Friendship, in essence, is a strange thing, if you think about it. You just pick a human that you've met, and from that point on it's; 'Yep, I like this one' and you just do stuff with them.
I mean, of course that is simplifying it a bit, but, when you think about it... yeah, pretty much. In a world literally full of people, we pick a handful, maybe, of people we just... come across... to have these roles in our lives that we make so fundamental. And, in a world consisting of literally billions of people, I have an imaginary friend. I mean, I have other friends too, but it's my imaginary friend I'd like to introduce you to now.
(I promise the camel's back isn't broken just yet, still plenty of time for that, I am going somewhere with this... I think ha!)
This imaginary friend isn't your average imaginary friend, however. No, not someone I've known since, say, I was a child. My imaginary friend has been in my 24 years of life for a relatively short period of time.
See, I do believe that people, (of every description), come into your life for specific reasons. Some big, some small, some nonsensical, some pivotal, but all reasons nonetheless.
Now I also believe that every incident... event... 'happening'... is an opportunity to learn something... or maybe un-learn something, in some cases. Stick a pin in it for now, we'll get to that later.
So, my imaginary friend. She (for the sake of this, 'she') is kind, she is sweet, she's encouraging. She's funny, in a bit of a ditzy way. She is attentive, in a bit of a clingy way. However, all in all, she's pretty much everything the proverbial 'guideline to a good friend' says she should be, in a bit of a 'butter wouldn't melt' way.
My imaginary friend was pretty cool you see, because some of my other friends knew her too. No, before you ask, they're not crazy either... well, not in that way, anyway...
However, when my imaginary friend started appearing less and less, I grew concerned.
I mean, there is a time where everybody's imaginary friend begins to fade, but this was quite out of character.
When my imaginary friend's behaviour started to change, becoming increasingly isolated, withdrawn, and quiet, I began to question.
Had I pissed her off? Was something I had done a cause for this complete switch in attitude and behaviour? Directly or indirectly? Most people get tired or bored with their imaginary friend, but was I the first person ever to drive their imaginary friend away from them? Just imagine?!
Yes, before we think it, I know that's not the normal thoughts to have in this scenario. However, anyone with experience with anxieties or depressions will understand that, regardless, it can have a tendency to happen on occasion (Another time, another blog, it's been done, yadda yadda yadda). Or, you know, maybe it is the normal thoughts, or 'common' anyway, if we consider how prevalent these kinds of issues are.
Anywho, my imaginary friend, yeah, she's pretty much everything the proverbial 'guideline to a good friend' says she should be. Until she wasn't.
You see, friend? No. Imaginary friend? Certainly.
The friend I have is purely in my imagination.
I think everybody experiences, at some point or another, the realisation that sometimes the person you thought somebody was, is very far and away removed from the person they actually are.
I think a person you know is never the person that somebody necessarily is. The person you know is only the embodiment of a person you have created. Based on experiences, opinions, conversations, thoughts, and everything else in between.
Maybe that means we bear some responsibility for the expectations we hold others to. In some cases, that might mean bearing the responsibility of expecting somebody to just be a decent person. In other cases, that might mean bearing the responsibility of expecting another person to have better judgement than to support Manchester United. The possibilities are vast and unending.
But what that doesn't mean, is that we bear the responsibility for their actions at any point. What that doesn't mean, is that we bear the responsibility for their complete disregard for others at any point. What that doesn't mean, is that we bear the responsibility for the hurt that they inflict on others at any point.
Whilst the expectations that we generally hold people to, are our responsibility, the responsibility of others are the actions that create the subsequent manifestation.
Walk, talk, act like a decent person, people will expect that you are a decent person.
Walk, talk, act like a twat... and well, people will expect you to be a Man United fan... I'm sorry, I just share the census, I don't make it up...
Remember I said that I also believe that every 'happening' is an opportunity to learn something? Remove the pin, we're there.
(Well, except we're not, I lied. Technically. I've not learnt something, I already knew it, but lets just say it's been reinforced and that's kind of the same thing anyway. It just means you've re-learnt it... that's a word...)
People know this. Maybe not in these words, but they know the principle. Consciously or subconsciously, it's there. Some people will abuse this. Because that's the person that they are. Not the person you may have created, but the person that they actually are. Some people have the genuine intention to screw you over, because that is who they are, and that's sad... and also a bit shit.
However, this means that we also bear another responsibility. We bear the responsibility of how we act, and react, to the actions of those that do. We bear the responsibility for the effect that their actions (their responsibility, remember) have on our lives, our attitudes, our moods, our behaviours, and even our thoughts from that point on.
You know what the up-shoot of that is, though? The others. A few people are true to their actions, their words, their behaviours. A few people are true to your expectation because some people have no inclination to abuse it. That's not who they are. A lot of people actually.
Enough people for 'a lot of people' to be 'most people', so you know the 'some people'? Fuck 'em.
As true as it is, you have the choice, the responsibility, to say "Fuck 'em", and you know what? It feels damn good. Especially when you see that the 'most' around you, which includes you, are only better off for being without the 'some'.
And that's how you get closure too.
Just a side note.
Tuesday, 23 June 2015
Saturday, 3 January 2015
"The Grass Isn't Always Greener... Unless You Water it'
2014
Completed first year of advanced education in 5 years.Finally bothered to do something after being lazy for 5 years.
Every assessment and exam passed with zero referrals.
Didn't get all assessments to A+ grade.
1st year in University finished with 9 'A' grades, 3 'B' grades & '2' C grades.
Didn't achieve full marks for first year of degree.
Qualified Gym Instructor.
Playing catch-up. Should have done it ages ago.
Qualified Sports Massage Therapist.
Playing catch-up. Should have done it ages ago.
Attended and provided Sports Massage at the London Marathon.
Did the same thing that everyone else does on the course, nothing special. Doesn't matter.
Initiated first role as pitch side first aider/therapist.
No choice but to do it, when I doubt I'll be any good at it. Incapable?
Attended end of year party, (didn't bail on wearing the dress)
Shouldn't matter anyway, over-analytical, over-caring. (doesn't look good, so what?)
Passed driving test, first time.
6 minors, not perfect. Not good enough.
Accepted invitation to a Christmas party for the first time (looked good in a dress)
Shouldn't go, will bring it down and ruin it for everyone. (so what?)
Size 10 -> Size 8
Vain
Became committed.
Became focused.
Became strong.
Boring.
Obsessed.
'Gym-rat'.
Returned to therapy.
Opened up.
Self Reconstruction.
Clearly didn't bother enough first time.
Bothering people with self-indulgent attention seeking.
Deconstruction.
Not a bad year that, huh?
Some bullshit, ey?
"This year has felt so long, I forget what's happened. I wouldn't say I've achieved a lot actually" Funny thing, attached to this was going to be some pretentious, edifying, self-indulgent, encouraging babble, but is there a pressing need? Really?
Probably not, actually.
Do green. Think in red.
Do in light. Think in vitriol.
The list could be longer. The more I think about it, the longer it gets. Fitting, really, that takes us to here:
2015
Stopped giving a shit.
Kicked ass.
Do in green.
Think in green.
I'm not on board with waiting until a 'new year' to make a 'new you', and the truth is, personally, it's been a process of years, all told.
But, if you're going to set down a marker, what better time is there than now?
And, funnily enough, it just happens to be a new year.
So why? why not?
What's your green?
Happy New Year.
x<3x
Wednesday, 9 April 2014
"Life is 10% what you experience, and 90% how you respond to it..."
Ever experienced that moment where you open your mouth and nothing comes out? Not a murmur? Nada? Zip?
Ever experienced that moment where you open your mouth and something comes out... but it's just not right? It's not what you wanted? It's not what you intended? It's not what you feel?
No? You're lucky and I envy you, even if I struggle to 100% believe you in that answer.
Yes? Then you might just understand where I'm coming from, at least partially if nothing else.
See, it's these two ends of the spectrum where I've been living my life for the last couple of months now.
(I'm not sure what this post is setting out to be yet; apology, emotional admission, deeply uninsightful warbling, who knows? But bear with me, as I know, if nothing else, it's important. Or it feels important to me. If you could just humour me, that'd be great.)
I've written about past problems and battles (?) I've had with anxiety and panic, mental health. If you read it, thank you for taking the time to do so. If you didn't, but want to, have at it (x). If you didn't, and don't want to, short version is; I'm a bit fucking weird (but if you've had any interaction with me whatsoever, you knew that anyway).
I had problems, big deal, everyone does, just different ones. In some way. I suffered, got help, fixed myself. Sorted. Job done. However, what a great many of you don't know at this point (maybe you did, maybe you noticed, I don't know?) is a couple of months ago I started relapsing. The anxiety, the panic, the confusion, the instability. All starting to assert their presence, quite forcefully.
Now, the situations are immeasurably different this time, compared to last. I'm working (I couldn't keep a job due to illness), I'm studying (I didn't even feel capable enough to contemplate it), I'm socialising (I shut myself off from everybody, physically), it's actually hard to keep me indoors now (I became agoraphobic).
This means these things have been asserting themselves in different ways than before. See, mental health is a fluid concept. This means that mental health issues, illness, are also fluid.
Hard to detect. Hard to confront. Hard.
I'm happy. I think I'm happy. I should be happy.
And yet, I knew. I could feel it. I don't know what 'it' is, but I knew it's face. It's claws, and that's not even dramatisation, they're definitely claws. It's eyes, that nobody else can see, staring out through mine, warping whatever comes into view.
The common sense approach here is thus; you know you have a problem, you do something about it. Now any of you who know me, know that maybe commonsense isn't the first point I jump to (Ha!) always. For everyone else? Yes, of course. Myself, well that's far less straight forward. Less important.
(Okay, so this is the point that I stopped writing for 3 days because I didn't know what to.... I just didn't know. Then decided where to go with it... and put it off for a good 5 hours after deciding. Little insight there.)
And there's the problem.
I've been throwing myself into everything else instead. (Note; makes it worse by the way, don't do it. Seriously.) Everything else was, is, more important. I knew what this felt like, I knew what it could do. To me. Make me feel. I got to a point where, I'm fairly certain, I couldn't get lower. But I dealt with it before. I also know what it did to everything and everyone around me too.
You can't fix that. Or it's at least a damn sight harder to, if you can.
Which is the point of this. I think.
When things affect other people, directly or indirectly, you have to take responsibility for that. I have a responsibility for that.
Responsibility is a substantial weight, one that weighs heavier when you deny it and hide from it. But I have been anyway, steadily, progressively, without direct intention. Maybe to hide, but never to hurt. I close everyone off, not because I want to, but because I don't know how not to.
I drown myself in everything else so deeply, hoping to get deep enough that nothing else can touch me. Turns out, it's only the good things that can't touch you when you get down deep. The bad will always drop down with you.
"Denial may be somewhat comforting but it hinders to healing and progression." - A very knowledgeable friend of mine.
It's an isolation that suffocates you... but keeps you breathing.
Being stuck in a place where you don't feel able to reach out no matter how desperately you want to. Confined and constricted, by nothing, but everything at once. Wanting to cling to those that you desperately can't bare to be in the vicinity of.
Frustration, to the point it literally, physically, feels like it's hard to draw breath.
A lump in your throat that feels like it's three times the size of the pipe it dwells in.
Being so tense, it feels like my muscles will rupture from continuous, painfully strenuous contraction.
Having someone say something to you and, literally, just.... nothing.
Open your mouth and... nothing.
But not always nothing, which sometimes is even worse. Because what does come out is often not what was supposed to, or how it was supposed to, or, just, not right.
