iamhere-now

[iamhere-now]

2018

It’s been a minute since I last felt the need to be here.

I am writing a 2017 recap post, but it’s taking a while, as it’s dredging up a lot of memories, emotions and anxieties. I am not as focused on this project as I feel I maybe should be, but due to the personal material I am writing about, I don’t want to rush it, and I currently can only revisit it when my mind is clear. It is definitely something I think I should try to do, to attempt to close the chapter on what was the worst year of my life,  no exaggeration. Bare with me.

[iamhere-now]

Depression.

In my experience, and probably a lot of others too, depression is something you would not wish on your worst enemy. It consumes every inch of you and holds on tight, it pulls you down, further than you thought you could ever go, and most of the time it feels like it’ll keep you down there forever.

In my case, I was depressed for a lot longer than I cared to admit, in fact I didn’t even realise that I was until the end of March. I was unhappy at work, I was unhappy with my body, I was unhappy with some serious issues that were going on within my family, and instead of seeking help, I held it in, kept telling myself that it’ll all get better soon, but soon enough that dark monster that is depression started growing bigger and bigger, taking over my thoughts at first, then taking over me physically, whether it was breaking down at work, neglecting my partner or neglecting myself, it took over me completely, and I was totally oblivious.

I didn’t go to a doctor for two poignant reasons. Reason one, I honestly didn’t think I was as bad as I apparently was, and reason two, the thought of going to a doctor and explaining the ‘problem’, only to have them tell me I was ‘overreacting’ or ‘being silly’, absolutely terrified me. That was my anxiety talking, something I will touch on in another post.

When I finally sought help, I wasn’t very optimistic, as I had watched my own father unfortunately slip through the cracks and be repeatedly let down by the mental health services in his area, however, after my first doctor’s appointment, I was given help pretty much straight away. I was given numbers to call, counsellors to set up appointments with, and medication. They say the first step to recovery to admitting you have a problem, I finally did, and I was on the right course to getting better.

Obviously, it’s never as easy as it sounds on paper. I personally liken depression to an ocean. Its calm, serene, and peaceful, and then in the blink of an eye, its choppy, ferocious and hell bent on taking you down to the depths of the ocean floor. One minute I can appear and feel content, happy, normal to some extent, but just like an ocean has dangerous under currents, so does my mind, and as happy as I may seem to outsiders, there is an almost constant trickle of bad/miserable/hurtful thoughts. I want to emphasise on the word ‘almost’, it’s not a 24/7 occurrence anymore, I think my medication has helped heaps with that, however those thoughts are still there, but I’m hoping that my newly started Cognitive Behavioural Therapy sessions will help me to further better myself.

The one thing that really gets me down about depression, is those horrible thoughts that swim around your mind. Especially when you’re having a good, positive day, where absolutely nothing in particular can trigger an episode of misery, except your own brain, your own chemical imbalance. It can literally come out of nowhere and really dampen your spirits for what feels like an eternity. It feels like a darkness has swallowed you up and it takes a lot of fighting to see the light again.

That darkness is something that can totally dominate your entire thought process. For me, sometimes I become silent, angry, irritable. Other times I become so hysterically distraught I cry until I’m hoarse. This unpredictable darkness, coupled with the fact that I am grieving from a traumatic death within my family, makes for not a whole lot of calm in my downtime. Sometimes I can distract myself, by writing, reading, drawing, cleaning. Other times I just let it consume me, because in some ways its healthy to cry, it can lift a weight off of your shoulders.

Medication, is a tricky topic. Some people really benefit, others really don’t. And medical professionals don’t beat around the bush when they tell you it gets worse before it gets better. As I’m sure anyone who has ever taken antidepressants will tell you, those quiet, evil, suicidal thoughts suddenly start screaming at you. Screaming louder than you ever thought was possible. You quite simply cannot think of anything else, and almost no amount of distractions can stop them taking over your day to day life. The driving difference between having suicidal thoughts, and acting on them, in my opinion, and based on experience, is that those who do not act, have some slither of strength, some small support system, some miniscule reason to possibly want to keep going, to keep fighting through those truly awful first few weeks of taking the medication, to live. I have a few very strong reasons, hopes and dreams, and a couple of amazing friends, but they were enough to allow me to push through and ride it out. I am more than aware that for a lot of people, that doesn’t transpire. They can’t see that light, they are so all consumed by that darkness, they are almost touching the ocean floor, and it makes all the sense in the world to disappear.

