At the weekend the Southbank Centre in London held the #ChangingMindsFest, a weekend long festival dedicated to mental health. I had seen it advertised and thought about going, but that was before I started to become more ill in December and stopped really organising things to do.
As part of A Day In The Life, they invited contributions answering the questions:
"How was your day, what made your mental health better and what made it worse?"
I decided to submit the speech I made at the TUC Mental Health & Austerity event that day, and just found out that it was included. The slideshow played for 36 hours on a loop at the Southbank.
My answer are slides 11 - 24, with a content note for suicide.
Showing posts with label health. Show all posts
Showing posts with label health. Show all posts
Monday, 8 February 2016
Thursday, 18 April 2013
A lot of Thoughts.
This will not be an easy post to write. I have some music playing in the background, and a glass of wine beside me. I can already feel my eyes tearing up. Mostly because I've never told anyone this before, and I never thought much about it until recently.
I didn't think about it again until recently because I never thought it was odd. Or rather, I didn't see any significance in it, if that makes sense. I'm finding it difficult to get words out, they are in a mixed up mess with a lot of feelings and thoughts and I'm not quite sure how to talk about this, or where to start.
When I was about 7, I wanted to be a boy.
It feels very strange to have those words staring up at me. I have thought and thought and thought about them in the past few weeks, but I haven't said them. I wanted to be a boy. My friends were boys, I played with boys at break time, I liked the girls I was friends with, but I identified with the boys more. And so I told my friends I was deciding to be a boy. And told them to call me Ash instead of Aisling. And thought this wasn't unreasonable at all.
And of course, in a typical seven-year-old way, nobody else thought this was the most normal thing in the world (I've never directly talked to my parents about this sort of stuff, but I know that they have been instrumental in me becoming who I am. Although this sort of thing I find difficult to talk about with anyone, I know that they love me entirely and have been so wonderful at making my sisters and I the open minded people we are today. My mum always tells a story - TANGENT, SOZ - about how when I was about four, I was in my Granda's car when he was bringing us somewhere or other, and he asked why I only had two of my girl Barbies with me rather than bringing one of the boy ones, and I told him not to be silly, Granda, they're lesbians. And he had no idea how I knew what lesbians were. I have no idea how I knew either, but that's not the point. The point is that this sort of stuff was never odd to me, at all. And I have my parents to thank for that). The girls told me I couldn't play with them any more and that I wasn't allowed in the girls' toilets either. The boys' toilets terrified me. I'm not quite sure why. It was maybe the fear of not knowing what they were like behind the door. I don't really know.
And then I dropped it. I didn't want to be left out, I was seven years old. I dropped it and I remember feeling annoyed that people had laughed and didn't think that it was perfectly reasonable, but I got over it. But it was one of those memories that you remember, clearly. I have a picture in my head, I can remember how I felt. I didn't think about it too much. Except the times, as I grew up, when I'd be told my hair was a mess when I was playing rounders, and I told them I didn't care. When I felt pressured to shave my legs at the age of twelve, as if there was something wrong with the hair that was on them.
What would have happened if, when I was seven years old, it had been fine? It had been fine to suddenly announce to your classmates that you wanted to be a boy, and that they just better get used to it. We didn't even get to wear trousers in primary school, never mind secondary school. I wore a pinafore in secondary school.
This is upsetting, but the kind of upsetting that needed to come out, at some time or other. What I would give to tell the seven-year-old me that there was nothing wrong with wanting to be a boy, to tell the twelve-year-old me that taking out my self-hatred on myself wouldn't make the problems go away, to tell fifteen-year-old me that I didn't need to wear make up if I didn't want to, to tell seventeen-year-old me to stop thinking about how seemingly huge I looked in my formal dress and to just try and enjoy your night.
I don't know how to tell myself now that the problems constantly circling around my head are, often, the result of the society I live in. It is not acceptable to be different. Especially in Northern Ireland, but it obviously isn't a problem only here. It is lonely and isolating to live in a place where your Health Minister thinks that blood from a gay man is dirty, where you rarely say the words "I AM QUEER" because you know that most people will either laugh or look confused.
This is upsetting to write and upsetting to think about, because I usually don't let myself do so. The anger at the injustice usually wins out- which is great, because it shows, for the most part, my mental health isn't being too badly affected (in the past it has been very badly affected by this kind of stuff). The anger at the sheer ridiculousness of the lack of equality always wins out. I don't let myself think about how upsetting it is when someone thinks that you don't deserve something that they take for granted everyday. When something is core to your being, to have it dismissed, again and again, is very difficult to deal with. Of course, you all know this. You're maybe nodding your head- even if we're talking about different things in terms of the specifics, we all understand what I'm talking about. Whether it's equal marriage or the right to choose or the right to hold your partner's hand on the street without getting abuse hurled at you, it's all the same. We fight because it is how we deal with these things, and we don't let ourselves feel the hurt. We don't because we can't let them win. We can't give up, because they will have won. We can't give up because we will be on the right side of history and they will not. We can't give up because it is the fucking right thing to do.
This has gone off into a bit of a tangent. But I don't care. I used to write a lot when I was young. Stories, poems, songs, I did it all. I was that kid in school who went over the word limit by seven pages with a massive story that I just had to get out because it would be too unreasonable to stick to the three page word limit. I used to use words to just get it all out and I've only started to do it again, publicly, in the last while. I wrote my post about identifying as Queer on this blog. I suppose one thing it definitely shows is how much my generation are babies of the technological age, but you know what I mean. I don't feel the need to 'announce' it to anyone, but I feel the need to recognise it. This is who I am and this is how I feel and that is okay, even if it wasn't okay for so many years.
I'm in tears, and I don't know if they're happy tears or sad tears, or need-to-define-them-at-all tears, but they're there and that's okay. I wish I could be at LGBT Conference right now. I am so happy that my union finally sent someone (and I know he will have an incredible time! I've been tagging him in a million tweets all week introducing him to people I want him to meet). At Women's Conference, once I got over the anxiety and stuff that I'd been feeling, I don't think I'd ever felt more accepted in a group of people before. You didn't have to explain, you didn't have to validate why you were there or how you felt or anything, and it was great. It was so, so great.
The fact that I can acknowledge this, whatever this is, is both overwhelming and wonderful. The reason I can is because of a few people.
