wish I was dumber.
I wouldn't psychoanalyze every waking moment of my life. I do. This sinks me lower into my depression. It sinks it's teeth into me like I'm a burger on David Hasslehoff's binge night.
That stark realism that most of the time I don't know what stark means. But, you will understand what I mean. I'll compulsively look that up though. Immediately get angry that I didn't know that. Such anger that a toddler who woke up with a mean dook in his pants would have.
What I'm saying is. I wish I was dumber in most cases, or at least less likely to psychoanalyze myself.
And I want to be able to take a dump in my pants while I sleep without judgment.
Best Regards,
Devon
Thursday, October 16, 2014
Diminishing Returns
Also known as life. I am writing about Diminishing Returns as it pertains to me, my studies, and my mental health.
This semester I vowed to be happier, more upbeat and more optimistic about life. I was finally mapping out my life, was taking initiative and became myself (more or less). Some days I believe it. For the past two weeks my demons have gotten the better of me.
I dwell on them, I let them slowly overtake not only my mind, but my energy. Slowly draining the life out of me. Not being able to sleep and being sore for 2 weeks has been a learning process. I blame myself. I wanted to just say "Okay, I can battle through, I can go outside. I can go to class. I can function as a human." People who do not suffer depression have the mindset that it would be as easy as saying "Get over it." That will never be the case. There would be no depressed people in the world if that was the case. Depression is not a weakness. Depression is a sickness. A sickness that you cannot really medicate. You can moderate. You cannot escape it. You cannot dissociate. You become depression.
About 3 weeks ago, I was heading into my first midterm, feeling the best I have felt in a long time. I studied for umpteen hours over a couple days. I went in and wrote what I thought was a damn near perfect exam. I checked my mark the following week and received a 45 percent. Which normally I would take on the chin and keep going. But, the time and effort I put into something I actually enjoyed studying made it a bitter, chalky, John Goodman sweaty pill to swallow.
I turned to comedy. My own or stand up. Finding an escape, trying to stay afloat from the impending depression. I failed myself, along with that exam. I let it beat me.
Beat me down. I cannot go to my profs and tell them that I was not attending class because... "I failed class and I am feeling unbelievably depressed." It is not their problem. I'm not the only student who is depressed, I'm not the only student who failed. I am number 175****. That's how I am identified in the system. That's what I am to most professors. A face in the crowd that disappears in 4 months.
Post-secondary is starting your own future. You will put time, energy, debt, sweat, tears, and every ounce of brainpower into it. Some day you may beat it. Most days it will beat you. It will beat you down.
Best Regards,
A man who is depressed, who can't get out of bed. Who doesn't want to get out of bed. A man who uses a lot of contractions.
Best Regards,
Student No. 175****
Best Regards,
Devon Hunt.
This semester I vowed to be happier, more upbeat and more optimistic about life. I was finally mapping out my life, was taking initiative and became myself (more or less). Some days I believe it. For the past two weeks my demons have gotten the better of me.
I dwell on them, I let them slowly overtake not only my mind, but my energy. Slowly draining the life out of me. Not being able to sleep and being sore for 2 weeks has been a learning process. I blame myself. I wanted to just say "Okay, I can battle through, I can go outside. I can go to class. I can function as a human." People who do not suffer depression have the mindset that it would be as easy as saying "Get over it." That will never be the case. There would be no depressed people in the world if that was the case. Depression is not a weakness. Depression is a sickness. A sickness that you cannot really medicate. You can moderate. You cannot escape it. You cannot dissociate. You become depression.
About 3 weeks ago, I was heading into my first midterm, feeling the best I have felt in a long time. I studied for umpteen hours over a couple days. I went in and wrote what I thought was a damn near perfect exam. I checked my mark the following week and received a 45 percent. Which normally I would take on the chin and keep going. But, the time and effort I put into something I actually enjoyed studying made it a bitter, chalky, John Goodman sweaty pill to swallow.
I turned to comedy. My own or stand up. Finding an escape, trying to stay afloat from the impending depression. I failed myself, along with that exam. I let it beat me.
Beat me down. I cannot go to my profs and tell them that I was not attending class because... "I failed class and I am feeling unbelievably depressed." It is not their problem. I'm not the only student who is depressed, I'm not the only student who failed. I am number 175****. That's how I am identified in the system. That's what I am to most professors. A face in the crowd that disappears in 4 months.
Post-secondary is starting your own future. You will put time, energy, debt, sweat, tears, and every ounce of brainpower into it. Some day you may beat it. Most days it will beat you. It will beat you down.
Best Regards,
A man who is depressed, who can't get out of bed. Who doesn't want to get out of bed. A man who uses a lot of contractions.
Best Regards,
Student No. 175****
Best Regards,
Devon Hunt.
Monday, September 29, 2014
A year later...Father? why bother?
A year ago. You left. The only person I could call a father. The only person I really wanted to call a father. You weren't a rock, you weren't anything special, all you really did was service a role. That role that every kid would want. A father.
I'm used to the absence of a father. I am not used to the sheer disrespect to the family who surrounded you.
I can fault you for many things, you supporting us is not one of them.
We were different. You liked cars, fishing, discovery channel and being bald.
I liked having hair, didn't care about cars, fishing or boats. Mythbusters was the bomb.
You left a hole in a piece of my heart. You hurt one of the only feelings. It was hard for me to call you a father. for 16 years I was unsure. The 4 years prior to you leaving us high and dry, I assumed you had earned it.
You constructed this view among me and my siblings. You supported us, you attempted to debate to show other sides, you even gave me twitter material. You supported a woman who was dealt a shitty hand. You supported her as much as she supported you. You are not a saint. Rather, you were the other half of a supportive/combative relationship. I used to say "Wow, he does a lot, he supports us. On his own." You supported us financially. You weren't there emotionally. You sure in the hell couldn't be there mentally. You paid bills. You're support was a facade. Money goes so far. To be a father, to be a husband, hell to be a son; you need more than money. My mother supported us kids for those 20 years. Financially, emotionally, mentally and in any other sense of motherly duties. She never threw in the towel.
...
You did.
You waste of space, you Mr. Clean looking piece of garbage. You left in the worst way at the worst time. You scapegoated two people and 2 dogs who I would value more than you on any given day. It was never their fault. Habituation of the smell of dog shit takes 2 days. You needed a reason. You built a hatred for 2 people for 3 years. Systematically and with rhythm.
You scapegoated them to throw in the towel. You said "why can't they pay all of it?" Those are the last words you said to me. Why can't someone else bail your dumbass out.
You left a woman unable to work, to live a day without pain, and who just lost her father. You left a son who endured a surgery, 40 pounds of weight loss and is approaching his most serious surgery he has had since he was a newborn. You left in 10 seconds. You left years of uphill battles for people who did not deserve it. You thrust a student in the role of supporting the family you could not admit you couldn't. You crushed the spirits of the person I love with my heart. You crushed my spirits. For a year I have said it didn't effect me. You leaving effected me quite a bit. The way you left everything with such disregard and disrespect was appalling. The threat of domestic violence if you stuck around any longer was stinging. Your reasoning for leaving was to raise two children you never knew. who were over the age of 25. Who were worth more than the 20 years you spent in my life.
