S H D P A U S E S D H D A P A U HE PHE UP P SU DS A D E A PH U volume 5, 2011 publishing matters of the mind
HeadsUp
Publishing matters of the mind. Volume 5 | 2011
Acknowledgements Managing Editor William Tu Editorial Board Tanis Lynn Belluz, Amanda Drodge, Victoria Gill, Stephen Sforza, Michelle Williams Layout William Tu Printing Allan Graphics Thank You Most importantly, thank you to all of our talented contributors for their submissions. We are so grateful that you decided to share your artworks, poems, stories, and experiences with us and we hope we are able to provide the venue to share your work with everyone else. We would like to especially thank Lori White and the Different Strokes Art Group for sharing their amazing and inspirational artworks and stories. We wholeheartedly support what they have accomplished and appreciate their contributions to this publication. To Sarah Hirji and Daniella Dåvila Aquije from the Social Issues Commission for their continual help and support and everyone else in the Alma Mater Society for this great opportunity to raise mental health awareness in Queen’s community.
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All content copyright 2011. HeadsUp reserves the right to reprint, in future issues, any material that has appeared within its pages. HeadsUp also reserves the right to be acknowledged in all future reprints of original material that has appeared within its pages. All other rights are reserved by the contributor.
A Note from the Editor The editorial board of HeadsUp is excited to bring you the fifth volume of this inspirational publication. HeadsUp embodies a collection of poetry, prose, and visual art from people who are suffering or have suffered from mental illnesses or who simply want to share their opinion on such an important matter. We hope our contributors’ heart-felt and though-provoking art pieces, stories, and experiences give you something to think about and to identify with. This publication is the culmination of a year’s worth of work and through it, we hope to raise a dialogue about mental health and mental illness in our community and to reduce the stigma associated with mental illness. Mental illness affects 1 in 5 Canadians, across all races, genders, sexual orientations, education levels, and socioeconomic statuses. It is of great importance that we must become awareness of it and not stigmatize those who have it. Through healthy discussion and embrace of our individual differences, we can overcome prejudice and make the community around us a better place for all. We are absolutely grateful and excited that we can feature artworks from the Different Strokes Art Group in Kingston. Different Strokes consists of a group of artistically gifted individuals whose lives have been touched by mental illness. In this issue, they share their extraordinary artworks, personal experiences, and how their mental illness has impacted them and their artistic passion. We thank you again for your contributions. Lastly, this publication would not be possible without the dedication and effort of our committee members, whose passion for raising mental health awareness is reflected in every bit of this issue. I am grateful for their tremendous contributions. Let what is in this publication open your mind and inspire you to support our cause. Yours truly, William Tu Managing Editor
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Colleen Bedford
My mental health issues translate into art with a lot of bright colours and a lot of movement with the brush strokes. I enjoy making art, which is therapeutic for me, and I enjoy the process of improvement. I fully support all of my fellow artists who are involved in the Different Strokes Art Group and the various projects that the group is involved in.
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Colleen Bedford
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8 Colleen Bedford
Repression
Samantha Coomara
I am the Unspoken, Won’t speak and make it real. My smile is but a token, I mustn’t-- Cannot feel. If you could have seen me Tears running down my face I speak... stop-- No! Sleep why won’t you free me? For memory is chaos based
I am the Blind Illusions blur my eyes Evil was-- is kind I sink-- I drink in lies I must revisit it All that I am, will be, have been, I see... yes-- Show! I’ll have it re-engendered It will shield all that I’ve seen
I am the Deaf Words have been erased White noise is all that’s left Since song has been defaced If you could have I heard it Over my rending cries I hear... gone-- Go! I’ll fracture it- it- it- IT! But an echo never dies
I will not think I must not think How can I think? But now I think... What is there left of me?
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Brian Bailey I think I may have first gotten my interest in art from living in Paris as a boy (my father and family were posted there in the 1950’s with the Canadian Embassy), and my trip around Europe and seeing the art palaces, galleries, museums, cathedrals and street artists of Paris and Europe. My mental illness had an effect on my art by loosening it up. I did quite a few different styles and developed a bit of my own original style. Art to me is valuable because of its many forms from architecture to music, to painting and sculpture, to photography, to fashion design of clothing, to medical arts, to religion and mythology and other symbols, to the design of packages of food, modern sports cars and some machines and in the design of dance. In all civilizations: races, tribes, nations, of the world past, present and future, art can help bring pleasure and beauty and help people in various ways. I was born in Kitchener ON in 1950. I am 60 years old and am living in Kingston. I have lived in and travelled to 35 nations of the real world. I have had a very special and good life, compared to many people, and I am thankful to my family, friends, world and God.
