Looking Back The Only Things I Gave Up Were A Million Cockroaches And The Idea Manic Depression Ever Meant Something To My Self

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“Depression is a thin coating, it’s a thin sheet of reflective ice concealing an ocean. It corrupts our ability to Reason, and without that ability we can’t defend ourselves against the thoughts inside our heads, so we find excuses we can live with. People with our disease are excellent at rationalizing unreasonable behaviour to fit situations we can’t understand.”
“kicking at the darkness until it bleeds daylight“; Me (Nov 16, 2006).

At some point, usually before we really understand the need for a recovery plan, people who have been diagnosed with manic depression ask how much of ourselves are we willing to give up to get better. Most of the time the answer is nothing.

For most of my post-diagnosis / pre-recovery period I self-medicated with Lithium. I had what amounted to an open ended prescription… when you walk into a Clinic and explain to them your diagnosis they’ll give you a script for a one to three month supply. Walk up to any pharmacist and do the same and you’ll get four to seven days worth of free pills.

So when I decided my life was so far into the toilet only some kind of treatment would work, the only one accessible to me was Lithium. But it would only last until I felt a Change coming on, then I would get worried about losing my ability to write or think fast — which, at the time, was where I thought my talent came from. Then I’d either put the pills away or forget to take them…

For awhile I really didn’t need to go to a clinic or a pharmacist because at any one time I had six weeks worth of Lithium tucked away in a shoe box… there was a period of a few years when, if I was lucid for a few days and could think rationally, I’d just dip into my pill box and down a few days worth of Lithium.

But after a few days, or a couple of weeks, the question always came back… of the things about me that I like, of the things I consider to be Who I Am, what am I giving up to not have the crippling depressions and the manics?

And the answer was always “too much.” I could, I decided several times, live with the Disease. Then I’d go back to my rooming house, kill a few roaches and wonder why I had nothing to eat…

What it comes down to is how much of the Disease do you consider to be You and what I’ve learned from the experiences I’ve had is none of it is Me and I haven’t given up anything of me to be rid of It… I’ve gained more of Myself the more I’ve rid myself of It. I would suggest that the parts of you which want to be better are the parts that are You and the parts which want to stay the same or get worse are the Disease.

When you think about the disease, when you think you are what the disease tells you who You are, You’re not what it says you are at all. Christ, the disease is really just a tiny piece of something in your brain… little microscopic drips of chemicals that are just a little bit out of place or about four out of a trillion neurons sparking once instead of twice.

Seriously, get an eyedropper and drop a single drop onto a piece of glass… that’s the disease. That’s what has you thinking about cutting and dying and Not Being. Manic Depression is just a couple of out of place hormones and chemical reactions. That’s all there is to it… its power is an illusion which can be beaten, there is no bogeyman. The natural, clinical depressions can be treated, Will be treated, just get the two separated so you can focus on what’s real and what’s a reflection.

There’s something really wrong about the idea of “giving something away” to get better… it makes sense in terms of addiction: “I’m an alcoholic so I’m giving up alcohol in order to get better”, but in terms of getting better from a disease “giving something away” doesn’t really seem to apply. Like cancer… “I’m giving away / up my hair so I can get better”, but if you get better you get your life and your hair back.

With manic depression I’m not even sure what it is we “give away” to get better… to me the question means we’re contemplating a sacrifice of some kind, like there’s something we really, really want that we’re going to lose forever in exchange for this other thing of equal or somewhat greater value.

“Giving away”, in my head, just has too many negatives attached to it… also, by attaching ‘sacrifice’ to recovering from the disease it seems to lend certain anthropomorphic qualities to the disease. Like you’re Rocky and it’s Clubber Lang and to win you have to take body shots for the first nine rounds… or maybe this works better, like you’re a farmer trapped under a tractor and the only way to survive is to cut your arm off with a nail file. So you file it off, hobble back to the Village, have a pint, marry your sweetheart and, thirty years later, you tell your grandkids how you sacrificed your arm so they could have life but then you die from blood loss because you forgot to have the wound sown up. Or something.

