ROSEMARY GARSIDE

DEPRESSION – SOME MEMORIES

By Rosemary Garside

In olden days before modern drugs, many people with my condition (chemical imbalance) or (Manic-Depression) died by committing suicide during episodes of severe depression, or by fatigue and not eating during a manic attack.

With the introduction of modern drugs, good psychiatric care and follow up, much has been done to alleviate this problem and people with my condition can lead normal and productive lives, as long as they continue to take medicine and follow medical advice.  I did for a number of years.

Unfortunately, sometimes things go wrong and after a period of 10 years without an episode of my illness  (I had continued to take my medication), I had another “manic attack” and as a result had to be hospitalized. I was stabilized and in time, returned to work and hoped to continue in this way

In some cases, the drugs I was given did not agree with me and I felt worse than I did when just suffering from my mental condition.  I reported this to my medical advisors, however, the establishment I was attached to was not very sympathetic.  The nurses and doctors always appeared too busy to really find out what was happening.  I got this impression that they had made their minds up about what was the matter with me without me and my family being involved or consulted.  I really don’t think they listened or made notes of what my family said.  They had an idea in their heads and that was it!

The drug I was prescribed initially produced severe side effects, resulting in my losing my memory for four days, after a ‘manic attack”.  (That was a weird episode, I felt I had the flu but was manic also).  I was never questioned about this, it was dismissed as one of those things.  I was also thought to be an alcoholic and at times felt I knew the ‘Blood Department’ better than anywhere else in the hospital.  I forever seemed to need further “Blood Testing”.

During my 51^st year, I was in and out of the hospital on a number of occasions and in general got the impression that nobody quite knew what to do with me.

I felt that some people thought I was an alcoholic, some that I had organic problems and others that I was such a psychological mess, that I could not adjust to changes in my life.  I was told I was manipulative and that I felt unloved – all these to some extend had an element of truth to them and caused me much unhappiness, because I, too, was questioning what was the matter with me.  Personally, I felt awful.  I tried to do things but somehow couldn’t, my family tried to help me, but even them felt that I was a very poor mother and otherwise useless.  I dragged myself around, managing always to get dressed in the morning – obviously good upbringing.  I made it to church on Sunday and to a friend’s place on Thursday evening – very often this was an effort on many occasions. 

My other predominant dread was the thought of spending the next 20 odd years feeling like this.  I was 51, but in more ways than one, felt one hundred.  Life was frightening at that time.  I felt I was deteriorating and indeed might be becoming retarded, nobody explained to me why I was feeling the way I was, and I was left to speculate on my own.  I really was treated as if there was no hope for me.

In desperation I think, I tried to commit suicide, which I did on three occasions.  I honestly felt I couldn’t live the way I was.  I couldn’t write, because my hands trembled, my daughter had to sign cheques for me.  At times the walls of my apartment seemed to close in on me and I hated being there.  It took me three days to pack to go to England and that was all I had to do.  Even the effort of going out with friends was often too much.  I had to change.  Reading was difficult and I spent much of my time wondering if other people felt the same as me, that, and feeling guilty because of my inability to do things.

I did, however survive, and I’m glad I did.  I actually am not prone to contemplating suicidee and do in fact, find a great deal of enjoyment now in life.  Also I am a Christian and have found much strength in that.

I did not enjoy that period of my life.  Hopefully, with the excellent medical care I am now getting, I never will try again to commit suicide.

Thank you to:

Dr. S. Dziurdzy and the Henderson

The Rev Alan McPherson

The Rev. Bruce Herrod

My Family

My friends at church and elsewhere.

Originally published by:   P.T. Publishing

ASMA WARSI

Golden Years

Golden years!
What golden years?

Income reduced,
Health compromised.
Empty nest,
Living downsized.

Cholesterol pointing high,
Blood pressure on the rise,
Diabetes, arthritis,
Weakening  eyes.

Hearing impaired,
Wrinkled dry skin,
Every joint rattles,
Golden years begin.

Copyright (c)Asma Warsi 2011

We are one!


I left behind my sweet memories,
And chose this land as mine.
I gave it my youth, my energy, my love,
And believed it will be mine.

I gave it two young generations,
To serve it and protect.
Conscientious, hardworking, educated,
Their duties they’ll never neglect.

Yes, I do have a little accent
But you would have had too.
If you had been the first generation
Or your parents were here new.

I look different but I am like you,
Don’t give me a derogatory name.
My accent, my colour, my unfamiliar attire,
Are not a matter of shame.

Building a mosaic, every brick counts,
Art has many strokes.
Many colours come together to form white light,
A song has many notes.

Copyright(c)AsmaWarsi2011

--

Asma Warsi

Asma Warsi is originally from Pakistan and has lived in Canada for almost forty years.  She received her M.Sc. from Pakistan.  She attended Seneca College in Toronto and received her Chemical Technician designation, She also studied TESL (Teaching English as a Second Language) at York University. 

Her work experience has included working as a pharmaceutical lab techician, teaching English as a Second Language with the Toronto District School Board, and for twenty five years, she has been the editor and  publisher of the Ambition newspaper As a business woman, she ran a small print press for several years.

Asma writes poetry in both Urdu and English. She has performed her work in English at a poetry event.  She has also been invited to give a talk on the basics of Islam by the United Church which was well received. 

