I recently went to connect with someone who I admire, someone who I appreciate seeing on my facebook timeline, and who I am amazed at her strength and sheer determination. It has taken me awhile to sum up the courage to make a deeper connection, a friendship, a real friendship, maybe.

And for the life of me, I cannot find her on my friends list, or on Facebook, for that matter. Assuming she has deleted her facebook, I go to her blog, “From A Cabin Up North” and see that she hasn’t posted since January, and with that post, she outlines similar feelings to what I feel.

The feeling of being, simply ‘Stuck’.

I myself, have been feeling stuck. A different kind of stuck, for I feel it is the ropes that bind my inner being that hold me back. Of course finances play a role in this as well, but something inside me if full of fear, full hesitation, full of question. Here I sit, beside the dog I am watching until Wednesday, feeling the anxiety start to pour in, like sand, slowly filling my body with dread. In the Klondike, in the Yukon, people are slowly becoming readjusted to the light, to the people, and to the need for money. It’s time to start thinking about how I am going to survive another winter up here. I look around and compare, compare with my brother, compare with my boyfriend, compare with my fellow 20 somethings out there who seem to be, well, just plunking along, either in school, or otherwise. And I wonder, “How do they do it?”

I have been told before, that I will have to do jobs that I may not exactly like, or enjoy, to pay the bills. I understand that, but how does one do a ‘shit’ job, when one struggles with convincing herself somedays that her life is worth living another day? Mental Illness can be a strength, but can also be an anchor that weighs down any sense of drive or desire. I have no desire to work a job that makes me miserable, as I feel that I was not put on this planet to simply pay bills. I have no drive to sacrifice the quality of my mental health to scrub toilets, deal with chaotic employers, just to then spend the few hours of the day that I have left counting my pennies and hiding beneath the sheets until the next time that I have to leave the house. Time that could be spent exercising, creating, yoga.

What I want is a healthy blend. A blend of work, art, and self-love. I know it is achievable, but HOW?

How does one do, create, and strive towards something that they believe is what they were put on this earth to do… A job, a career, a lifestyle, that you look forward to everyday (or 90% of the time). I am not asking for instant gratification, I am asking, how does one keep striving toward a goal without being discouraged by life itself?

I was SO excited to venture up north to attend art school. I had studied at schools in Vancouver, (Emily Carr, & Capilano), I worked hard to present a portfolio full of skill and desire to learn. And what I got from “art school” in the Yukon was not desire.

It was disappointment.

Disappointment in the school, in myself, in the curriculum, in the director, and in the direction that my mind and thoughts were going. I had let myself fall to pieces, my confidence sifting to the bottom, while anger, sadness, and exhaustion floated to the top.

I then proceeded to spend the following summer fighting with myself, willing myself, to create, to allow myself to create and to let go of the ideas and values that were placed on me at school, the critiques, the theories, the ignorance, I still am battling with the confusion I gained in the first year of Art School. I am still bitter at the money, the scholarships and bursaries, that were put towards a program that left me raging with anger rather than burning with desire to carry on with my education – They are gone. All gone. I spent countless hours sitting in the class studio fuming internally, observing the lack of organization, communication, and skill set being offered.  I came to school to learn, to practice, to create. What I found myself doing was stumbling into politics, anxiety attacks, and a feeling of despair. There was no discipline, no guidance offered in the 2D, 3D, and 4D courses. Myself, like others, felt like they deteriorated rather than grew, while at this institution.

So does one give up after a bad experience? No.

I truly do see that I need to make peace with my experience at Yukon School of Visual Arts.

Do I carry on, and apply to finish my Bachelor of Fine Arts?

Yukon School of Visual Arts has darkened my view of a career in the “Art World” – Do I really want to commit myself to endless hours of rejection, ramen noodles, and conceptual theory? And let’s be honest, hours of infuriating Bullshit?

Do I change my path, and follow other interests, such a wildlife management, first nations history and government, or archaeology?

When will I let the bitter taste leave my mouth, and allow myself to try again, stepping past the fear of failure and disappointment?

