Party Pooper

When I'm taking a tumble over the bell curve of my depression progress it can be hard to distinguish the progress I've made. If I'm asked about the things I've accomplished recently I'll shake my head because I can't think of anything besides forcing myself to breathe through my loud sobs. The higher you climb, the harder the fall feels. Give me a few moments to recover and I might be able to tell you about that wedding I went to as a plus one, I might say that I'm feeling fairly good about decorating my office on my own- but of course I'm not quite satisfied with it yet- or I might talk about that HUGE party I attended the other week.

The party was something that I hadn't given a second thought about ever since we received the invitation. It seemed like an impossible task, so why would I allow myself to stress over it for a month or so? It was going to be full of people that I had never met, scary. There would be some people that knew far too much about me despite having never met me. Also scary. And yet I found myself turning my ear towards the talk of how amazing it would be because they throw 'legendary parties', and to be honest if a photo booth is involved it's likely that I'll be won over. A week before the big event I'd agreed to go. Of course I went back and forth in my mind about actually going. There was a certain dress code implied so I went shopping with the 'future mother-in-law' (Callie). Unfortunately as we wandered around the shops I found myself slipping into an old routine. My mum can probably remember some unbearable shopping trips with me. I just didn't want to be there, the bright lights and loud music were getting to me and in my mind I was convinced that anything I tried on would look horrendous. So why would I even bother taking something into the changing room when a public meltdown was likely. Unfortunately at the time mum was unaware of what was going on with me, I'd hidden it like a pro. I wasn't 'in a mood' and I certainly wasn't hating spending time with her. I was just incredibly uncomfortable, I was paranoid that everyone was looking at me, I was anxious and had NO self confidence. That little scenario came into play once again last week. I'd reach out and touch a dress or a top here and there, Callie would look hopeful as I had shown some interest, only for me to brush it off and say "let's just look for something for you". Once again I was having a crisis of confidence, hating the way I looked and felt in clothes. I'd decided to send a message to Robbie to say that he should just go without me and enjoy himself with our friend that was staying with us.

Typically I ended up face down in bed until an hour before everyone was leaving for the party. I had been crying most of the day, sleeping for the rest and in my waking moments kicking myself for what I was about to miss out on. Apparently I just love forcing myself into these situations where I have to shovel some food down my throat whilst finding something to wear and slapping on some make-up to hide the dark circles, all in a flash of the time I'd usually take to prepare myself for just going outside! Fortunately I had talked myself into the mindset of "it's a celebration of three people's birthdays. The attention is on them, and everyone else is just looking to have a good time". Yes, I had to meet a lot of people. Yes, it was uncomfortable at times. My clumsy self came out to play as I missed my mouth and poured half a cocktail over my lap. But oh well! I was wearing all black, we were outside in near-darkness and most people were so drunk or pre-occupied that they wouldn't have noticed. I really wish that I didn't have to depend upon having a drink or two to make myself comfortable in those situations. It definitely isn't something that should become a habit of anyone who struggles in social situations. It shouldn't be used as an alternative to getting proper help for these kinds of issues. I don't tend to drink an excessive amount as it's not fun for anyone involved, but on the rare occasions when I'm surrounded by people and feeling quite nervous, a drink can help calm my jitters and allows my shoulders to sink back down to where they are supposed to be.

Surprisingly I actually enjoyed myself, the night went by fairly quickly. The worst part of it was a conversation I had with two girls that are family friends of my fiance. I was waiting with someone at the bar and they were introduced to me. They knew that Robbie and I met at university, they knew we went to Durham. Obviously, as it turned out, they didn't know about me dropping out. I was asked how my final year went and whether I'd received my final mark before or after graduating. A party didn't seem like an appropriate place to say "I didn't finish uni, I fell into a deep depression and almost had myself committed", instead I replied with a cleverly phrased, yet honest answer which was that I left university with a 2:1. I left my second year having achieved that grade from the work I did on my own, the work that I had to attend meetings about to ensure that I could produce some work in an alternative way to everyone else on the course. I taught myself, albeit poorly, to produce social statistics and use some software which I would happily never look at or utter the name of ever again. I didn't graduate with a 2:1, I didn't receive a diploma. However, Durham awarded me with a certificate for the everything I did manage to achieve, something which will eventually take pride of place in my office to remind me of how much I gained whilst I was there and how much it almost cost me. It very nearly cost me my own life, it took away some of my sanity and it took a substantial amount of money. Despite all of that I gained a best friend who will remain my partner in crime even if we don't get to see each other much. I gained some incredible memories, some lovely and loyal friends and of course best of all, I found the person I'm going to spend the rest of my life with.

