U turn at University


So I have just returned home from my first term of university which involved the typical load the car up till everyone inside is like a tin of sardines, when your friends pretend to be the politest angels that ever graced the earth and of course the last night blow out which consists of you drinking so much even walking down the alcohol aisle again will make you feel hungover.

It would be fair to say even thinking about moving away to London to begin my new life studying history gave me a distinct wave of nausea and sent shivers shooting down my spine; however the overwhelmingly fantastic experience I have had so far has been unimaginable. It has both obviously and inevitably not all been roses and sunshine, there has been tears, tantrums and drama but overall the journey of self development you enter is incredible. After three months of stress, despair and some serious procrastination from essays I managed to receive firsts on all my assignments with the exception of one and my end of term exam!

However university has been about much more than grades for me, and no im not just referring to the heavy drinking and late nights waking up to people you wont recognise in the morning. I have met some of the most beautiful individuals that I have the pleasure of calling my best friends who have changed the world and the way in which I view it completely. They wiped away the tears, and hugged me so tight that all the broken pieces started to fit back together again, for friendship fundamentally underpins our success and our crucial to our development.

It is no secret that I do not really have a family but these group of beautiful people have become like family, we laugh with each other celebrate with one another and even cry on each other but hey that’s what families are for right! before I came to study at uni there was a whole in my heart and honestly I thought I was irreparable, but spending just three months with this crazy lot and I could not be more happy or successful. In my previous blog I refer to individuals who allow you eudomonia which Aristotle correlates to human flourishing – essentially being the best person you can possibly be, Alina, Rossni, Kit, Omar x 3 (a lot of Omars I know!!) Semone, Gavin, Sach, Nick and Theo, Hary sj, Harry M, Coco, Keiran and lewis have all contributed to creating this environment and words will never be able to convey my gratitude too them.

Firstly let me tell you all about the most beautiful, caring and compassionate women in the world, her name is Alina she always considers others before herself and will do anything to make everyone happy. She carries around huge backpacks like Mary Poppins with everything you could ever need from tissues, water and of course a uni essential lighters. Rossni …. remindes me of the song ‘im trying to find the words to describe this girl without being disrespectful’ if you don’t know were she is look in Ians room or you wont necessarily even have to look because you will hear her. I guess your not best friends with someone until you have heard them getting down, that sound is forever etched into my recurring nightmares so thanks for that Rossni. I chose to tell you a little more about these too because before uni I was never really a girls girl, in fact girls and friendships are just two things that did not go together in my mind, but safe to say these two are my type of girls (cliche I know but I would do anything for them make them coffee at silly a clock in the morning, help them out with essays and boy troubles, hide bodies for them. You know the usual best friend activities).

Semone and Kit are the type to be best big brothers who you can always confide your troubles in, fair to say that both of these have eased the pain of living with Bi-polar considerably by showing relentless and habitual kindness and even just seeing them is enough to place a genuine and sincere smile on my face despite if it has been a porcelain day. Lastly Omar, who somehow always knows what to say and always has an ear with some profound advice, he hosts an open door policy and is the type of guy who has wisdom way beyond his youth – he continues to give me sound subjects and advice to contemplate and for that I thank him more than he will ever know.

I am conveying all this what must seem random spiel to you all, because I finally understand one of the greatest philosophers Friedrich Nieztchures concepts. He once stated ” And those that were seen dancing were thought to be insane by those who can not hear the music”. Not all of these people I have mentioned can hear the music or have ever heard the music however continue to show great empathy to others situations, and im sure they have all heard my music, some like Alina, Kit, Rossni and Omar even upon occasion dance with me which is one of the most delightful experinces.

For once the life of a Bi – polar is relatively settled and dare I say it even a little normal. I had the picture of university being sex, drugs and alcohol in reality its more of a did you see with motherfucker stole my milk again. I will always be a little over sensitive and obviously have bipolar melt downs, but now I would rather go for a walk with one of these beauts that take a razor to my wrists. If there are any of you out there who needs a sign that it does get better please let it be this. hospitalized last year after consuming three bottles of pills and washing it down with a bottle of jagger if you told me I would have gotten into university, be preforming academically well and have the friends I have I would have doubted you but I guess these people are proof that miracles really do happen.

F. Scott Fitzgerald once said “I hope you live a life your proud of, if you find that you are not, I hope you have the strength to start all over again”.

