"There is a harmony in autumn, and a lustre in it's sky..."

Autumn has always been my favourite season. For those of you who have never been to Saskatchewan, you might be unable to appreciate the welcome relief that fall brings from the scorching days of summer, when the sun’s power can turn your skin a blistering red in just a few hours and there are hordes of insects plaguing you with itchy bites.

In fall the air is crisp, clean, and fresh, and the sun warms rather than burning. The mosquitoes finally go back into hibernation or die – hooray! (Yes, I’m an insect murderer. Contact the humane society about me – I dare you!), and a landscape that often fades quickly from spring’s lush jewel tones to more muted colours from the overheated, dry, and dusty air once more bursts into colourful life as the leaves take over from the sun to provide splashes of orange, gold, and amber to every street.

Not only is autumn the season in possession of possibly the most beautiful landscapes, it also marks the start of a new school year, the beginning of theatre season, and has the most interesting clothing as plush knits, luxurious leather, and cozy cashmere take over our wardrobes. The balmy days and cool nights with their first hints of frost make us mindful of enjoying the remaining good weather before winter locks us inside, preventing us from picnicking and wandering along the riverbank.

In terms of both aesthetics and weather, Autumn is as close to perfect as one can get in the Northern Hemisphere, and with the exceptions of people from the prairies and Scandinavians – and citizens of Winterfell, of course – it is not fully appreciated for its significance in the cycle of our lives. Autumn is the calm before the storm. It marks the end of the summer: a season when life blossoms, love and happiness abound, dogs frolic, and pasty people flash their legs. It reminds us that winter is coming, and it will likely be harsh and long.

And here, lucky readers, is where my heavy-handed seasonal metaphor reaches its pinnacle! As I previously mentioned, one of many reasons fall excites me is due to marking the commencement of theatre season, and this past weekend I saw two excellent productions: Hedda Gabler at Persephone Theatre and Reasons to be Pretty at The Refinery.

Each of these plays examines the shattered illusions that come alongside the realisation that intimate relationships are rarely as rose-tinted as we could hope. While the characters in Hedda Gabler tend to be evasive and passive-aggressive in their interactions, the key players in Reasons engage in out-and-out screaming matches as they face betrayal, heartbreak, and the shattering of trust which leads to disastrous breakups and crushed friendships.

This second play hit home especially hard due to an extremely talented cast delivering unflinchingly honest portrayals of people who are their own worst enemies as they engage in problematic friendships and relationships they ultimately aren’t all that fussed about. They waste each other’s time, are bored and restless, and hurt one another for sport, or maybe just because they are selfishly wrapped up in their own confusion over their seemingly incomprehensible differences.

For anyone who has been in a serious relationship, many scenes in this play are particularly discomforting, including a) an equally hilarious and horrifying moment when Steph, the justifiably irate ex-girlfriend of pathetically complacent protagonist Craig, attempts to prove a point by presenting a grocery list of her ex’s flaws to a food court full of strangers and b) a heart-breaking scene in which the pregnant wife of Craig’s super-douche best friend approaches him for confirmation that her scummy husband is cheating. However, for someone who has been through a break up or two – and who just happened to be attending the play with a friend who recently experienced the ending of a relationship with a guy a lot like Craig – the final scene was the hardest to watch.

In this scene Steph offers Craig one final chance to win her back and he instead confesses that ‘whether it had gone on for another four years or just a week’ (paraphrased) it would have made absolutely no difference. He would have continued to take her for granted. He never would have fought for her.

Needless to say, I awoke with a bit of an emotional hangover this morning. Though the past nine months or so have been some of the most relaxed and enjoyable for me from a romantic standpoint, you can only observe a certain amount of displaced rage and suicide (thanks a bunch, Hedda!) and indifference and emotional manipulation (damn you, Craig!) before all sorts of painful emotions and memories come flooding back.

Though I like to think I’ve managed to put my life back together rather successfully – as a matter of fact, an exciting new career announcement will be coming soon! – knowing that opening up to joy can also mean inviting in pain can be challenging. Much like knowing that winter unavoidably follows at autumn’s glorious heels, there is a sorrowful knowledge that comes with knowing that when you meet someone who makes you feel fantastically, someone who cuts down your defenses just by being kind, affectionate, and open and helps you feel that it’s ok to be vulnerable again, you have to say goodbye – often a lot sooner than you'd like.

