Trigger Warnings: mental illness, phobia
This post will revolve around the coping mechanisms I use.
The hardest thing to deal with right now is my social anxiety, because how do you explain to people that, even though you need social interaction, being around people scares the will to live out of you? How do you explain the fear to people who have never felt bone chilling terror? I've tried for years to explain myself to people around me, down playing my fears so I wouldn't seem silly or clingy or like a whining brat. My frustration grew exponentially with each attempt and finally, I just gave up, thinking that I was too wrong, too broken, to understand.
Then I figured that instead of seeking the help and understanding from people who have no way of knowing what goes on in my mind, I would try to find ways to cope with the emotions and insecurities on my own. It was an exceptionally bad idea. Failing to explain my fears to others was nothing compared to failing to cope on my own, again and again and again. Nothing I can remember hurt as badly as failing myself over and over.
So, I set out to find a middle way, and I found writing and photography. I can explain my insecurities through the written word and I can show people how I see the world through my photos. Because the world is a beautiful place, filled with life and dreams and emotions, all beyond the single observation of one solo human.
Then I tumbled upon the Coping Box, which I find to be a brilliant thing. Something you create for yourself in order to stay grounded when the tidal wave of frustration, fear, feelings, and self-doubt is threatening to drown you.
My coping box holds
- My raccoon plushie I got when I was 6 months old
- The blanket Jackson's grandmother made for me
- A CD of classical music
- A packet of frankincense incense sticks
- Photos of things I like
Mostly I just snuggle up with the blanket and the plushie when the world just gets to be too much to handle.
When I am at the work rehab place, I have compiled a list of music I find relaxing and I'm blasting music into my head. That way I can live in my little bubble, pretending I am alone until I am ready to talk to other people.
Because I am still so afraid, so conscious of others' judgement, that I can barely function in large groups. My depression is threatening to overwhelm me on a regular basis, and it's only through strength of will that I get out of bed and to this work place, fully aware that my hands will shake uncontrollably, my chest will feel tight, and the back of my neck is freezing cold. Every day, when I get home, I celebrate being strong enough to get through the hours I spend in work rehab. Because celebrating your own victories is the best coping mechanism of them all.
All that matters is yourself, so celebrate every victory, no matter how insignificant it might seem.
onsdag 28 augusti 2013
tisdag 27 augusti 2013
TW: Mixing a meltdown
Trigger warnings apply for: Mental illness
I don't know how many of you follow me on a regular basis, but I'm sending out this warning anyway. The coming posts will not be happy. They might contain loads of triggering issues and subjects. Since I seem to have been gaining followers, I wanted to share my experiences with others, and right now, my life pretty much revolves around getting a handle on social phobia and stress induced depression.
If you or anyone you know need someone to talk to, The Trevor Project has a long list of emergency numbers you can call for free. Please, don't hide, and don't fight alone. There are people who want to help you.
OK, here we go.
When I get stressed out, I hear Kermit the Frog performing Benny Hill in my head. I have mentioned this before, I'm sure. The real problems start when Kermit does a face plant and won't get up. That's when my mind is going into overload and the meltdown starts.
Friday two weeks ago I had my first panic attack in five years. Going out for dinner with my mom, my sister, sister's girlfriend, and Boy, I thought I was safe. I thought I could handle it. I have been doing better, slowly but surely, over the last 3 months, and I thought I was going to be fine. Sitting there at the table, my body had a different take on it. I felt feverish and broke out in a cold sweat. I couldn't breathe and eventually I fled. Boy caught up with me outside the mall and as soon as his arms were around my shoulders, I broke down, sobbing uncontrollably. I have no idea how long we stood there. All I knew was the monsoon of emotions and impressions assaulting my mind, the sounds drilling into my ears and the scent of Boy's soap and the fabric softener we use.
My second panic attack was last Tuesday. I have no idea what triggered it that time. I suddenly just felt so scared, like a cornered animal. I wanted to lash out, to hurt someone, to scream and fight. I am so fortunate that my boss at the new work rehab place is so understanding and open minded. She showed Boy and me a room where I could calm down. Again, I don't know how long it took. All I remember is Boy's scent, then moving from one room to the other. Then we were letting a fly out and I had mascara streaks running down my face.
This past weekend, I was in Stockholm with my sister, sister's girlfriend and sister's friend. I had a wonderful time, and they didn't object even once when I pointed out that I needed space or wanted to do something. Again, I thought I was fine, but it seems that having two panic attacks, then spending three days in large crowds, away from home, away from the security of my own lair, has taken its toll. I jump at every sound. I am easily distracted and I can't seem to focus. I am restless and fidgety and Kermit is fighting to get up from the ground. I just want to go to bed and sleep and sleep and sleep.
I have my Coping Box and my little tricks. Letting go of the guilt is the hardest part, because how can I be of help if I can't even take care of myself? My hope is that this time, I won't fall as far and land as hard as I did last time, but right now, my mind is just a storm and I want my calm mountain lake back.
I don't know how many of you follow me on a regular basis, but I'm sending out this warning anyway. The coming posts will not be happy. They might contain loads of triggering issues and subjects. Since I seem to have been gaining followers, I wanted to share my experiences with others, and right now, my life pretty much revolves around getting a handle on social phobia and stress induced depression.