I first met Hel on NUS Women's Committee this year. And Hel is a fucking genius. Literally, a fountain of wisdom. But not only that, Hel is the nicest person in the entire world. I don't think I've ever met someone with more patience, ever. Always willing and ready to answer any questions, write you up a blog post, facilitate a workshop- anyone who knows Hel knows what I'm talking about. It is the combination of Hel's way with words (link to the blog), immense and unending kindness and willingness to approach every single little thing with the best of attitudes and the most positive of outlooks. I can't express, really, how much knowing Hel has made me feel able to talk about these kinds of things. At all.
When I first got involved in NUS-USI (which, realistically, has been pretty life changing) Adrianne was there to pick up the pieces and show me what to do. Show me how to get through, show me what to avoid, educate me, lead me, tell me just how much of a fucking right I had to be there with the men. Adrianne was the catalyst to me being able to come to terms with and discover a hell of a lot of things about myself and I will never forget that. Ever. THIS HAS TURNED INTO A BLOG ABOUT HOW MUCH I LOVE PEOPLE. I think I've just accepted that it is a medley of thoughts..
And Sky. Sky, Sky, Sky. I don't really have the words, but anyone who knows Sky knows what I'm talking about without me even having to say it. In so many ways, Sky has done so much without even realising it. And a lot consciously, too. To have someone who is so unequivocally themselves is the best thing I can see, as someone who is really confused and not sure what the hell is going on, ever. I'm almost sure I'm not the only one who thinks this, but to have Sky as one of the leaders of our LGBT campaign in terms of NUS, is one of the best things I have been privileged to witness this year and I literally don't want to think about when Sky leaves.
It obviously hasn't been just these people, the support and love from people like Kelley and Maryam will never go unnoticed. They have all been mentors and comforters and supporters and leaders and fucking good friends, people like this inspire me every single day and it is one of the reasons I am so thankful for getting involved the way I have this year. Without it, I wouldn't be helping people. Without it, I would probably be as screwed up as I was a few years ago. I am determined to make 2013 a year with no hospital stays, with no dips that last for months, I will not let myself stop trying to accept myself, even when it is hard. These people are the reason that I can remember to keep going on.
This has been a post composed of a lot of things. But I am ending on a happy note. These people have helped me realise and accept things about myself that I never could have dreamed I could accept, things I didn't know existed until an embarrassingly short time ago. And for that, I am eternally grateful. This is why we do what we do. For people like this.
I didn't think about it again until recently because I never thought it was odd. Or rather, I didn't see any significance in it, if that makes sense. I'm finding it difficult to get words out, they are in a mixed up mess with a lot of feelings and thoughts and I'm not quite sure how to talk about this, or where to start.
When I was about 7, I wanted to be a boy.
It feels very strange to have those words staring up at me. I have thought and thought and thought about them in the past few weeks, but I haven't said them. I wanted to be a boy. My friends were boys, I played with boys at break time, I liked the girls I was friends with, but I identified with the boys more. And so I told my friends I was deciding to be a boy. And told them to call me Ash instead of Aisling. And thought this wasn't unreasonable at all.
And of course, in a typical seven-year-old way, nobody else thought this was the most normal thing in the world (I've never directly talked to my parents about this sort of stuff, but I know that they have been instrumental in me becoming who I am. Although this sort of thing I find difficult to talk about with anyone, I know that they love me entirely and have been so wonderful at making my sisters and I the open minded people we are today. My mum always tells a story - TANGENT, SOZ - about how when I was about four, I was in my Granda's car when he was bringing us somewhere or other, and he asked why I only had two of my girl Barbies with me rather than bringing one of the boy ones, and I told him not to be silly, Granda, they're lesbians. And he had no idea how I knew what lesbians were. I have no idea how I knew either, but that's not the point. The point is that this sort of stuff was never odd to me, at all. And I have my parents to thank for that). The girls told me I couldn't play with them any more and that I wasn't allowed in the girls' toilets either. The boys' toilets terrified me. I'm not quite sure why. It was maybe the fear of not knowing what they were like behind the door. I don't really know.
And then I dropped it. I didn't want to be left out, I was seven years old. I dropped it and I remember feeling annoyed that people had laughed and didn't think that it was perfectly reasonable, but I got over it. But it was one of those memories that you remember, clearly. I have a picture in my head, I can remember how I felt. I didn't think about it too much. Except the times, as I grew up, when I'd be told my hair was a mess when I was playing rounders, and I told them I didn't care. When I felt pressured to shave my legs at the age of twelve, as if there was something wrong with the hair that was on them.
What would have happened if, when I was seven years old, it had been fine? It had been fine to suddenly announce to your classmates that you wanted to be a boy, and that they just better get used to it. We didn't even get to wear trousers in primary school, never mind secondary school. I wore a pinafore in secondary school.
This is upsetting, but the kind of upsetting that needed to come out, at some time or other. What I would give to tell the seven-year-old me that there was nothing wrong with wanting to be a boy, to tell the twelve-year-old me that taking out my self-hatred on myself wouldn't make the problems go away, to tell fifteen-year-old me that I didn't need to wear make up if I didn't want to, to tell seventeen-year-old me to stop thinking about how seemingly huge I looked in my formal dress and to just try and enjoy your night.
I don't know how to tell myself now that the problems constantly circling around my head are, often, the result of the society I live in. It is not acceptable to be different. Especially in Northern Ireland, but it obviously isn't a problem only here. It is lonely and isolating to live in a place where your Health Minister thinks that blood from a gay man is dirty, where you rarely say the words "I AM QUEER" because you know that most people will either laugh or look confused.
This is upsetting to write and upsetting to think about, because I usually don't let myself do so. The anger at the injustice usually wins out- which is great, because it shows, for the most part, my mental health isn't being too badly affected (in the past it has been very badly affected by this kind of stuff). The anger at the sheer ridiculousness of the lack of equality always wins out. I don't let myself think about how upsetting it is when someone thinks that you don't deserve something that they take for granted everyday. When something is core to your being, to have it dismissed, again and again, is very difficult to deal with. Of course, you all know this. You're maybe nodding your head- even if we're talking about different things in terms of the specifics, we all understand what I'm talking about. Whether it's equal marriage or the right to choose or the right to hold your partner's hand on the street without getting abuse hurled at you, it's all the same. We fight because it is how we deal with these things, and we don't let ourselves feel the hurt. We don't because we can't let them win. We can't give up, because they will have won. We can't give up because we will be on the right side of history and they will not. We can't give up because it is the fucking right thing to do.
