I'm good at making people worry about me. I'm good at saying things that I kinda mean but don't really mean and I'm good at exaggerating the truth.
I don't really want to die. I don't really want to stop existing. I don't want to give up. But sometimes it's easier to say I'm giving up than actually opening up to anyone but it is arguably less scary to ask someone to kill me than it is to say that sometimes it is hard to get out of bed. It's arguably less scary to say that existing is too hard than it is to say that you relapsed or than it is to say that your brain is the scariest thing in your life right now.
I am doing better than I have been. That's an unavoidable fact, but it is also easier to pretend that things are still awful because at least that way people still understand that you have bad days and that you still have days you want to hide away from everyone. It's easier to pretend that you are close to giving up because people that way will still talk to you and 'check in on you'.
But it's an exaggeration.
I am struggling but I am okay.
I am sad but it's an okay sad, it's a normal sad, it's a bearable sad, it's a "yes, I can get out of bed today sad". It's a optimistic sad, a fake sad, a sad that isn't really sad but it's really easy to mistake it for sad. A sad that is actually happiness but being happy all the time is an alien feeling so there has to be some kind of sad.
I don't want to exist but really I want to exist, I do want to keep on going and I know I can keep going.
I know that sadness is temporary. I know that there is a light at the end of the tunnel and suicide is a "permanent solution to a temporary problem", I've been told that for so many years that it feels like it has been engraved into my brain.
I know that the people around me would miss me if I did give up and I know that somewhere out there is a person I will spend the rest of my life with, that one day I will have children with them and I cannot do that if I give up now.
I know that it will all be okay. I know that I have fought this so many times before and that I have survived all of my bad days so far.
I've survived the last 10 years of bad days, so I survive at least 10 more.
Sunday 29 April 2018
Thursday 19 April 2018
2 in 15
Grief is something that is hard to come to terms with.
Losing someone you love is easily the hardest thing that we as a species will have to deal with. The fact of having to come to terms with the thought that you will never see someone you love again because they are no longer with us, is something that is never going to be easy.
When I lost my uncle 17 months ago, I didn't know how to react. I didn't know how to feel. I didn't know what was okay to feel, whether feeling empty and feeling hopeless was a feeling that was okay to feel. My uncle was the first relative me and my brothers had lost. We didn't know what grief looked like or felt like. We didn't really understand what was happening or going to happen. I had never been to a funeral, I had never seen a coffin except for on TV. In some ways, I had a life that was sheltered by death, and by sheltered I mean I was fortunate enough to never have to see it.
17 months ago, it didn't feel real. It still doesn't, to this day, feel like I lost you, but Christmas is still hard and your birthdays are harder. I still haven't come to terms with you being gone.
But I was getting over the grieving stage. Things were getting easier. I wasn't spending my days thinking about you or my nights awake because sleeping meant thinking of you which made sleeping impossible. I thought I had almost saw a light at the end of the tunnel in the form of moving on from grief in general.
When I saw my brother calling me at 10am on a Friday, in the middle of a lecture, I knew something was wrong. Everything seemed okay that morning. I was going to call you after that lecture and wish you a happy birthday, but the phone call I had on that day was completely different to the one I thought I'd be making. I never expected that I'd be hearing that you had passed away, even when my brother was calling.
It was at that moment that the world stopped. I couldn't speak, I was almost running out of the building with everything stopped around me. I was so absolutely and utterly heartbroken that words were hard to mumble, messages were hard to text.
I got to my house at uni and was thrashing around my room, throwing my clothes around. I was throwing water over my face and hoping this was a dream again. Nothing felt real, I felt like I was completely shutting down. I couldn't have lost someone else I loved so soon after losing my uncle.
I rarely see my dad cry, the only time I think I've seen him cry was when my mum lost her brother. But I don't think he stopped crying since he found you. And I don't blame him either.
My nan raised my dad, an only child, as a single mother. She was his family, and even though my dad has us, he lost the person in his life that had unconditionally loved him since the day he was born, the woman who did everything she physically could to make sure he had the best life he could.
My nan also raised us, essentially. She retired a year after I was born, meaning she looked after us whilst my parents were at work, supporting us as a family. She took us to school, picked us up from school, made us dinner if we wanted, braided my hair into plaits, she came to most of our football matches, she never complained once.
