- Not for the Light Hearted

I wrote this earlier today.

the past few days have been little more than a battle with depression. I think I've been depressed for a long time except it's easier to deny it, or believe in something beyond the textbook definition. I find myself constantly looking or something to believe in, since I can't seem to believe in myself. Despite my talent, my joie de vivre, I can barely seem to get out of the bed in the morning, mentally. My body feels exhausted and my dreams have been wrought with nightmares. I wake without feeling rested, rather tried by the trials my subconscious has placed before me.

Yesterday I tried writing about three encounters I've had this week. One involved a chance encounter with a stranger who offered me Chicken Wings outside a local pub, Swans. i initially turned him down, but as he pressed on with his offering, saying they were fresh and that he and his friend had over-stuffed themselves, I obliged. Minutes later, I received a call from my girlfriend that she had finished work. Being downtown, she met up with me and we walked home together.

The other day I was outside carving some new Worry Dolls. A man strolled by and caught my attention. Before I could respond, he asked, in a playful tone reminiscent of my friend Turner, and myself, "Whatcha do-ing?" I answered, and went on to explain the simplicity behind the figurines. He introduced himself, saying, "My name is Trevor, what's yours?" Taken aback, I replied that my name was Trevor too, not to be mistaken with Trevor Two. We chatted some more before my Montreal lineage came up. "Bien calisse moi je suis né au Québec (Fuck, I'm born in Quebec)" he replied. The encounter was getting interesting. Shortly afterwards I invited him into my home. We shared a bowl, and started talking about life. I asked him what drugs he took, and before I knew it he was pulling a crack pipe out of his pocket. He asked if I was judging him. I felt ambiguous, having never been with a crack smoker before. We talked some more before he asked if I felt threatened. There was too much going on in my head to answer him. Eventually, we made peace, and walked to the local park. There we engaged in more conversation, and as he was about to take his first hit a group of children walked by. He put his pipe away saying something about "not in front of the kids." It was humbling. Once they passed, he took his toke, and we continued conversing about the world. It was a pleasant affair. When I arrived home, I noticed he left his cellphone on my bed. When he returned later, I handed it to him, at the door.

Death is an interesting subject, one that consumes most of us throughout our lives.