Ehren Ackerman

Tag: anxiety

  • Magoo – I’m sorry I didn’t see it.

    Magoo – I’m sorry I didn’t see it.

    This blog is dedicated to the memory of someone I knew and loved. It involves a traumatic personal experience and is a real life example of mental illness. The story is explicitly written from my personal perspective and I purposefully avoided the use of the names of the other people in my life at the time that I did not receive explicit consent from. I know that the person that this story was written about would have given their complete and unconditional consent and would allow me to write about the situation with complete trust. This story is meant to raise awareness about a mental health condition and behavior that affects between 5% and 6% of the population of North America and is a real life account of one such case.

    Thank you to all of those who were present during this time in my life. I was struggling at the time in my own life and I sincerely apologize if I owe you anyone any amends. Please reach out to me directly if you wish, I want to hear from you.

    And now, we begin…

    In Memory of Gary, AKA Magoo

    My roommate and I used to stay up way too late, talking about all of the most important topics in the universe. We had lived together for a very long time and been good friends so we had no difficulties getting into deep conversations and discussions about nearly anything. We shared an interest in the occult, ghost hunting, and that usually branched off into even weirder topics but it really formed a bond between us that has become life-long and I am so grateful for it.

    So one evening, when we were up talking, the topic of “would you wake someone up to let them know a loved one had passed away? Or, would you be the type of person to let them sleep and have one more peaceful evening?”

    Never did we think we would get a real-life example to practice on so quickly.

    –

    Gary joined my ghost hunting group in the early years. He showed up to every event, every activity, every investigation. He was by far the most enthusiastic member of our team. We all loved having him around and we spent countless hours together as a group and one-on-one with him.

    When Gary was younger he played a lot of sports and spent time hanging out with his friends. He competed in track and field, and was an active member of the Dutch-Canadian community locally, as were his parents. He was adopted from an early age, but he was taken in and loved as if he was one of their own. His parents enjoyed gardening, won awards for their beautiful yard, and all of them spent quality time travelling the world; especially in the homeland.

    When he was about 18 or 19, Gary broke his arm in a sporting event. He was tackled in football if I remember correctly, and the break was clean-through. During diagnostics, they discovered that he had cancer within his bones. Doctors began intense chemo-therapy immediately to stop the spread and save his life. Due to the aggression of the treatment it had an effect on his developing mind, Gary’s ability to learn became affected and his capacity became reduced. His life was saved, but Gary wasn’t quite the same ever again. He lost a little piece of himself during the process. He remained his loveable self, honest and kind, but he required additional care on top of what the average person would need. He was “young forever.”

    He lived with his parents into adulthood, but within a very short period of time he ended up losing both of his parents. That left him alone with a small inheritance and he became dependent upon the province to grant him care and provide his agency.

    Gary’s other best friend stayed alongside him, thick or thin they were in it together. For 30 years they spent weekends together, drank beer and pop, and listened to rock music. He was always someone that he could rely on. Of course, his friend got married and had a life so Gary found other ways to keep himself occupied as to not be a third wheel; not that he ever was. He took up butchering at NAIT and was well liked by everyone he met there. He spent lots of time on ghost tours and was active in many different social circles.

    I met Gary at one of the Edmonton Paranormal Society events. He was eager and kind, so I took a shine to him right away. He joined our group and all of us welcomed him with open arms. He became a member of our family. We would spend evenings and weekends together visiting haunted locations, participating in investigations, setting up and taking down events, and we also got together for other reasons like concerts as well. He loved classic rock and attending music events and concerts with his best friends. In fact, one of my favorite memories of all time was attending Deep Purple with him. Jonas and the Massive Attraction opened for them at Rexall place and we laughed so hard we both fell out of our chairs. It was incredible.

    One evening, just after returning to our house after an event, Gary appeared more disoriented than he normally would be. Gary was always a little scatterbrained, but this time it was a bit different. His lips turned blue, so we lowered him to the ground carefully and called for an ambulance. Within a few minutes, he was whisked off to the hospital.

    In the hospital, we kept him company and stayed alongside him. He was well taken care of during his stay. It appeared to doctors that he had a tear in his aorta, he was experiencing internal bleeding which was why he was having fainting spells. They operated on him and he began his recovery in the hospital room. All of our friends took turns visiting, he was rarely alone during any of that time. Even when sleeping, someone was often looking over him.

    He and I always bonded over birds. Knowing he had a pet cockatiel, and myself being the owner of a rescued African Grey Parrot, I volunteered to visit his apartment and make sure that “Pookie” was well taken care of. I gathered Gary’s keys and headed off to spend some time playing with the bird.

