I feel words

In the last 2 months I can count on one hand the number of times I've seen my friends. I was working 6 days a week, 10-16 hour days, and met someone I wanted to spend all of my free time with. After the first month I noticed my cell phone wasn't ringing as regularly as it normally would. The texts and invites to parties and social events were growing thin...a very strange thing in Whistler. I couldn't blame my friends. I made it a habit to be absent. Friendships are incredibly important to me but I knew I had to rearrange my priorities in order to focus at work. And focus I did.

Once the two months of hard work had concluded, I felt abandoned. I felt alone. I thought that I'd be happy to take time off for myself and spend some time alone. Oh I was mistaken. Last week was terrible. Down in the gutter of dark thoughts, I dwelled and held my head in my heads several times a day. No work. A man far away. And friends with whom I'd lost touch. As the week came to a close and the melancholy infected my mind, I decided that I would take a trip down to Hongcouver and reconnect with my favourite gay couple, Matt and Adam. The next day I packed a bag and dashed for the city. The moment I entered their apartment I knew I made the right choice to leave Whistler for the night. Warm hugs and incredible conversation came into play immediately. The night flowed splendidly. We inhaled a bottle of rouge and relocated to a live jazz lounge in Yaletown. The band encouraged a sense of time travel...A sense that I had disappeared into an era of flappers and feathered headbands. I ordered a 20$ pizza and two vodka waters. When my pizza arrived I had been prying my eyes open and my cheeks were flustered. I was drunkity drunk drunk. Matt and Adam witnessed my fatigue and suggested we go home once we were finished eating.



When we got back we sparked up a canon of a joint and got silly. I mean really silly. I regret not having had some sort of recording device present. Conversation topics were plentiful. Philosophy was in the air. And laughter was unavoidable. I must have giggled the way I giggled when I was 16 smoking pot in Secret Park (that's a reference for all my Beacon Hill folk). Matt had a particularly productive high as he discovered why he's a writer. "I feel words," he said. Sitting on the chaise by the window I surrendered to dream land and left my wonderful friends behind.

In the morning I saw clouds. Too many! Another gloomy day...I just couldn't take it. I sluggishly got up off the couch and we went out for breakfast. As we walked to the restaurant the clouds parted, as to say "let's give everyone a break, just for today." The afternoon was stunning. We walked the entirety of the sea wall. With my trusty new 150$ digi cam in hand I snapped photos every few steps. I was taken aback by the beauty in Vancouver. Matt and Adam live in English Bay, a truly rewarding place to live. The two of them have created an eden of their own. Floor to ceiling windows that look onto the ocean and a magnificent city scape make for a couple's everyday retreat.

I've spent quite some time in Vancouver, mainly in Gastown and Yaletown and of course doooowntown. But this was my first true Sea Wall and Stanley Park experience. We walked from their front door, over to the Lost Lagoon. It amazed me that within blocks, just minutes from the buzzing of the city, was this incredibly calm land by the water. Matt and Adam, arms linked, walked ahead as I froze to enjoy the scenery. Like a sponge, I soaked it all in. I took a moment to evaluate the last 2 months I spent as an Assistant Producer with a television show. Naturally a deep feeling of nostalgia blew over as the melancholy planned its infiltration. But the sundance on the water and the clean air that I was breathing in formed a moat around me. I was finally able to reflect without tears, without the "poor me" syndrome, and without the feeling of desertion.

Armed with a new sense of triumph, I continued to walk with Matt and Adam who patiently listened to me meander among words about relationships. I had so much to share and their ears were approachable. We reached the Sea Wall somewhere between my babbling and our collective foot steps. Standing in front of me I noticed the oddest structure. Not quite uprigt, and defininitely taken out of context, this structure reminded me of the Crooked Kitchen. For some who aren't familiar with the "Crooked" or the "Crazy Kitchen," allow me to elaborate. The Crazy Kitchen is a very popular installation found at the Canadian Museum of Science and Technology in Ottawa, Ontario. It's designed to give you motion sickness. One corner of the room is slanted by 12 degrees, making it 2 feet higher than the other side of the room. The tiles, the countertops, the table and chairs, are all designed to seem flat and in place. So, your eyes are telling you one thing, and your body is struggling to remain upright. As I stared at this structure along the Sea Wall I couldn't tell if the logs were lopsided, or the railing behind it was angled, or the structure itself was toppling over. But I reverted to a time when I was a child and walking through the Crazy Kitchen was as good as a roller coaster ride.