I don't know what it was supposed to do for me. I'm less focused on school. I'm more family orientated. I'm more helpful to those around me. You leaving taught me humility in a way. You taught me to be even more cynical and more sarcastic.
You are the worst.
A year later, thousands of tears later. I'm unforgiving.
I am more of a father to me, than you ever could be, I'm supporting my family. I'm being the man. The roles you gave me involuntarily. If I died would you even care. If you died, would I even care?
You abandoned all you had. You became the definition of sad.
We are fine without you, one year later. The sting is still there. But, we will live without you.
So, fuck you, Ravid Dobb. Fuck you.
I'm used to the absence of a father. I am not used to the sheer disrespect to the family who surrounded you.
I can fault you for many things, you supporting us is not one of them.
We were different. You liked cars, fishing, discovery channel and being bald.
I liked having hair, didn't care about cars, fishing or boats. Mythbusters was the bomb.
You left a hole in a piece of my heart. You hurt one of the only feelings. It was hard for me to call you a father. for 16 years I was unsure. The 4 years prior to you leaving us high and dry, I assumed you had earned it.
You constructed this view among me and my siblings. You supported us, you attempted to debate to show other sides, you even gave me twitter material. You supported a woman who was dealt a shitty hand. You supported her as much as she supported you. You are not a saint. Rather, you were the other half of a supportive/combative relationship. I used to say "Wow, he does a lot, he supports us. On his own." You supported us financially. You weren't there emotionally. You sure in the hell couldn't be there mentally. You paid bills. You're support was a facade. Money goes so far. To be a father, to be a husband, hell to be a son; you need more than money. My mother supported us kids for those 20 years. Financially, emotionally, mentally and in any other sense of motherly duties. She never threw in the towel.
...
You did.
You waste of space, you Mr. Clean looking piece of garbage. You left in the worst way at the worst time. You scapegoated two people and 2 dogs who I would value more than you on any given day. It was never their fault. Habituation of the smell of dog shit takes 2 days. You needed a reason. You built a hatred for 2 people for 3 years. Systematically and with rhythm.
You scapegoated them to throw in the towel. You said "why can't they pay all of it?" Those are the last words you said to me. Why can't someone else bail your dumbass out.
You left a woman unable to work, to live a day without pain, and who just lost her father. You left a son who endured a surgery, 40 pounds of weight loss and is approaching his most serious surgery he has had since he was a newborn. You left in 10 seconds. You left years of uphill battles for people who did not deserve it. You thrust a student in the role of supporting the family you could not admit you couldn't. You crushed the spirits of the person I love with my heart. You crushed my spirits. For a year I have said it didn't effect me. You leaving effected me quite a bit. The way you left everything with such disregard and disrespect was appalling. The threat of domestic violence if you stuck around any longer was stinging. Your reasoning for leaving was to raise two children you never knew. who were over the age of 25. Who were worth more than the 20 years you spent in my life.
I don't know what it was supposed to do for me. I'm less focused on school. I'm more family orientated. I'm more helpful to those around me. You leaving taught me humility in a way. You taught me to be even more cynical and more sarcastic.
You are the worst.
A year later, thousands of tears later. I'm unforgiving.
I am more of a father to me, than you ever could be, I'm supporting my family. I'm being the man. The roles you gave me involuntarily. If I died would you even care. If you died, would I even care?
You abandoned all you had. You became the definition of sad.
We are fine without you, one year later. The sting is still there. But, we will live without you.
So, fuck you, Ravid Dobb. Fuck you.
Thursday, September 18, 2014
smile?
How long can you smile?
Why do you smile?
What does a smile signify?
A smile signifies happiness, humour, love, seduction, excitement and pleasantry.
Why do people smile?
To show that they have a nice smile, heard a funny joke, to generally make people happier.
I don't smile. I have a few reasons. Lack of teeth, lack of effort, no reason to and most importantly. Why lie to the people around me about my "Happiness"?
My cynicism and my pessimism rings throughout my body like a bill collector calling your house.
I cannot tell you the last time I have felt happy enough at the core to smile. My life is what it is. I've tried. I've won. I've lost. I have tried less than what I should've. I am not a person who feels successful. I don't feel I have achieved.
I get by, I fight for every inch. I never truly appreciate reasons to smile.
I never enjoy myself.
I am the loudest, I am the most annoying and most days I am frustrating. I try to make others smile. I try too hard. Make people uncomfortable.
I am feeling defeating and that is part of the process.
I wish I had something to smile about.
Rather, a frown will suffice.
Why do you smile?
What does a smile signify?
A smile signifies happiness, humour, love, seduction, excitement and pleasantry.
Why do people smile?
To show that they have a nice smile, heard a funny joke, to generally make people happier.
I don't smile. I have a few reasons. Lack of teeth, lack of effort, no reason to and most importantly. Why lie to the people around me about my "Happiness"?
My cynicism and my pessimism rings throughout my body like a bill collector calling your house.
I cannot tell you the last time I have felt happy enough at the core to smile. My life is what it is. I've tried. I've won. I've lost. I have tried less than what I should've. I am not a person who feels successful. I don't feel I have achieved.
I get by, I fight for every inch. I never truly appreciate reasons to smile.
I never enjoy myself.
I am the loudest, I am the most annoying and most days I am frustrating. I try to make others smile. I try too hard. Make people uncomfortable.
I am feeling defeating and that is part of the process.
I wish I had something to smile about.
Rather, a frown will suffice.
Tuesday, August 12, 2014
for RW.
Thanks Robin Williams. Thanks to the thousands of other contributing members of society who have also passed. Before someone is a gigantic ass about this. I am not ignorant to the fact that Robin Williams lived well off, had a family and loving kids. I'm not ignorant to the fact that thousands of people have died in the past month that are also just as important to their family.
I am writing this for perspective. Whenever a heartbreaking story about suicide comes out, it hurts me deep. I don't know the person. But, I fight the same demons. It is a stark realization of what I fight everyday that I am alive. It may seem a little naive to say that Robin Williams dying has effected me immensely. But, it has. I am a amateur comedian, an ass and someone who tries his hardest to entertain. Night time is where my demons come to roost. I have no one to entertain, so my mind entertains me. It is not friendly nor is it hospitable to my well-being. However, that is what my life has been for 16 months. I don't sleep. I do not like sleeping. Yet, I will medicate my way to getting a few hours a night. I go for stretches where I eat once a day and drink water to binge eating. My weight is an atrocity. That is because my future is uncertain. As is yours. I have major surgeries and a career yet to plan.
I want to entertain, I want to help. I'd write columns for free. I'd put effort into writing this blog for a mass audience. Even moreso than now. I want it for the fame. I want it for the luxury. But, most of all I want it to do what I was born to do. Make others happy, make others think, make others love, make others enjoy life. At the expense of my enjoyment. I still plan to do stand up.
This is where this is my life hits a crux. Stand up comedians are some of the most depressed people you will ever meet. They are the epitome of a troubled case. Most comedians are self-deprecating and angry. Most of them medicate to sleep. Most of them self medicate to even get through a set.
RW battled addiction, depression and chronic anxiety.
in 1998 he was chosen to sing Blame Canada on behalf of the voice actress of Sheila Brovlovski of South Park. She committed suicide a few weeks before she was set to sing at the oscars.
He seemed to hit a crux. His stand up stalled, his movies were dark. His characters were maladjusted.
