We hope.
I absolutely do not have the intelligence or knowledge to be able to comment with any kind of insight or authority on the events going on right now in Egypt, but I feel compelled to say something a bit longer than 140 characters on the subject.
It's a truly amazing, astounding and inspiring thing to see. That the vast majority of a nation could come together to get rid of a brutal regime and dictator, that they didn't give up, that they were resolute and firm in their demands. That they stood up and said no, and wouldn't be mollified - and that it didn't turn into a free for all or a civil war - these are all incredible things.
Of course, this is only the beginning. There's a very long way to go and the situation is still precarious. I'm sure the thoughts and hopes of everyone watching are with the Egyptian people, and I hope that the West does what it can to support their march towards democracy without interferring or trying to impose their own values or beliefs on anyone. It would be a tragedy too appalling to contemplate if this falls apart and doesn't give the Egyptian people the democracy they want, need and deserve.
It's also a very beautiful thing to see the 'moderate Muslim majority' as one Twitterer put it (sorry, can't find the original tweet - for some reason there's rather a lot of tweets about Egypt floating around out there) stand up and be counted for all the world to see. In your face, every bigoted bastard who tries to paint all Muslims as extreme, terrorist and something to be feared. Maybe it's too much to hope that this is the start of something much bigger for the world - maybe this will see people really come together, regardless of religion or ethnicity, and demand freedom for all. But it's nice to even think that it could be possible.
But what I keep coming back to is how crazy it is watching this as a person from a country that takes democracy for granted. We had elections last year, and we have more local elections this year, and so many people won't bother their asses to vote. They complain that politics is 'boring', 'stupid', 'pointless' - that politicians are all the same, that they don't like any of them so why should they bother voting for them? Egypt wants the freedom that we have so badly that they have taken to the streets for weeks to bring about revolution, but you can't be arsed to take a bit of interest in what goes on around you and try to make it better? And yet you'll still complain about everything - taxes, rates, bin collections, the health service, your doctor's surgery, schools, employment, transport, car tax, petrol prices, inflation rates, house prices, mortgages? Fuck you. That's all - just fuck. you. As the saying goes, you may not take an interest in politics but it sure as hell takes an interest in you.
And the particular country that I come from makes it all the more strange, frustrating and sad to me that so many people are so jaded and apathetic here. I don't want to get too political (in a post about politics, I know, I know) but it's not all that long since people here had to take to the streets to demand their democratic and human rights. We've seen far too much blood spilled in conflict here, and there are plenty of people still alive and kicking who were disenfranchised of their right to vote when they were my age. I'm a little reticent to bring this up at all, as I don't want to sound like I'm harking back to the past too much - I absolutely think we need to look forward and try to work together rather than focus on the wrongs that were done in the past. My point, rather, is that we can't forget how precious these rights are. We can't take them for granted.
I've always felt very strongly that no matter what, I must vote. Even if it means spoiling my vote because none of the candidates deserve it, I must get to the polling station and make my vote one way or another (I know a lot of people would disagree with me on spoiling my vote - and I completely understand where they're coming from, I just can't bring myself to not vote). People have fought, suffered and died for my right to vote. Not just in a generic, wishy-washy sort of way - but my right to vote as a woman, as an Irish woman, and as an Irish woman from a particular community background (no prizes for guessing which, I suppose, but I'm trying not to be divisive here) have been fought for by a lot of people and I believe that it's only right for me to exercise that right at every opportunity.
And it's not just a historical thing - I think we owe it to everyone around the world who is denied democracy, freedom and the right to choose their own destiny to make the most of our rights. Only by really recognising the importance of these freedoms, living and breathing their values everyday and standing up for them above everything can anything really get better.
Anyway. Those are some of my thoughts on the matter. Nothing groundbreaking or revolutionary, and I probably sound like a sentimental, hippie-tastic, bleeding-heart, liberal leftie, but there you go.
Godspeed, Egypt.