    He lived on the second floor of a small apartment building. I unlocked the doors and found my way to the right apartment number. Strange how I had known him all of those years but had never been inside his home, we always met at my place or I picked him up out front. We never had the reason to go in and I remember that being something going through my head as I approached.

    I unlocked the door, turned the knob, and opened it up. The apartment was dark so I fumbled to find the lightswitch. I clicked it on and was a bit astounded at what I saw. It was a single bedroom apartment, living room to the right, small kitchen and dining room straight ahead of me. To the left would be the hallway that took a quick 90 degree parallel with the kitchen path, it led to the bathroom and bedroom suite. The entire floor had a platform of cardboard boxes, about knee to waist high, with only enough space between them all to walk sideways. On top of all of the boxes was a layer of dust half a centimeter deep. Feathers were lightly spread among it all. I could only assume it all had been there for a very long time and there had been no apparent attempt to clean or dust any of it ever.

    I made my way through space. The sink was full of dishes but they hadn’t been disturbed in what I would guess was years. There was a garbage bag full of takeout packaging and energy drink cans. He had a computer desk where the dining room would typically be arranged, it was surrounded in smaller boxes with enough clean space to spin in an office chair and access the desktop and computer.

    He must have slept in the living room often because the couch was relatively clean aside from having a pillow and blanket on it. There was enough room in the living room to access the bird cage, the television, the balcony access, and the couch. It was also apparent that he enjoyed allowing Pookie to be free-range, locking him up for nighttimes only.

    The rest of the apartment was pretty much the same. He had enough room to dress and sleep in the bedroom and living room. He had enough space to bathe and use the washroom. Everywhere else was inaccessible due to the walls of cardboard boxes.

    I returned to him with my report. Pookie was safe but of course, I had to ask about the apartment. Not in a judgemental way at all, just strictly out of concern. I always assumed he just didn’t have much which was why it never really crossed my mind to be the opposite. 

    What actually had happened was that he had inherited his parent’s belongings when they passed away suddenly but due to his capacity he was unable to maintain a home. So when he was forced to sell the family home, and had to move into the apartment, he brought all of the boxed estate belongings with him. He never opened them again due to the difficulty facing the emotions it brought up for him and he was alone with that burden.

    It broke my heart.

    I asked him if he would allow me and my friends to clean and organize his home. He was excited at the idea. As a group, we spent countless hours opening the boxes and sorting everything. Cleaning every square inch of that place, every wall and every floor board, every window and cupboard. The place was spotless and we didn’t even really have to get rid of anything. We were able to arrange all of the personal family heirlooms in a corner with rubbermaids. The apartment was spotless and tidy. We were so proud.

    Upon his return, he was grateful. He was an entirely different person. He had a glow about him and you could tell, something meaningful had happened to him. I think he felt accepted and cared about for the first time in a very long time.

    Then, in the middle of the night, came a knock on my door. I opened it and there stood Gary’s best friend. Gary was dead. He had collapsed at the front entrance to his apartment building, double pneumonia and lung infection. The paramedics and doctors believed his condition was due to the previous living conditions within the apartment.

    I spent the next few hours calling my friends and letting everyone know what had happened. I woke a lot of people up and had very hard conversations with each of them. 

    Remember the story at the beginning of this blog? Whether to wake someone up or not? I did not wake up my roommate. Having  JUST had that conversation, I knew she had taken the side of, “letting them sleep.” So that’s exactly what I did. I decided I’d tell her in the morning.

    She read about it on Facebook, from a mutual acquaintance’s post, before coming up for breakfast. I now have a different view on that belief entirely. Wake them up.

    I did my best to stay involved in the process of taking care of Gary’s estate. His closest next of kin was an elderly lady in Denmark, who did not speak English. This was before the years of Google Translate, so it made it difficult to communicate but we patched it together through emails. Gary’s landlord allowed me access to his apartment to collect personal belongings and family heirlooms but anything else was to be left behind for them to salvage or dispose of. I helped the landlord and the maintenance worker sort everything, including collectible coins from his parents estate. I went through every single room and made boxes to be shipped to the proper relatives. I packed up my Ranger, organized everything so it was sorted, and left with a truck full of items all of which took years to get into the right hands. I copied his hard drive, cleaned his personal files and data off of his devices, and found all of his documents. I then scanned ALL of his family’s photo albums and digitally sent them to his next of kin overseas.

    I also planned his funeral and was the master of ceremonies for a service in the park surrounded by his friends.

    This was my introduction into this condition. I had no clue what hoarding behaviors truly were. I had no idea the depth of emotion, the complexity of traumas associated with each case, and the diversity of each person affected. In my experience, no two cases have been the same. Yes, they often share similar symptoms but the REASONS are completely subjective, often involving trauma, despair, and heavy emotions.