Next, we decided to walk over to Yaletown, so we headed for Granville. On our way, we ignorantly stumbled onto a film set. Suddenly, all of the vehicles had European license plates, and the street signs were written in German. Even billboards were replaced with ads found in downtown Frankfurt. At a standstill, we finally realized what we'd walked into. A snotty queen asked Adam if he was wearing his sunglasses in the last shot. Confused, he hesitated to respond. The snotty queen then said, without hesitation, "You're going to have to leave." Having just worked on a tv set shot on location, I knew what it was like to tell people they needed to ditch the scene, but I'd always use the word please when asking someone to flee. This man had a chip on his shoulder and a stick so far up his ass I thought I could see it coming out of his mouth. We bitched about him for a few blocks until we arrived at Yaletown.

A little window shopping and the day was complete as we wandered back to English Bay. I collected my things and said my goodbyes and headed for my white van. The two hour drive home was a pensive one. I had a nice little getaway but it was time to return to the bubble that I call home. With honesty and conviction, I would like to say the escape worked. It was probably the perfect combination of great company, red wine, and magnificent sights, that were responsible for the quick resurrection of my fiery soul.

an introduction

Matters of the heart always bare the deepest part of us. To write about them is to write about our insides. To reveal our fears and our weaknesses. But also to share with the world the beauty and passion we've encountered. The most radiant souls confess everything... like an open book they tell tales of courage and loyalty and of course, love. At times, these tales provide hope, and others provide rationality. Oh, since when is love rational? No. No it isn't. But all things rational must exist in order to carry us through the irrational ups and downs of the heart.

Each experience we take with us plants a seed. A seed of rational thought. It's important to allow these seeds to grow. They will form dimensions in our spirit that prove useful in the future. We're all dynamic beings. Ever changing. It's only natural to accept these growths and to nourish them because they will evolve as we do. A fair warning: not every seed is light. Not every seed possesses positivity. In fact, many seeds that are planted will be dark and grounding. Some will be humbling. Still, they are all necessary. Once we've adopted them and welcomed them into our core they are no longer baggage. They weigh nothing as they become one with us. a past lover. a dead friend. a broken window. We no longer drag the emotional anchor. Instead, we have enhanced our existence. We have enhanced our being. We've taken a negative experience and placed it somewhere it can be beneficial. We learn from the past, always, but must remember that our future is sovereign. These seeds, these growths that are within us, they're not ghosts. They push us in the right direction, they push us towards a progressive self. If we don't nourish them, they can turn on us. They'll reiterate jealousy, greed, and anger. It's vital that we don't ignore the seeds as they flourish. And when a gloomy seed tickles our ego, our emotions, our mind, then pay attention to it but don't go backwards. Don't revert to the source of the seed, because it's gone. The seed is there to represent what has past. The seed is an ambassador of the things no longer present. Only look to the seed for guidance... no further.

For the heart door to unlock we must have faith in everything that's blossomed within us. If we are not supported by internal entities, external beings will have a difficult time connecting. Knowing yourself takes a lifetime. This is not about knowing ourselves. This is about awareness and acceptance. Aware of our flaws and acceptance of our weaknesses. Ignoring the seeds will lead to failure. To acknowledge and be honest is to own ourselves. And to own one's self is noble. Nothing bad ever came from being noble, did it?

he travelled on his spirit's two feet

deeply he spoke into the cave where he saw his soul's face
it surprised him with its resilient smile, a soothing sight it was.
not all are as lucky as he, for most of us have souls with no expression at all.
he knew how fortunate he was and so set forth into the cave.
he was searching for a life force stronger than his own
but what was there at the end and into the deepest part of the earth
was nothing more than everything he already knew.
nothing more than his memories. his emotions. his most promised ideas.