Friday 11 February 2011
Frustration
I infuriate myself so much, I can't imagine what it's like for other people to have to put up with me.
I've been in a funny mood on and off for a while now. Whilst the overall tenor of it is down to my depression (if I'm annoyed about one thing, it always comes around to being annoyed at everything - that's how this stuff works, in my head at least), friendships and relationships generally have been bothering me for a while - past friendships that have fallen apart for one reason and another, current friendships and what they are or aren't, all that lovely messy stuff.
I keep saying I don't really have any friends. And that's not really true. There are different people that I talk to, about different things, and with whom I have different levels of closeness. But for the most part they're overseas/people I talk to online. And whilst that has a lot of advantages and I'm truly grateful and glad to have these people in my life (I could write a whole other blog on internet friendships) it's also not quite the same as having friends close by. People I can hang out with whenever. Lift the phone to, go to the pub or lunch or whatever with. People I can actually see in the flesh and without the pre-requisite of an internet connection. Not having people around in 'real life' makes it feel like I don't have any friends, at least.
There are one or two people that I hang out with, but trying to actually get to do something with them takes more organisational skills than your average military wartime manoeuvre. Which causes me no end of anxiety and beating myself up. I don't mean to blame them - I often do blame them, but I know I shouldn't. They're busy people, they have lots of other friends to whom they're much much closer, I can't expect them to always be free when I want to do something. They can't be at my beck and call whenever I need them to be.
But of course, I start getting paranoid that they hate me because I'm such a pain in the arse, because I'm always pestering them to do something, that I must look incredibly sad and pathetic that I don't have anyone else to hang out with, etc, etc, etc. And as much as, on my better days, I tell myself that's not true, there's always a niggling (and ultimately, I think, realistic) voice in my head that's telling me that people aren't perfect and that they do sometimes get annoyed with people they aren't all that close to for behaving like that, and that it is an unattractive trait in me.
And then if I do get to hang out with them, and I'm in a bit of a mood or things are playing on my mind (as is my wont), it's torturous to try to cope with that. I want desperately to be able to tell them - tell someone, anyone - what's going on with me, because I'm so sick of keeping up appearances all the time. I expend so much energy just trying to get through the day, that when I'm looking forward to a night out or something, it ends up almost giving me an ulcer because I feel so caught between wanting to not wear one of the many masks I feel like I have to put on for people and just be myself and not feel like I'm lying and hiding all the time; and wanting to just forget about all the bullshit and enjoy myself and be the sort of fun person that these people will want to hang out with again.
And all of this makes me act like a dick sometimes. A lot of times, to be fair. That feeling of wanting to tell people but being terrified of their response, that I wrote about before - it's constantly bubbling away under the surface. And I never really know which is the right way to deal with it. Do I just ignore it? That feels like sweeping things under the carpet, and that usually comes back to bite me in the ass so that feels like the wrong thing to do. But I can't just start going on and on about it to all and sundry - it's oftentimes inappropriate, it's not the sort of thing you can just blurt out to people you maybe aren't that close to or don't know that well as it's unfair to them and puts them under a certain amount of burden and pressure.
So I end up being - well, not passive aggressive exactly, but sort of slightly hinting at things. Hinting that all is not well, beyond the usual venting and ranting and complaining that we all do, some of us (i.e., me) more than others. It's not that I mean to hint at things - it's usually just that I don't want to make up a lie to cover what I really mean or want to say. So I say something non-committal about being in a bad mood, or just feeling a bit off or whatever. Which frustrates me even further, because it's like coming to the brink of telling people and pulling yourself back. All the fucking time. And then you just wish you hadn't said anything to start with, because it was selfish and unfair to the other person, and what are they meant to do about it? If they notice that something is up and they're kind (or brave, depending on your viewpoint) enough to ask, you know they aren't expecting the real answer and are probably just being a bit polite. If you're not that close to them it's too much to start spewing all your personal crap all over them. But you feel like you're being deliberately mysterious, melodramatic and attention-seeking - and you are, even though you don't mean to be or want to be. It's like you're not in control, except that you know you are and that you've chosen to act like this, somehow.
