I’ve completed one project at university, now I’m onto a trickier,
looser project. As a designer, when the expectations are more broad it is more problematic
to come up with designs. It’s very challenging to stay focused and not feel
overwhelmed at university – but I have proficient organisational skills, I just
have to make sure that I don’t feel discouragingly about things. Challenges are
great and it’s worth taking on things to consume yourself. I love the diversion
of university and I’m definitely going to throw myself deeper into the realms
of that.
I’m fighting to find the words to explain my situation,
however I sincerely feel my friends are so benevolent and supportive – which is
remarkable. I’m such a lucky person and so I actively have to show my appreciation
and gratitude for those who have made an effort with me in a bid not to lose me
to a black hole of sadness. People ask me something that seems so simple, yet
it’s so complex to explain. “Your life sounds tough, Why haven’t you cried?”.
Four/Five weeks ago – I cried a lot and it felt so sore like
the tears were acidic burning through my skin. Crying until my eyes were dry
and red raw. My skin felt dry like sand, my hair became brittle and then it
started happening – the little clumps fumbled out, even if I just mistakenly
brushed against the strands with my fingers. It became a visual journey of what
I was going through. I looked at myself and I saw rock bottom, the protruding
bones – a trail of blemishes on my cracked, sore skin. Swollen feet from
walking so much, because I just felt like I had to keep walking to find some
perspective – to listen to another song through my headphones, to figure it
out. Every single night, I would go an incredibly long walk with the dog
because I just wanted to be separate and away from everything. I can’t breakout
from myself and I can’t appreciate myself if I’ve curled myself up in vicious barbed
wire.
I felt like I had to pretend a lot – just to save face. Not
to let those around me know how intensely I felt a low, just in case they
worried it would be weeks and months of that low and that they would never resuscitate
me from it. I felt like I caged my own fragile soul and I could feel it
arresting and strangling me. I would smile and toss the best jokes I could, and
every time I opened my mouth I just wanted to talk. Words would roll of my
tongue into ribbons of speech, without me even having to unpurse my lips. I
felt irresolute of the things I was saying, but I was so frenziedly afraid in
those seconds that someone would figure out that I was not okay. I figuratively
took my makeup, opened the joke book and made myself a clown – because it was
so easy to and it was the most desirable scenario that I could choose, if I
ever even had a choice. The joke was on me, so I said it before anyone else
could.
Today, I don’t feel perfect but I feel like I am strong
enough to relish the experiences of my life. I can walk from my bad situations,
and I have still not lost the kindness that my parents instilled in me – and the
faith that I challenge myself with. I’m progressing so well, but what I need to
grip is that recovery can take years and that stability may be far away. I
thought I was cured a few months ago, then I realised I wasn’t. I was incapable
of loving my life fully because I couldn’t love myself. How could I know what I
wanted, when I didn’t know myself? From time being alone, to sit with my own
thoughts, I’ve realised how fortunate I am to be who I am and to have the life
I have.
I can’t ask for much more, I just have to take care of
myself – like I am a little girl again. “We are sometimes taken into troubled
waters, not to drown – but to be cleansed”. They can show you how to swim, but
you have to do it and you have to figure that out, you are your own hero. I
have to take my medication, I have to attend appointments, I have to be
attentive and I have to make peace with what I cannot change.
I have an overwhelming love for myself because I have a
human life and I realise that is worth so much. My pain weaves my life into
knots, I spend my time tentatively untangling the frayed pieces – and tie bows
over the pieces I can’t undo. It’s about knowing when to put it together and
knowing when to leave it on the floor, and having that courage to feel
confident with what I have instead of aching over what cannot be changed.
I never asked to be ill, but I doubt anyone ever did.
