Time to stop running from reality

For the past three years I’ve been running from reality, ironically since I started to gain a better understanding of my mental health, and the life experiences and events which contributed to the alteration of my mind, I also began losing a grip on many parts of myself.

The facade built by denial was breaking apart and the intricacy of my mental mechanics was being revealed. Coming face to face with my flaws was never going to be easy, humans rarely likely to be proven wrong. For me using the excuses of my upbringing and mental illnesses was an all too easy scapegoat, a denial to my reality and the fears it was revealing, yes I was working at becoming better and still am, but I was also throwing caution to the wind in the name of acceptance, even though this led me down the path of destructive and dangerous behaviour.

I’ve been living in a prolonged period of turbulence over the last three years, a constant pattern of altercations which have made me tackle numerous obstacles that I was not prepared for; political discourse; the loss of love; the death of a friend; the terminal illness of parent; and the overwhelming sense of fear and hopelessness that accompanied them, all collapsing in on my existence like dominos. The tethered moments as I broke along side my fracturing world.

Although I have admitted to these moments, it doesn’t mean that I have fully accepted their existence. I hate these moments, even though they are the source of much of my strength, they have also warped my soul, leading me to run from them, but I’m tired of running.

Over the past three years I have not been the most sensible, responsible or logical person, as I desperately try to cling to any sense of certainty to solidify my identity and break away from scars of my past and the echoes in my present, using them when I lose grip of that inkling of certainty to behave irrationally and frankly like a bit of an arsehole, the excuse being that if the world is turbulent why can’t I be?

This is not a good enough excuse, mental illness and past cruelties are not a green light for bad behaviour, for dangerous behaviour, or for destruction behaviour, they are instead cautionary tales to be sensible, responsible and kind. If you know the world to be unkind give kindness to it, not unconditionally at the cost of ones self but in the moments where you can.

Remove toxicity from your life but be careful to not let it tarnish your soul, take pride in who you are but do not do it at the cost of belittling others, realise that you will not get everything you want in life but if you keep hope in your heart you will eventually get what you need. Life is unfair and unpredictable, but that doesn’t mean it can not be understood, it just may take some time.

I myself regained my equilibrium this weekend just past, I learned that it is not a place or a time or a moment, but instead something that resides within me, it is my core and my centre and it is with me always. External factors will influence my life, I will occasionally have no control over these and the consequences they bring, I will be affected by them emotionally and tested mentally but it doesn’t mean that they will hold control over me and my life forever. I may have no clue what tomorrow will bring, but if I have to meet with oblivion I will do it with my eyes wide open and standing a full 154cm tall, shoulders back, head high and brave.

Brave enough to be kind in a world that’s gone to shit, to overcome some of the most devastating obstacles without polluting my soul, brave enough to be me – not unapologetically but with enough grace to admit when I am wrong, when I need help, that I have a soft heart, and I need to do better and be better. No more excuses or running from reality, it’s time to face this.

Finding my balance

Thank you to everyone who has reached out to me, and offered their support. Your kind words and actions mean a lot to me and I appreciate them, and you.

When I’m struggling to cope with my depression I often forget that people genuinely care and love me. I convince myself that I am unlovable, unwanted, and unworthy of kindness from others. I focus on the love and the affection that is missing from my life, craving it so much it blinds me from the love and affection that surrounds me.

Depression is selfish in this way. It floods my mind with negative thoughts and convinces me I don’t know how to swim. It is often accompanied by anxiety, which can lead me to over analyse things, through a mindset of catastrophic thinking. I become afraid to tell anyone about the negative thoughts, out of fear of being judged or considered a burden. It convinces me that if I hate myself, then others must too.

This is however false; I am not a burden, and I am not widely hated or disliked. The support I have been shown over the past few weeks is evidence that I must be a half decent human being, if people are willing to lend a helping hand, and effectively fight to ensure that I stay in their lives, even on the bad days. I apologise for not recognising this sooner.

In the past I was afraid to speak openly and honestly about my mental health. I believed in the stigma that surrounds it, and I was scared that if people knew about the carnival inside my mind then they would disown me or use it to harm me in some way.

Some people have left my life when the topic of my mental health has come up, which is upsetting, but many people have also stayed.

Mental illness can be a difficult thing to cope with, especially when it is seemingly destroying someone you care about. When those some have left, I find myself wondering in moments following their departure how or why they have left, especially if they claimed to care about me. In hindsight, I can find reasoning in their decision. There is sadness for things lost but there is also appreciation and happiness for the things found.

In learning to control the carnival in my mind, I need to identify the good things in life, instead of dwelling on the negative and allowing myself to be blinded by it. In order to aid this need, I have started to keep a daily log which notes three things I have accomplished or enjoyed in my day.