When I was off the pills most of the little poems and stories I wrote were asking the same question in different ways… like, “what if I lose my ability to write?” or “what parts of my personality will I lose if I take these pills?”, but the questions were really me rationalizing staying untreated using my apprehensions and ignorance as proof.

I honestly believed it was important to write ‘Pro v. Con’ lists because, unmedicated, I thought there were Pro’s to having manic depression… and I was wrong.*

*About 60% of this was lifted from a comment I left on Exact Science‘s blog.

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...thanks.

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Posted in Bipolar, Bipolar Disease, Bipolar Disorder, Classic, Clinical Depression, crazy people with no pants, Depression, Health, Intervention, Lithium, Living With Depression, Living With Manic Depression, Manic Depression, Mental Health | 10 Comments

No Post Day: The God Machine


Me stalking the bunny… — photo by Mom

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“House Of The Rising Sun”; The Animals
Let me know if the YouTube isn’t available.


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The thing about No Post Days I love most is also it’s greatest curse… it’s the versatility, the total lack of constraints on topics I can chose from.

Just this morning I ran through at least three topics before deciding on this one… I’ve got 2,357 songs stuffed into my computer which gives me 154 hours of non-stop and non-repeat listening pleasure. Compared to people like my little brother, who has over 11,000 songs, it’s not much. But even that’s little league compared to Brian Murphy.

Brian was the dude who built the record library for at least two radio stations in Ottawa. His pre-download era record collection was over 14,000 LP’s… then there were the 9,000 CD’s, 10,000 reel to reel’s, and an ungodly amount of cassette’s and eight-tracks all stored in his basement. How many songs is that?

There, see? I totally just changed the topic again…

The thing about technology is the effect it has on a population can only be really understood ten years or so from when it was introduced. Right now we’re starting to get an idea what the effects of the two trillion dollar investment in tech infrastructure between 1998-2000 will be… just before The Burst fibre optic cable was laid across continents and country’s and right up to your doorstep. Then everything went Wireless so what was only available on a desktop suddenly fit in your hand.

So thanks to lightspeed communications, fantastically cheap digital storage and hand-held devices like the iCollection, the PSP, Berries and cellphones — which have become mobile pocket computers — we can now be walking Libraries. Literally.

Here’s the thing… Yahoo!, GMail, Hotmail and even WordPress now offer, for free, Gigabytes of storage per free account. The mobile pocket computer most of us walk around with each have Gigabytes of storage, but also allow us to access all of those free storage accounts. So… just as important as what and where we can Access becomes what’s the limit on what we can store?

In essence, and soon thanks to Google’s decision to digitize every book ever published it’ll be a reality, we can all have our very own Library of Congress stored in a pocket sized device. Think of the power… every song ever recorded tucked away in your account beside every book ever written and you can scroll down to find every work of art by every Master…

Ah, No Post Day, truly You are awesome. For this gift to the World we should all thank Anita.

So if you’re willing to participate the question for today is: how much information do you currently have digitized on your tech devices?

Bonus Points: Does it frustrate you when people write “I don’t know…” in an email or in a post and you kind of feel like you have to reach out and slap them while screaming “GOOGLE IT MOFO!!”?

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...thanks.

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Posted in Blogging, crazy people with no pants, Health, Living With Depression, Living With Manic Depression, No Post Day, Punk, Technology | 9 Comments

Women Are From Venus Men Are From Mars And Dating An Untreated Manic Depressive Will Suck Both Into A Black Hole

One of the first things I did after I was diagnosed with manic depression, when I finally had a name to put on the destructive set of behaviours I had been living with, was admit myself into a hospital the first time I became suicidal. It was my decision… I thought at best it would be a place where I could learn something about adjusting the behaviours or simply something about the disease. At worst I’d get a new pair of slippers.

