gigi

today i was given a gift. 

i was given a baggie with folded up letters in it. old letters. 19 year old letters. letters from my friend gigi who this blog is named after. letters and poems from my best friend who died when we were 18. 

getting these letters and reading them was like getting a piece of her back. 

i forgot how sardonic and sarcastic she was. i forgot how passion about social justice she was. i forgot how funny she was. i forgot the mundane things we talked about like English projects and hockey games. 

i wanted to share with you a couple of her poems. because i want to share a piece of her with you. here are her poems: 

So what?

Just because your heart is pumping doesn’t mean you’re living,

Just because you’ve made a lot of money doesn’t mean you’re successful,

Just because you give to charity doesn’t mean you’re generous,

Just because you’ve got a degree doesn’t mean you’re intelligent,

Just because you have everything you’ve ever wanted doesn’t mean you’re happy,

Just because someone says you’re better than mean doesn’t mean I should respect you,

Don’t try to buy me with your wallet, money hass no lasting value.

Don’t try to buy me with your superficial flattery, I can see right through it anyway.

Don’t try to make me jealous of your riches, I’m rich, I just dion’t have any money.

Don’t try to make me look uneducatied, there are some things you’’ll never learn in school.

Don’t try to tell me I can’t change the world, jjust watch and learn.

By Gigi

Friday may 13, 1994

The train moves forward

Travelling towards my dreams

I am left behind

When small

Tense, hunched over

Paper and pressing

Hard and carefully

To make words

Letters precise and deep

Within the page

Grammar corrected and

Stressed constantly

Unrelenting, ruthless

And then

Letters perfected

Personal style perfected

(big letters and circles over the “i”s)

Grammer perfected and enforced

And then

Rejection

            Messy scrawls written hurriedly

            Punctuation forgotten or ignored

            Incorrect grammar, rules scorned,

            Mocked; too rigid for

            Real expression

And then

For always

By Gigi

November 7, 1995

this is the last thing she ever wrote. she wrote it on the subway on the way to the party where she died:

Sunday, December 31, 1995

365 days in the year

5 hours left now

Somewhere in the world

It’s already

Next year

But not yet

Here

1996

The year of my graduation

I hope

And then?

New years eve

Is always a night

Of contemplation

Wondering

About accomplishments

Failures

Dreams

And unwanted realities

Life has too many variables

Or not enough

And what will 1996 bring?

What will tomorrow bring?

Tonight?

Is there merit in trying to guess

Or second guess?

And what are we counting down to?

Another ten seconds of our

Life go by

As we look to the next year,

Which will come if we

Watch the parties on T.V. or not.

A funny thing about those

Televised countdowns,

One station tells you

5 seconds left,

The other tells you 7.

Does it even matter?

i want to leave you with this poem about the light inside of us and how we can change the world. that's all she wanted to do; change the world. and change it she did. she changed me. she changed everyone she touched. and her light shines on inside those who loved her. be kind to yourself, and let your light shine ...

Personal light

Each of us has our own little light inside

And after we die various things can happen to that light:

Some lights fade away into the darkness and nobody notices or cares about the loss of their light

Some lights shine brightly, but nobody wants or needs their light and some

Even despise the suffering the light brings

Other lights shine with a loving glow that encompasses all

Anyone who has ever felt the warmth of these beams keep a little glimmer of

Them with them wherever they go

These lights remain brilliant and everlasting

Every person chooses which light will shine within themselves and the type

Of light that will shine after them

(you can) light up the world (forever)

By Gigi

Saturday June 11, 1994

the real deal

nosy nora asked me if my positive blog posts were reflective of how i was feeling these days, or if i was projecting into the future of how i want to feel ... 

... i think the truth lies somewhere in the middle. i am a different person than i was a year ago. i feel different than i did a few months ago. and i write my blog in a positive tone because i feel like no one wants to hear about what depression really feels like. 

so ... here i am, writing about where i am at right now. 

i wake up in the morning and i drag myself out of bed. i go to work because i want to have structure and routine in my day. but i am not "into" it. i plan my lessons and i teach my class. and the kids are sweet. today one of them gave me a jar of paper stars that she made for me. 

after 3 hours at work, i am exhausted and i head home. i try to stay awake, but end up napping. then i sit on the couch and try to convince myself that i need to get outside, get some fresh air, and go for a walk. i try to convince myself that i will feel better if i move my body, mostly because nosy nora thinks i will. but i lack the motivation to DO anything. i flip through channels on the tv and never settle on anything. so i end up putting on some music. i try to read a book, but i can't concentrate for more than a few pages at a time. i can't crochet because my hands hurt. i don't like talking on the phone, and even if i did, most people are at work or out doing things besides sitting on the couch. 

i want, more than anything, to go to the gym. and i keep planning to go, and then when the time comes, i have a panic attack and just can't get there. the longer i put it off, the harder it becomes to go. 

eventually i will find something to eat. maybe. and then i flip through the channels again until i end up on music and read a few more pages. 

depression is energy sucking. the only thing that i am interested in doing these days is writing. it is the one thing that helps me to get out of bed in the morning. i love knowing that when i get up, i can write. and knowing that after work i can come home and write. 

writing is my way of coping, of organizing my thoughts and feelings and packaging it all in one place - the page. 

so i hope that you will continue to indulge me as i write each day, sharing my thoughts, ideas, and feelings with the world - sometimes positive, sometimes negative, but always speaking my truth.

