Caption story to be posted later. Been at Peace Arch Hospital since approximately 9am. Had antibiotics IV, but was so weak, they brought me to ER.
This was originally posted on Flickr and Instagram.
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Caption story to be posted later. Been at Peace Arch Hospital since approximately 9am. Had antibiotics IV, but was so weak, they brought me to ER.
This was originally posted on Flickr and Instagram.
(175/366)
THESE HANDS HAVE CREATED sounds on a piano, from the repetition of scales to the practice of pieces that were eventually played at small concerts & Royal Conservatory of Music year end exams.
THESE HANDS HAVE CREATED non-representational abstracts as well as cloud studies, florals, mountainscapes, landscapes, & seascapes using acrylic paints, charcoal sticks, chalk pastels, mixed media collage, pen & inks, pencils, photography, & oil paints.
THESE HANDS HAVE CREATED delicious organic breakfasts like soft, fluffy scrambled eggs, pancakes, & waffles; mouth watering organic chicken vegetable noodle soup, huge garden salads with grilled ham & cheese sandwiches; as well as yummy Chinese feasts with chicken chow mein, egg fried rice, & sweet ‘n sour pork; alongside deserts baked with care from chocolate chip cookies, to banana walnut muffins, & apple crumble pie.
THESE HANDS HAVE CREATED countless journal entries, poems, nonfiction memoir pieces, & short stories, beginning with a pen or pencil on paper, before moving to transcribing & editing it on a computer before posting some of it online to share with the world.
THESE HANDS HAVE CREATED an unorganized mess in my life, through the unconscious accumulation of too many things: art supplies, blu-rays, books, CDs, clothing, crystals, decorations, DVDs, games, journals, oracle & tarot card decks, records, toys, & more. It’s all so unorganized, that it overwhelms me & feeds into my ongoing depression. I’ve purchased shelves, & containers with which to organize things but I never get around to finishing it, resulting in me not being able to enjoy any of it. And it’s slowly killing me inside: both mentally & physically.
THESE HANDS HAVE CREATED safe spaces for the people & pets in my life who I work to cultivate unconditional love & reverence for in everything I do, everyday of my life - something I so desperately need to learn to do for myself.
This was originally posted on Flickr and Instagram.
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Another night was lost to tossing & turning, feeling too tired to do anything but not tired enough to sleep. The skin below my right eye ached from hitting myself on the floor of the White Rock U-Lock Office on Saturday. I used my iPhone to take a few close-ups of my lonely face. Once I had one I liked, I placed it in the black circular frame I’ve been using to call attention to the idea that these selfies are constructed art objects devoid of any aura. Pictures imbued with a pragmatic, matter of fact quality.
By the time I did drift off, I slept past all of my alarms I wanted to wake me at 5am. As I crawled out of bed, Kira jumped down, scurrying towards the door. I scooped her up, bringing her into the washroom with me so she wouldn’t run & find a spot to pee inside. She curled up on the floor watching me as I stared at myself in the mirror, remembering how I had written on Facebook the night before: “Feeling really depressed & so alone tonight.”
I worked through my chores with a steady pace: I weighed myself (feeling pleased that I’m on a downward trend); took my blood glucose reading (which clocked in at a new low: 9.8 mmol/L), took my medication & supplements; brushed my teeth; showered; & got dressed. As I headed down the hallway, mum came out of her room, asking why I was dressed up. She’d forgotten that on Mondays I was out of the house. I’m not proud, but we exchanged some extremely sharp barbs over this. I left the house with it unresolved, & it left me feeling guilty, ashamed, & broken. June has been off to a horrible start.
The weight of depression is grinding me down. After art history, I drove downtown to see my new primary care physician, Dr Tundeep Bassi. “But you can call me Dr T!” he proclaimed. He’s so young, as though he should be in a university class instead of running a medical practice. The office I’ve known for 17 years has been made over, with new linoleum flooring replacing tight knit beige carpeting with freshly painted walls. He’s referring me to an endocrinologist to get my diabetes under control, which scares me. I don’t want to become dependent on insulin injections. I want to reverse this.
This was originally posted on Flickr and Instagram.
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