Dear Future Love

A million moments ago I believed that I would meet you and life would be wonderful, that life would be magical. That I would see you and my heart would beat 10 times faster and we’d fall in love in a way that wouldn’t make us question each other. But as life proceeded and my heart was broken and left jagged, my outlook on the possibility of forever and on love changed to the point where I no longer know if I’d even allow my heart or self to become vulnerable enough to let you in. The stone walls surrounding my heart have been there for so long I haven’t been able to let anyone in – or out for that matter. There’s been many who have begun to break down the layers of stone, but I push them away before they can get close enough and I hope that I haven’t pushed you out already.

I want to tell you all about my life but, too many people before you have used my demons against me. I want to give you the chance to prove to me that your different from the rest but I’m resistant to it. I pull every time someone tries to push, I push when people pull. I am my own worse nightmare, my own enemy. I apologize that you somehow got caught up in my tornado, the emotional break downs and my inability to be completely yours is my own baggage and you didn’t sign up for this nightmare. I’m sorry that I introduced you to my nightmares and the dark parts of my soul, probably before you were ready.

But at the same time I want to thank you, in order for you to become a part of me you must of withstood the storm, you must of pull harder then I pushed and you must of held on to me tight enough during the storm. I want to thank you for understanding that I have had a world of pain before I met you, that I lost that sparkle in my eyes long ago. I’m thankful that you are there to hold my hand through all those tough nights that I miss my dad, my grandma, my dog or those nights where my anxiety is telling me that your gonna leave me. I’m grateful to you because I know I am a handful, I do not trust easily and my fear of being touch is hard on everyone. I’m forever in debt to you for showing me that being close to someone, being intimate with the right person can be magical and make you feel better – not dirty or forceful. Thank you for loving me for who I am, thank you for not using what I’m not as a reason that I am not worthy of you. Thank you for allowing me to finally break down those walls and know that love still exists in small parts of this disgusting world. 

I love you, and I can’t wait to meet you. 


I’m sorry 

I remember I was 4 or 5, reading a Barney book with your mom while you grew peacefully in her tummy. I remember you as a hyper little boy who had such wonder in his eyes. Although I was young as well, I can’t help but wonder if I could have done something to save you.

I wish I could go back in time, not to be young again myself, but to put myself into your life as the person i am now. I wish I could go back to when you were that little boy and stop the world from harming you. To show you the love you were robbed. I would call social services and get you taken from the woman and man that brought you in this world but didn’t help you achieve your dreams or encourage you in anyway and I would show you what a mother is suppose to be. I would shelter you from the pain and suffering that you felt, encourage you and empower you, believe in you and raise you to be better. It breaks my heart Dakota, that your little brother got and still gets everything you didn’t and don’t. That he’s close with both your parents and he’s surrounded with the love you should have been surrounded in. I’m sorry that you are pushed to the side while your brother drives a brand new 2016 jeep at only 17. I am sorry that from the day that he was born the attention has been on only him and that you were treated like the dirt beneath their shoes. I am sorry that no one was there to protect you when you were so young and so impressionable, that no one stepped in to save you from the abuse you suffered in the hands of your parents and your parents friends. I’m deeply sorry that my dad was one of those friends. I wish I could save you, that I could show you that there is still good in this world, but at this point I know there is no point of return. I wish I could run to you and hug you, tell you to make good choices but I know if I did your addiction would make you distrust me, and to rob me.

I wish you could see that your life matters, but after 20 years of being shown your worthless I don’t blame you for feeling that way. I don’t blame you for turning to the life you’ve turned to. I don’t blame you for trying to find comfort in a pipe or pill or needle. My heart breaks for you, but I don’t blame you.

I blame the adults that took away your innocence, I blame your mother for not loving you as much as she loves your brother. I blame your father for not growing up and being there to show you how to be a man. I blame the abuse that you were handed for no reason. I blame the government, the teachers, the family members and the friends that saw the abuse and didn’t help you; who didn’t stand up for a child who’s eyes and actions cried for help. I blame the world.

I feel no sympathy for the people at the sky train stations that look strung out, I say it’s their fault, that no one forced them to put that needle in their veins. But now that I know you are one of those poor souls my heart softens. I wish you would find it in you to seek and accept help, to get clean before you end up “just another dead junkie” on the streets of surrey. Your life matters Dakota.

Your good heart still shines brightly, your still that kind little boy and I wish you let him out more.

I’m sorry your in so much pain.


Everyday I wake up I have a brief moment of bliss, a half awake moment where my mind tricks me that you are still in the other room. But then it hits me that you’ve been gone for almost 3 months and my sorrow eats at me.

People don’t really understand how much she means to me, or how losing her felt like I lost part of myself.

Everyday for the rest of my life I will miss you Jaybug. I love you

The funny thing about depression…

The funny thing – not funny in the humorous way, but in the ironic I-have-to-laugh-to-keep-from-crying kind of way – about depression and anxiety is that no one really understands how you feel.

“But so many people have depression, there’s a lot of people who can empathize with how you feel”. Ah yes imaginary internet person, but empathizing and experiencing it is completely different. You see, I can empathize with the African American communities that are experiencing extreme discrimination in the United States, but I can’t relate because I live in Canada and I am mostly Caucasian. Or I can relate to how annoying allergies but I don’t know how badly your body reacts to things because we are different. That’s the thing. Each cell, each strand of hair and pore on our bodies are different then someone elses. Our entire body has unique dna, the chemicals our brain produces to regulate our mood is also extremely unique and selective to only you, or me. Our “triggers” are also different. Summer may bring one depressed person relief from the cloudy and miserable weather, but summer reminds me of my dads death, of being sexually assaulted & now of losing my dog.

