Having bipolar disorder is starting to be considered a plus if you're an artist. Gonzo journalists are writing about their trip to Peru to take Ayahuasca to treat their Schizophrenia. Stars are outing themselves about their previous Oxycodin abuse, and I'm starting to think "is it becoming cool to be an addict?"
Emelia Symington Fedy
Theatre Maker, Storyteller, Radio Producer
Emelia Symington Fedy is a theatre creator, yogi, storyteller, radio producer and writer. You can read more of her offbeat essays at <a href="http://tryingtobegood.com" rel="nofollow">tryingtobegood.com</a>. <br> Follow her on twitter and instagram @ EmeliaSF <br> <br> Emelia's favorite quote at the moment is: "Live the light, spread the light, be the light" (found on a Yogi Tea teabag). This is probably because she has a penchant for darkness.
My mother is dying. When it got to be too much at home we put her in hospice. Hospice, for those who are not familiar with the term, is a place where folks go to die. The criteria to enter are you have three-six months left to live with an expectation of no heroic measures. The goal is comfort and dignity in your final days. My brother and I camp out in the room with my mom. Me in the Murphy bed and him on the Lazy Boy. We fall asleep listening to her whisper to herself and hallucinate on the shadows she makes with her hands. My mom had lung cancer and it progressed to her brain, so she is not safe to be alone anymore. She could fall. She could leave and get lost. She could take all her clothes off and run the halls naked. So we move in to the tiny room with her.
10/15/2013 07:12 EDT
I am trying to understand why my old, cool friends have gotten so high strung and opinionated after becoming parents. In fact they actually seem to be shells of their past selves. With no energy to do yoga, or write or think about creativity or their dreams because now they are intent on micro-managing their child's every interaction. Am I destined to do the same thing?
01/01/2013 02:54 EST
I am at a yoga festival with thousands of yogis from across the U-S of A. We are all gathered here to practice, to play, to work hard together and I am sitting all by myself feeling like shit. This is the kind of festival where white people gather to affirm each other's privilege and their butts and my job is to be their teacher assistant in the process. As I am a naturally cynical person you may ask: Why Emelia, would you go to such a thing you were preparing to dislike so much?
09/15/2012 10:28 EDT
I go up to the 20th floor and she lets me into a tiny studio apartment crammed with women sitting on cushions on the floor. The room is (in my small town opinion) gauche. A white fake fur rug, red satin pillows, gold cord wrapped around the sheer drapes. None of the 12 middle-aged women look like they want to be there. The instructor begins, "Vaginal weightlifting dates back thousands of years to the emperor's concubines in China. They would teach the emperor how to pleasure his many women, how to give and receive multiple orgasms and how not to come."
09/04/2012 03:11 EDT
Why am I doing this? Because everyone else is doing it. Because I've been told that "keeping it real" is considered grotesque. Because when my hippy, pregnant friend walked naked into the living room and I saw her huge bush enter the room before I saw her belly, I thought, "How could her partner navigate through all that?"
03/01/2012 10:30 EST
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