"why have you come here?" the cave asked.
and he stood there, boldly, with nothing to say.
she demanded words or she would strip him of his humanity slowly.
a threat so large he froze and a tear of ice fell from his eye and his eye bled.
recognizing the man's perpetual passion for life and the human race
she urged him once more.
"why my dear creature have you sought me out?"
a calm flowed through his veins and encouraged him to speak softly to her.
"I've come to find the seed that grows beneath my spirit's feet."
with a gentle grin she responded with great wisdom
"It is there, up there on the surface. somewhere near and dear to you. it is with you everyday and in the air when you breathe.
it is not in religion or adrenaline. it is not in books or the arts. but it is strong. and it is yours forever."

wounded by her words he left the cave with a sense of dissatisfaction
he would spend the rest of his life searching for the seed that grows beneath his spirit's feet
and it was a task that gave him a sense of fulfillment and ambition until the end of his time.
and he never, not for a breath, not for a thought, questioned himself again.

the monogamist's throne

What is it about pairing off as the end all be all to our personal success in life? Why do we feel complimented, justified, complete, when we find someone who loves us, cherishes us, and wants to grow old with us? What's so great about someone loving you romantically? Isn't it sufficient to have friends in your life who would die for you? Take a bullet for you?



I think humanity has a serious ego issue. This is probably why women in relationships often don't get along well with women who are single. Not only do they believe every single gal out there is on the hunt for a man, but they tend to think that every woman who talks to their spouse is hitting on them. Sure, they might be insecure, but does that really vindicate the dagger eyes? Perhaps. Circumstances could ask for it I suppose. And why is it, being single inspires pity from other people? "So, are you seeing anyone special? No? Oh, don't worry, you'll find someone soon, you're a great person." Thank you, I know I'm a great person, I don't need a ball and chain to legitimize my existence in this regressive society!

I refuse to indulge in the hierarchy of the monogamist's union. When I enter a healthy relationship and find someone I can tolerate for more than five minutes, it will be solely for the reasons of enjoying their company. I don't need arm candy. A spouse shouldn't be treated as an accessory. "This is my boyfriend, see how well he goes with my new smile?" Just the other night my friend told me that his friend dated someone of 'high' status, which automatically makes her a catch. Um, excuse me? She hooked a successful guy so suddenly that makes her admirable? We must stop praising people for their abilities to lure men and women towards us and start praising them for who they are as individuals. If we don't, we'll only perpetuate this pathetic display of superficial relationship syndrome.




Just to clarify here, I am not anti-monogamy by any means. I definitely prefer being in a healthy relationship than being single. But I don't think I'm any less of a person if I don't have someone in my life. And I don't need pity. I'm happy when I'm single. I'm sad when I'm single. I'm happy when I'm with someone, and I can get sad when I'm with someone. It's all the same. The key is finding things you love other than love itself.

free love -- for ashley dawn

free love is the best love.
it moves with the wind, caressing the trees, stroking the leaves, bringing life to the silent wood.
when it sleeps, it rests in the earth, where it lay, seducing you, bringing you closer.
as you open your soul to nature, free love finds a new home.it now lives within you, eternally. streaming through your soul, lifting you above the clouds of your personal burden.
that is where you will rest.
where WE will rest, as ambassadors of free love.

the riddle of the rattle

No subject is taboo between one of my closest friends Justin and I. One night, hangin' in my room chattin' away, I brought up the topic of a fulfilling life. In particular, my fear that I may never slip into the niche I was meant to find and will ultimately lead a life of pointlessness. I explained to him that I'm not really sure what makes me happy. I know what tickles me pink and what leaves a stink. But what on earth makes me, above all other things and people in the world, HAPPY. Justin believes that happiness is an illusion, one of his many beliefs I don't completely agree with but respect nonetheless. I always try to take his ideals into consideration when determining my stance on an inssue. He explained that everything is perspective. We can create our own reality. We can choose to be happy. We can choose to think positively. Or we can choose to go the darker route.

Assuming everything is perspective and happiness is an illusion, then I wonder, is ignorance truly bliss? Nobel Prize winner Anatole France once said that "a person is never happy except at the price of some ignorance." Should we agree then? This makes me think of the rattle snake. The rattle snake is one of my favourite groups of snakes for many reasons: they are one of the few snakes who give birth to live young, as opposed to laying eggs. They are venemous and can strike faster than the human eye can even follow, a trait found only in this species. Because they are often underestimated in speed and length of reach, they are damn good at biting people. But the greatest thing about them, and what makes them relevant to this here blog post, is that they can't hear their own rattle. And believe me, I've worked with rattle snakes back in the day (Little Ray's Reptile Zoo, kudos to you guys!) the rattling is not quiet. Rattle snakes are oblivious to their warning sign (the rattle). It's a natural instinct for them. Humans don't have the luxury of acting entirely on instinct. We are burdened with deep thinking, contemplation, emotions. How are we meant to find 'happiness?' Is Justin right, is it an illusion? Or is life an illusion, a distraction, from the inevitable feeling of loneliness until we meet our end: death.