Between diagnosis and being admitted into the hospital I also decided it would be best to break up with my girlfriend. It wasn’t easy, I was eighteen and in love. I didn’t know what the disease was or what it was going to take to control it, but I knew it wasn’t something I wanted her to be a part of… from what I can remember I think the recovery process I saw laying ahead was something I had to do without other commitments.

Unfortunately I didn’t learn much during those four weeks, and I proceeded to spend the next fourteen years living untreated and unmedicated. And I still dated. Not often, my brother is the speed dater, I had Relationships. And once I felt comfortable in those Relationships I made sure to explain to each woman I had manic depression. There was nothing about it I could explain because I really had no idea what it meant… I didn’t have the ability to make them understand what it would be like dating someone with a major depressive illness who could also spend several days speeding like a meth addict.

But no one seemed to be scared off, in fact once I had admitted to having some kind of major flaw, a couple of them clamped on to me a little harder. I think some of them saw the poetry and writing I was doing as being the outward expression of the disease, and somehow that made it safe… or “dangerous”. Or maybe they heard “depression” and thought “soulful”. I don’t know. But I wasn’t [always] using the words “manic” and “depression” to score chicks, I was trying to warn them… I was trying to give them an out. I knew what the behaviours were, even if I couldn’t explain them to the potential girlfriend — or anyone else. I knew I couldn’t and I know I wouldn’t date someone exhibiting the same behaviours…

Most of the women I’ve dated were damaged in their own way… I have a substantial history of trying to protect and… I guess ‘cure’ women of whatever crap they’ve become buried in. I’ve chased off abusive ex-boyfriends and tried to give girls then women a safe place to hide from their massively screwed up home life… my point is I’ve taken on responsibilities and tried to solve problems. And I think in any relationship we should take on certain responsibilities… like if she’s going through a bankruptcy, or a doctor finds a lump.

But if she suddenly decides every piece of furniture needs to be taken to the backyard and burned; or maybe only she has the power to stop a comet from destroying Earth so she has to strip naked, steal a boat to get into the middle of the river where the Power is Greatest; or maybe she can’t leave her bed for two days; or she’s inventing problems to justify the depth or her depressions… I’d have to get the fuck out of there.

Being tossed into a situation where I would have to react to any of those scenarios would be too much. Even as someone who is now properly medicated and in treatment and learning about mental illness I could never be in a relationship with someone untreated or someone just starting their treatment. There’s no way. It’d be like two alcoholics getting together… and someone five-years sober is way more likely to relapse when in a relationship with someone who just got their blue two-month chip.

In fact one of the things they tell you in AA is to Not date another alcoholic. I think the same thing should definitely apply to people with a mental illness, but I’d go further and recommend no one date an untreated person… period.

Last Spring a woman left a long comment on one of my first posts… she was trying to figure out if she should date someone with manic depression. This is some of what I wrote:

“Patient and persistent people will exhaust themselves and ruin their lives caring for someone with Manic Depression. You are not trained, you are not a nurse. You may be someone great for your friends to talk to and share with and communicate, but communication is not your friends problem, he has a disease…

“If he’s unmedicated and living that life, the only reason you might want to stay is if you have a need to be a mothering nurse to him. Unmedicated Manic Depressives are blackholes for your emotions and energy. There is absolutely nothing you can do to fix them, and there is absolutely nothing they can do to get better without medications and a good doctor.”

On any average untreated depressed day we are shiftless and moody and cranky and depressed and dark and tired and really, really fucking annoying. But as much as we’ll play self-serving games of “Pity Me”, we’re not as likely to physically hurt someone else as on our manic days when we are a danger to ourselves and the people around us… ever been out driving with someone in a full on manic? Ever hung out with someone who believes they can fly?