50 shades of fucked up

There are nights I cry so hard that my body aches and I shake uncontrollably having to smother my face into an aligning pillow so no one hears me. There are also nights when I’m ecstatically happy and i think that everything happens for a reason. And there are also nights where I feel nothing at all. but there is never a night when you don’t cross my mind.

lost and alone seeking reassurance

the unknown is categorically terrifying, it evokes my deepest and most sincere fears, you can not plan for it and you defiantly can not escape from it (it turns out no matter with how much persistance you pursue this with). I am currently sat in my new university room, shaking and sweating out paranoia. I’m entirly isolated within the prison of my own mind, consistently and forcefully telling me im going to fail before I have even begun.

For him …

youth and nativity both contributed to allure me to him, he was dark, secretive and older (turn on for any teenage girl). He was a broken and lost man, and there is nothing more intoxicatingly attractive in the world. I yearned to fix him, to complete him; yet the sobering reality is his coldness absorbed me, I became consumed by his damming darkness and acquired an obscene obsession to releasing his pain.

He was never loving or compassionate and the concept of empathy, was one of which completely surpassed him. The mask remained firmly positioned throughout our whole charade of a relationship. Emotions always had to be suppressed, it was always just sex. Although always pleasurable and giving, consistently cold; I would trace the scars that littered his forearm like forbidden secrets, as his kisses burnt my lips like cigarettes, I still embrace and relish these moments with a sickening sense of nostalgia.

As I cut myself on the shards of his broken disposition, the overwhelming desperation to evoke feeling relinquished and all that remained were two numb people, desperately searching and seeking to feel something real. The day he left I fell, yet I didn’t hit the ground for the brutal truth is, I have been falling ever since, to this day I still yearn for his painful embrace, to be reunited with his beautifully damaged soul.

the secrets of a Bipolar

Fear is one of the most horrific, powerful emotions ever invested within a human being. It strips us of the limitations we place upon ourselves, because everything we want is out of our comfort zones, and sometimes we need that fear to push us.

Without the fear of failing, I wouldn’t of got were I am today, fear is positive in this regard, however panic is were it all disintegrates and unravels. Am I scared about moving the entire life I have created over the past 18 years to a different city, and starting university? absolutely (I mean the thought of having to do my own washing strikes fear into me like nothing else), but this is me embracing that fear.

They say the best way to deal with fear, is to put a face on it and confront it. So that’s what I am attempting to do through this blog; you see I am not the typical student, I’m not scared of the social hierarchy (or who’s the best person to hang out with). Because the truth remains that even after all these years and getting here, there’s still a minute section of me which is terrified of failing and letting those around me down. But I think in reality if we are all being honest that section lives deep down within all of us, revealing our deepest seated insecurities (even those who appear super confident have them), no one wants to admit or be told that they are not good enough.

I am aware and have a competent understanding that in reality, I am probably not going to impact this world I walk on in a huge or overly significant way (there goes my seven year old dream of becoming prime minster). There are just over seven billion people that walk this world alongside me, but I do still believe what we do is important. After all we impact each others life significantly with friends or lovers, and no one can deny how special that is. For example A made a huge significant impact on my life, and restored the chance of me having a future, he made me laugh when I didn’t even want to smile and trust me on this; everything that we do is still important. Okay so yeah, you know what we probably aren’t going to be the next ghandi or Nelson Mandela and restore or initiate civil and world peace but that doesn’t make us any less important on this planet. Our lives are what we make of it, and im going to ensure that I am the hero of my own story, the lead actor so to say.

“If we were rain, she would be a hurricane and I would be drizzle” admittedly I am certainly not a preacher of fate, but there are ways things seem to fall together in life, through the people we meet, things we do. But for me it is the people we meet that really change our fate, in a sad way A will always be the hero of my story, because when he first found me I was just a damp squandering drizzle, yet he gave me the strength to turn into a hurricane. The ironic thing about this metaphor is hurricanes are strong, a force of nature and sometimes even dangerous. It’s not to say that A made me perfect (I don’t think I would have wanted him to do that) I still make mistakes and get things wrong but as life goes on I am gradually beginning to realize that that’s okay, cliche as it sounds it is how we learn (I mean after my 18th I will never mix tequila and whiskey together).