The Author Of My Life

I usually remain quiet about social movements that pop up in the media as I don't want to push my views down people's throats. Everyone is entitled to their own opinion, and we are fortunate enough to live in a society where we can air out our opinions without the risk of capital punishments. I am so glad that I'm part of a generation that IS the change we've wanted to see for some time. Our actions and our voices can be used for the greater good. I was incredibly happy, albeit quietly so, about the US passing the bill for gay marriage across all of the American states. In my eyes, love is love, and no-one should get in the way of that. As you will know I also believe that illness is illness, in whatever form it comes in it deserves compassion, sensitivity and sympathy.

Over the past few weeks I've noticed the emergence of the 'semi-colon movment'. A social movement surrounding grammar? Not so much. The semicolon ';' is used in a sentence when the writer could have ended something but instead chose to continue; a time to pause but not the end. This is a definition that is poignant to myself and so many others. The semicolon movement is based around this definition and the idea that people mark themselves with the symbol. This permanent or semi-permanent marking shows others that they have either experienced depression, know someone who has/had depression or even as a dedication to those who were killed by this illness. I've seen a variety of coverage on the movement from news articles to comments posted on social media. Some people believe that it's nonsensical, that these tattoos will become this generation's equivalent to the tramp stamp. I can understand how some people would think it's a bit much to permanently mark yourself with a grammatical tool. However, when they've been informed of the strong meaning behind it I wish they'd keep quiet. Others had mistakenly believed that it was simply a hype or fashion trend, only to realise it's true meaning and hop aboard the support wagon. I'd like to believe that even if I hadn't got a tattoo, I wouldn't be so quick to judge someone by their physical appearance, even by the type of body art they choose for themselves. We don't always know what others have been through, or what they may currently be experiencing. We all need to give and receive more kindness in this world.

I don't believe that this movement is just a phase. I certainly hope that those taking part have really understood it's intention and that they haven't gone out and got a tattoo on a whim. PLEASE do not go out and recklessly get a tattoo, think about it seriously, mull it over for a long period of time, if it's something you really want it won't hurt to wait a few more weeks to be 100% sure. Do your research about the tattoo artists around you, or even look at those further afield to make sure you have a good experience with the right artist for you. Ensure that all the equipment is new for each customer and that the environment is sterile. I could do an entire post on my experiences of being tattooed, there is A LOT to cover, so please let me know if you'd like to see a post on that subject.

Some people have been slamming the movement because they saw it pop up a few years back. Why criticise it for re-emerging? I for one am glad it's come up again, it's a sign of progress. It's a sign of understanding the effects and devastation that mental illness can cause. I'm delighted to see Instagram, Pinterest and Facebook being bombarded with photos of people with the semicolon tattoo, either as a standalone symbol or it being incorporated into a more personal design. It's not a fad, it's not about hopping aboard a popular craze. If someone in a bad way notices someone with this tattoo it could help them, albeit in a small way. Just seeing that on the streets, next to you in the uni library, passing you your cup of coffee, it can assure you that you are not alone. Others have been and will be affected by this illness at some point in their lives, either you directly or a loved one could experience depression in your lifetime. It doesn't have to spark a conversation, it would be fantastic if it did, but just seeing it could provide some much needed comfort during a low point. I'm certainly not instructing anyone to go out and get inked. Perhaps donate to a local or national mental health charity, show your support by inking yourself with a Sharpie pen and sharing it on social media and wear it out to see if anyone notices. After much consideration I've decided to get my own permanent sign of support (sorry mum and dad!). For me it's also a reminder that my story could have ended, it very nearly did; I'm still here and I'm not finished yet.

Bad Blood

The world of celebrity can often make us think that we ought to have our own 'squad' of friends. For instance look at Taylor Swift and her gang of leggy lady friends, they all joined forces in her 'Bad Blood' music video. The phrase 'friends in the right places' springs to mind, she capitalised on the idea of featuring famous women from a variety of industries; fashion, music, acting and even sporting as Serena Williams joined her on stage. She combined forces with these women whom she is often papped with to create a music video. This video attracted the attention of her fans, and also would have been of interest to the fans of the other women featured, even if they had no interest in Taylor Swift! As a slightly introverted person, it can be hard to see others living their lives with masses of friends and showcasing their activities on social media. I'm not a particularly jealous person, I know that there may be factors going on that aren't presented in their social media posts. Perhaps life can be fantastic with a big crowd of friends, sharing a holiday home for the summer and racing across the beach. I used to be part of a fairly big group of friends in secondary school. The group changed over the years, people joined the group and others drifted into different groups as they became more popular or developed different interests to the rest of us. I was happy for a time, until I realised how catty some girls can be. I hated witnessing how some girls made it their mission to actively exclude certain members of the group. I hate that I didn't speak up about it sooner. Most of you know what happened when I did speak up. Their catty nature and their gaze turned towards me and made me the target, but it became so much more than what I had witnessed before. It was pure, psychological bullying and harassment.