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Brian Bailey
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12 Brian Bailey
Catch it in the Whisper
Anonymous
She hears, but doesn’t listen. He feels, but waits to know.
Take Me There
nonymous A
Take me, with words, into your deepest hollow. Share with me the reality that will crawl hesitantly to your lips. In vulnerability, You will set yourself free.
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Amanda Jackson
My name is Amanda. I am married with seven beautiful children and living in Kingston. I am of native descent. I have a home art business called Amanda’s Heavenly Designs and I am also involved with Different Strokes Art Group and Street Health Art Shows. How I got interested in art: I started at a young age of 15; as I got older, I got better and better so I kept going. And now it feels great. How my mental health affected my art: My mental health affected me the first year of my art, but now I have learned how to use my feelings through my art. And now it is a lot better, both my art and my mental health. What my art means to me: Well I would say my art is different all the time. My art means a lot to me because I put feelings into it. To know that the public loves my work as much as I do makes me so proud.
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Amanda Jackson
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A Pool of Grief
Emma Frances
the wild river races through life to our veins. in winter it numbs; silences our skin but in summer it awakens; embraces our bones but she, she dammed it up. she built walls. she barred its passage. the stones of her brook now know only stagnant water; the icy taste of decay and death. why does she not lift the barrier? why does she not let the river flow through? why does she not look down into her own reflection?
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because she can no longer see it in the murky depths stained now with a water made from fire. her river is now a mulling puddle of misery because it brews forever without freedom. she once became deaf to the rush of water’s sound; a deafness so profound it one day became real. those who don’t hear cannot speak; for they cannot shout over their own silence her grief welled up to pool now hidden in the forests of her own mind; only she can break the wall. destroy the dam. set free the water. only she can find her own reflection. only she can step in a different river. and then, when winter storms in she will know the sound of spring.
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Brian Bird
I am adopted and I have been interested in art since my childhood. Mental health issues have made me and my sense of self-identity more fragile, but they have not impaired my imagination. Halfway through doing my Bachelor of Arts degree at the University of Waterloo in the 1980’s I obtained some non-identifying information on my birth mother from the Children’s Aid Society that told me she was a professional artist. This knowledge gave me the courage to change my major to studio fine arts and since graduating in 1989 I have worked in painting and sculpture part-time in the Kingston area using my imagination and relying on my childhood as a source for inspiration.
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Brian Bird
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Moonlight Ballet
Katherine Gross
Mommy was crying again. She had closed the door to her room like always but me and Thomas could still hear her. She had been crying all week. I told Thomas we had to be extra good because then she would stop. It’s an older sister’s job to explain things like that. Some days, Mommy was really happy. Laughing and smiling and dancing. Those were her good days. But then other days weren’t so good. Those were the days when Thomas and me ate cereal. Some times, it wasn’t so bad, but other times Mommy couldn’t get out of bed. When that happened, I was supposed to call Grandpa. But I don’t always call him because we have to stay with Grandpa and he doesn’t let us eat cookies or watch cartoons in the morning. Mommy told us she was sick, that the cold was in her head. It made her really happy some days and then she had to take medicine to make her not be happy but other times it made her really sad and she had to take medicine to make her not be sad and sometimes the medicine didn’t work at all. We didn’t understand, but we could tell something was wrong. She said she wanted to get better for us and that it wasn’t our fault but I knew that when we were bad, she cried more. That night, I helped Thomas brush his teeth, just like Mommy showed us and then we went to bed at eight o’clock. We couldn’t miss our bedtime. On the good days, Mommy would tuck us in and give us a million kisses and tell us stories about when she was a ballerina before we were born. Those were my favourite stories. Thomas liked the ones from the books better but that’s because he’s a boy and doesn’t understand ballerinas. “Wake up, Chloe.” My eyes were still tired but I opened them and saw Mommy smiling. “Come, honey, we’re gonna go outside now.” I looked at my clock. The big hand was on the twelve and the little one on the two. I didn’t want to tell Mommy it was too late to go outside because she was smiling and I didn’t want her to stop. We went to go wake up Thomas next. He didn’t want to get up so Mommy carried him outside. Thomas was always being a baby like that.
