My contribution.

Here's something I wrote for a mental health awareness website that my university is setting up - I'll post a link when it's finished. I'm submitting anonymously, but if anyone puts two and two together, yep this is me!

It was really strange, writing it. I never thought there was anything wrong with me before, I was just a bit weird, you know? But writing it down makes it a bit more ... real. Keeping it to six hundred words was a struggle too; I have a painful relationship with word counts, as all of my seminar tutors have had to find out this year. Here goes.

Living with a mental illness is like living in hell a lot of the time. But actually admitting to yourself that you have a mental illness, and forcing yourself to get help – that’s the hardest part. When I arrived at university I knew I wasn't okay, but I’d grown up with the mentality that if you put your head down and get on with things, then the issue will go away. You’ll get used to it. You will get settled, and you will be fine.

I’d tell myself these things constantly, but every time I had a panic attack or spent hours trying to get to sleep at night, it would just feel like another failure. I wasn't getting better, I wasn't coping with the big change that everyone who moves to university goes through, and I was weaker than everyone else.

That’s what my head does. I think constantly, I worry and worry and it never stops. Sometimes, if I don’t close all the doors in the house or put everything in the right place before I go to bed, then the voice in my head gets louder. My own voice, over and over again, telling me that I’m not doing something right; I’m a stupid, worthless person who never does anything right. It’s like that feeling when you’re just about to fall off a chair, or drop a plate – it feels like that, but all the time. A heaviness on your chest, a hook in your throat. You’re going to mess up, you’re going to let someone down, maybe you shouldn't even be here. It never stops.

Suddenly after moving away, it became very easy to shut the whole world out and very hard to motivate myself to do simple things. I also felt guilty, incredibly guilty – all the people around me were handling all the things I was perfectly, so why was I struggling?

The more people I got to know, the more commitments I gained. I’d make myself as busy as possible during the day so I could drown out the angry voice, and collapse into bed at night so I wouldn't lie awake for hours. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't please everyone. The pressure I had placed on myself kept building, and I didn't know how to be in control of what I was doing. It’s not like I could tell anyone either, I didn't want anyone else thinking I was pathetic – my own voice was bad enough.

When my trichotillomania started to pick up, and thoughts about hurting myself entered my head again, I knew it would get harder to stop. I sent in a self-referral form for a counselling session. It took a while, but I kept my head above water until that point when the counselling service contacted me. It was a target that I’d set myself: get to that meeting, don’t give in. I didn't even know what ‘giving in’ meant at that point, but I didn't want to find out yet.

The counselling service have helped, a lot. I still have panic attacks and dark days, but at least someone knows now. At least I know that my struggles aren't abnormal, and the help is there. It’s so easy to think that you’re on your own, but this university can put you on a path to find the means to feel stronger, and hopefully they’re getting better at it too.

Living with a mental illness is like living in hell. But it’s not a weakness, so don’t let it stop you getting the most out of life. 

I'm trying not to, anyway.

One regret.

It was my secondary school's presentation evening last night. After my mum made me wear a dress, and then told me that said dress was too tight and I needed another one, I wasn't in the best of moods when it started. But it didn't turn out too badly. I saw a few old friends, a few old teachers whom I now consider to be friends, and my old school chaplain gave me a kiss on the cheek for the leaving present I got for him last year. He's an incredible man.

It was nostalgic, but not as much as I'd anticipated. On the one hand, it felt like I'd never left; yet on the other, everything had changed, and it seemed surreal to think I'd ever spent seven years of my life there. It made me contemplate who I'd become, what I achieved, and what I hadn't.

I've come to the conclusion that I will now have one regret in life - on the premise that I don't have the intention to make any more, because they aren't much fun. I'm always going to imagine how much different, or better, my life could have been had I applied to Oxbridge. I've voiced this regret to several people, and each one has replied in a similar fashion: "You wouldn't have enjoyed it, it would have been too much for you." Implying in the very least that, although academically speaking I would've been fine, mentally I would have struggled to cope under the pressure that such institutions are famous for placing on their students to push them past their potentials. Now don't get me wrong, I think the people that have said such things are completely right, as they all know me better than I know myself. But I still feel incredibly sad about that.

The fact that I often can't understand my own thoughts and behaviour from a subjective point of view scares me so much; I had no idea that I'd be this bad. I have frequent panic attacks, my trich is getting worse and I battle against anxiety with every decision I make. The feelings and judgements of the people around me echo in my head and haunt me through night and day, to the point where I can only just make out the words of self-depreciation that repeat endlessly. It's a bloody good thing I didn't go to Oxbridge, and I think God knew that too. But how weak am I, knowing that I wouldn't be able to cope in an environment where, had I been stronger and more together, I could have excelled and made people proud of me.