Ever had someone come up to you, a friend, and say something, anything, and instead of a response, even a hello, nothing happens? Nothing comes out. All you can do is make a cursory noise of remote acknowledgement and then leave the area?
Even that's worse than nothing. It comes across incredibly rude if little else. The insight being; that played on my mind for days. I lie. It still is now.
It's incredibly disheartening when you ask yourself a question like, 'Why couldn't you just say 'Hi.'?!', and you actually have no viable answer.
I became adept at faking it, but that's become oppressively harder the longer it's gone on.
Dealing with people, any people, on a day to day basis had/has become one of the biggest challenges I've ever had to face.
People at University, which I love.
People at work, which, again, I genuinely relish.
People at home.
Strangers.
Friends.
Family.
I've alienated people in every aspect of my life because of it.
Which is where the apology comes in.
It's perfectly truthful, I am fully accepting, that I've not been, am not, the greatest person to be around. Understatement of the year so far, I think, maybe.
I'm not sure of much, but I'm sure I've come across as rude at times. Unthinking and inconsiderate. Inarticulate. Uncaring. Harsh. Oblivious. At times, downright unbearable.
Which, for me, is especially horrible and painful. For that I unreservedly apologise. There has never been any intention to be that way.
Now, this isn't something that has a beginning, middle and end, wrapping up all nicely in a package. A nice little, comfortable story.
I'm still struggling now. I'm not going to deny that.
I've said before that I feel trapped between 3 people in my life. Who I used to be, who I am now, and who I want to be. Maybe I'm further from who I want to be, and who I feel I truly am, than I was before. But I'm working on that. I'm working on how to do that.
I'm trying,
It turns out that's the point of all of this.
I'm trying.
Ever experienced that moment where you open your mouth and something comes out... but it's just not right? It's not what you wanted? It's not what you intended? It's not what you feel?
No? You're lucky and I envy you, even if I struggle to 100% believe you in that answer.
Yes? Then you might just understand where I'm coming from, at least partially if nothing else.
See, it's these two ends of the spectrum where I've been living my life for the last couple of months now.
(I'm not sure what this post is setting out to be yet; apology, emotional admission, deeply uninsightful warbling, who knows? But bear with me, as I know, if nothing else, it's important. Or it feels important to me. If you could just humour me, that'd be great.)
I've written about past problems and battles (?) I've had with anxiety and panic, mental health. If you read it, thank you for taking the time to do so. If you didn't, but want to, have at it (x). If you didn't, and don't want to, short version is; I'm a bit fucking weird (but if you've had any interaction with me whatsoever, you knew that anyway).
I had problems, big deal, everyone does, just different ones. In some way. I suffered, got help, fixed myself. Sorted. Job done. However, what a great many of you don't know at this point (maybe you did, maybe you noticed, I don't know?) is a couple of months ago I started relapsing. The anxiety, the panic, the confusion, the instability. All starting to assert their presence, quite forcefully.
Now, the situations are immeasurably different this time, compared to last. I'm working (I couldn't keep a job due to illness), I'm studying (I didn't even feel capable enough to contemplate it), I'm socialising (I shut myself off from everybody, physically), it's actually hard to keep me indoors now (I became agoraphobic).
This means these things have been asserting themselves in different ways than before. See, mental health is a fluid concept. This means that mental health issues, illness, are also fluid.
Hard to detect. Hard to confront. Hard.
I'm happy. I think I'm happy. I should be happy.
And yet, I knew. I could feel it. I don't know what 'it' is, but I knew it's face. It's claws, and that's not even dramatisation, they're definitely claws. It's eyes, that nobody else can see, staring out through mine, warping whatever comes into view.
The common sense approach here is thus; you know you have a problem, you do something about it. Now any of you who know me, know that maybe commonsense isn't the first point I jump to (Ha!) always. For everyone else? Yes, of course. Myself, well that's far less straight forward. Less important.
(Okay, so this is the point that I stopped writing for 3 days because I didn't know what to.... I just didn't know. Then decided where to go with it... and put it off for a good 5 hours after deciding. Little insight there.)
And there's the problem.
I've been throwing myself into everything else instead. (Note; makes it worse by the way, don't do it. Seriously.) Everything else was, is, more important. I knew what this felt like, I knew what it could do. To me. Make me feel. I got to a point where, I'm fairly certain, I couldn't get lower. But I dealt with it before. I also know what it did to everything and everyone around me too.
You can't fix that. Or it's at least a damn sight harder to, if you can.
Which is the point of this. I think.
When things affect other people, directly or indirectly, you have to take responsibility for that. I have a responsibility for that.
Responsibility is a substantial weight, one that weighs heavier when you deny it and hide from it. But I have been anyway, steadily, progressively, without direct intention. Maybe to hide, but never to hurt. I close everyone off, not because I want to, but because I don't know how not to.
I drown myself in everything else so deeply, hoping to get deep enough that nothing else can touch me. Turns out, it's only the good things that can't touch you when you get down deep. The bad will always drop down with you.
"Denial may be somewhat comforting but it hinders to healing and progression." - A very knowledgeable friend of mine.
It's an isolation that suffocates you... but keeps you breathing.
Being stuck in a place where you don't feel able to reach out no matter how desperately you want to. Confined and constricted, by nothing, but everything at once. Wanting to cling to those that you desperately can't bare to be in the vicinity of.
Frustration, to the point it literally, physically, feels like it's hard to draw breath.
A lump in your throat that feels like it's three times the size of the pipe it dwells in.
Being so tense, it feels like my muscles will rupture from continuous, painfully strenuous contraction.
Having someone say something to you and, literally, just.... nothing.
Open your mouth and... nothing.
But not always nothing, which sometimes is even worse. Because what does come out is often not what was supposed to, or how it was supposed to, or, just, not right.
Ever had someone come up to you, a friend, and say something, anything, and instead of a response, even a hello, nothing happens? Nothing comes out. All you can do is make a cursory noise of remote acknowledgement and then leave the area?
Even that's worse than nothing. It comes across incredibly rude if little else. The insight being; that played on my mind for days. I lie. It still is now.
It's incredibly disheartening when you ask yourself a question like, 'Why couldn't you just say 'Hi.'?!', and you actually have no viable answer.
I became adept at faking it, but that's become oppressively harder the longer it's gone on.
Dealing with people, any people, on a day to day basis had/has become one of the biggest challenges I've ever had to face.
People at University, which I love.
People at work, which, again, I genuinely relish.
People at home.
Strangers.
Friends.
Family.
I've alienated people in every aspect of my life because of it.
Which is where the apology comes in.
It's perfectly truthful, I am fully accepting, that I've not been, am not, the greatest person to be around. Understatement of the year so far, I think, maybe.
I'm not sure of much, but I'm sure I've come across as rude at times. Unthinking and inconsiderate. Inarticulate. Uncaring. Harsh. Oblivious. At times, downright unbearable.
Which, for me, is especially horrible and painful. For that I unreservedly apologise. There has never been any intention to be that way.
Now, this isn't something that has a beginning, middle and end, wrapping up all nicely in a package. A nice little, comfortable story.
I'm still struggling now. I'm not going to deny that.
I've said before that I feel trapped between 3 people in my life. Who I used to be, who I am now, and who I want to be. Maybe I'm further from who I want to be, and who I feel I truly am, than I was before. But I'm working on that. I'm working on how to do that.
I'm trying,
It turns out that's the point of all of this.
I'm trying.
Friday, 14 February 2014
Roses Are Red, Violets Are Blue. I Have A Knife, Get In The Van...
'I knew you'd hate Valentines Day, I just knew it!'
Well, to say a good friend of mine is wrong to say this to me would be lying. I do hate Valentines Day. Okay, maybe 'hate' is a strong word, but I detest what it stands for.
Now, before you all leave at this point, I'll just gently prod you in the direction of the title and ask you to consider that maybe, what I'm going to write isn't necessarily what you may be expecting from the start.
So, yes, for the sake of this, I hate Valentines Day.
One random day of hoicked up puffery on steroids to make up for 364 days of dreary sameiness, designed to make single people everywhere feel panicked for attention and for companies to make money from hurriedly bought tack we hope will appease someone this one day.
And yet...
Every single one of us has someone, someone that could ask us out today and we'd jump at the chance without a second thought and not look back. Even I'm very much included in that. But why?
Truth is, it's certainly not just today that we'd jump at that chance. It's every day.
'It's the day of love.' Is it? Why isn't June 23rd the day of love? November 4th? August 8th? (hinthintnudgenudgeforgetmybirthdayyouwillnotwinkwink) Why are these arbitrary days not days of love? My sole point is, they should be. They are if you make them so. Therein lies my problem with Valentines Day. We bill it as the sole day within the year to show someone how much they mean to us. How important they are. How wonderful they are. How much we love them. How much we adore them. How much.... well, we'd quite like the chance tosleep with them fall asleep next to them on a regular basis.
My question is, if you only take this one day a year to show someone how important they are to you.... are they really that important to you?
Why can't we do this normally? What's wrong with showing someone how important they are to you every other day of the year? Why not make a big gesture to someone when the feeling compels you to, instead of in the confines of when you're told you should?
Now, when I informed said friend of this highly enlightened and opinionated position of mine, I got an undeniably short shrift. It wasn't about only having one day to show people they're important to you, thoughtful people do that all the time, it's about one day a year you can be romantic if the mood takes you and not be afraid of being laughed at.
So, for the oasis of romantics left amongst a world of cynics, it's about confidence.
You know, I have absolutely zero problem with that. Here's where I realise, I don't actually have a problem with Valentines Day.
It's the attitude to the other 364 days in the year I have a problem with. We have just one day in the year where we feel we can express ourselves and be safe from ridicule. One day a year. Then we complain about how harsh, unyielding and unhappy our world is.
Fuck. That.
What's wrong with love, passion, desire, affection? Feeling? Nothing. What can stop us from showing it in a way we're comfortable with? Surprisingly enough, nothing. If you feel these things, you feel them every day as well as today. Don't let one day rule your confidence to do things, to say things, to show things.
Tell someone you love them.
Show someone how amazing they are to you.
Tell someone you feel like you could fall in love with them if you could give yourself the slightest chance.
Tell someone they... they make you happy just because.
Tell someone that spending time with them means the world to you.
Tell them and show them in the ways you know how. It doesn't have to be huge gestures, it can be, but it can be all the little things too.
Do it today. Do it tomorrow. Do it whenever you feel is right for you. Do it with caution but without trepidation.
If someone will judge you for that, that says far more about them as a person than it does you.
And if you're recently alone wanting to take time out or happy alone and in no big rush to change that? That's absolutely awesome. You do you and you rock it. Don't let anyone tell you you're wrong in that.
The point is, don't let any limitations or confinements dictate to you.
It's not down to anyone else to decide how, when, where, or why. Don't let yourself be told you have to, today, but also don't convince yourself, or let yourself be convinced, you can't any other day either.
Just....love. Love freely. Love happily. But also, love genuinely, or it means nothing no matter what day it is.
Roses are red,
Violets are red,
Shit, the garden's on fire.
Well, to say a good friend of mine is wrong to say this to me would be lying. I do hate Valentines Day. Okay, maybe 'hate' is a strong word, but I detest what it stands for.
Now, before you all leave at this point, I'll just gently prod you in the direction of the title and ask you to consider that maybe, what I'm going to write isn't necessarily what you may be expecting from the start.
So, yes, for the sake of this, I hate Valentines Day.
One random day of hoicked up puffery on steroids to make up for 364 days of dreary sameiness, designed to make single people everywhere feel panicked for attention and for companies to make money from hurriedly bought tack we hope will appease someone this one day.
