As the leaves ripen shrivel and fall silently as if the days of summer are captured in leafy photos, I see home. This time of the year us river people certainly celebrate our harvests and begin to stock the freezer with local game meat for a long cold rough winter ahead. Out comes the orange vests as the mountains chirp like a painted backdrop. There’s this amazing feeling in the air a silent wind whistled cool and damp. The rattling leaves rustle in the fall breezes, the crinkling leaves making the strong powerful rise inside, close your eyes and ride the leaves up into the whirling winds. Falling, swirling, captured suspended in hope, fall is truly natures greatest celebration.

My orange plaid hunting coat still hangs int the pull out secret knoby door closet, like I’m still there going to put it on. Many coats of my greatest role models hang there as we once were in a soon to be another boarded up home along a river of heritage with broken families who left there home to just survive poverty. I’m one of these awesome few and I know the back window tears while seeing all your family fade. This is the East Coast curse, saying goodbye is it for now? Or forever? Waving back windows.

My family in particular lived off our mountains and streams, an hour away from the nearest town with roads that close and bridges the rivers ice take out we upriver people fill our freezers, I loved going hunting. Yes I love animals of course I’m a goober over ever beastie yet I can appreciate a life given to feed yourself. As a girl I rode onback the four wheelers watching for signs of our seasonal kill. Partridge, moose, deer are the best to fill the freezer up. Each crack of that smokin gun was a mouth fed that day. It’s an achievement and very prideful to have a full freezer you worked to fill together, kids and family of all ages contribute. I know the animals deaths are quick shot kills just instant death most the time, a good hunter kills on first crack every bullet thereafter is a reflection of your ability, so to be praised it’s one shot. Way to go! Personally I have never dropped anything other than birds but I’ve gutted, skinned and sectioned up a lot of carcuses not much we didn’t eat. Respectful real hunters eat their catches not wasted a life taken for novelties, wrong.

My first rifle was a old family 2 barrel barely held together so many first shots that gun has. I was proud so proud that day on the front lawn under the crab apple tree when my grams buttoned me up tied my vest and sent me out into the woods for the first time on my own. I was 11 that fall and had been practicing in local turkey shoots for months for this day. I wanted to be all look at me I’m a good hunter too even though I’m a girl. I walked up past the deer cages, yes we had pet deer. As I began the walk up the mountain crunching leaves that lovely wet dirt smell they make as they rot into the earth, beautiful sun like a colidiscope of oranges,reds reflecting like sun crystals above my head flickers of light it’s a gorgeous sight. I was off to shoot my first partridge. I was more puffed up than the partridge doing his sexy dance. When I got to the top I stopped for my lunch, always packed in wax paper in a paper bag, eating lunch in the wilderness back against a tree longer you sit the more nature investigated you, that odd giant stomping around loudly. Birds sing, bunnies hop and if lucky a deer may cross your road oh then the coyotes.. yuck. Shiver.

I saw that wee volcano mountain in the distance bald peak had the greatest number of birds only trees along the base but dense and full of yummy birds. Before long there he was in the turn right around that bend, a beautiful bold little bird, partridge once spooked good luck.

Metal clinks as I close my gun, click. Snuggle you shotgun in firmly, eyes focused breathe in.., exhale slowly at end of breath.. pull the trigger. Crack! The gun powder, that amazing familiar smell and there.. right there was a bird, flapping about as his nervous system shut down. I go to retrieve my catch all I can think is common shot be good. Bam!! Head shot!

I walked the mountain and ridge slowly but ran home not even considering hunting more just had to get down there to show them. My uncles full of praise, my aunt took pictures and my gram took my one partridge inside to get him skinned and ready for my supper. I felt so big that day.

These traditions are passed down again.

I had s proud feast at the round table were the guides sat that night, my little partridge potatoes and some fiddle heads boiled up. Fantastic!! Ate like a queen.

It’s memories like these that light my eyes and a silly grin stays on my face as I remember.

It will get better

It will get better, it always does yet not before I’m exhausted, bloody in battle weak. I do look on the bright side of the crap pile blow flies are butterflies, well this walk down mental health alley a month now of fighting everyday has me in complete agony. Agony. If my arm were hanging off or skin burned beyond recognition I could say agony and it’s a obvious, me my disease my internal flesh eating virus munching up my heart. I’m in agony. Emotional distress, I’m feeling a thousand things a thousand different ways the logic in me works past the pain with techniques I’ve been taught to relax this here, I’m completely a sitting duck. Agony.