Quite frankly someone exhibiting the manic mannerism of ‘forgetting the consequences of every action’ would drive me fucking crazy… while I was in the hospital I met a news photographer who bought new furniture when he went manic. His wife would come home to a yard filled with that mornings living room set, and a living room filled with the new stuff. When I go manic I can’t stop fucking talking, even when I can see I’m being patiently tolerated…

My manics aren’t such a huge problem as the downs, however. But imagine dating someone who can’t wash themselves for a week because they’re too crippled by depression, or who can’t speak to your friends, or who can’t be outside… or imagine having to contemplate your lover has committed suicide because they haven’t responded to your phone calls this week. The women I’ve dated while untreated went through each of these over and over because they became stuck in my gravitational pull…

I’ve had a few people ask me through this blog, and in my Offline life, if they should take a chance on someone who has either just started treatment or who hasn’t yet started treatment for a mental illness… and, based on my own experience, there’s no way I could ever give that recommendation. I really don’t think it would be fair for either person.

Eventually the women I’ve dated while untreated realized the complete lack of motivation I exhibited was not a lifestyle choice and moved on… I believe they came to the realization the time they spent trying to motivate me or urge me forward or listen to my stories or put up with my crap was a complete waste of time for both of us. At the same time it’s interesting to look back and see how much they grew during our time together while I acted like a signpost for where they started…

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...thanks.

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Posted in Bipolar, Bipolar Disease, Bipolar Disorder, Classic, Clinical Depression, crazy people with no pants, Health, Intervention, Living With Depression, Living With Manic Depression, Manic Depression, Mary, Mental Health | 22 Comments

No Post Day: Confessions From An Incidental Internet Troll


Life — photo by Me

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“450”; eXtério
Using a cat as a weapon is FUNknee… Québécois Punk. YAY!
Let me know if the YouTube isn’t available.


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Mostly this post is about getting my fathers photo off the top of my blog. But it’s also about Other stuff as well…

When I first started out online back in 1992 I was playing strategy games on a BBS in Ottawa. The online persona I developed for myself (The Unholy) was aggressive and filled with a certain amount of pure hatred and a smidgen of red-eyed Rage. Basically I was one of the first Trolls.

I thought, at the time, I was Acting out a Role so I was sending angry notes “in character”. Of course it stopped being fun for the Others and after a couple of months the group fell apart and reformed minus The Unholy. When I got back into Chat Rooms in 1996, through my brothers connection, I lasted about three sessions. It was a hockey forum and I was just attacking people left, right and centre.

I really believed Everything anyone wrote was part of a Game, and I was channelling my original Character… I’m not entirely sure, but I think this was the first place I used a Johnny Name online. So it was like I was still a character, I was Johnny Something, not Me… which removed me from Reality by a degree and made everything I was ranting about make sense.

So apparently there was an email around by the forum Users to ignore me so I’d go away… and I did. I knew at the time I had gone Wah-A-WAY overboard but it didn’t take because even in 2006, when I first started on WP I was taking offence from posts written by strangers… this time, though, it was like their Dumbassness was something I had to Fix. I think, again, there was some degree of separation given to me by a User Name, in this case “[redacted]”.

Probably my longest Incidental Trolling came in 2006(?) on a blog called East Village Idiot… he had written something funny about being harassed by some NY Ranger fans after a Sabre game. After my comment was attacked I had a “discussion” going with six Sabre fans for three days.

The EVI thing was mostly funny, and I may not have been doing it (entirely) maliciously, but it did fit on the spectrum of Trolling. I was definitely taking a lot of enjoyment in poking them with a digital stick.

Anyway… before this turns into a Post, my question for anyone willing to answer is (and your mother called to let me know she was disappointed you didn’t answer the last time… she loves you, you know, so stop hurting your mom and answer):

Have you ever (in the History of your Existence) deliberately sparked a fight on another blog or in Real Life? Discuss.