And yet...
Every single one of us has someone, someone that could ask us out today and we'd jump at the chance without a second thought and not look back. Even I'm very much included in that. But why?
Truth is, it's certainly not just today that we'd jump at that chance. It's every day.
'It's the day of love.' Is it? Why isn't June 23rd the day of love? November 4th? August 8th? (hinthintnudgenudgeforgetmybirthdayyouwillnotwinkwink) Why are these arbitrary days not days of love? My sole point is, they should be. They are if you make them so. Therein lies my problem with Valentines Day. We bill it as the sole day within the year to show someone how much they mean to us. How important they are. How wonderful they are. How much we love them. How much we adore them. How much.... well, we'd quite like the chance to
My question is, if you only take this one day a year to show someone how important they are to you.... are they really that important to you?
Why can't we do this normally? What's wrong with showing someone how important they are to you every other day of the year? Why not make a big gesture to someone when the feeling compels you to, instead of in the confines of when you're told you should?
Now, when I informed said friend of this highly enlightened and opinionated position of mine, I got an undeniably short shrift. It wasn't about only having one day to show people they're important to you, thoughtful people do that all the time, it's about one day a year you can be romantic if the mood takes you and not be afraid of being laughed at.
So, for the oasis of romantics left amongst a world of cynics, it's about confidence.
You know, I have absolutely zero problem with that. Here's where I realise, I don't actually have a problem with Valentines Day.
It's the attitude to the other 364 days in the year I have a problem with. We have just one day in the year where we feel we can express ourselves and be safe from ridicule. One day a year. Then we complain about how harsh, unyielding and unhappy our world is.
Fuck. That.
What's wrong with love, passion, desire, affection? Feeling? Nothing. What can stop us from showing it in a way we're comfortable with? Surprisingly enough, nothing. If you feel these things, you feel them every day as well as today. Don't let one day rule your confidence to do things, to say things, to show things.
Tell someone you love them.
Show someone how amazing they are to you.
Tell someone you feel like you could fall in love with them if you could give yourself the slightest chance.
Tell someone they... they make you happy just because.
Tell someone that spending time with them means the world to you.
Tell them and show them in the ways you know how. It doesn't have to be huge gestures, it can be, but it can be all the little things too.
Do it today. Do it tomorrow. Do it whenever you feel is right for you. Do it with caution but without trepidation.
If someone will judge you for that, that says far more about them as a person than it does you.
And if you're recently alone wanting to take time out or happy alone and in no big rush to change that? That's absolutely awesome. You do you and you rock it. Don't let anyone tell you you're wrong in that.
The point is, don't let any limitations or confinements dictate to you.
It's not down to anyone else to decide how, when, where, or why. Don't let yourself be told you have to, today, but also don't convince yourself, or let yourself be convinced, you can't any other day either.
Just....love. Love freely. Love happily. But also, love genuinely, or it means nothing no matter what day it is.
Roses are red,
Violets are red,
Shit, the garden's on fire.
Wednesday, 3 April 2013
I like to call it 'The Joey Barton Coefficient'.
For only the second time in my life I'd like to personally thank Joey Barton. Or, I should say, Joseph Barton, as he doesn't like being called Joey... Even though he made his own Twitter handle include Joey... But I digress when instead I should probably be explaining why.
The first time I ever thanked him was for his support of the Hillsborough Justice campaign, which he did support to the hilt and anyone with an ounce of sensibility would, and should, thank him for.
This time, however, I thank him for a far less noble cause. I thank you, dear Joseph, for bringing to light the shockingly blasé level of transphobia which goes generally unnoticed amongst us. (Spot the real French word just for you, Joey Jo Jo Jo.)
For those of you not on Twitter, or just not knowing of JJ's existence on it, let me explain. This morning our lovely boy posted the following tweets about Thiago Silva, a fellow footballer who currently plays for the French club Paris Saint-Germain;
Now, spot the indiscretion. A word JoJo is no stranger to. Except it's far more than that. Just generally this kind of behaviour is completely unacceptable and deplorable, however is unfortunately quite common on a social network like Twitter. An event I would hope this incident brings to light far more, enabling it to be dealt with in a far more effective manner than it is at this present time. Pssst, secret for you, it isn't.
However, putting these tweets in context, it becomes far worse. You see, not too long ago, Monsieur Barton took part in a nationally broadcast programme all about homophobia in football, Britain's Gay Footballers. For those who missed it, here's what he had to say for himself;
Now, "He doesn't mention transsexuals!" I hear some of you cry. Correct, he does not. However what he does do is say a few key things.
Well that's one thing you did today Mister Barton.
More fool you too, Joeyboy.
"I pity them a little bit that they don't have enough about them — enough self-confidence or enough self-worth — to be able to say, 'Know what? This is a relevant subject and this is my opinion on (homophobia)'.
And I pity you for not having enough about you, enough self confidence or enough self worth on transphobia.
However, I pity him for more than that. In the same interview he said this of his own gay uncle;
"I was like, 'I love you for you — not for the fact that you are straight or bisexual or all different manner of things. I love you because you're you.' "
Or all different manner of things. I have no doubt that he would still love his uncle if he were transsexual or transgender. Or at least I hope he would. I'm not trying to say that Joey Barton is a transphobe here, only that what he said was, and is, transphobic. However what I pity him for is that he clearly doesn't have enough about him to realise that, regardless of whether you are a transphobe or not, you do not have the right to go around saying transphobic things. It is not acceptable and it is not right.
(For those wondering why it is transphobic: 'Transphobia is an irrational fear of, and/or hostility towards, people who are transgender or who otherwise transgress traditional gender norms.'
And to use the terms transsexual/transgender as an insult, implying (or outright saying) that it is something negative or offensive to be, is an example of said hostility)
Now, at time of writing, little over an hour since said tweets have been published, nothing has happened bar a general Twitter outrage from most quarters which will, unfortunately, probably quiet down into nothing. However nothing has come from Joe either. No apology, no explanation (there isn't a suitable one anyway), and not even an attempt to delete said tweets in admission that they were wrong and shouldn't have happened.
I would like to thank Joey for bringing this kind of discrimination to light on such a public platform, and I would also like to thank him for showing himself to be no real supporter of the LGBT community and that his 'support' was clearly either fabricated for good PR (We all know he needs it) or, how you say, Ce n'est que lorsque cela lui convient (That's, 'Only when it suits', Monsieur Barton), which isn't real support anyway.
However, I would also like to warn him.
1) We all see you for what you are, Joey. Anyone who didn't, or doesn't, will sooner rather than later.
And,
2) There'll come a day when your face and/or name in papers will turn people away from them rather than convince them to pick it up to 'See what Joey's been up to this week!', like some kind of comic strip. That time will come and I'd hedge all my bets that it'll be much sooner rather than later. Then you'll just be another washed up footballer, who excelled at little to nothing in his career, that nobody or their dog has an ounce of respect left for.
At this point I'd quite like to safeguard myself to any scathing response Joey may have to this, so just bear with me; 1) I support Liverpool FC and I'm well aware of our downfalls and failings at this time so pointing them out to me in retaliation won't hurt, and 2) No, I am not jealous of the fact you are a professional footballer that has earnt a great deal of money, far in excess of anything any sports person deserves. Even if women's football was as valuable as men's and I hadn't been overcome by my injuries, my moral compass doesn't come that cheap.
Now, if you'd like to explain and talk about your actions, you're welcome. However I expect you wont. But even if you do, I question how many people will believe it anyway. We've heard it all before.
The question is; What do we do about it? What do the FA do about it? (Both French and English). What do UEFA do about it? FIFA? The law?
It is discrimination. It is discrimination in a clear form. It is not acceptable, but it is not called to order. People aren't held accountable for their actions in regard to transphobia, but they should be. I would like to think they will be. It should be held in the same regard as homophobia and racism. Joseph Anthony Barton should be.
I hope Joseph Anthony Barton will be.
And so should you.
Not only is he setting a horrendous example as a person of note (Well someone who's name is widely recognised anyway), but he's setting a horrendous example just as a person. IT IS DISCRIMINATION.
If you do not think so, let me ask you this;
If the tweets had said, respectively; "Secondly, do you give or do you take? #homosexual #thiagosagayboy", and, "Baffles me, which way he's going. Is he the woman or the man in the relationship? Can't work it out."
Would that have been ok? So, ask yourself, how on earth can this be ok?
Footnote: You may have noticed I rarely call Joey Barton by his given, and preferred name, Joseph, in the piece. That is by design. I mean, if he wants to be that blasé about an entire community of people and their human rights, I see no reason why I shouldn't be blasé about something which is just a personal preference of his. Or does he deserve to be treated with far more respect that he ever shows others?
The first time I ever thanked him was for his support of the Hillsborough Justice campaign, which he did support to the hilt and anyone with an ounce of sensibility would, and should, thank him for.
This time, however, I thank him for a far less noble cause. I thank you, dear Joseph, for bringing to light the shockingly blasé level of transphobia which goes generally unnoticed amongst us. (Spot the real French word just for you, Joey Jo Jo Jo.)
For those of you not on Twitter, or just not knowing of JJ's existence on it, let me explain. This morning our lovely boy posted the following tweets about Thiago Silva, a fellow footballer who currently plays for the French club Paris Saint-Germain;
Now, spot the indiscretion. A word JoJo is no stranger to. Except it's far more than that. Just generally this kind of behaviour is completely unacceptable and deplorable, however is unfortunately quite common on a social network like Twitter. An event I would hope this incident brings to light far more, enabling it to be dealt with in a far more effective manner than it is at this present time. Pssst, secret for you, it isn't.
However, putting these tweets in context, it becomes far worse. You see, not too long ago, Monsieur Barton took part in a nationally broadcast programme all about homophobia in football, Britain's Gay Footballers. For those who missed it, here's what he had to say for himself;
"There is no doubt in my mind that in the next 10 years we have an openly gay footballer, my only fear is that certain managers and individuals within the game will discriminate against people.
These archaic figures think if they had a gay footballer, they would have all kinds of shenanigans going on in the dressing room.
That's not the case. As I say it's more fool them and their lack of social awareness and intelligence.
I pity them a little bit that they don't have enough about them — enough self-confidence or enough self-worth — to be able to say, 'Know what? This is a relevant subject and this is my opinion on (homophobia)'.
And I think it's important that the legacy this generation of players leaves is a generation of players that help not only change the game for the better and change the teams they played in, but also change the culture and the society of the football clubs they played at."
These archaic figures think if they had a gay footballer, they would have all kinds of shenanigans going on in the dressing room.
That's not the case. As I say it's more fool them and their lack of social awareness and intelligence.
I pity them a little bit that they don't have enough about them — enough self-confidence or enough self-worth — to be able to say, 'Know what? This is a relevant subject and this is my opinion on (homophobia)'.
And I think it's important that the legacy this generation of players leaves is a generation of players that help not only change the game for the better and change the teams they played in, but also change the culture and the society of the football clubs they played at."
Now, "He doesn't mention transsexuals!" I hear some of you cry. Correct, he does not. However what he does do is say a few key things.
"My only fear is that certain managers and individuals within the game will discriminate against people"
Well that's one thing you did today Mister Barton.
"As I say it's more fool them and their lack of social awareness and intelligence."
More fool you too, Joeyboy.
"I pity them a little bit that they don't have enough about them — enough self-confidence or enough self-worth — to be able to say, 'Know what? This is a relevant subject and this is my opinion on (homophobia)'.
And I pity you for not having enough about you, enough self confidence or enough self worth on transphobia.