    As a person in recovery and who participates in various therapies with psychologists, therapists, and other professional and non-professional mental health supports, I understand that feeling. I understand the feeling of being completely overwhelmed, feeling beyond hope. I heard it described by a 12 Stepper once; their Big Book calls it “incomprehensible demoralization” and I identified with that heavily. In my own wellness journey, I lived in a “rock bottom,” of sorts. It felt like a deep pit that I could never escape from. I visualize it like a derelict water well with walls made entirely of quicksand with nothing but a dot of light above you to look into.

    Now though, after all I’ve been through as a person, I can look back and see how far I’ve come. I cleaned another 45 hoarding homes after my first introduction to it. And that was before deciding to start my own company to try and do something about it so there’s lots to still tell. I hope you are along this journey with me and I hope that, together, we can get to the bottom of it all. Let’s make room for some healing in our lives and clear the path for others to follow.

    There’s lots to do and lots to learn and I’m here to help. Ready when you are.

  • Creep: Part One

    Creep: Part One

    Where do I even begin?

    You could say that I have a fascination with the macabre. I honestly can’t explain how long ago it began, but somewhere along the way I became interested in everything considered “dark.” I love ghosts, cryptozoology (Loch Ness Monster, Ogopogo, Sasquatch, Etc.), psychics, mediums, psychometry, stone tape theory, UFO’s, the Bermuda triangle, mysterious disappearances, conspiracy theories, faeries, gremlins, demons, reincarnation, and anything else that operates on the fringe of people’s imaginations teetering along the edge of reality.

    I also love Halloween, abandoned buildings, cemeteries, horror movies, and collect “haunted” and odd artifacts and antiques. I have no idea what stemmed it all but after 30+ years, I have some experiences in life that could be considered “unique” to say the least.

    When I was in my early 20’s, I founded the Edmonton Paranormal Society in Alberta, Canada. During my time as president I spoke with hundreds, maybe even thousands of people about their personal paranormal experiences. I had the amazing opportunity to speak with some famous and well-respected names and experts within the global industry as well. I was also able to visit hundreds of amazing locations over the years and actively participated in or lead our team on 70 or more investigations. I was featured in print, radio, podcasts, and television. It was an incredible experience but it also was a second full-time job for me. I was working a full-time primary job by day and ghost hunting by night. It wasn’t exactly glamourous, but it sure was fun.

    This is by no means meant to say that I did it all alone, I’m just proud of the experience I have. We had a fantastic team of volunteers that pitched in. At our peak we had about 8 investigative volunteers, a handful of other “specialized” volunteers and consultants, and we hosted two social club meetings per month that each had between twenty and thirty people in attendance.

    We also got to work with a few amazing open-minded organizations such as the Strathcona County Museum and Archives and the River Lodge Retreat that opened their doors to allow us to investigate as well as allow others to try their hands at the experiments typically conducted by investigators.

    But it all had to start somewhere.

    The group itself originally started with one email and an online ad. I was looking for a few people who were interested in sharing their ghost stories with me, possibly for a blog or book to write. I wasn’t sure where it would lead but I had always had a fascination and one day I was properly motivated so I took the leap.

    One evening after work, I received a response to my online advertisement. After a brief email exchange, we decided to get together and visit an incredibly well-known location. I had never met these two guys but together, in the middle of the night, we snuck in to a large abandoned hospital armed with flashlights, candles, and a lot of nerves.

    We never intended to enter but when an open window provided the perfect access on an open platter, so we had to. We spent hours inside, exploring all 7 stories, the rooftop, and the basements. It was exhilarating and I was hooked, forever changed.

    We realized very quickly that, if we were going to be doing this more often, we were lacking a lot of the necessary equipment, experience, and reputation to be able to investigate on a regular basis. We borrowed some video cameras from friends and family for an investigation or two in small homes wherever we were able to get them, often creating “make-shift” experiments to detect drafts re-enacting what we saw on television. Most of the time, nothing happened. It didn’t stop us from enjoying ourselves though and it helped us learn the ins and out’s of how to conduct ourselves.

    We then decided that investigations were too advanced for us. We weren’t having much luck getting investigations booked and equipment was expensive. We figured that we really wanted to hear stories anyway so we began to meet every two weeks at a local lounge attached to a bingo hall. It was quiet and we pretty much had the run of the place so it would be a mutually beneficial relationship.

    Meeting after meeting, we waited. Nobody showed up. We would arrive on time, squeeze a few tables together order some food and sit together discussing all the things we had read about since we last saw one another. We would read books and articles to discuss and talk about places we wanted to visit one day. We would then talk about how we were going to get more people to attend.