Depression is a silent killer, too many people are pulled down by its currents, and far too large a percentage of those people, they get swept away, and taken from us. My advice would be, to anyone who reads this, to anyone who thinks they may suffer from depression, or know someone who might, please, please don’t be afraid to ask for help. Aim to get all the help you can. Reach out to friends, family, doctors, counsellors, because it can get better. I’m certain of that.

https://psyche.media/depression-15

[iamhere-now]

My posts are now on a site called Vocal. Basically, it helps me get cash dollar for pouring my heart and soul out. Check out the website, not just for my posts, they have a whole bunch of categories of stories/experiences written by people around the world, about almost anything!

"Losing a Loved One" by @vocal_health http://psyche.media/losing-a-loved-one

"Hobbies" by @vocal_health http://longevity.media/hobbies

"Grief" by @vocal_health http://psyche.media/grief

[iamhere-now]

Body Dysmorphia.

Body dysmorphic disorder is a mean, nasty, debilitating mental disorder that can really destroy you. You constantly obsess over the smallest of “flaws”, a bit too chunky around the thighs, skin is too spotty, hair isn’t luscious enough. This obsession slowly breaks you down, and then starts breaking down your relationships. It’s a persistent niggle in the back of your mind, and its damn near impossible to ignore.

Body dysmorphia can stem from a number of emotionally traumatic factors, sexual abuse, neglect, bullying to name a few. I was around 9 years old when it started for me, with a small comment being made to me in class at primary school by a boy, which is so deeply engrained in my memory that some days it feels like it happened only yesterday. I wore a skirt on this particular day of school, stood by the bookshelf in my classroom, this boy approached me and said “why are you wearing a skirt, you’re too fat to wear skirts.” 9 years old, and this set off a serious problem within my mental wellbeing for the next 15 years.

From that point on, all I could think about was, maybe I am too fat, maybe I should stop eating crisps and sweets and then I can wear skirts and look nice in them. Immediately after that incident at school, I vowed never to wear a skirt again, nor a dress, or shorts. and I didn’t. For 8 years in fact. As I grew older and hit puberty, my self image only got worse. I come from a bloodline where all the women are notoriously curvy. With big child bearing hips hitting me at around age 13, I hit another snag in terms of my own body dysmorphia. At 13, you start to become interested in the opposite sex, you develop crushes, you watch as all your skinny friends get boyfriends and you’re left behind, like the fat little dumpling that you are. Or at least think you are. It was in art class in secondary school, I was chatting with some friends, talking about the proportions of the human body, when two boys, very bluntly told me “you’re top AND bottom heavy” .. they told me I was fat. Again. Again someone had told me that I was fat, after being acutely aware of this fact since the age of 9, swearing off skirts and dresses, I had now been humiliated all over again, in more ways than one this time, because like I said, I was going through puberty. My body was changing enough as it was, and it wasn’t changing into what I wanted, what I thought I should be looking like. I soon developed bulimia. But thats something I want to focus on another time. Looking back, this really set in stone the true dysmorphic image I had cultivated about my body, for years to come still.

Fast forward a couple of years, I’m 16 years old, first year of college, I fell into a crowd I never have imagined I would ever be associated with. We all developed a nasty relationship with drugs . At first, recreationally, then it was quite literally an addiction. To synthetic amphetamines. 2 minutes of research will tell you that prolonged and extensive use of these types of drugs can cause extreme weight loss. And it did just that. As I was approaching my 17th birthday, I weighed only 6.5 stone. I was TINY. However, thanks to my body dysmorphia, I couldn’t see just how small I had gotten. I could still ‘see’ fat rolls on my stomach, my love handles, my thick wobbly thighs. It didn’t matter how many people told me how skinny I looked, I couldn’t believe them. My brain quite literally tricked me into seeing things about my body that just weren’t there. Looking back now at photographs, I can see just how dangerously small and sick I looked, but at the time, I still saw myself as that “top and bottom heavy” girl.

For a good few years after that, only really up until a couple of months ago, just before turning 24, with the occasional blip of normality, where I was comfortable in my own skin and didn’t mind looking in a mirror, I only ever saw a fat dumpy girl, full of flaws that the whole world could see and would focus on. The harsh reality of the extent of my body dysmorphia was that between the ages of 18 and 23, I simply could not stomach the sight of my naked body. Whatsoever. I would avoid mirrors after I got out the shower, I was practically NEVER naked, ALWAYS covering up in a long baggy tshirt/jumper/cardigan as soon as I was dry enough to put something on, purely because I was that repulsed by my own reflection, or rather, what I perceived my own reflection to be.

