February 2012 - February 2013.

As most people are aware, I'm open with my mental health problems. Very open, in comparison to most people I know. And whilst it occasionally has it's problems, for the most part I haven't had anything bad come of it- although of course this may change whenever I want to get a 'proper' job and employers start Googling me, but whatever. Anyway. 

In the last few weeks, I've had more than a few people come to me (friends, acquaintances, sometimes people I have on Facebook after meeting them once or twice) looking for advice/support on various mental health issues. Anything from where to go in terms of looking for counselling services in their university, to asking how I manage to remember to take medication everyday. It is whenever things like this happen that I remind myself that for all the negativity that comes with being so open about these problems/issues/illnesses/whatever/etc. I have, if it means that people I don't know can ask me about the aforementioned things, it has to be worth it. 

And this leads me to the actual point of this post. Almost a year ago (sometime in February, but I can't remember the date- oddly I can never remember the dates of these things) I tried to kill myself again. I took a lot of tablets, and quite frankly it's a miracle my liver managed not only to withstand it, but come out relatively unharmed. I seem to be one of the lucky ones, seeing as after a couple of attempts like this, I haven't seen any long term damage. Then again, I'm still only 20. Seven years isn't a long time, maybe I'll experience future health problems as a result of all of this. But, similarly with my smoking, I don't worry about that sort of stuff right now. Making it from one day to the next is enough, for now. 

Right now, unfortunately, I am not in a good enough place to say 'I am glad I did not die'. I know that it is a good thing. But right now, I am not very well. It would be hypocritical to say that I am entirely happy and optimistic about the future, when I am not. I am functioning, to a degree. My stability fluctuates. I have to keep forcing myself to eat because I keep forgetting to be hungry. Sometimes I still need to push myself to get into the shower, to go outside, to leave my room. And I'm attempting to write three essays in the middle of this, too. But no matter.

These things have happened in the past year. They would not have happened, had I been successful. 

NUS and NUSUSI have been huge for me. It sounds wanky and cliched, but particularly in the last few months, these organisations have been a lot more for me than 'just' a student movement. The last few months have been terrible university wise, but I was able to try to keep focused on the fact that whilst my degree is apparently my biggest priority, whilst I'm in university I can also contribute to something much bigger and much more important than myself- trying my best to help the millions of other students in the UK and Ireland. I know both organisations have faced their fair share of criticism from all over the place since I've been involved, but despite our differences (whether they be political, or on how best to do x, y or z.. etc.), I know that I amongst a wonderful group of people who are united in the same cause and are throwing every piece of themselves into it. Meeting these people at events and meetings and committees and protests and conferences just makes it feel all the more worthwhile. I feel privileged and blessed to be involved with such wonderful and talented people, and so grateful for the lifelong friends I have made as I've gone along.

I finished my first year of university. I managed to NOT try to kill myself a few more times at the end of the academic year; which was by no means an easy feat. I had my heart broken, and subsequently learnt from it, even though it was easily one of the hardest things I've gone through. I moved into a wonderful flat with a best friend and remembered what it was like to have a home again, once the misery that was halls was over. I became friends with some excellent people, people who now count as best friends, as family. I travelled; I've been over to London a few times, I've been to Bristol, I've been to Berlin. I've discovered some more wonderful writing, some more incredible poetry. My room is covered in postcards and pictures from trips, galleries, museums, little bits of inspiration I've came across, birthday cards. I've found new music to listen to, I've played music with my family, I've taken up practising in the music rooms at uni. I remembered what it was like to be well enough to learn and to read and do all the things that I'd forgotten I could do, because being ill clouded any hope I had of ever feeling like my former self. I've had a visit from a wonderful friend during the summer I met on the Internet a few years ago, and we have become close friends since. I've had drunken nights in ridiculous clubs and hilarious mornings after, I've had days sitting in the sun doing absolutely nothing and nights spent sitting up till 3am playing board games. I've had few, but significant, moments when I am doing nothing, something ordinary and everyday and suddenly feel overwhelming grateful for this life I've been given. I've turned 20; I've made it to my twenties when I thought I would kill myself before I got there. I've embarked on a number of art projects, some completed, some lie unfinished. One is up on my wall. And even though I don't specifically look at it when I'm feeling particularly bad, I know that when I made it I wanted to remind myself that eventually this pain will be in the past. Eventually it will be behind me. I may suffer from health problems for the rest of my life, I may always remain on medication, I may be in therapy for a long time- but the hardest years, the loneliest years, they have to be behind me. They have to be because I can't believe otherwise. I would drive myself crazy- waiting for the next slip up, waiting for the next bout of depression or incident that lands me in hospital. The worst has to be behind me because there is nothing sadder than a 13-year-old child trying to kill herself. The worst has to be behind me because whilst no amount of art or writing that I produce as a result of being ill will ever make it worth it, I have been fortunate enough to meet some incredible people I am lucky enough to call friends. And people make it worth it. Or rather, they make it sufferable. 

Above all, I've survived. And I've gotten through. And I'm on the other side, despite how cloudy and uncertain it may be. And in the end, that's what matters. 

2012 #2.