Perhaps happiness is a journey. So long as we continue to search for it throughout our lives, we will find it in the end, once our life in this world has finished. Or perhaps humanity is incapable of happiness because we are observers, or at least some of us are (I know I am). My analytical side is definitely a tragic flaw. Observing makes it difficult for us to determine what reality is and how we are supposed to find our niche. As my friend Chloe, an aspiring photographer, says, "everyone wants to be a photographer." It's true, most people are searching for a unique experience, a unique lifestyle, daring to be different. But in doing so we are one and the same. Writers, painters, musicians, athletes. Chasing your passion seems to be the "in" thing to do these days, which makes it even tougher to get there. This world is competitive and having the right perspective, a wide perspective, can make or break you.

I recently read a very interesting book, Happiness: A history, written by a historian, Darrin McMahon that investigates the everchanging standard of what we consider to be happiness. He explores all of the ways in which humanity has sought out to be happy, and the dynamic relationship our species has with the things that are meant to get us there. There was a time when happiness was thought only to be attainable in the after life, and that the lives they led on earth were for suffering, serving, and sacrifice. Supposedly, the Greeks were the first to jump into the idea of 'pursuing' happiness. If this is true 'happiness' as an entity is fairly young.

While Anatole France believed happiness comes only with ignorance, philosopher Thomas Aquinas believed happiness is to seek truth. With this in mind, I find my thoughts running circles around the idea of perspective and reality. Seeking truth is unprofitable without some idea of reality, or even a belief that there is such a thing. How are we to determine what's real and what's not, what's true and what's false, if all we have to go on is our perspective?

As trivial as these questions may be, they bring to the surface many aspects of ignorance. If we do not ask these questions, if we do not question our lives, our spirituality, our competence, our meaning, our world, our consciousness, our government or even our supposed reality, then would we be happy as a species?Oblivious to our purpose, we could achieve true happiness should we be capable of distracting ourselves long enough.

in the league of the clit

Clitoris
–noun Anatomy.
the erectile organ of the vulva, homologous to the penis of the male.

I don't think I necessarily agree with this definition entirely, at least the part pertaining to the penis of the male. If literature on the clitoris continues to compare the clit to the penis then it will only perpetuate the lack of skilled clit commanders in this world. Men will never master the art of tapping into this source of pleasure if they think it even remotely works the same as their dick.

First of all, the clitoris exists soley to provide sexual pleasure to us women, also known as goddesses. The clitoral glans (not to be mistaken for glands) has more nerve endings than the penis, consequently making our magic button a little more magically sensitive than your (male) magic wand. With this information on the table now I would like to extend a message to all you men out there who don't really understand: STOP PUTTING SO MUCH PRESSURE ON MY CLIT. It hurts. It's ticklish. It's not fun or sexy or pleasurable.

Secondly, the clitoris allows the blood that flows INTO it back OUT again continuously, allowing for us goddesses to experience multiple orgasms (A side note: one orgasm is more than enough for me to handle, though many women swear by their multi-dose of the big O). The penis is not this smart. Instead, men have to wait some set amount of time before he can get going again, and this interval changes for everyone.

So in a nutshell, don't suck the clit off when you're going down on us. Don't put too much pressure until advised to do so (some women have a less sensitive clit and need lots of pressure). And for the love of the sex gods, do not bite down.

Now accepting applications for Clit Commanders of all ranks.

a mimbo could be your slave

Last night I went on a pseudo-date with the most beautiful piece of man meat here in my town of Whistler, British Columbia. I say pseudo-date due to the fact that an actual date usually possesses the intention of getting to know someone you're attracted to, having some time alone with them, some conversation perhaps. Conversation I did not engage in. Physical interaction however, was plentiful.