So, in conclusion - being like this is a huge pain in the arse. I don't really have anything more insightful to add than that, this literally is just a random blathering on about some of the things in my head at the minute. As much as I said I didn't want this to turn into a depression blog, it seems that that's what I'm doing with it. For the time being, anyway. The mere existence of this blog is making me want to write about things like this more. I can't decide just yet if that's a good thing or a bad thing - if it's making me more introspective and causing me to dwell on things and thus making matters worse, or if it's a good outlet and way for me to articulate things. I suppose only time will tell.
I've been in a funny mood on and off for a while now. Whilst the overall tenor of it is down to my depression (if I'm annoyed about one thing, it always comes around to being annoyed at everything - that's how this stuff works, in my head at least), friendships and relationships generally have been bothering me for a while - past friendships that have fallen apart for one reason and another, current friendships and what they are or aren't, all that lovely messy stuff.
I keep saying I don't really have any friends. And that's not really true. There are different people that I talk to, about different things, and with whom I have different levels of closeness. But for the most part they're overseas/people I talk to online. And whilst that has a lot of advantages and I'm truly grateful and glad to have these people in my life (I could write a whole other blog on internet friendships) it's also not quite the same as having friends close by. People I can hang out with whenever. Lift the phone to, go to the pub or lunch or whatever with. People I can actually see in the flesh and without the pre-requisite of an internet connection. Not having people around in 'real life' makes it feel like I don't have any friends, at least.
There are one or two people that I hang out with, but trying to actually get to do something with them takes more organisational skills than your average military wartime manoeuvre. Which causes me no end of anxiety and beating myself up. I don't mean to blame them - I often do blame them, but I know I shouldn't. They're busy people, they have lots of other friends to whom they're much much closer, I can't expect them to always be free when I want to do something. They can't be at my beck and call whenever I need them to be.
But of course, I start getting paranoid that they hate me because I'm such a pain in the arse, because I'm always pestering them to do something, that I must look incredibly sad and pathetic that I don't have anyone else to hang out with, etc, etc, etc. And as much as, on my better days, I tell myself that's not true, there's always a niggling (and ultimately, I think, realistic) voice in my head that's telling me that people aren't perfect and that they do sometimes get annoyed with people they aren't all that close to for behaving like that, and that it is an unattractive trait in me.
And then if I do get to hang out with them, and I'm in a bit of a mood or things are playing on my mind (as is my wont), it's torturous to try to cope with that. I want desperately to be able to tell them - tell someone, anyone - what's going on with me, because I'm so sick of keeping up appearances all the time. I expend so much energy just trying to get through the day, that when I'm looking forward to a night out or something, it ends up almost giving me an ulcer because I feel so caught between wanting to not wear one of the many masks I feel like I have to put on for people and just be myself and not feel like I'm lying and hiding all the time; and wanting to just forget about all the bullshit and enjoy myself and be the sort of fun person that these people will want to hang out with again.
And all of this makes me act like a dick sometimes. A lot of times, to be fair. That feeling of wanting to tell people but being terrified of their response, that I wrote about before - it's constantly bubbling away under the surface. And I never really know which is the right way to deal with it. Do I just ignore it? That feels like sweeping things under the carpet, and that usually comes back to bite me in the ass so that feels like the wrong thing to do. But I can't just start going on and on about it to all and sundry - it's oftentimes inappropriate, it's not the sort of thing you can just blurt out to people you maybe aren't that close to or don't know that well as it's unfair to them and puts them under a certain amount of burden and pressure.
