Replaying sessions

Sometimes it’s hard after therapy, to step back into real life. Sometimes it’s hard after writing in my journal, to step back into real life. Sometimes it’s hard to realise that in the space of five minutes or twenty, I’ve just backstabbed, flipped over and shot down beliefs I’ve carried my entire life. Just like that. Just like freakin’ that. It blows my mind. So real life just feels ridiculous. “I’ve just changed my life here!” I wanna yell at everyone. I wanna tell people I saw an hour and a half ago, that I’m not the same person they saw an hour and a half ago. Other times I just wanna grieve and cry or dance and rage or simply just hate. But even in those times, my mind is slightly blown. It’s just uncomfortably so.

Sometimes after therapy – like right now – my head feels like it’s going to explode with stuff I’ve just learnt and am needing to digest. I’ve run out of paper in my journal to jot down everything said, everything learnt, everything discovered, so I squeezed a bunch of stuff onto three quarters of a page and now am left with it spinning in my head. But mainly, my body feels desperately in need of drastic attention and rest, so I’ll sleep on it instead. I want to write every single word down of what I discovered and shared, and what was shared back. What was learnt, what was explained, what was taught and what was read. But I get overwhelmed when I think of doing it or even try to begin. There’s just too much. And I always want to do it properly – I think that’s where I trip myself up. Tonight though, I ain’t got no paper so I’ll take that as a hint.

I want to just lie here and replay the things that were said. (This is when I wish I recorded my sessions.) But y’know what the main feeling, and thing, I want to replay is? The feeling of being loved. And the feeling of constantly discovering a healthy relationship, and reprogramming/switching the models that were labelled as mine. Replacing abuse with love. Reprogramming parenting in myself with the love and support and teaching of a safe other.

I still wish my brain could write out all that I just learnt, but I’m kinda just letting it do it’s thing. Just because I can’t record it, doesn’t mean it didn’t go in. And won’t continue to.

It’s pretty fucking cool, therapy. Never did I think I’d say that, but it’s true.

(It’s also fucking shit, but that goes without saying.)

Boys

The other day I stepped into a bookshop I have always looked at from the outside. It looks like it should be in New York, and when I stepped in there it felt just like that too. I LOVE bookshops. The cool old vintage ones and the not-so-cool modern ones. I just love books. Books are cool. I remember noticing that when I move house the first two things I do is make my bed and then set up my book shelf/stack. It’s just something about how homely they make the place. So fill a whole shop with them, and I’m there. 

In this New-York-ish shop, a guy stepped forward from out the back to offer assistance to my shelve browsing. Immediately, the words “you’re so hot” entered my head. He was. I fancied everything about him. His style, his shoes, his scarf, his glasses, his hair…and I think his face. I think I remember liking that bit too, but I was mainly focusing on how cool he was.

I was in the search for a book that might contain potential tattoo designs – ancient/arty/folklore-y sketches of animals, or anything near to that. I successfully tipped a tonne of books on the floor in the process, making a tit of myself. Smooth tends not my middle name. I giggled and joked and chattered away, feeling the butterflies of nerves and secretly loving this. I hadn’t had this in ages. The last time this kind of encounter happened was about this time last year, with a super cool Californian skater who worked in my favourite coffee shop in San Francisco… the coffee shop in which I met the first guy I dated in Cali, too! Ha. It seems I have a habit of meeting guys in shops. This first one we properly/shonkily/confusingly dated in a cool Californian way, and the second chap I ended up going on a couple of cute dates and had a good old snog, before it all went tits up and I headed back home to the UK.

After twenty minutes of browsing and bantering in this bookshop, I decided what to buy. There was another book he recommended, so he wrote down the name of it on a piece of paper. Then he handed it over to me and said that he’d written his number too, and that if I want to go and watch a film…

This is the bit I’m writing about: 

A guy gave me his number and asked if I wanted to go on a date. 

WAH.