However, I pity him for more than that. In the same interview he said this of his own gay uncle;
"I was like, 'I love you for you — not for the fact that you are straight or bisexual or all different manner of things. I love you because you're you.' "
Or all different manner of things. I have no doubt that he would still love his uncle if he were transsexual or transgender. Or at least I hope he would. I'm not trying to say that Joey Barton is a transphobe here, only that what he said was, and is, transphobic. However what I pity him for is that he clearly doesn't have enough about him to realise that, regardless of whether you are a transphobe or not, you do not have the right to go around saying transphobic things. It is not acceptable and it is not right.
(For those wondering why it is transphobic: 'Transphobia is an irrational fear of, and/or hostility towards, people who are transgender or who otherwise transgress traditional gender norms.'
And to use the terms transsexual/transgender as an insult, implying (or outright saying) that it is something negative or offensive to be, is an example of said hostility)
Now, at time of writing, little over an hour since said tweets have been published, nothing has happened bar a general Twitter outrage from most quarters which will, unfortunately, probably quiet down into nothing. However nothing has come from Joe either. No apology, no explanation (there isn't a suitable one anyway), and not even an attempt to delete said tweets in admission that they were wrong and shouldn't have happened.
I would like to thank Joey for bringing this kind of discrimination to light on such a public platform, and I would also like to thank him for showing himself to be no real supporter of the LGBT community and that his 'support' was clearly either fabricated for good PR (We all know he needs it) or, how you say, Ce n'est que lorsque cela lui convient (That's, 'Only when it suits', Monsieur Barton), which isn't real support anyway.
However, I would also like to warn him.
1) We all see you for what you are, Joey. Anyone who didn't, or doesn't, will sooner rather than later.
And,
2) There'll come a day when your face and/or name in papers will turn people away from them rather than convince them to pick it up to 'See what Joey's been up to this week!', like some kind of comic strip. That time will come and I'd hedge all my bets that it'll be much sooner rather than later. Then you'll just be another washed up footballer, who excelled at little to nothing in his career, that nobody or their dog has an ounce of respect left for.
At this point I'd quite like to safeguard myself to any scathing response Joey may have to this, so just bear with me; 1) I support Liverpool FC and I'm well aware of our downfalls and failings at this time so pointing them out to me in retaliation won't hurt, and 2) No, I am not jealous of the fact you are a professional footballer that has earnt a great deal of money, far in excess of anything any sports person deserves. Even if women's football was as valuable as men's and I hadn't been overcome by my injuries, my moral compass doesn't come that cheap.
Now, if you'd like to explain and talk about your actions, you're welcome. However I expect you wont. But even if you do, I question how many people will believe it anyway. We've heard it all before.
The question is; What do we do about it? What do the FA do about it? (Both French and English). What do UEFA do about it? FIFA? The law?
It is discrimination. It is discrimination in a clear form. It is not acceptable, but it is not called to order. People aren't held accountable for their actions in regard to transphobia, but they should be. I would like to think they will be. It should be held in the same regard as homophobia and racism. Joseph Anthony Barton should be.
I hope Joseph Anthony Barton will be.
And so should you.
Not only is he setting a horrendous example as a person of note (Well someone who's name is widely recognised anyway), but he's setting a horrendous example just as a person. IT IS DISCRIMINATION.
If you do not think so, let me ask you this;
If the tweets had said, respectively; "Secondly, do you give or do you take? #homosexual #thiagosagayboy", and, "Baffles me, which way he's going. Is he the woman or the man in the relationship? Can't work it out."
Would that have been ok? So, ask yourself, how on earth can this be ok?
Footnote: You may have noticed I rarely call Joey Barton by his given, and preferred name, Joseph, in the piece. That is by design. I mean, if he wants to be that blasé about an entire community of people and their human rights, I see no reason why I shouldn't be blasé about something which is just a personal preference of his. Or does he deserve to be treated with far more respect that he ever shows others?
Monday, 18 March 2013
'I've got Lucifer on Line 1...'
Ok, so this post is going to be a little different from my others. For two reasons; 1) Blogger decided to delete everything I'd previously written (a lot) and I have a dreadful memory, and 2) I'm going to try a different approach anyway... which kind of negates the first point, but I still wanted the introduction damnit.
Anyway, onward.
For this topic I'll be relying fairly heavily on a previous piece of writing I did for a seperate blogging site, but expanding where I feel necessary in this instance. This is because, try as I might, for the most part I can't find a better way of explaining my views on the topic better than I've already managed. So a heads up, to some of you bits of this will, no doubt, be familiar. Plus, it's not plagiarism if you originally wrote it... The topic in question is religion. Well, more the perception of religion, and people of faith, by a startling amount of people.
I’m not religious, far from it in fact. I dont believe in any god, or maybe deity is a better suited term. However, abusing someone because they do, doesn’t make you clever. It doesn't make you 'look good'. It most certainly doesn't make you 'cool'. To put it politely, it makes you a prick of the highest order. As a rule people (who do such a thing) will go postal if anyone even argues with their belief, or possibly lack thereof, let alone disrespect them for it. So how on earth is it ok for such a person to do it to others?
There is not one single, valid, argument anyone can put forward that makes them superior to anyone else based on faith. I personally think that is key to remember.
A person's value is based on their strong moral fibre, affable attitude, positive values & integrity. Frankly, if you abuse someone in this way, or any way, you lack all of them.
However, the main thing that really gets to me is the attitude that religion is the reason for all the bad in the world. Religion doesn’t create the bad in people. People create the bad in religion. Religion does not make good people do bad things. (Note here that when I'm talking of 'religion' I am not talking about organised religion. I'm talking about the religious concept. Religion down to the bare bones, as it were. Faith.) Having 'faith' doesn't suddenly make a person into some kind of horrendous being. The person is the active ingredient in the equation, religion is purely the 'tool', for lack of a better word, that tends to get the blame. ‘The deity’, the original ‘get out of jail free card’ if you will.
A scalpel; nothing more than a blade. In the right hands, brings hope to possibly, probably, everyone at some point in their lives, whether directly or indirectly. However, a blade in the wrong hands? It becomes nothing less than a murder weapon.
Question: Do we abuse or attack all medically trained personnel for saving lives in the names of every person ever killed by an idiot with a knife? Of course we don’t, but 'That's different!' I hear so many shout. How is it exactly? It's not, in any way, different because a blade is only a weapon when in the hands of a bad person with negative intentions. In the hands of a good person with positive intentions it saves lives. It brings hope. Religion is no different to that. In the 'hands' of a bad person whose only intention is to cause harm, bad things happen. But that doesn't make the 'tool' responsible. In the 'hands' of a good person, who has positive intentions, religion (faith) does good. It brings hope.
Taking it down to basics, without the human component, the religious concept does not exist. However, for argument's sake, let's remove the 'Religion' component from the humanity convention. Does that then make it impossible for bad things to happen? Would that undeniably stop bad people doing bad things? Does that stop warfare from happening? Would that stop people killing other people? No, it doesn’t and no, it wouldn't. For one very simple reason that has absolutely fuck all to do with religion of any kind; the *people* who would do those things 'in the name of (a) religion', would do them without religion. They would find another excuse, because that's quintessentially the kind of people they are. If they're going to do bad things, they're going to do them regardless. Religion, along with any other reasoning, is only plucked out of the air when these people are called to explain their actions and they have no other way of doing so. Except it's not a 'reason', it's an excuse. We, as a society, really do need to stop getting those words confused with one another.
For example, it's a sad fact that there are people who shoot other people every day within our societies. Take the guns away, a man will stab with blades. Take the blades away, a man will beat with sticks. Take the sticks away, a man will punch with fists. The key component here? Man. He is man. (I use 'man' here in general reference to 'mankind', cool those jets, boys.) Take the weapons away, take the money away, take religion away, he will still be man.
Now, this is in no way endorsing the wrong that people do with these things. I know, sadly, I leave myself open for it to be twisted as such, but that is categorically untrue. My point is thus: none of these things are the real problem, because on their own, without people, they are nothing.
Religion isn’t the problem. Society is the problem. Perception is the problem. Interpretation is the problem. People are the problem.
If a person uses anything, including religion, as a reason to do negative things, that reflects on the person they are, not religion itself. Nor does it reflect on anyone else who subscribes to that religion. If they do that, they do not understand the base concepts of religion properly to begin with. Anyone who blames the religion concept for such a person's actions does not understand humans properly.
Now, people are often baffled as to why this topic strikes such a personal chord with me, however, I reject the notion that it shouldn't. I'm, as best I can describe, a homo-romantic, bisexual, atheist, woman. In short, a woman, who believes in no god, who is likely to end up romantically tied with another woman. So, of course, the general concensus is I should dislike religion, (especially the more widely practised religions in my nation; Christianity and Islam.) and everything it stands for. That was made clear due to some responses via social media to my first blog post (if you haven't read it, catch up).
I find myself quite personally insulted by such a fairly common reaction and I feel, simply, it is an insult to my intelligence (Not to blow my own trumpet. Toot toot.). However, not only did I find myself personally offended but also offended on the behalf of several people I consider to be friends of mine and hold quite dear to me, hence feeling the need to write a piece on the topic. Not only are some of the most intelligent, articulate, and genuinely inspiring people I've ever had the pleasure of getting to know, religious, some of the most gentle, loving and kind-hearted have been too. Yet, I've witnessed one of my Muslim friends be labelled a terrorist because she has faith in Allah. I've witnessed a Catholic friend be labelled a paedophile because she has faith in God. Except neither of those things has a thing to do with Islamic faith or Christian faith. Do we really live in a society where this is deemed acceptable and the norm? If you deem it as such, chances are you stopped reading this post at the point I referred to such people as being 'pricks of the highest order'. If not, I'd quite like to revert your attention back to that point so you can read it again.
So really, I guess, this is more a piece about them than it is anything to do with me. And I guess it's even more to do with you than it is with them. You see, how we not only judge people, but judge and respect the things they put their faith in, should reflect far more on ourselves than it does on anyone else. And it will. To those people who are capable of rational thought. Then they, in turn, will judge you.
I hope you and your beliefs are then judged in the same way you judge others and theirs. Maybe then we'll all get on a bit better, think a bit more sensibly, act a bit more sensibly, speak a bit more sensibly, and judge and respect others, and ourselves, in a far more attentive and rational manner than we tend to do now.
We all have faith. It may be in the religious sense or it may not be, everyone is different. But we all need faith.
Anyway, onward.
For this topic I'll be relying fairly heavily on a previous piece of writing I did for a seperate blogging site, but expanding where I feel necessary in this instance. This is because, try as I might, for the most part I can't find a better way of explaining my views on the topic better than I've already managed. So a heads up, to some of you bits of this will, no doubt, be familiar. Plus, it's not plagiarism if you originally wrote it... The topic in question is religion. Well, more the perception of religion, and people of faith, by a startling amount of people.
I’m not religious, far from it in fact. I dont believe in any god, or maybe deity is a better suited term. However, abusing someone because they do, doesn’t make you clever. It doesn't make you 'look good'. It most certainly doesn't make you 'cool'. To put it politely, it makes you a prick of the highest order. As a rule people (who do such a thing) will go postal if anyone even argues with their belief, or possibly lack thereof, let alone disrespect them for it. So how on earth is it ok for such a person to do it to others?
There is not one single, valid, argument anyone can put forward that makes them superior to anyone else based on faith. I personally think that is key to remember.
A person's value is based on their strong moral fibre, affable attitude, positive values & integrity. Frankly, if you abuse someone in this way, or any way, you lack all of them.
