Time Never Forgets

Today marks 6 years since I lost my friend Jennifer — aka Wolf Whitewater — unexpectedly. Below is a poem that I wrote for her.

Miss you everyday, my friend!

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Time Never Forgets

Six long years have come and gone
The seasons pass, time marches on
The moon still fills the darkened night
The sun still shines at dawn’s first light

You were in my life for a time so brief
Our time as friends, was short but sweet
The memories made, I still hold dear
I smile now instead of shedding a tear

I miss you now, and I always will
Although we never met
I'd be lying to say I don't miss you
Because time won't let me forget

© Krista Eddy, 2016

My Battle With Depression

My Battle With Depression

Depression.

I'm not sure when my battle with it started. Maybe it was lying dormant within me for years, and all the shit life can throw your way finally got to me. All I know is that it's forced me to fight demons and talk about the past. And when your past is a painful one, that's a really hard thing to do.

Early years

Looking back on things, I'm pretty sure this path to depression started back in 1990, when I was just in Kindergarten. There was a teacher (who shall remain unnamed, but not because of their innocence) who thought nothing of hitting her students. I can't speak for any of my classmates, but she made my life a living hell. I still see her from time to time, and while I've forgiven her for her misdeeds, I'll never forget how she made me feel.

But I digress.

I think that because she got away with what she did to me, others then saw that it was okay for them to do as well, and they wouldn't get punished. Years of teasing and bullying ensued. I was near tortured. I was pushed around, had a chair hauled out from under me, had broken paper clips put in my food (I'm forever thankful to a Pastor’s son who saw it and told me, and gave me money for food), and stuff stolen from my locker and burned. My life was a nightmare.

Home offered only temporary relief. My folks did the best they could, but their seamlessly endless bickering drove me to hide away in my room, away from all the noise. My room was my one safe place. As long as I had my books and my music, I was okay.

Things got a little bit better upon entering high school. Note I say “little bit”. The bullying stopped, as people grew up and out of it. Even though I still didn't fit in anywhere, school life was tolerable, especially in part to a few wonderful teachers that made me feel like I matter.

But then, in Grade 11, I was diagnosed with Aspergers Syndrome (high functioning autism). For weeks, months, maybe even years, I hated the diagnosis. This was just another thing that made me different. Add in my parents divorce, and other horrific events in 2002 (including having to give a statement to a police officer and watch a loved one get arrested), and its a wonder how I made it out of that year unscathed.

But something good did happen that year, something that I'm still thankful for. I discovered Great Big Sea. And in them, I found a place where I belonged; somewhere where I fit in. And it was at my lowest point that they pulled me back from the brink.

Highs & lows from Ontario

August 2009 should've been a happy time. For the first time ever, I got on an airplane and left Newfoundland for a few days. I flew to Ontario where I met up with Janice, Amelia, Paddy, and Chad. We had all meet earlier that year for a Great Big Sea show in St. John's, and had reunited for a show at the Molson Amphitheatre.

The whole trip was amazing. I got to see Niagara Falls, attended my first (and now only) GBS show outside Newfoundland, and even got to go to the Hockey Hall of Fame (a dream come true for this Habs fan).

Coming home was hard. I didn't want to leave. The thrill of being somewhere new was one of the best moments of my life. I didn't want it to end. But it had to, and I was left with a horrible low. Upon my return home, I crashed. Hard. My emotions became uncontrollable. I was sad and lonely despite being with family. I was convinced that I was a burden upon said family, and convinced they'd be better off without me. So, I did the only thing that made sense to me at the time:

I attempted suicide.

In the moments that followed, I remember tucking my knees to my chest and turning on music. I just wanted the pain to end; I was done with life, with everything. And then, something amazing happened.

Ordinary Day. It came crisp and clear through my headphones, and it was a wake-up call. And in that moment, I realized that what I had done was a mistake. Right around the same time, my Mom figured out what I'd done, and we rushed to the hospital. They made me drink this vile tar-like substance which made me sick. But at least I was still alive.

