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Different thoughts, different art (1 month and 1 week after the last thing I made)





Medication is Not the Easy Way Out

This is probably pretty obvious anyways, but let’s face it, as I told my friends today that I was pursuing a prescription for antidepressants, I met with a few awful comments. As I was having feelings about how I’d be better off dead already from the way my depression interpreted the stigma to mean “medication is for truly messed up people”, I was speechless. How was medication the easy way out or a sign of weakness? There was no easy way out. [And, I do believe, suicide may be the hard way out for people with intractable depression that makes then feel completely inhuman. Conversely, who is anyone to deny those that have extreme depression medication if those medications could help them feel their instincts to live again?]. Choosing to live is always hard, because life is not easy, just infinitely, quizzically rewarding.The pain that I had been dealing with nearly constantly for three weeks was making me so tired of life I was confused what I went through the day for. I think it was the cognitive changes recruited through therapy. But  nothing warranted the cloud of pain in my head that were it swapped with an open bodily wound, would make no difference in the nature of the pain. In the moment, my mind would certainly would rather die than live with it forever. Yet the brain is plastic, ever changing and never in one place forever.

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What Counselling Taught Me About Honesty and Medication

“This is not a weak brain; this brain is strong and resilient.”

Yes, I only want to blog about art and the outdoors and positive mental health progress as asides. But lately, I haven’t been able to think about art. I would like to get back to art ASAP and here is how this will help me do that.


Fragile but beautiful cups 

*If you are suffering from depression right now, and have gotten to a point where you’re simply denying how much pain you feel through other means everyday, seek help now. Thinking positive thoughts and faking till you make it sometimes just isn’t enough. Seek help.


I’ve thought and written so many things about depression, none of them good. But what I never did was talk. For some reason-and now I know because I simply didn’t have the language to describe why it hurt so much-I could only think about it. I never meant to shut anyone out. But now I see that’s what people feel, because I know myself how much it hurts to feel a friend shut me out. Nothing hurts more than that. I know the people who helped me think I didn’t trust them enough, because I’ve been on the receiving end, too. But the opposite is true: it’s that just having them by my side was the only way I could stand touching that pain that I told no one, not even myself.


I used to think depression was just losing enjoyment in what you loved and feeling numb and wanting to die. But the depression I feel is a very different thing: after working with a counsellor for a year, I feel a wide range of emotions, and I see how my feelings have a shape and root. But while I still enjoy the things that I do, even more so, and even though I don’t want to die, I am not depression-free. Counselling helps me nurture the side of me that withers when I don’t know how to deal with depression. But what it can’t do it take away enough of that pain when it gets too much. For that I’d need to lose parts of my memory permanently or, god forbid, medication.

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Being Asexual/Aromantic is Like Being A Unicorn

heart_smallThis a reminder that sexuality is fluid, and that you’re not alone. There is always the possibility of meeting that special someone at a special point in your life that will make you “go gay for them”, not because you never realized you were gay, but because everyone’s sexuality is fluctuating based on relationships and not artificial categories. I’m still waiting for someone to make me sexual, by the way. EDIT: Strangely enough I was right; being in a relationship “unlocked” my sexuality (what is known as demi-sexuality.) This in no way invalidates the feelings I had prior to my relationship, as if my boyfriend had not approached me, it is possible I’d be “asexual” for much longer-theoretically forever if I never met anyone that liked me or that that I liked back. 


I’ve never been hit by lightning, but the closest thing I’ve come to it is when I realized I was asexual/aromantic.



According to the internet, a black ring on the middle right hand finger is a symbol of asexual pride.

A lot of people have commented to me:

“You’re so naive.”
“You’re so innocent.”

“You’re immature.”

“You’re modest.”

I had heard it all before. Up until last week, I didn’t think much about it. I always thought that because art and words and nature and sensations were so much more interesting than relationships, I just naturally gravitated to speaking about those things instead of romance and sex. That wasn’t weird; that was me. It was something that as I grew up I loved more and more about myself.

I had always thought of myself as special because of the special feelings those things gave me that sex and romance didn’t. It was fine that I was different; I was luckier because I had these special feelings that other people didn’t. I wanted all my life to find someone who cared about art and things more than romance like I did. I never did.

As I grew up, my friends wanted to date. I never did. I wanted to spend more time with them doing artistic things, or talking about that abstract, higher spiritual connection, the idea of which made me feel intensely good.

I wasn’t a special unicorn and there were other people like me.

It was by accident that I learned my uniqueness had to do with my sexual orientation. My friends and I were discussing random things, as usual. I had been out as a bisexual for one month (demi for maybe two weeks), and it was only natural that I engaged in conversations with boys about girls, except that what I wanted was different. As usual, my dreams and desires were different-cuddling, touching, out away from society in nature, not caring who saw our intimate moment. While I admired their ideals of the female form, I just wanted to be with someone, irregardless of their body, irregardless of words and kisses.

I had an aha moment: I didn’t want sex. My end goal, if I were to envision utopia, stopped short of sex. In fact, sex would ruin it.

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Graphics Roundup-Feb 2016


Random stuff I did for fun from Jan 8-Feb 8

Looking back, I moved away from illustration and fun to simple shapes and attempts to communicate something more business like. I had been perusing through logos/business oriented graphic design and had less time than I had in December/Jan. Thus, I naturally gravitated to more conventional lines and shapes. The colours also got conventional, as evidenced by the pink/blue dichotomy. The last thing I did on Photoshop this month was attempt to recreate the side of a simple logo from an outdoor company. Future ideas for intersections of illustration and shapes: logos made up of shapes (circle, triangular trees) with bears (drawn; need to learn to draw a bear!) IMG_0288

Sometimes, monotone says it better than colour. I wish I had brought my DLSR.

Snow continues to be one of the biggest motivating factors behind my interest in visual art. Nature is the best artist: from the chairlift looking down, snow laden pines display a crown of branches that look strikingly like snowflakes (I’ll try to get a picture of that next time, but my camera has been frozen each time and I haven’t brought my DLSR due to time/space constraints.) Want to see depth of field using monochrome? There is something mesmerizing about staring at a stand of trees; the longer you stare, the more hidden branches you see and the deeper your field of vision feels.