This has gone off into a bit of a tangent. But I don't care. I used to write a lot when I was young. Stories, poems, songs, I did it all. I was that kid in school who went over the word limit by seven pages with a massive story that I just had to get out because it would be too unreasonable to stick to the three page word limit. I used to use words to just get it all out and I've only started to do it again, publicly, in the last while. I wrote my post about identifying as Queer on this blog. I suppose one thing it definitely shows is how much my generation are babies of the technological age, but you know what I mean. I don't feel the need to 'announce' it to anyone, but I feel the need to recognise it. This is who I am and this is how I feel and that is okay, even if it wasn't okay for so many years.
I'm in tears, and I don't know if they're happy tears or sad tears, or need-to-define-them-at-all tears, but they're there and that's okay. I wish I could be at LGBT Conference right now. I am so happy that my union finally sent someone (and I know he will have an incredible time! I've been tagging him in a million tweets all week introducing him to people I want him to meet). At Women's Conference, once I got over the anxiety and stuff that I'd been feeling, I don't think I'd ever felt more accepted in a group of people before. You didn't have to explain, you didn't have to validate why you were there or how you felt or anything, and it was great. It was so, so great.
The fact that I can acknowledge this, whatever this is, is both overwhelming and wonderful. The reason I can is because of a few people.
I first met Hel on NUS Women's Committee this year. And Hel is a fucking genius. Literally, a fountain of wisdom. But not only that, Hel is the nicest person in the entire world. I don't think I've ever met someone with more patience, ever. Always willing and ready to answer any questions, write you up a blog post, facilitate a workshop- anyone who knows Hel knows what I'm talking about. It is the combination of Hel's way with words (link to the blog), immense and unending kindness and willingness to approach every single little thing with the best of attitudes and the most positive of outlooks. I can't express, really, how much knowing Hel has made me feel able to talk about these kinds of things. At all.
When I first got involved in NUS-USI (which, realistically, has been pretty life changing) Adrianne was there to pick up the pieces and show me what to do. Show me how to get through, show me what to avoid, educate me, lead me, tell me just how much of a fucking right I had to be there with the men. Adrianne was the catalyst to me being able to come to terms with and discover a hell of a lot of things about myself and I will never forget that. Ever. THIS HAS TURNED INTO A BLOG ABOUT HOW MUCH I LOVE PEOPLE. I think I've just accepted that it is a medley of thoughts..
And Sky. Sky, Sky, Sky. I don't really have the words, but anyone who knows Sky knows what I'm talking about without me even having to say it. In so many ways, Sky has done so much without even realising it. And a lot consciously, too. To have someone who is so unequivocally themselves is the best thing I can see, as someone who is really confused and not sure what the hell is going on, ever. I'm almost sure I'm not the only one who thinks this, but to have Sky as one of the leaders of our LGBT campaign in terms of NUS, is one of the best things I have been privileged to witness this year and I literally don't want to think about when Sky leaves.
It obviously hasn't been just these people, the support and love from people like Kelley and Maryam will never go unnoticed. They have all been mentors and comforters and supporters and leaders and fucking good friends, people like this inspire me every single day and it is one of the reasons I am so thankful for getting involved the way I have this year. Without it, I wouldn't be helping people. Without it, I would probably be as screwed up as I was a few years ago. I am determined to make 2013 a year with no hospital stays, with no dips that last for months, I will not let myself stop trying to accept myself, even when it is hard. These people are the reason that I can remember to keep going on.
This has been a post composed of a lot of things. But I am ending on a happy note. These people have helped me realise and accept things about myself that I never could have dreamed I could accept, things I didn't know existed until an embarrassingly short time ago. And for that, I am eternally grateful. This is why we do what we do. For people like this.
Tuesday, 2 April 2013
USI Congress 2013.
Last week I went to Ballinasloe for USI Congress 2013 as part of the QUBSU delegation. We were all student councillors, elected at the start of the year. We weren't elected separately as delegates for the Congress (there is never as much interest within QUBSU about attending USI in comparison to attending NUS-USI), but rather expressed our interest and as councillors were all allowed to attend. This is the first important thing to remember. We weren't elected. Our mandate came from our election as councillors, months ago, in October.
We were warned that we weren't allowed to 'break mandate' at USI- that is, vote on anything/in favour of anything that contradicted live union policy. This wasn't a decision taken by our student council, it wasn't a decision taken by the wider student body. It was taken by the EMC (composed of the seven sabbatical officers and a few of the staff in the union). It was in direct response to USI Congress 2012- a few delegates 'broke mandate' and voted on things that contradicted union policy. They didn't want this to happen again, so they introduced this rule. This rule isn't in our constitution, it isn't in the USI constitution. It was literally decided behind closed doors, without consulting the student council (who would probably have supported it, but that isn't the point). This is the second important thing to remember.
On the first day of Congress, I hadn't planned to speak- I never tend to plan these sorts of things. But a motion came up in the lapsing policy section of Congress, about continuing USI's pro-choice work. This was the motion:
09/WEL 2
I spoke in favour of continuing to work on the issue- I believe it is one of paramount importance. I then voted in favour- it easily passed (though the 'Congress is disappointed' point was removed, as it is to the credit of USI that they have been at the forefront of campaigning for choice in Ireland over the last while). I was told our union President would be having a word with me later on- I'd 'broken mandate'.
Later on, I met the President (who brought the VP Campaigns with him). I was told that the EMC did not want to stop me participating, they did not want to stop me representing students, but if I broke mandate again by voting in favour of something that contradicted QUBSU live policy, I would no longer be a QUBSU delegate at USI Congress 2013. I was surprised, even though we'd be warned about the prospect of this happening. This is the QUBSU stance:
745.6 This Council repeals policy 3.1 on the Policy File.
This Council recognises that the issue of abortion is a highly divisive issue and a matter for each individual’s conscience. Being desirous of a unified, inclusive Students’ Union this Council mandates to Students’ Union to adopt a position of neutrality in regards to abortion. This Council encourages students with an interest in issues surrounding abortion to express this through the available student societies and external organisations. This Council mandates the Students’ Union to provide a neutral venue for discussions and debates regarding abortion and to assist societies with an interest in the matter in a fair and equitable manner.