However, the main thing that really gets to me is the attitude that religion is the reason for all the bad in the world. Religion doesn’t create the bad in people. People create the bad in religion. Religion does not make good people do bad things. (Note here that when I'm talking of 'religion' I am not talking about organised religion. I'm talking about the religious concept. Religion down to the bare bones, as it were. Faith.) Having 'faith' doesn't suddenly make a person into some kind of horrendous being. The person is the active ingredient in the equation, religion is purely the 'tool', for lack of a better word, that tends to get the blame. ‘The deity’, the original ‘get out of jail free card’ if you will.
A scalpel; nothing more than a blade. In the right hands, brings hope to possibly, probably, everyone at some point in their lives, whether directly or indirectly. However, a blade in the wrong hands? It becomes nothing less than a murder weapon.
Question: Do we abuse or attack all medically trained personnel for saving lives in the names of every person ever killed by an idiot with a knife? Of course we don’t, but 'That's different!' I hear so many shout. How is it exactly? It's not, in any way, different because a blade is only a weapon when in the hands of a bad person with negative intentions. In the hands of a good person with positive intentions it saves lives. It brings hope. Religion is no different to that. In the 'hands' of a bad person whose only intention is to cause harm, bad things happen. But that doesn't make the 'tool' responsible. In the 'hands' of a good person, who has positive intentions, religion (faith) does good. It brings hope.
Taking it down to basics, without the human component, the religious concept does not exist. However, for argument's sake, let's remove the 'Religion' component from the humanity convention. Does that then make it impossible for bad things to happen? Would that undeniably stop bad people doing bad things? Does that stop warfare from happening? Would that stop people killing other people? No, it doesn’t and no, it wouldn't. For one very simple reason that has absolutely fuck all to do with religion of any kind; the *people* who would do those things 'in the name of (a) religion', would do them without religion. They would find another excuse, because that's quintessentially the kind of people they are. If they're going to do bad things, they're going to do them regardless. Religion, along with any other reasoning, is only plucked out of the air when these people are called to explain their actions and they have no other way of doing so. Except it's not a 'reason', it's an excuse. We, as a society, really do need to stop getting those words confused with one another.
For example, it's a sad fact that there are people who shoot other people every day within our societies. Take the guns away, a man will stab with blades. Take the blades away, a man will beat with sticks. Take the sticks away, a man will punch with fists. The key component here? Man. He is man. (I use 'man' here in general reference to 'mankind', cool those jets, boys.) Take the weapons away, take the money away, take religion away, he will still be man.
Now, this is in no way endorsing the wrong that people do with these things. I know, sadly, I leave myself open for it to be twisted as such, but that is categorically untrue. My point is thus: none of these things are the real problem, because on their own, without people, they are nothing.
Religion isn’t the problem. Society is the problem. Perception is the problem. Interpretation is the problem. People are the problem.
If a person uses anything, including religion, as a reason to do negative things, that reflects on the person they are, not religion itself. Nor does it reflect on anyone else who subscribes to that religion. If they do that, they do not understand the base concepts of religion properly to begin with. Anyone who blames the religion concept for such a person's actions does not understand humans properly.
Now, people are often baffled as to why this topic strikes such a personal chord with me, however, I reject the notion that it shouldn't. I'm, as best I can describe, a homo-romantic, bisexual, atheist, woman. In short, a woman, who believes in no god, who is likely to end up romantically tied with another woman. So, of course, the general concensus is I should dislike religion, (especially the more widely practised religions in my nation; Christianity and Islam.) and everything it stands for. That was made clear due to some responses via social media to my first blog post (if you haven't read it, catch up).
I find myself quite personally insulted by such a fairly common reaction and I feel, simply, it is an insult to my intelligence (Not to blow my own trumpet. Toot toot.). However, not only did I find myself personally offended but also offended on the behalf of several people I consider to be friends of mine and hold quite dear to me, hence feeling the need to write a piece on the topic. Not only are some of the most intelligent, articulate, and genuinely inspiring people I've ever had the pleasure of getting to know, religious, some of the most gentle, loving and kind-hearted have been too. Yet, I've witnessed one of my Muslim friends be labelled a terrorist because she has faith in Allah. I've witnessed a Catholic friend be labelled a paedophile because she has faith in God. Except neither of those things has a thing to do with Islamic faith or Christian faith. Do we really live in a society where this is deemed acceptable and the norm? If you deem it as such, chances are you stopped reading this post at the point I referred to such people as being 'pricks of the highest order'. If not, I'd quite like to revert your attention back to that point so you can read it again.
So really, I guess, this is more a piece about them than it is anything to do with me. And I guess it's even more to do with you than it is with them. You see, how we not only judge people, but judge and respect the things they put their faith in, should reflect far more on ourselves than it does on anyone else. And it will. To those people who are capable of rational thought. Then they, in turn, will judge you.
I hope you and your beliefs are then judged in the same way you judge others and theirs. Maybe then we'll all get on a bit better, think a bit more sensibly, act a bit more sensibly, speak a bit more sensibly, and judge and respect others, and ourselves, in a far more attentive and rational manner than we tend to do now.
We all have faith. It may be in the religious sense or it may not be, everyone is different. But we all need faith.
Faith - noun; Confidence or trust in a person or thing. A set of firmly held principles or beliefs. A strong or unshakeable belief in something.
Monday, 18 February 2013
I can hug myself in this jacket...
OK, so when I set out in creating this blog my intention was to update it once a week (at least) with topical pieces, occasional sports analysis, opinion posts and any other relevant, dicussion inducing topic that took my attention that I could weigh in on. However, one solitary post and I had writer's block. Well, so I thought. Only it wasn't at all. Even my attention span isn't that small. (Just about.) The reason I haven't written anything since is hard to admit and even harder to explain. At least on a public platform. But it's important.
You see, this isn't how this post was supposed to start. It's not how I planned I would go about it, but that's OK. It's OK because it's a subject I wanted to tackle since the beginning, even prior to that actually, except I haven't known how. It's something I have agonised over because it is something that has been very much a crux of my life up until this point. It's not an easy task to look at something objectively when it has had such a profound and extensive role within nearly every aspect of your own life. However, it's OK because I've come to realise lately that nobody knows how to go about it. Not in a way that makes people listen. Really listen. So I'm not going to try to make anyone listen. I'm just going to tell a story and maybe you'll decide to read along.
Now, at this point, I would like to invite anyone who thinks that this is going to be a 'pity post' to open your minds before you decide to read on. This isn't going to be a 'fluffy' post seeking sympathy. What I'm going to do is the following;
1) I'm going to write about my experience with mental health issues
2) I'm going to do it for the very first time
3) I'm going to do it for me, and
4) I'm going to do it for anyone who needs to read it.
So, this is the story. I guess I should start off by letting you know a little about who I am, shouldn't I? I'm a woman but I'm not looking for attention. I'm in my 20's but I'm not lazy and looking for everyone to do things for me. I'm unemployed but I do not lack passion, drive or ambition. I've been battling with mental illness but I am not weak minded or weak willed. Now, that's the stereotypes out of the way.
I always figured I was just a 'worrier'. From a young age, as far back as I can remember if I'm honest, I remember worrying a great deal. I was always very scared of getting things wrong. Actually one of my earliest memories is from school, in 4+, we had this task (I can't quite remember what it was about) but we had to draw a picture of something and I put two suns in mine. One in each top corner. I'm still not sure why but I do remember that being the first time I was ever told off by a teacher and crying because of it... what was my point again? Oh yeah! That was actually a dream I had at age 4. So, I've always worried a lot. But I always just figured that was normal. That was me.
I never noticed a problem.
I only notice it now.
I started to notice I had a problem, a very real problem, about 5 years ago now. I didn't know what it was but I knew it was something. You see, I have a history of medical issues with my stomach which happened to coincide with my mental health issues getting out of hand, or me getting them in hand as it were, depending on which way you look at it.
I was playing football religiously almost at the time and, while I dither as to whether I'll go back or not, I'll always be thankful that the sport, in a way, was pivitol in bringing deeply hidden issues much closer to the fore, some of which are a story for another day. Or another post.
My shedule at the time essentially being the only day I had off from either training, playing or gym was Saturday.
One training session missed. Half gym sessions. Only just completing pre-game warm up without running inside to the toilet. Two training sessions missed. And it carried on.
Normally this is where someone would say, 'OK, something isn't right here', but no, I was too stubborn for that.
My brain told me closer to the following; 'Get on with it you wuss!', 'Stop being lazy!', 'You're letting everyone down!'.
So harder I trained. Training was a must go no matter what state I was in. Even though shortly after starting I'd be gasping for breath. I wasn't tired, I was anxious. Don't get me wrong, it wasn't like that everytime, just with increasing regularity. Even when I didn't feel 'odd', for want of a better phrase, I didn't really want to be there. I didn't really want to be doing it. The main reason being because I was scared. Scared it'd happen again.
Scared of being scared.
One day my dad sat me down and asked me if playing football was what I really wanted. I didn't seem to want it anymore. I'd always talked about playing football and playing football hard. As far as I was always concerned my future consisted of choosing which crest I'd have on my chest; England, Wales or Scotland. I sat and thought about it and agreed that it was still what I wanted but I just felt like something was wrong and it was starting to concern me. So we decided that I'd keep on playing and go off to the doctor to get my stomach seen to. I mean, it couldn't be anything else as far as I was concerned. So I threw myself back into the sport I adored, the sport that had, to all intents and purposes, been my life, with new fervour.
Now, here's a day I remember like it was yesterday (cliche-alert), and probably will for the rest of my life. I just didn't know how important it was going to be then.
One Tuesday, after training I started to feel a bit ill. Not intensely, not scarily, but definitely there. I couldn't put my finger on why, or even how, just that I didn't feel right, and the closer the end of the session got, the more anxious I started to get about getting home. As we got into the car I started to calm down but feel very cold. It wasn't particularly cold outside and I had a jacket on, as I always did after training (post-exercise lesson 101).
About 3 or 4 minutes into the 30minute journey home, I started to shiver and shake uncontrollably. I told dad I wanted to go home. We were going home anyway mind, but I meant I *really* wanted to go home. He asked me if I was OK and what was wrong but I couldn't answer him. I started to feel uncontrollably sick, but not to the point where I was going to throw up, just dizzy to the point I couldn't move my head, even slightly, without it feeling like I was spinning. Cold to the point that my shaking was making the car seat slightly move, and giving my legs intense cramp. Needing the toilet so suddenly, so badly, my stomach felt like a vice.
Sat in the car with my arms wrapped around myself, feeling so inherantly exhausted yet unable to stop moving, with a throat that was feeling tighter and tighter, drier and drier, I sang songs to myself between deep breaths. Any songs I could remember because it was the only thing I could think of at the time to stop myself passing out. Something which at that point seemed pretty inevitable. Every so often stopping to tell dad that I 'really wanted to go home now.'
A 30 minute journey. It took 15. It felt like 120.
I managed to calm down by time we pulled the car up outside of the house and when I got in I went straight up to bed. Both my parents and brother wanted to take me up the hospital but I insisted I just wanted to go to bed, so to bed I went.
The next day we came to the conclusion my stomach was the problem, I'd over done it and my body protested and I really had to get something done about it now. I know now that it wasn't my stomach.
Needless to say it took a while for me to get back into football properly, and when I did my heart wasn't in it anymore. I wouldn't let it be. Fear had well and truly taken hold now. I soon started to feel ill more and more, especially when it came to playing sports or working out. Anything that exerted myself, my body fought it. But I persisted. If anything was bigger than my now deep-seated fear of being ill, it was my fear of letting people down. Disappointing people. The people who love me and support me.