I don’t need to remind anyone of the ramifications that having body dysmorphia can do to sexual relationships. Because it destroys them. And it’s heartbreaking, to know that you have subconsciously allowed yourself to become so reclusive and shy enough around somebody who genuinely makes you feel like you could walk on water, that it pushes them away. And during the truly dysmorphic times, you honestly cannot muster up a good enough reason as to why you don’t want to take that giant XXL tshirt off. You cannot explain to your significant other, who is a perfect god/goddess among us mere mortals, that there’s absolutely nothing wrong with them, that it’s just that nasty voice in the back of your mind that tells you you aren’t sexy enough, your aren’t skinny enough, you’re too heavy, you aren’t worthy. No matter how much you truly believe and know that that other person finds you attractive, your stupid fucking dysmorphia takes over. Whether you like it or not.

Body dysmorphia is cruel. For men and women, from the moment we become self aware as human beings, we are constantly bombarded by publications, magazines, catwalk models, fitness models, “telling’ us how we should look, alongside headlines like ‘get the perfect beach body’, ‘how to shed a stone in 6 weeks’ and ‘flab to abs in 3 months’. Those things in the media alone are enough to trigger the dysmorphic tendencies myself and so many others around me battle or have battled with every day. Body dysmorphia almost always leads, or directly correlates with other mental disorders such as eating disorders, depression and anxiety. It’s a real problem and I feel that far too many people suffer from it, a lot of the times in silence. After the truly traumatic year that has been 2017, and with the help of some weight loss, and antidepressants, I can finally, confidently say that I am comfortable in my own skin. I never thought I would ever utter those words and believe them. But I do. Its the truth. All I want is for anyone going through this horrible controlling disorder, to one day experience just how freeing it is, to stand stark naked in front of a mirror and smile, feel comfortable, confident, sexy. To take those questionable photos of yourself in nothing but underwear, or nothing at all, just to show off for yourself! To go out and buy the sexiest underwear you can find, and just wear it around the house, and feel GOOD. 

Because I can tell you now, nothing beats lazing around the house in your finest bra and panties / slip / babydoll / birthday suit, being completely, 100%, truly at peace with yourself.

https://psyche.media/body-dysmorphia

[iamhere-now]

Finding an outlet.

Hobbies. Hobbies can shape a person, their personality, their worldly view, their ethos. A lot of people are lucky enough to make money doing their chosen hobby. Hobbies such as the ‘arts’, are what makes up a lot of our worlds economy. Music, fashion, photography and film. Literary hobbies have given our world hundreds of years worth of reading material, from encyclopaedias, to fiction, to comic books and manga. Hobbies are what drives this world creatively, and I think thats wonderful.

For my early years, I was very big into dance. Ballet, jazz, tap dancing. It was a way for me to let go and really connect with my creativity. I was constantly on the move, practising my moves, making up routines, pushing myself further and further to better myself to one day, make money from this. Sadly, as I got older, I learnt the harsh reality that, as beautiful as dance is, only an extremely small percentage of people get to go on and make a career from this hobby.

In my early teens, I LOVED photography. I had found a hobby I could be as passionate about as I was with dance. I would borrow my parents 4 megapixel digital camera and take it everywhere with me. I had such drive to go out and get that perfect shot. When I was 13 and 14 I would wake on the weekends before the sun would rise, and walk to my local beaches to capture those beautiful, serene, early morning moments. From 15 to 17, I would shoot live gigs with my 35mm camera, working with a wonderful group of musicians and promoters from Cornwall, who would actually pay me to get the photos developed and pay for the film I used, because they were that good I guess! As I got a little older, I really wanted to carve a career out of this hobby. Unfortunately, just like with dance, I learned that once again, only a small fraction of photographers can really make a name for themselves in this day and age. And with that knowledge, and some other extenuating circumstances, no matter how talented I was, and to some extent still am, I gave it up.

From the age of 19, to around about now (24) I didn’t really have a hobby. I didn’t go out with a camera anymore. I didn’t dance. And I’ve never been blessed to be very musically talented. I’d forgotten what it felt like to immerse myself in something I was truly passionate about. I became a slob, mentally and physically. Ive always been acutely aware that having a hobby is so enriching, and it can bring people together who normally wouldn’t cross paths. You can grow tight knit communities in the form of a band, or a regular art fair, quite literally anything! So I wanted to do something about my own lack of a creative outlet.

