#especially when 2/3 of my morning classes are in the theatre teacher's classroom

[saltedsolenoid]

it's rather hard to share food with someone when there's nobody there

[the-dyslexic-blogger]

Fear 06/06/20

So I've talked about many things in my recent bogs bit have not spoken about the limitations that come with having anxiety. This, as per usual had a trigger warning for self-harm anxiety, sexual assault and also suicide mentions, oh and stalking if that's a trigger (funnnn yayyyy).

In the past, I have let my anxiety take over my life in certain parts as a child I was timid. I hated talking to others and struggled to ask for help in class. I was mostly alone and hated most the attention on me so, therefore, I didn't like my birthday because this was always all on me.

My anxiety started to get really bad in year 7 when I started the shithole school I was at, it tore my mental health apart and threw the bits in the air as they celebrated the victory of taking my life over. I thought being shy was just me being nervous. I enjoyed drama a lot I used to do productions outside of school. As soon as it hit GCSE, I did take drama I never regretted it my teacher was very helpful when it came to anxiety and stuff so she would let me do my performances in front of her. One of my friends would do the lighting and encourage me. It helped to have that connection with her that she'd look out for me.

Once college started, I gave up participating in performances. My Anxiety and panic attacks took over me. It was like a wave had suddenly hit me. I was stuck under a stream of anxiety, panic attacks and other mental illnesses. I could barely breathe its what anxiety felt like my panic attacks were very regular id have at least 5 a day just thinking about going outside because people will look at me and judge me it didn't help alongside this I had a lot of stuff to deal with my home life, My self harm my depression and other lovely wonderful traumas.

So after school, I gave up the thing I loved the most drama I used to love being able to be someone else for that hour and forget the problems I used to love the feeling of thinking of a drama piece and being able to script it and performed I loved it.

As soon as college, my anxiety as I have said already got very bad unbearable it began to be bad at the end of school. Still, I continued in drama my panic attacks were bad though before any drama lesson id go into the bathroom have a panic attack self-harm and go in with a smile like nothing had just happed my friend at the time also got anxious about performing wed help each other out with it.

Throughout college, I lost this interest in drama the thought of performing made me feel sick even going to college was enough to trigger a panic attack and Id have multiple in the daytime college first year wasn't a pleasant experience in college was the 2nd time id been sexually assaulted by the same person the college never helped it was traumatising it was on one of the days I had math tutoring my tutor was lovely. She was worried about me this whole experience knocked my anxiety far back and took the person I used to be I was a shadow of myself I still am working on getting that light again,And getting who I used to be back. I'm not going into the assault, but I will do in another blog.

 I will say as much as I hated the job sometimes it helped me a bit with my anxiety as I serve people ice cream, so I have to socialise this did help me massively.

Second-year came around the first day I went to induction was hard as by my previous college I was told id never get far. I wouldn't be able to achieve, so they offered me to do my GCSEs again. I had passed English, and the way that college treated me made me feel was awful. So I moved the morning of induction day I felt sick as frick. It wasn't pleasant. I   had few panic attacks in the quiet corner of the bus and went in it turned to out to be a good day.

I had applied for a course in level 2., but the guy I talked to said I had enough grades to get into level 3 so it was good.

I  got into level three, My anxiety was still terrible. I barely spoke to anyone in the first week or so.

I would wait until the tutor let us go and id practically run out the classroom to either the library or home depending on whether it was hometime or not I was too anxious to socialise with anyone I was like this all the time.

I never asked for help when I needed it having my learning difficulties really affected this as well, I struggled with my written work and maths but was too anxious to ask for help, and I was dyspraxic as fuck.

The third year in college was very hard as all of my friends had moved on and moved off of college or different courses. I struggled with my anxiety massively. After all of my issues, I was back in therapy and finally diagnosed with  Major depression, social anxiety disorder and generalised anxiety disorder which I was given medication for. Still, they ended up triggering a lot of panic attacks at the start but began to help after a while.

 I hid away a lot when I wasn't at college, in fact, my anxiety got so bad that in march of 2019 I gave college up didn't go to college whatsoever my anxiety had got me into a vicious circle of not going in and then getting too anxious to go back into college. So I gave up luckily, my college was still able to give me a qualification they took into account my awful mental state.

My mum has never been the nicest to me, so she didn't know when I was at college I was actually at my mate's house I couldn't face telling them I had a bad panic attack every time I thought about it so they would meet me every morning and id go to their house for the day then come back home after and act like it was college.

