Sunday, November 30, 2014

Community of Crows

Mental health is an extremely complex subject that gifted healthy professionals must navigate. These learned women and men have the good fortune of centuries upon centuries of literature, experiments, conferences, writings and drug experiments to fall back on for insight when dealing with those of us that are experiencing mental anguish and turmoil.
I'm indebted to them for their hearts to reach out and help us. I'm ever thankful that they chose a profession that is ever evolving...never the same circumstances and rarely textbook to the point that they can enthusiastically grab the drab yellow folder with CURE #5 off of their shelf.
It's an interesting field. Cure #5 is a Unicorn...ever see one?
The goal of my therapist is to get me to the place where I feel that I can stop coming to see her. She's mentioned, not in so many words, that I won't be funding a cabin on a lake for her. I'll take that notion as a silver lining. 
Years of school etc to learn how to relate to the Broken. 
I have a thought about all of this. It's something that was bouncing about in my brain last night as I lay in my warm bed thinking of my homeless friends who have several issues of their own.
How many confused, frightened, desperate, lonely, drunk, drugged out, psychotic people THAT ARE INVISIBLE  ever get a God given moment of clarity where they can honestly notice that they need some kind of help?
And if they ever do hear that beautiful voice of they dismiss it as a devil? Do they ignore it as a guilty conscience? Was it delivered by some asshole in a nice suit as he gave a "fuck you" as they asked him for a bit of money? Was it YOU? Averting your eyes?
Fortunately for me, a person that you share this planet with was the one to tell me that I needed help. You may not meet her but that's neither here nor there. My point is, she hasn't given up (and in all honesty, she should have) What a shitty lot that has been cast at her.
There's hope. I hope for hope. She hinges the future on hope. Hope is a delicate thought that takes many consistently positive ongoing circumstances to be convincing. Lottery tickets hold no hope! The warmth of the morning sun kissing your face on a shitty day offers hope. If the Earth turns and there is no "sunrise" you'll know in about 39 seconds.
So...about these crows.
I'm fortunate to live in the shadow of 10,000 crows. Every evening as the sun begins to set, countless crows fly across East Vancouver to roost together in an evidently NOT secret location. I've followed them. Breath taking! Have you ever had the privilege? 
Almost nothing is known about why crows form these communal roosts or of the dynamics of the populations involved. It appears that crows will travel considerable distances to a roost, but that not necessarily every crow in an area will travel to a particular roost every night. There is some indication that some individual crows may go to a roost some nights but not others.
Those annoying birds go about the community on their own or in pairs and tidy up our trash. We hate their song...
In Alberta, rednecks are hired in towns to shoot them, sad really.
So tonight, as the crows commuted and cawed above me as I walked back from the shops, I began to think about how we humans interact with one another. I couldn't help but feel that we all fall far short.
My heart squeezed but I'm training myself to be positive (sorry Harry) to NOT compare us to crows.
And as I walked home, a white guy in a multicultural city, an older Sikh man in traditional dress randomly stopped me on the pavement and bid me Merry Christmas.
In an instant, my longing for the community of crows was satisfied! 