Don’t get me wrong, I am SO thrilled to be living in the Yukon, to have my darling apartment on the Dome Road, and to be surrounded by such inspiring people I have met since I have moved here. But how do I gain job security, knowledge, and desire once again?

I need/want a career.

Enough with the spring panic.


Originally posted on From A Cabin Up North:

I’ve been falling deeper and deeper into a hole and I’m stuck. I’ve not posted cabin updates lately. I feel embarrassed at how slow my progress is and I hate posting about something that never seems to be finished.

I thought January would be the month I cover all the plastic walls in the cabin, I’ve almost finished a wall. I thought I’d be making things and getting things done. I thought I would be moving forward. My truck needed to be fixed twice in January. All the money I made in January went to my truck and to my land payment. I still owe money for the second fix. I thought, ” I’m not bringing in the truck at all in February, I’ll drive it til it breaks down completely.” Here it’s February 13th and I’m positive I need to replace a ball joint again. It’s LOUD. In the…

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I Miss…

Originally posted on Knocked Over By A Feather:


I miss playing outside on my swing-set.

I miss the simple life before the internet.

I miss talking on the telephone for hours.

I miss my innocence.

I miss my daughter sitting on my lap.

I miss my family, the one I knew as a child.

I miss the excitement of driving, before people on the road turned into ass-hat’s.

I miss the sound of my dads voice.

I miss being well.

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Experts sound warning on looming food crisis in the North

‘Nutrition transition’ creates health hazards
Panel member David Natcher, the director of the Indigenous Land Management Institute at the University of Saskatchewan, said much of the problem of food insecurity has to do with the logistical difficulties of getting healthy food to isolated northern towns.

“You can look at cost, for example,” he said, outlining how healthy food in a Yukon city like Whitehorse (population 27, 889) costs less than half what it does for a remote Yukon community like Old Crow (population 267.)

“The average cost of groceries for a household in Nunavut is approximately $19,700 per year, yet 49 per cent of Inuit in these regions earn less than $20,000 per year,” Natcher said. “Obviously if all of their income is going toward securing a healthy food basket, there are enormous challenges.”

One consequence of the high cost of food is that many families are forced to buy the cheapest food possible at stores, leading to what Kuhnlein calls “a nutrition transition.”

To read more – Click here

This article was originally published on April, 11, 2014 by Brian Platt.


Oh yeah… I have a blog…

So it has definitely been a while since I have written on here-

So here is an update:

I have moved from the dry cabin back up the Dome – into a lovely studio apartment which I share with Scott. I still work at the Youth Centre, and I have been madly busy creating artwork for two events. I currently have art displayed at Soup Wallah, a cafe in my hometown, Fort St. James, B.C. and just this past Saturday (Yesterday) shared a table with a fellow artist and sold the majority of my paintings at the KIAC Christmas Art and Craft Fair.

I am now slightly exhausted and nauseated by the idea of painting- as my mind and hands have been turned into a factory this past few months. I am looking forward to the few commissions I have picked up, and going back to some larger pieces of artwork I had started in the fall.

If you found my website via my impromptu potato stamp business cards, handed out at the craft fair, WELCOME! And thanks for the visit. You can find my art- (Freshly updated) by scrolling to the top of the blog and clicking on “My Art”- That will direct you to a page filled with galleries of artwork that I successfully remembered to take pictures of –




To Shake Violently.

The word “concussion” derives from the Latin concussus, which means to shake violently.


To live with a history of 7-8 Concussions, all gathered like easter eggs in one wonderful, but very fragile basket (a.k.a my skull cavity) all accumulated during the ages of 13-19, leaves one to wonder just what the heck is really going on up there.

At this point in time, I prefer not to go to the hospital when I happen to have sport/life related head injuries. Because frankly- Is there anything that they do besides shine a flashlight in my eyes, look at my chart, see that I’m a “chronic offender” and simply treat me like a hypo-chrondriac? That seemed to be the case last night. And when the doctor pulled the mental illness card. Saying, “I could be experiencing other symptoms due to my other problems” I knew I had to leave. I was not going to receive any help from this Doctor.