I stepped out of the shop filled with complete excitement and complete terror. I noticed as the thoughts of whether I am good enough, the self-judgement of my somewhat dodgy looks, all my fears that he’ll think I’m weird or that I AM weird, and my fears of what this might bring, all kicked into a massive frenzy within bloody seconds. But before I could fall any deeper into this spiral of negativity, I stopped and pulled myself out and just let myself bask in the beauty of SOMEONE FANCYING ME. I stopped all that future tripping and gave myself the treat of that rushing feeling of having a crush. I felt so alive and happy it freaked me out. Turns out feeling shit about yourself or feeling comfortable about keeping in your own little box or just feeling comfortable with not feeling this kind of spark, can become quite a comfort zone.

This ability to hold fire on these judging or worrying thoughts didn’t last too long, but I have managed to keep a distance from them. They do just holla up whenever I think about the guy but noticing them makes me smile, rather than become all-consumed by them. They still suck though, but I figure this is all completely normal.

It’s my fear of inadequacy. It’s my fear of past trauma that comes to the surface at the thought of anything like this. It’s my fear of SOMEONE LIKING ME (I have a big issue about this – my fear of being loved is so flippin’ huge). It’s my fear of LETTING SOMEONE IN. My fear of not just keeping my Me to me. It’s my fear of him being a massive weirdo. Or me being a massive weirdo. It’s my fear of intimacy. My fear of someone seeing my lumpy bumpy bits. My fear of someone liking these bits. I’m perfectly happy if someone doesn’t like them – rejection is not something I fear as much. Or maybe it is, I just haven’t discovered that yet.

I want to call him but every time I go to do so I just get overwhelmed with fear. And I have never had this before. I can watch this fear wanting to take a hold and wrap me up in its short-sighted blanket, but thankfully I know myself too well and I know that this fear will never keep me tucked underneath. Instead it just sits on my shoulder, chatting away like a talking blanket would and as fear does so well. I just hope it settles down a little bit and enables me to pluck up the courage to actually CALL.

It’s this year that I have to blame. Fo sho. This year of complete fucking mayhem has made this little lovely encounter feel completely bloody terrifying. But, maybe this year will mean that this lovely encounter and potential date, can be all the more lovely because it is beginning to feel like such a treat to feel normal again. And most importantly, like a proper 25 year old again. Whatever happens and whatever comes from this, it feels like the start of this game of things again. The game of fancying boys and feeling available.

Maybe I’ll call, maybe I’ll just drop by and say hi in his super cool shop this week, maybe I’ll suggest a film or a coffee shop where we can take our first date, or maybe I’ll just chicken out and send him a text…but whatever I do I’ll let this blanket of fear know I’m hot enough without it, thanks.

A Lack Gap

Today as I went for a jog walk in the cloudy British morning sun, I sat on a hill overlooking the city. It’s the perfect spot to feel away from all the city madness. Saying that though, the city I live in is more like a big town, and the neighbourhood I have moved to is more like a nice little English village. Still though, I need those spaces that just make you feel like you’re in the middle of nowhere. They are hard to find amongst the city streets, so instead I went for feeling like you’re sitting above the city. That works just as well, if not better sometimes.

Last night I spoke a lot with friends about my cartoons. For those of you who have been following this blog for a while, will have seen them evolve over the past few months. I’ve been loving it. And I have also been loving the bits of feedback to do something more with them. This has been going in, and not that I believe it, I have been trying to see that maybe people could benefit from them, or at least connect with seeing a comical doodle of something (negative thoughts or other stuff) that they battle with too.

As I sat on this hill, I just cried. I realised I so long for a mother or father, or any kind of family member, to share these Life Ideas with. Friends are amazing, but you want those people that know you inside out and you can bounce off any random little quirky idea or thought with. Someone, or some people, that have seen you evolve and develop and grow throughout your life, or the life of your idea. Take my cartoons, for example. I dream of having someone here alongside me as I step and trip and step some more, along whatever journey lies ahead with them. Friends do do that – they are amazing for this but in smidgen ways. You see each other once a week, or randomly speak on the phone, but it is different to having someone to voice all the little developments with. Does anyone else feel this too? That gap of having someone to share it all with?