I’m sitting with my gorgeous everything’s with all the dreams I had are bundled in my lap, why does my heart keep aching? This is a guilty plea how can I have everything yet feel empty. It’s the disease, it will get better. The sun will feel warm again, colours will glow and my skin won’t hurt soon, it will get better.

I sat in the shower begging all above to just stop, I’m just so exhausted. My soul feels dim.

I’m a mess held together with only self will, I refuse to be blown out.

Nibble, nibble your not deserving,

Nibble nibble, your a horrible person.

Nibble nibble, just have a drink, just one.

Nibble nibble, not even a mother can love you.

Nibble nibble… nibble nibble my heart is broken.

It will get better.

I know this yet at this point in dancing with the devil I’m begging for relief.

How do o explain the invisible?

Week 3

Oh for the love of Pete this sad cloud of mania can buzz off anytime now. I’m absolutely all in, done, beat to a pulp, so over it. Woke up this morning sat on the bed looking out the window sore, someone rolled my hyde out with a rolling pin, I can’t even comb my hair it feels loose in the roots yet pulling it a bit seems to help my skull from burning. I sat there in that familiar morning gaze, first feeling out of the gate, tears. Why? Just because I’m sad, no reason else just sad. Up up up. The kids get moving and I’m behind them though tenderized. Cold water to my face, peas on my eyes, up up up. Every single instinct in me wants to go lay down, pull the covers over my head and ostridge this episode away. That’s why so many of us who walk between the rows “take to the bed” this sure ain’t pleasant, it’s flat out gross at time, great big invading bully, yawn!!

My father came to visit last week. I never see my dad due to distance and that he works every single day on his logging truck. Taking a day off sets him back yet when we let others know I was struggling, I never activate the mental health phone tree but when we do it’s a bad go. I really needed family and he without thought just packed up and came up to just sit with me at times. Really meant a lot we’ve never talked about my disorders, he’s of a very old way of thinking. I know how uncomfortable he is around me. This is the first time he actually seen my face sick. He’s scared. I’m thankful he came, had a feed together for thanksgiving I can cook it’s a family trait, put together a good spread, even shot with a tranquilizer dart in my ass. I’m glad in a very odd way that my dad took sick a few years ago. Not nice to say but it’s the truth.

A few years ago dad developed a enpiema in his lung, it’s a egg like capsule filled with spores. It’s a fungal thing and when it broke in his lung from coughing with the flu it nearly killed him. They took half his lung out to stop the thing and remained in icy for a month. I was up here in Toronto working and came home immediately. I stayed in the hospital with him sleeping in chairs and on the floor at times watching him. At that very scary time I saw my father, now looking grey and older laying there tubes everywhere, dying. I said fuck it all I’ll take any relationship. I know If that had not happened I’d not know my dad as a adult. He’s trying, I’m trying and hopefully we grow closer. I can say that his visit meant the world to me.

Well shit biscuits.





Pop… true story the percussion of my body are singing the go lay down blues.

Lacing up my gloves,


Pace, pace

When I’m in a mixed state bipolar episode I have the most annoying symptoms that I’m so done with, yawn! So I’m a bit manic not I’m Jesus manic just electrical sensation manic. I physically no matter how hard I try I can’t stop pacing, can’t trust me I’ve heard it all “just sit down”. Why yes that is a brilliant suggestion. I can’t just sit, let it go or not complete a task. This is a topic in our home that’s frustrating my husbands knows I need rest yet I’m going a mile a minute completing my tasks no matter what. Just sit down. If I could I surely would.

Mixed of course means a rainbow soufflĂ© of really uncomfortable days. Each day that passes the exhaustion of flying high being stuck in a manic OCD hurricane I physically begin to fail. Mentally the rituals increase as I try to self sooth all these yuckies. It’s truly a horrible state of confliction, I’m so tired! The exhaustion and pain are obvious. The medications are rising to prevent a in stay at our local ward to be put to sleep and forced to sleep. If it comes to that I’m totally ok with it only so long I can be like this, high blood pressure from the frantic crawly exhausted feelings. If we can do this outpatient it would be great. I hate being a family burden my poor husband would worry himself sick, not be able to work cause we have no family here, I’m everything to these perfect humans, me. He can’t work that furthers the stress of fearing job loss. There is no protection in Canada for medical emergencies like a few weeks off no worries to care for your family, nope. I feel horrid that I hold the man I love back, he’s stuck sometimes under very very hard rocks.