If you or anyone you know need someone to talk to, The Trevor Project has a long list of emergency numbers you can call for free. Please, don't hide, and don't fight alone. There are people who want to help you.
OK, here we go.
When I get stressed out, I hear Kermit the Frog performing Benny Hill in my head. I have mentioned this before, I'm sure. The real problems start when Kermit does a face plant and won't get up. That's when my mind is going into overload and the meltdown starts.
Friday two weeks ago I had my first panic attack in five years. Going out for dinner with my mom, my sister, sister's girlfriend, and Boy, I thought I was safe. I thought I could handle it. I have been doing better, slowly but surely, over the last 3 months, and I thought I was going to be fine. Sitting there at the table, my body had a different take on it. I felt feverish and broke out in a cold sweat. I couldn't breathe and eventually I fled. Boy caught up with me outside the mall and as soon as his arms were around my shoulders, I broke down, sobbing uncontrollably. I have no idea how long we stood there. All I knew was the monsoon of emotions and impressions assaulting my mind, the sounds drilling into my ears and the scent of Boy's soap and the fabric softener we use.
My second panic attack was last Tuesday. I have no idea what triggered it that time. I suddenly just felt so scared, like a cornered animal. I wanted to lash out, to hurt someone, to scream and fight. I am so fortunate that my boss at the new work rehab place is so understanding and open minded. She showed Boy and me a room where I could calm down. Again, I don't know how long it took. All I remember is Boy's scent, then moving from one room to the other. Then we were letting a fly out and I had mascara streaks running down my face.
This past weekend, I was in Stockholm with my sister, sister's girlfriend and sister's friend. I had a wonderful time, and they didn't object even once when I pointed out that I needed space or wanted to do something. Again, I thought I was fine, but it seems that having two panic attacks, then spending three days in large crowds, away from home, away from the security of my own lair, has taken its toll. I jump at every sound. I am easily distracted and I can't seem to focus. I am restless and fidgety and Kermit is fighting to get up from the ground. I just want to go to bed and sleep and sleep and sleep.
I have my Coping Box and my little tricks. Letting go of the guilt is the hardest part, because how can I be of help if I can't even take care of myself? My hope is that this time, I won't fall as far and land as hard as I did last time, but right now, my mind is just a storm and I want my calm mountain lake back.
måndag 26 augusti 2013
Zero, the rednosed reindeer*
During the school year of 2003/04, I was living in Las Vegas, Nevada. To say that it was a life-altering experience would be too mild, and I will come back to experienced I gained during those nine months more than once during my posting to this blog, rest assured.
I met one of my best friends during this year and we came up with loads of more or less sane things to do (The IMs, introducing HIM to elementary schoolers, LOTR stick figures etc).
One of the times that really stuck with me was when Jackson was trying to teach me the song "Rudolph, the rednosed reindeer". Growing up in Sweden, I had only ever learned the Swedish version of the song, so it was fun to learn the English lyrics for it as well.
Except, it didn't really turn out to be an open-and-shut lesson at all.We were walking down the street to where Jackson lived at the time and Jackson was trying to teach me the words for the song. Jackson got to the third verse just as we passed a brightly lit yard with metal wire reindeer in the yard.
Just as Jackson sang the bit that goes
Then one foggy Christmas Eve
I met one of my best friends during this year and we came up with loads of more or less sane things to do (The IMs, introducing HIM to elementary schoolers, LOTR stick figures etc).
One of the times that really stuck with me was when Jackson was trying to teach me the song "Rudolph, the rednosed reindeer". Growing up in Sweden, I had only ever learned the Swedish version of the song, so it was fun to learn the English lyrics for it as well.
Except, it didn't really turn out to be an open-and-shut lesson at all.We were walking down the street to where Jackson lived at the time and Jackson was trying to teach me the words for the song. Jackson got to the third verse just as we passed a brightly lit yard with metal wire reindeer in the yard.
Just as Jackson sang the bit that goes
Then one foggy Christmas Eve
Santa came to say:
the reindeer decided to move its head. Since Jackson wasn't prepared for the sudden movement, they let out a "Fuck, it moved" which made the song take on a completely different tone from what I assume was the intended one.
I still claim that Jackson's version of the famous Christmas carol is an improvement, but I guess the original is more appropriate for school/holiday dinners/the likes.
*The title is named thus, because the LED reindeer always remind me of Zero from Nightmare Before Christmas
fredag 23 augusti 2013
Coffee
Until a few years ago, I hated coffee. I just didn't enjoy the taste, even though I have always loved the scent of freshly brewed coffee. I started to enjoy tea when I got back from Las Vegas in 2004, but I didn't drink anything caffeinated on a regular basis for years.
I met Boy in 2006 and towards the end of that same year, he introduced me to Irish Coffee. Now, alcoholic beverages is not something I recommend drinking, like ever (mainly because I don't like the taste of alcohol, and because of the problems inherent in any form of mind altering drugs), but the combination of coffee, cream, brown sugar, and the smooth taste of whiskey did something to my taste buds. I tried drinking just coffee the following week and found that I enjoyed it.
It took another two years before I learned to drink coffee without sugar, and I can still indulge in that excess from time to time. Usually, I find it too sweet, though. Like too many mocha candies.