    In between meetings we were all working full time jobs. I would post online advertisements as often as I could on local sites. I designed and printed home-made brochures, posters, and hand-outs that we gave away to anyone who would take one. We posted them at libraries, all over campus, down town, anywhere we could put them up. We found some online social club forums and began to post in them as well, there was quite a few people in them which was why we were surprised that none of them were coming out.

    We then created our first website.

    Finally, a miracle happened. We opened our meeting like we always did, we had gotten to know the waitresses and owners pretty well so we conducted our regular routine. Then 30 people arrived at once.

    I’m not going to lie, none of us were prepared for that kind of attendance. We crammed more tables together until we had a 30-foot stretch of them with chairs on all sides. The booths began to fill up. It was the busiest night at that pub in years. The waitresses were run off their feet!

    “Welcome to the Edmonton Paranormal Society, my name is Ehren Ackerman and I am a volunteer,” I did my best to be loud enough reach the people at the back of the room without passing out from nerves. “This is a safe place to discuss anything paranormal. Feel free to meet each other and get to know one another. The goal is to find other people with similar interests but not judge each other. I’m going to sit at this end of the table and do my best to make it around the table so that I get a chance to speak with everyone.”

    Then I did just that. The meeting went for three hours and I spoke to every single person there that night. Everyone had a unique or traumatic experience to share, it was phenomenal.

    Every meeting I made it my goal to make it all the way around the table and speak to every individual attendee. We made our motto “the home of the ever-expanding table” because we were constantly having to add another one to the end of the line to make it longer. I met all kinds of people with all kinds of experiences and interests. Our group did this for about a year before the pub wanted to change our arrangement. We began to look around to find another meeting place better suited for our attendees. We had gained more active members and lost some of our original group along the way, many of our attendees were low-income and we wanted to keep everything as inclusive as possible so we chose to take the offer of a local pagan supply store, Where Faeries Live, to use a room in the back of their store. They were amazing hosts to us for the next four years at least. I even believe meetings were held there long past my resignation.

    During our formation we had made friends with a local investigative group, so whenever they were short on investigators or needed additional help for a larger location, they would call our main group of volunteers. We attended all of their presentations and learned from them as we went, collecting our own equipment and forming an investigative team of our own along the way.

    Eventually, we began to handle more and more of our own cases, overflow from other groups, and became very independent. We had some differences in style with the partner group that we were working with so we discontinued our collaborations. We wished to focus on residential cases and helping families and individuals whereas they chose to pursue a path of television and educational entertainment. They have been very successful might I add, it’s great to see.

    We fine-tuned our methodology, upgraded our equipment as we went. I would save up every last penny I could so I could afford to purchase another EMF Meter or Audio Recorder. As a group we fundraised by organizing large events to purchase greater and greater technology. We utilized online marketplaces to purchase second-hand equipment. Eventually, we had a 4 channel CCTV (Closed Circuit Television) and DVR (Digital Video Recorder) System with Infrared Cameras, a 32” Monitor, 6 Walkie Talkies, 5 Handheld Night-Vision Video Cameras, Several Digital and Film Still Cameras, 8 Audio Recorders, 6 EMF Meters, a ghost-box, a Laptop with editing and capture software, Dozens of Flashlights, motion sensor lights and alarms, non-contact thermometers, surface thermometers, sensitive microphones, other types of meters, every type of experiment we could get our hands on, enough batteries to energize a small country and extension cords to get to any remote corner of any house. We had all of this plus safety procedures, a training manual we had written for new recruits, an operation manual we had developed. It all fit inside about 6 Large Rubbermaid Totes and One Rolling Toolbox that we used as a basecamp table.

    We then had “The Paraphone” cell phone that we used to conduct all of our operations.

    Operating our group was a full-time job. Often the main volunteers would work all day, then we would all get together to eat or get together after dinner each day. During the weekdays, we would conduct preliminary investigations where we would visit people’s homes, review their claims, talk with them about what their expectations might be then arrange for an investigation at a later date. If we weren’t doing that, we were reviewing the footage we had shot from our investigations on the weekends.

    Our investigations would begin about two hours before dark on a Friday and/or Saturday. We would arrive and unpack our vehicles and begin to set-up. We would place our CCTV cameras where we believed they would be the most use, tape all of the cables to remove any tripping hazards. We would also set up our audio recorders and experiments in their respective areas. We would conduct a walkthrough of the premise so that we were all aware of any risks and hazards present and go over our objectives for the evening.

    Once the sun set, we turned on all of our recording devices and turned out the lights. Our cell phones were left at basecamp to avoid interference with our equipment and we began. One person would stay at basecamp while the remainder of the investigators would be sent to their designated areas. The lead investigator would be in charge of the plan and rotation schedule. We took regular breaks to avoid fatigue and refuel. We even had a bag to save the empties from our energy drinks.