be kind to yourself, 

xoxo

...

an open letter to libby oughton

dear libby, 

you probably don't remember me. 

i wouldn't have had the same impact on your life as you had on mine. 

my name is april and i interviewed you through email about 15 years ago for a paper that i was writing for a feminist literature class in university. we stayed in touch a bit after that. and then when i was in grad school, you were in town and we met for coffee at the second cup. 

it was both the most exciting day of my life, as well as the most humiliating. 

the kinder you were to me, the more miserable and negative back to you i was. 

and i have wanted, for the last 13 years, to apologize and to explain. but i never really knew how. 

i was severely depressed when i was living in halifax. i was lonely, and sad, and homesick. i couldn't seem to break my way into any community. i had no sense of belonging. 

i was lost. 

i spent my nights reading in bed and slept as much of the day as possible. reading would transport me into another world where i could escape the reality of my predicament. 

i had been accepted into a master's program in women's studies. i applied with the clearly laid out proposal that my research was in feminist lesbian geography. and i was accepted into the program based on that research. only i moved myself across the country and upon arrival on the very first day of classes i was told that there was no professor that had accepted me into their program who did any type of feminist geography nor lesbian geography, nor lesbian studies. 

which meant i had no adviser, no mentor, and no one to guide me in my research. add to that, a really mean roommate who treated me very badly, the fact that i was really sick, and had no friends .... it made for a lousy year and really lousy timing in meeting you. 

it is no excuse for how negative i was when we met. and yet it is an explanation for the terrible space that i was in. 

and as i navigate my way through the regrets of things that i did, or things that i didn't do, you and that meeting in the second cup are at the top of my list. 

your book made it's way to me because the universe wanted me to have it. it found me at a time in my life when i was discovering who i was (i am still discovering that) and the words spoke to me. the words were alive on the page. i carried that book with me ... ALL THE TIME AND EVERYWHERE. i wrote my own poetry all over the pages. the pages are worn and soft now. and i still read it. your words, meshed with mine. this morning, i sat and read your poetry. and once again i was filled with the joy of words. 

and the universe gave me the opportunity to meet you. to connect with you. to form a friendship forged in our mutual love of words, of feminism, of activism. and i was a sad little brat who spent the entire time complaining instead of learning from you. 

and i regret it every day. 

i hope that you can forgive my youth. i hope you can forgive that wasted opportunity. 

and i hope that this letter finds its way to you and finds you well. and that you will receive this letter with my love and affection. 

if it is meant to be, the universe will get this letter to you. 

with deepest regards, 

xoxo

...

Sticks and stones and names all hurt

i was taught to say "sticks and stones may break my bones but names will never hurt me." 

i was also taught to say "i'm rubber, you're glue, whatever you say bounces off me and sticks on you." 

what a load of crap. 

i saw this photo on facebook last night. i don't know how to credit it because i don't know where it came from. 

but i saw it and said YES! exactly. 

i have the (un)fortunate ability to remember most things. not facts. i have never been good with statistics or memorizing general knowledge. that's why i failed math and chemistry. formulas go over my head. 

but when it comes to things that happen or things that people say, it's like I have a video camera in my head. 

i don't remember every single thing, obviously, but I remember an awful lot. and i remember a lot that's awful. 

words, sarcasm, comments, snide remarks, things said in frustration or anger ... they stay with me. i remember it all. and i remember how it made me feel. which is worse. 

as a teacher, i work very hard at choosing my words. that's not to say that i'm never sarcastic. because i'm extremely sarcastic. and i tease a bit too. but i work very hard at not saying something that could hurt or that could stay with them throughout their lives. and my students laugh with me.

and if i do unintentionally hurt a student, we talk about it and i apologize and i repair the relationship. 

as I said before, memorizing things has never been my strength. formulas are tricky for me. and patterns. spelling is all patterns and formulas. 

spelling has never been my strength and has been a constant source of embarrassment. 

in grade 7, i had a science test. there was a question that said "what is the difference between weight and mass?" i don't remember my answer, but i remember getting the test back and red writing in the margin ... my teacher wrote:

"the difference between weight and mass is that you know how to spell mass."

i remember my mom laughed. she thought it was funny. i was humiliated. and i've never forgotten it. 

i have the unfortunate ability to remember all the mean things that have ever been said to me. even if those mean things were meant as a joke. 

in middle school, i was bullied. 

i don't mean teased and picked on. i mean bullied. i mean relentlessly teased, taunted, called names, and made to feel like a worthless, unloveable, non-human. 

boys would throw condoms at me in the cafeteria. there's more. but i'm not ready to share that so publicly. 

Yet. 

one afternoon, i went to my locker and someone had written in large red letters "you look like a fucking gorilla" ... my world came crashing down around me. 

i ran all the way to my old school to tell my favourite teacher. i expected hugs, and care, and support. i expected her to call my school and tell them. i expected her to help me. 

but she didn't. 

i was sobbing and told her what they had written on my locker and she laughed. she said "sorry, i'm just trying to picture what gorillas look like when they're fucking." 

i was crushed. it felt like my one hope at help abandoned me. 

so i never turned to an adult for help after that. i let the bullying continue. and although i remember it all, i never told anyone. 

the truth is, sticks and stones may break my bones, but bones will heal ... the names you call me and the things you say will always hurt me. 

xoxo

.....