Mental health isn't a joke; it's a nightmare, and I don't even know the worst of it. I'm far from it, so many people experience it in ways that I'll never know and that scares me even more. If I struggle to reach God on dark days, then what chance to others have who fall even further from clarity and security? And if God remains silent, then what are we supposed to do?

It seems to me that mental health is the largest issue of human nature that we're having to face in today's world, and we don't appear to be making a lot of progress. Not from where I'm standing anyway. Science might be developing, but the stigma surrounding various mental illnesses is standing its ground in the face of people suffering and recovering alike, making life even more impossible than it was before. People remain ignorant and all-assuming, to the point where in such a society it feels like having the mental illness is the least of a person's problems. We aren't learning from the same mistake we've made for years regarding physical disability: clearly, a person's surroundings are what cause them to disabled, not the physical impairment itself. I learnt that when I experienced being unable to walk during my first weeks of term at university with a cast on my leg; despite the fact that provisions were made for disabled students, I still found myself stuck in faulty lifts whilst trying to avoid stairs on several occasions, and wheelchair-friendly ramps were rendered pointless when I realised that they required me to push uphill for a solid five minutes. The same restrictions apply when we discuss mental health, and they are vast.

So until I live in a world where academic ability doesn't have to be shamed and impeded by one's mental state, and the success and quality of life that most people enjoy is attainable for those whose strengths and talents lie in different areas, who may not able to walk or talk but can still think and reach their goals - then I will continue to be sad. I have one regret, but others have many, and not by their own limitations but the ones forced upon them.

Wake up world, people are drowning. It's time to change.

Thorns in their sides.

So, I just saw Noah.

Not the actual man, I'm not having mysterious dreams or anything. None that involve him in any case.

No, the film, with Russell Crowe and Emma Watson. It was really, really good - it was an interpretation, and I don't know how I feel about the angels that looked like talking rocks and the CGI babies, but aside from a few tiny things, I really enjoyed it. It made me relax, which is something I'm having trouble with at the moment. But it also made me think, and that's never good.

It made me think about why I'm here. Why I'm me. Why God, or the Creator as He's been referred to as this evening, made me the way I am.

What purpose could I possibly have as a gay woman? I know that I was born like this, I'm certain of it. I can't change that, either, and at this point in my life I can honestly say that I don't want to change.

However, watching the film tonight and the issues that are involved, it seems clear to me that God created women, and men, for a reason. They are compatible, they are suited, they make sense. Even without the purpose of procreation, there's a sense of a 'clean fit' between them. So why on earth did God create gay people?

Now gay men and women have relationships that are just as healthy and fulfilling as heterosexual relationships. Is that the only reason that we exist as we do, though? To have and share and enjoy relationships, that's it? 

Maybe that's true, actually. Maybe I just needed to write my thoughts and doubts down so that they make sense. That is the only reason we're here, isn't it? To share in happy, healthy relationships with people, all kinds of people. 

There is no place for me in Noah's story, and maybe not in the entire Bible. But if the Bible did show one thing, it displayed the diversity of human kind. I believe that my type of diversity was hidden underneath verse after verse, and behind characters like an anonymous slave or an ambiguous thorn in the side of a well known protagonist. 

There was little room for Ham in Noah's story, too, but he was still in God's plan. So that must mean I am too, right?

God must be okay with the fact that I was paying more attention to Emma Watson than Logan Lerman this evening, or else I wouldn't be here. Whether or not He has a life planned for me like I presume He does for every straight person in the world is another thing entirely, though. 

The foundation of our human existence that is heternormativity will continue to make me struggle with things that I feel I need to understand. But I guess only time will tell what God has in store for me, and whether being gay even matters to Him at all. I do really sometimes wish that Jesus had just mentioned homosexuality, just once - it'd make our lives so much easier! And part of me wishes that one of those many biblical protagonists had a named and gendered thorn in their side, but even if they did, we shall never know.

For now, I'll just keep smiling when Emma Watson (have I mentioned her yet?) appears on my screen, and be content with the simple side to human nature. Enough thinking and pointless rambling for one night. 

Precipice.

It scares me how easy it is to let everything go, and 'go off the rails' as they say. Literally, it would take me a few weeks at best to turn my life completely upside down. I could do that. I have the power to do that. Its probably just about the only thing I have the power to do right now.