I pace all day, I clean and scrub, I exercise, eat well, do everything right. Why does it still come back. The depression,,, oh the depression. It’s such a heavy, cold, clammy chill of a blanket. Sometimes the cape of non logic wraps around tightly and squeezes the sun from my eyes. The world look darker. I feel you, you hurt my blessed self it hurts.

I woke up today in tears. No reason other than getting up was like climbing Mount Everest. I got to the bathroom and I stood there forever looking into my own lifeless eyes, a depressive eclipse of my soul. I look past into the light and I say “fight”.

It’s invasion of yourself, your in there. Fight


The foolish things that people say when it comes to parenting, truly bold at times with righteous bragging on “I did this” well here’s my response to you all and your magical rainbow diapered filled children, shut up!! Just shut up! Drop that wagging finger of well I’d fix that, do that it’s because you don’t…. ” put it down and honestly think back to raising your babies. Stop and reflect on how annoying it was having many I’m sure telling you too. Did it feel nice? Ever invisiom of a rolling pin upside miss blabber mouth? Ya ok now that’s you ya big jerk.

My word my sons struggles with ADD is just as real as asthma yet somehow we automatically go to discipline. He can’t sit stil, well you spank him each time he gets up… ya that sounds genius!! Never. He won’t listen to you well make him get in his space and make him hear you.. that sounds like good feelings right there eh. He makes a mess the same mess for 2 years because he can’t listen at times. Well that’s simple he don’t listen best his ass till he can sit for a week few of those he’ll listen. Awesome idea, break his spirit with fear and violence. See to me as your speaking I’m thinking.. Idiot!

The way my family talk about eachother rather than to eachother policy cycles into well gossip, not a phone call to say I’m sorry, I’m here but that boy is savage she must be letting him run wild. No, not at all.

Everyday I feel I’m on my sons ass, all day, don’t, stop, what are you doing? Why? The time outs, the constant talks the defiance the push back from him. Everyday I chase, protect, teach and hold onto my son so he won’t get hurt. I live in fear that he’ll get hurt. I’m at a place inside that’s guilty. Have I been too hard on him? I didn’t know. I honestly thought it was my shit parenting.

I feel shameful to even write this I feel great relief in knowing it’s not my inability to control my own kid. My shoulder seem looser. It makes me greatly sad that he’s going to struggle, be constantly in trouble based on conformist actions like sit, stay, rollover, nor did I well do I. He will be a good friendly person that’s plugged in with energy I’m sure but a good perky kind, I know it.

I feel so sad that he will be pegged “Bad”. Oh that’s a awful word and even more of a burden to carry,?”bad”. As though your person is bad. How sad of a feeling and I wish for my bright, loving, gorgeous human being to never doubt his good.

Fire starter

I was into my 5th year as a Funeral Director & Embalmer I felt pretty confident in my embalming skills as I was running a city morgue before 25, that’s kinda my thing Miss practicing my skill but this brain needs a few more patches and repairs yet. I had a great opportunity to learn how to operate a crematorium, never really knew what it was like I knew but never really thought about the exact manner of disposition. Cremation is a process of breaking down and disposing of human flesh by using extreme Heat/torching flames leaving on the skeletal system and often metal hips, pins, screws any metal inside your body. Then with a large metal broom the perfectly laid out skeleton is swept into a ash tray under the front of the oven chamber. Then the broken up bones are crunched down and a magnet is run over to gather all the cremation container nails and all mentioned above. The remains white bones are swept into a large metal processor exactly the same as a food processor, once the bones are ground into a powder form they are poured in the urn of choice. In no time I was on my own cremation often 2 per day sometimes more ontop of my embalmings of the day it was a very busy but lovely position to be in. I had a few incidences that are normal I learned after the fact and a part of me died of horror and freight. One morning no different than any other I started first thing with starting a cremation it takes around 4 hours to complete and cool. I completed the paperwork required to complete a cremation, rolled the pine box into the chamber the rollers still spin as the box hits the brick floor. Door is lowered and sealed as I press that red button the rumbling roar of massive flames like a blow torch begin to incinerate the wood box. I always watched through the glass window as the flames roar the box is gone. The first thing to ignite is hair it instantly melts as does the skin, the human body is full of fat this turns into a scalding flames that increase the breakdown of flesh. Once the far liquifies the oil begins to make the human body crackle and move like bacon on the pan. It’s a sight I could have gone my life without seeing again. This particular cremation just began to egnite the crematorium just stopped…. I hit the button again.. click.. click.. nothing. I look inside and it’s obvious the body is well into the process only muscle remaining. I was panicked!! I ran to my manager and we tried everything, no one anywhere could help. The next morning was the funeral service for the person so this process had to happen now. The only thing we could do was to go grab a new wooden box. We knew we had to get them out of there but how? 3 Directors a long flat blade to lift flooring and muscles we were able to get them off the chamber floor into that box. Off as fast as possible to another funeral home to use their retort. At the end of the whole ordeal the urn was there.