After the intense few months I experienced at the beginning of 2017, I really wanted to get out of my hobby-less slump, and find something to be passionate about again, initially and rather selfishly, it was just to find something to distract myself. So I started doodling. Nothing fancy, just small sketches of plants and cups of tea etc. Slowly but surely, the passion is starting to come back. I am learning all over again what it means to really have a hobby. To look forward to that time where I can sit down, put on some music, switch off my brain and just draw. Now that I’m older, I know I’ll probably never make a career out of my hobbies, and thats okay. It’s much more important to have that one small thing that you can work toward or work on, be it drawing, singing, playing an instrument, or even something as simple as reading a book. Everybody needs their ‘switch off’ time, and I feel that we need to regress in terms of technology to some extent; netflix and chill isn’t as mentally rewarding as finally nailing that pen technique, or hitting that high note.

Everyone needs a hobby. It doesn’t have to be grandeur, and you don’t have to be brilliant at it. But I firmly believe that we as humans, need something that drives us, outside of the ‘working tirelessly just to afford rent’ that so many of us are faced with nowadays.

Try something new! There are so many things you can learn, and you’ll be surprised at what you can do if you put your mind to it.

http://longevity.media/hobbies

[iamhere-now]

Grief.

Grieving is an extremely powerful emotional response. It overwhelms you, stretching to every corner of your mind, body and soul. You experience an array of awful sensations, one minute your gasping for air, as if you’re drowning, next it feels as though theres a mountain sitting on your chest, crushing you. Grief is the most intense form of sadness you could possibly ever endure.

In my experience, and after a bit of research, grief has affected me relatively ‘normally’, I have gone through and continue to go through some expected stages of grief associated with the type of circumstance in which the death happened. Denial, anger, depression and guilt.

Everyone processes the news of a death differently. But everybody grieves. Its a natural emotional response to the news that a loved one has gone. Theres a lot of wild theories and studies floating around about certain stages of grief, whilst some of the feelings and responses are spot on, the order in which people experience them will always differ. Denial is a tricky one. In my previous post I talked about my aunt, who was diagnosed with terminal cancer. In cases of terminal illness, the denial stage can come well before the actual death, and in my families case, this was very much the general consensus. Denial, in terms of my fathers passing and how that came about, is a stage of grieving that, honestly, I don’t think I’ll ever get over. This goes hand in hand with guilt in my case. There will always be those ‘what ifs’. And what I am learning is that, its okay to have those what ifs, but its also okay to not allow them to take over, its okay to get on with your own life. I’ll probably be holding on to that guilt for the rest of my life, but not as intensely, and I wont be focusing on it, it’ll just be there, in the back of my mind.

Depression comes in many forms, and for some you may not even realise you have it. Grieving for a loved one can trigger a depression, of course, again its a completely natural response. I’ll talk about depression in more details another time.

Grief is a potent coping mechanism for humans, and even animals. It can gobble you up in an instant, and if you let it, it will keep you there. If you’re experiencing grief, you are not alone. Although it may feel like you are, no one is ever alone. Take that alone time that you need, but try to balance that out with spending time with the people who really care about you, and whom you care about. If I could give one tip to anyone going through the grieving process, it would be to not be afraid to laugh out loud. We are all human, we all go through a whirlwind of emotions on a daily basis, its what we do. Sometimes it can get us into trouble, sometimes it can bring about lasting memories of happiness/sadness/remorse/guilt, you name it, our brains are capable of it. Grief is a natural process, I am learning not to shy away from expressing those feelings. In the beginning I saw myself as weak every time I cried out for help or let intrusive thoughts take over, except now I feel like those early stages of grieving and my being so vulnerable, has made me stronger now than I’ve ever been. Experiencing a death, and going through an intense grieving process has started to shape who I want to be, a strong woman, a confident woman. Someone not afraid to say yes, or no. Someone who, sadly thanks to some intense emotional trauma, can rise up from the ashes a new, wiser human.

Its okay to grieve.

https://psyche.media/grief

[iamhere-now]

No.

Saying no shouldn’t be difficult to do. Making a conscious decision to turn down that extra pint, that extra bite of pizza, or that extra shift at work, should be a breeze. Those sort of conscious decisions that will benefit you, mentally and physically, should be no challenge at all. Yet somehow I found it extremely difficult to do, for far too long.

I spent the better part of 8 years working tirelessly for everyone around me. But never myself. For reasons pretty unbeknown to me, I had it engrained in every fibre of my being, that I absolutely had to please everyone else, put everyone and everything ahead of my own wellbeing and self progression. As a result of this naive way of thinking, I became a very introverted and subservient person, something that again, I had no real clue just how bad I was, until it was pointed out to me by some family members and my best friend.

