He was a multiple Oscar winner; I was a dog walker

To tell you the truth, he was one of my favorite celebrities. But I was still emotionally distraught, having attempted suicide on a bridge not a day before. I just stared at him. What was he doing here?

 I know about Hollywood North and that a lot of actors come here to become low on the radar. But in a psych ward? I had dated an actor who knew his older brother. My ex had told me that he had suffered from bipolar and had multiple run-ins with publicity, photographers and being famous in general. He didn't medicate his bipolar, like I did. I was told that it added an extra edge to his acting and the characters he was sinking into.

 Truth be told, he was won of the greatest actors Hollywood had ever seen. I had a lot of respect for him, but I could not understand how we were in this together. It still mystifies me. He didn't talk much; he watched tv day and night. I took in visitors and they held me up while I had nothing to give. I was extremely fragile.

 For months I had been bipolar high and living without taking some of my pills. I had bouts of non stop talking, sleepless nights and I thought everything was a sign for me to notice and add huge spiritual meaning to.  I had also obsessed about several celebrities.

 He's Irish in origin. With one of the patients I recognized from meeting at my mental health team, I struck up a conversation. I remembered that he had met Bono at an Oscar party for the Irish. The actor's ears perked up and he listened intently though he did not say a word. I bet he had been there...

 I put one of his movie's on the table, to see if he would give a reaction. The next day it was gone. The movie had been missing anyways, but his picture was on the other side. It was him. Unless he had an identical twin. He also had the old tattoo on his arm. It was him, guaranteed. I talked about a poet friend of his, Charles Bukowski, to my friends. The actor had been friends with him and even went to his funeral. I saw his reaction at the mention of his name. I didn't need anymore proof. But I kept his bluff. Everyone needs their privacy in a place like that.

 As the week went on I improved with daily visits from family and friends. I was very lucky. When I was leaving the ward for another one, I talked to him a bit, finally. I told him who I thought he was and he just bluffed. He was actually using a voice from one of his shows he had done. A little higher than usual. I didn't care. I knew in my heart of hearts it was him.

In hindsight, I have the hugest respect for you, though I may not have appreciated your bluff at the time. I was suffering from the dishonesty in my life and I wanted someone to tell me the truth...What I found out was, the people I had idolized for years were vulnerable, like me. And my family and friends filled that hospital room with comforting words. They were the real rock stars.

The actor is now doing selfless work in Haiti for those who are homeless and living in refugee camps. This guy is pretty, damn, special. And I thank you, Sean...

The devil's face and other hauntings....Not for the faint of heart

I will make a confession right here and now. I'm schizo-affective bipolar. I know, I already wrote that on my dashboard. But really, I am. You see, for most of my life I have denied this. Bipolar, yes, the other, no way. That's other people. Not me. I'm just depressed once in a while.

But I have to confess, it really has haunted me all my life. Those of you from Campbell River probably remember the 'devil woman' tag I had. I saw an image on the wall of a pencilled in devil face, on a band trip in Kamloops. The truth is, I hadn't eaten in two days. I was also manic. I didn't know what was happening. I wanted to cry and laugh at the same time. It was pretty wierd.

I arrived home to find the whole town making a mockery of me and my family. It was pretty horrible. Pretty fucking horrible, actually. I didn't know what was wrong with me. I just knew that I was different from everyone else and I wanted to die quite frequently. I would become really high and unfathomably low. It was a brutal way to live.

The next year I felt side-swiped. I was failing a class, my best friend moved away, I found out my older brother was gay, my dad was an alcoholic and somehow I was supposed to fix it. (These are not judgements. I loved them both dearly but felt unrelenting stress from the circumstances) I also was re-living some sexual abuse in my mind. You just didn't talk about this stuff back then. Oprah had just begun and Donahue was something that occured to 'those people on tv'. This was shocking news for a 15 year old in a small town. Plus, I was devil woman! My moods continued to slide dangerously low. I was losing touch. I thought the whole school was talking about me. It was terrifying. I came across the word paranoid in the dictionary, and realized I was. Then I became paranoid someone had seen me looking up paranoid...funny that.

(I still remember) it was a gorgeous sunny blue day out, with maple leaves blowing in the wind and I skipped school. It was the day. I was going to finally do it.

