Stubborn sense of self

I've been thinking more and more recently about the idea of selfhood, triggered by a German literature module i've taken this year. From birth, our selves are named and quickly assigned an identity by the societies we live in, an identity that develops (for the better or worse) as we grow. The sense of Self is completed by a comparison to the Other, a process that reinforces our credibility and superiority. 

As I was highly aware of my image as a teenager, I pigeonholed girls who did not quite make the same effort with appearances as my Others. I was preoccupied with aesthetics and had, by and large, a very shallow view of the world. Comparing my figure to girls of different sizes ignited a triumph inside me and- in spite of still being dissatisfied deep down- made me feel comparatively more beautiful. I thrived off competition both in this sense and academically. 

This world was crushed when I broke mentally. The things I held in such high esteem (my slim figure, clear skin, ability to think rapidly and high energy levels) were, in a cruel but crucial twist of fate, reversed during the course of taking mood-stabilising medications. My self was squirming, my identity lost. Who was I? My personal identity was shattered all too quickly as the foundations on which my inner confidence were built were precarious. For something that I clung onto so desperately, my old Self didn't ever make me truly happy. 

I'll take this moment to bring in a TED talk that I watched earlier today by Thandie Newton. A powerful point she makes that explains this described realisation perfectly is:

"How many times would my Self have to die before I realised it was never alive in the first place?"(2:32)

There is a much-shared idea that things must fall apart before they fall back together more effectively. In this sense, when we learn to let go of the past and dissociate ourselves from our egos (which stubbornly cling onto our old sense of selves), we are able to re-build the foundations on which our views of our Selves and our Others lie. For me, this is proving to be a rewarding and illuminating process. 

~~~

Thandie Newton talk ~ http://www.ted.com/talks/thandie_newton_embracing_otherness_embracing_myself

Transforming Pain Into Strength ~ http://fractalenlightenment.com/26127/spirituality/turning-wounds-into-wisdom-the-power-of-transforming-pain-into-strength

Time to Change

I'm delighted to share that a blog I recently wrote for the Time to Change campaign has been published on their website. TTC is a collaboration of the UK charities Mind and Rethink as they attempt to address the stigma surrounding mental health issues still very much present today. The topic I chose to write about is the wonders (and importance) of talking about psychological issues. 

http://www.time-to-change.org.uk/blog/why-no-one-should-feel-ashamed-talking-about-mental-health

Learning to let the seasons, and the moods, be

Seasons are a vital process, as are our mood cycles.

Looking back at the summer just past, I remember how energetic I felt which was mirrored by the thriving Bavarian countryside around me. I would go for long walks in the vineyards surrounding my university halls and smile under a roof of rich green leaves. Sitting in the city centre by the riverside with the sun warming my bare shoulders would make me feel alive. The air smelt of honeysuckle, barbecue and hope.

The height of summer is enjoyed so acutely as we have a dull but persistent awareness that it is temporary: winter is soon to arrive. In the same way, during every moment of happiness or optimism we know that it will soon falter, as life will inevitably deal us a blow. Yet this knowledge makes these intangible moments so precious, allowing us to value them more; a good mood would not be so intense if it could be plucked and hoarded. 

Aesthetically, summer is colourful and radiant, which is contagious; sun-kissed skin and shiny hair makes us feel more attractive. It doesn’t mean, however, that we should lose confidence when the tan fades and the winter pounds creep on. Take a tree, for example: the branches during whatever season deserve to be admired, regardless of the colour (or even lack) of leaves. 

We appreciate nature throughout the year and enjoy observing its constant development but are all too quick to judge ourselves during difficult moments and fail to notice the beauty of every phase of mood: aren't we also growing during such times? 

This leads to my recent realisation that colder months or lower moods should be accepted in their own way. A frozen lake in the winter has a sense of stillness and shy beauty about it. The ice indisputably has sinister connotations and needs to be treated with caution and the same care needs to be taken with a faltering mood but, left to its own devices, the ice will eventually melt by the first cautious sun rays during the seasonal change. I sometimes go through my own so-called icy mindset but, during such times, I tread carefully and try to accept the present state without rushing myself to change how I feel. 

Seasons are cyclical just like our moods are and both should be accepted during whatever phase. Besides, there is something alluringly beautiful about that still icy lake. 

Photography: my own 

~~~

AngelStarCreations, Divine Timing and Patience ~ https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tTA7kSQAlkg

Interview

I've been interviewed for the National Student, check it out! : 

http://www.thenationalstudent.com/Living/2014-09-26/Coping_with_university_life_and_mental_health_issues.html

Nourish that self love!

Loving yourself sounds incredibly cheesy. 


It's something our grandparents advise us to do, something they've learned during their many years filled with wisdom and wordly knowledge. It's a concept that is rammed down our throats in glossy magazines and self help books alike. Yet it is a mighty challenge that we can only learn about at our own pace. 

Having had a blow to my mind, body and self-confidence, I knew it was going to be a long process (one that I'm still embarking on). For many years, I tried desperately to achieve the unachievable, as I went about it in completely the wrong way: it was a forced, desperate clutch at the goal, rather than a gentle and patient reach for it. Namely, I followed diets, read the books on prestigious reading lists and tried to fit an image rather than just being relaxed and comfortable in my own skin. I discovered that, in a rather cruel way, inner core happiness actually comes about when you fail to over- think it.

