he's come undone

I was thinking in very simple metaphors the other day and reflected upon how similar our lives are to plants. Like our herbaceous friends, we too need sunlight to grow, as well as water and proper nutrients to stay alive. (If I am getting too complicated with this I trust you will let me know.) Feeling the air start to fill my head, it then occurred to me that, like the fate that has met all the plants in my apartment this past year, if we deprive ourselves of any (or all) the bare necessities for life, we too will be taken out to the trash. Well, let’s just venture a sentence to say that, in the passed two months, I have nearly missed a trip to the landfill on several occasions.

winter on the coast.

As a native Winnipegger, I learned from an early age that one has to fight in order to survive the winter. In a city where the temperature can (and does) drop as low as fifty below zero, the most wonderful time of the year is not a season to screw around with. If you do not wear a scarf outside in January your neck will fall off. And if you do not make friends at the Toad on Friday night, chances are you will most likely die of loneliness. Well, you would think that moving to a city where cold is dependent on the answer to the question, “should I wear a light jacket or not?” one would not have to fight through the winter months: wrong.

As a redhead I have always maintained a love/hate relationship with the sun. But even in our most heated moments, I have never banished it from my life or wished it away for any extended period of time. These days on the Coast though it doesn’t seem like I have a choice in the matter. Ever since November the great ball of fire and I have been in a long-distance relationship, and it has begun to take its toll.

When I first moved to Vancouver, it seemed like everyone and their designer-clad dog felt the personal need to warn me about the rain. As if an ominous cloud was waiting to race in at any moment and spread darkness across the land, each person I talked to spoke to me in hushed tones and cryptic warnings.

“They’ve told you about the winter here, haven’t they?”

“Bad things happen when the sun disappears, very bad things happen.”

“Your shoes are fabulous. Better buy a pair of rain boots before it is too late.”

Everyone had their own personal horror story about the darkness, and one man even went as far to tell me that the winter in Vancouver could turn even the gayest man straight.

“You’re crazy!” I would say to all of them, flailing my wrists for dramatic effect. “Craaa-HAYYYY-zy!” Stabbing an olive in my gin martini, (because I naturally I carry one around at all times) I reassured them they had nothing to worry about. “I have survived many a winter on the prairies and I am sure a few inches of rain won’t hurt me. I have bent over for much worse.”

Well, flash-forward to one month ago and you will find me locked up and shaking inside my apartment with an empty bottle of wine in one hand and a computer mouse in the other clicking through every page of straight porn on the internet. While I remember being cold this time of year in Winnipeg, I never remember being psychotic.

The rain is coming!!

It is not so much the rain that gets to you in this city, (truth be told I do some of my best singing under an umbrella) it is the lack of sun. After waking up to overcast skies for enough weeks in a row, the clouds start to get to you. I have not found evidence just yet to support this theory, but I am fairly sure long-time exposure to the colour grey can result in feelings of angst, doom and heterosexuality.

At the beginning of the cloudy season, I was doing fine. In early December, to stave off depression and anxiety I relied upon my first defenses against the rain: my gym membership and personal love affair with Whole Foods. Exercising to the max, I flooded my body with all-natural-fair-trade-BPA-free organics and felt like Leonardo Dicaprio in the 1997 blockbuster film Titanic: king of the world. However, as the days passed and my dry skin flaked faster than the leaves outside my window, I could feel my energy begin to wane.

By January it was clear fatigue had sunk my battleship. Without a ray of light from the sun, my gas tank was empty and I could barely lift a five-ounce glass of red wine or a cigarette to my mouth. Everything, from getting out of bed, to the thought of getting out of bed made me exhausted. Once it was clear depression and anxiety had moved in to my studio apartment with me, it was not long before I raised the white flag.