Two weeks before the County Cup final our opponents didn't turn up for our scheduled friendly match so we arranged a practice match between the squad. All was going well then around the 75th minute.... Bang. I went to knock the ball past one of our centre backs, our Captain, knocked it too far and, while I was reaching, she went in with the slide tackle and the result was my patella deciding it wanted to go on vacation from where it lived.
I've not played football competitively since.
About a year later, a year of on and off stomach issues, my second college course (my 3rd year overall) ended.
Now I had little to keep me occupied until I found a job. The more time passed, the more my stomach issues intensified. My doctor was less than helpful which didn't help the situation. I started to be unable to sleep. I got more frantic. There were days I felt unable to get up because I was in pain or I felt sick, or I was scared if I went out, I'd be sick.
I couldn't be sick. Not away from home at any rate. If I was at home everything I needed was there. Food. Water. Bathroom. Bed. Someone to take me to hospital if I got severely ill (genuinely my thought process.) So to add on, I started to become more and more reclusive.
One of the things that, actually, is so very key but gets over looked a lot is how alone you become. While I was going through whatever I was going through, all of my friends, and people I knew, were getting on with their lives. Their problems. Unfortunately, by time anyone notices the distance that's appeared, the other is long gone, out of reach.
Sleeping became harder and harder. I had occasional episodes that could last, on and off, all night and I wouldn't sleep. I started to get scared of falling asleep.
What if I went to sleep and didn't wake up again?
What if I had cancer?
A brain tumour?
Some incurable disease that I'd have to live with for the rest of my life? Oh that was a big one. What if I was going to be this way for the rest of my life? I was scared. No doubt I was scared. I was 20 years old and on a couple of nights, I spent the night in my mother's arms crying like I had done all those years previously when I needed my nappy changing.
You see, by this point the people around me became skeptical. Not of my mental health... but of my mental strength. So many people always think the two are one and the same but if this post does nothing else, I hope that it'll help to dispell that thought from your mind, at least a little.
'Grow up!' I was told. 'Get your act together and sort yourself out!'
See, I knew they were right but nothing felt more impossible at that time than doing exactly that. However, I resolved to do exactly that. How could I let these people down? I couldn't. I wouldn't.
So out I went. Or out I tried to go. Either way, I pushed myself and I pushed myself hard. The only way I knew how. Doing something by halves wasn't on the agenda. I had let myself get into a mess and I'd be damned if I was letting myself stay in that mess. Yet, no matter how hard I tried, no matter how hard I pushed, it didn't seem to become any easier. Any less like torture. A very personal, private, unmentionable torture, but an agony nonetheless.
I'd get sick before going anywhere. Even the prospect of going anywhere would make me feel intolerably ill. Sometimes I'd go, sometimes I wouldn't be able. On those occasions I'd stay home, maybe everyone would, and I'd be privately inconsolable, sometimes for a couple of days, at letting everyone down. Letting myself down. Yet increasingly panicky, again privately, that this was never going to end. This mental self-persecution was going to be my life.
Yet. Slowly, slowly, catchee, monkey.
I started to focus on the positive rather than the negative. I *WAS* making progress. It was slow, it was painful, and it felt like it was miniscule movements forward but nonetheless, forward they were.
One day, I'd forced myself to get out and went shopping. Not alone, I was with my parents at the time. I felt a little ill before we went but I chose to ignore it. Or I tried to, it was there, but I wouldn't focus on it. I focused on NOT focusing on it. We were nearly done when my father turned to me and told me I looked really pale. I broke. You see, I had been, up until that point, concentrating on ignoring it and not letting go of my focus. Not letting go of my resolve.
Not. Letting. Go.
My legs went. I had to catch a hold of a nearby shelf, nearly up-ending it in the process, so as not to collapse. I needed the bathroom. Urgently. But I, nearly 21 years old I, had to ask my mother to escort me because I didn't feel confident in my ability to get there unaided. Not totally unfounded, it turned out. The 30 second dart between shoppers took 5 minutes and I nearly fell over or passed out 3 times.
By time I got home, I was typically exhausted. For 4 days I didn't leave the house. I 'didn't feel well enough to.' On the 5th day I decided I'd pop my dog out to get some fresh air. I managed to get around the corner from our house to the field, literally behind our garden fence and my legs were shaking badly enough I didn't think they'd hold me. I felt the knock back almost as if it were a physical blow.
And so this set the pattern for the next few months, up to a year. Every time something would happen, I'd pick myself up, determined to fight it. Sometimes days, sometimes weeks after an episode, but get up I did. Yet, no matter how much progress I made, no matter how far I felt I dragged myself forward, that knock back would eventually come. Like the ending credits of your favourite film, you don't want it to happen but it is inevitable. That's when I made the decision that (Ding! Ding! Ding! Cliche alert) would change my life.
By July 2012 I was sure. I went to my doctor and told him that I felt it was time to see someone about helping me through this. I couldn't do it alone, I told him, no matter how hard I try, I never really get there. Not where I need to be.
So as of August 2012 I started a CBT (Cognitive behavioral therapy) programme and was diagnosed with Anxiety-Induced Panic Disorder. Just hearing that seemed like a small weight was lifted off my shoulders.
'It's a thing! I'm not crazy! I'm not going to end up locked in a bouncy room!' My mind revelled.
I explained to my therapist, a brilliant guy by the name of Nick, everything I had been through. In much a similar fashion to how I have to you now. Yet, even by just talking about it in a candid manner, a manner I wouldn't have attempted in any other environment, the horribly difficult jigsaw I'd been trying to solve alone started to fit a little better.
That 'episode' at football? My first panic attack. Most likely brought on by health issues and the increasing pressure I felt under to succeed and succeed in a humongous manner.
Increase in problems after I finished college? Well yes the pressure of finding a job in a poor market but what I didn't mention, or connect at the time, was my grandmother died less than a year later and every aspect of my personal and home life was strained beyond levels I'd ever known before.
You see, I've always seen it as my job to support everybody. Just not myself. Not the way I should have.
The on-off 'episodes' I had? Well. you add up progressively worse health and increasingly growing anxiety and panic issues and, well, do we really expect much else?
The 'episode' in the routine shopping trip? Again that came, fairly obviously now, at a very pivotal and difficult stage in my life. Probably harder than anything I'd known before. That's why it took me a greater time to recover. Or 'recover' is probably more apt. My brother had moved out to America for a year and, being a very close knit family, my parents took it hard. Very hard. But it was my job to hold everything together, remember?
And many, many other instances during the most gruelling time I can imagine experiencing, attributed to the way, even everyday occurences, simple jobs and duties, were perceived within my life. I even become agoraphobic at one point.
The fear and anxiety that had been building up, the fear and anxiety that I thought I'd been fighting through, but had really just been hiding from and distracting myself from, kept hitting me like a ton of bricks. You see, that's the thing with anxiety. You know when they say 'You can run but you can't hide'? Nothing has ever been truer. It will stay. It will always be there. It will find you. Again. And again. And again. Until you confront it. Until you genuinely fight it. Until you stick it up in that proverbial dock and rip it to shreds, it will always find a way back at you.
So it was time to learn, and boy, did I learn. But you reap the rewards of the seeds you sow. Progress has been made. Progress will keep being made everyday now I have the tools to move forward. Well actually, now I know how to use the tools to keep me moving forward.
I always had the tools... I just didn't know exactly what they were or what to do with them.
Not everyone can show you that. Not everyone can understand that the way you need them to. Or at all even. That's something I had to explain to my family, my parents in particular. At first, while they supported me, they felt hurt that I couldn't 'just talk to them'. But it doesn't work that way. If it did, things like various therapies wouldn't exist because it'd be that easy. It's anything but.
Now, this brings me to the point of writing this (if anyone's still with me by this point). Two things happened that encouraged me to write this piece. A piece I'd always thought about but didn't think I'd ever really be able to write it.
Now I hope, by this point, you don't think that. If you do, well that's your lookout and your opinion. Though I have no qualms of any fashion telling you that you are categorically wrong.
Not only is mental illness real, not only is mental illness life-destroying, it is rife. Far more common than I'm sure most people imagine. But far worse than that, so many people go on struggling because they are still, in 2013, STILL, at risk of being ostracised for seeking help.
I sought help when the time was right for me. When I felt able to. Now, thanks to that help, and a lot of damn hard work, I'm starting to come out of the other end of a very, very long tunnel. I'm looking for a job (I've had two during the last 5 years). I'm volunteering at my local Keech charity weekly. I'm going back to college in September. I plan on going to University next year to get my degree and then a Master's after. None of which I would have ever even considered possible at so many points during my still very young adult life. Not 'I never considered' - I wanted them a great deal, they just never felt like remotely achievable goals for a great deal of time.
'Hey, they're wackjobs!'
'They're crazy!'
'Stear clear of them, they have "issues".'
'Wow, high maintenance!'
'They're soooo Emo!'
'So lazy, they want everything doing for them!'
'God, they should just cheer up. They're so depressive.'
'THEY MUST BE SO WEAK!'
No, actually, what we are... what I AM, is normal.
You see, this isn't how this post was supposed to start. It's not how I planned I would go about it, but that's OK. It's OK because it's a subject I wanted to tackle since the beginning, even prior to that actually, except I haven't known how. It's something I have agonised over because it is something that has been very much a crux of my life up until this point. It's not an easy task to look at something objectively when it has had such a profound and extensive role within nearly every aspect of your own life. However, it's OK because I've come to realise lately that nobody knows how to go about it. Not in a way that makes people listen. Really listen. So I'm not going to try to make anyone listen. I'm just going to tell a story and maybe you'll decide to read along.
Now, at this point, I would like to invite anyone who thinks that this is going to be a 'pity post' to open your minds before you decide to read on. This isn't going to be a 'fluffy' post seeking sympathy. What I'm going to do is the following;
1) I'm going to write about my experience with mental health issues
2) I'm going to do it for the very first time
3) I'm going to do it for me, and
4) I'm going to do it for anyone who needs to read it.
So, this is the story. I guess I should start off by letting you know a little about who I am, shouldn't I? I'm a woman but I'm not looking for attention. I'm in my 20's but I'm not lazy and looking for everyone to do things for me. I'm unemployed but I do not lack passion, drive or ambition. I've been battling with mental illness but I am not weak minded or weak willed. Now, that's the stereotypes out of the way.
I always figured I was just a 'worrier'. From a young age, as far back as I can remember if I'm honest, I remember worrying a great deal. I was always very scared of getting things wrong. Actually one of my earliest memories is from school, in 4+, we had this task (I can't quite remember what it was about) but we had to draw a picture of something and I put two suns in mine. One in each top corner. I'm still not sure why but I do remember that being the first time I was ever told off by a teacher and crying because of it... what was my point again? Oh yeah! That was actually a dream I had at age 4. So, I've always worried a lot. But I always just figured that was normal. That was me.
I never noticed a problem.
I only notice it now.
I started to notice I had a problem, a very real problem, about 5 years ago now. I didn't know what it was but I knew it was something. You see, I have a history of medical issues with my stomach which happened to coincide with my mental health issues getting out of hand, or me getting them in hand as it were, depending on which way you look at it.
I was playing football religiously almost at the time and, while I dither as to whether I'll go back or not, I'll always be thankful that the sport, in a way, was pivitol in bringing deeply hidden issues much closer to the fore, some of which are a story for another day. Or another post.
My shedule at the time essentially being the only day I had off from either training, playing or gym was Saturday.
- Sunday - Club game day.
- Monday - College training
- Tuesday - College training. Club training.
- Wednesday - External college tournaments.
- Thusday - Gym. Club training.
- Friday - Gym.