By remembering to: 

… I have observed a slight difference in my thinking process. Slowly but surely, I am being kinder to myself (e.g not pushing myself to do things I'd love to be good at but actually don't enjoy) and am noticing that along the way, I am being kinder to others, too. By being understanding when I don't achieve goals, patient when I'm lacking motivation and by laughing at my own silly behaviours, I've become more at ease with both myself and the people around me. 

When a good friend does something that I think is a little out of line, I sometimes bite my tongue but always focus on the bigger picture: that is, their many positive characteristics. 

So, why don't we do the same to ourselves? 

Learning to appreciate my flaws as well as my assets in the way I would with a friend has led to the realisation that I'm not perfect and never will be, just like those around me. Besides, those idiosyncrasies of character that every one of us have should be celebrated, not criticised!

~~~

Teal Swan on self esteem (10 step guide from 6:54) ~ https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qFjL62-9Qyw

Veronica Krestow, "Compassion is the doorway for freedom." (From 6:42) ~ https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=L4xpkOH9DWs

‘Paint it Black’

Three and a half years ago…

‘I see a line of cars and they're all painted black.’ They're shiny and menacing, speeding along the Broadway in a devilish flash of colour. They’re peppered with the occasional white car: my saviours. Good is with me and I slowly exhale; I am a good person so good will obviously follow me and guide me and save me in this existence. Bad will always try to tempt me, to flirt with me, but I am buffered by the formidable army of good angels and we will triumph, we will triumph.  

I reach the station and mindlessly scan my oyster. I’m on the tube in a flurry and close my eyes in concentration. I attempt to make sense of the overwhelming present but simultaneously do not want to try to even think of the beautiful and intangible unknown. Life is a mystery; we’re not meant to know the truth. I can see things that others can’t see so they’re following me to try to stop me discovering the undiscoverable, from comprehending the incomprehensible. I momentarily open my eyes and startle as the elderly lady sitting directly opposite me winks knowingly. This simple but grave action is silent acknowledgment from the devil that he knows that I know his secret. They’re coming to get me tonight. I must not have fear. fear. fear.

The monotonous tube announcement of ‘Camden Town’ brings me back to my senses and I escape the depths of the underground. The polluted yet refreshing air welcomes me and creates a relief from the tide of analysis that is obliterating my mind. I briskly walk down the high street and feel the glare of hollow faces and bottomless black eyes staring, staring. I enter the pub and greet my friends, but almost immediately leave the group for the bar. I have shots with gathering young professionals and tell a worried-looking member of the group that she is a good person and that she should smile more and that she should wear white more often. However, I am unfulfilled and bored in these stifling surroundings; my duties lie elsewhere.

Telling my friends that I’m suddenly tired and want to go home, I walk towards the doors that I had only entered moments before. I ignore their protests that I should stay. I also ignore their worried faces. As I exit, an enticingly mysterious man stops me and asks me where I’m going. He is working for the devil, I’m sure. I need to win him over. I cunningly accept his invitation to go to a club and am once again on the swirling streets of Camden, with a whirl in my stomach that is not entirely comfortable. I grab his arm and eagerly tell him he can change his mind about where his duties lie. He hasn’t been neglected by God. I am here to guide him.

I am in the queue, once again alone. The group in front of me are troubled; I can sense it strongly. One lights up and I grab the cigarette and put it in my mouth. I munch and munch then spit it on the floor by his feet, uttering ‘smoking is bad for the soul’ three times.

Where am I going? I run blindly.

I am alone in the crowds but I am not scared. The feeling in my stomach is like dark waves gathering at a rocky shore. The waves violently wash over me, cleansing my soul. I now feel energised by it all. I am alive. ‘Are you ok?’ someone asks me from the shadows and I nod and grin and laugh and shake their hand. I am impeccable. I have never felt such a momentous surge of self-satisfaction: I am helping the balance of this wickedly wondrous world.

Let's Define 'Cray'

  

 ‘Cray' 

- a short word that is used all too frequently today: shared between friends to describe a jealous ex, overheard on the tube in anticipation of the night ahead and adopted to describe the drunken antics of the night before. Yet rarely do the subjects consider the actual derivative, the sour syllables that still resonate with me today...

‘Crazy’

We seldom take a step back and reflect on the connotations of that word. For me, craziness brings allure and entrapment with it. It's a paradoxical world that is both enticing and excruciating. It's the awareness that you’re entering a dark place but being completely helpless. It's akin to a mosquito bite that you simply cannot resist; you itch, safe with the knowledge that it’s detrimental to your health but slave to that short-term fix.

Deep in your subconscious, you know the outcome will be those cold hospital corridors, but, somehow, the satisfaction in that oasis of time feels like it’s all worth it. Afterwards, in the weeks, months, years that follow you wonder why you ever put your mind through such an ordeal. The medication sucks away both your energy and creativity but also creates a clutch on which you can re-stabilise yourself. The very thing that supports you is also the object of your resentment (rather like teenage attitudes towards parents!)

This blog will be a taster of how that time has been for me. Recovery is a funny old process but also incredibly rewarding as you simultaneously learn about your fears, limitations and capabilities. Something I often remind myself of is:

'Happiness is a means of travel, not a destination.'

  

So this blogging experience should be a gratifying journey for me. Along the way, I hope you enjoy my words and also learn something about the mental health field. For an issue that is becoming increasingly common in our current society, it is still unfortunately being treated with much skepticism. 

Have a cray day! 

~~~

Gnarls Barkley ~ https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bd2B6SjMh_w

Kate Leaver personal story ~ https://www.the-pool.com/health/mind/2015/40/i-want-to-talk-about-my-bipolar-disorder