Around this time was the time I had an issue with a stalker he was on the bus one day and asked where a particular stop was so I being a good bean I told him, it happened to be the same one as me. That was that reasonable right? Yes, but it wasn't after some time he'd wait for me at the bus stop and 'walk with me' aka stalk me home I was clever though and went to a completely different area and said that was my house and waited till he fucked off. Then id go back I would get into shit for being late home my parents were assholes about it I didn't tell them about all of this.

This went on for about a month, and then I told my friend he encouraged me to call the police. So I did he was there for it he helped me through it. They gave me a lot of support throughout all of this, which set my anxiety off very severely, but they understood my situation.

One evening I was in my room heard a knock at the door my dad got it and called me I came down the stairs and my heart sunk it was the police, I felt so sick in my throat. And I sheepishly walked down the stairs and into the front room. They came to have a chat about all of this, and they were lovely police officers and was very understanding. I think they could see how anxious I was.

After this, I went back upstairs after trying to fight off a panic attack for the whole meeting thingy if you can call it that in the living room. I got upstairs, and my mum shouted for me. I got yelled at for having a stalker, yes I got punished because some dude decided 'hey imma stalk you now give you lifelong trauma' it's not like I was like 'HEY STALK ME' It was rough I went back into my room cut and had a panic attack and cried myself to sleep. You know that feeling when you're in your room trying not to cry too loud holding your hand on your mouth trying not to let anyone hear you well that was what it was like that night. I fell asleep with a blade in my hand crying wishing i wasn't born.

Ever since that I haven't gotten off at the stop in the centre, I always get off early I'm too scared to do otherwise and get off in the usual place.

Summer was hard for my anxiety especially with university coming closer and closer, and I didn't know what was going on with it this was making me more and more anxious my home situation wasn't too great either.

 I wanted to get out of my home. Still, I didn't know what was happening with it once I found out where I was going I didn't have time to think about it as that week I had to apply for accommodation then that weekend I was moving in the next day freshers week began. I was anxious and too scared to trust people being in a flat was hard. Still, I met some pretty amazing people in this I would not change this for anything if the other university asked me  I would turn it down anyway because I'm happy with where I am.

I feel like university has changed me yes I was very very anxious at the start and have had ups and downs with it with my mental health the trauma train making a lot of stops in my head. With the downs, I have met many amazing people. I have even gotten back into drama with doing musical theatre yes I did stop it for a bit, but that was when shit hit the fan again. My medication started up again. I loved musical theatre it helped me with my anxiety a lot. I met lots and lots of lovely human beings there. They are like a family even though I wasn't noticed much I was always quiet and to myself so I don't think I really made an impact on anyone there. Still, oh well they helped me a lot.

 But there you go another blog of Dino chats shit gets distracted goes off-topic went back onto topic and written over one thousand words. Fun.

But thank you all for reading my shitty blogs more about me complaining about how rough life can be and how shit things are. Still, they do get better I promise you this is probably the shittest blog I've done as I've kinda slightly rushed it I wanted to get it up for yall as I've been saying for ages ill upload (Not that anyone actually follows my blogs oof)But I did it anyway 

But as i usually do anxiety affects, everyone, even if you're not professionally diagnosed with it everyone gets anxiety and its okay to feel anxious don't beat yourself up for it or even hate yourself for being anxious it's alright I'm here if anyone needs me you can message me anytime love ya.

As I usually do  Here are some helplines if you are struggling with anxiety and panic or/and anxiety attacks thank you all again stay strong my human beans thanks for reading another shitty blog that is longer than it should be as I said I'm always here. If you need me inbox me (on Tumblr) or message me on anything I'm here still will be I care about you, YES YOU the person who read all of my blogs or skipped to the end if so I don't blame you, but I care, love, ya.

Here you go :

NHS Anxiety:https://www.nhs.uk/conditions/stress-anxiety-depression/understanding-panic/

NHS mental health support: https://www.nhs.uk/conditions/stress-anxiety-depression/mental-health-helplines/

Young minds on anxiety: https://youngminds.org.uk/find-help/conditions/anxiety/

Love

Dino the dyslexic blogger xx

[ennaraw52]

What is it like to live in Buenos Aires, Argentina?

My answer to What is it like to live in Buenos Aires, Argentina?

Answer by Enna Morgan:

Twilight envelopes the city, and gives birth to a new ecology

photo: enna morgan

''Sexy, alive and supremely confident, this beautiful city gets under your skin. Like Europe with a melancholic twist, Buenos Aires is unforgettable,'' reads Sandra Bao's article in the Lonely Planet. Well, she is not lying, this bustling metropolis, better known as 'The Paris of the Americas' and dubbed an 'alpha city,' has earned all those pseudonyms. But like every other city, there are some of the not so dazzling truths that don't exactly make the ''top 10 tweets'' list, and many that, though recorded, do not make headline news.