Saturday, November 29, 2014


I find it interesting yet terribly unsettling how my good positive outlook can be washed away in a toxic soup of negativity within the blink of a few thoughts. Earlier tonight was such a night.
Apparently my mental state, albeit medicated, can't seem to overcome or cope with my weary well being. If I had to over-analyze the reasons, I'd wager that they're caused by my working far too much, sleeping far too little, only eat semi-regularly, comparing myself to others, fearing my future and not knowing how to be on my own. Probably not unlike you right?
I am however, learning to weigh the great and the not so great on a scale , which by the way is tipped towards great simply by the fact that I'm still alive, but I still get tripped up mentally.
I chat on a regular basis with men who sleep outdoors every night! Tonight its snowing for God's sake but Gerald will still be in Stanley Park, Paul will be near Science World, Steve will be in his tent beside the Fraser River and countless others will be in doorways, alleys, nooks and crannies all over the Greater Vancouver Regional District.
An infamous band of brothers coined the term "the good we do, no one remembers, the bad we do, no one forgets" and like so, there travels my thoughts down a dark and heavy street.
Focus on the positive. Think on the bright side. It could be worse. Hang in there, you'll surface blah blah blah.
I'll tell you what I'd like to do right now...I'd like to run through a forest with a DeMarini Voodoo baseball bat and reduce small trees to kindling! I guess I have anger issues and pent up energy. Better than kicking puppies I suppose.
I've worked with kids for over 2 decades. Kids in care, kids on heroin, suicidal kids, victimized kids, medicated kids, churched kids...and "normal" effed up kids. I've never come to understand why many of them (more than you'd like to know) cut themselves and engage in self-harm. That is until now.
Don't worry, by the time you read this, I'll STILL be fine.
Once upon a kid that you'll likely never meet broke up with his girlfriend...or should I say that she dumped him.? Anyway, as we were chatting about his pain, he asked me if I wanted to see HOW much it hurt. I prepared myself for a touch of the old assault as he slid up the sleeves of his hoody...
On his left harm, not unlike surgical precision, were 11 perfectly identical cuts. I applied first aid and we chatted long into the night.
I wondered why he did it. What he meant by SEEING how much it hurt. Today, many months on, I'm going to conclude that he didn't do it for attention...but rather, reality.
I believe that he, as indeed I, needed to realize that he was still a member of space and time in this thing we call today.
Today is forever. Yesterday is a memory that we can't physically visit and tomorrow often only exists in faint hope. Today is all we have. Today is all I have and I need to know beyond the shadow of a doubt that I participated in it.
Within the milky haze of confusion, I'm guessing that quick sharp pain jolts a body back into today and a few scars offer proof of being there not unlike your holiday photographs.
So therein lies my dilemma. How can I be sure that I was here today without hurting myself? (remember now, if you have a sure answer, you probably don't have mental health issues.)
I'm sitting in an office at work right now and the walls have closed in on me to the point where it feels like I have a shoebox on my head. The silence is deafening and the sticky goo that makes up my brain is rushing about like a shithouse rat!
Saving grace...I seem to be able to switch off all of this negative crap whenever I'm dealing with a kid or chatting with My "invisible", marginalized friends that many of you wouldn't notice pushing around their shopping carts full of treasures.
So there's today's glimpse. Now I'm going to take this box off of my head, breathe deep, remember a few cherished times, forget about tomorrow and go be cynical about American television.


Tuesday, November 25, 2014

Must be night time

So even as our World is in a state of unrest, I still managed to notice that I'm still distracted by several side effects from my increased dose of Cipralex. Quite amazing what an additional 5 mg can do to a 200+ pound man.
Sorry... I'm not awake at 1 am by choice just so I can quietly sit and entertain you, my Legions of followers, by candlelight. No, I was ripped from slumber rather suddenly by some irrational dream/thought that danced along my neural pathway.
What a pain in the ass insomnia can be. Funny, later on today as I'm yawning my fool head off in traffic, she won't come to call. She's a night dweller...
What else am I noticing?
Aahh yes, itchy skin. You name it, I'm scratching it! This is handy for a depressed guy in the event I wish to be on my own. Strangers don't seem to want to hang around the guy scratching his arms, legs, head, armpits, chest, groin...handy really. When I'm chatting with friends that are homeless, it must appear to anyone far off in the distance like we're in a symphony of sorts. Perhaps mimicking young rapper culture talking with our hands and touching ourselves...
Did I mention sudden urges to seek out a toilet? Yeah, that's a good one for a truck driver that has to lift things all day. UGH.
Increased empathy is interesting. I was frightened that I was starting to feel callous towards other humans. I noticed that I had to put on empathy for people by memory some days. No fear now, I nearly cried the other day on the river as a lump of wood floated by.
To me, it seemed as though that that wood was gripped in loneliness, randomness, solitude, isolation and that it was long forgotten and going unnoticed. It would only get worse once it entered the vastness of the Ocean.
But I'm practising positive thinking. Not that wishy-washy feel good, look on the bright side of life even though you've lost a leg kinda crap, but the real, STOP AND NOTICE positive thinking.
For instance, when I was standing for too long in a ridiculously crowded coffee shop behind Vancouver's Top 10 fussiest coffee snobs, I thought "how nice that we can all get out and grab a coffee."
Yeah. That was weird.
I have other things to share that are going on too...but I think my peppermint tea has calmed me so I won't pester you.
Fear'd still recognize me! I'm a work in progress.

