Africa

There's something rather peculiar to knowing you are leaving. Especially knowing that you're leaving for an uncertain amount of time, a year or more. Six months ago I never would've expected such a thing to happen. Yet here I am, about three to four weeks away from departure to an entirely new adventure.

I got a job as a photographer/retoucher in Africa, for a studio/agency. How insane is that? Very insane, I would say. Especially for silly little me, the one who used to always change his mind about everything, the one who used to be scared of his own shadow.

I remember back in 2003 when I was just on the verge of beginning my certificate in visual arts at Sherbrooke University, Darién told me something that stuck with me. Quoting Lost In Translation, he said that, much like Bob was for Charlotte, he wasn't worried about me. That I would find my path. That I just had to stick with it for long enough and that life would lead me (I'm paraphrasing here, but you get the idea). And here we are.

There's so much yet to do:

• move out of my apartment
• get my visa for the Ivory Coast
• receive all the vaccines requiered(about 6, altogether)
• see friends at least one last time
• get together with the whole family one last time
• pack
• determine which cameras I'll be bringing
• acquire some equipment
• replace my dying iPod (as much as I truly want to discover new cultures, I'll die if I just get to listen to Ivorian music)
• ideally shoot and edit another short movie
• cancel my gym membership
• switch or cancel my mobile phone plan
• finish shooting the third roll of film and send the three rolls to Tik Lun for our joint art project
• enjoy every second possible
• meet with my great uncle and great aunt so they can tell me their stories of when they lived in Africa
• hug people and tell them I love them
• have as many yoga sessions as possible
• start a travel blog

I'm sure I'm forgetting stuff here, but that's just a general list. More will come up, in time.

Sleep (Or lack thereof)

I have a big problem with sleep, so it seems. For a certain while, I'll be able to sleep normally, without problems. Then will hit a patch of insomnia, intermixed with nightmares and certain nights of oversleeping.

Before, I used to be able to carry on even if I hadn't slept properly. I would be able to go by my day to day business normally, only feeling kinda tired in the process. In general though, I would be able to manage without a hitch.

Nowadays, it's another story. If I don't sleep properly, I just can't do anything proper during my day. I skip work and only manage to do very little during the day. Also, insomnia is always, ALWAYS accompanied by a certain apocalypse feeling, a sensation that doom is upon us, that gloom is right inside my very own body. I would imagine that insomnia allows depression to travel my entire body, to scour my veins looking for more cells to infect with its darkness.

I guess that this feeling is only exacerbated by the fact that I'm sitting in between at the moment. In between cities, in between lives, in between states. I'm moving back home soon for the summer and then for studies. I might be going abroad for a contract but nothing's finalised or confirmed yet. It's as though life was on hold at the moment.

The Rollercoaster Days

In the previous post, I mentionned something regarding the fact that this blog is an excellent venting point for me and that it proved exceptionally useful in the rollercoastery days pre-diagnosis.

What I didn't mention was what that diagnosis was. I'm pretty certain that this will be no surprise to anyone who's ever read any part of this blog, but I'll still write a little about it.

I'm bipolar.

I was finally diagnosed with bipolar disorder (bipolar II, to be precise) in October 2007, after having 'lost it' during the summer 2007 and asking my general practitioner for a psychiatric assessment. At first, the doctor didn't seem very keen on the idea. Not until I confided all about the grand ideas I always had in the back of my mind, about the fact that I oft felt that I was harbouring a magical power, etc etc. That little tidbit of info alone seemed to change his mind on the psychiatric assessment.

Lemme tell ya, it's quite an adventure to be 'psychiatrically examined'. At first, I was met by a trio of psychiatrist in what they call the 'liaison' module. Their task: determine whether or not I should be there in the first place. Their way of determining: carabining you with questions. Where have you been? What have you felt? What have you been doing? Sum up the past 10 years of your life for us. Let's make a timeline of it all. Oh you've not accomplished much during all that time, have you. Oh dear, that's quite a lot of changing and switching, etc etc. I know they weren't judging in the very least, but it's quite scary, depressing and humbling to look at the previous 10 years of you life on a blackboard and realise that you haven't completed anything or amounted to very much in all that time.

I had three meetings with the psychiatrist at the liaison module before I was transfered to the mood disorders' clinic for another assessment. A different one. A very scary one.

Imagine the scene: you are in a waiting room. Someone comes up and calls your name. You follow the person to a room. They open the door. There are 5 people in the room waiting for you. They're sitting in a circle. They are all ready to ask you questions and listen and take notes.