His lips touched mine so passionately and desperately I thought he may consume my very existence right there in that kiss. He was so hungry for me. His hands travelled along my body and my skin responded with millions of goosebumps on every part of me. I was paralyzed with pleasure. But it was then, in those very moments of pure euphoria that I realized "shit, I'm on a date with a mimbo." How could I let this happen? How did I get involved with such a vacant being? I was so very disappointed in myself. Was it his beautiful baby blues? Was it the smile from cheek to cheek? It certainly wasn't his charm. This poor little man had been pursuing me for a little while now, asking me to spend time with him. I hesitated at first because I am (as always) hung up on someone else. But that was the reason I decided to say yes after all. I thought if I became involved with someone else, perhaps my emotional attachment to the other would dissolve.

Let me tell you something: it doesn't work that way. At least not with someone who has nothing more to offer you than an orgasm and hours upon hours of cuddles. That's another thing, the dude wanted to hold me constantly! Cuddling with someone you aren't into as a person is not satisfying, it's just fucking suffocating.
I didn't sleep with him (thank god), but I did get a preview of the situation 'down there' and is it ever satisfying. Girth, length, smoothness of skin, shaved pubes, the works! Yes that's right ladies and gents, my mimbo has a perfect penis. PERFECT. No curving in any direction, no foreskin, no hair, and no erectile dysfunction. Should I decide to sleep with him I'm sure I'll be tickled pink...

Even with a perfect penis and a perfect body and a smile that sends me away to some far land where beautiful people are my slaves and the beds are draped in silk, I have no interest in him. He has nothing to say. Nothing at all. He even mentioned he was glad Bush wasn't recently re-elected....BUSH. Oh my goodness. During one of the very rare moments we exchanged a few words I counted the amount of times he said the word 'like.' I don't even want to repeat the number for I'm afraid you wouldn't believe me.

Whistler is full of his type of man: Hot, talented rider, tall T's and mad steeze.....Oh ya...and dumb as Alicia Silverstone in Clueless. In the morning when I left I patted him on the head with utmost pity and said "catchya later." I left him there like a poor puppy, all alone while his owners are off to work. I doubt I'll hang out with him again, but if I do it'll be to feed the kitty and nothing else.

A Creative Spill from Del Toro's Mind: A Review of Pan's Labyrinth

This is a review I wrote for the radio. I once had a radio segment, but those days are long gone.

I want to start off by pointing out that Pan’s Labyrinth is food for both the regular moviegoers and critics. It’s receiving so much praise not by accident, but because it’s genuinely a well-made and entertaining film. The minority of audience members who have disliked it have criticized it for being too much like other fairy tale films. Or Too much like other war films. Vidal has been compared to Goethe from Schindler’s list. Ofelia’s adventure has been accused of being a reconstruction of Sarah’s journey in the famous film, Labyrinth. But these opinions are far and few between. Of course Pan’s Labyrinth is going to assume the shape of a typical war film and a typical fantasy film. But what is atypical about it is its ability to mold the two genres together, and create something unique. If we’re going to criticize Pan’s Labyrinth for plagiarism we might as well call up Jim Henson and Wolfgang Petersen and tell them Guillermo Del Toro stole from their films The Never Ending Story (1984) and Labyrinth (1986) and decided to make a box-office career out of their imagination. I don’t see any resemblance between the creatures of either film and the incredibly inventive creatures of Pan’s. Perhaps some narrative structural elements are common. The adventure, the journey, the ambiguity of reality and fantasy. But in any fairy tale film, these elements will apply. This by no means takes away from the film’s value or quality. So, with this tangent out of the way, I’d like to express why I’ve been so blown away by this film.