One training session missed. Half gym sessions. Only just completing pre-game warm up without running inside to the toilet. Two training sessions missed. And it carried on.
Normally this is where someone would say, 'OK, something isn't right here', but no, I was too stubborn for that.
My brain told me closer to the following; 'Get on with it you wuss!', 'Stop being lazy!', 'You're letting everyone down!'.
So harder I trained. Training was a must go no matter what state I was in. Even though shortly after starting I'd be gasping for breath. I wasn't tired, I was anxious. Don't get me wrong, it wasn't like that everytime, just with increasing regularity. Even when I didn't feel 'odd', for want of a better phrase, I didn't really want to be there. I didn't really want to be doing it. The main reason being because I was scared. Scared it'd happen again.
Scared of being scared.
One day my dad sat me down and asked me if playing football was what I really wanted. I didn't seem to want it anymore. I'd always talked about playing football and playing football hard. As far as I was always concerned my future consisted of choosing which crest I'd have on my chest; England, Wales or Scotland. I sat and thought about it and agreed that it was still what I wanted but I just felt like something was wrong and it was starting to concern me. So we decided that I'd keep on playing and go off to the doctor to get my stomach seen to. I mean, it couldn't be anything else as far as I was concerned. So I threw myself back into the sport I adored, the sport that had, to all intents and purposes, been my life, with new fervour.
Now, here's a day I remember like it was yesterday (cliche-alert), and probably will for the rest of my life. I just didn't know how important it was going to be then.
One Tuesday, after training I started to feel a bit ill. Not intensely, not scarily, but definitely there. I couldn't put my finger on why, or even how, just that I didn't feel right, and the closer the end of the session got, the more anxious I started to get about getting home. As we got into the car I started to calm down but feel very cold. It wasn't particularly cold outside and I had a jacket on, as I always did after training (post-exercise lesson 101).
About 3 or 4 minutes into the 30minute journey home, I started to shiver and shake uncontrollably. I told dad I wanted to go home. We were going home anyway mind, but I meant I *really* wanted to go home. He asked me if I was OK and what was wrong but I couldn't answer him. I started to feel uncontrollably sick, but not to the point where I was going to throw up, just dizzy to the point I couldn't move my head, even slightly, without it feeling like I was spinning. Cold to the point that my shaking was making the car seat slightly move, and giving my legs intense cramp. Needing the toilet so suddenly, so badly, my stomach felt like a vice.
Sat in the car with my arms wrapped around myself, feeling so inherantly exhausted yet unable to stop moving, with a throat that was feeling tighter and tighter, drier and drier, I sang songs to myself between deep breaths. Any songs I could remember because it was the only thing I could think of at the time to stop myself passing out. Something which at that point seemed pretty inevitable. Every so often stopping to tell dad that I 'really wanted to go home now.'
A 30 minute journey. It took 15. It felt like 120.
I managed to calm down by time we pulled the car up outside of the house and when I got in I went straight up to bed. Both my parents and brother wanted to take me up the hospital but I insisted I just wanted to go to bed, so to bed I went.
The next day we came to the conclusion my stomach was the problem, I'd over done it and my body protested and I really had to get something done about it now. I know now that it wasn't my stomach.
Needless to say it took a while for me to get back into football properly, and when I did my heart wasn't in it anymore. I wouldn't let it be. Fear had well and truly taken hold now. I soon started to feel ill more and more, especially when it came to playing sports or working out. Anything that exerted myself, my body fought it. But I persisted. If anything was bigger than my now deep-seated fear of being ill, it was my fear of letting people down. Disappointing people. The people who love me and support me.
Two weeks before the County Cup final our opponents didn't turn up for our scheduled friendly match so we arranged a practice match between the squad. All was going well then around the 75th minute.... Bang. I went to knock the ball past one of our centre backs, our Captain, knocked it too far and, while I was reaching, she went in with the slide tackle and the result was my patella deciding it wanted to go on vacation from where it lived.
I've not played football competitively since.
About a year later, a year of on and off stomach issues, my second college course (my 3rd year overall) ended.
Now I had little to keep me occupied until I found a job. The more time passed, the more my stomach issues intensified. My doctor was less than helpful which didn't help the situation. I started to be unable to sleep. I got more frantic. There were days I felt unable to get up because I was in pain or I felt sick, or I was scared if I went out, I'd be sick.
I couldn't be sick. Not away from home at any rate. If I was at home everything I needed was there. Food. Water. Bathroom. Bed. Someone to take me to hospital if I got severely ill (genuinely my thought process.) So to add on, I started to become more and more reclusive.
One of the things that, actually, is so very key but gets over looked a lot is how alone you become. While I was going through whatever I was going through, all of my friends, and people I knew, were getting on with their lives. Their problems. Unfortunately, by time anyone notices the distance that's appeared, the other is long gone, out of reach.
Sleeping became harder and harder. I had occasional episodes that could last, on and off, all night and I wouldn't sleep. I started to get scared of falling asleep.
What if I went to sleep and didn't wake up again?
What if I had cancer?
A brain tumour?
Some incurable disease that I'd have to live with for the rest of my life? Oh that was a big one. What if I was going to be this way for the rest of my life? I was scared. No doubt I was scared. I was 20 years old and on a couple of nights, I spent the night in my mother's arms crying like I had done all those years previously when I needed my nappy changing.
You see, by this point the people around me became skeptical. Not of my mental health... but of my mental strength. So many people always think the two are one and the same but if this post does nothing else, I hope that it'll help to dispell that thought from your mind, at least a little.
'Grow up!' I was told. 'Get your act together and sort yourself out!'
See, I knew they were right but nothing felt more impossible at that time than doing exactly that. However, I resolved to do exactly that. How could I let these people down? I couldn't. I wouldn't.
So out I went. Or out I tried to go. Either way, I pushed myself and I pushed myself hard. The only way I knew how. Doing something by halves wasn't on the agenda. I had let myself get into a mess and I'd be damned if I was letting myself stay in that mess. Yet, no matter how hard I tried, no matter how hard I pushed, it didn't seem to become any easier. Any less like torture. A very personal, private, unmentionable torture, but an agony nonetheless.
I'd get sick before going anywhere. Even the prospect of going anywhere would make me feel intolerably ill. Sometimes I'd go, sometimes I wouldn't be able. On those occasions I'd stay home, maybe everyone would, and I'd be privately inconsolable, sometimes for a couple of days, at letting everyone down. Letting myself down. Yet increasingly panicky, again privately, that this was never going to end. This mental self-persecution was going to be my life.
Yet. Slowly, slowly, catchee, monkey.
I started to focus on the positive rather than the negative. I *WAS* making progress. It was slow, it was painful, and it felt like it was miniscule movements forward but nonetheless, forward they were.
One day, I'd forced myself to get out and went shopping. Not alone, I was with my parents at the time. I felt a little ill before we went but I chose to ignore it. Or I tried to, it was there, but I wouldn't focus on it. I focused on NOT focusing on it. We were nearly done when my father turned to me and told me I looked really pale. I broke. You see, I had been, up until that point, concentrating on ignoring it and not letting go of my focus. Not letting go of my resolve.
Not. Letting. Go.
My legs went. I had to catch a hold of a nearby shelf, nearly up-ending it in the process, so as not to collapse. I needed the bathroom. Urgently. But I, nearly 21 years old I, had to ask my mother to escort me because I didn't feel confident in my ability to get there unaided. Not totally unfounded, it turned out. The 30 second dart between shoppers took 5 minutes and I nearly fell over or passed out 3 times.
By time I got home, I was typically exhausted. For 4 days I didn't leave the house. I 'didn't feel well enough to.' On the 5th day I decided I'd pop my dog out to get some fresh air. I managed to get around the corner from our house to the field, literally behind our garden fence and my legs were shaking badly enough I didn't think they'd hold me. I felt the knock back almost as if it were a physical blow.
And so this set the pattern for the next few months, up to a year. Every time something would happen, I'd pick myself up, determined to fight it. Sometimes days, sometimes weeks after an episode, but get up I did. Yet, no matter how much progress I made, no matter how far I felt I dragged myself forward, that knock back would eventually come. Like the ending credits of your favourite film, you don't want it to happen but it is inevitable. That's when I made the decision that (Ding! Ding! Ding! Cliche alert) would change my life.
By July 2012 I was sure. I went to my doctor and told him that I felt it was time to see someone about helping me through this. I couldn't do it alone, I told him, no matter how hard I try, I never really get there. Not where I need to be.
So as of August 2012 I started a CBT (Cognitive behavioral therapy) programme and was diagnosed with Anxiety-Induced Panic Disorder. Just hearing that seemed like a small weight was lifted off my shoulders.
'It's a thing! I'm not crazy! I'm not going to end up locked in a bouncy room!' My mind revelled.
I explained to my therapist, a brilliant guy by the name of Nick, everything I had been through. In much a similar fashion to how I have to you now. Yet, even by just talking about it in a candid manner, a manner I wouldn't have attempted in any other environment, the horribly difficult jigsaw I'd been trying to solve alone started to fit a little better.
That 'episode' at football? My first panic attack. Most likely brought on by health issues and the increasing pressure I felt under to succeed and succeed in a humongous manner.
Increase in problems after I finished college? Well yes the pressure of finding a job in a poor market but what I didn't mention, or connect at the time, was my grandmother died less than a year later and every aspect of my personal and home life was strained beyond levels I'd ever known before.
You see, I've always seen it as my job to support everybody. Just not myself. Not the way I should have.
The on-off 'episodes' I had? Well. you add up progressively worse health and increasingly growing anxiety and panic issues and, well, do we really expect much else?
The 'episode' in the routine shopping trip? Again that came, fairly obviously now, at a very pivotal and difficult stage in my life. Probably harder than anything I'd known before. That's why it took me a greater time to recover. Or 'recover' is probably more apt. My brother had moved out to America for a year and, being a very close knit family, my parents took it hard. Very hard. But it was my job to hold everything together, remember?
And many, many other instances during the most gruelling time I can imagine experiencing, attributed to the way, even everyday occurences, simple jobs and duties, were perceived within my life. I even become agoraphobic at one point.
The fear and anxiety that had been building up, the fear and anxiety that I thought I'd been fighting through, but had really just been hiding from and distracting myself from, kept hitting me like a ton of bricks. You see, that's the thing with anxiety. You know when they say 'You can run but you can't hide'? Nothing has ever been truer. It will stay. It will always be there. It will find you. Again. And again. And again. Until you confront it. Until you genuinely fight it. Until you stick it up in that proverbial dock and rip it to shreds, it will always find a way back at you.
So it was time to learn, and boy, did I learn. But you reap the rewards of the seeds you sow. Progress has been made. Progress will keep being made everyday now I have the tools to move forward. Well actually, now I know how to use the tools to keep me moving forward.
I always had the tools... I just didn't know exactly what they were or what to do with them.
Not everyone can show you that. Not everyone can understand that the way you need them to. Or at all even. That's something I had to explain to my family, my parents in particular. At first, while they supported me, they felt hurt that I couldn't 'just talk to them'. But it doesn't work that way. If it did, things like various therapies wouldn't exist because it'd be that easy. It's anything but.
Now, this brings me to the point of writing this (if anyone's still with me by this point). Two things happened that encouraged me to write this piece. A piece I'd always thought about but didn't think I'd ever really be able to write it.
- I finished therapy last week.
- I saw someone best described as a 'suit', on Twitter (where they had quite a large following, therefore influence) bad mouthing CBT and therapy in general when, by their own admission, they had never experienced either first-hand.
Now I hope, by this point, you don't think that. If you do, well that's your lookout and your opinion. Though I have no qualms of any fashion telling you that you are categorically wrong.
