My 24th birthday was recently.
I'm old now.
It's interesting to compare what I wrote on my 22nd birthday to how my life is now. It's certainly better. Mainly due to the medication that I take for my social anxiety disorder. People say that taking meds for mental illness changes your personality. In my experience, it really doesn't. Instead, it enables your personality, or the personality you had before mental illness threw it in a hole and buried it, to come forth. Have I changed? Of course I have. But, if anything, I'm more me than I've been for about 15 years. Meds are complicated, and they're not for everyone, but not a day goes by that I'm not incredibly grateful for their existence.
Living alone has been a challenge. Also, the friends I talked about in the post two years ago have mostly disapparated, except for one. I made some new ones, but having a healthy social life remains a challenge. I don't like alcohol. Or drugs. Or smoking. I don't like parties where you're supposed to get drunk. I don't like music that isn't really music, but that is less melodious than when I repeatedly beat my head against a table. And I especially don't like LOUD music, or LOUD people who keep screaming random things near my ear for no apparent reason. What I look for is a small group of friends who 'get' me. Who won't try to change me. And who I feel I don't have to change for. And I have some of those. Which is great. But I'm still not content. Which is ungrateful. I suppose what I feel is missing are one to two people:
Firstly: Some love! Would be nice. I'm difficult, though. I need someone who can handle me at my most complicated, which is a challenge.
Secondly: Someone who can handle when I talk about my mental illnesses, and, at the same time, someone who isn't a lot worse off than me in that aspect. A lot of people can handle my mental illnesses, but only because theirs are worse. Which I'm game for, I'm a good listener, and I love to help, but as to this person I am specifically looking for: They're not it. I need someone who doesn't freak out at what I say when I'm not even touching the surface of the depth of my mental health issues. And at the same time someone who doesn't laugh at the comparative smallness of my issues, saying: 'That's nothing, I...'
I have some people online who can be that second person, and that's wonderful and helpful, and I don't want to diminish it. But sometimes you need someone to be able to come over. Sometimes a girl needs a real hug.
Living alone, for me, also isn't exactly a real option. If I'm alone for too long, all my energy goes down the drain. Anxiety and depression prey on me. It ain't pretty. So I'm currently considering moving back in with my parents. Which is not ideal. But I'm not sure what else to do. The next couple of semesters will be filled with online university, so I don't really need to live anywhere specific. And it seems strange to just throw a dart at a map and hope it doesn't land anywhere expensive.
I did start online dating this year. I met a couple of guys and had my first official date with a girl. I was so nervous, people. I'm not even sure why. The whole point of my bisexuality is that I don't give a crap over people's gender(s). But I guess, maybe, this hasn't been entirely true lately. I've been attracted to girls more. I am, of course, still bi, but I'm not at the 50/50 anymore, like I used to be. Well. Sexuality is fluid. I'm just gonna have to go with its flow, I s'ppose.
The main thing I'm doing this year is one thing: Study. I have my (finally!) final law exams in either May or June (yes. I wish I knew which one. This is not ideal. The fact that I don't know if I still have one or two months to prepare is freaking me out). Final law exams are ridiculous in Germany. Basically, you have to know everything you learned over five years. Most people take 1 to two years to prepare. I decided to take 6 months. Because I am mildly insane. Which is a good thing, I hear. I'm also doing four psychology exams in September. Which is double the work of a normal, full-time semester. And I'll be having my oral exam for Law in either October or November. I'm studying nine hours almost every day. I used to be lazy when it came to school. I'm not lazy anymore. Just mildly insane. Which is a good thing, I hear. I guess I'm kind of glad that it's this insane amount of work. I don't feel bad or worried about it. I actually kind of like it. I'm one of those strange people who don't really worry about the actual exams too much. Which is not to say that I don't worry. But I mostly worry about being late, not finding the room, not being on the list, and so on. These things cause me intense panic on the day of and the days just before the exam. Once I'm actually seated, with the exam in hand, allowed to begin, I sigh with relief.