As I said, Pan’s Labyrinth is appealing both to the mainstream and the critical audiences. It’s visually stimulating, the sound editing is efficient, the directing is optimal, even the acting is pretty damn good. Gore, and horror are not scarce, but not over done either. The violence is necessary to the plot, and the camera angles work to demonstrate the viciousness of these scenes. But what makes this film so stunning is the story. I’m beyond impressed that Del Toro was capable of creating such an imaginative piece of art. Now, there are many films just as breath taking and powerful. There are many films that speak to their audience loudly and leave them with an emotional response. The story of Pan’s Labyrinth was born in Del Toro’s mind, and his mind alone. Children of Men, is a good example of a film I’ve recently viewed and felt moved, disturbed, enlightened, and the like. The fact that it made me feel so strongly alone makes me appreciate it for what it is, a powerful film. But, it’s a film adapted from a novel. It’s a regurgitation of someone else’s imagination, and re-created appropriately for the screen. I by no means want to diminish Children of Men’s excellence or Alfonso Cuaron’s ability to screen write. It is incredibly difficult to adapt a novel into a screenplay. Not only because you must face the possibility of horrific scrutiny from lovers of the novel, but also it is rather hard to take someone else’s creative expression and stay true to it but also making it your own. But my point is, that Del Toro created an entire universe, which only a fragment of was shown in the film. Ok, so what do I mean by this?

Firstly, for a fantasy world like that in Pan’s Labyrinth to exist, one must develop the details. Since we only see a small portion of this mystical underworld in the film, we don’t really know what the rest of it contains, but it does exist in some form elsewhere…in Del Toro’s mind. Basically, when writing a screenplay as ingenious as Pan’s, if you want to accurately depict a small portion of another universe, or a world unlike the one we see today, then it is imperative to build the foundation. So what I’m saying is, although we only see a small segment of the underworld, Del Toro, at some point, perhaps during brainstorming, perhaps in his mind alone, had to fully create every detail of that universe. Why it is, where it is, how it functions, who lives there, who does what, is it dark? Is it beautiful? How old is this world? All of these things are details that must be acquired in order to express even the tiniest of imagery or portion of that world. If this ‘background’ or ‘foundation’ was not set first, then what we see as an audience member wouldn’t ring true. Wouldn’t make sense. And wouldn’t have the effect it has on us. So, for a screenwriter to imagine this world and make it come to life so beautifully in the language of film, is an astounding display of imagination. A display we don’t see enough of in films today. And for that, I say give the Oscar for best original screenplay to Guillermo Del Toro and his beautiful mind.

On an analytical and deeper level, I’d like to take a minute to explore some allegorical structures found in the film. Interestingly, there is a bridge formed within the film’s narrative between the resistance fighters and the Captain and this bridge is found within Ofelia. While the political spectrum is very black and white, there is a tremendous amount of ambiguity surrounding Ofelia and her journey. Is the underworld real? Is she really a princess? Or is this a part of her mind? We could sit here and debate this for hours and neither of us would come up with any definitive answer with enough evidence because, problematically there’s evidence for both sides. I won’t get into detail as to what this evidence is because I wouldn’t want to spoil anything, but it’s important when seeing this film not to stress too much about whether or not this journey is real. What IS important, however, is the fact that it really is so ambiguous. The structure of the narrative following the resistance fighters and the military is so cut and dry that I’m tempted to say there are archetypes present. Now, I won’t use that word since it has a bit of a negative connotation, but I’ll elaborate on this point. Captain Vidal and his officials are always portrayed as merciless, cold, and evil. While the resistance fighters are innocent victims, good people, and warm hearted Spaniards. There is no ambiguity here. The story developed around these two groups of people is very much a good vs. evil structure. But Ofelia’s story is often in question. Can Ofelia trust Pan? Is she REALLY the princess of the underworld? And even if she is, does this underworld exist only in her mind? However frightening or suspicious her journey seems to be, Ofelia continues to explore and determine her own identity. She does this not by obeying Pan’s every wish, not by obeying her mother or her cruel stepfather the Captain, she does this by her own means. So, having said that, there’s something fairly interesting that most would catch onto and that is, the parallel drawn between Ofelia and the Captain. Vidal is accused of being the type of person who “obeys without question.” Clearly, Vidal being the villain, this is not a desirable trait to possess. In Spain, at the time of 1944, grave repression took place due to Franco’s recent victory. Executions were distributed like candy, and Spain was in a state of fear. Those who “obey without question” were those who obeyed Franco. Those who questioned were killed. A smaller version of this is revealed in Pan’s when the Captain kills two farmers without remorse, kills the doctor, and well, kills anything really. Spain’s repressive state caused darkness among the people everywhere, but nobody who wanted to keep their lives would speak of their fear. The Captain is a man able to obey without question, and in retrospect is of weaker character. A little while after Vidal is accused of being one who obeys without question, Ofelia is told to obey Pan without question. Exactly in those words “obey me without question.” In the end, she disobeys him, but her disobedience allows her to become who she’s meant to be, and on a spiritual level conquer Vidal entirely.