    Sometimes the clients stayed away, sometimes they participated, sometimes they stuck around at base camp. It really depended upon the situation and what was happening. Sometimes the claims were that a person was being attacked by an unseen entity, so it was necessary for the person to be present. Other times clients would come home to their homes being disheveled so we tried to re-create those instances. We had to use different tools and different methods depending upon location, type of activity, beliefs of the client, etc. We tried to re-create claims of activity that was either explained to us by witnesses or was experienced by our investigators while on site.

    In the early hours of the morning, we would turn on the lights, tear down and pack away all of the equipment into my truck. I would unpack it into my basement when I got home before crawling into bed for a few hours of sleep.

    After each investigation came the footage review, which was a daunting task to say the least. To think that an investigation could go from 8:00 PM until 4:00 AM (8 Hours) and each piece of recording equipment needed to be reviewed often escaped our minds while we were investigating. This usually resulted in between 24 and 128 hours of footage review, depending on how much of the kit we used. This was how we would gauge how involved our investigators wanted to be, those who participated the most in footage review got a place reserved for them in the next investigation. We also had a few “regular attendees” and honorary members who would help with footage review from time to time because they were unable to physically participate in investigations.

    We would then provide a report for the client that included a DVD-ROM containing copies of any “activity” we were able to capture, and a certificate that we had conducted an investigation at the location for their records.

    We did all of this while continuing to maintain two social clubs that met on the first and third Saturdays of every month. One was titled E.P.I.C. (Edmonton Paranormal Interests Club) and the other was I.C.U. (Interactive Clairvoyant Understanding). There was also a regular newsletter as well as a library of books, DVD’s, and footage that could be browsed and borrowed from.

    I’m not going to lie, we had it down to an art. We were good at what we did. I’m very proud of what we were able to accomplish as a team. We were a well-oiled machine and it became second nature to us.

    I still have a bin full of memorabilia, newspaper clippings, and memories that I hold on to for nostalgia. We were one of the largest groups in Western Canada and that’s something to be proud of.

    And of course, what paranormal team would be complete without a bonafide psychic medium or two?

    Thank you to my cousin Susan Ursel for suggesting this topic. As you might suspect, I have a few more stories that I could share if you’d like to hear them. If you want to hear more about this, or another part of my life, please send me an email or shoot me a message. I’d love to hear from you and am happy to answer questions about any of my experiences in life.

    Please take some time to wander around my website and visit any of my social media pages. If you are able to please like, subscribe, follow, or share. It will really help me out.

    Thanks for reading!

  • The Bubble Boy Part Deux

    The Bubble Boy Part Deux

     In a world gone haywire, how does one stay sane?

    The world is against me, after a series of events out of my control, I am a victim. I have been wronged, held back, limited, beaten down for too long and I can’t take it anymore. If only they would be more like me, think more like me, the world would be more peaceful and get along better. The struggles I am experiencing would be alleviated. I wouldn’t feel guilty and ashamed anymore, I could go back to feeling proud of who I am. I could help others.

    That was my mindset on many evenings as I finished up my 5th or 6th beer. I’d grumble to myself about the state of affairs in the world around me, in the lives of the people around me. The company I worked for. In my head, I was solving all of their problems. Why couldn’t they understand it? What are they not getting? How dumb can they be?

    As I rounded my 9th my high ego would turn into a mood of self-loathing. I had wrecked it all. I had caused everything in my life to collapse. I had hurt so many people along the way. Nothing I could do was good enough and no matter what I tried; it was all going to end in a pit of despair with everyone around me getting hurt.


    By my 12th, I couldn’t tell you what I was thinking anymore, or if I even was. I was on autopilot. My eyes unfocused, my words barely able to fumble their way across my tongue and past my lips. My brain no longer recording the events that transpire.

    Oblivion.

    This was a typical evening for me; give or take a few beers, but the end result would be the same. It continued like that for years, a decade and a half actually. A cycle of going to work sober in the morning, racing home in the evening, and celebrating my arrival with my first drink of the evening. Don’t get me wrong, I took some small “vacations” from drinking here and there along the way. The breaks from were typically initiated by some form of drama or chaos happening within my life, self-induced I’ll admit. I would momentarily be lucid enough to understand that my addiction was not helping, so it needed to go or something in my life would, I was forced out of necessity.

    Unfortunately, the idea never really stuck for long. I’d be able to obtain stretches of sobriety for a few weeks, perhaps a month or two, before succumbing to the inevitable. I’d convince myself that I was cured and therefore I could go back to the way it was. I could go back to being a part of the rest of the world. I’d hide my return to drinking out of shame and justify it to myself in my head for as long as I could before being discovered. Hiding everything I was doing from the public eye. I’d plot my entire guilt story in my head in case anyone ever caught me, then I could “open up” about how it wasn’t the problem and something else was, promise I was going to address it. After a week or two I’d be back in my old patterns and the cycle continued.