Another metaphor M gave to me was that some people are like supernovas (if you dont know what one of these are google it), they shine brightly and intensely light up the whole sky, yet there hermatia is that hey die rapidly, because of being so bright they burn themselves out. This metaphor, extended as it is I know translates beautiful to suicide, I think in August I had just burnt myself out from trying to shine so brightly. But, I do believe that some supernovas continue on for a long time shining just as bright, take M for example; he has had his fair share of life experience but he still burns bright, not in some aspects of his life but within himself and with his compassion and understanding.

Relentless recovery

Its liberating, exciting and somewhat thrilling (well what can I say, I am a self confessed geek). Instead of letting anxiety plague and invade my world, I’m allowing positivity to prosper at the prospect of moving to university in 11 days! We have all heard the saying (I live for cliches, I know) about new chapters and new beginnings, but I can honestly say with sincerity, that I truly do believe there is something in that.

For me university is a place to start over. (Not that there aren’t aspects of my life I like), its not about getting a group of new friends, or being academically challenged, its more egocentric than that (I guess that makes me pretty vein); its about applying my new found self confidence, and optimism. Although as you can tell from this blog I don’t mind sharing my story, It will be a enriching experience to go somewhere were people know nothing about me, and I don’t become that girl with bipolar,or the one who tried to kill herself, but i’m just me.

An update (in case any of you are interested) in the university preparation world. Firstly there’s actually a lot of shit to do, in fact between the nervous breakdowns whilst waiting for my results to eventually be published, to completing the summer reading, which is a pile of books which amounts to the size of Evarist (okay so maybe that was a slight exaggeration, but you get my point, there is a lot!). But im enjoying reading the academic publications of historians, I think its important to set yourself goals, not just the realistic boring ones (like get through university without dying or ending up in a mental asylum) but one day, I would love to be the one publishing books of historical significant, this I feel is more realistic than my seven year old goal; which resulted in me planning to become the next female prime minster (I have always been ambitious as you can tell).

Its kind of a funny story…

you know that really funny thing that happens, (no, I don’t mean that video on Facebook) im referring to  that time you were accidentally admitted into a psychiatric unit; (not what you were thinking huh, me either). The hysterical laughter of which plagued the corridors, will taunt me until my very last breath, and that’s without the traumatized shrieking and repetitive rocking.

Okay so I can see how trying to take your own life can be perceived as, well maybe a little crazy and hey, even slightly disillusion. Not that anyone will ever believe me but I wasn’t insane for my actions that night (I promise) I was just growing a little tired of life’s bullshit (but I guess we have all been there).

I understand (sort of) that I had to remain with the doctors in white coats, especially after being asked if I regretted my actions, and well me being me, spontaneously but alas truthfully coming out with, “only that I diddnt go with the rope”. But believe me when I say (yes thats right trust the crazy person) I did NOT belong in that place, and I remain certain a year later; that my stay in the secured unit, caused me sever psychological damage (I came out in a worse state then when I had gone in).

one of my viewers suggested being more positive, so looking at the plus side, I did have several very attractive (I’m talking solid 9’s) doctors of which I wouldn’t have minded examining me!

It was only when I was hospitalized, that I realized, I was actually ill, despite taking a cocktail of pills washed down by a bottle of yagar (now you understand the dread of waking up, not only the reality of my actions to face up to but also the killer hangover). I never really believed I was ill. You see my disorder had been lying dormant for years, but it was only once I received a diagnosis I began to accept that there was something wrong with me.

I still don’t think I will ever come to a full acceptance (im stubborn like that) but with a few beautiful people I’m slowly getting there. There are two people in my life who got me through some really dark abysses, who made me see I can do things, (turns out I just needed a bit of hand holding, reassurance and self belief). I will refer to them as M and A.

A gave me hope, he built me back up and returned my wavering self confidence, (every time I would tear it down, he would build it back up again and again) he was also one of the first people to ensure he was always there, no matter what the situation (or how stupid) I was being. Although I think me and M see the world through very different perspectives, I can honestly say (although I don’t think he’d believe me) that im not sure I would be here writing this blog without either of them and for that I am eternally grateful.

living with a mental illness, or in fact life as a more generalized concept is difficult but I really do believe we mend each other, cliche as this sounds (I know) people fixed my broken pieces and put me back together (bit by bit, it took a long time!). I feel very lucky and privileged to have both M and B in my life.

having a mental illness is hard, but talking about it shouldn’t be! the only way to get rid of a social stigma is to refuse to conform. I’m not proud of having Bipolar, but im proud of how I deal with the curve balls it throws in my life, and I never have been nor ever will be ashamed of it.