As an aspiring screenwriter, I can’t stress enough how much this masterpiece has spoken to me. Both on the surface and deeper levels of my film viewing experiences. If you can let go, and accept its similarities to other fairy tale films, other war films, and just take it in, you’ll love it. Every genre film will carry common traits, and this one is a fusion of two very different genres yet it blends to make one unique and compelling film.

Breathe in the Nil

An increasing amount of North America’s population is suffering from clinical depression, myself included. The most common ‘remedy’ is to take SSRIs (Selective serotonin reuptake inhibitors). This medication promotes the reuptake of serotonin (a neurotransmitter, like dopamine and others) and in doing so is meant to help with severe depression. I am currently taking Cipralex, an SSRI with the fewest side effects. However, in the last few months I’ve noticed an increase in these so-called “temporary” effects. Here is a list of the most common side effects that Cipralex claims to last only during the first few weeks of consumption:

• Insomnia/vivid and strange dreams
• Confusion
• Shaking in the hands
• Diarrhea/constipation/nausea
• Decreased appetite
• Dizziness
• Sleepiness
• Nervousness
• Sexual problems
• Inflammation of the sinuses
• Pain in the muscles and joints
• Increased sweating
• Rash or itching
• Fear/Paranoia

Out of the fourteen most common “temporary” side effects, I have been experiencing eleven. Eleven out of fourteen.

I was prescribed Cipralex in October of 2007 and it is only in the last few months that these effects have surfaced. I can’t sleep, and when I do I experience terrible nightmares usually vivid enough to throw me into a rattled state of mind for the rest of the day. My deep love for the taste of foods has sadly decreased immensely and I’m finding it more and more difficult to feel alive. I gain no pleasure in the activities I once considered to be fulfilling. My sex drive, though still present, is fluctuating in levels of intensity. I’m constantly tired and without energy, even though I can’t sleep when I want to. I’m constantly on edge, nervous, anxious, and afraid. I find it hard to concentrate on issues that I am passionate about, and therefore can’t form opinions or arguments as well as I once could. In other words, my intellect is in serious question, and for me, this is the most upsetting ‘side effect.’

As a result of my recent frustrations with this ‘remedy’ for depression, I started to wonder: Is this what my pursuit of happiness has become? The path to contentment starts with a bottle of 10mg tablets? Whatever happened to inner peace, inner strength, independence? I’ve noticed that my “depression” has now manifested into the feeling that I’m simply “not enough.” I need a steady relationship to feel complete, a steady job to feel successful, a tight group of friends to feel loved, and a busy lifestyle to distract myself from the inevitable feeling of loneliness. I am a logical woman, and to me, this statement rings completely illogical. Why should all of these external entities define me? They don’t. But that doesn’t change the fact that when a relationship isn’t up to par, or a friendship is falling apart, I doubt myself. I begin to think negatively about the world and about my immediate self.

If I am a naturally emotional woman who tends to think too much and too negatively and therefore allows herself to fall into a depression, are psychiatric drugs really the answer? I don’t believe they are, at least not for me. The problem, then, lies in myself. I have a consistent need to help people and I’m in a constant search for meaning. Perhaps I’m searching in the wrong places. To pull myself out of this depression I will need to make drastic changes in my thinking patterns, my lifestyle, and my goals.

The purpose of this piece is to find others like me so we can bounce ideas around and somehow come to terms with the best ways to rectify our unfortunate states of mind. Psychoanalysis? Behavioral therapy? Yoga? For some it may be one of those methods and for others it may be all of them. But I believe communicating with each other is a wonderful way to release our fears without feeling judged. Sharing this with a shrink is all fine and dandy but sometimes it’s difficult to ignore the pen and paper they have in front of them as you speak. Friends are helpful but there remains the fact that they just don’t get it. They try to. They really do. But at the end of the day there is no universal sensation in place.

Lately I’ve noticed that sunshine helps a great deal but only provides a temporary relief from my constant struggle to feel alive and well. I’m not miserable. I’m just not happy. As Moka Only says, “it’s not that everything really sucks, I just don’t feel like a million bucks.”