Prior to moving to Buenos Aires, I was bedazzled by the tales of a rich, populous city, steeped in culture and drizzled with romance, theatre and dance. The home of the amorous Argentine tango, and the famous asado. I dreamt of dancing in the street until the early morning, hearing the sound of violins strumming late into the night, and decadent food beckoning from every street corner.

Though some of those images were somewhat realised (the food), the caricatured version and the reality of the untold stories left an impression that as Ms Bao stated, is unforgettable. My experiences in Buenos Aires will forever alter the way I view the country, other people’s reviews of the places they visit, and the word ''romantic.''

As you brush off the suitcase gingerly in preparation for your own escapades in this urban sprawl, here are some little-known realities that can help to ease you into the culture, and help to reduce the frequency of breaking out the inhaler.

It is all colour coded, really!

1. The Argentines are terribly colour conscious. They view the darker-complexed people as either whores of thieves, and they treat them accordingly. And by darker complexed people, I am not referring specifically to African Americans or Africans, I am speaking of……those who are not light-skinned; it is not a race issue, it is a skin-tone issue.

For instance, if you are dark-skinned and standing in line at a Confeteria (or any other such place), by the time it is your turn to be served, the price of items would automatically increase right before your eyes. Some store owners (Chinese) would even refuse you service, and very often (most prevalent after midnight, and outside of the main city limits), the buses would not stop for you. Additionally you would always find those who would want to make a point of letting you know exactly how they feel (especially if they happen to be feeling slightly inferior due to their lack of command of the English Language). One such example occurred in one of my classrooms.

Among other subjects, I taught Business English, and thus worked in several premiere corporations (names deliberately withheld) around Capital Federal. One morning, in the middle of class, amongst a group of ''well-educated'' professionals (department heads of a well-known international company), we were discussing Brazil’s economy. Out of nowhere (that I could trace) one of the students elected to explain to me the difference between the Brazilians and the Argentines (let's keep in mind that for the 18 months I spent in Buenos Aires, there was never an Argentine who claimed roots from anywhere other than France or Italy; let's also keep in mind that the topic was centered on ''economy'' and nothing anthropological or sociological in nature).

She explained that, ''The Argentines are better because their ancestors are from France and Italy, but the Brazilians, they are…..well……BLACK!'' Well, that certainly cleared up that mystery! I have been thus culturally enlightened, and had to then make notes to myself to reconstruct my prior knowledge of the Brazilian genealogy. Foolish me, I always had it in mind that being colonised by Portugal in 1500AD, then subsequently falling under the Iberian Crown, they would then be descendants of Spain and Portugal, but then what do I know! I was only the dark-skinned Indian girl, after all, no doubt a thief or a whore!….or, (Heavens forbid!) both!

For the first several months that I was there, I had noticed that I was repeatedly the recipient of very hostile stares (they make little effort to hide their distaste), and persistent searching of my bags whenever I enter into a supermarket. On one occasion, after being in the store for about 8 minutes, I was even hauled to the front of one of the Carrefour supermarkets by one of their employees (did not know who she was or why she wanted me to follow her, so I did), accused of stealing and publicly searched.

After the search revealed nothing, the (frustrated) woman (plain clothes security) who made the accusation, admitted that although she had no concrete evidence of me stealing anything, she just wanted to check (she had begun following me around the store from the time I entered), and so finding nothing, she admonished me for being too long in the store. I was by that time in the store only about 15 – 20 minutes (ten of which was consumed in the search).

Many other such incidents followed until I decided to put a stop to it…..in my own signature style. No need for details, let's just say that I established myself, in my immediate surroundings, as a force to (not) reckon with.

Before leaving this topic, I will add that I was one day discussing these phenomena with the laundromat fellow (light-skinned), who I then learned happened to have some dark-skinned relatives; turns out that they too have had to endure similar insults, albeit being native Argentines. He then explained that such discriminatory actions are normal within the Argentinian culture. I guess this acquired human habit of colour discrimination has no geographic boundaries.

Are they sexy or sex-starved?

2. No doubt the Argentines are indeed ''sexy,'' as Ms Bao stated; however, experience suggests that this trait it is not in a pleasingly seductive or sensual way, but instead, in a disgustingly carnal manner.