She never complained that she opened her home up to the 5 of us (me, my brothers and my parents). She never complained about all the mess, the late nights from us screaming, the fact she was in her 60s basically raising 3 annoying bratty children. She did everything with a smile, she loved us unconditionally and it was so easy to tell that we were her entire world.
My nan was truly a hero.
Accepting that I will never see her again has been so hard to come to terms with. She lived a street over from us, I saw her nearly everyday and now suddenly I won't ever see her again. We had to clear out her house, we had to walk into an empty house that suddenly felt the opposite of a home and go through all the things that once were hers. We had to find all the artwork we drew for her as children, all the gifts, all the clothes, the paperwork, all the photos of her. We had to pick out flowers, pick out music, pick out words. Something that none of us were ready to do.
There is something about a second loss that makes everything feel harder than it should be. The first time is awful because you don't know what to feel, how to feel and you don't even believe death to be a real thing, in a really weird sense. But the second time, it feels real. You know how you felt last time, you know the hole and the emptiness that you will feel for a long time. You know the process, you know the tears that will come. You know you have to say goodbye and you know that no matter what you do, nothing will make anything okay. You expect sleepless nights, you expect the back and forth journeys, you expect everything and there is still nothing you can do to make it feel better.
In the space of 15 months, I lost two of my heroes, two of the best people I have ever known. Two of the people who I grew up with, and there is nothing in this world I wouldn't do to have one more second with them. In the space of 15 months, I wondered multiple times why life was so cruel, why people just had to suddenly pass away. I spent so many hours thinking about dropping out of university, because it suddenly hit me how I was spending so little time with the people I loved and how so much can change so quickly.
It was grief. It was lonely. It was heartache. It was pure sadness. It was pure worry. It was me suddenly doing awfully again after doing well for so long, with no way of making things better. It consumes you.
Grief itself is awful. Grief is unexpected and it is so hard to work your way through.
And whilst it never truly heals, it eventually starts to get easier.
I know it's been a while now, but I'm still not doing too great. I still have sleepless nights, I still wake up crying because of how much I miss you and I still don't know how to deal with your loss yet.
But I hope I'm doing you proud.
Losing someone you love is easily the hardest thing that we as a species will have to deal with. The fact of having to come to terms with the thought that you will never see someone you love again because they are no longer with us, is something that is never going to be easy.
When I lost my uncle 17 months ago, I didn't know how to react. I didn't know how to feel. I didn't know what was okay to feel, whether feeling empty and feeling hopeless was a feeling that was okay to feel. My uncle was the first relative me and my brothers had lost. We didn't know what grief looked like or felt like. We didn't really understand what was happening or going to happen. I had never been to a funeral, I had never seen a coffin except for on TV. In some ways, I had a life that was sheltered by death, and by sheltered I mean I was fortunate enough to never have to see it.
17 months ago, it didn't feel real. It still doesn't, to this day, feel like I lost you, but Christmas is still hard and your birthdays are harder. I still haven't come to terms with you being gone.
But I was getting over the grieving stage. Things were getting easier. I wasn't spending my days thinking about you or my nights awake because sleeping meant thinking of you which made sleeping impossible. I thought I had almost saw a light at the end of the tunnel in the form of moving on from grief in general.
When I saw my brother calling me at 10am on a Friday, in the middle of a lecture, I knew something was wrong. Everything seemed okay that morning. I was going to call you after that lecture and wish you a happy birthday, but the phone call I had on that day was completely different to the one I thought I'd be making. I never expected that I'd be hearing that you had passed away, even when my brother was calling.
It was at that moment that the world stopped. I couldn't speak, I was almost running out of the building with everything stopped around me. I was so absolutely and utterly heartbroken that words were hard to mumble, messages were hard to text.
I got to my house at uni and was thrashing around my room, throwing my clothes around. I was throwing water over my face and hoping this was a dream again. Nothing felt real, I felt like I was completely shutting down. I couldn't have lost someone else I loved so soon after losing my uncle.
I rarely see my dad cry, the only time I think I've seen him cry was when my mum lost her brother. But I don't think he stopped crying since he found you. And I don't blame him either.
My nan raised my dad, an only child, as a single mother. She was his family, and even though my dad has us, he lost the person in his life that had unconditionally loved him since the day he was born, the woman who did everything she physically could to make sure he had the best life he could.