So why do we as rational beings continue to put ourselves in these situations, allowing ourselves to be vulnerable when we know there is a strong possibility of being hurt? We do it because the seasons continue to change. We do it because the earth’s cycle of loss and rejuvenation reminds us that while death and pain are inevitable, so is the beauty of autumn.

Life goes on, and we can always begin again. Sometimes this requires the destruction of everything comfortable in order to start anew, but sometimes all you need is to do is stop being fearful of the cold and bundle up in a thick sweater.

CURRENTLY READING: American Gods by Neil Gaiman. 

You Are NOT a Black Sheep

Sometimes I worry that my family doesn’t like me.

I know this is an irrational feeling because I have a very good relationship with them all. Yes, my parents occasionally become exasperated by having to fund my (formerly) interning, (still) broke self, but they are nothing but supportive and loving. I might have some difficulty explaining the comfort and connection I feel to a place completely foreign to my extremely hometown-connected older sister, but she remains interested in my life and makes every effort to listen and respect our differences.

Sure, I sometimes embarrass my little sister (like you’ve never done it!) by drunkenly proclaiming that she needs to marry a super tall dude in order to bring some height to the bloodline before telling off every man around because I know for a fact he will never be good enough for her. We still have a great relationship though. We’re dressing up as Beastly and Shrieky for Halloween together! 

It’s officially happening, Megan. I’ve announced it to the world so there’s no turning back!
A-cha-cha-cha!

I could probably be nicer to my brother by not ridiculing his terrible taste in music, films, TV shows, sunglasses, etc. (not his choice of girls though – good work, bruh!), but he knows I love him. After all, I did let him watch R-rated movies when he was like ten years old. I mean twelve. I mean never! (Sorry, Mom…)

The point is, my family really like each other.Like sitcom family like each other.

Like as much as Will loves Uncle Phil.

We spend a lot of time together, and for the most part, we enjoy every minute of card playing and chit-chatting and teasing Megan and fishing and watching action movies and ooh-ing and ah-ing over my nephew and ganging up on Megan some more (this might just be shared a hobby of my bro and I, but there’s no way of knowing without performing a sociological study which, frankly, sounds terribly boring).

Though there are moments when I feel my black sheep status acutely, my family have rarely given me a reason to feel insecure in their appreciation of who I am or their love for me. Yet no matter how hard I try to reciprocate there is still a lingering doubt that I am not good enough for a group of such kind, accepting, open-hearted people who, let’s face it, I sometimes don’t have that much in common with.

Yes, it’s irrational and ninety percent of the time these thoughts don’t enter my mind, but sometimes they do, and it’s a very difficult thing to negotiate. I sometimes wonder how much more difficult things would be if my family weren’t so accepting of my quirks and tendencies which they don’t relate to or understand. I imagine if they were to judge me harshly, look at me in a different light, and refuse to love me the same as if I prescribed perfectly to their way of viewing things, and it breaks my heart.

Then I remember that this is the type of treatment many gay people face when they come out to their family and friends. Despite remaining who they are – in fact, becoming more who they are, at least, in a public sense – they are judged extremely harshly not for having controversial beliefs or negative personality traits but based solely on an element of humanity which has long been understood to be something people experience rather than consciously choose.* 

Openly gay people deal with ostracism, judgement, unfair treatment, and being labelled with stereotypes. They experience these reactions not only from people they don’t know very well but also from those who were meant to love and respect them through anything: their families.

This past week a close personal friend of mine officially came out, and I was thrilled, though I worry that my reaction – ‘That’s great! You must feel so relieved!’ while thinking ‘Um… I pretty much knew that’ – was not the most enthusiastic. My guilt grew further when I learned that several members of his family were less than supportive (ie. downright judgmental dickheads who tried to make him feel like there is something wrong with him), a reaction which I feel is completely unacceptable in this day and age.

Homosexuality is no longer the taboo it once was and for good reason. Studies have shown that gay people are not a threat to heterosexuality (You mean gay people aren’t attempting to take over the world and convert us all to their lascivious ways!? They’re actually just regular people who have a sexual preference that differs from the majority? Who’d have thought?!), as well as the fact that homosexual couples may actually be better parents and provide a more positive family environment for children due to more equal distribution of household responsibilities.