So I end up being - well, not passive aggressive exactly, but sort of slightly hinting at things. Hinting that all is not well, beyond the usual venting and ranting and complaining that we all do, some of us (i.e., me) more than others. It's not that I mean to hint at things - it's usually just that I don't want to make up a lie to cover what I really mean or want to say. So I say something non-committal about being in a bad mood, or just feeling a bit off or whatever. Which frustrates me even further, because it's like coming to the brink of telling people and pulling yourself back. All the fucking time. And then you just wish you hadn't said anything to start with, because it was selfish and unfair to the other person, and what are they meant to do about it? If they notice that something is up and they're kind (or brave, depending on your viewpoint) enough to ask, you know they aren't expecting the real answer and are probably just being a bit polite. If you're not that close to them it's too much to start spewing all your personal crap all over them. But you feel like you're being deliberately mysterious, melodramatic and attention-seeking - and you are, even though you don't mean to be or want to be. It's like you're not in control, except that you know you are and that you've chosen to act like this, somehow.
So, in conclusion - being like this is a huge pain in the arse. I don't really have anything more insightful to add than that, this literally is just a random blathering on about some of the things in my head at the minute. As much as I said I didn't want this to turn into a depression blog, it seems that that's what I'm doing with it. For the time being, anyway. The mere existence of this blog is making me want to write about things like this more. I can't decide just yet if that's a good thing or a bad thing - if it's making me more introspective and causing me to dwell on things and thus making matters worse, or if it's a good outlet and way for me to articulate things. I suppose only time will tell.
Wednesday 2 February 2011
Hello!
I decided to start a new blog to separate my personal meanderings from anything which has a little bit more purpose to it.
No idea if I actually like the name of this blog or not, so please don't judge me for it. I felt a very strong desire to write a blog post today (inspired by #whatstigma, as you will see) that didn't really fit with my other blog, and needed a very quick name for it. Country Feedback, for anyone unfamiliar, is one of my favourite songs ever. It's by REM and it includes the lines "I was central / I had control / I lost my head", which seemed to fit very well with the issue of mental health, so I plumped for that.
Not that this is a mental health blog or anything - that's just where my mind was at when I wrote the first post which precipitated (is that the right word? I think it's the right word - there's likely to be a lot of this waffling, apologies in advance) the need for the new blog. It's likely to be a mish-mash of whatever comes to my mind, so good luck and godspeed with reading it!
No idea if I actually like the name of this blog or not, so please don't judge me for it. I felt a very strong desire to write a blog post today (inspired by #whatstigma, as you will see) that didn't really fit with my other blog, and needed a very quick name for it. Country Feedback, for anyone unfamiliar, is one of my favourite songs ever. It's by REM and it includes the lines "I was central / I had control / I lost my head", which seemed to fit very well with the issue of mental health, so I plumped for that.
Not that this is a mental health blog or anything - that's just where my mind was at when I wrote the first post which precipitated (is that the right word? I think it's the right word - there's likely to be a lot of this waffling, apologies in advance) the need for the new blog. It's likely to be a mish-mash of whatever comes to my mind, so good luck and godspeed with reading it!
What Stigma?
For anyone who doesn't know, the #whatstigma? hashtag on Twitter was started today by @RebeccaFront to raise awareness of mental health issues and reduce the stigma surrounding them. It quickly became the top trending topic in the UK and is trending highly worldwide at the minute. And it's only been going a couple of hours at most. If you haven't already, take a few minutes to read it over. It's inspiring and moving stuff to see so many people admit to their problems, and know that they aren't alone.
I have great admiration for the people opening up about the most personal, private and oftentimes painful of issues. I wish that I had their strength and courage. I'm writing this blog post with no real intention of actually publishing it. I have a link to this blog on my Twitter account, and if I don't have the bravery to admit to any of this over there, I'm not going to do it here, right? Mostly it's because I follow and am followed by a range of different people - randoms I don't know, vague acquaintences, people I know through 'work'-like activities, as well as friends from real life and new friends that I've made through Twitter and the interwebs. A few of them know about my problems, the vast majority do not. And I'm terrified of how it would be received if I did admit to it.