The truth about self harm and suicide – the reasons why

When certain types of scorpions are placed into a fire, they sting themselves to death.

I think there is a lot that can be said for that (not just that I need to get out more), you see this is an extended metaphor for the practices of human behavior. In situations were people, who consistently suffer from mental illness feel trapped we either, attempt to, or succeed in ending our lives before the pain can intensify any more. Recently I have been feeling increasingly like the scorpion (without the tail, of course). I feel this is an obviously simplified to the complex question of why?

I hate it when people ask me why I tried to end my life (what do they expect me to say, for fun?) how do you attempt to explain to someone, that dull and chilling ache, or that dissapointed feeling in the morning because you woke up, and had to rise to another day.

People say its just in your head snap out of it, what they fail to associate with these types of disorders is the physical symptoms which accompany them. That’s the weight penetrating through your chest, the sweating hands and episodes of hyperventilation where you just cant breathe. How do people expect us to talk about it when it’s sitting on our lungs, forcing us into silence. Until you have been in a situation similar to this, you will find it hard to understand, but in truth its the only way I see out. Straight and fast. I got into the university of my dreams, to study a subject which I am so passionate about (I know geek is no longer sheek, I did say I needed to get out more), have a good family, amazing and supportive friends, but this haze is still submerging me.

I hate unanswered questions, I think that’s why I like history so much, because its not just what and how a situation or event occurred, its all about building a sustainable foundation as to why. After five years of tearing my flesh apart and cutting I still don’t know why I do it, (despite some people finding that hard to believe). The truth about self harm is that its a coping mechanism which often prevents suicides. the sick truth is cutting up makes me feel alive, in control and fearless; and there is no rush out there like it, pain seems to unfortunately, be the drug of my choice.

But the truth is, the romanticism that surrounds self harm and suicide both sickens and disgusts me (life is not like Romeo and Juliet); It takes away from the issues as real, medical illnesses that people have to hide and live with for the rest of their lives. Glorification of self harm by posting pictures on social media, suggests to me a generation of lost souls and screwed up kids (but hey, what do I know anyway). I just know that for me, that razor is my oldest enemy, and at times my only friend.

Think about this for a minute (ehhh brain work, I know) you never, or to be more accurate I should state upon only rare occasions, see older people walking around covered in scars. Is that because people did not indulge or give into weakness and tempation, or because they just never made it that far?

To live, or not to live

so today I realized how scared I am, not to die but to live, which is a strange concept to grasp I know.

After three weeks of not cutting, today I relapsed and I cant even begin to explain my head right now, although I feel messy would be a appropriate start; there is just a blur of incoherent thoughts which remain both prominent and loud.

When I usually get like this I trust one person enough to talk to, but what do you do when you reach out but there is nobody there? that’s the one thing I hate and that really gets me. Don’t say you will always be there and I’m not alone, because its 12.25 am and I’m the one sat in the dark trying to suppress the urge to carve deeper, to finally end to this pointless and meaningless exsistance. And your not here! So what, you rip someone open, make them feel vulnerable, bare and raw, you tear down the layers of armor for nothing; or hey, maybe it just gives you kicks. Its the fucking lack off humanity I hate.

When you have lost faith in humanity is when you know the inevitable end is nigh…

But these are all just meaningless words and I guess the lexical choice of meaningless concludes everything nicely within this context. My exsistance is meaningless in fact all of ours is, we will have no lasting impact on anybody’s life. People say they want the truth, well here is the brutally harsh and honest truth, when you die people will come to your funeral maybe even feel sad for a little while, but then you will fade, people will forget the details of your memory’s. Photographs will no longer have the same meanings concealed in them anymore, and life will continue as though you were never even here.

In one of my recent blogs I wrote about how it feels good to be lost in the right direction, well now here is the most sincere thing,I think I will ever write: it feels tragically and horrifically traumatizing and damming to be lost in the wrong direction, to lose the foundations of who you really are.

Truth – mental health

On my last blog I spoke a little about the truth, well sometimes the truth can be difficult, it can be hard to take ( we have all had one experience, I mean come on my outfit wasn’t really that bad was it?), and sometimes just to painful to admit. The truth is for what I perceive myself as a relatively honest and open person and yet there are sections of my life of which I am ashamed to say that I have been neither honest or open about, I mean come on we’v all done the whole conceal don’t feel thing. The truth is even thinking about writing this blog has left me a quivering mess, despite completing two A levels in English, the reason being this is a subject and topic people receive in a variety of different ways! basically I’m a suicidal head case ( please dont run away!)