I have learned to not become a harpy if I don't get coffee in the morning, but I still get headaches if I don't get any form of caffeine while waking up. My focus is severely impaired and I'm more easily distracted than normal if there isn't enough caffeine in my system. The harpy is sedated mostly by the combination of SSRI and caffeine. She was a lot worse before I started getting the booster shots of serotonin, even though she never was that bad.
That first cup of coffee in the day is still my favorite. Add some nice bread to make a yummy sandwich and my day is off to a great start. To find that one thing that instantly makes the day better seems like a great idea. I know I got mine. What's yours?
I met Boy in 2006 and towards the end of that same year, he introduced me to Irish Coffee. Now, alcoholic beverages is not something I recommend drinking, like ever (mainly because I don't like the taste of alcohol, and because of the problems inherent in any form of mind altering drugs), but the combination of coffee, cream, brown sugar, and the smooth taste of whiskey did something to my taste buds. I tried drinking just coffee the following week and found that I enjoyed it.
It took another two years before I learned to drink coffee without sugar, and I can still indulge in that excess from time to time. Usually, I find it too sweet, though. Like too many mocha candies.
I have learned to not become a harpy if I don't get coffee in the morning, but I still get headaches if I don't get any form of caffeine while waking up. My focus is severely impaired and I'm more easily distracted than normal if there isn't enough caffeine in my system. The harpy is sedated mostly by the combination of SSRI and caffeine. She was a lot worse before I started getting the booster shots of serotonin, even though she never was that bad.
That first cup of coffee in the day is still my favorite. Add some nice bread to make a yummy sandwich and my day is off to a great start. To find that one thing that instantly makes the day better seems like a great idea. I know I got mine. What's yours?
måndag 19 augusti 2013
Being a Woman
I was born a woman in the early winter of 1985.
When I was born, 31 days earlier than planned, I had no idea about the difference between men and women. I had no idea that there were distinctions between people, or even that there were other people outside my little world.
Years later, I learned that I am a girl.
I learned that I was supposed to wear pink and frills and skirts.
I learned that girls are quiet and kind and generous.
I learned that girls don't ask questions, girls are not curious.
I learned that there's such a thing as too much imagination.
I learned that girls don't climb trees or play among rocks or ride bikes dressed in panties and a too-long t-shirt.
But, you know what?
Not even once did people ask me what I thought about being a girl. Their definition was supposed to be enough.
It isn't. My definition of being a woman like me is my own. My definition of me is my own, and all that applies to me.
I am strong.
I am independent.
I am shy and introverted.
I get anxious among other people and I am a social person.
I was born a girl and I identify as female.
I can be rough and be a woman.
I can be feminine and be a woman.
I can be wild and fearless, kind and giving, and be a woman.
I can curse and rant and throw a tantrum, and I am still a woman.
I am smart. Being me is enough for me.
I am beautiful. I am willful. I am curious.
I am a woman. My definition of being a woman.
When I was born, 31 days earlier than planned, I had no idea about the difference between men and women. I had no idea that there were distinctions between people, or even that there were other people outside my little world.
Years later, I learned that I am a girl.
I learned that I was supposed to wear pink and frills and skirts.
I learned that girls are quiet and kind and generous.
I learned that girls don't ask questions, girls are not curious.
I learned that there's such a thing as too much imagination.
I learned that girls don't climb trees or play among rocks or ride bikes dressed in panties and a too-long t-shirt.
But, you know what?
Not even once did people ask me what I thought about being a girl. Their definition was supposed to be enough.
It isn't. My definition of being a woman like me is my own. My definition of me is my own, and all that applies to me.
I am strong.
I am independent.
I am shy and introverted.
I get anxious among other people and I am a social person.
I was born a girl and I identify as female.
I can be rough and be a woman.
I can be feminine and be a woman.
I can be wild and fearless, kind and giving, and be a woman.
I can curse and rant and throw a tantrum, and I am still a woman.
I am smart. Being me is enough for me.
I am beautiful. I am willful. I am curious.
I am a woman. My definition of being a woman.
Boredom
I have complained about being bored all my life. Sometimes, it's been bad enough for people around, especially adults, to throw me out of a room or tell me to go outside and play.
This video by VSauce put my boredom into a completely new perspective. For one thing, I discovered why I love puzzle games. They force me to think, to actually use my brain. I love challenges like that.
My mind is a very strange place, for several reasons.
1. I never think in words. My thoughts, ideas, and my imagination is always in pictures and images. Some are in color and some are in black-and-white, but my mind works like a commercial reel, one video clip after another after another. When I get stressed or panicky, the clips become a jumble, like the old movie reels when they get tangled.
2. I can find co-relations and comparisons in almost everything. For example, how anthropology and archaeology work together is completely logical to me. Same with space-time research and quantum mechanics. I can look at something and almost immediately see how it relates to something else.
3. My memory is pretty odd. As long as I can relate new information to something I already know, the new information will stick. It has to do with the relations-thing my mind does when it sees things.
4. I am extremely curious, so I go out of my way to find new and interesting information an experiences.
5. I have a very vivid and lively imagination, which I believe is related to #1 and #2.
How does this relate to boredom, you ask?
Well, I need things to do at a pretty constant rate in order to not feel stupid or bored. That fuzzy sensation when your will to live is slowly trickling out of your ears is not something I find enjoyable. I love puzzle games, because they keep my mind sharp. On the other hand, depression severely dulled my senses and I am very very VERY happy that the anti-depressants help clearing the fog from my mind.