I don't think that it would make people think that I'm a bad person, or completely stop talking to me. But I do think they would react differently. Treat me with kid gloves, perhaps. Pull back a little, afraid of how I might react to any given situation. Think that I'm just too high maintenance to deal with. That's almost the worst part of the stigma around mental health. I can't imagine that anyone I told would laugh in my face, or say anything overtly horrible or mean to me. It's the not knowing what to do with me that I'm most afraid of. As it is, I feel that a lot of the people in my life don't understand me or know how to take me. I fear that they think I'm weird and annoying and a bit strange.
So if I told them that - in addition to being a bit of a sci-fi geek, extraordinarily sarcastic, obsessed with music, movies and tv -I have some depression and anxiety issues, that I've been on medication for a year and a half and in and out of various types of therapy and counselling for a lot longer than that, how are they going to react? Are they going to pull their punches with me, only engage in the most superficial and polite of conversations, for fear of upsetting me? Are they going to ignore anything remotely negative that I say because they don't know how to respond? Are they going to assume that I'm suicidal anytime I'm in a bad mood? Will they not think I'm funny anymore (if they ever did to start with)? Will they back off because they think I'm just more hassle than I'm worth, in such a casual situation as Twitter and the internet can be? Will they see that it's just one part of who I am, together with my extreme short-sightedness, propensity for watching reality tv solely to slag it off, dislike of mushrooms and a million other things?
It's the fear of being treated not as a person, but as the illness that gets me. That and the very personal nature of it. Whether or not people are perfectly ok with mental illness (and most people that I know, anyway, would insist absolutely that they are ok with it), it's still a very personal and intimate thing to know about someone else. It's difficult to share that, therefore, with people that you aren't overly close to. It feels like you're trying to force a relationship to be something that it's not, and that you're creating a burden of expectation and obligation - or at the very least, you're afraid that that is how the other person will perceive it. But not sharing it makes the problems worse. It just adds to the sense of alienation, loneliness, feeling 'other' and outside of everything. The sense that you have to wear a mask with everyone to be accepted, that you have to be what they want you to be. And hiding something like this every moment of your life is exhausting. Trust me.
And then of course, there's the work/professional side of things. How do you go about explaining something like that to people in your worklife? How much do you need to explain, how much will they read into it? Any sign of weakness - physical, mental or otherwise - is something we're generally conscious of trying to hide in our workplace. Where do you even begin trying to navigate that one?
I don't know what the solution is to this. I don't know how much of it is part of the stigma, and how much is part of the illness. Maybe if we were all more upfront about our mental issues, we'd all be more used to figuring out how to deal with people who have problems like this?
At this point I realise that this is starting to sound negative and almost as if I think that reducing the stigma is a futile exercise - that is not what I mean at all. I think that the #whatstigma idea is brilliant and inspiring and restores my faith in humanity more than a little. I guess what I'm really trying to express is my admiration for those able to be upfront about it. There's so much that makes it so terrifying to be able to admit it (to greater or lesser extents, depending on your particular mental health problem) that the success of the hashtag so far is perhaps an even bigger achievement than it might seem to those lucky enough not to have been affected by such issues.
Either way, kudos to Rebecca Front. If I ever meet her in the street I'm giving her a massive hug. Although I hope that that doesn't induce a panic attack in her...
I hope that this campaign continues and grows stronger, and gets picked up by mainstream press to get the attention that it both needs and deserves. And as if to emphasise just how much we do need this, this week in Belfast two children, one aged 11 and one aged 13, were buried after taking their own lives. Children.
We need to make mental health easier to talk about. We need to improve services for anyone who might be suffering, and we need to do it as soon as possible.
There's a long way to go, but this is a beautiful start.
I have great admiration for the people opening up about the most personal, private and oftentimes painful of issues. I wish that I had their strength and courage. I'm writing this blog post with no real intention of actually publishing it. I have a link to this blog on my Twitter account, and if I don't have the bravery to admit to any of this over there, I'm not going to do it here, right? Mostly it's because I follow and am followed by a range of different people - randoms I don't know, vague acquaintences, people I know through 'work'-like activities, as well as friends from real life and new friends that I've made through Twitter and the interwebs. A few of them know about my problems, the vast majority do not. And I'm terrified of how it would be received if I did admit to it.
