When I don’t know what to say… i say it with dots. When I don’t know what to say, I write it here. When I don’t what to say, I write. I want to be heard, I just don’t know how to say it with my shaky and uncertain voice.

I have been perusing through my posts lately, trying to figure out where and what I am trying to say. There is a direction there.. and it is so glaringly clear.

The thing is.. I have never felt so vulnerable as I do now. Never.

And I want to be heard. I want to do everything… I want more.. so much more than I have ever allowed myself to do.

This past month has challenged me in so many ways. So many perfect, and scary, and amazing ways. It has taught me patience and a will to fight for what I believe in.. wholeheartedly, without my somewhat selfish and terrified soul in consideration. My fear and extreme self doubt has taken second place. And this has never happened before. And it is good. It is what I have been fighting for my whole life. A belief in something greater than me.

These recent chaotic, brilliant moments have allowed me to practice my authenticity. To declare loudly that I am vulnerable and strong and worthy of love. That I am not afraid to say with the written word that I am ok.. I am better than I ever was because I am not afraid to fail.. or to try. That I have had moments that have made me melt in so many delicious ways.. and I am not afraid to talk about it or feel like I am not deserving of it.

So with this, I am going to continue to just go… go forward and hope and fight for all things deserving. I will continue to take the needs of others close to my heart and welcome them, because we are all the same really… just looking for love and acceptance and meaning in this world. I will practice patience and above all else respect for those that I simply adore.

And, above all else.. I will write.. unashamed, unafraid.





Rebirthing and Writer’s Block


I feel I that I have let you down oh mighty WordPress. I have not written anything meaningful. The truth is that I am tired. I am healing, and I don’t feel like writing. I don’t feel like doing much. But I am pushing.. rebirthing if you will. So, stay with me and be patient for I will return. Slowly.

Rebirthing and Writer’s Block

Yoga and the art of being broken


So, here I am doing a kick-ass handstand. I am really good at it. Kidding… this is by no means me. In fact handstands don’t even happen in my dreams. I have been able to do them though. I think I was about ten and my brother and I used to whip ourselves into handstands in the basement against my Dad’s workshop door. I can’t imagine that they were graceful, but I do remember them being fun.
Truth is, I have been frequenting yoga for some time now. I did it a bit in Vancouver, but I was more concerned with losing weight and figuring out why I hated boys than I was about the phenomenal and life changing internal benefits.
While here in Toronto, I have been going to Kula Yoga in the Annex. Wow, I can not even tell you what a welcoming place it is. First of all, they offer classes that are only $8.00. Yoga is expensive, and this break in the wallet is welcomed by me and I am sure that multitude of students that live close to here.
Then, as soon as you walk in the door  there is a sign that says something along these lines. “We aim to be a welcoming space and welcome all sizes and shapes. We aim to be Fat-Positive, Trans and Queer Positive, and welcome folks with all abilities.”

I try not to do the hard classes like Power and Hot Yoga. I feel I may resent yoga if I do. Instead I try to do Gentle Yoga, Restorative Yoga, and Queer Yoga…. Yes that is right there is a yoga for us queer folk (not like the others aren’t welcoming, but this one is our own).
Today I went to Gentle Yoga. As always I felt great. My sciatica screamed in pain, but it was the kind of pain that hurt so good. I still don’t say Namaste because I feel it is culturally not mine, but the rest is great.
What was remarkable about today was the end. I can’t remember what the actual pose name is, but in English it is called the corpse pose. You are basically lying on the ground, breathing well, and trying to tap in to the inner soul we all have.


I felt good, relaxed, more relaxed than I have for a very long time. My mind started to drift off. I thought about random things. I turned my head to the side and immediately it reminded me of my mom. It reminded me of when I sat with her as she lay dying. I watched her breathe for 10 hours with the help of a machine. Near the end I noticed that her breath was slowing. Everyone that was there with me had left the room about 5 minutes before this. She looked peaceful. I grabbed her hand and told her that it was ok. We would all be ok. She stopped breathing. Her head tilted to the right, just like mine did. Her colour drained from her face but her hands were still warm. She looked like my mom, but she was gone. I knew that she knew that I was there. She opened her eyes about two hours before that and stared at me. I said hi. She closed her eyes soon after that. She would never open them again.
This memory made me start crying while I was in corpse pose (strange irony I know). It was a sad cry, but it was also a cry of release. I felt ok. I felt a bit like my mom was now telling me that it would all be ok.
I continued to think about why I was crying. Why this practice of yoga was doing this to me. This practice of yoga was in fact healing me. I barely cried when my mom died. I stayed strong. I grieved, but I didn’t let go. Today I was letting go. Yoga was breaking me open. It was allowing all the bad to leave. It was opening to allow me to heal again. All the shit (and I mean shit) that had happened this year is finally leaving. I am allowing myself to heal. I am raw, and sad, and hopeful. I have been gaining clarity. Things are really starting to make sense. Thank you yoga for allowing me to do that.