Proposer – Caoimhe McNeill
Seconder – Jessica Kirk
(As an aside, I find it slightly ironic that they were threatening to throw me out for something that they claim is "a matter of each individual's conscience"...)
On the second day, I voted in favour of this motion:
09/WEL 11
I do not believe that this was voting in opposition to a neutral position on abortion, I believe that this was voting in favour of telling the truth to pregnant women- something that, I would hope, people would agree on no matter what their opinion of abortion. Because the motion stipulated to "work with Choice Ireland", our President claimed it was not neutral and that we should abstain. I was told to leave the room once I'd voted in favour, I had my delegate card taken off me and was told I was no longer a QUBSU delegate at USI Congress 2013.
Once our President had told USI that I was no longer part of the QUBSU delegation, there was nothing USI could do- and I understand that, every union is autonomous within USI. He also would not make me an observer (we had a good few delegate/observer places left over- we never fill them). If I was an observer I would not have been able to vote- but I would have been able to enter the room, to listen. Instead, I spent three days in a hotel room, following the #USI13 feed on Twitter. If it hadn't been so far away, or the issue hadn't been so contentious, perhaps they would've tried to send me home- that's the usual protocol when someone is thrown out of a union delegation.
So what now? The support I received from other delegates was incredible, likewise, the support I received from people at home. I did not feel so alone- I knew I had done the right thing. There were two women delegates in our delegation out of eight. Many people find it absolutely ridiculous that the male dominated EMC decided to throw one out for speaking for her right to choose. That said, the week was isolating, lonely, and incredibly difficult. A few of my delegation did go out of their way to check I was alright, invite me over in the evenings, that sort of stuff- and I am very grateful for the support, particularly because it came from people who I have not exactly gotten along with in the past. I really did appreciate the effort that they made. Others ignored me for the remainder of the trip.
There are a number of issues here- firstly, regarding mandate. Were we there on the union's mandate? Or on our individual mandate? I believe the latter, the President believes the former. That is essentially the argument, and one that will be settled at our next meeting of QUBSU student council (if you want to come along, do- it's going to be interesting, to say the least).
However, there are a few other factors to consider- the conflict isn't simply on mandate. Neutrality on the issue of abortion (whilst I believe is a complete cop out, ignoring our duties as student representatives and students' union and putting our heads under the sand on the reality of the situation in Ireland), isn't as simple as just abstaining on every motion regarding abortion. The motion itself stipulates that the council now believes it is a matter of individual conscience and acknowledges the right for individual students to work with external organisations. Take from that what you will.. but I believe it gives individuals the right to express their opinions and vote accordingly at national conferences.
Another issue is that of 'mandates' as a whole. Students' unions sabbatical officers dislike when you criticise them, but hate when you criticise the validity of the structures that enabled them to get to where they are even more. Every time I tried to talk about the mandate issue, I was told by our President that the EMC was elected with a huge mandate, bigger than the council mandate- I agree the turn out was bigger than for the council elections. 4,124 students voted in the 2012 sabbatical elections. 4,124. There are 24,197 students at Queen's. That's a turn out of around 17% (I think- if I'm wrong, correct me! Working out percentages is not my strong point..). 17%... Anyone who thinks that this gives anyone the right to do anything in the name of 'all students', in the name of a 'huge mandate', needs a strong reality check.
There are a number of articles going round the internet about what happened at Congress- and there are some factual errors in them, unsurprisingly (that's not to say I don't appreciate the media coverage- I do!). Take this blog post as my account of what happened, even if it contradicts some of the things mentioned in the various articles.
Lastly, some asked me why I voted the way I did, when the motions would have passed with a comfortable majority regardless of my vote.
I voted because I am a woman, because I am a rational human being who believes in compassion for others. I voted because the laws governing my body in Northern Ireland date back to 1861. I voted because women in Ireland are told to be ashamed of making a decision regarding their reproductive health, because Savita Halappanavar's dying foetus was given more attention than she was. I voted because I know women who have had abortions, because each one of us know women who have had abortions. I voted because my reproductive health is not the business of anyone else. I voted because QUBSU women students need to know that even though their union has abandoned them, there is still support from within the student population. I voted because I am a feminist, because I believe in equality. I voted because the other QUBSU delegates decided to remain silent. I voted because it was the right thing to do.
We were warned that we weren't allowed to 'break mandate' at USI- that is, vote on anything/in favour of anything that contradicted live union policy. This wasn't a decision taken by our student council, it wasn't a decision taken by the wider student body. It was taken by the EMC (composed of the seven sabbatical officers and a few of the staff in the union). It was in direct response to USI Congress 2012- a few delegates 'broke mandate' and voted on things that contradicted union policy. They didn't want this to happen again, so they introduced this rule. This rule isn't in our constitution, it isn't in the USI constitution. It was literally decided behind closed doors, without consulting the student council (who would probably have supported it, but that isn't the point). This is the second important thing to remember.
On the first day of Congress, I hadn't planned to speak- I never tend to plan these sorts of things. But a motion came up in the lapsing policy section of Congress, about continuing USI's pro-choice work. This was the motion:
09/WEL 2
ABORTION RIGHTS CAMPAIGN
Congress notes
That USI is mandated to lobby the government and other relevant bodies to develop greater access to abortion services for all women within the state (06/WEL 6 Abortion).
Congress further notes
That USI’s involvement in this debate in the past (SPUC vs. Grogan) led to the changing of legislation so that information about abortion could be distributed freely in the state.
Congress recognises
That in many student unions abroad and indeed in many organisations worldwide the issue of abortion is viewed as an issue of equality and women’s rights .
Congress further recognises
That the issue is one of concern for Welfare Officers around the country.
Congress is disappointed
By the silence of USI on this issue for the past number of years.
Congress acknowledges
The establishment of the Safe and Legal (in Ireland) Abortion Rights Campaign which aims to end the hypocrisy of exiling women in crisis pregnancy that choose to have an abortion. The campaign includes various strands, including a litigation strand, a public awareness strand and a national and international advocacy strand.
Congress mandates
The Welfare and Equality Officer to work with the Safe and Legal (in Ireland) Abortion Rights Campaign to once again make this issue a priority for Irish Women.
Congress further mandates
The Welfare and Equality Officer to raise awareness of the Safe and Legal (in Ireland) Abortion Rights Campaign to USI members and to support the campaign in any of its actions.