Yes anti-depressants can cause symptoms similar to concussions, but the severity of head pain due to pressure and the overwhelming memory loss and slow functioning, I know this is not just some  “side effects” – those side effects are something that I deal with everyday. What I am experiencing is getting worse, not better, and is limiting what I am able to do. After having an antique wooden door fall, and crack me on the back of the head on May 1st, then 2-3 weeks later, having a soccer ball almost knock my lights out, the month of May has been full of concussion symptom observation. What I am finding a little uneasy is that I am finding it harder to “bounce back”. Trust me. I think I know myself after all the mental health shenaneghans I’ve had to deal with before the age of 20. It seems that unless you see a brain surgeon, or a neuroscientist, post-concussion symptoms are not recognized to be much of a big deal. And since I did not come in unconscious, puking, or in a vegetable-like state, I was pretty much told “we can’t help you” and sent on my way.

It’s true, they can’t help me. Unfortunately medical care has not ventured into the treatment of brain injuries, and the problems one may experience afterwards. Help like that doesn’t seem to be implemented in an everyday hospital. After being told that they “cannot prescribe magic” I literally begged for a cat-scan. But was told “it would not change anything”.

Thanks for thinking I am a 6 year old, I know it won’t change anything. I want to be aware if there is anything that is being ignored, or that could explain any of my problems that lately, I am finding very hard to cope with. And the treatment and unprofessional remarks I received from this doctor? – not impressed at all.

It seems I have hit many a wall in regards to trying to find a better quality of mental health. Is it really so hard? More often than not I come home and begin to doubt myself, thinking that yes, I do complain too much. But then again, all I am looking for is to be able to actually enjoy living. And having the fear that yes, there may be something happening in my head unawares, does affect my ability to achieve a day without worry.

So even though it frightens me, and causes me to worry,  I’ll keep reading articles, papers, whatever I can to find help, since I have yet to find a doctor that will acknowledge my worries about permanent damage.

The only “advice” I received last night was “to avoid getting hit in the head again”.

Thanks, like I didn’t know that already…

I Suppose You’re Wondering…

And to be frank,

So am I.

I too, wonder, what am I doing. What should I be doing. Where should I be. Where should I go. Why am I here. Why am I not there. Who am I. Who will I be. Am I supposed to be worrying about this. Why am I so worried about this. What do I do, now that I am nearly twenty, mentally ill, and feeling completely confused on what to do next. Yes, I am an artist. But will that pay the bills. Will that give me freedom to educate myself further. Will I forever be dependent on my parents for not only moral support but also financial. How do people do it. Show me how. Not how to settle with mediocre, show me how to find this thing called happiness. Contentment. Joy. Whatever you call it. I want to find it. The world is my oyster you say, but why does that seem so frightening. Oh don’t be so cliché, you cluck at the computer.

Go ahead and cluck. I am a walking cliché. Full of my generation’s struggles and expectations. Full of false hope. Full of hoping that my hope is not false, but something that could possibly become true. Becoming an artist seemed so right when I was a child. This is what I’ve learned. I can’t become an artist. I am an artist. An artist who is, trying to find a purpose for herself. Trying to find who she is. Trying to find who she was. Before I knew what mental illness felt like.

Can I be the person I was before mental illness filtered through me, making the windows of my perception darkened. Who was I. The photographs can only speak so much, and leave so much to be questioned. Do I even want to be that person again. I was merely a child. Can I be both. Can I feel the happiness. Experience the emotion. But also have the strength gained from all the scars I carry. Is it too much to ask.

It seems with everyday comes more self-reflection. More questioning. More fear. But also, more hope. Hope that I won’t have to question what happiness is. Hope that I won’t have to feel guilty for existing some days. Hope that as an artist, I can enjoy the search for who I am. Who I will be. And become inspired by what I experience. Hope that I won’t feel obligated to worry about things I can’t change, foresee, or control.

With everyday there is more hope in my life,

that everything is going to be okay.

And even if I don’t believe there is hope- I will keep telling myself until it rings true, because right now- I am not sure what else to do.