Boredom scrambles the world I have created in my mind, and instead of a clear mountain lake filled with video reels (think cinematic records a la Black Butler), I have a monsoon storm of impressions, sensations, and thoughts. The upside is that I am forced to come up with new ways to keep my mind clear every time I get this bored. The downside is that I can get very aggressive and annoyed when my mind is scrambled.
Boredom feeds imagination. It pushes us forward, towards innovation and new ideas. It's the basis for imagination. But only if it's kept in check. Boredom can also feed depression and anxiety.
I wish that all kids would have the opportunity to feel soul crushing boredom at one point in their life. It might help propel their imagination and ambition to new heights.
This video by VSauce put my boredom into a completely new perspective. For one thing, I discovered why I love puzzle games. They force me to think, to actually use my brain. I love challenges like that.
My mind is a very strange place, for several reasons.
1. I never think in words. My thoughts, ideas, and my imagination is always in pictures and images. Some are in color and some are in black-and-white, but my mind works like a commercial reel, one video clip after another after another. When I get stressed or panicky, the clips become a jumble, like the old movie reels when they get tangled.
2. I can find co-relations and comparisons in almost everything. For example, how anthropology and archaeology work together is completely logical to me. Same with space-time research and quantum mechanics. I can look at something and almost immediately see how it relates to something else.
3. My memory is pretty odd. As long as I can relate new information to something I already know, the new information will stick. It has to do with the relations-thing my mind does when it sees things.
4. I am extremely curious, so I go out of my way to find new and interesting information an experiences.
5. I have a very vivid and lively imagination, which I believe is related to #1 and #2.
How does this relate to boredom, you ask?
Well, I need things to do at a pretty constant rate in order to not feel stupid or bored. That fuzzy sensation when your will to live is slowly trickling out of your ears is not something I find enjoyable. I love puzzle games, because they keep my mind sharp. On the other hand, depression severely dulled my senses and I am very very VERY happy that the anti-depressants help clearing the fog from my mind.
Boredom scrambles the world I have created in my mind, and instead of a clear mountain lake filled with video reels (think cinematic records a la Black Butler), I have a monsoon storm of impressions, sensations, and thoughts. The upside is that I am forced to come up with new ways to keep my mind clear every time I get this bored. The downside is that I can get very aggressive and annoyed when my mind is scrambled.
Boredom feeds imagination. It pushes us forward, towards innovation and new ideas. It's the basis for imagination. But only if it's kept in check. Boredom can also feed depression and anxiety.
I wish that all kids would have the opportunity to feel soul crushing boredom at one point in their life. It might help propel their imagination and ambition to new heights.
lördag 17 augusti 2013
Body Love
I am a bit overweight, according to BMI, and a lot overweight according to clothing retail stores. This really bothered me for the longest time. I have a fully developed eating disorder, that I try to fight every single day. Every time I eat something that's regarded unhealthy, I have to tell Guilt and Disappointment to kindly fuck the hell off. I am 27 years old and I am finally learning to love myself and my body just the way it is.
And why shouldn't I? Sure, I am regarded as overweight, and sure I can't always find clothes that fit when I go clothes hunting, but you know what?
I have no medical issues related to my weight.
I have no problems moving around.
I am a stickler about scent, so there's no part of my body that doesn't get washed on a daily basis.
Anyone who claims that fat/overweight people are stupid can go and eat a running chainsaw. I had a 15.2/20 grade average (Swedish standards) in high school and I scored a 1.5 out of 2.0 on my college entrance exam. I have an A on the Cambridge English Proficiency Exam. And I didn't even try!! I cruised through all of this and still got the grades to match.
So I have decided to give size-shaming the finger and delve into The Militant Baker's 25 Things list. So once per week I will post photos in accordance to her specifications. Everyone is welcome to join me, regardless of size. This project is about body love and EVERYONE is welcome.
All bodies are beautiful! All people are beautiful!
And why shouldn't I? Sure, I am regarded as overweight, and sure I can't always find clothes that fit when I go clothes hunting, but you know what?
I have no medical issues related to my weight.
I have no problems moving around.
I am a stickler about scent, so there's no part of my body that doesn't get washed on a daily basis.
Anyone who claims that fat/overweight people are stupid can go and eat a running chainsaw. I had a 15.2/20 grade average (Swedish standards) in high school and I scored a 1.5 out of 2.0 on my college entrance exam. I have an A on the Cambridge English Proficiency Exam. And I didn't even try!! I cruised through all of this and still got the grades to match.
So I have decided to give size-shaming the finger and delve into The Militant Baker's 25 Things list. So once per week I will post photos in accordance to her specifications. Everyone is welcome to join me, regardless of size. This project is about body love and EVERYONE is welcome.
All bodies are beautiful! All people are beautiful!
onsdag 14 augusti 2013
Boy Wonder
This post was inspired by this post by The Militant Baker (who I think everyone should follow, btw).
Backstory:
I graduated high school in 2005. I had to repeat my senior year, because I spent my "actual" senior year in Las Vegas, Nevada, doing American high school-y things.
Once I ran out of those school doors with everyone else, I thought life would be really sweet. I would take a one month break, then get a job and earn money. Then I would get all those things I wanted and travel and get into the school I wanted etc etc.
This did not happen.