Here's a rundown of the team:

1. Psychiatrist
2. Intern in psychiatry
3. Psychiatric nurse
4. Social worker
5. Psychotherapist

And so the interview begins. An hour straight of questions. Then they ask you to step out of the room while they discuss and deliberate on your case as well as refer to all the data the peeps @ liaison amassed on you.

Thirty-something minutes later, they ask you back in the room. Diagnosis falls. "Sir, we believe that you have bipolar II disorder." You feel a mix of fear, sadness and relief. They talk of treatment options and further meetings with psychiatrists. You walk out of there with a booklet on the disorder, an appointment for the following week with the Intern as well as a prescription for mood stabilisers.

It wasn't very easy at first. Mood stabilisers are a serious matter. There are side effects and scary facts and blood tests to be had to monitor that they are not killing essential bits of your system. But almost a year and a half in the treatment, I must say that they have saved my life.

I've changed so much in the past year and a half. No more crazy highs and insane lows. No more freaking out on people, no more losing it and spending complete afternoons pulling my hair while lying in bed staring at the ceiling, no more believing that I'm infused with some sort of a divine power that makes me invincible.

When all of that leaves you and you start becoming (more) stable, you start realising who you are. You realise what you want and what you don't. You also realise how you were before and what you did to people. Let's just say that you start feeling pretty silly about little things and little facts of your life.

And then, as you live through it and ponder it and accept it all, you realise that the past belongs to the past. That it's all you've done that brought you where you are now. You end up realising that, in the end, it's all okay.

Quiet Return

I've been ill all this past week. Tonsilitis. It seems that, as we get older, the childhood illnesses we used to be able to brush off in a single movement can now bring us down entirely.

I kinda had it coming. I had been feeling rather unwell for weeks and wasn't doing anything regarding it. Even if my tonsils were swollen, I would just tell myself: 'tis viral, 't'will go away in a jiffy'. To go away it did, only to come back with a bite a bit later. This game of hide and seek went on for about a month until a bit more than a week ago, when I came down with a gigantic case of fever. This made me decide to go and seek some help. Goooooood thing I did.

During the past week, as I was completely unable to work or do anything, I had plenty of time to think. I got to thinking that I wanted to start blogging again. I used to enjoy keeping this blog, it always turned out to be a good venting point for me, especially during the rollercoastery days pre-diagnosis (oooh, I might need to fill you in on that. Next post, I promise).

Quiet return then. And the reason why I didn't just start a new blog instead of continuing one that has been dormant for 2 years? I don't want to erase the past anymore. Everything written here is stuff that I felt or witnessed or went through. So why part with it?

Change of Plan (once more)

Well. What can I say. I need to be adult and think about my future instead of butterflying from interest to interest. Passion alone doesn't pay the bills, so it seems. And at 25, I strongly need to start thinking about the rest of my life.

I'm changing direction. Exit Photo, Enter Computer Science. My photo classes have made me realise that I love photography to bits, but being in it constantly kills my love for it. Also, with everything I've seen about "the industry", I am quite certain I don't want to work in it (or fight with all my might to try to wiggle and lick/suck my way in).

And so, right now, I'm making efforts to be admitted in college in a technical computer science program. And then, once I'm done, I might even try my luck at computer/software engineering, who knows. At least, when I get my degree, I should be able to find a job that'll pay my rent.

It has to be noted though that this is not so much of a tradeoff. I've always wanted to study computer science. I meant to study in that field right after high school, but being annoyed at everyone telling me how to live my life, I decided to study something else just to spite them. Now, 8 years later, it's time I set things back on track.

I'll always be an artist though. My love for photography and music will not be put away or take second place. I'm realising that one can have a career in one field and passions/interests/hobbies in another field. It doesn't matter. Who knows what I'll be doing in 6 years? Maybe I'll be a programmer for a company and feeling great because I'll be contributing to something. Maybe I'll be on tour with Dolorès and working with Pierre on songwriting the second album. Maybe I'll have computerart/photo exhibitions somewhere. Maybe I'll be doing something else altogether. I might even be working/living in Tokyo by then! Or maybe I'll come back to being a writer. Who knows? No one.

Well, I Guess It's Not Perpetual Motion After All!

As usual, when I stop blogging, a lot happens in my life. This time being no exception, a lot has indeed happened. Apart from the usual school turmoil and general stress, my love for photography has only but grown.

I decided to try and apply for entry at the Design School of UQAM. It's kinda hard to get in, they accept only 60 peeps a year. I'm working on a portfolio now and I'll try my luck. I used to always be petrified at the sheer idea of daring to apply there and then it dawned on me that if I don't try, I'll always regret not trying.