Yoga and the art of being broken

Some things to get your through the night


F.Lux Software

f.lux makes your computer screen look like the room you’re in, all the time. When the sun sets, it makes your computer look like your indoor lights. In the morning, it makes things look like sunlight again.

Tell f.lux what kind of lighting you have, and where you live. Then forget about it. f.lux will do the rest, automatically.

Today I will get a little technical. I went to my Mental Health Peer Support Group tonight. During a point in the evening we discuss whatever it is we want to discuss. I have been having extreme issues with falling asleep. When I close my eyes a multitude of nonsense and bullshit cloud my brain. Some of it is logical, and some of it is not.

What is for dinner? I love Guns N Roses. I miss Wyatt. Rachel is a bitch. I hate this. Go the fuck to sleep. I miss my mom. Closing time… one last call for alcohol.

Panic ensues and I have to either open my eyes and stare at the ceiling fan to try and calm down or envision a stop sign (as my BFF told me once to do). I than wake up a groggy mess at a ridiculously late hour. Than I get mad that I slept in. Anxiety ensues. My day is shot.

It was suggested to me that I try a few things:


1. Nature Music


2. A pad and paper next to my bed to write down ideas that come into my head.


3. F-Lux

I have placed a pad and paper next to my bed.

I have Googled “music to put you to sleep”

I have installed F.Lux. I am typing with it on now.

Wish me luck and I will post the results.

Some things to get your through the night

Soooo… I’m Crazy! :)



So, I’m crazy. For real. I have a DIAGNOSIS. I have clinical depression and anxiety disorder. For those that are unsure of what that really means consider yourself lucky. Imagine if you will experiencing the following scenarios:

1. You barely remember the last three years of your life.

2. You wake up in the middle of the night and you don’t know who you are.

3. You look in the mirror and don’t recognize yourself.

4. The thought of the Universe and infinity drives you to feel hollow and absolutely terrified.

5. You wake up and are afraid of what the day will bring.

6. You cut your arms with a razor because it stops the thoughts from overtaking your mind.

7. You forget where you live.

8. Your back aches continually and all you want to eat are triscuits.

9. A marathon of Breaking Bad is the only thing keeping you somewhat coherent.

10. Nothing makes sense anymore.

These are a few of the hundreds of examples of what depression and anxiety are like for me. I understand it is a chemical imbalance, but for those that suffer…. it is complete hell. It sucks. It isn’t fair. I really just want to be normal.

So tonight, in my crusade to do something about it, I went to a Mental Health Peer Support Group. There were 21 of us in the small, poorly lit room at a hospital in Roncesvalles. The last time I went to a hospital, my mom died so this was a hard place for me to enter. But I did.

It was a lively bunch of folks that greeted me at the door. I was scared, and a little taken aback. Young and old, short and tall, these folks were a bunch of strangers that may save my life one day, or at least give me a reason to get out of bed in the morning.

Because what we say in this group is confidential, there is not much I can disclose, but that is not the moral of this post. The moral is this. I have a glimmer of hope that someday I will be ok. I have a will to continue. I made it to the Mental Health Support Group. I may have no idea what I am doing half of the time as of late, and am still coming to terms that I have returned to Toronto after a long stay in Vancouver, but regardless I did something proactive.

And with this, the one thing that I got out of the meeting is this… wait for it… I am better with a schedule. Chaos and nothingness freak me out. I need a purpose… always. So as of now, my one thing that I will commit to is writing in this blog. Every day. I have to..

Please join me on my journey….

Soooo… I’m Crazy! :)

The Things You Notice While Watching Your Mother Sleep

Image Just a quick caveat… I do not know these people. I felt like I should showcase them however, because at some point their children will realize that their penchant for naked selfies and long dark hair are in fact their parents fault.

