loss of sight



his eyes

wide and glowing green

inside something snarled

it’s voice a blend of

grinding teeth and the cracking

of knuckles




its mouth opening

rows of fangs

the blood of man or woman


swirling around

gurgling liquid crimson

like mouthwash



sore and swollen

he is easy target

hard to miss this weak thing

walking on rusty train tracks

writing the end too soon


i know how this ends –

i just forgot how it started.

lost in skin

which scar is mine?

which smile is mine?

the texture of  pain

all rough, and bumpy


i have seen the footage and you have too.

evidence of decay scratched into skin

the backward rolling eye – visionless.

ready to be dissected by scalpels and knives.


ripples of light burn as

blackness traps my eyes

starting to outgrow my own breath




I broke the bottle

smashed it against the floor

where all of me spilled out:

the tears of gratitude

sadness and love.

anger and trust, safety

and all the rest.

lips begin to quiver

as these last moments

come to an indefinite stop.

Therapist & Patient: A special kind of relationship

I lost a lot of connections when depression squirmed into my life. I hung onto some people in my life like life lines which eventually pushed them farther away from me. Depression told me to push everyone away, it told me to not open up, to hide everything and plaster a smile on my face. It took a lot of different councillors and therapists before I found a right fit. I used to dread going to therapy. It was like going to school for a second time. But I had to talk about all the stuff I was trying to hide from myself. In the past, I didn’t believe that any professional could really help me at all. I was hopeless and helpless, or so I thought.

I think that having a therapist help you help yourself can be extremely beneficial. If you see someone who doesn’t push you at all and just feels bad for you and all of your problems. You won’t get anywhere. For me, having someone push me to do things I wasn’t really comfortable with was what i needed. It was what all of my previous Therapist’s lacked. You have to be the one to actively want to change, or else you’ll be stuck digging yourself into a deeper, darker hole.  I went from dreading therapy to actually looking forward to going to see my therapist. The key was being validated and feeling cared for.

My Journey

A recovery story is a messy thing. It has a lot of beginnings and middles. There is no end to a journey such as this one. The story continues. Sometimes it restarts or rewinds back to the start again. It is mostly an internal battle, a war with oneself.

I knew that I had depression before any doctor diagnosed me. It was the beginning of grade 10.  I have snapshots of the beginning. A quiet girl hiding beneath layers of clothing, looking down with no ounce of confidence. I didn’t know what was wrong with me. I couldn’t shake off this feeling of not belonging not only with my friends, at my school but also in this world.  As the days grew more hazy and cloudy, I started missing school and skipping classes. My anxiety kept me in bed for days and days. Being a shy person before the storm hit, i went unnoticed in school – sitting in the back of class, rarely.. in fact, never raising my hand to answer a question (even if i knew it). I perfected the act of pretending to be fine. My smile turned into a straight line of grief that i did not know what to do with. As my illness worsened, I dug myself deeper into my grave. I began self harming later that year to get relief from my emotions and intrusive thoughts. Little did i know, i had some friends who saw the cuts on my arms and legs and told a councillor. Little time passed before my school got involved and notified my parents. I continued struggling even more with harming myself. I didn’t know then, but that was the best thing i could do at the time. Letting someone know that i wasn’t fine is what helped me.

I sat in children’s Emergency for a mental health evaluation, it wasn’t until the next morning when i finally was given a diagnoses of depression and prescribed medication. Months went by very slowly and very fast. I felt like a ghost with a beating heart. My name was put on waiting lists and programs i wasn’t sure i wanted to be on. I went through the programs and courses. I saw countless therapists and counselors but nothing really seemed to fit for me. I tackled each day, forcing myself to leave my bed, going from class to class. I lived as my diagnoses, it became my only identity as i lost myself in a very dark and never ending place i wasn’t sure i could escape from.   I didn’t notice the medication helping me or the therapy. At this time i felt hopeless and helpless. I acted inwards, taking out all of my frustration on myself.  My friends stopped talking to me and I stopped trying to talk to them, my family tried to talk to me – and they did their best. I started bingeing and purging, starving and restricting. There was no middle ground. It was one extreme or the other. Negativity sunk into my pores as exhaustion took over me. Of the many times I’ve tried to commit suicide, something always took over. A desire to live again. Some people find it helpful to get in touch with religious beliefs, like prayer or another higher power. For me, writing became my religion. Writing poetry or simply writing stories was the one thing keeping me alive.

I started an intensive outpatient program, i was able to connect with a therapist and that alone made a difference in me. This therapy has been very beneficial for me. Throughout this year, I have become a strong and even more passionate individual. It took me a very long time to realize that this was the right thing to do for myself. I couldn’t of come to this decision without the help of a very special friend who helped me along. Through my struggles I’ve been able to achieve awards and graduate from high school on time. I am now learning that i do not need to act on my thoughts, emotions, intrusive suicidal ideations. I have gone through so much already in my short life, more than your everyday teenager could comprehend.

My story is still being written, day by day i flip another page. As a mental health sufferer, survivor and advocate I want to help others that are in my place, I want to help erase the stigma surrounding mental illness. I wish for my life to be filled with more smiles and less tears. I understand now, that there will always be positive and negative aspects to life – now i have learned the skills i need to deal with any triggering events that come up. My journey has been long and painful but it has been hopeful and it has offered opportunities. My journey has not ended and it will continue on. I’ve met many amazing people that have been helpful to me and it is because of their support, i have been able to see myself as they’ve always been able to see me. I have found purpose in pain. I believe that with immense struggle, comes strength.

I am determined to win, to keep pushing through the hard days because even though it doesn’t always seem like it- there is some good in everyday. I have committed myself to learning how to live opposed to just existing. The only thing I ever really needed was the “right” support to get me back on track. I wanted to feel like I was worthy and deserved a better and fulfilling life. I’ve learned that i dont need to be “fixed”, there was nothing wrong with me in the first place.