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Outside the grass was dewy and I could feel the drops on my feet. We didn’t have time to grab shoes, Mommy was too excited. We didn’t even grab coats but it wasn’t too cold out. “Look,” she said pointing to the sky. It was full of stars. More than ever. All sparkling up there, winking at us. Mommy grabbed our hands and we started dancing. Thomas was laughing. He didn’t like ballerina stories but he still liked to dance. We kept dancing for ages, then Mommy started dancing ballet. She looked so pretty with her toes all pointy and her arms all stretched. She had pyjamas instead of a tutu but she was still the prettiest ballerina ever. I tried to copy her as best I could, but I wasn’t as good. Then she stopped dancing and turned to us. “Do you wanna see the stars dance?” She knew our answer before we said it. She told us to start spinning and look up at the sky. We spun round and round all together there in the yard with our arms open wide. I thought we looked like mini-helicopters. Sure enough, the stars danced with us. But then we got so dizzy we couldn’t stand without falling so we all sat on the grass and laughed. The stars kept dancing until we stopped being dizzy. We sat there in Mommy’s arms laughing all together. I love the good days, they are so much fun. But the problem with them is that they never last. While Mommy was holding us, her laughter began to sound funny. And then there was no more laughter, only crying. She sat there for a long time with me and Thomas just standing there. We watched her body move with the sound of her tears and tried to make her stop. Thomas looked scared so I brought him back inside and told him to go to bed like a good boy. Mommy stayed outside for a long time. I would’ve stayed with her longer but my eyes were really sleepy. The next morning, I snuck into Mommy’s room and saw her in bed. I called her name, but she wouldn’t look at me. She just kept crying, but there were no tears this time. I closed the door to her room, went to the kitchen, got two spoons from the drawer, Thomas’ Superman bowl and my ballerina bowl from the cupboard, the milk from the fridge, and the cereal box from the pantry.
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Jeff Lee My name is Jeff Lee. I have been producing my artwork since 1991. I am also an origami artist. I enjoy creating and teaching origami as an art. To describe my artwork, I would have to start by calling it multimedia. In some of my artwork, there is a native theme. Some of my artwork is a little abstract as well. In a great many of my artwork, there is not a lot of detail. I want the people who see my artwork to fill in their own details and come up with their own interpretation of whatever they are seeing. Also, in some of my artwork there is an underlying or hidden message. I use written language interplay with my imagery. My creative pursuits have contributed to a great degree in making me the artistic individual that I am today. I am so very grateful to have the opportunity to share my artwork with you. Thank you so much.
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Jeff Lee
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Untitled
H. Smith
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Think about a year ago How happy we were. I’m sorry I ruined things not knowing what i wanted and things work out the way they’re meant to but I’ll always feel responsible. and guilty and like a bad person. and you probably see me that way, as a crazy person. In fact I know you see me that way, people tell me you’ve said those things. I didn’t know myself well enough yet My brain didn’t want me to trust again and get hurt. so I hurt us before us could hurt me. I like my men to be strong so that I can be me : weak, flighty, all over the place, a mess and I know thats so selfish but thats the way I am my life has made me that way. my brain just works that way. And you were my best friend for a very long time. you didn’t always understand, but you tried and that was good enough for me But then things changed.
we were not the same as before I felt you slipping and I was afraid. If I had said that, would things have been different? or would you have said “you’re right, we’re slipping, I love someone else.” because that’s what I thought. Or that is what my brain made me think. that you wished I was someone else. I always thought that. Or my brain did, anyways. and I just wanted you to say that no, you wanted me. always. and I got scared, you knew I was scared I was nervous, and sad ALL THE TIME I was falling apart and I know you could see it and I begged you, practically screamed at you to tell me we could work it out we were fine still good we’d last forever all you had to do was tell me and that was all I needed. But it wasn’t clear enough. “Are you SURE this is okay?” “Are you SURE?” “If you’re NOT OKAY with this, we can figure something else out...” I begged you to be strong, to tell me no. “We should stay together”... You didn’t understand what I wanted. just You. I needed you to want it to work. and I hate girls who play games hate them and yet I am them
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subconsciously, I dangled a solution in your face and wanted you to reach it wanted us to get there together to happiness. But no.
