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.

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

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.

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

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

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.

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