Maybe I just need a boyfriend.

That’d be nice. But that’s a whole other conversation. Watch this space. Although I’ve been watching it for a WHILE now…bloody ages in fact. And for the record, there’s not actually anything in this space to watch – just space!

Back to the longing. I feel like this kind of longing runs deeper than just that I’m OVER being single. It comes back to that lack of parental support. And it got me thinking…all my lack of sticking something out for long periods of time…all my doing a million things in my life when friends around me have stuck to a handful of specific things…all the travelling, exploring and adventuring…all the need to be doing something amazing, somewhere amazing…all the stuff that rises up emotionally, once I stay somewhere longer than a few months…it has just kept me moving, and has kept me from ‘settling down’ anywhere. For the record, I am still only 25 so I feel like that is what life is when you’re this age! Moving around and exploring: your twenties could not be a more perfect time to do this. I would not change it for the world because it has been what I’ve needed to do and hell, I have had the most incredible experiences, met the most brilliant people and done the most amazing things. But there has been a strong element of fear about stopping anywhere for long periods of time. I’ve still lived places for a year or so, but never with a long term view of being there. That’s totally fine: that is what being young is about. But there has been an underlying thread that I noticed in the recent year or so, that I felt like maybe I actually have been ‘running’ from something. I totally believe it’s okay to run away sometimes – screw all those theories that you shouldn’t run away. Sometimes you need a break, and so sometimes to run away is your only option. But there does come a time when things catch up and the running needs to come to a halt, or a steady gentle stroll, for a while.

This is what has happened to me. And in many many ways, it feels so exciting. To want to stay somewhere, to want to settle down for a bit, fills me with a buzz that I’ve not felt before. It makes me feel alive, just like other people get that buzz at the thought of heading off on their next adventure. It’s like the ‘buzz’ has swapped places: it used to be there in the latter scenario, and the thought of settling down made me nauseas and with dread the weight of a small car in my stomach. That nausea and dread float by from time to time, and maybe will always be gently nestled there because I know that exploring is such a deep part of my veins. I will type about this another day, but I really believe you can fuel this adventuring desire without moving about and travelling everywhere. You can find your adventures in your everyday life.

Back to the running. Today it has just occurred to me that this running may have been because of this a gap in my heart. A Lack Gap. It’s a gap that’s been holding the pain, loss and grief of the lack of parenting or parental support in my life. I have been trying to fill this Lack Gap full with fun, adventure, socialising, love of others, passions…etc, until I hit a point where I couldn’t keep on going. This point I mention above, where you have to stop running. This point for me was overdosing. (Not recommended). For others it can be a more gentler breakdown, or for some, simply a big realisation that change needs to occur is enough. Whatever and however this point comes, what it brings with it is the need to address this Lack Gap in your life. Not in an ‘add-another-thing-to-your-to-do-list’ kind of way. But more in a, this is what happens kind of way. Without you knowing, just as life moves on its way, this Lack Gap seems to become gently filled. It just happens – don’t worry and stress about it. Just notice it.

Today, for the first time, I saw that maybe this pain of not belonging to anyone or anywhere, of not having having parents to say well done or to reassure or support me, of desperately trying to find someone who feels that way towards me (parent style), has been because of this Gap. This gap for me, feels fundamentally parent based. For others it might be different. I’d love to know.

Now, I see, this gap is slowly beginning to fill. Not fill with what I have always dreamt of and feel am lacking – parents, love and family support – but something even better and something even more important:

Self love.

That’s the biscuit. Anything else can take a hike when it comes to the ultimate most healing thing you can do for yourself. Love yourself. That’s it. Because the rest then follows. Obviously, sometimes it’s ‘easier said than done’ but I do really believe that this lies as the foundation for any healing or growth to take place. Even if it doesn’t feel like it, the self-love can be coming so subtly that changes start to occur, and then you begin to see that it is actually self love that you have to thank. And by self love, I mean yourself.