I was incredibly fortunate to have other friends at school, ones who I actually felt like myself with. I no longer had to act a certain way, ensure that I laughed at a particular person's jokes or agree with their vicious put downs of other people. I finally felt safe and secure. I'm still lucky to be in contact with most of those friends that were such a big support to me during that time. At the time they didn't know how bad it had been for me or how bad things were about to become. I hope that they're aware of how much they mean to me. We may have periods when we don't see each other much or when we've forgotten about that Skype call we intended to have. Life intervenes sometimes. University, jobs, relationships and geographical distance can make it hard to stay in contact. The truest friends will always understand that this is a part of growing up and that we'll all be there for each other whenever a crisis comes calling.

Despite all of that, I often find myself thinking about how few friends I have. I may know a lot of people, I might have a 'decent' number of friends on Facebook. However, I'm not in contact with almost 90% of those people and I can't say that we truly know each other. I can convince myself that I have a handful of really great friends that really understand me, which is fantastic. Unfortunately the demon inside my head will get the better of me and will have me in tears because I feel SO lonely. I can distract my mind to an extent with 'busy-work', but every now and then I will be sobbing hysterically, feeling like I have no-one to stick around for and no-one to hold me up. Have I mentioned how cruel depression is?! I don't understand why I appeal to people, what qualities I have that make someone want me as a friend. I've been told that some of my fiance's school friends read the blog and that they'd want to meet me. For which I want to say that I'm flattered, but I'm scared that perhaps they perceive me in a certain way through what I write. What if I'm a let down in person? Perhaps one day I'll be back here reporting on how a meet up went.

Stopping To Smell The Roses

It can be hard to realise that you've made progress during recovery from a mental illness. I'm definitely the last to acknowledge and admit that I've gained some ground after all of my baby steps. When you are so consumed by depression and anxiety it can be hard to see outside it. Last year was the real start to my recovery, and even the start of acknowledging that I was really unwell. I've lived the majority of my life feeling nervous and shy, I never had much confidence in my abilities at school or when socialising with people. I'd be the last person to join in and would be terrified that the party music would stop on me holding the package in pass the parcel. There seems to come a time when being shy isn't 'cute' or acceptable anymore. Eventually the word 'anxious' gets pinned onto people. In my case this is 100% accurate. During a conversation with anyone, even family members, I need something to fiddle with, usually jewellery. All of my anxiety is projected onto an object, I'll play with my necklace and bring it up to my face to cover my mouth during conversations. I'm not sure if people understand when I say this, but whenever I'm out with my puppy and he's acting a bit loopy, taking all the new scents in with his nose, twirling around on the lead and bouncing around I say "he's exposing my anxiety'. What I mean is that he is showing how I feel externally for everyone to see, it makes me panic even more because I feel so exposed AND I have to attempt to calm him down.

A sign of the progress I've made is that I've realised that I can be comfortable around people after spending time with them in small groups. Even those I used to genuinely believe hated me. I projected negative feelings onto myself, assuming that everyone hated my awkwardness as much as I did. I'm not completely comfortable yet, I still need something to keep my hands busy with. The progress also seems to come crashing down when someone else comes into the group. It suddenly feels like a massive imbalance to me, I don't know how to act around them and I dread the questions they might ask me if they don't know anything about my situation. The worst question for me is "so, what do you do?" cue a hammering heart in my chest, a sweaty brow and upper lip, and crossing and un-crossing my legs frantically. I'm doing pretty well right now, the house is full to the brim with people. I'm OK if I know that I have a space carved out for me when I need to retreat. We're currently in the process of moving house right now (a first for me!) it's pretty chaotic and there are strangers about as they're helping us pack everything up. So far I haven't dived headfirst into my bed because it's become too much for me, yet.