Sure, I got my driver's licence and I figured out that acting wasn't for me, but the job bit fell through, and I was rejected by the person I was interested in, and there was a whole limbo of being legally an adult, yet not old enough to go on welfare, so I had to rely on my parents for my survival (not a great feeling when you've just graduated high school and think you're the coolest shit ever.) Winter 2005-06 was the lowest I had been in about 7 years.
That's when this Guy just walzed into my life and did everything right. And by right I mean, he didn't corner me, he didn't talk to me until we had a group project together, and he was respectful of my boundaries. We started talking and one thing lead to another, and about 2 months after we met, we started dating. We've been dating for almost 7.5 years now. He told me a couple of years ago that when he first saw me, he really wanted to talk to me, because I looked lonely, but he also didn't approach me, because he didn't want to come off as a creep. He honestly believes that a person's right to be left alone trumps any desire to get to know them.
/back story
This Guy (hereby known as Boy) is one of the three greatest things that has ever happened to me. He is an incredibly direct person. He never lies, he never conforms to other people's comfort zones, and he has taught me loads of valuable lessons about just existing and about accepting and loving myself for the person I am.
My journey towards loving myself started in Las Vegas in 2003 and got an incredible push during 2006.
The amazing thing about Boy is his ability to question without judgment. He is just as curious as I am, and even though it can be hard to explain the way I think, he never tells me that my thinking is wrong. He just asks when he doesn't understand, which forces me to re-think my ideas to help him understand, which makes me understand better.
Or, like the other day, I was having an extremely bad day. Slept badly, woke up with a head ache, then sit in a room with QuizBot 6.0 for two hours, and then porttray the Drowned Rat ft Ice Rain on my way home, only to be met by an e-mail from MoronsR'Us. All Boy did was rub painkiller gel into my busted foot, make me go with him to get cake and chocolate, make coffee, then proceed to tell me just how important I am to him. A girl can start blushing for less.
Boy accepts my fangirling without question. He fixes my laptop when something I can't fix myself happens. Boy keeps me grounded and gently guides me away from the self-hate spiral I still tend to slide into on bad days.
I would like to point out that my life didn't miraculously become a fairy tale after I met Boy, despite what Hollywood wants us to believe. He has helped me a lot when it comes to finding coping tools and ways to love myself for me, but in the end, I'm the one doing the work. He is just an incredible proverbial rock.
I could go into a very very long monologue on how Boy is the best ever, but since most of you have left or are asleep by now, I'll end this rant here.
Backstory:
I graduated high school in 2005. I had to repeat my senior year, because I spent my "actual" senior year in Las Vegas, Nevada, doing American high school-y things.
Once I ran out of those school doors with everyone else, I thought life would be really sweet. I would take a one month break, then get a job and earn money. Then I would get all those things I wanted and travel and get into the school I wanted etc etc.
This did not happen.
Sure, I got my driver's licence and I figured out that acting wasn't for me, but the job bit fell through, and I was rejected by the person I was interested in, and there was a whole limbo of being legally an adult, yet not old enough to go on welfare, so I had to rely on my parents for my survival (not a great feeling when you've just graduated high school and think you're the coolest shit ever.) Winter 2005-06 was the lowest I had been in about 7 years.
That's when this Guy just walzed into my life and did everything right. And by right I mean, he didn't corner me, he didn't talk to me until we had a group project together, and he was respectful of my boundaries. We started talking and one thing lead to another, and about 2 months after we met, we started dating. We've been dating for almost 7.5 years now. He told me a couple of years ago that when he first saw me, he really wanted to talk to me, because I looked lonely, but he also didn't approach me, because he didn't want to come off as a creep. He honestly believes that a person's right to be left alone trumps any desire to get to know them.
/back story
This Guy (hereby known as Boy) is one of the three greatest things that has ever happened to me. He is an incredibly direct person. He never lies, he never conforms to other people's comfort zones, and he has taught me loads of valuable lessons about just existing and about accepting and loving myself for the person I am.
My journey towards loving myself started in Las Vegas in 2003 and got an incredible push during 2006.
The amazing thing about Boy is his ability to question without judgment. He is just as curious as I am, and even though it can be hard to explain the way I think, he never tells me that my thinking is wrong. He just asks when he doesn't understand, which forces me to re-think my ideas to help him understand, which makes me understand better.
Or, like the other day, I was having an extremely bad day. Slept badly, woke up with a head ache, then sit in a room with QuizBot 6.0 for two hours, and then porttray the Drowned Rat ft Ice Rain on my way home, only to be met by an e-mail from MoronsR'Us. All Boy did was rub painkiller gel into my busted foot, make me go with him to get cake and chocolate, make coffee, then proceed to tell me just how important I am to him. A girl can start blushing for less.
Boy accepts my fangirling without question. He fixes my laptop when something I can't fix myself happens. Boy keeps me grounded and gently guides me away from the self-hate spiral I still tend to slide into on bad days.
I would like to point out that my life didn't miraculously become a fairy tale after I met Boy, despite what Hollywood wants us to believe. He has helped me a lot when it comes to finding coping tools and ways to love myself for me, but in the end, I'm the one doing the work. He is just an incredible proverbial rock.
