unknownpictureI was cleaning my room at my parents’ house when I stumbled upon two old photo albums, and even more interesting, two old disposable cameras which had not had their contents developed. I flicked through the photo albums and it was amusing, seeing my clunky captions in my big, shaky childs hand writing, seeing photos from when we went on safari for the first time, when digital cameras and zooms were not common, were expensive, so all we’ve got is these terrible pictures from a disposable. (My father actually had a better film camera, but he never carried it around so disposables it was.) “Spot the giraffes” the one picture says. You have to bring the photo close, squint, and there in the distance you can just about make out the shapes of two giraffes. It makes you realise how weird it is that people obsess over vintage filters when really it’s amazing and we are very lucky to have moved to an age where we can get crisp, clear photos for nothing at all, with a decent zoom also being affordable. Still, it was interesting seeing those old pictures. The other album was slightly more recent – 2004 – and by this point we had an OK digital camera. My current phone camera is about triple the resolution of this at the time very expensive, very basic digital, but still, at the time it was great, and the photos are certainly an improvement from the disposables. The album wasn’t finished, so I trawled through our old photos on the computer, picked out the ones I wanted and printed them off to finish it off. Creating an album from about 2004 to 2011, when I started university. It’s fun to have photos in a “real” format, something tangible to hold on to for the future.

Then there were the two cameras. I was dying with curiosity when it came to those – how many photos were they? Were they still OK? Or had they completely degraded? And just what were they photographs of?

I googled and found out about Photo Hippo/Fuji Film and the good reviews and decent prices inspired me to send one of my cameras off, just to see what would happen. They had an option to just have the photos developed and put on a CD, which meant they didn’t need to be printed, so if they were bad they could just be shoved somewhere on my computer and forgotten about! I sent it off on Tuesday and today my photos have arrived, on Friday. Talk about quick service. I was so nervous as the photos began to load, and even more so when the first picture was black. But 3 pictures in and it was clear they had come out. (And that first picture was just me being a bad photographer, even then.) It was also clear that these were photos taken randomly on a school outing. I cannot remember which or who anyone is, really, which makes me feel terrible. None of the photos are particularly good or interesting, or indeed worth developing. Again, I realise how great digital cameras are. None of this waiting, anticipating, and possible disappointment – you can see immediately what has been taken and delete it as necessary. I am now pondering whether to send the other camera off. Will it also be as random and disappointing as this one? On the other hand, the photos are remarkably OK for having been in my cupboard for the past decade+. Fuji Film did an amazing job, very quickly, and it wasn’t that expensive. Although a little frustrating, it is also a little fun, experimenting with this old school way of doing things.

* NOT sponsored

Child

I went to the doctor today for a work medical. I was terribly nervous about it before hand. I knew what it would be about. I had filled out a medical form a few weeks ago where I had put details of my anxiety and the fact I was on antidepressants. I knew that this had come up as a red flag for HR. I was so terrified about saying the wrong thing and being found unfit for work or needing special precautions. I don’t want any of that. I never, ever want to give in to my mental illness or let it define me. To do that would be like giving up, like giving in. Then my father and I got terribly lost trying to find the health center and my father shouted at me for messing up the directions, and then I was sitting in a large, empty waiting room waiting for my medical to begin. All of it combined to make me feel panicked and like something very terrible was about to unfold. I quite frankly, wanted to run for the hills. (So to speak.)

The doctor was nice enough. He went to the same university as me, so he made small talk about it between routine questions. And yet, I left the appointment feeling upset and annoyed. In the end, I was told that he would tell my employer I was fit for work, but vulnerable to highly stressful situations, which I think sounds reasonable. But I also got the old you need to be in CBT talk combined with a dose of medicine won’t fix your problems. One thing I appreciated, of many, about my old doctor was the way he never pushed anything on me. When I said I did not want anymore CBT, that I had enough of it, my doctor understood. He let me take control of my treatment, and he never made me feel ashamed of my choices. This doctor did not.

It also annoys me, the way that CBT is touted as the answer to everything, as the great cure. It’s dangerous, I think, to give that impression to patients. Yes, for some people maybe it does work, but I don’t think it’s a one size fits all treatment such as it’s touted to be. And even if it helps, it may not cure. It didn’t for me. CBT was fine when I went through it but in the long run I don’t believe in going through CBT again and again and again. What is the point? I get it now. You go to the CBT, you come away with some things to think about, maybe a book to refer to in the future, and then it’s up to you. Even with the CBT it’s up to you. And quite frankly, all those questions and work booklets never did anything compared to having someone anonymous to listen to me. And I can quite easily ramble to my mother or write a diary entry instead of dragging myself to the doctors. It’s all the same for me, you know? I never quite got the point of CBT, or what exactly I was supposed to be learning or how I was supposed to be changing. It always made me feel vaguely confused. I always worried about putting the wrong answers to the questions and it all felt like one very difficult test without a clear marking guide.