Not only is mental illness real, not only is mental illness life-destroying, it is rife. Far more common than I'm sure most people imagine. But far worse than that, so many people go on struggling because they are still, in 2013, STILL, at risk of being ostracised for seeking help.
I sought help when the time was right for me. When I felt able to. Now, thanks to that help, and a lot of damn hard work, I'm starting to come out of the other end of a very, very long tunnel. I'm looking for a job (I've had two during the last 5 years). I'm volunteering at my local Keech charity weekly. I'm going back to college in September. I plan on going to University next year to get my degree and then a Master's after. None of which I would have ever even considered possible at so many points during my still very young adult life. Not 'I never considered' - I wanted them a great deal, they just never felt like remotely achievable goals for a great deal of time.
'Hey, they're wackjobs!'
'They're crazy!'
'Stear clear of them, they have "issues".'
'Wow, high maintenance!'
'They're soooo Emo!'
'So lazy, they want everything doing for them!'
'God, they should just cheer up. They're so depressive.'
'THEY MUST BE SO WEAK!'
No, actually, what we are... what I AM, is normal.
Sunday, 3 February 2013
Not another parade! Wait, I mean tirade.
Ok, so the idea behind me starting up a blog was to produce a well structured, informative platform in which I could get my views across in an eloquent, befitting manner. Because my views are just *that* important, of course.
However, I had a good maiden post idea in my head all morning. I started structuring and writing it in my mind but, since I've sat down to type it up, it has, for the most part (the structuring and writing part), vacated my mind.
So let's just wing it and see how we go, eh?
Right, there's been a lot of talk today (on twitter at least) about 'gay marriage' and the support/opposition for/to it. 'Oh, it's one of *those* posts!' I hear some of you think already. Well, yes and no. I am pro-equal marriage. I make no bones about it. However, if you think this is going to be just a simple 'opposition bashing' post, you are most certainly mistaken there. You'll see what I mean, or at least I hope your minds will be open enough to at least. If not, well you've probably already stopped reading by this point anyway.
One of the main points I saw that opposed equal marriage today was that marriage is a religious institution of our church that the legal system in this country just facilitates. Fair enough. Except, I don't understand the support of this argument at all. I understand the statement, but not as an argument against equal marriage. Here's why: If that is a good enough reason to stop equal marriage becoming legal then it is an equally good enough reason to;
1) Make it illegal for anyone who is not of the church to get married,
2) Make marriage ceremonies performed outside of the church, by someone who is not of the church especially, illegal.
Yet I see neither of these being argued. Neither of these fit in with marriage being a 'religious institution of our church' surely?
'No! No! No!' I saw someone shout. 'That's not the same at all!' Ok, so it's not the same? Why? 'Because the church does not govern people of other religions, only those that are of the church! The religion of this country', they said. Exactly, I reply, so why can't equal marriage be passed then? Think about it. Why can't I, for example, as an atheist, marry a woman if I wish to? What right do subscribers to a church, of which I am not a member, have to tell the government who they should allow or, conversely, stop, me marrying?
(Now I stop at this point to reiterate that this is not opposition-bashing or, for that matter, religion bashing in any sense. I'm actually not anti-religion in any real sense of the term, see a previous post I have written elsewhere on my views of religion as a concept here. I'm just using arguments I have seen and merely questioning them. I'm aware I haven't seen all arguments used, nor do I claim to, but I can only comment on what I have seen, clearly.)
So, anyway, I digress. Taking a different tact here. Another religious based argument I have seen in regard to the opposition of equal marriage is; the Bible's definition of marriage. Equal marriage would ruin the sanctity of marriage. Well, see, as I've found, the definition of marriage per se within the Bible is far more diverse and flexible than most give it credit for and the majority would, by the standards of today, be considered sacred. Within the Bible's pages the following things are included in marriage and/or constitute marriage;
1) A widow who has not borne her husband a son before his death must marry her husband's brother and submit sexually to him in order to give him offspring.
2) A wife must be subordinate to her husband. The wife is to have no independant rights, needs or priviledges of her own.
3) Concubines. The only difference between a wife and a concubine in the Bible, is wives have dowries, concubines have none. Such women enjoyed the same rights in the house as legitimate wives. Examples; Abraham had 2, as did Caleb. Gideon, Nahor, Jacob, Eliphaz, Manassah & Belshazzar all had 1. Solomon is said to have had 300(!) (Go Solo, g...I mean, ahem...)
4) In Deuteronomy is it said that a rape victim must become her rapist's wife and submit to him sexually. The rapist must merely pay his victim's father 50 pieces of silver due to 'loss of property'.
5) Under Moses command, Israelites were to kill every Midianite man, woman and child except for the virgin women. They were to be taken as spoils of war and must submit sexually to their new husbands/owners.
6) In Exodus it is said that a male slave will be assigned a female slave as a wife. She must submit to him sexually and bear him children, which will remain the owner's property (the wife and any children) after the man can go free.
So, let's talk about how the Bible defines marriage shall we? I'm not going to say about the rights and wrongs of what is contained within the Bible.What I am saying is I don't think you can use that as a valid argument against equal marriage unless you're actively, and just as rigorously, campaigning to have such things made legal under what does constitute marriage.
The third big reason I saw opposing equal marriage was thus; Marriages of two people of the same sex undermine the marriages of two people of opposing sexes.
This is, I have to say, one that does truly baffle me. I cannot see any way that two women, or two men, getting married could possibly affect your 'straight' marriage. If it does, that surely calls into question the foundation on which the 'straight' marriage is built upon to begin with? I don't think I can aptly word this any better than one very famous face did, so I'll let her do the talking instead:
However, I had a good maiden post idea in my head all morning. I started structuring and writing it in my mind but, since I've sat down to type it up, it has, for the most part (the structuring and writing part), vacated my mind.
So let's just wing it and see how we go, eh?
Right, there's been a lot of talk today (on twitter at least) about 'gay marriage' and the support/opposition for/to it. 'Oh, it's one of *those* posts!' I hear some of you think already. Well, yes and no. I am pro-equal marriage. I make no bones about it. However, if you think this is going to be just a simple 'opposition bashing' post, you are most certainly mistaken there. You'll see what I mean, or at least I hope your minds will be open enough to at least. If not, well you've probably already stopped reading by this point anyway.
One of the main points I saw that opposed equal marriage today was that marriage is a religious institution of our church that the legal system in this country just facilitates. Fair enough. Except, I don't understand the support of this argument at all. I understand the statement, but not as an argument against equal marriage. Here's why: If that is a good enough reason to stop equal marriage becoming legal then it is an equally good enough reason to;
1) Make it illegal for anyone who is not of the church to get married,
2) Make marriage ceremonies performed outside of the church, by someone who is not of the church especially, illegal.
Yet I see neither of these being argued. Neither of these fit in with marriage being a 'religious institution of our church' surely?
'No! No! No!' I saw someone shout. 'That's not the same at all!' Ok, so it's not the same? Why? 'Because the church does not govern people of other religions, only those that are of the church! The religion of this country', they said. Exactly, I reply, so why can't equal marriage be passed then? Think about it. Why can't I, for example, as an atheist, marry a woman if I wish to? What right do subscribers to a church, of which I am not a member, have to tell the government who they should allow or, conversely, stop, me marrying?
(Now I stop at this point to reiterate that this is not opposition-bashing or, for that matter, religion bashing in any sense. I'm actually not anti-religion in any real sense of the term, see a previous post I have written elsewhere on my views of religion as a concept here. I'm just using arguments I have seen and merely questioning them. I'm aware I haven't seen all arguments used, nor do I claim to, but I can only comment on what I have seen, clearly.)
So, anyway, I digress. Taking a different tact here. Another religious based argument I have seen in regard to the opposition of equal marriage is; the Bible's definition of marriage. Equal marriage would ruin the sanctity of marriage. Well, see, as I've found, the definition of marriage per se within the Bible is far more diverse and flexible than most give it credit for and the majority would, by the standards of today, be considered sacred. Within the Bible's pages the following things are included in marriage and/or constitute marriage;
1) A widow who has not borne her husband a son before his death must marry her husband's brother and submit sexually to him in order to give him offspring.
2) A wife must be subordinate to her husband. The wife is to have no independant rights, needs or priviledges of her own.
3) Concubines. The only difference between a wife and a concubine in the Bible, is wives have dowries, concubines have none. Such women enjoyed the same rights in the house as legitimate wives. Examples; Abraham had 2, as did Caleb. Gideon, Nahor, Jacob, Eliphaz, Manassah & Belshazzar all had 1. Solomon is said to have had 300(!) (Go Solo, g...I mean, ahem...)
4) In Deuteronomy is it said that a rape victim must become her rapist's wife and submit to him sexually. The rapist must merely pay his victim's father 50 pieces of silver due to 'loss of property'.
5) Under Moses command, Israelites were to kill every Midianite man, woman and child except for the virgin women. They were to be taken as spoils of war and must submit sexually to their new husbands/owners.
6) In Exodus it is said that a male slave will be assigned a female slave as a wife. She must submit to him sexually and bear him children, which will remain the owner's property (the wife and any children) after the man can go free.
So, let's talk about how the Bible defines marriage shall we? I'm not going to say about the rights and wrongs of what is contained within the Bible.What I am saying is I don't think you can use that as a valid argument against equal marriage unless you're actively, and just as rigorously, campaigning to have such things made legal under what does constitute marriage.
The third big reason I saw opposing equal marriage was thus; Marriages of two people of the same sex undermine the marriages of two people of opposing sexes.
This is, I have to say, one that does truly baffle me. I cannot see any way that two women, or two men, getting married could possibly affect your 'straight' marriage. If it does, that surely calls into question the foundation on which the 'straight' marriage is built upon to begin with? I don't think I can aptly word this any better than one very famous face did, so I'll let her do the talking instead:
"If gay marriage affects your straight marriage obviously your marriage is pretty shitty to begin with."
- Mila Kunis
The fourth and final big reason I saw that opposes equal marriage seems a very big one. Especially amoung those that can't abuse the Bible and religion as their excuse; 'The main reason to be married is to procreate! Two men/women can't do that!'
This one has quite a simple response; Why are you not campaigning against infertile people getting married? The elderly? Or people who do not want to have children through choice? Surely, via that reasoning, they should not be allowed to get married either?
The law the Government are proposing forces no religious institution to perform marriages between two people of the same gender. It will actually be illegal for Church of England institutions to perform these marriages in totality. No-one in this country is going to force anybody to get married. It is illegal. If equal marriage becomes law it will *still* be illegal.
If you do not like/want/agree with 'gay marriage' there is one simple solution that I will enlighten you with now; Do not get 'gay married'.
However if it really is that important to you to stop two people you have never met from standing up in front of a bunch of other people you have never met, say nice things about each other, and pledge to stay commited to each other for the duration of their lifetime through love and respect, I suggest to you this; it is not this potential law change that needs looking at, it's your priorities.
End note of two things:
I use Christianity as the religious example for two reasons;
1) It is the religion which I have seen twisted to suit people's reasoning in this matter.
2) It is generally recognised as both the historical and official religion of Britain. Church of England (Anglican) in England and Wales and the Presbyterian Church of Scotland in Scotland.
You may notice that I have been loathe to use the term 'Gay marriage'. You see,
1) Gay people can already get married, just not to other gay people.
2) The whole topic is about equality. It is not about asking for anything different or out of the ordinary. It is purely about people who wish to commit to someone of the same gender wanting the same legal (and religious for those who practice) rights as those who wish to marry someone of the opposite gender.
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