September 26, 2012


As I wander through this apartment
it feels like walking through time
Not forward, as most believe
Not sideways, as I believe
But backward 
Every morning the world looks imposing
Like I am getting further away
By mere inches
Things seem to weigh a bit more
Lifting them becomes more difficult
By mere grams
Time that used to feel so weightless
Time that used to feel so expansive

It is hunting me now

September 21, 2012

Interview With Sheena: Chapter 1.

"So, what gets you up in the morning?"
"Worry. That is the simplest and most clear answer I can give you. Worry about whether it will be another wasted day. Worry about the things I am ignoring that will be of detriment to the future me that, unless I quit life, will be forced to deal with my fears. Worry that I will slip into the depression everyone expects of me. Worry for my family. Worry that I am creating, out of a good intention that I told Greg on his deathbed, a lie: that I would be okay."

"What are you excited for?"
"Not much. Initial excitement soon gives way to terror as the rest of my life unfolds like a map that has been rammed haphazardly into the glove compartment. And as anyone who knows me can attest, I am not good with direction at the best of times."

"Any events coming up?"
"Music shows. Amanda Palmer at the 29th of this month in Vancouver. Matt Anderson. Dan Mangan. Gaslight Anthem with Hotwater Music. A best friend's wedding. Football games with my dad and pub nights with friends..."

"Oh, my dad just set me up with a therapist. That is something to be both terrified and excited about. Like any relationship."

"None of this sounds like you are planning your next move in life."
"That is not an accident."

"You're not?"

"Not to judge, but what is stopping you? What is the hardest part?"
"Fear makes my decisions for me right now. Not making a decision is making a decision. So, not checking the mail/ phone calls/ voicemail makes a lot of decisions for me. Not checking the bank account keeps the laughter around a bit longer. Hiding creates a cocoon. My next life is a horrifying endeavor. Imagine the strength most people need to clean out a storage closet. I need to clean out my life."

"What do you miss most about Greg?"
"I can't answer that. Their is no hierarchy of love, nor pain. Heightened emotion creates action, and action builds the elements of your life. My entire life is absent from a huge life force that helped to design the blueprints of a building now crumbled to the ground, with all of the architectural plans disintegrating with it."

"That sounds brutal."
"It ain't easy."

"How are you feeling? Does anyone ask that? Is that a stupid question?"
"It's not a stupid question, though it is an idealistic one. It assumes I have an answer or, even less likely, will be able to articulate it. I am numb. Or distracted. Or hidden. Or destroyed. I am only sad alone, though. Very very few people see me at my worst. It is not a natural role for me."

"What is your natural role?"
"Life of the party. Fun beam. Cockeyed optimist. Love addict. Inspirational speaker and motivational role model. Okay, those last things are kind of a joke, but only kind of. My brother used to refer to me as a muse. He said my talent was making others better people."

"And you are not this now?
"I am not comfortable being a source of inspiration for people, as I am not confident I am a role model for anyone. Being "strong" or "inspiring" to people now seems to mean that I am not suicidal or a drug addict or a cutter. The intention is the same, but the filter through which I communicate has changed. There is a prism of sadness, and grief, and regret, and pity that changes my intent. It is not my current strength, let's leave it at that."

"So you don't make people feel better anymore?"
"Usually it is by being the emotional barometer of the room. At the funeral, the wake, pub nights... if I am able to look like I am okay, maybe everyone can believe it WILL be okay, and thus, they can be okay, too."

"Do people still come to you with their problems?"
"Often. Sometimes too much. Sometimes selfishly, saying things like 'We are totally sharing in our grief...' when I assure you we are not."

"You are not sharing the grief?"
"No. Not being able to see a guy that you saw at punk rock shows 6 times a year by accident is not something that can be shared with a woman who had her entire life pulled out from under her and has spent the last few months hiding under it."

"It does seems a bit insensitive."
"You have no idea."

"No names, but I have had a girl say that her pain was paramount because I was prepared, where as she was SHOCKED. I had another compare the death of her 15 year old boyfriend to Greg's death because she also considered him the love of her life. As though a 15 year old and a 35 year old would have the first fucking thing in common when it comes to love, let alone the destruction of a life build on plans and dreams and hope. Hope means something different at 15 than 35. Trust me. I was 15."