Thinking about it, it therefore doesn't surprise me why so many young people do take a nose-dive in life. Personally, I could get totally wasted every night on not a lot of money and without walking for more than five minutes. If I wanted drugs, I know exactly who to talk to. I can pinpoint every bridge or tall building I could jump off. I could quit my university course in a day. I could lock my door, and if I disappeared I doubt anyone would think anything of it for at least two days.

All of these things, and the amount of times I think about them, absolutely terrify me. It seems like we have to climb a mountain every day to achieve things in life, sometimes even just to get out of bed, but ruin our lives completely? Barely any effort at all.

That's where I feel like I am now. I'm on an edge. I'm peering over a precipice, and I could lean one way or the other. I have expectations and the people I love pulling me one way, but the colossal amount of fucking mistakes and bad choices I make and the lack of motivation I have and the worthlessness and the darkness and all the shitty pain and insecurities pulling me the other way.

Some people would laugh. I've been through barely anything compared to other people, I have a great life, I have nothing to complain about, and they're right.

But there's this pit. It's dark, it's cold, and it's sucking me in. My vision is turning to grey, and I'm struggling to sleep without nightmares each night. Breathing hurts, and the people who can support me are too far away, or I've pushed them that far because I keep doing stupid fucking things. I don't know how to change, and \i don't know what to do.

So the other side of this precipice, it feels closer.

And I'm so, so scared.

Michaelmas to Lent.

I feel as though I have an immense amount to fill you in on! I haven't been very proactive in maintaining a regular interest in this blog, so I apologise. I'll try and get better at it.

But I do really mean it, a lot has happened since my last post. More than anything, looking back on my rather eventful first term (a skin infection, a dislocated knee, a subsequent leg in plaster and a slight case of concussion - thank goodness God was with me or who knows what else could've happened!) I've come to notice that intertwining my sexuality and my faith within my lifestyle as a student at Lancaster has been much harder than I'd anticipated. The gulf between the two worlds is still incredibly large and very visible; so much so, that I've heard members of each respective 'side' criticize the other, and in some cases I can hardly argue against them. Not all cases, of course, but I have yet to challenge any comments made. I feel cowardly and stupid, for these aspects of my identity are crucial and of so much importance and relevance in my life. But what kind of reception would I get? In my mind (which is prone to jumping to worst case scenarios now and again) coming out within my church community might ostracize me and provoke comments and opinions that, quite frankly, I'd rather not hear again. On the other hand, if I was to state my religious beliefs amongst the gay and feminist communities that I'm part of, I'd probably receive an equally frosty and challenging reception. Clearly, I might be exaggerating, and completely underestimating the people I've gotten to know over the last few months. However I believe that my position on this only more vehemently indicates the ongoing conflict between the two communities, and highlights the pain and anger that has been caused in the past by this conflict that is still very present and active in the lives of young people in particular.

Despite this issue, it hasn't stopped me enjoying the opportunities I've had in getting with involved with these groups and societies. Unfortunately, the knee injury that I mentioned before has prevented me from rejoining the women's rugby team, and from playing contact sports entirely for the foreseeable future. This has been quite a blow for me, as anyone who knows me well will know how much I love participating in sport and being part of a team, so being told I can't do this anymore has been crippling. Nevertheless, with my gym membership now active, I've been trying to get down and use the (oh so amazing) facilities that the university's sports centre has to offer, in the hope that I might be able to strengthen my knee joint and play again some time in the future, whilst also trying to get my fitness back to what it was (although it wasn't very impressive in the first place, let's be honest - maybe I can make some progress beyond what I'm used to!). Just this week I've also managed to secure a job at the sports centre's swimming pool, assisting in swimming lessons like I used to do back at home for so many years. I haven't got any regular hours yet, just filling in wherever they need me, but I'm hoping it will lead to something permanent in the future. It's a job, anyway; I'm definitely not complaining!

Instead of throwing all of my energy into sport, I've had the chance to get involved in other things that I otherwise wouldn't have had the time to pursue. I've been trying to get to church every Sunday morning; the church I'm currently trying to make a regular commitment to is called Moorlands Evangelical Church, and I've already made several friends have that supported me through my turbulent last term. It has a lot of provisions for students, and even though the church itself consists of a mixture of families, students and older people there is a lot of emphasis on helping students make the best of their time at university, and encouraging them to live as Christians within student culture. The bible teaching each week is incredible, and although I sometimes find it hard to stay awake due to a late night beforehand, I still learn a lot! It's refreshing to be able to listen to a new perspective on aspects of the Bible that I've never heard before, which is something I appreciate about having the freedom to attend the church that appeals to me the most. Not that I'm knocking my own church communities back at home - you're all wonderful! But as I've had to understand through moving to new a place, different is nearly always good.