Perhaps mirroring his own mind and the cage that surrounds it.
RW gave his entire efforts into his acting, his voice acting, his singing, his entertaining, his philanthropy. RW gave everything he had until he had nothing left. No one was there to entertain, to talk or to listen to him when he needed it most. He never spoke up. His instagram activity would seem as if he is reminiscing. But, it is eerie the photos he has posted. I fear he had this plan for weeks.
Maybe great minds and comedic geniuses are meant to stay for a shorter time. Maybe they feel better if they decide how they go.
RW is one of millions of people who struggled with their depression.
RW was not weak, he was not a coward and he did not take the easy way out.
He was a father, entertainer, comedian, philanthropist, impressionist, good guy and an inspiration.
Thanks RW for the laughs and the inspiration. Without comedians like you, I would not want to entertain. I would not be the person I am.
I am writing this for perspective. Whenever a heartbreaking story about suicide comes out, it hurts me deep. I don't know the person. But, I fight the same demons. It is a stark realization of what I fight everyday that I am alive. It may seem a little naive to say that Robin Williams dying has effected me immensely. But, it has. I am a amateur comedian, an ass and someone who tries his hardest to entertain. Night time is where my demons come to roost. I have no one to entertain, so my mind entertains me. It is not friendly nor is it hospitable to my well-being. However, that is what my life has been for 16 months. I don't sleep. I do not like sleeping. Yet, I will medicate my way to getting a few hours a night. I go for stretches where I eat once a day and drink water to binge eating. My weight is an atrocity. That is because my future is uncertain. As is yours. I have major surgeries and a career yet to plan.
I want to entertain, I want to help. I'd write columns for free. I'd put effort into writing this blog for a mass audience. Even moreso than now. I want it for the fame. I want it for the luxury. But, most of all I want it to do what I was born to do. Make others happy, make others think, make others love, make others enjoy life. At the expense of my enjoyment. I still plan to do stand up.
This is where this is my life hits a crux. Stand up comedians are some of the most depressed people you will ever meet. They are the epitome of a troubled case. Most comedians are self-deprecating and angry. Most of them medicate to sleep. Most of them self medicate to even get through a set.
RW battled addiction, depression and chronic anxiety.
in 1998 he was chosen to sing Blame Canada on behalf of the voice actress of Sheila Brovlovski of South Park. She committed suicide a few weeks before she was set to sing at the oscars.
He seemed to hit a crux. His stand up stalled, his movies were dark. His characters were maladjusted.
Perhaps mirroring his own mind and the cage that surrounds it.
RW gave his entire efforts into his acting, his voice acting, his singing, his entertaining, his philanthropy. RW gave everything he had until he had nothing left. No one was there to entertain, to talk or to listen to him when he needed it most. He never spoke up. His instagram activity would seem as if he is reminiscing. But, it is eerie the photos he has posted. I fear he had this plan for weeks.
Maybe great minds and comedic geniuses are meant to stay for a shorter time. Maybe they feel better if they decide how they go.
RW is one of millions of people who struggled with their depression.
RW was not weak, he was not a coward and he did not take the easy way out.
He was a father, entertainer, comedian, philanthropist, impressionist, good guy and an inspiration.
Thanks RW for the laughs and the inspiration. Without comedians like you, I would not want to entertain. I would not be the person I am.
Tuesday, July 29, 2014
Detached
What does it mean to be detached?
Completely and utterly apathetic to the world and actions of those around you. I feel this constantly. I detach myself in someway everyday of my life. It is almost like my conscious has moments of temporary blindness. I don't think, I don't speak. I just am.
It is peaceful.
However; it is often a trigger for me for something much larger. I become too detached. Too unaware. I begin to get frustrated. I do not sleep. I do not eat.
Detachment to others is dangerous. When I hit my lowest, I was detached from everything. You could not tell me right from wrong. You could not tell me wrong from wrong. I just autopiloted until I could see some end at any cost.
I will never know how to control attachment and detachment. Part of me may not want to. The more I understand the brain and its habits; the more it seems to feast on my adrenal glands. To the point where I get so anxious that I cannot go outside and talk to people.
The world is dynamic and fickle. This is where the beauty of detachment comes in. The times you can detach from life, screens, money and just sit. Think about weird japanese tentacle porn or whatever you think of. Not that I think about Japanese Tentacle Porn... all the time.
If you feel detached and depressed. Please reach out, no matter how hard it can be to overcome. People are around you. People will understand. This stigma of detachment means you are a social outcast, an asshole, or rude needs to end. Some people cannot function when they become attached. You never know how each person deals with their demons.
Complete detachment is the last step before a person makes a life or death decision. It was the one thing that stopped me. I could not completely break the chains with me and my family.
A globalizing and social world is making everyone more misanthropic and reclusive. The line between Attachment and Detachment is so thin and grey that you slide into each from second to second.
Be aware of your own detachment reasons and techniques and be cautious of how it will effect you temporarily or permanently.
Regards,
Devon
Completely and utterly apathetic to the world and actions of those around you. I feel this constantly. I detach myself in someway everyday of my life. It is almost like my conscious has moments of temporary blindness. I don't think, I don't speak. I just am.
It is peaceful.
However; it is often a trigger for me for something much larger. I become too detached. Too unaware. I begin to get frustrated. I do not sleep. I do not eat.
Detachment to others is dangerous. When I hit my lowest, I was detached from everything. You could not tell me right from wrong. You could not tell me wrong from wrong. I just autopiloted until I could see some end at any cost.
I will never know how to control attachment and detachment. Part of me may not want to. The more I understand the brain and its habits; the more it seems to feast on my adrenal glands. To the point where I get so anxious that I cannot go outside and talk to people.
The world is dynamic and fickle. This is where the beauty of detachment comes in. The times you can detach from life, screens, money and just sit. Think about weird japanese tentacle porn or whatever you think of. Not that I think about Japanese Tentacle Porn... all the time.
If you feel detached and depressed. Please reach out, no matter how hard it can be to overcome. People are around you. People will understand. This stigma of detachment means you are a social outcast, an asshole, or rude needs to end. Some people cannot function when they become attached. You never know how each person deals with their demons.
Complete detachment is the last step before a person makes a life or death decision. It was the one thing that stopped me. I could not completely break the chains with me and my family.
A globalizing and social world is making everyone more misanthropic and reclusive. The line between Attachment and Detachment is so thin and grey that you slide into each from second to second.
Be aware of your own detachment reasons and techniques and be cautious of how it will effect you temporarily or permanently.
Regards,
Devon
Monday, July 21, 2014
Lights, Nature, Phone Camera, Selfie
Turn the camera to front facing, make a stupid face. Snap a picture and post it to all the social media. Rinse and repeat day after day. Monotonous and redundant. Making the same face, occasionally change the lighting, or if you have a real life friend they will selfie with you.
As time progresses, our species will become dumber. The excess given to some people is too much.
I really hate camera phones.... Or do I?
The great thing about having an easily accessible camera is you begin to see new beauty in some situations. Some pictures can make an environment seem beautiful. Personify experience, grief and other emotions. To crave that orange notification on instagram. I take pictures of simple things I wouldn't ordinarily take pictures of.