 She is a widow with four grown up children and eight grandchildren.

NORMA WEST LINDER

                                               Common Scents

                                                Walking my small dog

                                                across the nearby park

                                                the scent of dry cut grass

                                                in August sun

                                                drifts up, envelops me

                                                I close my eyes

                                                to travel back

                                                to Manitoulin days

                                                when I was ten

                                                --a tomboy then

                                                given free rein to roam

                                                the rustic countryside

                                                meadows of childhood

                                                Those heady days

                                                of endless summertime

                                                are always just a thought

                                                or two away

                                                I felt immortal then

                                                when all the world was new

                                                Now time is like a train

                                                that’s speeding up

                                                so every now and then

                                                it’s good to stop

                                                pull on the brakes

                                                and let a special scent

                                                bring back the past

                                                if only for a moment

                                                or  two   

                                                          

                                                Norma West Linder

    

                        

                                                      Norma West Linder and fiance James Dheal 

                                                                  BIO

            Norma West Linder was born in Toronto,  spent her childhood on Manitoulin Island, and teenage years in Muskoka.  She is a member of The Writers’ Union of Canada, PEN, The Ontario Poetry Society, The Canadian Federation of Poets, WIT (Writers in Transition)and Past President of the Sarnia Branch of the Canadian Authors Assoc. Linder is the author of 5 novels, 12 collections of poetry, a memoir of Manitoulin Island, a children’s book, and a biography of Pauline McGibbon.  For 24 years she was on the faculty of Lambton College in Sarnia, teaching English and Creative Writing.  For 7 years she wrote a monthly column for the Sarnia Observer.  He short stories have been published internationally and broadcast on the CBC.  Her poetry  has been published in Fiddlehead, White Wall Review, Room of One’s Own, Quills , Toward the Light, Prairie Journal, FreeFall Magazine, Mobius, and other periodicals.  In 2006 she compiled and edited Enchanted Crossroads for The Ontario Poetry Society. Her latest publications  are collections of poems entitled  When Angels Weep and Lovely as a Tree She has two daughters and a son.

ROSEMARY GARSIDE

An interesting article on Occupational Therapist and the work they do.

I would like to mention that for some reason the blog is not allowing people to leave comments.

If you have comments for any of the writers, please send them to me and I will send them to the writers.

Several people have told me this and I tried it out myself, and I could not leave a comment.

Very frustrating.

Wilma Seville

CONRAD DI DIODATO

"Spain haiku"

To parks and through dry city arches—
  Atocha train station

Doves of heaven or large lanky Grecos—
  lost in the Prado

White Franco tourism with the odd goatherd—
  Mijas

An old hippy trail straight to Marrakesh—
  Gibraltar

Gypsies shacked up in a sacred mountain—
  the Alhambra

Fat tourists or Boteros in Lisbon square—
  good morning!

Two leaves for bitter, one for sweet—
  rich man's fountain

Catalonian heat—
wind turbines stuck at 12:20

Conrad DiDiodato teaches high school English in Ontario and has published widely in both print and online magazines. He hosts an annual poetry reading in the beautiful Niagara Region.

ELIZABETH COREY

Aunt Ada's Legacy

My great Aunt's handkerchiefs are beautiful,
lace-edged, hand-stitched

momentoes of an unknown place

or gifts from long-dead friends;
a colourful answer to a head-cold.

I find the perfect four-fold squareswith a silly relief,
I thought I'd lost them
Relics of another era
they speak of the insides of purses
and the hand-held hours pressed

The will of her much more like the iron than these
frivolous fancies she stowed away
As I do a cache of secrets
she passed down hiding the inevitable shame of the body
They are her strong and fine and scrupulous
on the details.

Copyright(c)Elizabeth Corey2011

Elizabeth Corey

Elizabeth Corey, soon-to be- Tessier, is the mother of four wonderful kids and works at Whitehern Historic House and Garden  in Hamilton, Ontario as both a guide and a caretaker. 

JEFF SEFFINGA

PRAYER FOR DIZZY

May in your new existence every whisper
that touches you be filled with a soft light
that carries in the rhythm of soothing murmur
the promises and mysteries of night.

May grass grow ever taller than your shoulder
and fall away from your approaching face
as you explore the clean expanse of meadow
and know that you belong in that new place.

May life again turn in familiar cycles
unfettered by the linear chains of days:
action and rest, hunger and satisfaction,
while all the sounds you hear are songs of praise.

May simple dreams become their own fulfillment.
Rest on those cushions where St. Francis sat.
And when you sing out in the heavenly chorus,
let every angel know that you are cat.


Copyright(c)Jeff Seffinga 2011

Published in his latest book,  "All We Like Cats"

Jeff Seffinga at Tower Poetry Launch



Jeff Seffinga was born in the Netherlands and raised in Eastern Ontario. He has been writing and publishing poetry for most of his life.

 Much of his work deals with questions such as man's relationship with the natural world of which he is so much a part, though he likes to set himself above it.

His latest poetry book "All We Like Cats" is now available for sale.Of the many awards he has received, he is most proud of the 1996 Grain Prose Poem award and the 2007 City of Hamilton Arts Award for Literature.

  He is the current editor of Tower Poetry, published in Hamilton 

  by the Tower Poetry Society.