I'm also currently involved in a production called the 'Vagina Monologues'. For those of you who don't know what it is, I've enclosed a link above just in case my description doesn't do it justice! Basically, it is a play constructed in the form of a series of monologues, written and compiled by Eve Ensler and a number of women that she interviewed. The common theme is, of course, the vagina, and different experiences that women have had surrounding their sexuality, and each monologue conveys a different experience, ranging from rape to birth, from heterosexual to homosexual to transsexual experience, and just mere appreciation of the vagina and female sexuality. It is funny, harrowing, emotional, and above all a celebration of the female gender and identity. Not only it is a play, though; it has also led to the V-Day campaign, a global movement that campaigns around issues such as violence against women and girls, and female equality. In support of this cause, Lancaster does a performance of the Monologues every year using the monologues that originally Ensler compiled, and has done for twelve years previously, and fund-raises to support a local organisation that fights or provides for women's rights.

At first I thought I'd missed my chance to be a part of this inspiring movement this year, due to my injury, but I was lucky enough to have a conversation with one of the directors during a LGBT workshop (a society that I've also been getting involved in) on a day that one of the performers dropped out, so I got a part! Having never even seen the play being performed before, I feel incredibly privileged and excited to be so directly involved this year, performing alongside many amazing and wonderful women. Now I'm definitely no actress, and learning my lines has been quite an experience, so I hope I do them the justice they deserve! But, as someone said a few rehearsals ago, this play isn't like any other play, and any imperfections that we make only contribute to the imperfections of women themselves, imperfections that we're celebrating, because we're know we're not perfect. So that takes the pressure off a bit!

In terms of my studies (yes, I'm doing a degree as well, I forget that sometimes), it's going okay. English is good, the lectures are really interesting and the materials we're studying are so rich and wonderful! But, because our first year is just an 'over-view' year to ease everyone in, we never really get the chance to explore a specific topic before we move onto the next one. And don't get me started on the department; one thing I've learnt at university is that as a kid you think that adult institutions and businesses operate so smoothly and are so incredibly organised, but in reality they're really not! And my tutor is cute, he's a Swedish guy called Johan and he attached packets of Haribo to our first essays when he gave them back to us - but have I learnt anything from him? Probably not. Oh well, I guess it's a learning curve for him too!

My minor subjects that I have to do this year are going a little better; EPR (ethics, philosophy and religion for those of you like my dad who keep forgetting what it is) is enriching and challenging, to an extent that I really have to concentrate to understand half of what the lecturer is saying most of the time! But it keeps me on my toes, so that's good. Gender Studies is less challenging in a way but just as interesting, and continues to add fuel to my feminist ideals through our exploration of how gender affects different elements of the society we live in.

I've started sharing meals with my housemate Alex this term as well, to make surviving a bit easier for both of us. I thought I'd attach a photo of when I made shepherd's pie for us whilst she was at a lecture, as it was my turn to cook - the mince was a bit frazzled, and there was definitely more cheese than potato, but overall not a bad first attempt!

So that's my update, really. I'm sure I have lots more to tell you that I'll think of later, so I'll be back soon! Much love and stuff.

18 going on 30.

Some people are born to be teenagers. Some people are born to be students. Some people never want to grow up, and stay younger forever. But a rare few quite like the idea of getting that little bit older, of slowing the pace of life down before it has time to get started.

Me, I think I was born to be middle-aged.

Now I'm saying with no personal insight into what it's like to be middle-aged; being 18, I haven't reached that point yet. But that's the thing; stating my age just then felt like a confession, a revelation of a hidden truth that I'm not accustomed to people knowing. Its like I'm a tiny bit ashamed to be so young, because I've never felt like I can claim that I live (or want to live) the life of a typical 18 year old in the Western world. I don't deserve this youth, because I don't utilize it enough, I don't take advantage of the fact that my mind and body are a lot sharper than they're going to be in only a few years' time (well, my mind in any case, my body is actually falling apart at the minute, but at least it's healing fast). How on earth can I be 18, when in reality I'd rather be 30?

What I mean by this is that I'd much rather stay in and finish the book I'm reading/film I'm watching/actually sleep than go out and dance the night away in a club, whilst being completely wasted, and waking up to a multitude of embarrassing photos than convey exactly why I don't remember any of the events that were captured happening at all. I like structure, I like routine, I like clean clothes and a (relatively) tidy room and three meals a day and movie nights and a weekly night at the pub. Goodness, this middle-aged affliction is worse than I thought.