My nan also raised us, essentially. She retired a year after I was born, meaning she looked after us whilst my parents were at work, supporting us as a family. She took us to school, picked us up from school, made us dinner if we wanted, braided my hair into plaits, she came to most of our football matches, she never complained once.
She never complained that she opened her home up to the 5 of us (me, my brothers and my parents). She never complained about all the mess, the late nights from us screaming, the fact she was in her 60s basically raising 3 annoying bratty children. She did everything with a smile, she loved us unconditionally and it was so easy to tell that we were her entire world.
My nan was truly a hero.
Accepting that I will never see her again has been so hard to come to terms with. She lived a street over from us, I saw her nearly everyday and now suddenly I won't ever see her again. We had to clear out her house, we had to walk into an empty house that suddenly felt the opposite of a home and go through all the things that once were hers. We had to find all the artwork we drew for her as children, all the gifts, all the clothes, the paperwork, all the photos of her. We had to pick out flowers, pick out music, pick out words. Something that none of us were ready to do.
There is something about a second loss that makes everything feel harder than it should be. The first time is awful because you don't know what to feel, how to feel and you don't even believe death to be a real thing, in a really weird sense. But the second time, it feels real. You know how you felt last time, you know the hole and the emptiness that you will feel for a long time. You know the process, you know the tears that will come. You know you have to say goodbye and you know that no matter what you do, nothing will make anything okay. You expect sleepless nights, you expect the back and forth journeys, you expect everything and there is still nothing you can do to make it feel better.
In the space of 15 months, I lost two of my heroes, two of the best people I have ever known. Two of the people who I grew up with, and there is nothing in this world I wouldn't do to have one more second with them. In the space of 15 months, I wondered multiple times why life was so cruel, why people just had to suddenly pass away. I spent so many hours thinking about dropping out of university, because it suddenly hit me how I was spending so little time with the people I loved and how so much can change so quickly.
It was grief. It was lonely. It was heartache. It was pure sadness. It was pure worry. It was me suddenly doing awfully again after doing well for so long, with no way of making things better. It consumes you.
Grief itself is awful. Grief is unexpected and it is so hard to work your way through.
And whilst it never truly heals, it eventually starts to get easier.
I know it's been a while now, but I'm still not doing too great. I still have sleepless nights, I still wake up crying because of how much I miss you and I still don't know how to deal with your loss yet.
But I hope I'm doing you proud.
Wednesday 11 April 2018
Anxiety
I have, on many occasions, that I've been lying about my anxiety.
I've been told by friends, teachers, strangers and even mental health professionals, that the anxiety I feel isn't as bad as I am making it out to be or simply is just a "normal feeling."
I've been told to just stop worrying, like it is a choice.
This morning, I woke up after maybe an hours sleep, feeling absolutely panicked. It felt like my heart was shrinking yet racing at 100mph and the feeling in my chest was absolutely debilitating, and I couldn't do anything about it.
By the time I had calmed myself down enough to actually get out of bed it was 4pm, 6 hours after I had woken up. By the time I was calm enough to try focus on any revision, it was 5pm and by the time I could eat anything, I was eating my first meal of the day at 6pm. I had finished the one lecture I managed to revise today, and was so anxious that I had to go back to bed just before 8pm, without managing to shower, tidy my room, tidy the house, get changed or do any of the many things I really needed to do today.
And I would be lying if I said this run of events was an uncommon thing for me.
Usually, it isn't this bad and usually I am able to get out of bed and pretend to function all day, but today I physically couldn't.
The last few months, I've hardly been sleeping. If I'm lucky, I'll get 6/7 hours, but usually it is 4 hours at the absolute most, and I mean the absolute. And these hours will be filled with constantly waking up and then forcing myself back to sleep. Every night, the second I close my eyes I feel instantly anxious, so I have to open my eyes okay. I lay awake, worrying, until I'm so physically exhausted I pass out. More often than not, this leads to some degree of panic attack, alot of the time this will be in the middle of the night and I will wake up having a panic attack.
It is constant. Anxiety for me is absolutely constant. When I try and do anything, I tend to spend more time trying to stop any anxious thoughts than I do actually doing what I've set out to do. Whether this is doing an essay, talking to people, watching a youtube video, leaving the house, going out for drinks, going to a football match. Every action in my life right now, causes my anxiety to be loud.
And when anxiety is loud, everything around me is silent. Everything feels like it's going in slow motion, whilst also speeding past. When anxiety is loud, everything is impossible, I cannot think of anything but how anxious I'm feeling.