Don't kid yourself, you know you want Julianne Moore & Annette Bening to be your Moms.

Though it was not the case just a few decades ago, we now see fully developed gay characters in popular media including on TV, in movies, and in literature, as well as being exposed to gay musicians, actors, athletes, and politicians on a daily basis. Being gay is accepted and acceptable, and I feel confident saying that those who oppose what they consider to be an ‘unnatural lifestyle’ will soon prove to be as backward as people who opposed interracial marriage in the mid-Twentieth Century.

It appalls and saddens me that so many gay individuals are still subjected to a painful ‘coming out’ when it should no longer be a controversial thing to express your sexuality. Sexual identity is a huge part of everyone’s individuality, not something of which to be ashamed.

Celebrate who you are! Celebrate, damn it!

Though the conservative history of Canada and the United States has dictated that all sexuality is shameful unless you’re a heterosexual male, things are changing. The fact that it’s still seen as shocking when someone comes out – especially if you’re an attractive man who ‘could have been such a good father/husband/male stereotype’ – is unforgiveable, and we as a society need to continue striving for change.

Newsflash: gay people can still be spouses/parents/anything they want to be! Your sexuality does not dictate your worth as a person! (Unless, of course, you are a sadist or a paedophile or practice some other sort of criminal behaviour in which case, yes, you ARE a terrible human being). Anyone who implies otherwise is the one with issues.

To my friend (and all my other gay, lesbian, bi, questioning, and queer friends who were forced by society to experience a difficult coming out), I am so sorry that you have not received more support. I am sorry that you were not blessed with a family like mine who would love you no matter what and would never make you feel like a part of your identity that they may not be able to understand makes you unworthy of their regard.

When you told me you were gay, I should have said, ‘Thank you for sharing this extremely important news with me. Thank you for trusting me enough to be a part of your journey. Thank you for being who you are because you are one of the most wonderful people I know. Your creative, intelligent, caring, fun, hilarious, strong, open-minded spirit has been a blessing to my life, and I love every quality that defines you with all my heart. Though this marks a huge change in your life, I want you to know that nothing has changed in our relationship except that I have even more respect for you than I did before, and nothing will ever change my opinion of you.’

Unless, of course, you kill someone, which might affect things a tiny bit...

Hopefully someday we will live in a world where your sexuality will no longer be a controversy and everyone can be free to be themselves from the very beginning. I know I feel better having embraced every aspect of my weird, wacky self, though at times it was a struggle. (And I was merely dealing with the disdain directed towards writers. Imagine if I was a lesbian writer!)

Though I know that my opinion probably won’t change the narrow minds of many people, I hope it at least reassures anyone on their own coming out journey that acknowledging who you are is the right thing to do. Be strong, be true to yourself, and take all the time you need. It’s your life, and since no one else is living it, no one else’s judgements or labels matter.

CURRENTLY READING: Lamb by Christopher Moore. 

*Remember the Kinsey Reports of 1948 and 1953 which effectively proved that human sexuality is a spectrum rather than a straight/gay binary and that sexuality is fluid and evolves over time? No? Maybe you should look it up.

We Need to Talk About Robin

On the off chance that you've been living under a rock, I hate to be the one to tell you that Robin Williams has passed away. 

Robin in the beautiful afterlife in What Dreams May Come.

I know, I know. It’s hard to believe, but Mr. Williams – or Genie, as he will forever be known in my perpetual-90s-child mind – has left a plump old Englishwoman-shaped hole in the lives of comedy and film lovers everywhere when he died Monday. The public outpouring of support for his family and friends has been inspiring, but that’s not what I want to talk about. 

I want to discuss the politicization which will inevitably take place surrounding his death – a phenomenon which good ol’ Rob himself discussed during press for his film World’s Greatest Dad - and the ignorant but mostly misguided comments I’ve been seeing on Facebook and Twitter regarding his suicide. 

For the most part, people are being respectful of this talented and diverse performer. However, to put a new spin on the old adage “Boys will be boys”, it seems that “Ignorant jerks will be ignorant jerks and continue to spout misinformed rubbish even though they have little understanding of mental health issues or empathy for people suffering from Depression”.