In my mind, all of these things that I try to instate into my daily student life manifest themselves as the life I'm aspiring to have in the future. Similarly, all the things I try and avoid - going out every night, not remembering how I got home, forgetting to eat/surviving on Pot Noodles for weeks, leaving work to the last minute, spending every valuable moment watching Vine videos - I associate with the life I should be wanting to lead, the youthful and care-free student life. Don't get me wrong, that last description really is my life (more so than I care to admit) but its getting on my nerves already and I've only been here a month! Give me a tub of Ben and Jerry's and Titanic over a night out any day, I'm begging you.

This sense of guilt I've been feeling has made me think though; am I really just having this premature yearning to be middle-aged and boring, or is this just another of society's stereotype games trying to push me into a box, dictating who I'm supposed to be and how I'm supposed to act? We all know that student life is largely based around a heavy drinking culture. A lack of order is to be expected, and on several occasions I've found myself exaggerating how much I've drank and how little I've slept, just to adhere to this strange sense of normality within the typical student existence. I wonder, do most students genuinely want to get utterly pissed each night, or do they just feel a need to conform, to get ready and go out with the rest of their flatmates who always seem to be more up for it than they are?

It might just be me, and my weird set of life ambitions. I'm constantly plagued by the feeling that I absolutely have to get the most out of life, and be liked by everybody, and at the moment the easiest way to satisfy both of those needs is by going out and getting drunk and 'having a good time'. I'm not intending to slate alcohol, by the way, and occasionally I do have a brilliant night out. But, just for once, I'd love to go out because I actually want to, and I'd love to be able to have a good time without the need to get myself as intoxicated as possible in the shortest amount of time.

My student moan is over now! I'll fill you in with all the more enthusiastic and uplifting details of student life soon. I'm now off to climb into my freshly washed bedsheets - and I think after all that ranting I still feel a little too guilty for being so excited about that. 

I'm a Fresher!

As of about six hours ago, I have now been a full-time, undergraduate, Lancaster University Freshers student. On the one hand, this week has gone much faster than I thought it would. I mean, my first week of living on my own has been and gone, how is that possible?! On the other hand though, somehow I have packed so many subject talks and free pizza leaflets and empty cider bottles into this week, I feel like I've already been here for years.

It was a bit weird to start with; I'm living with eleven other people at the moment (in the UK's best University accommodation for 4 years' running, just thought I'd mention it) so the first few days were incredibly overwhelming. My housemates are all very different and very wonderful people! I'll no doubt be talking about them lots over the next year.

After my parents and sister left me in my room, it did start to hit me that I'd really done it. I'd moved out, I'd started a new part of my life. And right now it's also dawning on me that I've survived my first week here; I've cooked several meals (albeit some took considerably more preparation than others), joined a few societies, been on a few nights out, even met a few people outside my house and college, and took part in the student women's rugby trials today, which were really relaxed and involved a pint afterwards - always good! It's my last official freshers night out tonight, I've got my first ChurchSearch destination tomorrow, and then my lectures start on Monday. Surely then, if I've got this far, I can definitely make it to the end of this year. Fingers crossed!

I am missing my family and friends back home though; I'm hoping my sister is going to come up and see me soon, and my girlfriend is coming up next week - it's been really hard not seeing her regularly. It's not quite the same, and it's still something I'm adjusting to.

As for the whole gay thing, well, I didn't think it was going very well at first. I was crushed on my first night when our Freshers' Reps started calling the female president of the LGBT club 'the Beast', and no one seemed particularly up for stopping using the word 'fag' when I asked them not to. However, as the week has gone on, people have started to ask me about my girlfriend after I casually slipped her into conversations a few times, and a few girls have even said that I should tell them if anyone gives me trouble about it next week. I'm sure it'll be fine, just as everything else has gone much more smoothly than I could ever imagined.

It's funny, I rarely tend to notice God's presence when each second is speeding past me and I'm in the thick of the moment - but always, in retrospect, I can see how much He helps me through every day. Some would call it coincidence, some would say I got through this week as well as I have through my own strength. But you definitely wouldn't be saying those things if you'd seen me the night before I left! No, God has been next to me through this entire week. Reflection is a good way to stop me doubting.

Now I need to get ready before I go out one last time this week; it is by far not the last time I will ever go out this year! But I have a feeling I'm going to need a serious boost in energy to keep me going tomorrow. I'll let you know how on getting I'm soon.

God bless :)