I have had so many occasions in recent months where I've had to calm myself down in public and then outwardly tell people I'm absolutely fine, when really I'm on the verge of a meltdown. I've had so many occasions where I've been so anxious, that I've forgotten things that I've done and have absolutely no recollection of texting, moving or even eating.
Have you ever nearly missed a step whilst climbing up stairs? Or nearly fallen backwards swinging on a chair? Or when you think you've sent a screenshot to the person who's messages you screenshotted?
You know that sense of panic? That's how every day feels. Everyday feels like the mother who's lost her 4 year old in a supermarket, like the player going to shoot the winning penlty in a cup final, like the performers first show in front of an audience.
It's a constant feeling of fuck up or what if something goes wrong. It's a constant feeling of you having done something wrong and a constant feeling of dread.
Anxiety is a vinyl player on repeat, the fire alarm that just won't turn off, a voice in my head that is constantly telling me that everything is scary and everything and everyone will hurt me, or everyone is judging me, or that any second something awful is going to happen.
Every step, every moment, every breathe is uncertain. It's almost like walking through a landmine with hazy vision, sometimes you get lucky and get through okay, but most of the time something explodes and is with you for the rest of your life.
Anxiety is every metaphor in the book. It is every metaphor about "drowning whilst everyone around you is breathing", it's every metaphor about "feeling like a prisoner" and every metaphor about "feeling alone in a crowded room".
Anxiety feels like you are falling in a bottomless pit. It feels like you are being tied into knots. It feels like your organs caving in, like your body is just giving up on you.
Anxiety is abolutely debhilitating. It sucks the life out of you. It tells you that everyone is going to hate you (if they don't already). It makes you live in constant fear. It makes you numb. It stops you from making that phone call or for applying for that job. It stops you getting out of bed or leaving the house or eating a meal. It stops you from being with your friends, or going to work, or doing your degree or going on a night out. It stops you from being a normal, functioning person.
And when I say I'm doing okay, yes, I'm fucking lying.
I've been told by friends, teachers, strangers and even mental health professionals, that the anxiety I feel isn't as bad as I am making it out to be or simply is just a "normal feeling."
I've been told to just stop worrying, like it is a choice.
This morning, I woke up after maybe an hours sleep, feeling absolutely panicked. It felt like my heart was shrinking yet racing at 100mph and the feeling in my chest was absolutely debilitating, and I couldn't do anything about it.
By the time I had calmed myself down enough to actually get out of bed it was 4pm, 6 hours after I had woken up. By the time I was calm enough to try focus on any revision, it was 5pm and by the time I could eat anything, I was eating my first meal of the day at 6pm. I had finished the one lecture I managed to revise today, and was so anxious that I had to go back to bed just before 8pm, without managing to shower, tidy my room, tidy the house, get changed or do any of the many things I really needed to do today.
And I would be lying if I said this run of events was an uncommon thing for me.
Usually, it isn't this bad and usually I am able to get out of bed and pretend to function all day, but today I physically couldn't.
The last few months, I've hardly been sleeping. If I'm lucky, I'll get 6/7 hours, but usually it is 4 hours at the absolute most, and I mean the absolute. And these hours will be filled with constantly waking up and then forcing myself back to sleep. Every night, the second I close my eyes I feel instantly anxious, so I have to open my eyes okay. I lay awake, worrying, until I'm so physically exhausted I pass out. More often than not, this leads to some degree of panic attack, alot of the time this will be in the middle of the night and I will wake up having a panic attack.
It is constant. Anxiety for me is absolutely constant. When I try and do anything, I tend to spend more time trying to stop any anxious thoughts than I do actually doing what I've set out to do. Whether this is doing an essay, talking to people, watching a youtube video, leaving the house, going out for drinks, going to a football match. Every action in my life right now, causes my anxiety to be loud.
And when anxiety is loud, everything around me is silent. Everything feels like it's going in slow motion, whilst also speeding past. When anxiety is loud, everything is impossible, I cannot think of anything but how anxious I'm feeling.
I have had so many occasions in recent months where I've had to calm myself down in public and then outwardly tell people I'm absolutely fine, when really I'm on the verge of a meltdown. I've had so many occasions where I've been so anxious, that I've forgotten things that I've done and have absolutely no recollection of texting, moving or even eating.