Saturday, November 22, 2014

Clear windows kept shut

So far, this binge of Citalopram (I guess its a binge if its daily use) has altered my mood in so much as I can still breathe but also I'm learning to try to attempt to see all things with relative clarity without employing my usual negative spin which by the way, was inherited from or at the very least, taught to me by Harry. (and take breath)
Correction...NOTICE things positively rather than always seeing things negatively.
Most of those pesky side effects have waned but I still gag in the mornings, eat very little, can't form enough spit to even lob onto the shoe of Stephan Harper should he ever come for tea, suffer gut cramps, night sweats and awesome NOT head-videos that are all but truth.
 Fortunately there is no Agoraphobia in my diagnosis although this wonder drug would apparently help with that too. Incidentally, that's just a big name from the Greek AYOPA meaning Large Public Square and OOBIA meaning phobia. This disorder makes it very difficult to be in public in big places. Often, this condition must be ruled out in diagnosis because many of those of us that are depressed often want to hide from other humans for a variety of reasons.
Think about it...if you ever noticed an adult man standing in the middle of a grassy park crying ,would your first thought be  "I best rush over and comfort this stranger who is in an obvious time of sadness or mental anguish "  I wager your answer is an unconditional NO. That may be just what he needs...or sadly the opposite of what he wants!
So, for many of us, the blinds are drawn, the bed covers are up to our chin and the cat goes hungry while family and distance friends try and cope with whatever the hell is going on inside your brain. Catch is that you may never even know what it is that's hurting your head.
All this to say that fortunately I'm NOT afflicted with a fear of people or feel the need to hide and starve the cat. Quite the opposite really. I experience terrible dread when it comes to being alone for large chunks of time. This, by the way, is a far cry from "being on my own" which on occasion I quite like.
Depression is a bugger! You ( I ) don't want a crowd of people patting my head "helping me" but at the same time I long for a text. Text is good in so much as I can control the interaction which I couldn't do if you actually phoned me. Clever as well as sly ain't I?  Some may diagnosis this as Chickenshit from the Greek KOTOTTOUAU and OKATA  (my apologies for not having the correct alphabet at hand)
Driving truck around Vancouver is good therapy for me. I listen to chat radio, shout at God and the Universe, engage venders if and only if I want to and I even enjoy the freedom to pull in and walk around the block to breathe if I need to.
The grouphome is another animal altogether.
In this house where the clients are 13-18 years old, male and female, I must push my emotions and issues to the back burner and give these ones my 100%  attention and professionalism. So far, so great.
To think at 51 I'm suffering with what many of our youth of the day are also suffering with.
Snag is, they haven't the resources or in many cases the forthwith or maturity to seek out help let alone understand that something may be amiss.
I think it best that I reserve any further comment about this "industry"
So there it is in a nutshell (pun intended)
If you happen to have the privilege to know that a friend/family member is suffering depression, reach out to them GENTLY if only to remind them that they're valued and alive and that you're happy that they're still standing on this planet with you. Its a good planet. There are billions of people standing on it and we only know a few.

Thursday, November 20, 2014

What have I been moaning about?