If you really love your mother you’ll answer this for Extra Credit: After taking part in a “discussion” you later realized had been started by a Troll or through Flamebait, could you trust that blog again?

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...thanks.

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Posted in Blogging, crazy people with no pants, Health, Lithium, Manic Depression, No Post Day, Salted Truths | 9 Comments

Rhetorical Question


This man fathered three sons… but none of us call him father — photo by Me

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“National Disgrace”; Atmosphere
Let me know if the YouTube’s missing…

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Do you miss your father? Sometimes it feels like there’s a Whole missing from my life. For most of my life I haven’t mourned for what I don’t have because I don’t know what I didn’t have. Then occasionally someone says something and it turns out I’ve been walking for miles just a few degrees off North… all this time I thought I was on the same life course as Others, but here I am way over here and there you are way over there.

Sometimes it will occur to me the reason I can’t throw as well as someone else is because they had a father who taught them. Or I’ll watch my step-brother skate and I’ll tell myself I’m a fool for not being able to skate as smoothly and I’ll ask myself “how..? Oh, right, he has a father”.

I don’t know if I miss my father or if I’ve been missing the idea of Having a father. I know I didn’t have one, but I still write things like “the cult my father ran” or “my father was borne in Scotland”. I know there’s nothing I know which he has taught me… at least directly. Indirectly he has taught me many lessons.

I’ve said this before, but it seems as though everything I’ve learned has been through trial and error… when I was thirteen my mothers hairdresser told me to get rid of my acne by putting rubbing alcohol on my face and lighting a match… I was in the bathroom with the rubbing alcohol and matches in my hand when I decided it Could be a bad idea.

I didn’t even know how to properly grow a beard until last year. I thought there was something wrong with me because after letting the hair grow for a month it wouldn’t look anything like a full beard so, discouraged, I’d shave it off. I’ve discreetly asked people for tips in the past, but last year I Googled for instructions.

One of the very first posts I made was a joke about growing a beard… since then I get at Least two Search Engine Referrals every day asking “how do I grow a beard?”, so I know I’m one of many Fatherless Sons looking for lessons on Manhood online.

A friend of mine was over tonight. The beard thing came to mind so I asked him… he has grown one in the past, but not really. He just let his facial hair grow, he didn’t know how to take care of it so he shaved it off. He never really had a father either, but he was aggressive in life where I was passive… he ran head first into the world while I waited for some instruction and annoyed people with my blankness.

But here we are together… him, forty-years old and recovering from addiction; adopted but trying to connect with his Blood Family; precariously hanging on to his girlfriend and her kids, while trying to be his daughters father. And here’s Me, thirty-seven; still trying to connect with my sisters while recovering from a mental disease; living alone on disability, dating a woman who has two kids…

Last Friday night I was showing some photos to my girlfriend and somehow my father came up, she said she had never seen a photo of him. So I said “just a sec” and went into the living room… and couldn’t find them. Then I remembered I only have two… for some reason when I told her I’d go get them I thought there was a Them to get.

Not too long ago I was talking to someone I’ve known since Forever and I mentioned my father… he said it was the first time I’ve ever mentioned my biological father. I’ve realized since then that I’ve never spoken of my father to anyone outside family and my doctor… maybe there were a few occasions. But everything about him has been an Interior Dialogue between myself and myself pretending to be him.

The thing is… I don’t know if this Post is a condemnation or an invitation.

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...thanks.

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Posted in Bipolar, Bipolar Disease, Bipolar Disorder, Clinical Depression, crazy people with no pants, Depression, Father, Health, Lithium, Living With Depression, Living With Manic Depression, Manic Depression, Punk, Salted Truths, UmBiPMaD Stories, YouTube | 15 Comments

The Fourth Of Five Lists: The Friends I’ve Had And Why I Don’t Have Them Anymore

A list poem is one of the easiest kinds of poems to write because it doesn’t require either rhythm or rhyme. But that doesn’t mean you should write down anything helter skelter. Here’s a list of elements that makes a list poem a poem instead of just a list:
1) The writer is telling you something–pointing something out–saying, “Look at this” or, “Think about this.”
2) There’s a beginning and an end to it, like in a story.
3) Each item in the list is written the same way.”
“How to Write a “What Bugs Me” List Poem”, by Bruce Lansky (1996)

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My advice is to find a notebook that fits into your pants pocket. Use a pen with a cap so it doesn’t explode in your pocket, and start writing down whatever you can remember.
Me.