Ironically, even that becomes annoying. I am a misanthrope. Some days I have extreme social anxiety, agitating and making me ever so aware of idiots with cameras. Most noticeably at concerts. Some people go to concerts and watch the concert. It is a rather novel and old fashioned idea. Sometimes bizarre to think that is a possibility. That has gone the way of the Dodo. or Dido. (Ha Ha Ha). People would rather enjoy the concert on a 5 inch screen for grainy terrible sounding videos that they can enjoy never. Almost as a way to rub it into the person who is wearing a Muse shirt. You can say, YEAH WELL I HEARD THEIR SONGS LIVE. EAT A DICK and then throw your phone at them.
Cell phones become the greatest one up in history. The followers you have, the likes, the favorites, the RT's, your pictures, the videos you can show someone of Eminem's Love the Way You Lie. Or the picture of your cat dressed up. The cameras have so much clarity now that you can actually see the cat contemplate hanging itself with your belt because you dressed it up.
These are here to stay, long past my life and yours. People will progressively filter their pictures. People will start naming their kid "LoFi, Hefe, and Kelvin"...
Cities may start naming themselves Nashville.
Regards,
Devon aka A.D.D.
As time progresses, our species will become dumber. The excess given to some people is too much.
I really hate camera phones.... Or do I?
The great thing about having an easily accessible camera is you begin to see new beauty in some situations. Some pictures can make an environment seem beautiful. Personify experience, grief and other emotions. To crave that orange notification on instagram. I take pictures of simple things I wouldn't ordinarily take pictures of.
Ironically, even that becomes annoying. I am a misanthrope. Some days I have extreme social anxiety, agitating and making me ever so aware of idiots with cameras. Most noticeably at concerts. Some people go to concerts and watch the concert. It is a rather novel and old fashioned idea. Sometimes bizarre to think that is a possibility. That has gone the way of the Dodo. or Dido. (Ha Ha Ha). People would rather enjoy the concert on a 5 inch screen for grainy terrible sounding videos that they can enjoy never. Almost as a way to rub it into the person who is wearing a Muse shirt. You can say, YEAH WELL I HEARD THEIR SONGS LIVE. EAT A DICK and then throw your phone at them.
Cell phones become the greatest one up in history. The followers you have, the likes, the favorites, the RT's, your pictures, the videos you can show someone of Eminem's Love the Way You Lie. Or the picture of your cat dressed up. The cameras have so much clarity now that you can actually see the cat contemplate hanging itself with your belt because you dressed it up.
These are here to stay, long past my life and yours. People will progressively filter their pictures. People will start naming their kid "LoFi, Hefe, and Kelvin"...
Cities may start naming themselves Nashville.
Regards,
Devon aka A.D.D.
Wednesday, July 9, 2014
Realization
How much do you give?
A shit
An effort
Your sweat
Your tears
Your Years.
I am notorious for half-assing much of what I do. It is one of the things that irks me about my own personality. Whether it was learned, or I genuinely am that non-chalant in my life. These blogs could be much more refined. I could proofread. Maybe polish up my words and the look of my paragraphs.
But, to be honest. I'm not here to be an english teacher. I've always enjoyed the personable experience and learning than the structured bullshit.
I was told I should write a blog weekly to help free my mind. It helps. That and my codependency for sleep aids (es?) are what get me through the day and night. When I write, I immerse myself. I try to turn the hamsters in my brain. Somedays it works better than others. This blog might not have any meaning or purpose to get me back to writing.
What you should take away from this? Vices are dangerous, depending on what vice, it might be beneficial. Sports and hobbies are the preferred. I chose writing.
Secondly, you will never truly understand how a person feels. From happy, to sad, to depressed. Pharrell Williams could've been the saddest human being of all time when he recorded happy. People are trained individuals of hiding their feelings. It is within the confines of school, that a person learns to hide how they feel. Strangely, people choose to ignore this. Their kids are being moulded by the fear of being outed as an emotional person. A person who cries who may be mocked with homophobic slurs for crying. A person is never really given a chance to talk about how they feel because they are shut up quickly. The sudden realization coming out of high school was that...
Hey? How do I feel? Who do I tell? How can I tell people? Will I face the same judgement.
I put it to you, How did you feel coming out of high school?
How did it effect you?
Sadly, some people never come to that realization. People become more lost as time goes on, because for 12 years+ they are restricted. Their individualism becomes tarnished. They become psychologically inept to their expression. They are bottled up, depressed and left behind. Society will never understand the depths of depression. You are educated to become apathetic and through conditioning apathy is reinforced.
Regards.
Devon
A shit
An effort
Your sweat
Your tears
Your Years.
I am notorious for half-assing much of what I do. It is one of the things that irks me about my own personality. Whether it was learned, or I genuinely am that non-chalant in my life. These blogs could be much more refined. I could proofread. Maybe polish up my words and the look of my paragraphs.
But, to be honest. I'm not here to be an english teacher. I've always enjoyed the personable experience and learning than the structured bullshit.
I was told I should write a blog weekly to help free my mind. It helps. That and my codependency for sleep aids (es?) are what get me through the day and night. When I write, I immerse myself. I try to turn the hamsters in my brain. Somedays it works better than others. This blog might not have any meaning or purpose to get me back to writing.
What you should take away from this? Vices are dangerous, depending on what vice, it might be beneficial. Sports and hobbies are the preferred. I chose writing.
Secondly, you will never truly understand how a person feels. From happy, to sad, to depressed. Pharrell Williams could've been the saddest human being of all time when he recorded happy. People are trained individuals of hiding their feelings. It is within the confines of school, that a person learns to hide how they feel. Strangely, people choose to ignore this. Their kids are being moulded by the fear of being outed as an emotional person. A person who cries who may be mocked with homophobic slurs for crying. A person is never really given a chance to talk about how they feel because they are shut up quickly. The sudden realization coming out of high school was that...
Hey? How do I feel? Who do I tell? How can I tell people? Will I face the same judgement.
I put it to you, How did you feel coming out of high school?
How did it effect you?
Sadly, some people never come to that realization. People become more lost as time goes on, because for 12 years+ they are restricted. Their individualism becomes tarnished. They become psychologically inept to their expression. They are bottled up, depressed and left behind. Society will never understand the depths of depression. You are educated to become apathetic and through conditioning apathy is reinforced.
Regards.
Devon
Monday, June 16, 2014
What are we doing?
My peoples are proud, they are strong, they are shamed and they are broken.
Each aspect of my heritage is divided into hemispheres. One side: The proud, the strong, the willing warriors who battle everyday.
The other: the broken, the bullied, the afraid and beaten warrior.
I'm unsure of how we battle out of it. But, I was asked the other day to donate to a charity for a sports organization. I never do. Not because I am a gigantic asshole. But, I want a charity that helps the 3rd world conditions of the aboriginals around Canada. The water systems that pump to these lands are decrepit water stations rich in radioactive and insoluble materials. Materials that stay in water. Materials that when ingested slowly increase cells to procreate and mutate. Causing rare cancers, bone and muscle diseases. "Stores" around these areas carry extremely expensive goods. The money that people claim is "handed" to these people barely cover the cost of living and drinking clean bottled water if you are afforded that.
I am aboriginal. I look white, I wish I didn't. I am the warrior on the inside that is recognized with the Cree, The Sioux, and all the other tribes. I battle against discrimination because of the way I look and the race I identify with.