Have you ever nearly missed a step whilst climbing up stairs? Or nearly fallen backwards swinging on a chair? Or when you think you've sent a screenshot to the person who's messages you screenshotted?
You know that sense of panic? That's how every day feels. Everyday feels like the mother who's lost her 4 year old in a supermarket, like the player going to shoot the winning penlty in a cup final, like the performers first show in front of an audience.
It's a constant feeling of fuck up or what if something goes wrong. It's a constant feeling of you having done something wrong and a constant feeling of dread.
Anxiety is a vinyl player on repeat, the fire alarm that just won't turn off, a voice in my head that is constantly telling me that everything is scary and everything and everyone will hurt me, or everyone is judging me, or that any second something awful is going to happen.
Every step, every moment, every breathe is uncertain. It's almost like walking through a landmine with hazy vision, sometimes you get lucky and get through okay, but most of the time something explodes and is with you for the rest of your life.
Anxiety is every metaphor in the book. It is every metaphor about "drowning whilst everyone around you is breathing", it's every metaphor about "feeling like a prisoner" and every metaphor about "feeling alone in a crowded room".
Anxiety feels like you are falling in a bottomless pit. It feels like you are being tied into knots. It feels like your organs caving in, like your body is just giving up on you.
Anxiety is abolutely debhilitating. It sucks the life out of you. It tells you that everyone is going to hate you (if they don't already). It makes you live in constant fear. It makes you numb. It stops you from making that phone call or for applying for that job. It stops you getting out of bed or leaving the house or eating a meal. It stops you from being with your friends, or going to work, or doing your degree or going on a night out. It stops you from being a normal, functioning person.
And when I say I'm doing okay, yes, I'm fucking lying.
Sunday 1 April 2018
Spiral
Trying to push yourself back up after a knock down is one of the hardest things to do. Especially when this feels like a constant occurrence.
Sometimes it almost feels like every time I am doing better, something massive happens which takes any strength and progress I have made and burns it away.
Losing two of my closest family members in 18 months was a hard enough battle as it was, thrown onto that university stress, friendship stress, constant anxiety over work, and constantly being back and forth between uni and home, made everything feel so much harder than it was.
I couldn't deny, and still cannot deny, that I completely spiralled.
But it's okay. It's totally okay to feel like your going two steps back, because the progress you have made before that absolutely outweighs any downfall. Yes, I feel like I've gone backwards. But in reality, its two baby steps backwards for the many leaps forward.
I have a great support network behind me, who support me through all the shit I seem to (mostly drunkenly) throw on them, and my motivation to battle through all the tough times is stronger than ever before.
Through all of this, I got a 75 in an assignment, my highest grade since November 2016, I pulled off a bunch of awesome social events with my co-social sec, I raised £100 for charity by giving up chocolate for the entire month of March and I continued to get out of bed and make the most of the time I have left of second year.
I am so proud of myself for the small victories I have acomplished in the past few months, even with the loss of my nan causing my mental health to stumble. But I know I can and will carry on fighting, and I know that there is a light at the end of the tunnel.
And that is something I never thought I would ever believe.
Sometimes it almost feels like every time I am doing better, something massive happens which takes any strength and progress I have made and burns it away.
Losing two of my closest family members in 18 months was a hard enough battle as it was, thrown onto that university stress, friendship stress, constant anxiety over work, and constantly being back and forth between uni and home, made everything feel so much harder than it was.
I couldn't deny, and still cannot deny, that I completely spiralled.
But it's okay. It's totally okay to feel like your going two steps back, because the progress you have made before that absolutely outweighs any downfall. Yes, I feel like I've gone backwards. But in reality, its two baby steps backwards for the many leaps forward.
I have a great support network behind me, who support me through all the shit I seem to (mostly drunkenly) throw on them, and my motivation to battle through all the tough times is stronger than ever before.
Through all of this, I got a 75 in an assignment, my highest grade since November 2016, I pulled off a bunch of awesome social events with my co-social sec, I raised £100 for charity by giving up chocolate for the entire month of March and I continued to get out of bed and make the most of the time I have left of second year.
I am so proud of myself for the small victories I have acomplished in the past few months, even with the loss of my nan causing my mental health to stumble. But I know I can and will carry on fighting, and I know that there is a light at the end of the tunnel.
And that is something I never thought I would ever believe.
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