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And now I hope you’re happy. You’re free of my poison, and I’m glad. All I do is ruin people, wreck things. and Break my Own Heart. Smash it to Smithereens. I wish I wouldn’t do that. But my overprotective brain leaves me no choice. Kill or be killed Do or die. All I’ve ever learned from love is to hurt or be hurt But I had infected you ruined you imperfected you and you had become like me. you didn’t know how to be strong anymore, my worries made you worry why am I like that? a poison, infecting others Why do I do that? scare others away before they leave me. Because the last thing I wanted was to lose you. The scariest thing in life to me is to be left alone. So my brain drive others away, it makes me alone. This way, at least, I won’t be afraid anymore. ... At least that’s what it tells me. But really I’ll just be alone always... At least until I understand myself enough to stop.
To stop my brain. To say “NO! That’s not the way it really is!” I ruined you to myself. My brain ruined you for me. And I’m sorry that you fell for me. I wish you had not gone through the bullshit that is me vs. my brain. And I don’t make wishes for old us anymore. So much of my life you’ve missed in the last seven months. so much of yours I’ve missed. and nothing but bitter words and short sentences exchanged. Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t I know myself better? Why didn’t I know that it was my own brain, and not you, that was the enemy. How did we get here? And you never hit me, like he did. But you recovered in minutes just like he did and shut me out when you promised friendship and talked behind my back and rubbed your happiness in my face like he did. and I miss being held someone who cares enough to hold me. Because there is no one who cares that much. But I’m trying to get you to understand that you knew better than anyone how fucked up I was. and maybe you can understand better than anybody why I did what I did to make you hate me. I still don’t even know what that is. And my Brain tells me that I’m worthless every day.
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28 John Nielissen
John Nielissen
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John Nielissen
I have practiced art through my whole life more as a form of pleasure. Although I have attended some art classes, most of my work is self-taught. I use my art as a form of expressing my feelings and it has proven to be a very important device in helping me deal with my depression and other anxieties by allowing me to transfer my negative feelings into my creativity. My creativity has allowed me to help deal with my personal anxieties and allows me to release them in a more constructive manner. I used to be a student at Queen’s University, where I enrolled in many artist endeavors, including art, writing, drama and a major in film. As you can see with my black and white pieces, I use them to tell stories rather than simply having a stagnant picture. This allows artist to serve a role as author and allows the person looking at a particular piece of art the opportunity for his or her own mind to travel and experience things in the worlds of imagination as mush as the artist does. My artwork is very important to me as it has allowed me to have a means not only of pure enjoyment, but allows me to feel complete as a human being.
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John Nielissen
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32 John Nielissen
Simple Math
Chris Gilmore
“The universe is written in numbers.” –Albert Einstein Even love is formulaic. It has its own equation? Absolutely. 1 plus 1 equals 1 to the power of 2. What about lust? 1 plus 1 equals 2. What about unrequited love? 1 plus 1 equals negative 1. What about a threesome? 1 plus 1 plus 1 equals 3? No. 1 plus 1 equals 2, with the other 1 watching. What about heartbreak? 1 plus 1 equals 0.
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Oliver MacKinnon
Biography: I am university educated. I have taken art courses at St. Lawrence College. I have completed three one-man shows. How I got interested in art: Even as a child I was artistic. My mother saw this and, as she was an artist herself, mentored me in art. How mental illness has affected my life in art: When I got mental illness I continued with my art on a therapeutic basis, and had the time and resources to continue with it and make a full-time hobby from it. What my art means to be: My art is the focal point of my life. I see my life through my vision of art, which gives me clarity, and consequently aids in my understanding of mental illness.
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Oliver MacKinnon
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36 Oliver MacKinnon
Acceptance
Anonymous
Falling, falling Oh look...there’s the bottom. No fear-I’ve been here before, Dark, dank, alone, A high-walled fortress. Different today? No handholds. No footholds. Trapped At the bottom. Fighting, screaming, feeling Nothing No grip. Frantic now. Tired-just so tired of futility Yet everything is futile. Exhausted. Can anyone hear me? But it’s ok... Eyes begin to adjust to the dark, silence, Alone. But it’s ok... I’ve been here before.
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Dorothy M. (RainBow) Art filled a void when I became physically ill and was not able to read or write. I was not able to do many basic functions. Sitting still was impossible due to the lack of coordinations. With a pencil in my hand, there was success at co-ordination and with every stroke I made, I was developing a skill and releasing my frustrations. My art has been a great release for many years while I have been healing. I usually do native art and it is an expression of emotions or telling a story. Becoming artistic gives me an opportunity to be part of community and builds my self worth. I place a very high value on everyone and their ability to excel at whatever they try to accomplish. I started an art group for low income/no income people for 10 years, called Dorothy’s Doodles. At this time, however, health concerns have stopped me from taking part. My name is Dorothy, but, I sign my work RainBow because art has helped me heal.