    I’ve come a long way in three years though. I feel like I’ve grown up by ten. In three years, I’ve had to “play catch-up” with everything I failed to learn over the past 16 years and I doubt I’m even close.

    I know now that I used drinking as an escape from the seriousness of the world, when in reality it was literally preventing me from learning and absorbing new things (like coping skills). Because I wasn’t present for my life experiences, the meaning was lost and any lessons meant to be learned were not recorded. I got caught up in a fantasy world, a bubble, a place I made up. A world not as it is but as I wanted it to be. I was stuck in my own head but I am not so sure this perspective is exclusive to only addicts.

    So how does one get out of that pit? I can tell you it’s a hell of a long journey and there is no end-game only maintenance. It’s completely worth it though and; cliché as it may be, it starts by asking for help.

    We’ve all heard it a million times. “It’s ok to ask for help.” We’ve also heard the same response a million times, “I have a hard time doing that.” That’s where the conversation ends.

    Now, as you read this you are probably nodding your head; even if only internally. This, or situations just like it, are common. People do not know how to proceed to “the next step.”

    Let me explain some of my current perspectives. I want to try and help.

    Are you the kind of person who would drop everything to help a close friend or family member in a time of need? Do you love the feeling of being useful, being asked to help a friend with a really personal problem? Do you want to be there for your friends and family, to support and love them? Have you been in a situation where someone really relied on you and you were able to come through for them in those intimate moments or an emergency?

    If you answered “yes” to any of those questions then ask yourself this… Why are you stopping people in your life from getting that feeling of fulfillment?

    Everyone (or most people anyway) are waiting for any excuse to be useful to those they love or someone else. They are literally waiting on baited breath and want to jump on any opportunity to have purpose and impact in the lives of those around us. It makes us feel good to be needed, it’s rewarding to our egos and self-esteem, plus we get to feel like we made a difference in someone’s life.

    Even strangers, especially those volunteering or working in support groups or call centers, do it because they want to make a meaningful impact on someone or something in this world. Give them the opportunity.

    But what about the feelings of being judged?

    People who judge are one of two things. They are either unable to fully understand the situation because they lack the appropriate experience in their lives to draw from (congratulations you are their first) or they are unable to because of their own emotional status. It’s not their fault and it has nothing to do with you. It does mean however that you may have to ask for help from someone else. No need to put all of your eggs in one basket.

    Again, this is a great place for helplines, non-profit organizations, or step programs to stand in. If you don’t have people to turn to or feel judged, these places are full of people just waiting to be given the opportunity to be useful.

    It all starts with one action, one conversation, one step in the right direction. Sometimes it’s a matter of simply stopping, sitting still, and ending the cycle. Staying where you are, even for a day, is better than sliding backwards. It’s progress.

    One thing I do know is that solitude and isolation are two completely different things. I used to believe that my isolation was a good thing, being away from the public kept me sane because people were my problem, I was protecting myself and it was reactive to the world around me. Now I know that people were my solution all along, my thinking was the problem. Solitude is much more deeply planned as a way to compliment my thinking.

    I was once stuck in a world where I believed everyone around me was drinking and that they were healthier than me, they were the normal ones. I was stuck in a world where I was the only one suffering from anything. I was so wrong; the world is far more beautifully complicated and diverse. In suffering we are united, it’s one thing we all have in common. It’s a feeling we all understand in our own, very personal, way. We will all suffer at some point in our lives, it’s inevitable.

    So why pretend like we don’t? On the most primitive of levels the answer is easy. Embarrassment and low self-esteem.

    I’ve taken at least half a dozen first aid courses in my life. Most jobs I’ve had have required me to have first aid and I have had to use it on occasion. I will always remember what one of my CPR instructors said at the front of the class, right before we began to learn the Heimlich maneuver.

    She asked, “what is the first thing someone does when they realize that they are choking?” to a doe-eyed classroom, half full of people who would rather not be there. After a moment of silence, she provided the answer, “they leave to get away from people and retreat to the bathroom or another secluded place as to not cause a scene.”

    My eyes widened with complete and utter realization in that moment. It is our human instinct to retreat to a place where we are away from help and will surely die alone. It is our INSTINCT to do the opposite of what we should do to keep ourselves alive. What we should be doing is making the universal choking symbol at the first sign of trouble and letting those around us know of the imminent emergency, even if it ends up being a false alarm.