I am in love. I know, I've written that a few times before but I am starting to think that until this, I didn't know what being in love really was. Being in love is not about feeling bad or having doubts, it's about feeling free and wanting to be better. It's about wanting to just explode because you're always so happy, so warm when the other is near. It's about knowing you've found true love. It's the feeling you get in your stomach when you stand close to the person. It's all about sharing the little things, making coffee for the other, taking a walk, falling asleep together.

Isn't it funky how when you're well there's not all that much to write?

Your Opinion Counts!

Should I shave my head?

Something New

As you've all most probably noticed, I don't really have my heart in this blog much anymore. I originally started it as a way to track my progress from starting over to going somewhere. I am finally at the somewhere I should be. Yet most of my posts have a negative tint to them. The thing is, I'm actually quite happy in real life.

So I started something new, an electronic part to my visual journal. A new journey, if you will. Come with me on this ship called rrn17...

And Why Both At The Same Time

Why. Why is it so hard to just let go. Why does this have to be good and bad, at once. Why so charming, caring, why so endearing; why so unnerving and so egotistical. Why so cute and funny, why so smart and witty.

Why me. Why do you want to be around me. How do you manage to bring back to life my inner demons.

Why do I have to feel lost everytime I see you.

And This, This Is What I Don't Want

I'm feeling good. I'm feeling fine. I've been stable for a while now, or at least for a few weeks in a row. I'm starting to feel self-confidence in situations where I'd normally crawl under the table to hide. I've come to terms with the fact that, yes, indeed, I get really sensitive when it comes to matters of the heart. I've accepted that people have their own personal history, their past. That that past can be really simple, extremely convoluted or lying somewhere in between those poles.

It's nice you said hello again, I appreciate you wanting to see me again. Hell, it was wonderful to kiss you, to smell your skin and lay in bed with you a few times more. But this is what I don't want.

I don't want to wait for someone, for I've done more than my share of waiting with my heart out. I don't want to not know where I'm heading, to always have in the back of my mind that I might just be a nice little distraction. I don't want to not have the right to fall in love. I don't want to be part of a nice zoo of former frequentations and I certainly don't want to be in the same room as them while they talk about how good you were in bed. I don't want calculations and control in relationships. I don't want to have to explain to which school of thought I adhere when it comes to matters of love and sex. I don't want to miss you knowing you most probably don't miss me. I don't want to feel wrong in missing you. I don't want to me mistrustful or freakish. I don't want to have it said that if it all got messed up in the first place it was all my fault. I don't want to stick around, I just don't.

I don't want to get attached to you again. Oh no, I don't.

So this is it, really. Thanks for the plant. It was a gorgeous gift, on that I will cherish, trust me. Thanks for kissing me on my neck as I was brushing my teeth, it was a lovely thing to do. Thanks for hugging me and making me laugh.

Take care, ok?

Sweep Me Off My Feet

12 hours

"-Oli?
-Yeah?
-I'm headin' to the depanneur for food and cigarettes, but I called for dope. So if it gets here before I'm back, would ya get me three bags of the stuff? I'll put the money here.
-Uh...
-Well, ya know, wouldn't wanna miss the dope. Anyhoo, it most probably won't arrive while I'm gone.
-Uh, yeah..."

12 hours to go... 12 hours to go... 12 hours to go

48 hours

Last night, I was sitting in my room, playing Brain Age on Nintendo DS. I was doing the speed counting test. For that thing, you have to count numbers aloud from 0 to 120, as fast as you can. While I was doing that, my roommate comes in my room and starts knocking frantically on my door (he was already in the room while knocking on the door, which is backwards, if you ask me).

He starts asking me if I'm fine, si je suis tout à moi ("if I'm all to myself", which basically means if I'm still in touch with reality). I responded saying yes, that I was counting because I was playing a game. He gave me the usual "yeah, right" kinda look and walked away.

For the rest of the evening, the dude kept avoiding me, gave me weirdo looks and made comments as to my "apparently departing sanity".

I move out in 48 hours. Thank god.

Faque là, c'est qui le crotté?

This is my month review:

The job at the photo studio didn't work out nicely, for various reasons. So I quit it. And I went back to jobhunting and found a job less than a week after quitting. The new job is really nice. It makes me feel like I'm doing something useful.

In a week, I'm moving out. I'm moving out of this stinky, gloomy place and moving in to a luminous, spacious apartment. I'll be leaving my perma-stoned roommate and his twisted stories and constant pain of living. I'll be leaving this apartment that has filth just about everywhere, that's painted in such dark colours that no light can actually shine in it. I'll be leaving this cloud of darkness. Finally.

