This Is Not An Emergency

“Sorry. Your crisis isn’t enough for us to keep you,” said the doctor. “This isn’t an emergency.” Through my time trying to help others I have acquired an intimate secret. The place where your empathy burns on endless fuel of black pitch and bile. The exact location where your heart and brain meet. I know [...]

The Job Hunt: Love Letters to Strangers

There is something extremely lonely and desperate about unemployment. You spend your days writing love letters to strangers, pretty sure that they probably won’t even open them. Trying to seduce people you don’t even want. Somehow masturbation gets mixed in with poetry and you sell yourself short in the desire to have someone buy your [...]

Rendezvous with Madness, My Suicide and Piss Paranoia

I suffer from a serious condition called “movie theatre bathroom thirst paranoia”. As soon as I take my seat the psychological warfare begins. My throat becomes parched and I suddenly need something to drink. If I don’t have water with me I find the nearest faucet and give into my thirst. Once I have done [...]

Barbershop of Horrors and November 3rd

I’m in a barbershop in Toronto wishing that I was in Halifax getting a hair cut from Phat. Phat is my Vietnamese master of bullshit barber who always promises his haircuts will get me laid. I’m fairly certain this haircut will not come with the same guarantee. I hate sitting through a haircut when the [...]

Pajama Pants In My Backpack (Meeting with a Literary Agent.)

As per usual, it begins to rain less than quarter of my way to my friend’s place. Despite the intense downpour, I’m wearing a shit-eating grin when I enter his cozy basement apartment. “Titch bit wet out there, eh?” he says. “Damn right, bah,” I say exaggerating the Nova Scotian accent I don’t generally possess. [...]

Michael Kimber’s insane book proposal

Do you know what its like having to try to breath I can remember when I couldn’t remember sleep For days and weeks When I was scared to death of it, because my mind which hated me wouldn’t leave Michael Kimber was barely there, adapting to speak, during rare moments of release, when exercise gave [...]

Cure#17: My best friend when I was 12 years old

“A Funeral” by Peter Diamond. Dressed in a perfectly pressed black suit I look like an emaciated super model before arriving for make up in the morning. I put on my most carefree smile and shake their hands with enthusiasm. Across the table are three incredibly sweet women who will decide whether I get the [...]

The Cure#8: A Mother’s Love

November 25th, 2009 A plastic cartoon dog wobbles his head back and forth, attached to the dash of my mother’s car, mocking my sleepless state. His name is Frank and my mother got him at a fast food restaurant back in the days when Men In Black was first released. I stare into his eyes, [...]

The Cure#6: Nurse Betty

November 19th, 2009 My girlfriend kisses me on the mouth and leaves me alone with her mother. It’s one in the afternoon and I haven’t eaten yet or slept. “Betty” is blond with a streak of silver hair with big glasses and crystal blue eyes. Put simply she is one of the nicest women in [...]

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About

Michael Kimber is a 26-year-old journalist who suffered a nervous breakdown on November 3rd, 2009. On March 28th, 2010 when he recovered from mental illness, he began writing a blog called Colony-of-losers. About falling on your face to figure out who you are and the hilarious antics of a blond jew. What began with a few friends and his mother reading has become a cult phenomenon, averaging 10,000 views a week, receiving praise from Commonwealth Award Winner Shandi Mitchell and many others. On, November 3rd, 2010, the one year anniversary of his mental breakdown he signed with Anne McDermid and Associates, the largest literary agency in Canada. In a year he went from wearing pajamas, making his couch depression HQ to leaving his hometown for the Toronto, where he exclusively wears business suits and the armor of ancient Greeks. Don't worry, he's still choking on the feet he contently sticks in his mouth and making moments awkward just by being part of them. During these struggles he met other talented bastards and drew them into his circle. Peter Diamond became his illustrator. Patrick Campbell his video editor and part time photographer. He recently added the incredibly talented John Packman as Colony of Losers Toronto photographer. Without the support of the Colony of Losers, Michael Kimber would be nothing. Welcome to the losers and the success that comes from utter and complete failure. You aren’t alone. Follow him on twitter.com/colonyoflosersand twitter.com/quimbo. If you’d like to hire him for a public speaking engagement for mental health events in Toronto, like to arrange an interview, offer millions to publish his book or for another reason contact Michael please email him. And join his facebook Colony of Losers.

Really obvious disclaimer:
I’m not a trained psychologist. Just a fellow traveler. If you need help seek it from the professionals. The Canadian Mental Health Association provides a help locator. You can find crisis resources provided by the Canadian Association for Suicide Prevention. If you are in the states check here. It will give you services by zip code. I’d also recommend checking out Mindyourmind.ca. I think they do great work and have been a help to me personally.

Fantastic Thoughts of Quimbo

I suffer from anxiety, being a twenty something and having an awesome blog. Check out colony-of-losers.com

Obama should do this to Romney

Do you think the Coca Cola executive who made up Santa is in hell being tortured by the baby jesus?

I shaved my neck beard increasing my general level of handsomeness. This made me feel fit. I didn't go to the gym today for this reason.

I saw a man reading Audacity of Hope in Starbucks with tears rolling down his cheeks. The question is for what reason?

I always count on someone at a bar to instruct me to become a better person. I learned don't go to Walmart, they killed 3 billion kids.#true

Give it up for all the kids who used to chew on their hoodie handles of their sweaters.

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