    That is something that truly resonates with me after all of these years and I now know how to look for the signs of someone who is “choking” because I’ve experienced it from both perspectives. I’ve both died and been saved in my own way.

    I believe we are all lost in our own minds and experiences. It’s nearly impossible to believe or perceive another person’s perspective. We do not know their stories, but we can at least understand that we all suffer.

    So, what signs do we look for to know that someone is suffering? How do we help another person who may be stuck? How can we tell if someone is choking? Well, here is another analogy for you.

    Imagine you are walking down a path in a peaceful forest, birds are chirping, the breeze is gently flowing. As you walk, you happen across a dog in the path. You approach the dog gently, smile as you lean in to pet it. It bares its teeth, snarling and growling, it lashes at your outstretched hand. Taken back, you stand upright and naturally retreat your hand away from the open jaws of the animal. What are you feeling in this moment? Likely shocked, hurt, confused, maybe even a little angry at the animal.

    Why would it do such a thing when you were only trying to be kind?

    As you step back your field of view expands and something catches your eye. A hunter’s trap. The dog’s hind leg is stuck in painful trap and it appears to have been this way for quite some time. The dog is hungry, angry, lonely, tired, and; above all, scared.

    Does your opinion of the dog’s reaction change?

    My friends, we have all been this dog at some point in our lives. If we haven’t been, we will be one day. We have also all been the person extending their hand. Now is the time to come to a greater understanding of each other’s situation. We can remove the traps and continue our walk together. We can heal from our wounds.

    I wouldn’t even be here if I hadn’t asked for help from someone in my life who I believed knew better than me. I wouldn’t be writing this right now, you wouldn’t be reading it, if I hadn’t accepted their advice and guidance and believed that they had my best interests in mind. My son wouldn’t exist or if he did, I wouldn’t know him. People in my life noticed my bared teeth and snarling, they took a step back and noticed the trap on my leg and offered to help. Most importantly, I accepted their help and listened to them.

    I’m thankful to say it has worked until now and continues to work today. I hope to make the people who have helped me proud, so that their hard work and effort is paid in full by my presence. I hope to work each day to make myself as healthy as I can be to put myself in a better position for the future. I hope for the opportunity to be able to help others. I hope to be able to take all of my experiences, even the ones I am not proud of, especially the ones that hurt someone else and make them count towards something meaningful to someone else.

    Perhaps the true secret is that we were never sane to begin with.

    If you enjoyed this blog entry, please let me know. I love hearing feedback. If there is something you’d like to hear more about or a topic you’d like me to write about send me an email. Let’s have a conversation.

    Thank you to everyone for their continued support. To my wife, my daughter, my family, and my friends I could never have done any of this without you. Keep fighting the good fight and I’ll keep trying to do better or at the very least do good.

    Thank you to the person that answered my call for help.

    To quote the famous Canadian, Red Green, “Keep your stick on the ice, we’re all in this together.”

  • The Bubble Boy Part One

    The Bubble Boy Part One

    Ever since I was a little child, I believed I was different.


    I often felt like I stood on the outside of the crowd looking in; alone in a room full of people. Somehow deep inside I was unlike anyone else around. I both loathed and embraced it.

    My family was much like everyone else’s. Nobody’s home is perfect when they are growing up but we all crave the nostalgic embrace of our childhood. I would brag to my friends at school about how my home was a safe place; a place for others to feel safe as well, and I’d boast about the upstanding citizens my parents were and how prominent my lineage was. I admired the honor and honesty my family attempted to foster and represent in the public eye and within their own lives. In my eyes I didn’t see struggle.

    In reality, we weren’t perfect. Nobody is. I was living in a dream world, a bubble. A little slice of heaven created in my own mind. A safe place for me to escape to whenever the world seemed too scary. My memories tucked away warm and safe.

    I won’t focus too much on my family’s individual stories during my blogging, primarily because they aren’t my stories to tell and they aren’t my reputation to affect. I can say that we all had our share of struggles and drama, we wouldn’t be human beings if we didn’t. I as a child absorbed and imprinted both the good and bad, it was nobody’s fault. Everyone was doing the best they could and I understand that more today than I ever have.

    That’s life. That’s the way it progresses. We all start somewhere.

    As a child, I had one or two very close friends that I enjoyed spending time with. I wouldn’t really want to play in groups and rarely wanted to attend large social functions. I remember that it was mostly because I’d feel overwhelmed; like an actor who has performed back-to-back theatrics in double features night after night. I used to talk about being exhausted; the more people I was around in any given day the more tired I’d become.

    My mother has mentioned to me on occasion that even as a toddler I preferred to watch games or groups from the outside looking in rather than jump right in. I’d watch behaviors and how others interacted with one another, get a feel for the games being played amongst peers. Then when I was confident that I had mastered my plan, I would join in and immediately be able to hold my own, win the game, or capture the hearts of those playing. Even to this day that description of my behavior rings true.