It is fair to say that those who know me would call me a perfectionist … yes I’m sorry I am one of those! who obsesses about every minuscule detail, bitches when despite getting the A* they dropped one mark and has what can only be describes as an weird need for structure and stability in their life. well what I categorized as personality traits or, at worst a very ‘individual’ and ‘unique’ character actually developed into something much more sinister last year.

Any one else who strives and pushes themselves to reach there aspirations will understand this through experience, something of which I have only recently discovered …. there’s pushing yourself then there is destroying yourself, turns out I am unable to at times differentiate. My goal was simple enough, to be perfect academically, faultless.

Well this is what led me to a fun filled hospital bed on the night of August 16th 2014 after taking an overdose on a concoction of pills ( I must say even my doctor was finding it hard to hide his impressed face). If you have never been in that dark abyss then I guess your probably thinking what pushes someone to that stage of crazy? on AS results day I wasn’t perfect, although my results were by no means bad (ABB) they were evidently not what I wanted ( cue the end of the word)…. they were not perfect or three A’s, I had failed. The real bitter truth of the matter is that mental health is important, if you broke your ankle would you then try and run a marathon? if you just answered yes to this your an idiot, firstly for answering a rhetorical questions and I think you can guess the second.

The lexical choice of ‘marathon’ is perfect for only what I can describe the mammoth journey I undertook this year. I got the A2  grades I wanted (AABB).  I would be telling a lie if I said that I wasn’t a little dissapointed on results day,but i got into my first choice university and am off to study history, plus we all need those annoying geeks which we not so secretly hate on results day!

I wont patronize people who are going through what I was by saying ‘it gets better’, just like I don’t think I am cured, there are bad days where it gets dismal and I go back to being a definite head case (and cue the bottle of wine … or the liter of vodka) I wish I had succeeded, the difference being there are also good days, really good days where your stomach is hurting so much from laughing that you almost forget you were ever empty. So firstly I want to list what I have learnt from the experience if that’s what you would call it.

1. it is only recently I am beginning to realize perfection is impossible, because it is peoples imperfections which in fact and somewhat ironically make them perfect, its what makes them human.

2. you HAVE to let people in!!! even when your an emotional mess feeling vulnerable and insecure because people mend each other. Without the help of a very kind history teacher and amazing deputy head of year who never gave up but most importantly was always there I don’t think I would have got through. Also someone whose life experiences although different from my own, defiantly change my perceptions of the world around me.

3. communicate and that does not mean you have to go and see a quack or a head doctor, but when you say it out load and you put a face on your fears it makes it much easier to face.

The last and final section of this blog is perhaps one of the most fundamentally important where I get a little but … yes thats right … serious. The truth is people are cruel and ignorant towards what they don’t understand, and there is still, even within today’s society still a huge stigma attached to mental health. If you know someone who is going through depression, bipolar or self-harm (these are the only things through personal experience I know enough to talk about) then my top advice is just be there for them because that’s all you can do; sometimes all we need is a bit of hand holding and reassurance and someone to tell us that we’r doing okay. You can not make them better only the individual themselves can do that, its important to recognize this. Secondly don’t blame them for there mental illness, because it is just that an illness. You wouldn’t blame someone with a physical illness would you? its a chemical imbalance in the brain and can often be frustrating for the person suffering who is loosing part of their identity, what most people don’t realize is things like depression strip you of everything your energy, morals believes.

They also don’t realize it can strike anybody at any time, a few years ago I read an article in a magazine about a young girl who was cutting herself with razor blades, at the time I was disgusted and horrified, and I just could not fathom how somebody could do that to there own body, until two years later, it was me with the bloody razor, shaking and crying in the bathroom. Because that’s what the reality of mental illness is, it destroys the person you once were, I hated myself so much I truly believed that suicide was the only way out, and that left me literally tearing my own skin and flesh open trying to get away from myself.

So just think before you speak, mental illness is not funny. Its not a joke. It takes lives, there were others who were not lucky like me and did not get to be saved or weren’t presented with a second chance. So think before you speak; people you meet everyday are fighting battles you know nothing about.