Sometimes you get a little click in your head. Sometimes it’s followed by more clicks. Sometimes it’s a long succession of little clicks, and they happen so rapidly that you think it’s just one big click and you can’t locate the source. So you ignore it. But tonight, I’m gonna tell you that you must absolutely fucking not ignore it.
Anyway, girls and guys, this post is about what we are absolutely NOT doing in 2019. Or henceforth, or even yesterday, because time is a manmade concept. Read more
I just wanna let you guys know that I fulfilled a big fat dream I’ve had since I was about 14. That’s an almost 10 year old dream that I’ve FINALLY fulfilled.
I saw Poets of the Fall.
Yeah. Anyway, now that I’ve gotten that out of the way, did I tell you I finally saw Poets of the Fall?
Let’s begin. P.S I’m like a giddy little girl who finally saw her favourite band ever. (Yeah, don’t talk about HIM unless you want me to cry).
So world mental health day was the other day, and I’m always a bit iffy when it comes to the ‘narrative’ on mental health. Said narrative nowadays is always surrounding the ‘destigmatisation’ of mental illness, and I don’t agree with it. I’ve spoken about this time and time again, I’m always thinking about it, I wrote my dissertation on it; destigmatising mental illness is a bad thing. I think it’s a horrible, dangerous, erasing thing. Destigmatising mental illness essentially means to make it “normal”, and mental illness is anything BUT normal. The idea is good – make it easier to talk about. But it’s all gone in the wrong direction; making it ‘normal’, making it something that everyone and anyone has, makes it harder for people who are actually suffering to speak up. There is nothing normal about a mental illness, the same way there’s nothing normal about tuberculosis or gangrene.
Social media sites make it even worse. I get that we’re a generation of self depreciating folk. I get it. Teenagers are depressed and this economy makes them want to kill themselves; we’re all anxious and we’re all a mess. But the schizophrenic kid reading all these memes about depression isn’t going to feel comfortable getting help, because even in a world where everyone is mentally ill, they’re still psycho.
I guess I’ve always had this thing about psychotic illnesses being left out of every single narrative on mental health, and therefore the narrative cannot be complete. You can’t just romanticise the mental illnesses that are easier to have and deal with. Don’t fucking romanticise any at all. Anxiety isn’t cute, depression isn’t edgy, bipolar disorder isn’t something you can switch on and off whenever you feel like it. Not in reality, anyway.
So yeah, I once again have a few not-so-little things to say about Mental Health and here they are.
When will someone nominate me for the Worst Blogger award?
The devil really is locked up because I’ve just written a blog post after two months of nothing. Not a single word.
I guess I’m supposed to include an update of my life here, except I’m not going to because when do I ever do that? Also I’m yawning and my eyes hurt and I’m sick. If you want to see me rant, my twitter is available for you to view all the thoughts I could and should have kept to myself. I’m at a weird point in my life, though. Super inspired but super unmotivated. Super happy, but super nonchalant. Super ready to be an adult, but.. yeah. In a weird limbo where the pieces of my puzzle are just hovering above me, waiting for me to give them the go ahead to just drop into place. Not yet tho, I’m not done being a fuck up.
I’m not worried, though. My skin is shit, but I’m not worried. My life isn’t any better on paper at all, but in my head, it’s all rosy. My mental health was suffering last year, and anxiety is now but a distant memory. It’s weird to think that I had a prescription for antidepressants that I, thankfully, didn’t collect. I went to a gig alone. I cut my hair. I give people chances. I now go with my gut instead of overanalysing every little thing. I say yes more. I say no more. I’m a whole other person. And I wanna tell you how I did it, starting with this post.
Welcome to my night time, coffee-fuelled shit talking post. I haven’t done one of these in a while, but if you’re new to my blog, know that these are probably the most honest and raw posts I’ll ever write. That’s why they’re rare. Sometimes it’s in the form of poetry, other times, like now, it’s just word vomit. I don’t edit these. It’s the time where I’m wired but also tired, and when I’m listening to my night time songs.
One weird thing I’ve been called is ‘strong’. Strong because I can let things go, strong because I can stand by my beliefs, strong because I don’t fall for every guy that talks to me. I don’t know. I don’t know if I like being called strong, because there are certain expectations that come with that label. Am I allowed to cry? Am I allowed to fight for a guy who doesn’t give a shit? Am I allowed to have panic attacks? Am I allowed to be too nervous to walk into a crowded place sometimes?
Because I do all of those things too. And sometimes, that label gets in the way.
PSA: My heart belongs to North Wales. This is a long overdue post.
I always say I hate the shithole in which I live, but that I would never leave London unless I was going to Finland/somewhere in Scandinavia. Well, except I ABSOLUTELY WOULD!!!! To North Wales.
The last time we went to south Wales everybody was racist, so bye.
I love Snowdonia. I love Conwy. I love Llandudno. I love the people, the accent, the air. I am not a people person really, but everyone here is so nice!!! I love it!! It makes me wanna be a better person. I love that nobody litters. That actually warmed my cold, dead (joking, it’s warm, bloody, and very much beating) heart. I didn’t see that many bins, but nobody threw anything on the floor (except a couple banana skins on the mountain, hashtag slow release energy). I love that everywhere you go, you can see mountains. I love all the streams and I love that there are sheep literally EVERYWHERE. I’m not a beach person. But I am a mountain person. I am definitely a free-roaming-animals-in-the-street person.
Here’s a long post, read it if you have time. Like 5 minutes, realistically.
Also: If you can figure out what’s written on that notepad, I’ll dedicate a post to you.
What am I doing these days.
First of all, I’m going to try my hardest not to incorporate my infamous self depreciating humour into this post, even though that is my biggest coping mechanism.
These days I’m reading, writing, researching, and listening to a lot of James Bay.
And I’m thinking.
I’m doing a lot of thinking, but I’m also doing a lot of …just … not thinking.
In other words: I’m keeping myself busy.
I try not to write about mental health, even though I should, because almost every blog I visit has posts about ‘dealing with depression’ or ‘dealing with anxiety’ or just ‘mental health’. And it makes me wonder how many of these people really do suffer from these issues, or if they’re just self diagnosed. As someone who has had doctors referring them to therapists and pestering them to take anti-depressants, it’s a bit … I don’t know. Annoying. It’s the reason I don’t enjoy speaking about my own mental health. I’m fine, but I’ll never deny that anxiety is my biggest enemy.