I can’t change my past, and although there are things in it that I regret, I can learn to accept it as part of my history, and use it to shape a better future.


If you’re experiencing similar thoughts or feelings to those expressed in this post, it’s okay to reach out for help. You can find information about what mental health crisis services are available, how they can help and their times of operation here: https://www.mind.org.uk/information-support/guides-to-support-and-services/crisis-services/useful-contacts/ 


 

Rumpelstiltskin

Last week I found myself at the edge point of a depressive episode.

I had received a message two weeks prior from my estranged father, who I hadn’t heard from in seven years. Instead of dealing with it rationally, I tried to drink it into submission, and bury it inside of me. This resulted in a bubbling of emotions, which eventually erupted in a cortisol fueled break in my stability. In summary: I cracked.

I rapidly spun into a depressive state, marred by the feelings of despair, loneliness, anxiety, and suicidal ideation. I had fallen into a well of negative emotion, bought on by suppressing an unexpected occurrence, that had dragged up an armoury of feelings all targeted at my wellbeing.

I didn’t want this to occur but it was happening anyway. It was a cataclysm of external factors which didn’t fit neatly into my preexisting microclimates of things I knew how to cope with. I was out of my comfort zone.

I tried to ignore it but it was still there, and it was causing a rift of cognitive dissonance in my mind – I hadn’t spoken to my father in seven years, his neglect and failure to nurture me as a child caused me to show a great disdain towards him; when asked about him and I’d often respond with the rhetoric that ‘I don’t need him’ and ‘I’m better off without him in my life.’

However, this occurrence drudged up two questions from my childhood ‘why don’t they love me?’ and ‘why wasn’t I good enough?’

These questions are harboured in the foundations of who I am as a person, and are the likely causation of my attachment anxiety, which particularly manifest with romantic partners (something I hadn’t realised until a few days ago).

In the past I have reacted irrationally to the breakdown of a relationship, using targeted words and actions to cause the maximum amount of damage; because ‘I don’t need him’ and ‘I’m better off without him in my life.’ I feel rejected by that person so my brain uses its learned behaviour from my formative years in an attempt to protect itself.

I had thought if I continued to achieve in other areas of my life, than these questions would simply dissipate and cease to exist.

However, ignoring a problem doesn’t make it go away, identifying it as a problem and tackling it does – a bit like Rumpelstiltskin, if you can identify something you can solve it.


If you’re experiencing similar thoughts or feelings to those expressed in this post, it’s okay to reach out for help. You can find information about what mental health crisis services are available, how they can help and their times of operation here: https://www.mind.org.uk/information-support/guides-to-support-and-services/crisis-services/useful-contacts/


My motivation

I started my fitness journey in August 2017, after already ‘slimming down’ by 13.2 kg since December 2015.

My motivation was not the desire to lose weight, but instead a means of coping with my first experience of grief.

The summer 2017 will be always be a summer filled with tragedy, and a summer I will always remember. At the time I was working in news; where my job was to watch, listen and edit incoming and outgoing video/audio content – which was often unfiltered and graphic in nature.

I loved my job, but soon the constant barrage of material from each tragedy began to chip away at my mind, chunks of my sanity were breaking away and I was becoming increasingly more depressed.

Prior to the summer I has experienced multiple points of sadness and pain, spanning from 2016 to the early part of 2017, but they were staggered and sporadic, which made them manageable. I would hurt but I would heal.

However, that summer was not like that – there was no time to heal. Each tragedy hit me harder than the last, until the one which broke me. I can’t bring myself to type the name, but most of you will know it. Its memory is slow and vivid, and it resulted in the abrupt death of someone I cared for, and I knew.

It was a raw pain, that was unfamiliar. Manifesting in fits of hysteria, uncontrollable sobbing and screaming, along with suicidal thoughts. I needed help.

I didn’t know how to cope, and I didn’t know how to grieve.

I tried my best to bury it and to pretend I was okay but I was falling apart. I didn’t want to lean on anyone else, because I thought it would burden them.

Eventually the cracks in my mind started to show, and I was lucky enough that people started to notice as well. I’ve now realised that it’s okay to not be okay. It’s okay to need people, and I am thankful that I have an amazing support network of friends and family who helped me.

I was able to get help.

In July 2017, I was referred to an occupational doctor after what can best be describe as an emotional breakdown. That referral most likely saved my life, the doctor provided me with the means to grieve, along with suggested mechanisms to cope.

One of these mechanisms was to join a gym.


If you’re experiencing similar thoughts or feelings to those expressed in this post, it’s okay to reach out for help. You can find information about what mental health crisis services are available, how they can help and their times of operation here: https://www.mind.org.uk/information-support/guides-to-support-and-services/crisis-services/useful-contacts/