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'I can't remember life without it': Singer Sarah Jickling on anxiety and bipolar disorder

Jickling, whose journey with bipolar disorder and anxiety inspired her latest album, is onstage March 8 in a special International Women's Day event at the Cultch
Sarah Jickling
Sarah Jickling is a Burnaby singer-songwriter who's onstage at the Cultch for a special International Women's Day event on March 8. Jickling's music chronicles her journey with anxiety and bipolar disorder.

Sarah Jickling鈥檚 voice is childish innocence laced with pain; lollipops and whimsy with a razor-sharp edge. But despite the darkness running underneath the sweet surface, there鈥檚 an inherent joy in it too 鈥 a hope that seems determined to bubble over the edges and scatter some glitter into the black void beneath.

听will be taking to the stage for a special International Women鈥檚 Day event at the Cultch this Thursday, March 8.

LUMINESCENCE: Chanteuse to the Power of Three features Jickling alongside Christa Couture and Kristina Shelden in an event produced by UBC鈥檚 Wingspan Dis/Ability Arts, Culture and Public Pedagogy. Each of the three brings her own story of triumph over physical and mental adversity. Couture is a cancer survivor and amputee; Shelden suffered a spinal cord injury.

And Jickling? Jickling is a self-described 鈥渘eurotic songstress鈥 who has become an advocate for mental health awareness, using her music to chronicle her personal journey with anxiety and bipolar disorder.

Armed with a ukulele, a piano and partner Greg McLeod on violin and trombone, Jickling will use the stage to share her music and her story about the complicated journey that began, for her, some 20 years ago.

AN ALIEN CHILD

鈥淚 can鈥檛 remember life without it.鈥

鈥淚t,鈥 for Jickling, is anxiety. She was about six when she first started experiencing panic attacks. She didn鈥檛 have the words for them then; she only knew that sometimes, the world wasn鈥檛 the way it should be. Sometimes it was like she was experiencing the world in slow motion. She told people she must have a brain tumour. 听

鈥淚 didn鈥檛 really have the vocabulary to explain panic attacks, and of course my parents didn鈥檛 know,鈥 the now-26-year-old recalls.听 鈥淚 would also dissociate. I would think that I was an alien and everyone else on the planet was a different species than I was.鈥

"I would think that I was an alien and everyone else on the planet was a different species than I was.鈥

When she tried to explain those ideas, the adults around her would simply think she was an imaginative child.

Which, in itself, was true. Even then, she was a poet. Before she could spell enough words to write them down for herself, she would dictate poems for her mother to record.

Those two parts of her 鈥 the anxiety, and the creativity 鈥 would become inextricably entwined as she grew up.

FROM HERE TO 'CRAZY'

She was, she figures, more 鈥渢ogether鈥 to outsiders than she was to herself. She was in a band with her friend in high school, finding unexpected attention for what she remembers as 鈥渃ute鈥 songs (鈥渕y lyrics were about boys and kittens and Harry Potter,鈥 is how she described them in).

听鈥淚t was a strange way for me to connect with people, because I was very shy,鈥 she says. 鈥淚 always say I have off-stage fright.鈥

She kept writing and making music. People didn鈥檛 know other things about her. Things like the fact that she didn鈥檛 sleep for days at a time 鈥 not sleeping was a problem that had plagued her since childhood 鈥 and that she鈥檇 cry on the floor at night. She had periods of depression, even suicidal thoughts. But she didn鈥檛 talk to counsellors, or anyone else really.

鈥淚 thought it was maybe how everybody felt, or it wasn鈥檛 really that bad,鈥 she remembers.

It wasn鈥檛 till she started university that the anxiety grew beyond her control. She dropped out very shortly after starting and was living with major mood swings, alternating from hypomanic highs to depressive lows.

By her late teens and early 20s, her life was spiralling out of control. One friend told her to get to a doctor, saying she couldn鈥檛 be friends with Sarah the way she was and that Sarah needed professional help.

鈥淚 heard a lot that I was crazy, but that doesn鈥檛 have a lot of meaning behind it,鈥 Jickling says.

Eventually, she did seek help, and she was diagnosed with bipolar disorder.

鈥淚 said nope, that鈥檚 not me, that doctor is wrong,鈥 Jickling recalls.

Jickling notes that one of the big challenges with bipolar disorder is the long waitlists for care 鈥 by the time you get through the six-month waitlist for help, you鈥檝e cycled out of depression and into hypomania and you鈥檙e convinced the world is yours for the taking.

Jickling had to be diagnosed three times with bipolar disorder 鈥 at 19, at 21 and at 23 鈥 before she finally started on her road to recovery.

THE ARTIST AND THE ILLNESS

Treatment, for Jickling, has meant a multi-pronged approach: medication, therapy and a variety of creative pursuits, including dance and 鈥 of course 鈥 music. As she faced her illness head-on, Jickling found herself drawn to write songs about the journey.