(See http://usi.ie/wp-content/uploads/2013/03/usiCLAR-2013-a7-PRINT.pdf for a copy of the 2013 Congress documentation)
Later on, I met the President (who brought the VP Campaigns with him). I was told that the EMC did not want to stop me participating, they did not want to stop me representing students, but if I broke mandate again by voting in favour of something that contradicted QUBSU live policy, I would no longer be a QUBSU delegate at USI Congress 2013. I was surprised, even though we'd be warned about the prospect of this happening. This is the QUBSU stance:
745.6 This Council repeals policy 3.1 on the Policy File.
This Council recognises that the issue of abortion is a highly divisive issue and a matter for each individual’s conscience. Being desirous of a unified, inclusive Students’ Union this Council mandates to Students’ Union to adopt a position of neutrality in regards to abortion. This Council encourages students with an interest in issues surrounding abortion to express this through the available student societies and external organisations. This Council mandates the Students’ Union to provide a neutral venue for discussions and debates regarding abortion and to assist societies with an interest in the matter in a fair and equitable manner.
Proposer – Caoimhe McNeill
Seconder – Jessica Kirk
(As an aside, I find it slightly ironic that they were threatening to throw me out for something that they claim is "a matter of each individual's conscience"...)
On the second day, I voted in favour of this motion:
09/WEL 11
CRISIS PREGNANCY AGENCIES
Congress notes
That there is no legislation controlling crisis pregnancy agencies in Ireland.
Congress notes with concern
That as a result a number of rogue crisis pregnancy agencies have started up.
Congress recognizes
That a rogue crisis pregnancy agency is one where the sole purpose of the agency is to prevent a pregnant woman from having
an abortion. They misinform and intimidate women to achieve their aim, using methods such as harassment, bullying and been given blatantly false information. [Irish Family Planning Association (IFPA)]
Congress acknowledges
The work done this year by Choice Ireland in campaigning against rogue crisis pregnancy agencies.
Congress mandates the Welfare Officer.
To work with Choice Ireland, and other relevant agencies, to protest against these rogue crisis pregnancy agencies.
Congress further mandates the Welfare Officer
To lobby for the introduction of legislation in this area.
Once our President had told USI that I was no longer part of the QUBSU delegation, there was nothing USI could do- and I understand that, every union is autonomous within USI. He also would not make me an observer (we had a good few delegate/observer places left over- we never fill them). If I was an observer I would not have been able to vote- but I would have been able to enter the room, to listen. Instead, I spent three days in a hotel room, following the #USI13 feed on Twitter. If it hadn't been so far away, or the issue hadn't been so contentious, perhaps they would've tried to send me home- that's the usual protocol when someone is thrown out of a union delegation.
So what now? The support I received from other delegates was incredible, likewise, the support I received from people at home. I did not feel so alone- I knew I had done the right thing. There were two women delegates in our delegation out of eight. Many people find it absolutely ridiculous that the male dominated EMC decided to throw one out for speaking for her right to choose. That said, the week was isolating, lonely, and incredibly difficult. A few of my delegation did go out of their way to check I was alright, invite me over in the evenings, that sort of stuff- and I am very grateful for the support, particularly because it came from people who I have not exactly gotten along with in the past. I really did appreciate the effort that they made. Others ignored me for the remainder of the trip.
There are a number of issues here- firstly, regarding mandate. Were we there on the union's mandate? Or on our individual mandate? I believe the latter, the President believes the former. That is essentially the argument, and one that will be settled at our next meeting of QUBSU student council (if you want to come along, do- it's going to be interesting, to say the least).
However, there are a few other factors to consider- the conflict isn't simply on mandate. Neutrality on the issue of abortion (whilst I believe is a complete cop out, ignoring our duties as student representatives and students' union and putting our heads under the sand on the reality of the situation in Ireland), isn't as simple as just abstaining on every motion regarding abortion. The motion itself stipulates that the council now believes it is a matter of individual conscience and acknowledges the right for individual students to work with external organisations. Take from that what you will.. but I believe it gives individuals the right to express their opinions and vote accordingly at national conferences.
Another issue is that of 'mandates' as a whole. Students' unions sabbatical officers dislike when you criticise them, but hate when you criticise the validity of the structures that enabled them to get to where they are even more. Every time I tried to talk about the mandate issue, I was told by our President that the EMC was elected with a huge mandate, bigger than the council mandate- I agree the turn out was bigger than for the council elections. 4,124 students voted in the 2012 sabbatical elections. 4,124. There are 24,197 students at Queen's. That's a turn out of around 17% (I think- if I'm wrong, correct me! Working out percentages is not my strong point..). 17%... Anyone who thinks that this gives anyone the right to do anything in the name of 'all students', in the name of a 'huge mandate', needs a strong reality check.
There are a number of articles going round the internet about what happened at Congress- and there are some factual errors in them, unsurprisingly (that's not to say I don't appreciate the media coverage- I do!). Take this blog post as my account of what happened, even if it contradicts some of the things mentioned in the various articles.
Lastly, some asked me why I voted the way I did, when the motions would have passed with a comfortable majority regardless of my vote.
I voted because I am a woman, because I am a rational human being who believes in compassion for others. I voted because the laws governing my body in Northern Ireland date back to 1861. I voted because women in Ireland are told to be ashamed of making a decision regarding their reproductive health, because Savita Halappanavar's dying foetus was given more attention than she was. I voted because I know women who have had abortions, because each one of us know women who have had abortions. I voted because my reproductive health is not the business of anyone else. I voted because QUBSU women students need to know that even though their union has abandoned them, there is still support from within the student population. I voted because I am a feminist, because I believe in equality. I voted because the other QUBSU delegates decided to remain silent. I voted because it was the right thing to do.
Wednesday, 13 February 2013
Blogs, by their very nature, are self-indulgent. I discussed this with my friend a few days ago (who I know will not read this because she makes a conscious effort not to read blogs for that very reason), and we both agreed. I mean, they are. Regardless of what you write about (with possibly a few exceptions), most blogs are rather self-indulgent. But that doesn't always mean it's a bad thing.
I'm exhausted. This week I've spent more time meeting with university and disability services staff than I have in class. Granted, I'm not in for very long every week, but that's still a lot of meetings. For someone who has spent the last three months depressed, anxious, suicidal, and keeping herself out of hospital, it has been hard to try to get back into the routine of university. It's only Week 3 and I already feel like I could keel over and sleep for a year. It's the kind of exhaustion that I can feel in my legs, the kind that stops me from making meals and having showers, and the kind that doesn't care about making meals and having showers. I am just too tired. I don't know if it's exhaustion or depression, but I also don't have the energy to care which it is.