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The Fourth Of Five Lists: The Friends I’ve Had (1976-2003)
Close to eighteen months into my recovery I started making lists to sort out my memories, including including embarrassing memories, favourite movies and places I’ve lived. Getting them out on paper has allowed me to place important events which were otherwise confused and scrambled into some order. In my opinion these lists can be very helpful to someone with manic depression or clinical depressions as a means of putting perspective into our lives. As proof I’m offering my lists.

This is a list of friends I’ve had during the different periods of my life… this list does not include girlfriends, which is actually another list I’ve made. Just the act of making these lists became an important part of the first stage of my recovery, no one told me to make them but somehow they made sense… looking at this list in hindsight I’ve decided to include some reasons for why these people are no longer a part of my life, and maybe a little bit about where they ended up… I’m not expecting anyone to read this, but hopefully someone can find some value in the idea of the list itself. To get the details I first started with the names, then the years…

G-Town (1976-1978): Larry and Leanne lived next door to the last clubhouse of the commune I grew up in… they were about my age and became my first consistent friends. At one point their mother found out I hadn’t ever had a proper birthday party so she forced my father to throw one… my aunt made cake for my brother, two cousins, Larry and Leanne and myself.

Larry was killed by a drunk driver (I think) about fifteen years ago, Leanne was pretty much disowned by her family for marrying a black dude.

The Little City (1978-1983): Kristen and Stephen C. were the first two friends I made after we escaped the commune. Scott came a few years later… he taught me how to play Poker during grade seven English class. Kristen’s father-substitute used to put together these room sized train and racing car sets for him. Stephen C. was my first birthday party as a guest… mom bought an eight toy-car set for me to give him, but I stole the Trans-Am as I was leaving.

Twenty-years ago Stephen’s father and mother abandoned their four sons and moved to China. The oldest, Tyler, was left in charge. Stephen’s a drug addict and alcoholic and I’m not sure where he’s living… last I heard he was homeless in Montreal. Scott drank himself to death after a motorcycle accident. About four years ago I told Kristen about my “condition” and a little about my Recovery and that was the last I’ve heard from him.

My Little Village (1981-1982): We played street hockey almost every night after school with Lisa and Sean, a couple of kids just a block away. Every other game finished with Sean and I fighting over a goal, and my brother and Lisa either pounding on each other or just yelling. I ran into Sean last year… still a big goofy friendly dude with a saliva problem. When we were older we played a lot of Risk… I liked Sean a lot.

I ran into Sean last year… still a big goofy friendly dude with a saliva problem. When we were older we played a lot of Risk… I liked Sean a lot, but Sean was always the 20-year old dude who wanted to hang out at 16-year old parties.

High School (1984-1989): Steve, Patrick and I became friends in the Scouts, and in high school they were my first Drinking Buddies. Russell came to our high school via Quebec. Our math teacher once said it was mathematically impossible to do nothing so Russell told him “Gabriel can do nothing eight times before breakfast…”, we were best friends for a few years after that. He gave me his copy of the coolest and harshest parody of Boomer Culture ever written… “The Boomer Bible” is also one of the hardest to find books on the planet. Russell’s raw artistic talent had few boundaries.