I noticed a few things today that caused to me stop, listen, emphathise and weep. Each story concerned other humans for a change...not ME!  I'm starting to think that its good therapy to get my eyes off of me occasionally.
Texas oil giant Kinder Morgan has work crews in a Provincial park not far from my home. They've been turning Earth, falling trees, disregarding Canadian law and desecrating the area which is also, not to say the least, First Nation's land.
Our local Provincial Government is turning a blind eye to this in spite of the fact that 90% of the effected area's voting (Municipality) population AND the entire City council and Mayour's Office opposes the tresspass. The Federal Government is mute, not surprising.
In all of this, a group of people of varying ages and backgrounds set up camp in opposition and in the direct path of the work. A protest to be sure. Young and old lived in make-shift tents on the mountain for many days.
The American corporation is suing several people for assault ( see twitter #mykmface ) which is a fear tactic that frightens me! I have no money.
The protesters didn't budge...until today.
Canada's RCMP and at least 4 other Police forces swooped down this morning and arrested the protestors and will now dismantle the camp with the help from Kinder Morgan employees.
This is American PRIVATE corporate greed influencing the Law Makers and Law Keepers of Canada. I pray their wealth turns to burning gravel in their stomachs.
I pray that the minds of the Canadian puppets carrying out this evacuation will question their beliefs as many Canadians are doing today.
What I've noticed: The protestors, on OUR behalf took a stand! What have YOU taken a stand for? What WILL you stand for?

I pulled into a vender today to get the scheduled donation as usual. I saw Laura whom you will probably never meet.
We chatted the way we do every day...but today I noticed something in her eyes.
I can't recall why, but I told her that I was recently diagnosed depressed and that I was taking a few steps towards personal relief and wellness. She lost it.
Laura, who is my age and single suffers too. She shared her personal struggles, some break throughs and some lows. Her condition has cost her 2 relationships.
She asked me about meds because she is dealing with it with vitamins. I'll will employ some of her wisdom.
She cried and asked me "Lance, do you know what the hardest part of all of this is for me?"  I admitted that I didn't know.
She said  "I hate that its all emotional. Its all in my head. I can't stop it I can't control it and I don't want to admit it!"
Look around, you may notice someone who could do with a smile.

There's a guy where I work. You may not meet him, but you should.
Often there are stigmas attached to the circumstances surrounding those in need and the barriers they face. Enter Al.
Two unimaginable tragedies sent his life into a downward spiral of depression and despair. In 2002, a drunk driver murdered Al's son who was only 11 years old. Incomprehensibly, his daughter of 14 died of brain cancer just 2 years later.
In the blink of an eye, Al lost his children and alcoholism, numbness, depression and lack of caring engulfed him.
Today...AL is coping. I enjoy seeing him several times a week at work. He's cheerful, funny, full of optimism and carrying on.
We could learn from Al.

Tonight after therapy, one of those hold-up-the-mirror type of therapy sessions, I bumped into John also called Frank outside of Tim Horton's. He was in search of a battery for an incredibly gaudy wrist watch he was wearing. The watch must have weighed 3 pounds and screamed Tijuana but John Frank was proud of it.He shuffled down the street and I assured him that I'd wait for him to return. I don't like waiting by the way.
Minutes later, John Frank showed up sad. His battery was worth $17 apparently. He got the watch from a guy that owed him money. Shifty little dude, but I like him. 2 Vancouver Police members eating soup in Tim Hortons watched us with earnest...I watched them watch us keeping the peace.
I wanted to cross the road with John Frank and take him for a beer in the bar...but I had a moment of brilliance and reconciled in my humble opinion, that he didn't really need another beer...ever.
I bid him fare well and walked away.