We keep talking about self care. We keep talking about taking time out for ourselves whenever we need it, making sure that we are healthy and reasonably happy, in order to best do our jobs and best represent the students we've been elected to work for. But when we do just that, I can't help but feel there is always someone rolling their eyes behind your back. There is always someone quick to point out what you're doing wrong, and whilst I know that is part and parcel of the job (and I fully accept and think it is right that people criticise us- I mean, we need to be held to account), at times when I am not 100% it is difficult to deal with. And unfortunately, I'm rarely at 100%. I haven't been 'at 100%' for the duration of my degree, so far. And I wasn't well during my A Levels. Or my GCSEs.. so the problem is, where is the line? Where does self care begin and end? Should I even be doing what I'm doing in the first place?
I didn't get accepted for a programme I applied for this summer (I'm on the reserve list, but people rarely drop out), and whilst I was initially disappointed, I couldn't help but notice the little thought inside my head that told me, realistically, it would be worse to have been accepted and then not to have been able to take up my place- the regulations note that you have to be 'healthy enough to travel', and considering the programme, it isn't unreasonable. And now I (though it would more likely be my parents) won't be forced into making the choice as to whether I'm 'well' enough to go away for ten weeks.
But I'm still left with what is my life here. I study full time and essentially work part time in three different jobs. Luckily only one has contracted hours (the paid one), but even at that, the one shift I do will wear me out for the rest of the day. The good thing about the student newspaper and, to a lesser extent NUS-USI, is that I work from home and when I can, so I don't notice a 'set' amount of hours, but even things like spending an afternoon trying to catch up on emails or write reports for committees or try in vain to contact the different unions I represent can knock me out entirely.
So what do I do? It is a question I am struggling with a lot. I have decided to spread my third year in university out into three terms- nothing is finalised but I'm hoping that will take off some of the pressure uni-wise, even though it means I won't graduate with my year and I probably will have another year of student loans to take out. I still have to be re-elected as Women's Officer for next year, and next year will be my last. Someone else will take over as News Editor for The Gown come June. But is it enough? Really, is it enough? Or will I have to accept the fact that this is a chronic condition and doesn't appear to be going away any time soon, and try to make the best out of a bad situation? I am doing what I can but I know it is not enough- it isn't up to my standards of what a News Editor or a Women's Officer or full-time student should be doing. Maybe I am spreading myself too thin, and maybe I need to remember occasionally that I came here a year and a half ago to try to do a degree, something I am reminded of every time I have to miss classes to go to conferences or London or when I can't get out of bed in the morning.
This blog is self-indulgent. It is a way in which, as strange as this seems, my best friends, who I don't get to see very often (a mix of oceans between us/everyone has jobs and university and a million other commitments) can sometimes check in with how things are. Because I don't have the energy to contact them and make plans every week, I don't have the energy to reply to Facebook messages and talk about how things have been. I don't know why I decided to start documenting these kinds of things again, but I did, and so I need to try to stick at it. Even if it is self-indulgent. I don't have a therapist anymore and so these things, for the most part, go unsaid. I need to put it somewhere. I need to get it out of my head.
Monday, 4 February 2013
When I was seventeen, my original plan was to go to university and then go to drama school afterwards. I had a life planned out for myself. I knew the barriers I would face, financially, in terms of trying to get through drama school, I knew the bursaries and scholarships I could apply for, I knew the cost of living in London, I had everything sorted. And then things changed.
I left school for a few months, and came back in the middle of May a different person. I had spent the previous few months in a permanent state of depression, effectively left school and decided that everything had changed. And then things changed again.
I decided I wasn't going to go back to school after only being able to sit one of my exams. I had researched my college course and I had secured my audition. I knew what I had to do and although things had changed, I had adapted.
And somehow, whilst on holiday in a small house with my family in the Tuscan hills I remembered how much I loved learning and how I wasn't ready to give it up quite yet. I remembered that nothing was better to me than a book, and that if I felt like that it made sense to go back and fit it into one year. So that's what I did.
I applied for university in September. English or English and Drama were my choices. And then things changed again.
Come May, I decided I wanted to do Politics instead. So I rang the university I'm currently at, and asked them if I could change my course. And they said yes. And then I ended up here.
I did one play at the beginning of first year. I did love it, despite the time commitments while everyone around me in halls could go out every night etc., it didn't matter because I knew I was doing what I wanted to do.
And things changed again. I was ill again and subsequently have missed more university that I can bear thinking about. And somewhere, somehow, I ended up getting involved in my students' union. And in NUSUSI and NUS. I don't quite know how I ended up here, but I did.
I've been thinking a lot about my old 'dreams', or possibly it would be more appropriate to call them 'life plans'. At one point I wanted to be a doctor, at one point a mental health nurse. I wanted to go to art college. I wanted to go to film school I wanted to do everything and even now, I can see myself, as if I was watching some sort of screen, playing out my life in each of those scenarios. I can see every one of them. And it feels strange.
I left school for a few months, and came back in the middle of May a different person. I had spent the previous few months in a permanent state of depression, effectively left school and decided that everything had changed. And then things changed again.
I decided I wasn't going to go back to school after only being able to sit one of my exams. I had researched my college course and I had secured my audition. I knew what I had to do and although things had changed, I had adapted.
And somehow, whilst on holiday in a small house with my family in the Tuscan hills I remembered how much I loved learning and how I wasn't ready to give it up quite yet. I remembered that nothing was better to me than a book, and that if I felt like that it made sense to go back and fit it into one year. So that's what I did.
I applied for university in September. English or English and Drama were my choices. And then things changed again.
Come May, I decided I wanted to do Politics instead. So I rang the university I'm currently at, and asked them if I could change my course. And they said yes. And then I ended up here.
I did one play at the beginning of first year. I did love it, despite the time commitments while everyone around me in halls could go out every night etc., it didn't matter because I knew I was doing what I wanted to do.
And things changed again. I was ill again and subsequently have missed more university that I can bear thinking about. And somewhere, somehow, I ended up getting involved in my students' union. And in NUSUSI and NUS. I don't quite know how I ended up here, but I did.