DANGER: Intense discussion of mental health ahead.

Phew, that was a mouthful. Unfortunately it is nothing compared to the earful (eyeful?) of ridiculous comments I’ve seen about suicide being “selfish” and “cowardly”, and that Robin should have set “a better example” for other people struggling with “personal demons”. Apparently “if only he knew how much people loved him” this “senseless” thing never would have happened.

But as Slate writer Molly Pohlig points out, “I bet Robin Williams knew he was loved. Unfortunately, love doesn’t cure mental illness.” I completely agree with Molly that anyone who thinks this was an issue of failing to count your blessings and look on the bright side of life needs a serious awakening. 

Dean Burnett tackled this discussion point admirably when he pointed out that: “Dismissing the concerns of a genuine depression sufferer on the grounds that you’ve been miserable and got over it is like dismissing the issues faced by someone who’s had to have their arm amputated because you once had a paper cut and it didn’t bother you.”  

Or in Williams' case, don't compare yourself to a burn victim just because you survived lighting your prosthetic breasts on fire. (From Mrs. Doubtfire.)

Depression is not simply something that goes away when you ask yourself “Am I happy?” and then “do something positive about it”, as one Twitter user suggested. Depression is a filthy, sneaking rat that hides beneath the floorboards when the sun is out but squeaks and taunts you all night until you question your sanity and lose touch with the reality of existence. Visitors can assure you there are no vermin in the house, but Depression is a persistent rodent that refuses to vacate its nest.

For someone suffering from Depression (notice my use of a capital D to refer to the mental health issue versus lower case depression which many people use interchangeably to refer to gloomy-sky/sad feelings), reassurance doesn’t go far when you’ve lost hope, control, and the will to continue existing when things have just become Way. Too. Fucking. Hard. 

As Russell Brand pointed out: “Robin Williams could have tapped anyone in the western world on the shoulder and told them he felt down and they would have told him not to worry, that he was great, that they loved him. He must have known that. He must have known his wife and kids loved him, that his mates all thought he was great, that millions of strangers the world over held him in their hearts, a hilarious stranger that we could rely on to anarchically interrupt, the all-encompassing sadness of the world.” Knowing you are loved and valued, however, cannot overcome the illogical nature of Depression (British comedian Stephen Fry knows this all too well), and too many people misunderstand the illness as being something that can be overcome with willpower and a little good cheer.

(From Patch Adams.)

For those of you who have been following this blog for some time, you’ll know that I lost one of my closest friends to suicide in February. When she passed away, I had countless discussions with mutual friends, family, and in my own head about why she chose to end her life, whether there was anything I could have done to help her, and if she knew how much we loved her. A common reaction was “How could she have thought that was the right decision?” and “What was she thinking?” Though the language processing area of my brain was overwhelmed by other thoughts at the time, I now think I have the answer.

She wasn’t thinking in the rational way that people who are not under emotional duress think. There was no pre-meditation that such a final act was selfish or selfless, that she was causing a lifetime of pain or sparing people the agony of her tortured presence. 

There was only that one second when the desire to go on dissipated and things seemed clear: all that had to be done to end the exhaustion of fighting for fleeting moments of peace and happiness – that torture of attempting to go on living after every ounce of your strength has been spent – was to stop living. 

As the voice of the genie, Robin describes Depression (from Aladdin).

Anyone who has dealt with Depression understands this vividly, yet it can be so damn difficult to explain to people who are horrified by the very mention of mental illness or – quick, toss some salt over your shoulder – suicide. It’s a horrifying thought until your life begins to slowly crumble at your feet. But, that’s Depression for you. 

It’s true that death and loss change everything. They alter your day-to-day life, force you to evaluate your relationships, and complicate circumstances beyond belief. But dealing with death by suicide changes you entirely. 

It won’t be easy for Robin Williams’ family, friends, coworkers, and many admirers to move on now that the doors to previously unexplored mental channels have been thrust open. But maybe the passing of such a well-loved figure will be the impetus we need to start talking about mental health in a productive way rather than continuing to fear what some of us do not understand. 

 

CURRENTLY READING: Anything Boys Can Do by Angie Abdou.