So whats my application in response to this day? What, if anything, should I do?
I think I'm going to continue to interact with humanity with eyes wide open, ears at the ready and my mouth initially kept shut whilst LISTENING to the stories of the brothers and sisters set before me.
Many are people have had a harder go of it than me!
But the greatest reminder today comes from a previous tweet which I mentioned in therapy:

"The pursuit of happiness must be navigated by Self because no other human will always go out of their way to make you happy"

Tuesday, November 18, 2014


I'm on medication. I'm on medication because I've been professionally diagnosed  "in a state of general unhappiness or despondency"  Apparently I'm depressed, which isn't a total surprise to my family.
Synonyms: sad, unhappy, miserable, dejected, gloomy, glum, melancholy, disconsolate, downhearted, downcast, down, despondent, dispirited, low, heavy-hearted, morose, dismal, follow how I'm drifting, but yes, that's me for a few years now. ( not complete shite as I walked the planet mind you. But not, as mum would say; "quite the ticket" )
You know, if you met me and hung out with me, you'd like me. It seems that I hide most emotions well. I'm pretty easy to get on with and strangers that I chat with don't ever seem to be annoyed or put off.
I have a sense of humour, I help people too a fault...these could be coping mechanisms that I will certainly re-evaluate as time creeps on.
Alcohol has been abused too. Pity...I love a good ale. Self medication comes in all forms. How can I justify thee, let me count the ways...
Like I mentioned, I'm a giggle to be around...but YOU don't live with me!
The saying goes that you hurt the ones you love...well,  I LOVE MY WIFE AND DAUGHTER!
I'll write more about that in future episodes kids, stay tuned.
Spending time with a therapist weekly and ingesting Citalopram daily, I'm told...will help me immensely. I'm banking on those words spoken to me by the Professionals. Since they're professionals, I'll take those words as a promise. I don't promise lightly because I know what "a complete and utter fuck up I am"
Might be the coward's way out. Promise little, they expect less. (work on that one Spoke ya chickenshit bastard)
I'd like to write about my Citalopram side effects before the hoped-for benefits. I've been trained by Harry in the negative you see. I was an A student! Thorn before the rose 101.
Side effects so far after 5 days: diarrhoea, dry mouth, frequent urination, gagging, dry heaves, light sensitivity, itching, fog head, drowsy, bloody nose, yawning, vivid dreams, loss of appetite, delayed physical response, metallic mouth and suicidal ideation.
Caveat: "Most people who undergo suicidal ideation do not go on to make suicide attempts, but it is considered a risk factor"  Thanx to wikipedia I think.
My agony and discomfort pales compared to the misery I've caused, I'll carry on doping and hope the break-in period springs forth fruitful loveliness.
Benefits? That professional promise. THESE PILLS WILL HELP YOU SORT OUT YOUR EMOTIONS.
I guess in layman's terms it means that I'll begin to pay more attention to the people and things that MATTER MOST TO ME rather than putting my own selfish ass first and foremost regardless of the carnage mangled in my wake.
I have any friends I need to call.
It means that I will no longer cry for no apparent reason when I'm alone.
It means that I will no longer wear a heavy dread day after day after day.
It means that I will be able to function whether you text me or not.
If you've looked at previous blogs, you know that I chat with homeless friends.
The other day I found myself chatting with my friends Gerald, who lives in the old bear pen in the park and Ray who lives in a shitty SRO, about depression.
They're NOT depressed, I am! WTF?
Life isn't always what we declare it to be from an outside observation.
Ray and Gerald are alcoholics, I'm depressed.
I'm a work in progress. A torn canvas hoping desperately to woo the Artist to create a masterpiece upon my very soul.
The easel is in a shambles and can hardly bear weight. The canvas is torn and faded yellow. The light is ever so dim.
I'm a work in progress. The Sun will rise and burst through the window so the Artist can create a masterpiece.
I pray my family will line up to look at it.


Friday, November 14, 2014

Spinning yarns.