I could go into a very very long monologue on how Boy is the best ever, but since most of you have left or are asleep by now, I'll end this rant here.
tisdag 13 augusti 2013
My Social Anxiety Disorder
Some trigger warnings apply - Mental Illness, Phobias (specifically arachnophobia and social phobia)
You have probably been in social situations where you don't feel welcome, where you have nothing in common with the people present, or you have managed to over/under dress for the situation. Now imagine feeling like this in every social situation you ever encounter. It doesn't matter if it's a huge group, say 30-100 people, or a small group of maybe 3-4 people. The nervousness and the fidgeting starts immediately, sometimes even weeks in advance.
WebMD describes Social Anxiety Disorder (or social phobia) as "an anxiety disorder in which a person has an excessive and unreasonable fear of social situations". I would describe it as Fidgety Hell with a side order of I Can't Breathe.
Social anxiety isn't something to take lightly either. I can see on people's faces and hear it in their voices how much disbelief they have in me and my thoughts when I tell them I suffer from social phobia (let's not start the guessing game on how much is real and how much of it is my phobia talking. Just. No). I have been met with so many different replies to me telling people about my phobia, that I feel an urge to share.
But you are so good at adapting to social situations!
- Yeah, it's called survival. If I don't adapt, the fidgeting and the nerves will break me.
You are so good at managing groups.
- Uhm... have you seen me try to keep order in a group? No? Thought so.
You are so good at telling stories, why don't you become a public speaker?
- I'd rather dance in slime surrounded by crane flies.
Social phobia isn't real. You're just shy/unsure.
- Uhm. No. Just. No. Go away.
It'll get better. You just need to be around people more often.
- The people telling me this obviously have no clue what it is like to be irrationally afraid of something. Shock therapy makes it worse!!! At least for me.
The last one is so common and pisses me off so bad that I have been known to growl at people suggesting it. You wouldn't take someone who is afraid of spiders and dump them in a tank full of tarantulas, so why in all hells would you believe that someone who is suffering from social anxiety would be "cured" by shoving them into groups of people?
My usual response to people I don't know depends on how many people there are, if there are any ways through which I can escape, the purpose of the gathering, and if there is a specific dress code.
I can manage 2-5 people with relative ease, a slight tingling at the back of my neck is usually the only feeling I get. This feeling vanishes as soon as I feel comfortable.
5-10 people starts to get uncomfortable and I start fidgeting, pulling at my shirt and avoiding eye contact. I can usually feel my skin start to crawl and my heart beat picking up.
10-30 people is when I get really nervous. It really doesn't matter if I like and trust the people around me. My brain really doesn't give a single bother that I might enjoy these people's company. At this point, my body feels threatened, I can feel myself starting to hyperventilate, my hands are shaking, and I feel sick. If I can't see a clear escape route, I will start to panic.
Social anxiety is NOTHING like being nervous before a presentation or a test. It is NOTHING like being fidgety before going on a date or to a party where you only know one or two people.
Social anxiety is a freezing inferno of insecurities, self-hate, second guesses, guilt, shame, and nerves, all jumbled up in a mind that feels close to bursting. It's a stinging sensation of tears in too-dry eyes and numb tongue in a mouth that feels like screaming. It's a fluttering of wings in your gut, except these butterflies are made of steel and have razor sharp edges. It's a fever chill on a too-hot-day and a hot flash in a freezer.
And the worst thing is, for all the things I want to tell people who dismiss me, I keep my mouth shut in order for them to not reject me.
I would like to end this on a happy note, but I can't think of anything right now.
You have probably been in social situations where you don't feel welcome, where you have nothing in common with the people present, or you have managed to over/under dress for the situation. Now imagine feeling like this in every social situation you ever encounter. It doesn't matter if it's a huge group, say 30-100 people, or a small group of maybe 3-4 people. The nervousness and the fidgeting starts immediately, sometimes even weeks in advance.
WebMD describes Social Anxiety Disorder (or social phobia) as "an anxiety disorder in which a person has an excessive and unreasonable fear of social situations". I would describe it as Fidgety Hell with a side order of I Can't Breathe.
Social anxiety isn't something to take lightly either. I can see on people's faces and hear it in their voices how much disbelief they have in me and my thoughts when I tell them I suffer from social phobia (let's not start the guessing game on how much is real and how much of it is my phobia talking. Just. No). I have been met with so many different replies to me telling people about my phobia, that I feel an urge to share.
But you are so good at adapting to social situations!
- Yeah, it's called survival. If I don't adapt, the fidgeting and the nerves will break me.
You are so good at managing groups.
- Uhm... have you seen me try to keep order in a group? No? Thought so.
You are so good at telling stories, why don't you become a public speaker?
- I'd rather dance in slime surrounded by crane flies.
Social phobia isn't real. You're just shy/unsure.
- Uhm. No. Just. No. Go away.
It'll get better. You just need to be around people more often.
- The people telling me this obviously have no clue what it is like to be irrationally afraid of something. Shock therapy makes it worse!!! At least for me.
The last one is so common and pisses me off so bad that I have been known to growl at people suggesting it. You wouldn't take someone who is afraid of spiders and dump them in a tank full of tarantulas, so why in all hells would you believe that someone who is suffering from social anxiety would be "cured" by shoving them into groups of people?
My usual response to people I don't know depends on how many people there are, if there are any ways through which I can escape, the purpose of the gathering, and if there is a specific dress code.
I can manage 2-5 people with relative ease, a slight tingling at the back of my neck is usually the only feeling I get. This feeling vanishes as soon as I feel comfortable.