I said that to say this. These reserves are full of people who are angry and defensive. They have been pushed into inhabitable lands and told to live. They are told by media, news, and society that they are the people who bring down society. They are the ones who commit crimes. They are the ones who will not make it out and do something with their lives. Eventually, if you are told something enough. You will begin to believe it. My cousins, my brothers and sisters I've never met who do live on reserves battle something I may never have to. Something that is more than body, more than media, more than mind: Spirit.
Aboriginal spiritual life is the strongest thing they have. It is what I cling to at my lowest. It is what everyone should cling to at their lowest. The warrior comes from the spirit.
I've lost many relatives. Many brothers, sisters, and elders I have never gotten to meet. Some of that via the poisoning of the water that feeds the spirit. Some of that because their spirit was broken and they had nothing left. They decided life under duress was not worth living.
Someone close to the ones I loved had taken their life yesterday. Remembered by those closest, but nothing more than that small community. Sadly, that is what bothers me most. Stories of murder, stories of suicide. Media leads you to believe it is aboriginals. People watching it scoff, think everything is handed to them and they are still not happy. Never understanding what is exactly paid by aboriginals.
Aboriginals will never be equal to those around them. The world "Progresses" without them. Aboriginal youth is left to.... Well, do whatever they want. Limiting options of try to make it in the city or do work in rural areas to make end meet. No one tells them that they can go to school. They can be a doctor, a nurse, an EMS worker.
Broken spirits, broken land, broken minds and broken bodies. Aboriginals are proud and resilient. We will continue to fight for change. We do not want to be equal. We just want to be treated as human beings and have a fighting chance to do good.
Regards,
Devon
Each aspect of my heritage is divided into hemispheres. One side: The proud, the strong, the willing warriors who battle everyday.
The other: the broken, the bullied, the afraid and beaten warrior.
I'm unsure of how we battle out of it. But, I was asked the other day to donate to a charity for a sports organization. I never do. Not because I am a gigantic asshole. But, I want a charity that helps the 3rd world conditions of the aboriginals around Canada. The water systems that pump to these lands are decrepit water stations rich in radioactive and insoluble materials. Materials that stay in water. Materials that when ingested slowly increase cells to procreate and mutate. Causing rare cancers, bone and muscle diseases. "Stores" around these areas carry extremely expensive goods. The money that people claim is "handed" to these people barely cover the cost of living and drinking clean bottled water if you are afforded that.
I am aboriginal. I look white, I wish I didn't. I am the warrior on the inside that is recognized with the Cree, The Sioux, and all the other tribes. I battle against discrimination because of the way I look and the race I identify with.
I said that to say this. These reserves are full of people who are angry and defensive. They have been pushed into inhabitable lands and told to live. They are told by media, news, and society that they are the people who bring down society. They are the ones who commit crimes. They are the ones who will not make it out and do something with their lives. Eventually, if you are told something enough. You will begin to believe it. My cousins, my brothers and sisters I've never met who do live on reserves battle something I may never have to. Something that is more than body, more than media, more than mind: Spirit.
Aboriginal spiritual life is the strongest thing they have. It is what I cling to at my lowest. It is what everyone should cling to at their lowest. The warrior comes from the spirit.
I've lost many relatives. Many brothers, sisters, and elders I have never gotten to meet. Some of that via the poisoning of the water that feeds the spirit. Some of that because their spirit was broken and they had nothing left. They decided life under duress was not worth living.
Someone close to the ones I loved had taken their life yesterday. Remembered by those closest, but nothing more than that small community. Sadly, that is what bothers me most. Stories of murder, stories of suicide. Media leads you to believe it is aboriginals. People watching it scoff, think everything is handed to them and they are still not happy. Never understanding what is exactly paid by aboriginals.
Aboriginals will never be equal to those around them. The world "Progresses" without them. Aboriginal youth is left to.... Well, do whatever they want. Limiting options of try to make it in the city or do work in rural areas to make end meet. No one tells them that they can go to school. They can be a doctor, a nurse, an EMS worker.
Broken spirits, broken land, broken minds and broken bodies. Aboriginals are proud and resilient. We will continue to fight for change. We do not want to be equal. We just want to be treated as human beings and have a fighting chance to do good.
Regards,
Devon
Friday, May 23, 2014
Battle
Battling is something that we go through everyday. Reluctantly or with full force, we deal with the daily decisions wrought with agony. I am a firm believer of approaching things major decisions or possible life changing decisions with hesitation. I was raised this way. Perhaps somewhere deep down inside I care about this life I claim to hate.
That's just me.
Every person goes through their individual battle, none of them the same. Juxtaposed against human emotion and the will to go through everyday is the relationships that effect your life. I never claimed to have a father, never claimed to have a father figure. This was true up until about 2 years ago until I thought my stepfather was worthy enough to have me admit that he is my father. As a person who steps into the light when he doesn't want to is seen as a hero. He played the role.
He left, abandoning me. Forcing me to make the decisions that not even he could handle. A person with limited income, struggling to support as many people as he can. I became my own father. Deepest shit you'll hear all day. But, it is true. I became self-sufficient. Life has become a little less hectic. Allowing for the reflection.
The battles you do not want to participate in, are always the battles you learn the most from. I learned a lot about people you think you know. The ideal of a father I had for 21 years was thrown out with the bathwater. I'm a little more fragile. It is an interesting part of my persona I have yet to grasp.
People who hang you out to dry are the ones who are not strong enough to battle.
The people who don't stand beside you at your lowest are the ones who do not win their battles.
The people who are not a little frazzled, angry, or anxious have never battled their emotions.
You and I are strong enough to battle our demons everyday. In fact, we welcome our demons from time to time.
Keep battling, for the ones you lovc
Keep battling, for yourself.
Regards,
Devon.
That's just me.
Every person goes through their individual battle, none of them the same. Juxtaposed against human emotion and the will to go through everyday is the relationships that effect your life. I never claimed to have a father, never claimed to have a father figure. This was true up until about 2 years ago until I thought my stepfather was worthy enough to have me admit that he is my father. As a person who steps into the light when he doesn't want to is seen as a hero. He played the role.
He left, abandoning me. Forcing me to make the decisions that not even he could handle. A person with limited income, struggling to support as many people as he can. I became my own father. Deepest shit you'll hear all day. But, it is true. I became self-sufficient. Life has become a little less hectic. Allowing for the reflection.
The battles you do not want to participate in, are always the battles you learn the most from. I learned a lot about people you think you know. The ideal of a father I had for 21 years was thrown out with the bathwater. I'm a little more fragile. It is an interesting part of my persona I have yet to grasp.
People who hang you out to dry are the ones who are not strong enough to battle.
The people who don't stand beside you at your lowest are the ones who do not win their battles.
The people who are not a little frazzled, angry, or anxious have never battled their emotions.
You and I are strong enough to battle our demons everyday. In fact, we welcome our demons from time to time.
Keep battling, for the ones you lovc
Keep battling, for yourself.
Regards,
Devon.
Wednesday, April 30, 2014
For Max
The world, god, nature, or whatever is to blame took you away from us a year ago. How do I come to terms? The glue, the captain and everything that you could've been to our family was taken from us. You were so much more than a person who bet every weekend or loved to talk about your crib trophy.
You never lived a perfect life. You never saw what you should have. You learned. You learned and used that knowledge right away. You overcame the stubbornness you passed down to all of us. You became what you thought our family needed.