To illustrate:

Around rush hour (mornings, 7 – 9am, lunchtime, and after work, 4 – 6pm), as is typical with every city that relies on the subway for public transportation, the trains are usually jam-packed. I dreaded the ride, not for the reason that I would be up close and personal with a vast array of beggars, workers, tourists, and proletariats, but for the simple reason that this jam-packed atmosphere presented ample opportunity for the thus inclined men to get their jollies. You see, the train would be so tightly packed that it would preclude any movement of any sort; even breathing would become impossible.

Very often you would find yourself either inhaling the carbon dioxide of your travelling companion, whose nose was lodged half-an- inch in front of yours, or you may feel a solid and disturbing protrusion moving independently in the vicinity of your ass (yes, I said ass – deal with it!). And every move you make to re-adjust yourself to get away from it, would serve only to excite the ''protrusion'' to literally jump with joy. Ugh!

This was such a nauseating experience that it brought me to a point of avoidance. I chose to walk home from Nove de Julio, the junction where I would transfer from the B (red) train to the C (blue) line to get to my home on Avenida Viamonte. Although it was several blocks away, it was more enjoyable than the invasion of the joysticks that would attack from various directions. But, alas, the odium was not limited to the subte.

On one occasion I was on the bus, which was horribly crowded. I was hugging a post since the beginning of the ride, and being deep in thought, I was not quite aware that as the bus progressed along its journey, the crowd had thinned to the point of there being only a few of us left standing.

I became aware of something poking me in the rear, I then turned to discover that even though there was no longer a crowd that would necessitate close body contact, there was a short, unattractive man (that describes half the population) standing behind me, intent on satisfying his (obviously) unfulfilled carnal urges. Needless to say, with some well placed expletives used as adjectives, I suggested that he find another place/ person to disgust, and expressed very clearly where he could stick his tallywacker in the future.

I did a lot more walking since that incident,…….and enjoyed it immensely.

But don’t let the libido effect scare you off, there are things to enjoy in this tropical, asado-loving, dulce de leche-filled cosmopolis.

There was actually a great benefit to being dark-skinned in Buenos Aires. All around me, both night and day the light skinned teachers, and tourists were being robbed daily, but I wasn't. I think that the rationale here was simple: Since the dark-skinned folks were considered thieves or prostitutes, then they would obviously not be worthy of a pickpocketer's time and attention.

I could therefore walk the streets very late at night or early morning (which I did very often after a good salsa or tango), unperturbed. That meant much to me, since one of my primary reasons for being in BA was to learn AT (Argentine tango).

When the fair winds blow

3. After being in Buenos Aires for 18 months, I had to take a serious look at the perception of others, especially when it came to terms like “beautiful” and ''paradise,'' terms often used to describe the Argentinian experience. I have seen the picturesque, colourful photos of San Telmo and La Boca, and have heard the hauntingly romantic stories that surround these places, but the reality is that right beside the beauty and the orgasmic culture, there is the Riachuelo, the stench of which hovers in the air, and causes you to catch your breath like the sudden appearance of a whore in church.

Casually meandering through the city, with constructed walkways like a suburban city park, the Riachuelo ranks number 14 on the list of the 15 most toxic places in the world. And this chemically laden air, a combination of metallurgic, sewage, pesticides, and petroleum is inhaled daily by the 15+ million of inhabitants and visitors who are crammed into the city.

Interestingly ironic, the name of the city and province is Buenos Aires, which literally translates to ''good air,'' or more accurately, ''fair winds,'' but existentially, the city is a living, breathing contradiction. In addition to the atmospheric condition generated by the Riachuelo, the streets sport a constant layer of dog shit, evenly spread through the popular avenidas like peanut butter on hot toast. Now that leaves a lot to ruminate on (pun intended). Picture hot steaming streets, and equally hot, freshly made dog shit. Oh, yeah! You get the picture…..and it is not a pretty one.

My walk home in the evenings (which became increasingly frequent since I wanted to avoid the vulgarity on the train) was literally on a thin carpet of shit. Unlike the USA, there are no lease or pooper laws (maybe I am wrong, and there are, but they are certainly not observed) so the dog owners take their dogs out for a walk, and allow them to relieve themselves in the street.

By the end of the day, the feaces have been properly trampled and distributed by the thousands of pedestrians and it is smoothly smeared all over the street ……then tracked into their homes. Yuk!

Nove de Julio, the widest avenue in the world, spans 14 driving lanes

photo: enna morgan

I resided on Avenida Viamonte & Esmeralda, in the heart of Capital Federal (a few blocks from the famous Florida and Nove de Julio), so the area was always as busy as a queen bee in mating season, with incessant tourists and resident activity. On a hot summer's day, I would observe the tourists as they languidly enjoy their meal in the open air restaurants that line the sidewalk.