In 2014, a few wonderful things happened. First off, a bunch of Newfoundland celebrities (and their friends) got together and created a video about mental health awareness (click here - https://youtu.be/nOqbTHl7b1M). In watching this video, I felt not so alone in my fight. I finally felt that someone understood, and that it was okay to talk about what was going on.

And I did. I tweeted a couple of the guys who had appeared in the video, thanking them, because their support meant a lot to me.

As fate would have it, I would see one of those guys the very next month. And although he had not responded to that tweet, I knew he saw it, because the first words out of his mouth that night were “How are you doing?”, as he gave me a much needed hug. And that night I had the courage to ask him for lyrics (Ordinary Day) for my suicide survival tattoo. Although somewhat surprised, he agreed.

It's still a great source of strength to this day.

2015-Now: Seeking and receiving help

Last year, I finally sought out help. I knew that my depression and mood swings were too much to handle on my own.

In the midst of that hard time, I once again decided to get a tattoo that would help me through the dark times: Shine On.

From the moment I heard Shine On from Alan Doyle’s 2015 album So Let's Go, it resonated with me. Every word of the song felt like my life. It's like my thoughts had been sung out loud. I loved it and still do.

I had been planning to get a semicolon tattoo for sometime, a reminder to myself of where I'd been but would never return to. But there was one hitch. I couldn't nail down a design.

But then, I thought of Shine On and thought how perfect it would be. So I explained it to Alan on Twitter, and he agreed to send me the lyrics (as luck would have it, he misunderstood my request, and sent the lyrics to the entire song and they are now hanging on my bedroom wall. I got the tattoo after, and its still a bright light, a reminder to find some good in every day.

And then in October I started going to counseling, and taking meds. That combination has made me feel like myself again, a functioning and happy adult who is pursuing her passions and isn't afraid to take on the world.

Final thoughts

To those of you who may read this and are struggling right now, please know that you are never alone. Reach out to a friend or a loved one. Seek help. Talk to your doctor. There are people (and medications) out there that can help you. I can promise you that it does get better.

And I'm living proof of that. Never ever give up!

My life as a hockey writer: habs4life, Rocket Fire Fan Profile

In October, I started writing for a Habs website. Within a few weeks, I came up up with Rocket Fire Fan Profile. In late December, I asked Alan Doyle if he would like to participate, and he said yes!

This interview originally appeared online at habs4life.ca on January 10th. Here it is in its entirety!

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Welcome back to Rocket Fire Fan Profile! You'll recall that last week, I told you a big interview was coming, and here it is!

Please enjoy this interview with Alan Doyle (@alanthomasdoyle on Twitter) - musician (former Great Big Sea, Alan Doyle and the Beautiful Gypsies), actor (A Whale For the Killing, Robin Hood, A Winter’s Tale, Republic of Doyle), author (Canadian Non Fiction Best Seller’s List - Where I Belong) and proud long time Habs fan!

When did you become a fan?

In the late 70’s when I was 8 or 9 years old, the Habs won four Stanley Cups in a row. I was infatuated with the team and the city.

How did you become a fan?

The only way possible at the time,Saturday Night Hockey Night in Canada on CBC.

Earliest Habs memories?

Watching Ken Dryden lift the Cup, and noticing the fans in Montreal dressed fancy for the games.

Favourite player past and/or present? Why?

Ken Dryden.  He was a goalie like me and was not like everyone else in the game.  He did not look, talk, or act like the others.

Favourite thing(s) about the Habs?

The passion the city has for the team.

First time you saw them win a Cup?

Not sure, honestly.  It would have been around 1978 I guess.  They won a bunch back then and I’m not totally sure which one I saw first.

Most prized Habs possession?

A photo of me and my brother Bernie with Ken Dryden after GBS sang at the NHL All Star Game in Denver.

If you had your choice of number, which jersey would you wear, and why?

29 of course.  Ken Dryden’s number.

Anything to add?

I don’t think there is a sports franchise anywhere in the world that occupies the same place of reverence in the community as the Habs. They are simply the most important sports team in history.