So maybe with this time of being able to, nervously, embrace settling down for a bit and letting whatever arise, arise, this little Lack Gap will slowly begin to fill with a love for myself that no parent or family member could ever give. Only something I can give myself.

Any of you notice how you try, or have tried, to fill a Lack Gap in your life?

Love.

It takes strength

Recently I have been having headlines of teen suicide, jumping out at me in papers and online news bulletins. Initially I jump away, out of fear of PTSD trigger. But then the fire of justice inside burns up and I look back and read on. It makes me livid. It makes me mad. It makes my blood boil. It makes me want to do everything I can to change it all. And most of all it makes me so sad. I have since used the anger that this subject raises, to overrule the PTSD that it taints to trigger. There are so many words I could share about this, and I will do soon. For now I want to share the following to lay the foundations of the story.

I don’t know if this use of anger method I’ve adopted is ‘right’. I don’t know if this is a good method, or a not-so good one. But I do believe anger is a real tool to express energy once suppressed. And suppressed anger and energy only ends in tears. I guess this is me attempting the ‘mind over matter’ take on PTSD, to a certain extent. I don’t know if this is how it works. I don’t know what the ‘after effect’ is. If I could be bothered (which I can’t) I’d write down every thought, every thing I did, and every state I felt, to see correlations over the days and weeks of my mood and anxiety state and see whether such things as the above help or hinder. But, like I said, I cannot be bothered and so I will just have to hold out hope that I roll with the ebbs and flows of life and my healing journey. And that whatever I choose to do in that moment, is something done listening to my guide of intuition and not my head, that sparks of PRESSURE.

I feel stuck in a bitter sweet, bitter sweet circle of healing. So many have said to refrain from talking about all the trauma that has happened in my life. These many people, a lot professionals, say to step back from it – even if just for a little amount of time – to let it settle from its heightened state, before you start to ‘work’ on it. In my soul I feel this to be true. But then there is that part of me that feels so much is there, on the tip of my tongue. And I feel suppressing it just digs it deeper and further into the nooks and crannies of my body. But what about a balance? This is what my soul sings for. This need to connect with the trauma and the pain, but not necessarily in a speaking, wordy way. This is where the details get triggering, and the images get frightening I crave and long for physical healing, physical release and mind-body connection with the damage that has been done. I do too, long for emotional sharing, but I long for it in a broader, day-to-day emotional health kind of sense. Not-so-much the digging up kind of sense.

I wish there was a guided way to do this. I wish someone could tell me how to do it. How to go down this path, without turning crazy or without doing it ‘wrong’ and ending up overdosing. But I guess there is no way of knowing, apart from holding a trust that whatever route you head down, it is the right one for you at that time. And within this trust, to gain awareness of the ‘worst-case-scenario’ angst processes that end up ruling your being so you can distinguish what is YOU and what is anxiety talking.

I fear listening to a song for fear of it taking me back to the time before I overdosed. Or the time after I did. I fear opening up that wound and increasing the chances of doing it again. But like I share here breaking the silence is the best medicine for suicide survivors. And I long to do that. I long to follow what I so strongly preach. And yet I am terrified that by sharing it and speaking about it, may leave me wanting it. Yet I know this distorted theory to not be true. I know it holds no words of wisdom or words of help at all. It is simply the classic ‘worst-case-scenario’ voices of anxiety having their fair share of speech. And this surely shows a sign of health: the fact I dread it so much that it halts and alters my daily plans and thought process, shows I do not want it…right? But it is hard when lines become so flickered and fluttered with such an intense subject. It is hard to trust it is just anxiety or a dampened mood. But it is. It really is. It is now something to which I long to let go of the fear that I will do it again, and see that embracing the moment in time and the new burning energy I feel within my self, can help you move beyond that. And because it happened before doesn’t mean it’ll happen again.

What is a life, if it is so constantly lived in fear of the road ahead?