鈥淚t鈥檚 kind of like your mental illness gets turned up with a volume knob and it鈥檚 all you can hear,鈥 she says. 鈥淚t becomes the subject of your songs.鈥

Through a number of years, she says, she connected her mental illness and her music; she had an image of the stereotypical 鈥渃razy artist鈥 in her head and feared that if she got rid of the illness, she might also lose the music.

鈥淚 connected this sort of chaotic life and chaotic brain with the ability to write songs,鈥 she said. 鈥淢y recovery has been knowing that I am an artist, with or without mental illness.鈥

The recovery journey became the album she released independently in the summer of 2017, When I Get Better.

LIFE AS AN ADVOCATE

For an album that began from an intensely personal place, When I Get Better has propelled Jickling into an intensely public life.

She released the album with a zine illustrated by a high school friend, Amelia Butcher (a friend whom Jickling credits as being 鈥渢he person who stuck by me鈥 鈥 the one who brought Jickling food when she wasn鈥檛 eating; the one who called the police when she thought Jickling had overdosed). The zine, called It鈥檚 OK 鈥 a handbook for human beings, is a tongue-in-cheek look at acceptance and coping.

After its release, Jickling was invited to speak on CBC and other platforms, and she found herself becoming an advocate for people with mental illness and for mental health awareness in general. Her Twitter jokingly refers to herself as a "manic-depressive pixie dream girl" 鈥 in a nod to the .

And Jickling now performs with , a touring show presented by HereToHelp and the B.C. Schizophrenia Society that travels to B.C. high schools to help educate students and teachers about psychosis.

听鈥淭he biggest thing that music has given me is a voice and a platform to connect with people,鈥 Jickling says.

She uses her platform to share the things that she needed to hear, knowing that her experiences will reach someone else who needs them.

鈥淭he idea I was struggling with is, 鈥業s there a better?鈥 It was coming to terms with, this life鈥檚 up and down, just like everybody鈥檚 life. There鈥檚 no moment when you arrive at 鈥榖etter.鈥欌

鈥淥ften I鈥檓 writing something that I need to tell myself, things that have taken me a long time to understand,鈥 she says. Like, for instance, the title track to When I Get Better. 鈥淭he idea I was struggling with is, 鈥業s there a better?鈥 It was coming to terms with, this life鈥檚 up and down, just like everybody鈥檚 life. There鈥檚 no moment when you arrive at 鈥榖etter.鈥欌

It isn鈥檛 easy. Jickling points out the music industry is difficult already, being fraught with competition and rejection, never mind throwing mental illness into the mix.

鈥淪uccess has been something that I鈥檝e had to struggle with,鈥 she admits. 鈥淚鈥檝e decided that success for me means I鈥檓 touching other people鈥檚 lives and making a difference in other people鈥檚 lives.鈥

Every time she gets feedback from someone who thanks her, who relates to her experiences and tells her that message is what they needed to hear 鈥 that鈥檚 what keeps Jickling persevering. On days when nothing is working, when Jickling wants to go back to old habits 鈥 to self-harming, or to allowing panic attacks to keep her inside the house for days on end 鈥 those are the days she keeps on going because of her music and her advocacy work.

鈥淓very day I tell people that I am there for them, so I cannot not be there for myself,鈥 she says. 鈥業鈥檓 going to listen to my own advice and take care of myself. I鈥檓 going to share my stories instead of pretending everything鈥檚 great.鈥

HOPE IN THE DARKNESS

Even when Jickling鈥檚 subject matter is dark, her music remains light-hearted and whimsical.

鈥淭hat鈥檚 the stuff I like to listen to, stuff that makes me feel upbeat and happy,鈥 she says. 鈥淚 really want to lift people up with my music.鈥

What鈥檚 surprised her the most in this whole journey is, perhaps, the fact that she loves performing as much as she does.

鈥淚 suppose it鈥檚 rather surprising that I enjoy being on stage so much. I鈥檓 a quiet person, I鈥檝e always been very shy,鈥 she muses. 鈥淚 feel so comfortable in situations where I鈥檓 able to tell my story and perform, in a way, but perform my truth.鈥

That, in a nutshell, is Jickling鈥檚 mission for her March 8 performance at the Cultch.

听鈥淚鈥檓 just going to be playing from my heart and telling my stories,鈥 she says simply.

That, she knows, is what she鈥檚 here to do.

CHECK IT OUT

WHAT: LUMINESCENCE: Chanteuse to the Power of Three, a show featuring Christa Couture, Sarah Jickling and Kristina Shelden.

WHEN: Thursday, March 8. Doors open 7 p.m., show at 7:30 p.m.

WHERE: The Cultch, 1895 Venables St., Vancouver

TICKETS: $10 to $30, buy through or call 604-251-1363.