I saw you 367 days ago. 367 days I have thought about you. 365 days ago you passed. 362 days ago we were supposed to play crib. This is how I count the days. I miss you, Mush. I never will get to play crib with you. I will never get to learn how to say my age in Cree like I didn't every September 9th.
You taught me how to be strong. You may never know or see this. I don't know where you are. And that is what pains me the most. You taught me to give up and take what I had to, to help my family. To help myself even if I didn't think I need it. You taught me how to support the people that were left behind.
Most of all, you taught me the importance of a story. I've never listened to a story since you have passed. I guess I avoided it because I miss you so bad. I don't want to. The only story I remember in the past year is the last story you told me. Which encapsulates everything you were. Strong, stubborn, and fighting for every inch you could get.
I wasn't ready for you to leave. How selfish of me. I bragged about being selfless. But, I cannot let go of the people around me. You taught me how to appreciate those around me. Life is temporary. Don't be the person who fights with their family just because.
I learned more from your death than from when you are alive. The best thing you did for me was leaving this world peacefully and not fighting with anyone. You picked your battles. I'm learning, Mushom. April 30th will be my day for reflection. On your life. On my life. On those around me. I would give anything in my life for one more story. I would give anything to hear you say another word in Cree. I would give anything to be skunked in crib.
I love you, Max. Brother, uncle, man, father, cousin, Grandfather.
You left us all with important lessons. But, we have to teach ourselves what it all means.
I miss you, Mushom. I love you.
Regards,
Devon
You never lived a perfect life. You never saw what you should have. You learned. You learned and used that knowledge right away. You overcame the stubbornness you passed down to all of us. You became what you thought our family needed.
I saw you 367 days ago. 367 days I have thought about you. 365 days ago you passed. 362 days ago we were supposed to play crib. This is how I count the days. I miss you, Mush. I never will get to play crib with you. I will never get to learn how to say my age in Cree like I didn't every September 9th.
You taught me how to be strong. You may never know or see this. I don't know where you are. And that is what pains me the most. You taught me to give up and take what I had to, to help my family. To help myself even if I didn't think I need it. You taught me how to support the people that were left behind.
Most of all, you taught me the importance of a story. I've never listened to a story since you have passed. I guess I avoided it because I miss you so bad. I don't want to. The only story I remember in the past year is the last story you told me. Which encapsulates everything you were. Strong, stubborn, and fighting for every inch you could get.
I wasn't ready for you to leave. How selfish of me. I bragged about being selfless. But, I cannot let go of the people around me. You taught me how to appreciate those around me. Life is temporary. Don't be the person who fights with their family just because.
I learned more from your death than from when you are alive. The best thing you did for me was leaving this world peacefully and not fighting with anyone. You picked your battles. I'm learning, Mushom. April 30th will be my day for reflection. On your life. On my life. On those around me. I would give anything in my life for one more story. I would give anything to hear you say another word in Cree. I would give anything to be skunked in crib.
I love you, Max. Brother, uncle, man, father, cousin, Grandfather.
You left us all with important lessons. But, we have to teach ourselves what it all means.
I miss you, Mushom. I love you.
Regards,
Devon
Wednesday, February 26, 2014
Scared
I'm scared I'll never be.
Forgiven.
Forgotten.
Forgiving.
Forgetting.
I'm scared of who.
I am.
I was.
I am going to be.
I'm afraid of being successful.
At school.
Work.
Failing.
I'm scared.
Of the demons that feast
On my brain
On my heart
On my soul.
Im scared.
Wednesday, February 12, 2014
Walking in my Own Shadow
Preface: This is a psychology essay I have written this semester. The reference to Mario was part of the assignment.
Carl Jung created several
aspects to psychoanalysis. One of his most prominent discoveries is archetypes.
He concluded that these are the “major structures of the personality.” (Frager,
Fadiman 61) The structures are ego, persona, shadow, anima, animus, and the
self. In this paper, I will focus on the shadow, and how it has affected my
life as a whole; as well as, day to day. The shadow is described by Jung as the
material that has been repressed from consciousness. (Frager et al 65)
When you become a student at a major university, you
become so much more aware of your own surroundings. It is different from
working a 9-5 job – obviously. But, in many other ways. When I started at my university I did not care for my grades, my interactions, my friends. I rode the
border of sociopathic behavior. My Shadow is clinical depression. It is not
uncommon across universities. A number of people will talk about it openly, but an
alarming number will not. Fighting depression through three years of school has
been painful. I feel my depression most when I enter the building. That first
breath of anxiety-ridden air on an old campus. Passing adults, who are torn
apart by a communal understanding of why we are there and the societal
construct that follows it. Being inside of my university is my biggest trigger for
depression. My second largest trigger is missing class. I feel inferior because
of my depression. I feel worthless, yet so heavy I cannot move my body. When I
am in school, I am controlled by my shadow. It eats at me, it drinks from my
blood, and it becomes me. When it appears (which is at an every couple of weeks
cycle) it makes me angry more than anything. Angry at myself that I cannot find
a reason to get up. Angry in my everyday conversations, angry at people who do
not deserve it. I live in my own shadow when I am at school, I am not happy. I
have not been since I started in 2011.
This shadow I am controlled by is bigger than me. In my
mind, he is larger than life. He is Bowser and I am Mario or Luigi. It most
resembles and behaves like Bowser. A big spiky turtle shell on something 3
times my size. With its own little attacking minions and it breathes fire. Most
of all, it robs every aspect of my life. Success in my relationships, in my
family, and with my own journey. My shadow bullies me around.
Bowser has at least one redeeming quality for me. It
serves as a motivator in a cynical way that I can battle through school as much
as I hate it. It motivates me to want to be successful; however, I will not
know how success will appear. It has helped me realize that there are more
important things than school. Your success in academics does not define you as
a person. Sadly, we are taught differently throughout primary school and
through the media. Negatively, my shadow has made my growth as an adult
stagger. Through 22 surgeries and trying to find out who I am. How strong I may
be, my shadow is always around to make me manic. I am not a clear cut case, I
am thoughtful and concise. When I am bowser: I punch walls, I throw
controllers, and I snap on the people who are closest to me.
As I stated previously, the opposite of Bowser is Mario.
I am Mario when school ends. I work on relationships and I understand my
journey. I learn to grow one day at a time, instead of a year in one day. Mario
is a normal everyday man who does his job. He is challenged throughout his life
but continues his journey as it should. He dresses like his profession
dictates. His favorite expressions would be that he is an extrovert. He
announces himself when he enters the room. He has many friends and loves one
woman. When I am outside of school, I am easier to communicate with. That is a
sometimes a negative, as my trust is taken advantage of most of the time. Which
also arrests my ability to trust, and trust is almost a mirage in my
vocabulary.
In conclusion, I walk in my own shadow. I do not enjoy
school, I am there for reasons unbeknownst to me. I am told to go to school or
I will not get a good paying job. It has put so much pressure on me that I have
thought of suicide seriously 4 times in 5 years. What I am gaining from my
shadow is that I am slowly learning about me. How I learn and how I can apply
that to everyday life. For as long as I am in school. I am my shadow. I am
cynical, depressed and pessimistic. I am not joyous to be around. My attitude
with others is introverted and destructive. I become an asshole, a prick, and
someone no one wants to be around. Somewhere there is a light at the end of a
tunnel, there is someone up there, and there might be something around the
corner. This is how I feel. Helpless and unaware and having faith in anything I
cannot see.