I've been thinking a lot about my old 'dreams', or possibly it would be more appropriate to call them 'life plans'. At one point I wanted to be a doctor, at one point a mental health nurse. I wanted to go to art college. I wanted to go to film school I wanted to do everything and even now, I can see myself, as if I was watching some sort of screen, playing out my life in each of those scenarios. I can see every one of them. And it feels strange.
Monday, 14 January 2013
Monday.
It's currently exam season. The library is filled with people. There are empty Boojum bags all over the cafe. Coffee sales are at an all time high. Facebook is covered in worried/angsty/stopped-giving-a-fuck-just-let-them-end statuses.
Usually I'd be freaking out along with everyone else. I've never taken exam stress well. Well, at least I don't think I have. I tend to perform well in exams, and even though right now I'd say that I don't think exams stress me out BECAUSE I perform better in them.. I remember having a conversation with my mum about this a few months ago and she stared back at me with disbelief- I'd clearly forgotten how ill I'd been as a result of the pressure last year, and that doesn't surprise me. Your mind blocks things out, at least mine does. It blocks out painful memories, and as cliched as it sounds, it's true. Because I came out of last year with a 2.1, I seemed to have forgotten how bad I was around exam time. This is the same thing that happened with my GCSEs and my A Levels. And of course, I promptly forgot how ill I was during those exams too, because I came out each time with good grades.
Things were so bad last year I considered dropping out of university entirely. Then I told myself to wise up, because it wasn't like I had a part time job or anything I could do for a while.. I'd literally be going from university to nothing- which is what is definitely needed in some cases, but I didn't think I was ill enough to have the only thing I 'do' be therapy. I'm used to being busy all of the time. I just know I wouldn't have been able to do it- although saying that, I do think I should have maybe taken a few gap years before coming to university in the first place.
Because of the new medication and the short term medication I'm on at the minute, my memory is fucked. Short term memory, that is. So I wouldn't be able to revise (psychiatrist's words, not mine- I actually initially thought they helped me revise, just because they cleared my head). So then I decided to try to do essays instead of exams. And for once in their lives, my school were actually relatively good about it all (my school in the university- ever since I've arrived at university I've had to constantly jump through hoops in order to get what I need disability wise, in terms of provisions etc., it's been an absolute fucking joke) and it got sorted pretty quickly. Instead of three exams, I'm writing three essays.
The first two are done, and I've just begun working on the third. I had roughly a week to do each of them, which factored in time for bad days etc., and I knew I'd be alright. And so far, I have been. This is the least stressed-out I've been around exam time, ever. Even though I can't remember specific details of exam times in the past, I know that much. I've so far stayed on schedule, and gotten the first two essays done within the first fortnight, leaving me a week for the third. So technically, everything should be grand.
I'll give you another account of the last three weeks. Whilst everything has stayed on track (to a degree) in terms of my university work, my health is all over the place. I've lost weight, because I keep forgetting to eat- which then makes me scared I'll revert back into old unhealthy habits in regards to food, just because I've remembered what it's like to lose weight. I either sleep little or too much. When I started my newest medication, I couldn't even pour a cup of tea without spilling hot water everywhere, my coordination was so bad. Sometimes I've lay in bed for fourteen hours because I don't have the energy to pull myself up. I've ran back, literally and metaphorically, to ex-boyfriends, because whenever I get lonely and depressed I try to remember where I ever found any source of comfort or affection and try desperately to cling back at it. Each day I've spent in the library, I've had to take some form of tablet to help me concentrate enough to do work, and then worry about the stares I get when I lift out said tablet to take it. Then it makes me sleepy, so I have to have caffeine to make myself wake up. It's a vicious cycle- especially because amidst this, I've forgotten to eat a meal, so my energy levels aren't what they should be. I come home to an empty house (my house mate has caught the horrible virus thing that's going around and now that her exams are over it's understandable she'd rather be at home), turn on the heating, and sit in bed freezing for a few hours before I take more medication and send myself off to sleep. I keep looking down at my hands in disbelief, I just can't see them as my hands any more and I don't know why. And whilst trying to manage this, I'm also trying to do three essays, do what I can for NUSUSI, and battle with my university and students' union in regards to provisions for disabled students amongst other things.
It is exhausting.
But it's half past midnight, and I'm not exhausted, even though I had to get up early today for an appointment, because I think I remembered to have breakfast but I don't think I managed lunch or dinner, and there comes a point where a lack of food gives you an odd manic energy that you can't quite explain. I've told my doctors about this, I'm doing all that I can university wise, and I was a little worried they would try to admit me this morning at my psychiatrist appointment, so the fact that I'm writing this is in itself a good thing- what an odd thing to be proud of on a Monday night.
But it's Monday, and it's over and I should take my tablets soon so that I don't sleep for the entire day tomorrow. I wasn't admitted and I can't make a meeting I really wanted to go to tomorrow morning, but I suppose I can live with that. I have to, I don't have another option.
Thursday, 10 January 2013
It is one of the dark times. I cannot explain and don't have the energy to explain, so this will do it for me.
“Depression is humiliating. It turns intelligent, kind people into zombies who can’t wash a dish or change their socks. It affects the ability to think clearly, to feel anything, to ascribe value to your children, your lifelong passions, your relative good fortune. It scoops out your normal healthy ability to cope with bad days and bad news, and replaces it with an unrecognizable sludge that finds no pleasure, no delight, no point in anything outside of bed. You alienate your friends because you can’t comport yourself socially, you risk your job because you can’t concentrate, you live in moderate squalor because you have no energy to stand up, let alone take out the garbage. You become pathetic and you know it. And you have no capacity to stop the downward plunge. You have no perspective, no emotional reserves, no faith that it will get better. So you feel guilty and ashamed of your inability to deal with life like a regular human, which exacerbates the depression and the isolation. If you’ve never been depressed, thank your lucky stars and back off the folks who take a pill so they can make eye contact with the grocery store cashier. No one on earth would choose the nightmare of depression over an averagely turbulent normal life.
It’s not an incapacity to cope with day to day living in the modern world. It’s an incapacity to function. At all. If you and your loved ones have been spared, every blessing to you. If depression has taken root in you or your loved ones, every blessing to you, too. No one chooses it. No one deserves it. It runs in families, it ruins families. You cannot imagine what it takes to feign normalcy, to show up to work, to make a dentist appointment, to pay bills, to walk your dog, to return library books on time, to keep enough toilet paper on hand, when you are exerting most of your capacity on trying not to kill yourself. Depression is real. Just because you’ve never had it doesn’t make it imaginary. Compassion is also real. And a depressed person may cling desperately to it until they are out of the woods and they may remember your compassion for the rest of their lives as a force greater than their depression. Have a heart. Judge not lest ye be judged.”