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Here's the link to the original interview

Braver, Stronger, Happier

This might come off a little sappy, but oh well. I've been told I'm a sappy person, so here it goes.

To anyone who ever encouraged me to chase my dreams - family, friends, and teachers - thank you. For a long time I was afraid to take that chance and put myself out there. I was afraid of being vulnerable. But not anymore.

Since I took that leap of faith in late October, I've never been happier. I'm making a name for myself as a writer, and my dreams of making a career out of it are closer than they've ever been. I finally feel that I'm doing what I'm supposed to be doing; that I've found my purpose and meaning in life. And that's huge.

When you struggle with low self esteem (and yeah, I have. My counselor noticed it almost immediately) and depression, you often feel like you're worthless; you don't have any purpose, any reason for living. Your life may be filled with wonderful people, but still there is something missing, and that something is purpose.

By putting myself and my writing out there for the world to see, I feel that I've become a stronger and happier person. My life has more meaning than it ever did. I'm not afraid to go after what I want. Case in point, my last two interviewees.

The old, sad, and afraid me never would've been able to ask Con O'Brien or Alan Doyle for interviews for my articles. But the new me? She's not afraid anymore. She's a strong, confident, and happier person who is chasing her dreams and is determined to succeed. 2016 is going to be my year. I can feel it.

So thanks again to anyone who ever told me to chase those dreams. I couldn't have done it without you! 😘

Keep on Shining; find your spark

I remember it like it was yesterday.

I was not long home from a fantastic trip to Ontario with my friends Amelia, Paddy, Janice and Chad. There had been a trip to Niagara Falls, sightseeing around Toronto, the Hockey Hall of Fame, singing in a pub, and a GBS concert - the only one I've seen outside of Newfoundland - a truly marvelous trip.

I remember feeling emotional about leaving. I didn't want to go. I cried.

The whole time I was flying back home, I remember feeling that it wasn't right. As much as I loved my family and my home, I didn't want to be back there. I had enjoyed my Independence, savoured being somewhere different. And I suppose it was this emotional trip that triggered such a rash decision.

When I got home, I was still emotional. I remember being argumentative. I didn't want to be there. Anywhere else would've been better at the time. I felt I was a burden, the cause of all my mother and stepfather's troubles. I hated it. I didn't want to cause them trouble. The solution seemed so clear to me in that moment - end my life, and they won't be stressed.

So I went to the bathroom, looking for a way out. I looked in the medicine cabinet, and took the very first thing I could find. More than half a dozen pills I took. I went to my room crying, just waiting for things to be done. I didn't want to feel. I curled up in a ball, turned on my music, and waited. I just felt so done. I didn't want to live.

Two things saved me that day. The first was my mother. I thank God every day that she discovered that foil pill wrapper and realized what I had done. Rushed me to the hospital, scared of losing me. To be honest, in that moment, I was scared of dying too. I realized my mistake, and all of the pain I would've left people with had I been successful in my attempt. I thank God that I wasn't.

The second thing was music. Great Big Sea. One of the songs that came on while I was sitting on my bedroom floor, crying, was Ordinary Day. Alan and Sean's words resonated with me that day; they hit me like a ton of bricks. I knew that no struggle I was going through was worth ending my life over. We all have struggles, some worse than others, but we all have that option to sink or swim. I chose to swim. And I still do.

I can't say I've not struggled over the years, because I have. There are still days when bad thoughts creep into my head - that I'm not good enough, strong enough, or that the people in my life deserve better than me. It's a daily struggle sometimes - there are days that the depression is so physically draining that I don't want to get out of bed. So I don't. I take care of me and if the laundry doesn't get done or dishes don't get washed, I don't worry. Taking care of myself is most important.

I search for reasons to live, and they're not hard to find: my friends (who have become a 2nd family) and my family - especially my almost 3 year old nephew. Had I been successful in my attempt 6 years ago, I'd never know the joys of being called Auntie Krista or of watching the same fireworks video over and over or of taking pictures and seeing the world through his eyes. I love him more than life itself, and I'm thankful for him. He's a light in my life, even though I don't see him often. The music gives me reason to live too. If I kill myself, those songs meant nothing, the words of encouragement would have failed. I can't let that happen. I need to live, because I can perhaps help another who is struggling.