    Even today I enjoy observing and I enjoy being good at something, I enjoy impressing people and being successful. I enjoy control.

    In my 20’s I actually absorbed the term “objective observer” as a bit of a mantra, an inspiration of something I wished to become. I valued being indifferent, like a Vulcan I longed for logic and the relief it would provide me with. If only I had paid closer attention to all of those Star Trek episodes growing up, I would surely see the true plight of being emotionless. As it turns out, it’s a lonely world.

    In my early teens through into my 30’s I prided myself on being able to suffer. How much I could subject myself to without breaking. I ran towards the things that people normally flee from as a bragging point. In fact, it became quite formative in what I am today. It will likely continue to mold my behaviors and beliefs for the future.

    I needed to be something or I needed to become something, I didn’t know what it was but I had to be successful at it. There was no other option in my mind. I started searching in the depths.

    Most of my life, I’ve always chose to keep company with suffering people. In my own sick mind, people who are suffering are more real to me at times.

    In the past they have told me “how it was” (or their perception of it) point blank. At the very least their need to talk about their struggles; much like I am doing today, was a wealth of untapped knowledge. It was a simple matter of deciphering their experiences into something I could understand, translating it into something I could explain. In reality, it was because I believed deep inside that I was better than them. If I surrounded myself with poorly people, I could feel better about who I was deep down inside. I didn’t realize any of this at the time; I could have avoided a lot of heartache that I both caused and experienced, but it doesn’t make it any less true.

    One thing I will always admire about the underdog however is their willingness to help. Those who suffer are the first to offer to help another, there is no doubt in my mind. Also, our greatest heroes often suffered the greatest hardships. All hero origin stories begin with tragedy.

    Again, in my mind, I needed to suffer in order to become a hero. Tragedy wasn’t happening fast enough according to my standards, I needed to give it a little nudge to help it along.

    Enter Alcohol and my need to impress. It was nobody’s fault.

    The year was 1998, age 12 was a magical time. A coming-of-age time where puberty was playing all kinds of tricks on my mind (perhaps there is more to write on this one day).


    My family’s economical situation was improving as my father progressed in his career, we had always been a “hosting” household and actively social within the community. Our home was a hub for weekend get-togethers, parties, and BBQ’s.

    We lived on a large parcel of family heirloom land located about a fifteen minute’s drive outside of a suburban Alberta town. Campfires and outdoor gatherings were commonplace at our home and I was always allowed to have a friend sleep over when my parents were having company. It was a great way to keep me occupied so the adults could let off a little steam.

    The coolers on the deck were stocked full of cold ice and cooling brews that were ripe for the picking. I was an otherwise trustworthy and honest child; mostly on my best behavior and relatively predictable, until I wasn’t.

    My friend and I began by taking turns “going to the bathroom” throughout the evening; that way no adults would get suspicious. If we got caught, we simply said we were bringing the drink to someone. One by one, we would leave my bedroom and the gaming console behind and embark on a raid. We would sneak back one, two, maybe three drinks to my bedroom and secretly hide them.

    As a side note in addition to the story, I enjoyed tinkering with electronics growing up. Like a true nerd, I built my own “surround sound system” using old stereo equipment and large speakers I had bought from garage sales or been given when family upgraded. I wired them all together myself as I got them, I then wired them through an old hand-me-down television set so I could watch loud movies. The wooden backs of the large old stereo speakers were easily removed to reveal an extremely large and; what I’d consider sneaky, empty cavity.

    We packed those babies full.

    After the party had ended and all of the adults had gone home my parent’s retired for the evening. My friend and I pretended to be in bed for what felt like hours, just to make sure we were truly in the clear. My stomach fluttered with butterflies, I was both anxious and excited.

    We began to enjoy our hard work. I started with the beer; my friend started with the rum coolers, we escalated to the harder liquor. We drank every single drink we stole within a very short period of time, 12 or so each actually. We hid the evidence before becoming too intoxicated and from then on, I have no recollection. I remember waking up the next morning feeling sick and disoriented, but we managed to recover from it “without incident.”

    It’ll never happen again, right?

    My sobriety date is September 21, 2018.


    In sharing my experiences, I hope that someone else might feel less alone and perhaps even find some strength and hope for their own struggles. If you suffer from an addiction or mental illness in any form, it’s not your fault. You can make the change you so desperately need. You can ask for help.

    Most people are waiting for an opportunity to help another person; most people want to be useful but don’t want to impose. Let them in, give them the opportunity to help someone else and feel better about themselves.

    Stay strong, we’re all in this together.

    Part Two: Coming Soon…