My name is Devon Hunt, and
I walk in my own shadow.
Wednesday, February 5, 2014
Snow
 |
| Cold Winters day in Canada |
Clouds are soft and pillowy, beautiful in simplicity. Unaware what they provide the earth with. Uncompromising with how much.
We live in a world where our moods are biologically and almost mechanically constructed by how the sky works. On a day with gloom, we stay in our room. Beautiful sunny days are meant for play.
Bountiful white snow represents hope in some existential way. It has no time in which it occurs, it may be predicted. It may not, snow is to weather what we are the emotion and mood. On any given day; me, you or someone else can be depressed. We have nothing, we feel worthless, we feel heavy. In those times we try to find something salvageable. We live day to day, hoping something will be there for us to cling to. Something to help us rise, or keep us from falling.
Snow is pristine. It falls from the sky ever so gently, drifting back and forth like a game of tennis. We remain mesmerized at how no snowflake is alike. Much like no two humans are completely alike. We each have our own motives, values, movements and thoughts. Snow falls gracefully. Snow falls angrily. Snow falls like a 6 year old child learning to skate. Snow is perfect in that it is different from rain. Snow will always cling.
It will find a tree, it will find a house. It will find your jacket. Snow clings to things like a cellophane wrapper to skin.
White in colour. Amazing in power. Snow is dazzling. On a cold winter's day. Snowmen are built, snow forts, shovels are out. It is just part of what winter is to people in snowy climates. The charm of a child building a snow fort with his friends. In that moment, always lost. That child is cooperating with weather that is typically uncooperative. That child is building, laughing and playing. Not worried about what is going on in the world.
You may hate snow, but there is beauty in what it represents.
Regards,
Devon
I hate poetry
I hate poetry
I don't understand it
I hate its intensity
I throw a fit
I wish I knew how to conceive the ideal
That poetry isn't pretentious
I do not believe that any of it seems real
It all seems so ambiguous
I do not understand poetic style
I don't enjoy Iambic Pentameter
I do not read it for awhile
It can go on for a kilometer
Another thing, it's hyperbole
It's symbolism
It feels like you pay a fee
To read a page full of Jizzum.
T.S. Eliot, Bronte, and Dickinson
All were ahead of their time
They are studied a tonne
For the ability to rhyme
I hate poetry
There is no meat only corn
I don't think there is anything to see
Time to go watch porn.
I don't understand it
I hate its intensity
I throw a fit
I wish I knew how to conceive the ideal
That poetry isn't pretentious
I do not believe that any of it seems real
It all seems so ambiguous
I do not understand poetic style
I don't enjoy Iambic Pentameter
I do not read it for awhile
It can go on for a kilometer
Another thing, it's hyperbole
It's symbolism
It feels like you pay a fee
To read a page full of Jizzum.
T.S. Eliot, Bronte, and Dickinson
All were ahead of their time
They are studied a tonne
For the ability to rhyme
I hate poetry
There is no meat only corn
I don't think there is anything to see
Time to go watch porn.
Tuesday, January 28, 2014
Depression
I come here on this blog to air my feelings. It has now been years since this blog started. I never expected I would help people, receive compliments or have someone read it. It means more than you would know. I am currently happy, on a day like today. It is hard not to be. One day a year, people with depression are accepted, loved and told that everything will be okay. It happens during the year, but not as often as it does on a day like today.
I live day-to-day. I've learned to do that from my grandfather. He lived everyday like it might be his last.
I use a few mechanisms to help my depression.
1) Talk to the people I love
2) I will talk to someone, without knowing their name. Tell them I feel anxious.
3) I always try to look forward to something. Sometimes it is as easy as a hockey game, concert, or going to see family
4) I read other people's musings on depression.
5) I try to write a blogpost a week to get out feelings
Because the weird thing about Depression is: It is dynamic. It is never standing still. Everyone feels depression differently. Everyone has different levels of depression. Not everyone is fully aware they might have different feelings from the depressed person next to them. Which is the case, I am a cyclical depressive. I go through a monthly cycle. Like a male menstrual cycle. I've been on a low point this week.
I'm not totally aware how to control that one week where I go off the tracks. To be honest, I don't want to control it.
For those 3 weeks where I am not depressed, I am happy. I can stop and think, "Hey, I don't feel that depressed right now" and enjoy life a little bit more.
It is okay to feel depressed. It is okay to feel anxious. It is all about managing.
You cannot get frustrated that you can't be free of anxiety or mental illness. Some people will never get away from it. That's the sad truth.
There is stigma that people with mental illness are weak because they cannot overcome it.
I would argue they are stronger.
They manage, talk, and function everyday with depression. Pretending to be happy or not.
My brethren with mental illness are the strongest people I know.
Regards,
Devon
I live day-to-day. I've learned to do that from my grandfather. He lived everyday like it might be his last.
I use a few mechanisms to help my depression.
1) Talk to the people I love
2) I will talk to someone, without knowing their name. Tell them I feel anxious.
3) I always try to look forward to something. Sometimes it is as easy as a hockey game, concert, or going to see family
4) I read other people's musings on depression.
5) I try to write a blogpost a week to get out feelings
Because the weird thing about Depression is: It is dynamic. It is never standing still. Everyone feels depression differently. Everyone has different levels of depression. Not everyone is fully aware they might have different feelings from the depressed person next to them. Which is the case, I am a cyclical depressive. I go through a monthly cycle. Like a male menstrual cycle. I've been on a low point this week.
I'm not totally aware how to control that one week where I go off the tracks. To be honest, I don't want to control it.
For those 3 weeks where I am not depressed, I am happy. I can stop and think, "Hey, I don't feel that depressed right now" and enjoy life a little bit more.
It is okay to feel depressed. It is okay to feel anxious. It is all about managing.
You cannot get frustrated that you can't be free of anxiety or mental illness. Some people will never get away from it. That's the sad truth.
There is stigma that people with mental illness are weak because they cannot overcome it.
I would argue they are stronger.
They manage, talk, and function everyday with depression. Pretending to be happy or not.
My brethren with mental illness are the strongest people I know.
Regards,
Devon
Monday, January 27, 2014
Sour-taste
Every morning I wake up, hahah just kidding. I've been up since 1 am.
That's its own thing. No matter how hard to try to make a day go your way, it won't.
That's kind of what life is. You wait your whole life for the (max) like 15 great days.
For most people, as I have come to learn is Marriage, divorce, sex after divorce, some other person you hate experiences some pain. And then death
Which is great, because lets face it. Sex is great, self-deprecation and then self-improvement is what is the goal in today's society.
Self-deprecation sells on all levels of social media, this blog in a way is decompression and self-deprecation for me.
Any tweet, any facebook status or tumblr update that has any physical, mental, or emotional pain linked with a shitty joke will be your top anything. Everyday is a struggle for those who suffer mental illness and physical illness. But, we constantly sell ourselves short online. I flirt with people on a surface of shit that doesn't even make sense. Like that last sentence.
I don't know why I self-deprecate and expect someone to tell me I am handsome, or they would fuck the depression out of me.