This blog post isn't really all that structured, but I don't mind. I think it's good for me to write posts like this one once in a while. To gain a bit of perspective. And it's nice to look back and see how I've changed, and how my life has changed.
Sunday 15 April 2018
Tuesday 3 April 2018
24. Is talking about your mental illness a sad thing?
Hello kind people!
I am back. At least, for now. I'm not making any promises.
I'm almost 24 now and I do feel quite old.
I've grown quite a lot over the past two years I think. I certainly learned a lot. Like, how to be confident. At least a bit. How to be honest and open to people in real life, not just on the internet.
People are still quite scary, but ever since I started taking medication for my social anxiety disorder, I've started talking to them more. The people. Not all of them, of course, just some of them.
And these moments when I reach out to people are probably my favourite moments in my life.
Even if my anxiety often still scolds me afterwards. Who cares. I scold her, too, sometimes. Millie, the anxiety. Millie doesn't go away when I've done the scary thing. Millie says unkind things to me for a long time after I've done the scary thing. But Millie is often quiet, too. Which didn't use to be the case, so I'm grateful for that.
I can't seem to help talking about my mental health. I don't set out to, but I suppose it's a pressing issue that needs to get out. I do feel guilty about it. I don't want people to feel worse because of me. So I try to keep conversations about it to a minimum. The problem is that even that minimum seems to be way too much. And, I mean, I get it. No one wants to talk about sad stuff. Because that's what it feels like to people. They feel sad, and they feel helpless, and of course they don't want to feel that way, because why the hell would they??
But for me talking about it and having people listen is incredibly empowering. I can't even tell you quite why. Perhaps because I like to be taken seriously. Perhaps because sometimes I think I've just imagined my anxiety, or that it's completely normal. Which would mean I would have to deal with it on my own, and there would be no help.
Hearing what Millie is telling me outside of my head, getting someone's perspective, talking through it with someone non-judgemental, all of that is very empowering and beneficial to me. And no, that is not the job of a therapist.
I mean, it is. But you can't just go to a therapist and be cured. That's not how life works. That's like going to a hospital for a broken leg, and they fix it, but you don't get crutches, nobody picks you up and also you have to build your own bed in the forest out of rocks and wet leaves because nobody's there to help.
This might not be the greatest comparison.
But you get what I mean. You need people. You need trusting relationships.
Also there's a lot of terrible therapists in the field. And even ones that are good just don't work for everyone. The notion that if someone has therapy everything is fine and you have no responsibility for their mental health is incredibly naive.
Don't get me wrong. As a friend or family member you are not responsible for someone's mental health. But you do have a responsibility for it. Meaning that if somebody's mental health decreases, it is - of course! - not your fault. But also meaning that if you choose to be someone's friend, you don't get to back out of the bad parts. If your friend tells you they're struggling you don't get to say 'but you have a therapist :) ' and go back to talking about Grey's Anatomy.
But there's another point I am trying to make. Of course when people share their struggles with you it can be tough. Especially if you care about them. You want them to be happy. But to me, people telling me bad stuff happening in their lives does not make me sad. And I guess I know why that is.
I don't feel powerless.
I guess somebody who has never dealt with mental illness suddenly eye to eye with a struggling friend feels like I would if somebody told me:
'We're on a football field. All the players have died in a mysterious fire. You need to score the final goal or we will be eternally doomed.'
This makes more sense if you know that I know less about football than Trump knows about kindness -
well, maybe not quite. No need to be drastic.
What I mean is that when I encounter someone with a mental health related problem, I know most of what to avoid, I know what could possibly help, and I am not afraid of the deep and dark mysterious, because it's not that deeply and darkly mysterious to me.
And - which is why I'm not sad - I know that even if I just listen and do nothing else, the person next to me will still be better off than they were five minutes ago. And that's what's important to me in that situation. So, in a way, these types of situations make me not sad, not scared - but kind of happy.