"The cake was probably a girl telling me that they know how I must feel because they, too, understand my despondence due to working in a warehouse/trade with men who don't believe in the plight of the female tradeswomen."

"They compared the death of your fiance to their male dominated job environment?"
"It's ongoing, dude. Some days I have to defend my absurd tweets with the hashtag #widowtweets because people believe they have a more depressing story. Like the traffic ticket they got that day."

"I don't have words. I just... that is nuts."
"They say the stages of death include anger. I am in no way angry at Greg, or 'God', or the care of the medical team at the UofA, or Life, or any of that shit. What I am angry at is the insensitive and narcissistic characters I am coerced into dealing with about this tragedy."

"Have you gone off on them?"
"Not yet."


"I would be excited to witness that."
"A few close friends who have been present for many of these situations have shared in your enthusiasm. They feel I am long overdue."

"Can we continue this later? I have a feeling you are getting sleepy."
"I am. But I would like that."

"Thanks, Sheena."
"Thank you."

September 19, 2012

"I look at myself, I did not see me anymore..."

"At the twilight, a moon appeared in the sky;
Then it landed on earth to look at me.
Like a hawk stealing a bird at the time of prey;
That moon stole me and rushed back into the sky.
I looked at myself, I did not see me anymore;
For in that moon, my body turned as fine as soul.
The nine spheres disappeared in that moon;
The ship of my existence drowned in that sea..."

"Better by far you forget and smile
Than you should remember and be sad.."

Thank you, friends. Friends who somehow know I am up at 2:30am in need of sweet words.

September 17, 2012


So, one night, high on Temazapam and loving the world, I decided to start ProjectBee. I thought that due to the overwhelming support and adoration I have received from people all over the world, it would be a fantastic gesture to connect with them in a small way. And who doesn't love snail mail? Might as well use it while we got it.

So, I sounded the alarm (put it up on Twitter and Facebook) and the response was overwhelming. Levels I will have a hard time keeping up with. But I am up for the challenge. All I ask is that you all have patience with me. It may not be the grand opus you were hoping for, and/or it may take a bit longer than expected, but please know that this is important to me. And soon your mailbox will be full of bees!

But in a good way.

Eggplant of Love.

September 13, 2012

"You're my new favourite..."

I do not pity my situation. In fact, I do not pity anyone's situation. More often than not, I am that annoying bastard that sees the opportunities and the silver linings and the possibilities that unfold in front of us all when adversity strikes.

I mean, sure, I probably drink too much, but I am overall a pretty emotionally stable and mentally solid individual.

But I am struggling. And not in the way most people have probably expected.

I have spent the last 4 years taking care of someone else. It was not one sided, as anyone who spent more than 2 minutes around us would have immediately realized, but I think one of the reasons that Greg & I worked so well together is that we found a beautiful agreement: you take care of me and I will take care of you. At the end of the day, everything and everyone was taken care of and we would fall asleep content with the life we had and excited for the life that was consistently evolving for us.

I didn't realize that this was a bit of a cop out for us. It kept us from having to make ourselves the priority in our own lives.

Now that I am left on my own, I realize that taking care of myself and my future is not the reason I do anything.

I get up because if I don't then my family will think I am sinking. I go out because if I don't then my friends will worry about me. I laugh hard and often because I am afraid that one day I might forget how. I have bills in stacks. I have calls to make. I have voice mails left unheard. I have mail left unchecked. I have dishes left to do.

And some days, I get a bit of a lift and I do these things. I do them before anyone really has a chance to realize anything was wrong.

Someone asked my friend how I was doing.
"She's good..." she replied.

I was livid. This is not just a lie, but it is also so destructive to what I am trying to remind myself... that I am NOT okay. That this is NOT normal. That this life is NOT going to sustain itself for much longer.

I have had a couple of amazing people surface and resurface into my wee tangled life as of late that remind me that there is not only pain elsewhere in the world, but also brilliance and love and excitement and hope. Small gestures like a hand held or a compliment or a 6 hour phone conversation like I am sixteen again... there are joys. There are genuine moments of feeling beautiful and adored and loved and desired and included and necessary in someone else's life again.

Is this selfish? Maybe. But it might be necessary.
To remind me that I am not half of something.

Just a whole something that hasn't realized it yet.