And when that good old Buenos Aires wind picked up, it picked up! I mean dust particles, and dessicated fesces that just a few hours ago was smeared thinly across the sidewalk. With the help of the scorching tropical sun, the shit is now nicely dried out and transformed into shit sprinkles. Yum! Lounging insouciantly on my balcony, enjoying this view, I often wondered how many restaurant patrons ever stopped to consider that croutons and black pepper were not the only toppings they were enjoying in their salads!

No charge for the extra topping!

During my 18 month stay in the tango Mecca, needless to say, I rarely dined in restaurants, and I never dined outdoors. And due to the proximity of the Riachuelo, and my knowledge of the fact that it runs right through the city, I never ate fish.

Sunset over Umberto Primo

photo: enna morgan

The poor little rich city.

4. I am not sure if the occurrences that I witnessed in Buenos Aires are reflective of the poverty level left in the wake of this erstwhile boomtown, but I will say that I have visited what are considered to be some very poor countries, and I have not witnessed anything close to the experiences I have had in Buenos Aires.

Household garbage in Buenos Aires is disposed of by setting it in bags and placing those in the street. Just after sundown, everynight, families come out with carts and very often they would gather around a large collection of household or office garbage and proceed to spend the evening gathered around it like Christmas dinner. They would then open all the bags and extract anything they can sell, then place them separately in large garbage bags in their cart.

Even before the sorting takes place, they would gather up the discarded food they had found in the garbage bags and huddle together in a circle, and seated comfortably amidst the stench and piles of rubbish and dog shit, they would feast. No one was exempt, from the infants up to the elderly would partake in this nightly family event.

Families in filth, photo deliberately blurred

photo: enna morgan

After the meal, they would then gather their ‘treasures,’ and move on to another area, to repeat the process, leaving in their wake, the thrashed and scattered rubbish, which, by 9pm, with the assistance of the wind and the incessant passersby, would be evenly distributed along these famous, prized, commonly exalted areas.

By midnight, the garbage collectors would drive around in their trucks and pick up the bags of garbage, after which, the hosers would come out (only in Capital Federal) and wash down the streets, leaving only the large, black, hideous cockroaches to run around, frantically scrambling to track down the scent of the food, of which they were so unceremoniously robbed.

What would Polo do? Would this become a poster shot? Avenida Florida, BA

photo: enna morgan

The next day, en route to work, I would see the clamouring streets filled with exhuberant tourists and ambitious workers, oblivious to the filth and poverty that resides just below the surface, and the strange eco-system that thrives subrosa, and slips in and out with the darkness, like a thief in the night.

And at lunchtime as I pick my way home through the crowded streets, I would smile as tourists and residents alike would brush past me in search of their choiced destination the outdoor cafe. They jostle each other to get ahead, lured by the smell of the savoury empanada and images of a crunchy ensalada as they proceed to bask in the glory of their South American Shangri-La, which they would later digitally transform on Facebook into the envy of their friends and family back home.

At night after I have made my way home without any extra baggage, I would sit at my computer and skim the latest news and stories, that would litter the computer screen like the city’s waste densely punctuating the burgh. The raving reviews would pour in from various parts of the globe, published by the itinerant travellers, who had just returned home and was eager to share their wealth of good news about the ‘good air’ city.

The story content is always the same: the scintillating details of warm summer night in open-air cafes, with a guitar strumming softly above the cafe chatter; decadent desserts soaked in dulce de leche, served by a dreamy Latin lover (you may have noticed that I did not touch on that subject this entire time; that was a deliberate omission; that's a book all by itself) with the looks of Marcus Schenkenberg, the eyes of Ryan Gosling, the savoir faire of James Bond, and the mesmerising baritone of Josh Groban, gliding along the strings of Herb Alpert's 50 guitars.

And as I read the details, I would have to look out my window to remind myself that the glossy, panoramic exotica , with the beautiful sceneries and glowing descriptions that fill the pages on my computer screen are the same pictures of the scenes in the street just below me – the sexy swell of life, love, and laughter, and its faithful accompanying melancholic twist – the train of woe, waste, and wanton.

A woman settles in for the treasure hunt, CBD, Buenos Aires

photo: enna morgan

A man tries to wrap up his collection as the garbage collectors do their job of pick up the scattered remnants

photo: enna morgan

What is it like to live in Buenos Aires, Argentina?

  from What is it like to live in Buenos Aires, Argentina?