You don't need a psychology degree to be helpful.
You don't need to have struggled yourself to be helpful.
You don't need to read and analyse ever letter of the ICD-10 or the DSM-5 to be helpful.
You don't need to cure anyone.
You don't need to find any solutions.
You just need to sit and listen.
And that will always be enough.
I am back. At least, for now. I'm not making any promises.
I'm almost 24 now and I do feel quite old.
I've grown quite a lot over the past two years I think. I certainly learned a lot. Like, how to be confident. At least a bit. How to be honest and open to people in real life, not just on the internet.
People are still quite scary, but ever since I started taking medication for my social anxiety disorder, I've started talking to them more. The people. Not all of them, of course, just some of them.
And these moments when I reach out to people are probably my favourite moments in my life.
Even if my anxiety often still scolds me afterwards. Who cares. I scold her, too, sometimes. Millie, the anxiety. Millie doesn't go away when I've done the scary thing. Millie says unkind things to me for a long time after I've done the scary thing. But Millie is often quiet, too. Which didn't use to be the case, so I'm grateful for that.
I can't seem to help talking about my mental health. I don't set out to, but I suppose it's a pressing issue that needs to get out. I do feel guilty about it. I don't want people to feel worse because of me. So I try to keep conversations about it to a minimum. The problem is that even that minimum seems to be way too much. And, I mean, I get it. No one wants to talk about sad stuff. Because that's what it feels like to people. They feel sad, and they feel helpless, and of course they don't want to feel that way, because why the hell would they??
But for me talking about it and having people listen is incredibly empowering. I can't even tell you quite why. Perhaps because I like to be taken seriously. Perhaps because sometimes I think I've just imagined my anxiety, or that it's completely normal. Which would mean I would have to deal with it on my own, and there would be no help.
Hearing what Millie is telling me outside of my head, getting someone's perspective, talking through it with someone non-judgemental, all of that is very empowering and beneficial to me. And no, that is not the job of a therapist.
I mean, it is. But you can't just go to a therapist and be cured. That's not how life works. That's like going to a hospital for a broken leg, and they fix it, but you don't get crutches, nobody picks you up and also you have to build your own bed in the forest out of rocks and wet leaves because nobody's there to help.
This might not be the greatest comparison.
But you get what I mean. You need people. You need trusting relationships.
Also there's a lot of terrible therapists in the field. And even ones that are good just don't work for everyone. The notion that if someone has therapy everything is fine and you have no responsibility for their mental health is incredibly naive.
Don't get me wrong. As a friend or family member you are not responsible for someone's mental health. But you do have a responsibility for it. Meaning that if somebody's mental health decreases, it is - of course! - not your fault. But also meaning that if you choose to be someone's friend, you don't get to back out of the bad parts. If your friend tells you they're struggling you don't get to say 'but you have a therapist :) ' and go back to talking about Grey's Anatomy.
But there's another point I am trying to make. Of course when people share their struggles with you it can be tough. Especially if you care about them. You want them to be happy. But to me, people telling me bad stuff happening in their lives does not make me sad. And I guess I know why that is.
I don't feel powerless.
I guess somebody who has never dealt with mental illness suddenly eye to eye with a struggling friend feels like I would if somebody told me:
'We're on a football field. All the players have died in a mysterious fire. You need to score the final goal or we will be eternally doomed.'
This makes more sense if you know that I know less about football than Trump knows about kindness -
well, maybe not quite. No need to be drastic.
What I mean is that when I encounter someone with a mental health related problem, I know most of what to avoid, I know what could possibly help, and I am not afraid of the deep and dark mysterious, because it's not that deeply and darkly mysterious to me.
And - which is why I'm not sad - I know that even if I just listen and do nothing else, the person next to me will still be better off than they were five minutes ago. And that's what's important to me in that situation. So, in a way, these types of situations make me not sad, not scared - but kind of happy.