I grabbed a knife from the butcher's block and made my way to the upstairs bathroom. I began to slice open my own flesh. I just didn't have the guts to press too hard, so instead I got the razor blade out of the sewing room. And I began.

The flesh gave way, and I went deeper. At one point I used nail clippers, if you can imagine. That is what probably hurt the most...I was so distraught I barely felt the rest of it. I started getting pretty dizzy...my vision was going from the stress of it...I knew I would pass out soon, but where was the blood? There was nothing to be seen...when I finally found a tendon that could truly screw up my hand I decided not to go all the way through.

Standing up, I realized I couldn't go through with it. I kept my eyes wide open, so as not to pass out. Now what....how to reverse the irreversable...

There is no going back. Some decisions are final. To this day, I wear these scars on my wrist, so blaringly obvious to me. Constant reminders of my vulnerability. For most of my life, I would rather show any stranger my naked body than show you my upturned wrists. That utter fragility that still haunts me.

The other night I was outside, enjoying the setting sun, listening to the kids play in the alley and absorbing my little garden. And I looked...as I have looked so many times before. And I just thought, 'why, why must you always walk with me, for the rest of my life? I was only 15...'

Only this time, an answer came to me...To remind others that we all have our breaking point. To show deep seated compassion for others even if they are a little grouchy. To be just a little more patient with the cashier, even if she is slow. That if I have to be that wierd chick that is made an example of what not to do, so be it.

So, if you have been considering such overwhelming thoughts, do yourself a favor and talk to someone who will really listen to you. Really listen. And if nobody will listen, call a crisis line. Or go to the hospital emergency room. Or talk to me. I'll always listen to you. I know. I've been there.

Poets! Are you out there? I wanna hear you roar....

One night of vancouverpoetryslam is more inspiring than a year's worth of what a television might offer. Granted, I watch 30 Rock and The Office on thursdays when it's in season, because it makes me howl. Everything in moderation, right?

Like diet coke. I have a wierd diet coke hangover right now. I had two today and my head feels like crap. When will they put warnings on stuff with aspertame? The same ingredients are also in embalming fluid, (that is right, for dead people), and it was banned by the government for years and years though they had it around way back when. Somehow, the powers that be finally got it passed. A fellow poet, Leviathan, did a fantastic piece where he researched all the evils of aspertame. And yet, no warnings. And yet, I still drink it once in a while.

But I digress....I had such a good time at the slam tonight. There is talent in them there woods. If you are not familiar with it, poets write pieces and perform them on stage in 3 minutes. Anything is possible, though many have a bit of a rythym. You can find this all over North America and Europe. It's good stuff and some of the best in North America have come from The Vancouver Poetry Slam. It's a very supportive stage and there are many open mikes around town that will also support you. Check out Pandora's Collective, or Vancouver Poetry House, etc. to find listings of all the cool events in Vancouver. There is Story Slam, Spillious Speak and sing, Word Whips, Take 5 Cafe, Thundering Word, and lots of others that will send your mind to another land as you listen or take part in what they have to offer.

So, off I go to write my own...I"m writing a poem a day for a year and will see where it goes. I imagine once I sift through it all, I will find some gems. I'm also reading poetry each night. If you have any suggestions, I"m all ears. Or if you have a chap book, I will see what my budget looks like. Even, if it's just a copy of your two favorite poems for a couple dollars, I would love it.

Inspire me...you always do...stick your neck out and get vulnerable, you amazing poets...

And now for something completely different...

I never thought I would do a blog. But here I am, spilling my guts. I think it's the substitue for prayer these days. I imagine there are great confessions on blogs and dire words of wisdom and folly all rolled into one. So here it goes...

Music speaks to me at times in such a way that I feel at one with the song. I've listened to songs and had the words litterally come alive before my eyes. Seeing the lyrics in store names, just as I'm walking by, or the clock saying the exact time that the song is singing, stuff like that. Even images that the song is describing when I"m looking at something in my environment. It is quite something when it happens.

Last year, it was so rapid and happened so much. U2 seems to hold the record for the most references in my life. But others have, too. So many. It's cool; I feel like I am right where I am supposed to be in my life when this happens.

I had a psychic friend tell me that it was my birth mother communicating to me, telling me that she felt guilt for not living longer and loving me in this life.

Whatever the reason, I just hold it as a comfort, knowing there is so much more than me buzzing around in this big world.

Have a great day...my head is swirling with music right now...