I'm an idiot, but, really. Any distraction is great. When you are in school, every distraction is great. Bad ones are great for excuses, good ones are the reason why people don't do homework.
I write everything with a working title. I got mocked by my fiancee the other week for having a stupid title.
So, that is ego boosting.
I hate me, therefore why should anyone like me?
That is what social media is, make yourself seem as sad as possible SO YOU GET ALL THE FRIENDS AND FOLLOWERS
At the end of the day, we are all ignored just the same.
Regards,
Devon
That's its own thing. No matter how hard to try to make a day go your way, it won't.
That's kind of what life is. You wait your whole life for the (max) like 15 great days.
For most people, as I have come to learn is Marriage, divorce, sex after divorce, some other person you hate experiences some pain. And then death
Which is great, because lets face it. Sex is great, self-deprecation and then self-improvement is what is the goal in today's society.
Self-deprecation sells on all levels of social media, this blog in a way is decompression and self-deprecation for me.
Any tweet, any facebook status or tumblr update that has any physical, mental, or emotional pain linked with a shitty joke will be your top anything. Everyday is a struggle for those who suffer mental illness and physical illness. But, we constantly sell ourselves short online. I flirt with people on a surface of shit that doesn't even make sense. Like that last sentence.
I don't know why I self-deprecate and expect someone to tell me I am handsome, or they would fuck the depression out of me.
I'm an idiot, but, really. Any distraction is great. When you are in school, every distraction is great. Bad ones are great for excuses, good ones are the reason why people don't do homework.
I write everything with a working title. I got mocked by my fiancee the other week for having a stupid title.
So, that is ego boosting.
I hate me, therefore why should anyone like me?
That is what social media is, make yourself seem as sad as possible SO YOU GET ALL THE FRIENDS AND FOLLOWERS
At the end of the day, we are all ignored just the same.
Regards,
Devon
Tuesday, January 21, 2014
Fearing Death
My whole life, I've always had a fear of death. A day, where you cease to exist. People cannot say "hi" anymore. The once mundane activities do not matter to anyone. The days of depression, the days of happiness, and the days of grieving do not exist anymore. You no long wear these days on you like a heavy fur coat. Everything simply: is.
There is a certain level of empathy that comes with fears in general. I have a moderate fear of heights, I fear flying because I don't know if the mechanic who worked on the plane was a coffee short. I fear spiders that can kill me. I'm pretty sure I'd fear a snake if I saw one.
Fears are simple at face value, they are truly complex when you get down to it. They are mostly irrational, they are pointless, and often easy to overcome. Fears influence everyday life.
When my grandpa died it put a new perspective on life and death for me.
Life is lived, it should be lived fruitfully and most rewarding. It should contain love, fun and excitement (and probably sex). Not everyone gets the same deal. Some people go through pain no one should have to. Those people experience humility, they know when life is good and when life is shit.
Death is a celebration of life. Death is succinct. Death is final. Death is beautiful. It is the end, of a journey. Every fight, every grudge, every word is done. You no longer have to fight. No longer have to argue.
It is things like that, that keep me living. Why end it early? I still have a lot to experience.
Fearing death does not keep you alive. It keeps you unaware. The true beauty of life is that there is a beginning, shitty middle, and end.
It is up to you what you do with it.
Regards,
Devon.
Tuesday, January 7, 2014
Isolation
I want to be alone
I don't want to be alone
I am alone
I am not alone
Sentences that are said to ourselves at least once a year. No matter the circumstances, no matter who is around or how much love you feel. The thing about depression is along with it comes the insane and dire need to be isolated from people. This is how people think they cope with it. Although, true for many. This is a slow process for recovering for depression
Isolation is also a math term, isolate the variable.
It can be applied to real life, if you have something that you want. Depression should be the thing isolated. Not you, you are not the variable. But, rather the equation master.
I was never good at math, so that probably makes no sense. Shoutout to my high school math teachers, I don't know anything.
Solitaire is a lonely game. Solitary confinement is lonelier. However; a lot of times, seems very necessary. A person is never truly in control of their brain. They will always have immoral thoughts and wrong feelings. That is the nature of how the brain works. The brain is able to compete the rational and irrational thoughts. That is where a lot of the crises involved with mental illness is found. If you cannot filter even the slightest amount of depressing thought it will linger and torment. Until you have no urge to get up or go outside. You can scream at your body to get up and do something, but in that moment where you are isolated. Nothing or no one can move you.
I find a middle ground. I am not one for isolation, I write this blog. I try to write it actively so I can remain relevant and a pretentious knob. No, just kidding. I write these blogs as a way to isolate myself from my thoughts and get whatever I can onto paper or into this textbox. It soothes me, for the moment if gives me temporary release.
I have isolated myself from others
"Fine"
"I'm fine"
"I'm good"
All lies I tell everyone when I try to isolate myself. My brain says don't tell them anything. But, it does not have to. When you isolate yourself, your body language does all the talking.
I've hurt people mentally and emotionally. I've fucked with peoples feelings. I've made people hate me so much they don't want to talk to me. Just to isolate myself from things. These are the things that did not help me in my younger years. I took it out on other people because I could not cope.
I wish I could apologize to those people for the things I have said. I wish I could be there to help them when they got into my situation in life.
I wish I was a better friend to most people.
I don't want to be alone.
I want to be alone
I am alone
I don't want to be alone.
Regards,
Devon
I don't want to be alone
I am alone
I am not alone
Sentences that are said to ourselves at least once a year. No matter the circumstances, no matter who is around or how much love you feel. The thing about depression is along with it comes the insane and dire need to be isolated from people. This is how people think they cope with it. Although, true for many. This is a slow process for recovering for depression
Isolation is also a math term, isolate the variable.
It can be applied to real life, if you have something that you want. Depression should be the thing isolated. Not you, you are not the variable. But, rather the equation master.
I was never good at math, so that probably makes no sense. Shoutout to my high school math teachers, I don't know anything.
Solitaire is a lonely game. Solitary confinement is lonelier. However; a lot of times, seems very necessary. A person is never truly in control of their brain. They will always have immoral thoughts and wrong feelings. That is the nature of how the brain works. The brain is able to compete the rational and irrational thoughts. That is where a lot of the crises involved with mental illness is found. If you cannot filter even the slightest amount of depressing thought it will linger and torment. Until you have no urge to get up or go outside. You can scream at your body to get up and do something, but in that moment where you are isolated. Nothing or no one can move you.
I find a middle ground. I am not one for isolation, I write this blog. I try to write it actively so I can remain relevant and a pretentious knob. No, just kidding. I write these blogs as a way to isolate myself from my thoughts and get whatever I can onto paper or into this textbox. It soothes me, for the moment if gives me temporary release.
I have isolated myself from others
"Fine"
"I'm fine"
"I'm good"
All lies I tell everyone when I try to isolate myself. My brain says don't tell them anything. But, it does not have to. When you isolate yourself, your body language does all the talking.
I've hurt people mentally and emotionally. I've fucked with peoples feelings. I've made people hate me so much they don't want to talk to me. Just to isolate myself from things. These are the things that did not help me in my younger years. I took it out on other people because I could not cope.
I wish I could apologize to those people for the things I have said. I wish I could be there to help them when they got into my situation in life.
I wish I was a better friend to most people.
I don't want to be alone.
I want to be alone
I am alone
I don't want to be alone.
Regards,
Devon
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