Dairy Queen, Mr. O’donnell, the phantom of the opera, crisp winter air and the taste of tears remind me that I will never feel worthy, that I am disposable and that the boy I “loved” came out and that is was because of me, irrational I know but when he tells you in anger that he will kill himself or ‘go’ gay if I leave him I can’t help but blame myself.

The smell of beer reminds me of the time I was sexually assaulted, cold hands remind me of how much he took away from me. I am no longer mine, I am a body trapped forever in that bed trying so hard to get him to stop.

Candle smoke, single wrapped hotdogs, Tim Horton coffee reminds me of my dad, stale air, hand sanitizer and kind strangers reminds me of the last time I saw him before he went to heaven.

And hot days like today, Sunday mornings, little black and brown dogs, the world reminds me of my itty bitty Jayda who passed away way to soon.

So, the not so funny thing about depression is that your fears of being alone is true. You are alone in how you feel. Your alone in the way your triggers haunt you. You are alone in the way your body processes chemicals. The not so funny thing about it is that you are fighting your own battle that no one can see and you alone are the only one who can change what and who you are. You cannot find happiness or a sense of “home” in a person, you cannot base your happiness on what other people think is right, or normal, or the proper way of doing things. You have to fight this alone. That’s the only way you can beat it; the only way you can assure that the darkness doesn’t take you is to make yourself happy first, no matter how much it hurts.

“How does putting yourself first hurt?” Again with the questions, but in my case because of my need to please, my intense sense of self dread, of not feeling worthy, I believe the feelings of the people around me are more important then my own. I blame this a lot on my sister and the way she bullied me as a child but I can’t place blame on other people for the way that I have turned out no matter how much their actions or words hurt or affected me in anyway. Anyways, putting my needs first, voicing my opinion and any basic self care has always been hard for me to do. I don’t take the time to heal from things, I sweep things under the rug until I’m tripping over it and falling face first into the mountain I created. I hold on to the words people say to me until I am being eaten alive by parasitic self doubt and overly analyzed words. I fear that I won’t be believed, because my words have never been. But I know that has to stop if I ever want to begin to live again, if I ever want to go to sleep without crying myself there.

So I guess the not so funny thing about depression is that it either eats you alive or you grow from it and that’s the choice you have to make.


I feel as though I have so much on my mind and yet I have nothing to say.

I have a lot of regrets in life, and while I know I have no way of going back and re-doing things or fixing the things I’ve done, I can’t help but dwell on the past.

I can’t help but think of what life could have been if I hadn’t met Brandon, if we moved to quesnel like mom wanted to so many years ago. I can’t help but to imagine the life I could be living if this life hadn’t turned out this way. Would I be a mom? Would my anxiety and depression still linger? If I hadn’t been so quick to want to grow up, to throw away something so special to a male who was confused about his sexuality maybe I wouldn’t feel like I was inferior. And like I’ve said before I understand that he was born that way, that I didn’t “turn him gay” but somethings stick and eat away at you no matter or irrational they may sound. If I didn’t live here, maybe I would of treasured my time with my grandma more, spent more time listening to her talk and maybe if I wasn’t in denial about my dads illness I would have spent more time with him too, because sadly I know very little about who he was. I only know he liked individually wrapped hotdogs, ‘dads’ cookies, Red Robins coffee, working on trucks, smoking and my mom. I never looked to get to know him, I just mistook his demeanor as being mean and I wish I didn’t, and maybe if I had taken the time to get to know him I wouldn’t of tried to drink away my denial. Maybe I wouldn’t have met Kayla. Perhaps I wouldn’t of drank so much, laid in that bed and my trust in people wouldn’t of been stolen. My entire life could have been so different and that’s all I can really think of. How badly my life turned out. How a series of extremely unfortunate events dominoed to what I am today, or perhaps what I’m not.

I never wanted to be the person I am.

I never wanted to be 26 with no husband, no kids, no nothing, working part time at a retail store. & I heard it all before “Well then Donna, change something” “Its your life your the only one who can change it”, But its not that easy; and yes I’ve heard I’m just making excuses and yes I’ve been told that I just don’t want it enough but what the world doesn’t understand – let alone what I don’t completely understand – is that I don’t know how to change it. I’m so deep in this hole that I don’t know which way is out. I don’t know how to get over the past or how to move on. I’ve thrown around the idea of going to therapy, I’ve brought it up to my doctors, I’ve talked to a handful of people about everything and anything and yet it doesn’t do anything to help me. It doesn’t help me move on from these feelings, it just makes me feel weaker.

And even if I change my life, fall in love, get married my broken body may never be able to carry a child.

I’m broken goods in so many ways what man would ever want someone like me? I don’t even want me, or love me to be completely honest. I often wonder why people even waste their time with me, why people would like spending time with me or why I’m wasting space on earth when I’m nothing but a failure, a loser, a mooch.

I think about that a lot, how maybe the world would be better off without me, how maybe my death would free my mom from this city and she’d be able to live her life freely. How everyone would be better off. At least if I was dead I’d be able to love up on my jaybug one last time, and at least I’d be able to see my grandma, my dad, my uncle doug, so many people…

I just need a change so badly

but anyways, I should get ready for work..