This light that is my life isn't going out anytime soon. I'll keep fighting, and keep my light shining - even if I have to find a spark to help me out every once in a while ❤

13 years and counting

May 25, 2002. I was a high school student, in my second last year of high school. On that particular morning, while on my morning stroll up and down the hall, a poster happened to catch my eye. I stopped to look at it for show reason, and was intrigued. It read: An Evening of Music with Alan Doyle and his guitar. I knew the name, but wasn't the fan I am now. All the same though, I was interested in hearing him and seeing if I liked his music.

When I returned home from school that evening, I told my mother about the poster, and the event. She agreed it sounded like something good to do, and the price of $10 was decent. So we got tickets, and I eagerly awaited Saturday night. Just a few days before the show, several people found out that Séan (McCann) would be accompanying Alan for the night. So we were seeing half of what was then the current arrangement of GBS for a decent price and a great cause.

I don't remember much about that night, save for a few details. Alan won me over with Boston and St. John's, Séan belted out General Taylor with all his might, and nearly split my eardrums (and I suspect of others). There were jokes (Yo, who's the Big C?) and ("for the rest of the evening, I'll be his guitar), and continuous banter. I remember them being disoriented because they weren't standing in their usual spots on the stage. I remember being starstruck when asking for their autographs. But most of all I remember the feeling of belonging. I was hooked,instantly. 2 weeks later I owned Sea of No Cares, and I haven't looked back.

It's seen me through all the ups and downs life has thrown at me. There was a divorce, my autism, a suicide attempt (my own), bullying, floods, and now a continued battle with depression. I've made some amazing friends - most of who I consider family now, travelled, organized pre-show gatherings, and grown in so many ways. The depression is the worst of it all. Sometimes it feels like it's swallowing me whole, and I don't know how I'll get through. I turn to music, and to Alan (who feels more like a friend after 13 years) who is almost always there with kind words, advice, a smile or funny face, and on several occasions since June 2010, a comforting hug.

All this came because I stopped to look at a poster in the hallway at school. Nothing more, nothing less.

Best decision I've ever made!

Jealous

I admit it. I'm jealous.

All you girls/women out there that have a great relationship with your Dad, I envy you. Probably so much so that the ugly green eyed monster is rearing its head right now. But it's not your fault. Not one bit.

Even from my earliest memories, my Dad and I aren't what I would call close. Does he love me? Yeah, that I have no doubt of. But his mind of love is just the kind that exists because of DNA. He has to love me because he fathered me. Hugs always felt empty, and words were too. After a while, it just seemed normal to me.

As I grew, nothing really changed. He didn't have time for me, and I made myself be okay with it. If I closed myself off to the pain being let down brought, it wouldn't hurt as bad. Or so I thought. But through countless broken promises and lies, the wall that I'd built up slowly crumbled. Every time he'd broken a promise to me, I'd cry, wondering why he'd done it. It made me feel like I was just a second thought. Never a priority.

To be honest with you all, I always thought there was something wrong with me; that there had to be something I did or said that made him decide that I wasn't worth spending time with. Logically I know that's not the case, but when you think with your heart, things are never as clear as they should be. I now know the truth for what it is: he's selfish. If he cared about me at all, he wouldn't make promises he couldn't keep. If he really loves me, he'd stop letting me down, and I'd stop being hurt. I'm sick of being let down. I'm sick of crying over him, time and time again. Sick of tears streaming down my face, and my heart feeling like it's breaking.

All I want is a normal relationship with my Dad, one where he loves me and protects me just like a father should. But that's a pipe dream that's never going to come true. Every girl deserves a father who values and treasures her, makes her feel special. That's never going to be a reality for me. Might as well get used to it, I guess, because that's my normal.

So to you girls out there lucky enough to have a great relationship with your Dad, treasure it. Your reality is something I could only dream of.