The biggest difference I've noticed this year is that I actually notice things! Last summer I didn't take in my surroundings at all. I remember having a conversation about this with my psychiatrist (when I saw one), he asked me what colour the flowers were at the front of the building. I stared blankly at him and just said "there were flowers outside?", the front of the building was covered in them. Oops. I just had no enthusiasm for life. I wasn't living, I was just existing. Nowadays I'm the first to notice the new blossoms coming out, I see that the tadpoles have become teeny tiny frogs crawling through the grass. I was even happy to go to Hampton Court flower show last week, it was heaving with people and we were fighting against a crowd the entire time. The HUGE tent was boiling hot so I had double the amount of sheen across my face what with the heat and the anxious sweats. Surprisingly I enjoyed myself. I used my camera as a barrier, I almost saw everything through the lens but I did remember to look up and enjoy what was going on around me. I didn't think twice about squatting down and getting right up close to the flowers and cacti (eeee!) to get the shot I wanted. I also discovered that apparently I've come of an age where I squeal over cactus plants and a beautiful piece of wood, just regular wood in an interesting naturally formed shape!

It takes time to see the changes and the progress. This can be disheartening, but I prefer to see it as the opportunity to see everything again with fresh eyes.

Presentation Of Self

I had intended to create a half natural/naked face and a half 'made up' creation for you. However, fate and bad omens intervened and packed me off to A&E in the early hours of this morning with a very painful eye infection. But hopefully you'll soon understand why this is applicable to this week's post. 

Social media and the Internet have allowed us to both restrict how much online friends see of our lives and has allowed us to over-share aspects of our lives with the masses. I've been following various bloggers for years now, their picture perfect posts can often make a full time career of blogging seem idyllic. However, that's not always the reality. In a world of Instagram, Youtube and Facebook we are constantly updating people with what's occurring in our lives, or are we? Our friends and followers don't know how long it took to take that 'perfect' selfie or how many times it took to get the perfect group shot without someone looking bored as hell in it. These posts are snapshots in time depicting what seems to be the time of our lives. Perhaps it was, but the reality is we have no idea what's going on with a person behind all of the layers of social media.

We've become a generation that's obsessed with taking a peak into other people's lives. What we eat, wear, apply to our faces and what we do at the weekends has become important content for our online profiles. We shouldn't be worried about what those Facebook 'friends' (the ones we haven't spoken to in years) think should they decide we're worthy of a good profile stalking session. The truth is that we modify how we present ourselves online. We edit out any existence of awful photos, we ensure we don't publicly share something embarrassing and we probably make it look like we're healthier than we actually are! This is not healthy for the young, impressionable followers and even friends that see our online activity. There ought to be a balance of content posted to prove that we all have that awkward teenager stage in life, that there were times when we were victims of fashion, roll on glitter and blue eyeshadow, and there should be evidence of a healthy lifestyle which includes salads, exercise AND a nice big portion of chips every now and then!

I'm guilty of censoring my online activity and attempting to present the best version of myself online. I'm quite proud of the content I produce for this blog. I spend a great deal of time thinking of the perfect photo to go with a post. What you don't see is that I'm probably wearing pyjama bottoms, the lighting used makes it seem like the photos were taken in the morning when I definitely didn't emerge from bed until 3pm, and you certainly don't see the mini meltdown I have over realising that I have a post scheduled for 8pm and I'm running around the house like a mad woman trying to take photos, edit and upload them. I restrict how much information I share on this blog as well. It might not seem like it as I've discussed some very personal and distressing things that have occurred in my life, but I skim over the truly intimate details that could harm others and most likely send me back over the edge from reliving them. My point is that you shouldn't talk yourself down if you've seen someone looking 'perfect' online. They may seem to have it all sussed, but you never know what's really going on with someone. Be kind to yourself and to others as you never know who's walking around battling the demon inside.

On a more lighthearted note, do you realise that you've never seen my torso or legs featured on this blog?! OK maybe once if you want to go digging for it. The truth is that I'm extremely uncomfortable having full body photos taken of me, I always think the worst of myself when I see them. Plus I'm probably wearing pyjamas, jogging bottoms or literally anything with an elasticated waistband because I'm having an IBS flare up. I face this problem fairly regularly, the scenario of me sitting on the floor surrounded by various sizes of jeans, last week's favourite pair have become my most loathed pair due to a bloated belly. My inner demon will say "you've got fat, it's all gone to your arse and even those 'boyfriend jeans' look like skinny jeans now". This usually sends me straight back to bed to sob for a few hours. No. Not today. Kindly sod off inner demon, they will fit again one day. Now go forth and be that sassy emoticon!