The mood swings came back. Back with a vengeance. They also brought the menace of relapse with them. I lost focus, became very irritable, wanted to sleep all the time, wanted to eat all the time, ideas of death kept popping up in my head and it culminated with the return of the "crawlings in my head" feeling. I resorted to taking my doctor's advice, which he had given me when I last saw him. That advice was to start taking the meds again should I feel that I was going back downhill. So here we go, I'm back to taking medication. But if that's the price to pay to feel fine, then I'm willing to pay it. I've seen enough darkness to last me a lifetime.

I've been toying with songwriting. I even managed to put together something half-coherent, which in itself is quite something. I'm in love with the guitar. L. O. V. E. I hope to get really proficient on it quickly. At least I'm practicing tons, which is bound to make a difference in the end. Practice makes perfect, so they say.

Also, je dois spécifier (sur demande spéciale, bien sur) que Renato est un bon ami car il discute avec moi en trois langues afin de me rendre heureux. Voilà.

If You Think About Someone...

...do they think about you too?

If you miss someone...
...do they miss you too?

Beautiful Emotions

I laugh a lot.
I cry a little, here and there.
I experience moments of sadness (exactly like how i'm feeling right now).
I feel elated every now and then.
I get ideas and work on them.
I fall, dust myself off and start over and again.
There are mornings when I feel completely lost.
Other mornings when I'm really in control and on top of things.
There are days when I believe I can feel the whole world.
There are moments in my life when I get to know other people and want to share my life with them.
And then it works out.
Or it doesn't work out.
There's no way of knowing what will happen, but the good always overrides the bad.

Forward, always forward.

Springtime... of course

If we were still living at the Villa, I'd be lying in Anne-Marie's bed right now, talking about what just happened. She'd give me her love advice, as she rules in that department (and in many others, but it derogates from the topic of this post). But sadly the time of the Villa is behind and so here I am, in this room that I will finally get to move out of in a bit more than a month, drinking and typing away.

People cross your path and you happen to cross theirs. Things happen, you begin to glow, you get to know the person, butterflies form in your very insides. Time constantly flies and so you see the person more and more and more. You laugh like you haven't laughed in a long time.

But then, for some odd reason, you sometimes turn into a person you are not. You freak out in various things to then realise how trivial they were. Reflecting on it you realise that it probably pertains to something past that hasn't been completely resolved. You decide that you will control those moments so they don't happen again. You decide you'll figure it out, you'll figure yourself out.

Then things get odd. You see the person less. You start to realise you are falling for the person but you also realise how far apart you two are.

Then it goes further until you finally understand that it has to end. It has to end because you love the person, it has to end because of various differences that wouldn't make for a lasting relationship, because you both are so far apart. You tell the person, the person hugs you and keeps you close. Then you leave. The person says: "talk to you later". You walk out the door.

And so it goes. Old jazzmen were right, Spring Can Really Hang You Up The Most.

Or Perhaps Not

I might just be wrong...

Which brings me to this question that hasn't yet found an answer: why is it that I always imagine the end is coming if a situation confuses me a bit? why do I have to want to run away when things get difficult?

Sensing The End

When I saw him last night, I realised that I had missed him. At the same time, when we parted, I felt that the end of this affair was near.

It's not that I'm surprised, because I had sensed it early on. Wishing that it would be something grand and lasting but knowing deep down that it would only be a passing thing, a late rebound, a crash course in relationships.

Perhaps I'm wrong, it might be my sleepless mind making this all up. However, I doubt it strongly...

There's nothing else to do but to wait and see now.

What I've Been Up To

I've understood a lot of things in the past month or so. A lot of things about life, about myself, about others. About the way I relate to people and just how different I view things if my heart happens to be involved.

I've been rollercoastery all month, but good was always overriding the bad. Everytime I felt sad or weird or freaked out or simply bizarre, it always lead to some form of understanding of things...

Early this week, I was taken by this crazy state of anxiety and panic. It followed me through until yesterday, when it peaked. After I was done my shoot in capture class, I went back to my place and crashed into bed. The feeling of falling into a void was back. I slept for two hours and woke up at 3pm. I had dreamt a weird dream about alarms ringing somewhere in town and me hovering around the buildings. Then I went to get the haircut. It all became clear during the haircut. What had been making me anxious, what had been bringing me down, what was rendering me sad. It felt like walking out of a puddle of sticky gelly. I got the feeling that I could breathe again, for the first time in days.

I really feel like I've grown this past month. This might just be the beginning of newfound self-confidence...