Rolling off the bed one morning, I crawled along the carpet to my bookshelf and reached for the self-help section. Asking Meryl Streep for assistance, I mustered every last ounce of energy in my bones and flipped open the cover to one of my favourite holy books: Anatomy of the Spirit, by Dr. Caroline Myss. Taking small sips from each page, I let the words soak in to my bloodstream and felt my spirit slowly come back to me.

There were moments of cold and there were flashes of light but then it hit me, I was spending too much energy. All winter I had been shopping at Holt Renfrew when all I could really afford was Joe Fresh. Without the sun to replenish my libidinal bank account, I had bankrupted myself on too many trips to the gym and too many late nights out with my imaginary boyfriend. I realized that if I was ever going to make it to Spring with any desire to live,  I was going to have to save every penny of energy I could until the sun came back.

Pulling up a spreadsheet, I started to list every part of my life that was draining me. Typing like there was no tomorrow it was clear that all was not quiet on the Rugged Fox front. On the financial front, I was terrified about not being able to pay rent after my tips dropped in January alongside the ball on New Year’s. Socially, I was exhausted by friends whose lives seemed to be unraveling faster than mine. And on the personal front, I was too busy beating myself up for drinking too much and not writing enough, I left myself no time to sleep. Come early February it was clear my life was in the trenches and I needed to get out.

As soon as I finished my list, I started saving up as much energy as I could. I poured the bottles of Bailey’s down my sink from Christmas, and went without a drop of alcohol for eight days. My sobriety during that week gave me enough clarity to see which aspects of my life needed repair. The first thing to go was Facebook. I realized that the social network and the nineteen-thousand times I checked it each day was robbing me not only of time but precious energy as well. I deactivated my account and checked “Virtual Insanity” as my reason for leaving. Looking outside my window right after, I was pleasantly surprised to see the world had not stopped. 

Once my digital life was under control, I turned my attention to actual reality. I cleared my social schedule for the week and placed my phone on silent. Moving the chair from my desk in front of my mirror, I practiced saying the word “no.” I made a personal vow that I could home more often after work, and reminded myself that if I couldn’t say no to a friend every once in a while, my situation was never going to change. After a couple of weeks passed, I felt myself wake up again. I started laughing at work, filling up the pages of my journal and even managed to save a few dollars in my bank account. Since then, I am happy to report life has gotten better. 

Just before I left for Toronto I had a great conversation with one of my close girlfriends. Over a couple bottles of Spanish red wine, I asked her the question, “Why is it so hard to take care of ourselves?” “Why is it such a chore to eat right, exercise and drink eight glasses of water a day?” I marvel at some of my friends who seem to have no problems with self-care, while to me it is my greatest struggle.

I am at peace with the fact that I cannot control certain parts of this life. I cannot make the clouds part when I need the sun, and I cannot change the fact my apartment is north-facing and my plants simply do not get enough light to stay alive! I can’t change certain events in my past nor forget they are responsible for shaping me in to the person I am today. I can, however, try to do my best. I measure the state of my well-being by the amount of red wine left in the bottle after I wake up. And sometimes I just buy a second bottle.

The sun returned last weekend for a visit, and it was beautiful.

Comments

[Justin]

The landfill is better off without you! It wouldn't know what to do with itself if you swooped in!
Pop those Vitamin D pills RF. They're the "good drugs" those cartoons were telling us about in Elementary School...who knew alcohol was a part of the "bad" ones!!

[Jo]

Grass is always greener I guess. Meanwhile we're living through what I hope to be the last blast of -45 windchills around here. Bring on March already!! I'm exhausted and cold. But we can be thankful for the sunshine. I don't know how you West Coasters survive, you're a different kind of tough now my dear.
I agree with the challenge of self care. I suck at it. Especially at this time of year, when work is busy and you don't want to leave the warmth of your sweat pants and the house and it seems like a great idea to order pizza cause you're too lazy to cook anything. Blech. Winter is the worst! Haha

On the bright side, I did love your subtle Celine lyric thrown in there - well done!

Let's have a skype date soon please. I want to see your gorgeous face! Love you!