Besides, you need to move forwards. I have moved forwards. I’m not at that stage now. This doctor was talking to me like I don’t know anything, like I have not been dealing with this for years and am still confused about it all. I’ve been having problems with my mental health for years and I can cope with it. Just about. I take my medicine, I try to eat well and look after myself. I do yoga and breathing exercises to help me relax (and to sleep). I try to be creative: to blog, to read, to do needlework. I push myself to do things that scare me: from the smallest things, like making phonecalls, to learning to drive, to completing a difficult degree and starting a graduate position. I don’t need to make any mood diaries or to evaluate my feelings: I understand, by now, my triggers, and what to do when triggered. When things get bad, I rely on beta blockers, I make sure to take a day or two off for wallowing, and then I throw myself back in the deep end. Ultimately, the only thing you can do is to keep going. To acknowledge the bad thoughts, but not let them define your actions. To always have hope for something better, that despite the bad foreboding feeling, something unexpectedly wonderful could also happen. No matter what, never give up hope. I felt myself slipping this last year of university, felt my hope beginning to twist and grow small. So I took medicine. I took strong medicine, I got through, and now I am on a low dose just to keep myself stable.

According to this doctor, taking medicine for anxiety is not right.

But you know, maybe I will up my medicine if things get really bad again, and I don’t need this doctor to tell me this isn’t a solution. I tried for years to cope without medicine, too ashamed to admit I needed it, and it was stupid. Being on medicine has its side effects, and it’s not the “happy pill” its touted to be, but it gives me the right edge to help me get through my days a little easier. I will not be made to feel ashamed of that. (Except I have, haven’t I?)

To me, more CBT would be running backwards, back to the start of my journey to forming myself into someone competent and capable. I no longer believe in recovery, but I believe that I can be strong, that I can live a brilliant, fulfilling life despite the darkness lurking in my mind. I believe in myself and my own strength. I can do this myself, with the support of my family, my doctor, and my little pills. I don’t need CBT.

Fine. Right now, I do not need therapy. Mostly I hate having it pushed on to me. Let me make my own choices about what is right for me. Don’t patronise me and make me feel like a child who knows nothing about what is best for herself. I am not so far gone that I do not understand myself or my needs.

(I feel so sad to leave my doctor behind in my old city.)

She kept her mind off her situation by playing to her inner ear a piece she had learned by heart. Above the rush-hour din it was her ideal self she heard, the pianist she could never become, performing faultlessly Bach’s second partita.

– The Children Act, Ian McEwan

I read First Love, Last Rites and was taken aback by how crude and vulgar it was, and yet how oddly captivating. I wasn’t impressed at feeling compelled to read about such disgusting topics as it contained. It made me weary of reading anything more by the author, I feared what I would end up reading, and yet the summary of The Children Act drew me in. Just what would happen between this judge and the boy whose life she was ruling over?

In the end, the book was not as explicit as first loves, thankfully, but a rather dreary look at a marriage in trouble, set alongside the work of a judge, and how a certain case and the child involved would affect the judge’s life and marriage. The book felt short and a bit languid.

It felt like I’d been given a snapshot into the life of Judge Fiona Maye- incomplete and without a true beginning or end. I found the book interesting and the details of the law and the cases particularly fascinating, but the book was overly descriptive, I had to use the dictionary feature on the kindle too much, and I was often lost, not in the good way. I was never really on the edge of my seat wanting to know what happens. I read the book leisurely, picking it up and putting it down, over a long period of time. It was a melancholy book, that left me feeling saddened at the way it ended but also dissatisfied- it felt like it ended at the point where it seemed that it would really begin. It felt like I had read a long, very descriptive introduction and just as the action began…it stopped and cut me off. I feel disappointed although I still can’t hate the book. I have a feeling I’ll be mulling over it for a time; I could definitely see the themes and messages the author was trying to get across, and I find myself mulling over those.