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RainBow
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Untitled
Mike
Dad’s depression, for me, came at a really hard time in my life. I was at an age where I was starting to look for some sort of role model or mentor figure. The most obvious choice was of course my father. The depression started when I was really too young to have any idea what was going on. Dad left his job and we moved. End of story. As it got worse it became more noticeable to me. I was a little older and I got really scared and confused for a while. At the time of Dad’s breakdown I still looked at him as a superhero. He was invincible and always right. The day I came home from school and Dad was cooped up in his room was the scariest day of my life. I never went into the room to see him because I was afraid that I would actually find him lying there helpless. I wished that it was another person who needed help and dad had just gone away. I didn’t want to believe that anything could happen to him. I was 13 and it was an age where kids are ruthless. I took a lot of shit at school and genuinely believed I was inferior. I had nobody to turn to for support or to look up to. At least it seemed that way. I had absolutely no confidence. There was a long time where I very seriously contemplated suicide, and to this day I’m thankful for that lack of confidence, otherwise I would have followed through. I just drifted along wishing that I knew a way to change and dig myself out of the hole that I was in. Dad lost his job, and we had to
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move again for him to find another one. I pretended to be upset about my family moving to a new town, but deep down inside it was just the change that I need and I was happy that I could abandon the struggle and get another new beginning. I lost my boyhood respect for dad during time. I felt that he had let me down. In a way, I still feel like that, and it’s hard to cope with. I had nobody to look up to and no confidence to live on my own. Now I just dismiss those years of school as a bad memory and hope to myself that I never go back to a time like that. My new school was exactly the change I needed. I was a leader of the class. I got respect and had a place to live in peace. I never really fit in with the people there which is why I switched schools again, but it was good nonetheless. Ever since the whole situation I’ve had a hard time feeling comfortable with people. I’ve fit in fine, and always have, but for myself I still don’t think I belong. Because of what I’ve dealt with growing up, I don’t that I ever will find a place that I can call home. It will be a challenge all my life but I think that I’ll be able to deal with it. I slowly get more and more comfortable around people, and I find that it helps. The only thing I can’t deal with is feeling that I am completely alone. I am sure with time that that will fade but for now I still struggle sometimes. It is time that I find how to truly belong in a group. Growing up has been a fight and I’m glad that I’ve found the strength to make it out alive.
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Randy Johnston
I am 43 and live in Kingston Ontario. I was diagnosed with schizophrenia in 2002, after having a nervous breakdown, giving up, and then having a spiritual awakening. After my awakening I found myself in a terrible state of flux, caught between everything I once thought I knew and everything I was learning spiritually. As I emerged (5 or 6 years later) I had grown and stability was more consistent. During a Sunday meditation, with a long time friend, I had an incredibly vivid vision and ever since I have been trying to recreate it. The meaning of each painting (and there will be more) is always the same. At the centre there is light, and all around there is light. The yin/yang and chakras represent vibrational distortion that the centre son or light is using in a bid to hide from the outer/ greater light. The things of matter being vibrating atoms, and the power of the mind being able to see beyond the human eye shows us that there is more to our existence than meets the eye. I call them “creation paintings/drawings.” In short after much ado about nothing and a vision tying a gazillion loose ends together... “To paint”, was the only way I could express not only what I saw, but what I came to understand;… the deeper meaning of just who we are and what we are doing here.