July

Moving into Ashley, the disastrous first day and the great weeks that followed. Sarah's birthday, the meals out, the wonderful beautiful meals out where I worried about the cost rather than the calories. Falafel burgers and cocktails. Niamh's birthday night out, endless trips to Limelight and too many walks home from wherever he was staying that month. Alcohol, nights out, afternoons sitting in the garden smoking. Having the best time in the flat, happily living with a best friend and the best bed I've ever slept in. Beginning to work in NUSUSI, learning more everyday. Saying goodbye to Sylvia, the woman who saved my life more than once. Beginning to think I'd be able to cope on my own. Up and down, always up and down.

August

Forfey, camping and alcohol and taking photos and having the best time. Missing Heather and the Forfey of years ago. Tanya visiting, wonderful Tanya, having the best few days and becoming so close. The day trips, times at the beach, wearing whatever I wanted and finally not caring. Trying to get a job, failing, depression and tears. Seeing old friends on nights out. Caoimhe's birthday, the drunken night and the horrible walk home which ended with two strangers saving my life. Coming to terms with what was happening. More so, my inability to deal with it. 

September

University starting again, finally. Union, the drunkenness and the walk home the morning after. Bristol and the UK Feminista Conference, meeting Kelley and the start of a great friendship. Meeting so many incredible women and garnering support for the movement back in the north. Telling horror stories about our lack of access to reproductive health, feeling miserable and lonely and that the fight was too much. Remembering why we keep trying to do what we do, regardless of what they say about us. Seeing BJH, Sam and the beginning of us. Planning Berlin.

October

Ronan's birthday, nights in instead of out. Taking care of him. Wrestling with the ever internal battle to keep reminding myself that I was a girlfriend, not a therapist. Berlin, having the best four days. The city that seemed sad. The museums and the beer and the cheap wonderful food and the incredible people we met, sitting on the airport floor eating chips and drinking beer before going back to reality. Halloween that didn't happen, trying so hard to be understanding, seeing that it was wearing me away. The NUSUSI QUBSU referendum, friends caring who never used to, being called baby killers on the street. 

November

The SDLP Conference, the essay I managed first. Meltdowns. NUS Demo 2012, flying over for Women's Committee and meeting the most incredibly diverse group of intelligent women. Reminding myself that this was why we do it. The depression, the anxiety, essays gone to shit and classes missed. Blurry. Few photos, few outings of any significance, few memories save the ones mentioned. Blank. Depression.

December

December. Break up, the end of that. The end of the year. Turning 20, the disastrous weekend that it turned out to be, the tears and the depression. Letting go, entirely, of those who did nothing but ruin me. Saying goodbye to any hope of reconciliation. Days spent in bed, tears, anxiety, classes missed. Appointments cancelled and shite doctors and dealing with a university who seemed determined to put everything in my way. PostSecret, Dublin. Tears the entire way through. Meeting my hero, the one upside to what had been a terrible week. Home, family. Rest. Kittens! The best few days in what was a terrible month. Coming back, more appointments, new medications, seemingly stable. A new year's eve spent with good people, a new year's day spent with good friends. Welcoming in the new year tipsy and lonely, unsurprising. 

As a whole, this wasn't a very enjoyable thing to write. It didn't feel nice to look through photographs of people who are no longer in my life, and it didn't make me happy to try and remember the few happy times in between the dark mess that was most of my year. I have some wonderful friends and family in my life and have had some wonderful experiences this year, but it just doesn't feel like the good outweighs the bad, unfortunately. Which is a shame- because if the bad hadn't been so bad, then it might not be so. The good is good- travelling, meeting some amazing new people, NUSUSI, NUS, working, The Gown, simple drunken nights out in Limelight without a care in the world.. but it doesn't quite cut it. It doesn't quite make the dullness in any way more shiny. We are in a new year, but we still have last year's problems. Nothing has changed but the date. I managed to stay out of hospital, to stay in university- but it is difficult to list these things as things to be proud of when you know you are capable of accomplishing so much more. 

Maybe I am being too harsh on myself, maybe I need to give myself a break. Maybe finishing this post after a day working in the library wasn't the best idea. But that's what it's like. Sometimes I am lucky and have days when I feel like myself again, it is usually then that I decide to write it down, to document it. But there are the days in between, the days unseen to most people who know me. I've stopped saying 'I'm fine' when someone asks me how things are- I've stopped caring if it makes them awkward, I've stopped caring if it wasn't the answer they wanted to hear. Things aren't fine, and I'm not fine- so I won't pretend to be.

It feels sad to leave this post in this way. But I can't think of anything particularly uplifting to announce about my year, no matter what I've learned and the experiences I've had, it has been a bad one. 

30th December.

Eric Whitacre’s is wonderfully calming music. 

I feel as though I am in one of those moods when the sheer wonder of everything is almost overpowering. The fact that I have access to millions of words (I’m currently in my university library- and as far as libraries go, it is a pretty spectacular one), the ability to learn, the fact that I am sitting comfortably at a table on a Sunday evening happily researching and working on an essay.. it is miles from where I felt my head and heart a few mere days ago.

What goes down will come up. Eventually.

It will break your heart and your head, but it will come up, and eventually, one day, you will begin to have the moments when you finally feel like your old self. These moments are admittedly fleeting, and I can only remember the few I have had in the past few months if I have documented them (usually on the internet).

But when I read them later, particularly if things have gone to shit again, particularly if I have begun to make secret, calm plans, particularly if it is the middle of the night and the loneliness is too much to handle- I remember that these moments happened, and can happen again, will happen again.