Come out of the shadows and share. Let us all get a glimpse and stare at the beauty and admiration we all hold within ourselves when we come across someone who really CARES. Cares about themselves and about their subject, and does not worry about whether it is cool. Whether it is ‘PC’. Whether it is ligit. They just go ahead and share it anyway. And there is always someone, if not hundreds of someones, out there who connect and light up and are grateful and want to do the same. So lift your arms up and let the inner strength spill out. Because no matter how lonely, how fragile, how fearful, how unsure, we feel, there is always something to be said. Even if it is just to help shift the rattling thoughts from your head. I long to be like those people I admire. And maybe, in some snippety way, I am. And maybe, somebody would look at me and think the same, yet I sit here wishing to be different. To be something else. To be more of that, or more of them.

What if we are just simply perfect, the way we are? It is just our worrying and our loathing that trips us up?

Today I was feeling so cruddy cruddy cruddy crap. I felt sick to the bottom of my stomach with hate for myself. I tried to run from it, by spending the morning in the woods. It worked for a bit – I felt at peace and at home. But I was cold. So I tried to come to a cafe to bypass it and fill my time with niceness on the blogosphere. But it didn’t work. The voice of hate felt stronger than any outside distraction. So as I stepped foot off my bike, unable to bike any further up the hill because I just felt so SHIT, I realised I need to FEEL this feeling. I needed to hear this voice. This feeling, this voice, is just like any other feeling or inner critic’s voice, that therapy folks encourage you to feel. Be it anxiety, fear, worry, hate, anger: feel it and it plays itself out, just like a song. But these kind of self loathing and hate feelings I really fear…I mean really fear, because of what it tends to lead to. That I would be better off no longer here. I hate to type that, but it is true. I catastrophise. I become dramatic. If I cannot live in any inch of happiness, what is a life worth living? The problem is right here: any kind of down talk and self hating, loathing and wishing for difference, then tends to mix itself with anxiety about these thoughts. The lines of truth and worry, and sure-thinking and deep rooted anxiety, blur into a haze of hate. For me and for the situation. The ball spins round like this, whirling and un-understandable and unmanageable.

But then. What do you know. After typing and sharing, and expressing and hating it, for a few hours, it has shifted. It has softened. Just like they said it would. Just like I knew it would really.. And the feeling has reached the end of its haunting heart wrenching song. It has gone on its way, and has been replaced by a song of confidence and a song of longing socialising. For which I was intensely worried about before this. So now I am off, for a dose of friends. Something I have not had in a few weeks. My knees still clatter and my stomach still flutters but my heart knows that this is what life is about and just longs for a giggle and a share without a care of all that shitty life stuff going on out there.

See: it really does work. The feeling really does bring itself to an end, provided you give it the ear-time it deserves.

Tonnes of love.

No-one will ever really know

Your story is yours,

It holds your name and no-one else’s.

No-one will ever really hold the key,

To that box within your heart.

To that chest within your soul.

But that’s okay – there’s nothing wrong here,

It is time for you to be the one that turns to yourself.

For years, you have searched, you have scoured,

The corners of the earth,

For someone to understand and hear,

And be there to hold your tear.

They have tip-toed,

Some have come,

But now I see it is for me

To hold that emotional responsibility and protectivity.

Tell your story – share your words, share your life,

But know that at the end of the emotional day,

Only you really knows how it feels,

How it’s been

What has happened,

What it means,

Why?

Because no-one was there living within you but you.

All I long for is someone to really know,

To really understand,

To really be a part of what has been.

But as things rise up to be seen,

I am beginning to learn,

Against my will and want,

That I am the one to take care of me.

The one to set my worries free.

We are all in this together,

There for each other and there to discover,

Arm in arm and heart alongside heart,

But at the end of another emotional day,

We are alone together.

Knowing it is not just you that feels this way,

That even couples that have been together forever and a day,

Hold that loneliness individually to the core.

Alone together does not have to be sad.

It can be empowering,

But at times empty too.

This is when you pick up the phone

And call you.

Whoever that may be,

Know they are there to share that loneliness and to love unconditionally.

No matter how much you feel you don’t have that you, you do.

Just open your eyes and listen to the words of care showered upon you,

And those are the ones you call.

They are the ones that will be there through it all.