5-10 people starts to get uncomfortable and I start fidgeting, pulling at my shirt and avoiding eye contact. I can usually feel my skin start to crawl and my heart beat picking up.
10-30 people is when I get really nervous. It really doesn't matter if I like and trust the people around me. My brain really doesn't give a single bother that I might enjoy these people's company. At this point, my body feels threatened, I can feel myself starting to hyperventilate, my hands are shaking, and I feel sick. If I can't see a clear escape route, I will start to panic.
Social anxiety is NOTHING like being nervous before a presentation or a test. It is NOTHING like being fidgety before going on a date or to a party where you only know one or two people.
Social anxiety is a freezing inferno of insecurities, self-hate, second guesses, guilt, shame, and nerves, all jumbled up in a mind that feels close to bursting. It's a stinging sensation of tears in too-dry eyes and numb tongue in a mouth that feels like screaming. It's a fluttering of wings in your gut, except these butterflies are made of steel and have razor sharp edges. It's a fever chill on a too-hot-day and a hot flash in a freezer.
And the worst thing is, for all the things I want to tell people who dismiss me, I keep my mouth shut in order for them to not reject me.
I would like to end this on a happy note, but I can't think of anything right now.
onsdag 7 augusti 2013
Living with Depression
There are two major influences for this post, and I tip my hat and bow deeply to these two brilliant women. The first one is The Militant Baker's post on Bordeline Personality Disorder. The second one is Hyperbole And A Half's post on depression (I have linked to the second one before).
Also, tl;dr warning applies.
My early school years were not the happiest ones. People in my class went out of their way to make me miserable and by the time I was 12, I was suicidal. Or, more accurately, becoming suicidal at age 12 was a step up from the hell hole of an existence I had been living in. That meant that I gave enough fucks about life and death to know that I didn't want to live anymore. It wasn't really that I wanted to die. I just didn't want to feel the pain anymore.
My wish to not feel anything was granted a couple of years later, when my depression settled in with full force. I felt absolutely nothing. No happiness, no sadness, no anger, no annoyance. Nothing. I woke up in the morning, went to school, did my thing, went to theatre class, went home, watched TV, went to bed. Repeat. My insane mind saved my school grades and my acting skills made people not worry about me. And I got bored.
Not feeling anything after years of only feeling pain is amazing. For the first few months. It's like an extended holiday. The kind Shakespeare describes in Henry V:
If all the year were playing holidays,
To sport would be as tedious as to work;
But when they seldom come, they wished-for come,
And nothing pleaseth but rare accidents.
I was bored out of my skull. I tried many things, some stupid, some less stupid, to regain some sort of normalcy, but nothing helped. Sure, I felt excitement and calm when I was in Southern Africa in 2002, but come on. AFRICA. IS. AWESOME. Lions and elephants and sand and huge fuck-off trees and zebras. I love Southern Africa.
I wish I could say that the turning point out of the boredom was Hyperbole's Corn Of Awesomezoars, but I can't. My turning point was the death of my beloved Grannie (my maternal grandmother). Nothing NOTHING up to that point had hurt as much as losing her did. I cried myself to sleep for almost two years, and being allowed to feel sorrow and being shoved head first into grief opened the flood gates. I could feel again, if only sadness. It took a while, but then the other emotions started returning.
And then I graduated and became unemployed. Started at a university and failed my whole second year. And the self-loathing/self-hate/depression spiral started up again. Because, you see, depression isn't something you get rid of that easily. It sticks with you, especially the kind that is caused by a hormonal imbalance in the brain. Depression caused by trauma and depression caused by hormonal imbalance have different coping mechanisms (in my experience. I can only speak for myself) and as far as I know, depression caused by hormonal imbalance is a life long commitment to routines, self-affirmation, and sometimes medication. Personally, I don't give a flying bother if I'm on SSRI for the rest of my life, as long as I don't have to get stuck in the Depression Swamp again.
With SSRI medication, I don't have the rapid mood swings, I don't live in a constant fog, and my mind isn't always a weird version of Kermit the Frog performing Benny Hill in a chipmunk voice (I still get said performance when I'm stressed out, though). I still cope with an insane fear of being abandoned and I still work hard at the self-esteem bit, but the voices have been muted and Kermit is usually sleeping, so right now, life is a whole lot better than it has been.
Try to remember this when talking to someone who is living with depression: Telling them to cheer up is usually the absolute worst thing you can do. That only adds guilt to whatever they're struggling with. Instead, offer to LISTEN WITHOUT JUDGEMENT and don't take it personally if you get no reaction. A person who feels nothing experience stress in social situations, because they don't know how to react. Just keep trying. One day, they'll stumble upon that Piece Of Corn and when they do, you will be remembered as the Friend Who Helped, instead of The Annoying One.
Also, tl;dr warning applies.
My early school years were not the happiest ones. People in my class went out of their way to make me miserable and by the time I was 12, I was suicidal. Or, more accurately, becoming suicidal at age 12 was a step up from the hell hole of an existence I had been living in. That meant that I gave enough fucks about life and death to know that I didn't want to live anymore. It wasn't really that I wanted to die. I just didn't want to feel the pain anymore.