You don't need a psychology degree to be helpful.
You don't need to have struggled yourself to be helpful.
You don't need to read and analyse ever letter of the ICD-10 or the DSM-5 to be helpful.
You don't need to cure anyone.
You don't need to find any solutions.
You just need to sit and listen.
And that will always be enough.
Sunday 1 April 2018
23. The real and utter history of Easter traditions entirely unsupported by any sort of fact
What does the rise of Jesus have to do with bunnies pooping eggs? Find out here.
What only a small selection of people have figured out: Jesus's friend Peter? He was a bunny. Because Jesus was not above making friends with small furry mammals, he was just above making friends with poor, dead-eyed fish. Of course Peter wasn't the only one of Jesus's friends that came from the animal kingdom: Wait till I tell you about Judas!
But that's a story for another day.
Anyway. Jesus and his friends had been walking through the desert for many-a-day, because Jesus liked to use the desert as inspiration for his similes. The hot, feverish climate helped him stay focused on them. Well, he and his friends were very much low on nutrients. Some of them started to show signs of illness and hallucination. One saw God, even though Jesus explained very patiently, that it wasn't God at all, there was in fact nothing there, and Jesus would know coz he knows his own dad. The guy still saw God and had a chat with him. He invited him to dinner, but God declined.
That was when Jesus knew that it was time to take action. His idea was to produce fruits or vegetables, something with a lot of water in them. He asked Peter to help him. He looked at Peter and he spoke to God, and it wasn't more than a minute later that Peter excused himself. He hid behind a bush. Another minute later and Peter hopped forwards, embarrassed, flinging a white egg in front of him with his nose.
There were a lot of uuhs and aaahs from the group, but Jesus wasn't very content. Not only did one of his best friends have to excuse himself every few minutes, which made him a poor conversation partner, the thirst for water was still greater than their hunger. So he spoke to God again.
A few minutes later, Peter brought forward another egg. But this time, it was brown.
"Are you sure that's food?", Jesus asked with a frown.
Peter nodded and held the egg up with his paw.
The egg started to melt.
It was liquid chocolate.
This is the story of how Jesus and his friends survived the brutal heat of the desert, thank God.
What only a small selection of people have figured out: Jesus's friend Peter? He was a bunny. Because Jesus was not above making friends with small furry mammals, he was just above making friends with poor, dead-eyed fish. Of course Peter wasn't the only one of Jesus's friends that came from the animal kingdom: Wait till I tell you about Judas!
But that's a story for another day.
Anyway. Jesus and his friends had been walking through the desert for many-a-day, because Jesus liked to use the desert as inspiration for his similes. The hot, feverish climate helped him stay focused on them. Well, he and his friends were very much low on nutrients. Some of them started to show signs of illness and hallucination. One saw God, even though Jesus explained very patiently, that it wasn't God at all, there was in fact nothing there, and Jesus would know coz he knows his own dad. The guy still saw God and had a chat with him. He invited him to dinner, but God declined.
That was when Jesus knew that it was time to take action. His idea was to produce fruits or vegetables, something with a lot of water in them. He asked Peter to help him. He looked at Peter and he spoke to God, and it wasn't more than a minute later that Peter excused himself. He hid behind a bush. Another minute later and Peter hopped forwards, embarrassed, flinging a white egg in front of him with his nose.
There were a lot of uuhs and aaahs from the group, but Jesus wasn't very content. Not only did one of his best friends have to excuse himself every few minutes, which made him a poor conversation partner, the thirst for water was still greater than their hunger. So he spoke to God again.
A few minutes later, Peter brought forward another egg. But this time, it was brown.
"Are you sure that's food?", Jesus asked with a frown.
Peter nodded and held the egg up with his paw.
The egg started to melt.
It was liquid chocolate.
This is the story of how Jesus and his friends survived the brutal heat of the desert, thank God.
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