I don't think that it would make people think that I'm a bad person, or completely stop talking to me. But I do think they would react differently. Treat me with kid gloves, perhaps. Pull back a little, afraid of how I might react to any given situation. Think that I'm just too high maintenance to deal with. That's almost the worst part of the stigma around mental health. I can't imagine that anyone I told would laugh in my face, or say anything overtly horrible or mean to me. It's the not knowing what to do with me that I'm most afraid of. As it is, I feel that a lot of the people in my life don't understand me or know how to take me. I fear that they think I'm weird and annoying and a bit strange.
So if I told them that - in addition to being a bit of a sci-fi geek, extraordinarily sarcastic, obsessed with music, movies and tv -I have some depression and anxiety issues, that I've been on medication for a year and a half and in and out of various types of therapy and counselling for a lot longer than that, how are they going to react? Are they going to pull their punches with me, only engage in the most superficial and polite of conversations, for fear of upsetting me? Are they going to ignore anything remotely negative that I say because they don't know how to respond? Are they going to assume that I'm suicidal anytime I'm in a bad mood? Will they not think I'm funny anymore (if they ever did to start with)? Will they back off because they think I'm just more hassle than I'm worth, in such a casual situation as Twitter and the internet can be? Will they see that it's just one part of who I am, together with my extreme short-sightedness, propensity for watching reality tv solely to slag it off, dislike of mushrooms and a million other things?
It's the fear of being treated not as a person, but as the illness that gets me. That and the very personal nature of it. Whether or not people are perfectly ok with mental illness (and most people that I know, anyway, would insist absolutely that they are ok with it), it's still a very personal and intimate thing to know about someone else. It's difficult to share that, therefore, with people that you aren't overly close to. It feels like you're trying to force a relationship to be something that it's not, and that you're creating a burden of expectation and obligation - or at the very least, you're afraid that that is how the other person will perceive it. But not sharing it makes the problems worse. It just adds to the sense of alienation, loneliness, feeling 'other' and outside of everything. The sense that you have to wear a mask with everyone to be accepted, that you have to be what they want you to be. And hiding something like this every moment of your life is exhausting. Trust me.
And then of course, there's the work/professional side of things. How do you go about explaining something like that to people in your worklife? How much do you need to explain, how much will they read into it? Any sign of weakness - physical, mental or otherwise - is something we're generally conscious of trying to hide in our workplace. Where do you even begin trying to navigate that one?
I don't know what the solution is to this. I don't know how much of it is part of the stigma, and how much is part of the illness. Maybe if we were all more upfront about our mental issues, we'd all be more used to figuring out how to deal with people who have problems like this?
At this point I realise that this is starting to sound negative and almost as if I think that reducing the stigma is a futile exercise - that is not what I mean at all. I think that the #whatstigma idea is brilliant and inspiring and restores my faith in humanity more than a little. I guess what I'm really trying to express is my admiration for those able to be upfront about it. There's so much that makes it so terrifying to be able to admit it (to greater or lesser extents, depending on your particular mental health problem) that the success of the hashtag so far is perhaps an even bigger achievement than it might seem to those lucky enough not to have been affected by such issues.
Either way, kudos to Rebecca Front. If I ever meet her in the street I'm giving her a massive hug. Although I hope that that doesn't induce a panic attack in her...
I hope that this campaign continues and grows stronger, and gets picked up by mainstream press to get the attention that it both needs and deserves. And as if to emphasise just how much we do need this, this week in Belfast two children, one aged 11 and one aged 13, were buried after taking their own lives. Children.
We need to make mental health easier to talk about. We need to improve services for anyone who might be suffering, and we need to do it as soon as possible.
There's a long way to go, but this is a beautiful start.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)