My wish to not feel anything was granted a couple of years later, when my depression settled in with full force. I felt absolutely nothing. No happiness, no sadness, no anger, no annoyance. Nothing. I woke up in the morning, went to school, did my thing, went to theatre class, went home, watched TV, went to bed. Repeat. My insane mind saved my school grades and my acting skills made people not worry about me. And I got bored.
Not feeling anything after years of only feeling pain is amazing. For the first few months. It's like an extended holiday. The kind Shakespeare describes in Henry V:
If all the year were playing holidays,
To sport would be as tedious as to work;
But when they seldom come, they wished-for come,
And nothing pleaseth but rare accidents.
I was bored out of my skull. I tried many things, some stupid, some less stupid, to regain some sort of normalcy, but nothing helped. Sure, I felt excitement and calm when I was in Southern Africa in 2002, but come on. AFRICA. IS. AWESOME. Lions and elephants and sand and huge fuck-off trees and zebras. I love Southern Africa.
I wish I could say that the turning point out of the boredom was Hyperbole's Corn Of Awesomezoars, but I can't. My turning point was the death of my beloved Grannie (my maternal grandmother). Nothing NOTHING up to that point had hurt as much as losing her did. I cried myself to sleep for almost two years, and being allowed to feel sorrow and being shoved head first into grief opened the flood gates. I could feel again, if only sadness. It took a while, but then the other emotions started returning.
And then I graduated and became unemployed. Started at a university and failed my whole second year. And the self-loathing/self-hate/depression spiral started up again. Because, you see, depression isn't something you get rid of that easily. It sticks with you, especially the kind that is caused by a hormonal imbalance in the brain. Depression caused by trauma and depression caused by hormonal imbalance have different coping mechanisms (in my experience. I can only speak for myself) and as far as I know, depression caused by hormonal imbalance is a life long commitment to routines, self-affirmation, and sometimes medication. Personally, I don't give a flying bother if I'm on SSRI for the rest of my life, as long as I don't have to get stuck in the Depression Swamp again.
With SSRI medication, I don't have the rapid mood swings, I don't live in a constant fog, and my mind isn't always a weird version of Kermit the Frog performing Benny Hill in a chipmunk voice (I still get said performance when I'm stressed out, though). I still cope with an insane fear of being abandoned and I still work hard at the self-esteem bit, but the voices have been muted and Kermit is usually sleeping, so right now, life is a whole lot better than it has been.
Try to remember this when talking to someone who is living with depression: Telling them to cheer up is usually the absolute worst thing you can do. That only adds guilt to whatever they're struggling with. Instead, offer to LISTEN WITHOUT JUDGEMENT and don't take it personally if you get no reaction. A person who feels nothing experience stress in social situations, because they don't know how to react. Just keep trying. One day, they'll stumble upon that Piece Of Corn and when they do, you will be remembered as the Friend Who Helped, instead of The Annoying One.
måndag 5 augusti 2013
Meritocratic dreams
Meritocracy (merit, from Latin mereō: “earn” + -cracy, from Ancient Greek κράτος, kratos: "strength, power") is a political philosophy that holds power should be vested in individuals according to merit.[1]
Advancement in such a system is based on perceived intellectual talent
measured through examination and/or demonstrated achievement in the
field where it is implemented - Wikipedia
I was watching the anime Devil Survivor 2 The Animation the other day, and one of the main character's ambitions had me thinking.
I have been unemployed for the last three years and throughout those three years I have learned that at least the Swedish society only value those who have some form of merits that are useful for the work market. Being unemployed in this society is associated with a social stigma that is very hard to shake.
People keep asking me how I managed to get sick from stress while being unemployed. There is this preconceived notion that unemployed people are lazy and don't want to contribute to society. The only valuable work you can do is work you get payed for. People don't understand that being seen as being the lowest on the social ladder is in itself a very stressful thing. Social status is extremely important and being unemployed, and worse, living on welfare - well, you can't sink much lower on the social ladder.
It really starts when we start school at age 6 -7. Everything we do is measured against a national norm and if you don't follow it, you're either considered stupid or a prodigy. These standardized tests are supposed to "help" those who struggle, but really, all they do is trying to find dead fish. (Thank you, hyperbole and a half) Politicians like to talk about not putting children through too much stress, but the pressure to achieve is still very much there and it doesn't get easier.
I used to love mathematics. When I was in first grade, I was really good at it. I would finish my math homework really fast and even do more than I had to. This lead to my teacher making me take an eraser to my book and that killed my love for it.
You see, even though Sweden is essentially a meritocracy, the idea that everyone should be equal in everything gives no real room for talent to flourish, unless you're insanely good at something. It's not until we reach high school that individual talents are seen as a good thing, and that's only when selecting a major (Swedish school system is different from American in this aspect). Once you've started high school, you're back to standardized tests and a norm curve to follow. And yet they expect you to excel just before graduation.
Then you're expected to go on to college and university. Today, you basically need a chef education to flip burgers, a teacher's degree for temp work, and a degree in agriculture to mow the laws in public parks. Hell, you need a university degree to clean hotel rooms. Imagine trying to get a job in this climate when you don't have a college or university degree and you took Cultural History as major in high school.
People condemn politicians who aim for a meritocratic society, yet forget that we're very much already living in one. It's just not an official opinion. It's just not written in plain text. Sweden is suffering from academic inflation, and no one knows how to do anything about it, because we're taught from a young age that this is how reality works.
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