Well I’m a week into a very difficult patch. Like I’ve said there is no cure and for myself I will dance with my disease forever. I get up each morning despite waking up even more tired than the morning before. I know first thought that today I will struggle it would be easier to just lay down and sleep through all these uncomfortable symptoms. I get up! I can’t guarantee it won’t hurt, be difficult or that it will take all I have to get past it and at times my knees will buckle and the strength used will run with hope down my sad face. I get up!

I start. Wash up, get dressed, brush my teeth and make coffee. I get up. I cook breakfast though I’m in slow motion under very heavy sedation a fog of dumb. I get up. The kids needs always come first. Off to school my son goes happily bouncing off into a very exciting day of learning. Husband leaves for work and my baby watches her Cinderella in a tu tu and one shoe. Every single person and creature big and small is content, cared for and happily enjoying their days. Because I got up.

I’m deep deep down tired, my bones hurt, eyes appear to be bleeding, swollen nearly shut, bag of peas works great for this. Preparation h as odd as this sounds it really helps me shrink down my sad black circles eyes. Tip for anyone who’s struggling. Concealer hides the black eyes. I stay up!

Once up that’s it. Though I’m held up with one frayed string I know I can do this. I CAN get up. I CAN fight. I CAN do so much more than my broken heart and mind feel possible. So can you!!!!

Today I feel so sad. I feel weak. I feel unloved and more yet a feeling can’t control your Will. Get Up!

Get Up!!


A few days ago a familiar enlightenment of my eyes and uphoric sensation of numb skin began. I know this feeling well, not as often do we I’m now a week into a pretty strong mixed state. With being bipolar I have extreme mood changes from catatonic to I’m god. With medications and regular psychiatrist visits and recently letting people know I’m not well. My symptoms have reached a level of exhausting and non controllable. I’m a rare form of bipolar disorder I’m rapid cycling. This means I flip from one mood to another quickly appearing as crying while laughing, quick to anger, great pain feeling all shined up and ready to be dropped. This being a mixed rapid cycling state. It’s been some time since I’ve had to say help. All these supports I have all lined up because I care about my mental state, I just call and the ward takes care of me from there. I’m currently under outpatient care. We are adjusting medication, sedating for sleek, very very important I sleep. We have to watch me closely at times like this as that familiar static can travel the voices and visions. I’d prefer to not go there.

All the things I do in my regular life help me heal faster, stay well longer and induces good hormones, it can be frustrating to work so hard and still a good dance with my demons must proceed as to humble me with just how real they are.

I find these times so overwhelming, I’m anxious all day and night to the point of soaking shirts sweat. I’m pacing and can’t seem to stop, back and forth like a cougar in a cage desperately pacing away the great big scary feeling. I cry a lot, not in a fall apart way just a warm stream or puddle in my eye, just tears. My eyes hurt, burn and itch worse than any allergy. I am hiding in basements and spare rooms to take a moment to allow the pain show. Then I go at the day again. I find the worse I feel physically and mentally the more I need to do. I force my aching low running self up and I do everything I’d normally do, period. Sitting down is never going to help you through the big bad feelings. I find that meditation through movement that leaves a obvious achievement is a fantastic thing. Gets tgat high energy focused and when your don’t can step back and enjoy whatever to did. For me I clean, garden, hike, exercise and of course do things with my kids. Let me toss this in here now. Because I’m a mother who lives with several mental illness does not mean I’m a vicious mean monster who’s too unstable to care for them properly. Not true. My little turds are very happy even though I’m their mother. We will keep them involved in our family programs to help them understand mommies disease, never will they feel it’s because of them that’s the furthest away for the truth. Every single good thing about me is within them. The very best of me.

I feel so sad, so linely and scared inside, what if this beats me down enough to take the wheel, ugh! I worry about everything,

The world hurts

The world hurts. It hurts. Hurts. I feel heavy lead lined skin of burden. I struggle ever so greatly with being around others, not for a lack of want and at times a craving to be alike, similar would be a familiarity to focus on a spot on the fall as I spin between realities on a chemical roller coaster influenced by the feeling that come from. It hurts.