For the past couple of days I have been spending some time at a hospital watching my mom sleep. As a cancer patient, who is at the whim of the B.C. Health Care System (Universal Health Care…. we have to love it as Canadians) my mom has been pumped up full of morphine in order to mask the effects of an awful disease that has yet to be treated. This has led her to a shit tonne of sleeping. I have had the awkward pleasure of watching her do that because there really is nothing else to do in that room other than stare at her roommate who likes to listen to his Sony Walkman and snore.

There are two main things that I have reflected on about my personality whilst reflecting on myself in the face of morphine.

#1: My mom hates people helping her. Therefore, I hate people helping me.

#2: My dad hates it when people don’t help him. Therefore, I hate it when people don’t help me.

You can see where the confusion lay. As I said to my brother today as we were getting our third dose of caffeine, “it’s no wonder we are both so fucked up.”

Please don’t think that I am blaming my parents for who I am or the limitations I may have. Absolutely not. What I am saying is that their actions/personalities have most likely influenced my inability to understand what I actually want, or who I actually am. And, it probably happened to them by their parents, and so on, and so on….

If you think about it, ones parents/caretakers/etc. are the centre of a kid’s world for the most important part of their developing lives. Our morals, our thoughts, our dreams, and our life rules are pretty much determined by the age of 10. For me, what I remember most about my morals were as follows:

“Do not have sex until you are 21.”

“You eat too much.”

“We don’t like Jehovah’s Witnesses.”

Worldy, I know. And none of it stuck. Thank goodness.

But, what I am trying to get at is that I feel like I have had to play the game of “how much should I care” for most of my life.

For example today. My mom is sick, yes. She is entitled to ask for the help she wants. My Dad is not sick. He wants to help my mom. They are divorced. Mom does not want help from him. He says he will do it anyways.

Mom. “We are divorced. We no longer have to do anything for each other.”

Dad. “We are divorced however, I took a vow to be there in sickness and in health.”

Dallas. “Mom, you are totally right. You are divorced and this is what happens. And Dad, I feel the same way about vows. You made a promise, in good times and in bad.”

See, no substance to my response…. because I don’t have my own!

So, the moral of the story today is… Dallas become your own person and stand by what you believe. 

I believe in love quite honestly. I believe in dedication. I believe in friendship. I believe in a created family. But I also believe in independence. But what I really see from all of this is a fight for everyone involved. Yes, my mom is sick, but we are all fighting that fucking C-word with her. She calls the shots, and we need to stand by her.. and with her.

There, I made a decision about my morals and myself. I love it when people help me… but under my rules. I don’t like broken promises. I believe in forever.

Until next time…

The Things You Notice While Watching Your Mother Sleep

Day Two: One-Word Prompts



So, my hope for this book that I am writing is that it chronicle my odd and enchanting (?) life. So, with this in mind, I purchased The Book of Me: a do it yourself memoir I haven’t touched it since 2010, and the reasons why will be chronicled on another day. But, for now… let’s start with The Book of Me; a do it yourself memoir section, “One-Word Prompts.”


“Even one-word prompts can rev up your thinking and stir up an insight. Write quickly and don’t second guess yourself.”

When do you feel….

Adored: when I am with friends

Afraid: when I think about being alone

Ambitious: when I am writing

Angry: when I think about my parents

Ashamed: when I think about my mental issues

Bored: right now

Cocky: when talking about feminism

Confused: all the time

Content: never

Courageous: when my heart beats

Cruel: when someone breaks my heart

Disappointed: when someone breaks my heart

Embarrassed: when I feel really fat

Exhausted: after I volunteer

Grateful: when I am at yoga

Greedy: when I am practicing what I learned in counselling

Guilty: when I borrow money from my parents

Happy: when surrounded by puppies

Inspired: when I am with my nephew

Intimidated: when I am with like-minded folks

Jealous: every fucking minute

Left out: when I was in highschool.

Lonely: when I am in a strange city alone.

Needed: When I am at work

Obsessed: When I am in a relationship or eating a bag of chips

Passionate: when I am writing

Proud: when I graduated University and when I produced my first Pride Parade

Relieved: when I lie and don’t get caught in it.

Remorsefulness: when I get caught in a lie

Resentful: when those that hurt me are happy

Selfish: when I live for myself

Sexy: after a shower in a white t shirt and cotton underwear

Stressed: when packing for a trip

Sympathetic: when others are hurting

Threatened: when I am not believed

Trusted: when I am with kids and animals

Vengeful: when I feel betrayed.




Day Two: One-Word Prompts