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Randy Johnston
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Randy Johnston
Untitled
Stephen Gellner
Cradled and comforted til you sleep Soothed and stroked as you weep You feel as though the walls of your tower They would stand tall against what makes you cower Whispered words that gave you strength of hope That spurred you on, it helped you cope Heat and love conspire to create A shield to deflect all hate Hail to a place where time stands still Where things get turned against your will You wish you may, you wish you might To have had the gift of foresight It was not all that you thought Like the dusted photo albums that you forgot The pages filled with the loving memories past and gone Pursuing you, finding you even as you are withdrawn Dreams that scar, they etch away Trying to bring you to that new day Dream the same thing every night Toss and turn as your body turns white Living a complacent existence Not even offering up resistance To that which curries your fear And rips you from what you hold dear Heard of it before, never seems to change No wonder your brain cries out in rage Contorted and twisted in a web of lies Can’t even look them in the eyes It matters little, it matters not
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It’s the price we pay for our lot Drew the straw at our birthright Faced with never ending plight Do you want to look me in the face? Stop turning away like I’m some disgrace But can’t you see? This person you love is no longer me What do you mean? Things are nothing as they seem Take a walk and enjoy the ride Please just stay at my side I feel like a stranger in my house As though there is a darkness in here to douse It makes me wish to seek solitude It has now all just become an attitude To avoid presence of others Too often dive beneath the covers The fragmented stare when eyes meet Conspiring in shadows, blind deceit Worst of all, is how you cannot act It is not your fault so don’t fight back So what am I suppose to do? Oh if only everyone knew The energy is gone from here The future now remains unclear Negativity spawns apathy Emotionally charged insanity
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Locked in cages away from light The company of others is far too bright Funny how a break can feel, Turns your stomach and makes you keel Anger comes all unchained Unleashed from cords so strained
I cherish thoughts of times gone by For to be in the present all I do is cry This is a place where tears stain a blouse I have a tomb in the middle of my house Rising out from the ashes of discontent The wall is the only place that I can vent Holes punctured, testament to everlasting pain Could not seek the wisdom i once sought, it is not the same Horrid visions of a future with cross purposes You learn to count the things God blesses Strike the ticks, etched in blood In the hopes that the tomb will wash away in the flood Flurry of emotions raw, i just sat and prayed Before my mind is lost, from depressions frayed Edges of sanity are built up to hold you in But don’t forget, that strength comes from within Nothing can get to you, but that which you let come And do not forget, that when the tomb closes its door It is probably best to run Wash away the tears, blood, and sanity upon the shore... Don not be afraid of those who want only the best Stay a little longer at their request You will need that shoulder to cry on now Never thought you would have the strength to reason how But little of that matters now, for you are alone And it is not yet your time to atone Fall not into a lengthy struggle You have too many things in life to juggle Maybe even dream away, but not to a drug For only do they replace, they sort of shrug Shrug them off, and still give you burden to bear But hey my friend, I will see you there At the end of all things...
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48 Robert Drady
Robert Drady
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Resources Information & Resources Canadian Mental Health Association (CMHA) (613-549-7027) http://www.cmha.ca/ Provides information and advocacy, and supports recovery from mental illness. Centre for Addictions and Mental Health (CAMH) (613-546-4266) http://www.camh.net/ Provides education and resources on mental health and addictions. Crisis Phone Lines Frontenac Community Mental Health Services (FAMHS) Crisis Line (613-544-4229) 24-hour crisis line for those with serious mental illness. Telephone Aid Line Kingston (TALK) (613-544-1771) Provides telephone support to anyone in distress. 7pm-3am daily. Lennox & Addington Addiction and Community Mental Health Services (1-800-267-7877) Provides telephone crisis intervention and response. Drug & Alcohol Registry of Treatment (1-800-565-8603) http://www.dart.on.ca/ Telephone services that provide information about drug and alcohol treatment options.
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Emergency Care Emergency Psychiatry at Hotel Dieu Hospital (613-548-2372) Acute in-patient and short-term out-patient care for those with a mental illness. Eating Disorders Clinic at Hotel Dieu Hospital (613-548-6121) Outpatient, multidisciplinary treatment (18+) for eating disorders. Detoxification Centre at Hotel Dieu Hospital (613-549-6461) Walk-in or telephoene crisis response; short-term, non-medical treatment, counseling and referrals for those needing to detoxify from alcohol and drugs. Counselling and Support Queen’s University Counselling Services (613-533-2506) http://www.queensu.ca/hcds/cs/ Provides personal counselling for Queen’s students. Queen’s Peer Support Centre (613-533-6000 ext. 75111) http://www.queenspeersupport.com/ Peer-to-peer support for Queen’s students. 3pm-1am daily. Alcoholic Anonymous (613-549-9380) http://www.kingstonaa.org/ Self-help and sharing to help others to recover from alcoholism. Mood Disorder Support Group of Kingston (613-544-2886) http://www.mooddisoders.on.ca/regionalgroups.html#kingston/ Weekly support for those with mood disorders. Peer Support of Kingston (PSOK) (613-547-2250) Provides information, advocacy, outreach, and skill-building for those with a mental illness and survivors.
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HeadsUp
Publishing matters of the mind. Volume 5 | 2011
DSUPHEADSUP UPHEADSUPHE DSUPHEADSUP publishing matters of the mind volume 5 | 2011