I hold myself responsible for my negative actions, I beat blame myself forever over my unlikeness. Do I offend people? Yes. I’m blunt, sometimes emotionally absent or reactionless or over charged emotions that do not fit in any average rational scale of behsviour. Because it hurts.

I’m held accountable for my minds reaction to a life situation as does a diabetics sugars rise when they eat sugar, causing the symptoms of faint, sweat, nausea to suggest a few. Now at times in life when I can’t find words or a way to say or form a feeling into a word. Overwhelming life circumstances and fatigue are to my brain as set diabetic to sugar. My symptoms are not measured by a test it’s right there, in your face down right ugly and odd, rude, aggressive, teary, frantic, breathless, gasping.. these are the mild ways of showing my internal chemical reaction to set life experience. If I’m in emotional distress, falling apart wounds raw and ravaged by symptoms. I’m alone. Why? As a courtesy to all the world and inside I still feel great shame after a “fit” I want to… but.. it hurts.

It hurts.

Teach. In order to survive with the human contact I still need though my actions say else wise I love to be around people. It saddens me deeply to be on the sidelines cause I can’t guarantee I’ll be there, be ok or that I won’t be “off” “odd” or let you down there because. I’ve let so many down. It hurts.




May the agony inside today be a foundation of healing for our future.

Terms are often used at times of disbelief. We teach for anything to explain the uncomfortable feelings towards awkward topics, talk.

My hearts heavy and hung in my throats aching each swallow.

It just fucking hurts!

I ache from my bones to my soul.

It hurts.

I scream to the Stars free me from this quest relieve me of the sorrow catching my chest.

It hurts.

As I doze off my medication warming my aching muscles finally relaxed.

Still it hurts.

Some days I can’t step back and look st the life I live in, the choice I made to live. It’s ridiculously goofy to be honest. I’m a well non conformist from birth so it gets me into trouble as I can’t help doing things I can’t rationally explain to myself why I can’t. I’m sitting here having my after school coffee note it’s a hour and a half to and from school on foot, ridiculous! I’m gonna be a lean machine. Anywho, as I was saying prior to my constant sidetracked thoughts, I’m here with my black Vietnamese pot belly pig, ya, see what I’m getting at here. She arrived on my doorstep 3 years ago a wee piglet dying. The owners had heard somewhere that if you don’t feed s pig it will remain small like a piglet, see people want things small and cute forever, odd. So daisy pig was brought to me cause I’m known to lend a helping hand to critters in distress. I can still see her dehydrated eyes all sunk into her skull, the rapid breathing and bones oh dear a pigs bones should never be seen. My husband and I administered water slowly, introduced baby like foods to here and she survived that night and each day thereafter that adorable hooved beastie grew stronger. They just gave her to us, like nothing. She had been left in a dog crate her while little existence, with much torture like holding her upside down till she stopped screaming, a form of submission used to break farm animals as babies. Disgusting! The owners would ping her snout as correction a pigs nose is as sensitive as genitals that’s how they explore the world, how cruel. They had fun telling there big dog to chase her, sick her they would say she came with scars and scratches on her Hyde. As I nursed her to health this little soul captured my heart. So here’s my mini pig that 200 pounds under my feet like a great dog. Kids love our daisy pig. When the time came to release her I could not justify one reason why I couldn’t keep her, other than the I suppose toos I never did find appealing. So I have a pig. And so many other rescue animals. Floyd the guinea pig, doddie the puppy mill dog, a blind rabbit named hervin a fish & recently a injured craw fish. Yes it’s a lot of work no doubt but this is no bother as each one of these weirdos are enjoyed wouldn’t have it any other way.

I really enjoy my silly life. I’ve seen the deepest of dark, saw the other side as chemicals slid my life away so these simple laughs and life I’ve created is all I ever wanted, needed my biggest accomplishment my children, a family that’s not violent or filled with addiction based rage. We act like children, we are ridiculously proud of every thing we achieved despite the blows along the way not many could survive eh. The wonderful gift that was given to me by the monsters I’ve seen is that the sun feels warm, the sky looks free, my dreams are possible and my ability to love is stronger. I live with every fabric of my woven patched heart. The greatest gift the pain gave me was love, I know little of that and each person who loves me feels so warm and comfy. A craving I’ve had just love.