I was killing time during the 1 degree Celsius night on Broadway street. I had an hour to kill before my therapy session. Procrastination is a high suit amongst those of us weighed down by the heavy fog of depression...I was in no hurry to go and see my therapist. Bare my ugly heart, my broken spirit, my anguished mind...doesn't sound like a good time does it?
I hit Tim Hortons for a decaf...any excuse really.
This particular location has its share of interesting clientele and it seems as though the staff extend a fare share of grace to the, how do I say it...less desirable humans so long as they're civil. Its a refreshing change really.
I grabbed a small decaf and watched a very old woman meticulously fold what could have been close to 100 plastic shopping bags. She toted one of those shopping bags on wheels but in all honesty, her treasures to my untrained eye looked like trash. What do I know? I don't see with her eyes...
Upstairs, 3 young Asian men played a card game very loudly with lots of laughing.
Near the toilets, a woman was engrossed with her work on her laptop. A screen play I should think. Perhaps a novel...or a blog?
At the window reading a book sat an ambulance attendant. To his immediate left was a gray haired man with his face hidden in his folded arms resting on the counter. He looked eerily still to me, but I'm sure that the medic had it covered.  
I bid the old bag woman fare well but it went un-noticed. Another night perhaps.
As I got to the pavement, I struck up a conversation with a guy that I noticed. He had just given a panhandler some change and continued to awkwardly maneuver a bike while balancing 3 six-packs of premium import lager. He was half cut and chatty and I thought it quite a skill.
John (I sense a theme here in my blogs perhaps) was cashing in his daily take at the local bottle return when a guy in a truck pulled up with as many as 60 dozen empties.
Apparently, so John said, buddy got fed up after unloading them and gave them to him to cash in. Quite a score I should think. John shouted over to two "friends" and shared the bounty. There's a lesson there in case you missed it...
John wanted just enough for 24 beers. Modesty in a world of desperation. Strange isn't it?
By the time I met John, he was 7 beers in and ready to weave a yarn or two. Snag is, I only had 20 minutes on the outside.
John freely shared a bit of his story that seems to echo unrelated around the streets and alleys of Vancouver all too frequently.
Had a home, spouse, kids, job...something went sideways suddenly. Unfortunately I didn't have the luxury of time but he did begin to sheepishly say that his "best friend"  took him for all of his money and then his wife left him. That was 14 years ago and he hasn't seen any of his 4 kids in 7 years. Or was it 7 kids in 4 years? No matter to me really. Sad either way. He has a No Contact Order. Probably another yarn there.
I figure John to be crowding 50 but in that world, an at risk kind of lifestyle, its truly difficult to guess.
John spoke about how crime was escalating in "his turf" and got quite agitated as he told me what he had done to a guy he caught doing property crime. Whether or not that particular yarn was true, I could easily imagine John being quite capable of  taking upon the task of judge, jury and sentence. His demeanor got meaner as he spoke about those "disrespecting bastards". He was getting even more elevated and all I could wonder was whether or not he was a nice calm man when sober.
Lots of people walked past us as we chatted. I could only guess by each expression and evident body language that each one  probably had questions.
What are they chatting about? Why we were chatting? Are they friends?
I think I was just passing time and be neighbourly.
John had to bounce and so did I. He told me to find him again. He usually was around that Timmys he said assuredly. I extended my hand to shake his and said good night.
John called after me... Hey Lance, they know me as Frank over there...but its really John.
Must be another yarn...