“Depression is humiliating. It turns intelligent, kind people into zombies who can’t wash a dish or change their socks. It affects the ability to think clearly, to feel anything, to ascribe value to your children, your lifelong passions, your relative good fortune. It scoops out your normal healthy ability to cope with bad days and bad news, and replaces it with an unrecognizable sludge that finds no pleasure, no delight, no point in anything outside of bed. You alienate your friends because you can’t comport yourself socially, you risk your job because you can’t concentrate, you live in moderate squalor because you have no energy to stand up, let alone take out the garbage. You become pathetic and you know it. And you have no capacity to stop the downward plunge. You have no perspective, no emotional reserves, no faith that it will get better. So you feel guilty and ashamed of your inability to deal with life like a regular human, which exacerbates the depression and the isolation. If you’ve never been depressed, thank your lucky stars and back off the folks who take a pill so they can make eye contact with the grocery store cashier. No one on earth would choose the nightmare of depression over an averagely turbulent normal life.
It’s not an incapacity to cope with day to day living in the modern world. It’s an incapacity to function. At all. If you and your loved ones have been spared, every blessing to you. If depression has taken root in you or your loved ones, every blessing to you, too. No one chooses it. No one deserves it. It runs in families, it ruins families. You cannot imagine what it takes to feign normalcy, to show up to work, to make a dentist appointment, to pay bills, to walk your dog, to return library books on time, to keep enough toilet paper on hand, when you are exerting most of your capacity on trying not to kill yourself. Depression is real. Just because you’ve never had it doesn’t make it imaginary. Compassion is also real. And a depressed person may cling desperately to it until they are out of the woods and they may remember your compassion for the rest of their lives as a force greater than their depression. Have a heart. Judge not lest ye be judged.”
Monday, 31 December 2012
2012.
I thought it appropriate to do a rounding up of 2012, a farewell to what was frankly a horrible year and one that I am glad to turn my back on.
What seems most disappointing, however, is the fact that when I think about the year past I tend to think of it in terms of health and relationships- as if they are the only two things that mattered. I think of 2012 in terms of heartbreak and medication, hospitals and awkward mornings after.
It is lucky that this year I decided to properly organise every photo I took into a relevant album with a title and a date- and without having done this, I think I would have forgotten a lot of what happened during the year.
What seems most disappointing, however, is the fact that when I think about the year past I tend to think of it in terms of health and relationships- as if they are the only two things that mattered. I think of 2012 in terms of heartbreak and medication, hospitals and awkward mornings after.
It is lucky that this year I decided to properly organise every photo I took into a relevant album with a title and a date- and without having done this, I think I would have forgotten a lot of what happened during the year.
Here is my year. Ups, downs, and everything in between.
January
Exam time, stress stress stress, blank periods in my mind. An empty Elms, too many Friday nights spent in union, too many Saturdays in Laverys. Cooking my first proper meal and being so proud of myself. Trying to remember to keep choosing health over thin. Becoming friends with Rachel, spending every weekend with Patsy, Emily & Anton. The trip to London, to his other life. Falling in love with Camden, and being in love with love. His Burberry coat, the drive to Essex, seeing Rebecca for the second time in a few months. The vodka, the mess of the night, the hospital and the ambulances. Crying. Coming home, happy to say goodbye to London until the next time.
February
A blur, save for these few photographs. That night in Limelight, the graffiti that reminded me that my failed suicide attempt was a failure to be happy with. The night spent in hospital, the nicest psychiatrist I've ever met, the never ending apparent strength of my liver to withstand all that I threw at it. Counting the tablets in my room, while a party I was holding continued in the next room. The worry in his voice, the lump in my throat in mine. Hallmates returning that night, no one seeing what had changed, what had happened. Telling my mum. The tears and the worry. Always, the tears and the worry.
Falling out of love. The sadness that came with the realisation that we weren't who we used to be, the spooning and the sadness and the vow to stay best friends. Not going to The Maccabees, there were to be no more Toothpaste Kisses.
March
Kathryn's birthday, the sabbatical elections. Meeting Adrianne- just another union political person then, but so much more now. The beginning of what would be my life within NUSUSI. Endless nights in Laverys. The Labour Tory pub crawl, becoming friends with Hannah and Rebecca. St Patrick's Day, watching the rugby and then eating chinese on the pavement; two bottles of wine and waking up on Tyler's sofa the next day confused and hungover as hell. SDLP nights out, Mondays spent in union. Too many morning walks home.
April
SDLP Youth Conference. Joe Hendron, John McCallister, speeches and remembering why we all do this in the first place. Nights in Stiff Kitten. Difficult therapy sessions. Ties cut with my best friend, heart being slowly chipped away at by my former boyfriend. A miserable month. Ambulance, a friend I never realised I had. The beginning of a never ending supply of valium. The smiles by day and lonely, lonely nights.
May
Naomh's post-grad party, my first paid photography job. Meeting Sarah, summer came early to Belfast. House parties, Sketchy. James leaving, more goodbyes- but of the 'see you later' kind, the good kind. Realising how wonderful people can be without them even realising it. Vivian visiting Sarah, deciding to live together and counting down the weeks. Exams finally finishing, stopped caring long ago. Meeting Simon, his 'cultural experience' and the bliss of nights out, rolling home the next afternoon, and doing it all over again. Marina & the Diamonds, sun, constant sun. Having the best fortnight with the most incredible person, and the bittersweet ending that inevitably had to follow.
June
New piercings, always Sketchying. Beer nights in 76 and the horrific hilarious hangovers that followed. Staying in bed all morning talking about poetry and quoting too much John Donne to one another. Saying goodbye to Simon & Paul and the others, the hope that it isn't forever. Cliona's 18th, NUSUSI Women's Conference, my election. Reunion dinner, saying goodbye and good riddance to Elms after my second move. So glad to be away from the poisonous place with so many bad memories. Moving home.
This post is already horrendously long, so I'll save the next six months for another day. It is odd looking back at a year you hated, seeing happy memories.
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