Around 1988 Steve, Patrick and I slowly drifted apart after we were all in a car accident. It was Patrick’s car and to avoid the wrath of his father he pinned it on me. Russell just kept getting further and further down the trail of Weirdness. He always wanted to be mentally ill… after my diagnosis he asked me about a hundred questions, then went to a doctor and said what he had to say to get the same diagnosis and pills. He’s a weed junkie now, sucking in about five baggies a day and believes the US has concentration camps set up around the country waiting for a State of Emergency which will be called before the next (rigged) election.

Steve does research at a university and Patrick is pretty much a bank manager.

Frontier Lodge (summer 1987): After working as a 17-year old counsellor for one two-week Camp, Eric either became my 30-year old trainee or assistant. Either way we hung out together for the rest of the summer… his parents had moved to the US and left him an Audi and a three bedroom home in a rich suburb of Montreal. It was a pretty good summer, and at the end of it we went our separate ways.

The Little City (summer 1989): This was my first real Move From Home. I spent the summer running a Day Camp for kids. Barry had moved down from Montreal with his parents, they had the largest of two Chinese Food restaurants in the area. Clay and Vince were the sons from the Other Chinese Place. We, and Billy, spent the summer playing basketball, pool and hanging out… they also fed me a lot of Chinese Food.

Barry moved back to Montreal the next Spring, Billy and Vince both died in separate accidents (I think Billy was actually an overdose), and Clay just went nuts… I believe I heard schizophrenia had been mentioned.

My Little Village (1988-1990): I’m not sure how I hooked up with Tim, Dave and Dean, they’re at least two-years older than I am and in High School that’s two generations. I think it was through Karl, who was a brilliant student who had to repeat a grade due to a Provincial transfer. They were part of a larger gang of Punks who adopted me. We had a lot of adventures, mostly while baked on weed. As far as I know, towards the end I was the only one in the group not doing coke.

Dean and I started hanging out again a few years ago when I moved back here. Since then I’ve helped him get off crack and get his finances in order. I just took photos of his family over Christmas. Karl joined the Navy, left as an engineer and is out West somewhere with a family. Dave survived, Tim didn’t. Tim and I were closest… he moved to BC with a friend of mine, got hooked on heroin and sold all of her stuff. Ends up he was physically abusing her as well.

When Tim moved back here his reputation preceded him so he was on his own, he still had a heroin habit but crack is like candy around here so he picked that up as well. After his mother died he stole a bunch of shit from his father and sold it all for drugs. His father forced Tim to take him to the dealer, grabbed his stuff back and left Tim standing there.

Half the people who know him swear he’s dead, the other half say maybe. It’s a crying shame. I was there the night his 6’6″ 240lb father slammed a shovel into Tim’s head for leaving tire tracks on the lawn. Before it All fell apart Tim had been an excellent writer.

Ottawa (1990-1993) The first time I really met Ken and Karl B. they were ransacking the apartment I had just moved out of looking for food. My place was a three bedroom, no living room, apartment in the attic of a decent rooming house. Ken lived on the second floor and Karl B. had just moved into a room the size of a closet next to him. After the initial Weird factor I invited them over to the place I was housesitting for pizza and Heavy Metal: The Movie. After that we became really close friends…. we had rotating weekly potluck dinners for over a year.

Ken introduced me to his sister at one of the dinners… we dated for three years after that, which was awkward at first because Karl B. had apparently been secretly in Love with her for a long, long time. When I met Ken he was in the process of kicking a drug habit and, later on, he asked me to become a “co-sponsor”. Karl B. liked weed and beer… Karl B. was, mostly, a likable idiot who could cook and was always getting his ass kicked.

I managed to steal $400 from Ken… unintentionally, but still. I really didn’t realize I had done it, so when he asked I said “WTF?” and that was that. Ken moved to BC and Karl B. had a kid and moved back to Nova Scotia.

College (1994-1997): I met both Mike and Gary on the first day of my Journalism program in the smoking area outside our building. Mike and I had both previously worked at newspapers, I also had some radio production experience. We had also Lived a Life before getting to School. Gary, on the other hand, was straight from high school… Mike and I were the overly bitter cynics who could only survive in little moments of Irony, and Gary followed us around like a puppy.