Tuesday, November 11, 2014

Fractured mirrors JOHN

I've been driving truck for a non-profit located in Vancouver BC for a year now. It's an odd job but I think I like it.
The gig has me going to various venders to pick up a variety of donations. I gain access to these generous businesses via loading bays and doors in alleys.
I prefer the randomness of the doors in the alleys to the impersonal big bay doors. The bay doors seem too sterile for me.
I meet all sorts of people in Vancouver alleys. On days off, I walk through local East Vancouver alleys rather than streets. Alleys don't lie. Trash has stories, derelict cars are full of someone's memories, even the graffiti is someone's truth inspight of my understanding of the words.
 I notice the invisible people as I work. I wave or honk at first. Time of day stuff.
Slowly I let them get to know me as I take my breaks (if any) in alleys chatting with them...if they want to engage. Many can't seem to remember the language I'm trying to communicate with. Must be from lack of use. Invisible people have no voice.
Often I give the guys that chat a coffee or something sweet to eat.
You probably won't meet Ray, Gerald or John.
One day in between telling me how much he hates the Quebec Government, the well educated John blurts out with unnecessary volume: "I HAVE 8 FUCKING CERTIFIABLE MENTAL ILLNESSES"
I laughed out loud whilest smiling and told him that I may have 2 myself, 1 for sure.
John has a place to stay. We pay for it. It's a dump I can assure you. My guess is that John doesn't have access to a daily shower or laundry facilities. I take that for granted.
John scrounges recyclables "so he doesn't go crazy" or find trouble with "idle hands."  He cashes in his bottles and cans then uses his money to buy food. He buys tinned goods usually and puts them into the food bank bin at his local Safeway. Sometimes he gives me case lots of goods he buys at a cheap outlet. He tells me to "make sure that the people who need this gets it."
I stand as close to John as he is comfortable with. I shake his hand which, incidentally is filthier than the glove he removes to grip my hand.
McDonalds has a gimmick where you buy any hot drink and you get a sticker on the cup. 7 stickers on the card gives you a free coffee or hot chocolate.
The other month John gave me 27 full cards to hand out to people I see. He finds the stickers on the cups that WE toss into the trash.
"YOU TELL THEM THAT THEY CAN HAVE A HOT CHOCOLATE IF THEY WANT IT DOESN'T HAVE TO BE COFFEE THEY WON'T TELL YOU THAT BUT THEY CAN HAVE HOT CHOCOLATE COFFEE ISN'T REALLY THAT GOOD FOR YOU"  he shouts at me in one breath as a thick white foam accumulates around the corners of his stubbled mouth. John IS passionate I'll give him that!
I notice people cut a wide berth around us at the trash can as we speak about politics. I also notice the looks strangers give him, which to me appear like daggers of pity, disgust, shock and fear.
I like John. John makes me smile. John won't come for lunch...he has far to much to gather on his daily rounds.

Sunday, November 9, 2014

silence is golden

In society, we punish people with segregation. Parents often send their kids to their rooms when they get on their nerves. Even now, at 51... I can still hear Harry (my deceased father who I miss terribly) shouting "Get out of my sight, go on outdoors" or even my soft spoken mum:  "get off my tits!"  I guess I was a busy kid, an annoying kid.
Well now I'm a busy adult and I can't stand being lonely! I do however enjoy being on my own at times. I go fishing on the river (with little success) ride my motorbike, stand at the window of the local Chinese barbecue for many minuets watching the man cut meat...but damn it, I'm alone too often and for too long! Apparently that is very bad for me!
I'm a foolish man thats doesn't stay in touch with the too few male friends that continue to try to engage me. I fear I may have learned that from Harry. He had only 1 friend. I can't recall one single evening meal where we had people over...not one! No one ever came for Christmas either. I suppose that's in part because we were new to Canada, leaving all relatives in England.
Along the way I've managed to really muck a few things up.
Life is cruel at times, and I've earned much of what has befallen me. If one could roll back the calander I have a couple of dates...
Too many times lately, I've had to grab hold of something sturdy here on Earth while looking to the heavens through burning tears while thinking about some of my worst moments. Those times where the shock waves I've created have maimed other people...and at the top of my lungs I shout MULLIGAN! 
Sadly there is no chance of a re-do. 
Some searing words that have recently gone into my ears are for now alive in my soul. Hearing the words...more than the words themselves, is the reason I'm seeking therapy. 
I've hit bottom. I'm a reckless, wayward ship on a foggy, calm breathless Sea and I'm desperate. I've lost my sail, rudder, anchor and sextant. The North star is an unidentifiable blur and I fear I'm merely drifting into the abyss.
Those words, now buried deep within, shout a new identity to me, one I hope to throw off with professional help and time.

"I'm tired of you being an absolute, utter fuck up"
 That's louder than Harry ever was...

Early diagnosis? DEPRESSION! Well, at least I'm not simply an asshole!
This blog is new. Don't like it so far? Go away...
I'm not looking for sympathy. I make no excuses for my behaviour. I will NOT cling to a victim mentality.
This is it folks...this is me, a work in progress.