I let my ridiculous tendency to please those like my bosses, co-workers, abusive figures from my past, take over, so much so that I enabled it to destroy once solid and beautiful relationships I had with family and friends. It totally controlled my life, and I neglected very special and important people. And I cant even now, looking back, for the life of me find an explanation as to why I allowed this horrendous habit to run my very existence for so long after it was pointed out to me. In hindsight, of course, I would’ve stopped this habit of not being able to say no, and maybe today, things could be a lot different in a variety of different aspects in my life. But thats all hindsight is really good for, speculation, the what ifs.

After some truly miserable life events that happened in the beginning of 2017, most impactful being the death of my father, one of those pivotal, life changing experiences, I finally altered my way of thinking. I am now making those conscious decisions to just. say. NO. No, I wont do that extra shift, whilst the money would be nice, I am now self aware of that fact that I am exhausted and need the rest. No, I don’t need this cigarette, there are a hundred better ways to distract myself. No. On the other side of the spectrum, I am making those somewhat more difficult conscious decisions of saying yes. Something else I will talk about later on.

I did not have the easiest of upbringings, nor did I have the easiest teenage years, however, I refuse to let those moments of weakness define me anymore. It took too many unfortunate, earth shattering, eye opening experiences to realise what I needed to to in order to better myself inside and out, but I am finally doing things for myself. I am finally making those conscious decisions to say no. I am here now.

[iamhere-now]

Death.

A lot of misery stems around death. The demise of a pet, a friend, a family member. It is a pivotal moment in anyones life, and it can change someone exponentially afterwards.

I first experienced death when I was 7. It was my pet rabbit, Harry. He was a jet black, short furred, evil little thing, but I adored him anyway. When he died, I was distraught, inconsolable, only for a short time, but still, I had experienced a death. For my 8th birthday, I got a guinea pig, and from that moment I learned that the love for a pet can essentially bounce onto the next one, you can give it the same love as the previous, and not feel guilt.

The second and third deaths I experienced, were old friends. An old school friend, and an old work colleague. This was more than 10 years after Harry. I was distraught, but not as intensely as I was when I was younger. I think maturity played a big part in that. The death of a friend differs from a pet, you can never replace the love you felt for that particular person. Never. You can just know that you did love them, and you’ll probably never forget them.

The fourth and fifth deaths hit a lot closer to home. One of my best friends mother, who was basically my second mum for a good 10 years, passed suddenly. Then someone who was like a godfather to me during my early years. Both of these events happened within quick succession. This was a whole new kind of misery for me. These adult figures in my life, whom I had always looked up too, were gone. I hadn’t been in touch with them for most of my short adult life, so maybe I didn’t feel the level of misery that I perhaps should have. It struck a chord with me still, this type of grief was altogether different from the death of a pet, and the death of a friend, it was like the death of a family member, I assumed, as at this point I had not experienced a death within my family.

The sixth death, it broke my heart. Probably not for all the right reasons it should’ve, but it hit me the hardest so far, it was my aunt. My mothers younger sister. Again, I hadn’t really been in touch with her for over a decade, distance played a big part in that. This death, was expected, she was diagnosed with terminal cancer. This news in itself was devastating, being told that someone you love is going to die, opens up a whole new way of processing things emotionally. Watching the strongest members of my family, my mum, aunts, uncle, grandparents, literally crumble before your eyes is something I wouldn’t wish on anyone, that in itself can be just as devastating as death. Being shrouded in misery for the last 6 months of her life, although she wasn’t very coherent towards the end, must’ve been tough. The thing that hits me hardest about her death, was that she left behind three amazing kids. My cousins. The eldest, the same age as me, who had just had a baby herself. And two boys, 13 and 5. I felt immense sadness in knowing that their mother was gone, that they’d never see, hear, smell her again. That was another eye opener in terms of death, and the emotions it can trigger or awaken inside of you that you didn’t know you could feel so intensely.

The seventh death. The most recent death. Only 4 months ago. Swallowed me whole. It was my father. Now this death, is the sort of passing that is the hardest to comprehend, and along side that comes the most enormous sense of guilt you could possibly ever experience. His death destroyed me. It broke me down, completely. I wasn’t myself. I had never been faced with this sort of misery before. This was a deeply personal misery. This was a ‘loss’, the kind of ‘loss’ you only read about in stories, or see on TV. The love you have for a parent can never be replaced. The love for someone who raised you, tutored you, supported you, even if they weren’t the best at those things, will never go away. This is just scratching the surface of what I want to talk about in regards to this particular tragedy. The death of a close family member, in my experience, changes and shapes your thought processes, your emotions, your general outlook on life and relationships. As twisted as it sounds, and only once you’re able to get over that engulfing misery, of which I don’t think I am yet, the death of a family member can ultimately, make you a better person. You just have to let it.

https://psyche.media/losing-a-loved-one