Mike had a fairly severe disability involving his legs. He walked with a cane, but should have had two. He also had a wife and new borne child… and he commuted ninety minutes each way, everyday. After I dropped out / was kicked out during my second semester Mike dropped out during the third semester. Gary and I ended up together at a small national newspaper in Ottawa… he helped get me the job. A few years later he got a job at a magazine based on my reference. Last time I heard he was getting close to 300lbs and still squeezing his head in his hands when he was nervous. Weird kid.

Ottawa (spring to fall 1997): I’ve written an entire post about Wild Bill, a solvent huffing, ex-neo Nazi, weight lifting, 240lb dude… he’s still my favourite neighbour.

College (1994-2000): Meanwhile, back at College… Gary and Mike were my friends in College while Wes, Justin, Martin were my friends through College and beyond. I had known Martin for a little while in elementary school… scrawny and meek would fit, so would art geek. He was a year ahead of me in College, where he had grown into a 6’6″ 230lb dude who was still a geek. Wes and Justin and I shared a particular sense of humour.

Wes embarrassed me in front of my girlfriend… we were late getting to his apartment to pick up some stuff and he just sat there giving one word answers and pouting. I have a thing, it’s not my only Thing but it’s one of the Biggest, and it’s about respect. Something, it turns out, I didn’t give to Justin recently and now he’s not talking to me… Martin just got weird and started stealing stuff. I saw him two years ago, he was working in Public Relations, but he had stopped taking the steroids so his chest muscles had become his stomach fat.

42) Toronto Punks (1999-2003): When I first moved to Toronto I thought I was pretty much on my own… but I found an entire enclave of refugees from My Little Village. Darell, Jamie, Steve and Sam had a fairly successful Punk Band, and Sean and I knew each other from way back. Most of the Refugees were three to four years younger than myself, but most of them knew me by reputation or my younger brother from his, much more degenerate reputation. I met Jason R. through the band and Sue through some artists we had in common.

I lost contact with all of them as I sunk deeper into what would become my Depression Coma. I moved three cities away and collapsed. On my last night before moving back to My Little Village they came to town and got me completely fucking faced. I still have sporadic contact with Sean, Darell, Jamie and Steve…

42) Toronto non-Punks (1999-2003): Everywhere I’ve worked I’ve been a part of the “Baddass Smokers Pack”. At the Publishing House it included Robert, Tom and Laura… I was the newbie, but my first Friday was spent at Tom’s party where I was the only person from my magazine to show up. I met reporters from all of Toronto’s main newspapers (everything except The Sun) and was still young enough so everyone thought I was precocious. Robert, Tom and Laura were all editors at the Publishing House I worked at… Laura was actually borne in the same hospital as me, and close to the same day. Shane was the Prissiest guy I’ve ever met, but also one of the strongest mentally… he was a great dude who helped me a lot. Jason and I worked at a public relations firm… we spent a lot of nights drinking a lot of alcohol.

When I went over to Public Relations (it was a mistake) most of my Reporter friends and I stopped hanging out. Jason and I stopped hanging out over a stupid email exchange.

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G-Town (2003): Buck was one of four other people who saved my life. I’ll write more about him and Angelo and the Others later.

My Toronto punk friends came over the night before I moved home and took me on a massive all day binge… then they went to a neighbour’s party while I went to bed. They then collapsed on the living room floor of the house I shared with Buck and Wayne… thing was, it was a “Dry House” for recovering addicts. Drunk people on the floor was a definite No-No. It was a respect thing and Buck lost a lot for me that night.

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...thanks.

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Posted in Bipolar, crazy people with no pants, Depression, Health, Lithium, Living With Depression, Living With Manic Depression, Manic Depression, Punk, Salted Lists | 6 Comments