I’ve been trying to get into yoga lately. I tried so many breathing exercises and what not for my anxiety, but I found I’d get bored and distracted and it wouldn’t help. I thought that doing something whilst focusing my breathing may be the ticket. Which is why I decided to try Yoga. It seemed like the sort of thing that would aid relaxation, and which could be learnt without going to a class and learnt cheaply – no fancy work out clothes or gym memberships or equipment. I didn’t even have an exercise mat and little ambition other than to relax, so I loved the Yoga With Adriene night time video. It was simple and I could do it on my bed before I went to sleep, to ground myself and try to settle my anxiety. I didn’t find it made any major difference to my sleeping, but I still enjoyed having those few minutes of feeling settled. And after hours hunched over revision it felt good to stretch out. Of course there’s only so many times you can do the same thing…

I now have an exercise mat, courtesy of my parents for Christmas, and so I feel like pushing myself now. I’m quick to take things up and drop them so I won’t push myself too much, but I want to try and learn more. I’m going to stick with Yoga With Adriene, as I find her videos easy to understand and I like her…presence? Attitude? That kind of positivity that doesn’t cross over into cheesy or patronising, but makes you feel good. I have also been looking through her beginners’ videos and videos on the various poses which are great for getting to grips with it. I’m thinking of slowly working my way through her various workouts and see what happens. The night time one remains my favourite but I’m also going to try some of the more challenging ones. I may also have a poke around YouTube and amazon to see what else there is. I’m definitely not going to a class: I don’t have that kind of money or confidence.

I want to find something that makes me feel good and helps my anxiety, not just relying on pills you know?

I just hope I don’t break/strain/hurt myself. My body is not used to being stretched in the ways yoga demands…

Travel

I caught my best friend on Saturday. We went for brunch – sandwiches and juice at a homemade cafe. Very delicious. And it was only for a couple of hours but it was brilliant to catch up with her. I am so, so glad that she still considers me a friend. I was so worried about her outgrowing me, but in those few hours it was as if we had only seen each other yesterday, as if there hadn’t been months of silence. Ok, there were a couple of awkward moments. But mostly it was just great. I felt relaxed and happy, which is such a rare and precious feeling at the moment.

One interesting thing we discussed was our classmates from high school and where they are now. It is amazing how far people don’t go from home. Even my sister is living right next door to our parents really. And even I although I talk big about wanting to live abroad, as I apply for jobs I find myself seeking ones close to my parents location. When I was younger I didn’t get on with my parents, and I found being home made me feel trapped. I had my head in the clouds – dreaming of going far away, dreaming of different places where it won’t matter if I’m the odd one out, because it would be expected. There is still a part of me that thinks like that. I do still want to travel. But as I get older my relationship with my parents gets better and I like going home, even if it is frustrating in some ways. I also become more aware of my parents aging, and I think about how horrible it was to be so far away from my grandmother when she died, and how little closure there is when you can’t be there, and I don’t want that. I am aware of my parents aging and I also want to be there for them as they do so, to make the most of it. Which is terribly morbid, isn’t it? It feels terrible to think like this – it feels uncomfortable and scary to think of that inevitable end. Yet, time passes so quickly.

I am also aware that there is a part of me that needs to be close to home, that actually doesn’t cope so well with independence. In many ways I struggle with change and I do have a lot of anxiety around it. I found immigrating to the UK hard, I found spending a year abroad in Malaysia hard. There is a part of me that wants the excitement and learning experience of going abroad. I do still want that feeling I had in Malaysia, or whenever I travel – of it not mattering what mistakes you make, because it won’t last, it won’t be forever. It will be a year, two years. Not long. Not like immigrating, where every mistake, everything that makes you stand out, makes you feel desperately embarrassed and frustrated with yourself. That’s what you have to remember when you feel scared of travelling, it could always be immigrating. At least there is an expiry date. At least, that is how it is for me.

I also look at the locations of the companies I apply to and seek out Cape Town, South Africa in them and dream of going back and reconnecting with whatever it was I lost when we immigrated away from SA. Then the fear hits of never being able to reconnect, and I shy away. I want to go there, I tell myself, but would I really have that much courage?

Ultimately though, I just find myself wanting the comfort and familiarity of being close to home. Home not as in a place, I want to clarify. Not the UK. I still feel alienated from this country, uncomfortable calling it my home. But home as in my parents’ house, my parents, my sister, my cat, my old room and my old things. I can understand sticking close to home. Anyway, I can at least be grateful that when we immigrated my father chose a lovely area of the UK to move us too. There could be worse places to be tied to.

It feels presumptuous to talk of travelling already though, when I don’t have work yet. I feel naughty looking at the location pages of company websites and letting my mind wonder. It feels wrong to think of the future like this, as if you really have that much power over it, as if it isn’t like anything could happen next.