Dragging My Feet: Finally Getting Help And My Tangled Fears
(tw: mental illness, suicide, self harm)
For as long as I can remember i've always dragged my feet when it came to different things, but in the end I'd always come through. Giving out about doing a farm job but still trekking up the fields in my wellies. Fucking around getting drunk most weekends out of the month during sixth year until the gravity of the situation set in and I went on to crush my Leaving Cert, a pretty crass boast at 21 in final year of college but fuck it, I tried to kill myself that April, I thought scraping arts would be lucky, but I pulled through when shit got rough. It's something I like about myself, and it's something that's held me back from getting proper help for a good long while. Well, that and the fact that mental illness fucks over your cognitive abilities, energy, all the shit you need to get better. The fact I've seen and heard enough to leave me deeply cynical towards the medical services and not want to put myself through the stress of sorting that shit out. A naive sense of "sure things'll get better after a wee bit", a nagging sense that my external circumstances were so bad and I was so trapped that getting help wouldn't make me happy, I'd just be "functional" or not "at risk" or whatever term you want for still having a shit time of things but not putting you the acquaintance at any danger of having to speak to a journo after the person in question was found in a river. A brutal, cynical, pretty horrible way of viewing things, but it's been in my head for a while, popping its head up every so often. The process of ringing and sorting appointments, changing your sleep schedule, making sure to eat right and fulfil all your obligations, keeping a mood diary, whatever recommendations you're given, though they're better in the long run, are shite craic. Sure, maybe I wouldn't be drinking as much, or self harming, or wasting my free time eating shitty takeaway and watching shitty documentaries, but I didn't really see any meaningful reason to stop living the way I was, and I'm still trying to cut those things down. It wasn't that being in that spot was in any way beneficial to me, I was an awful fucking mess, but it was familiar, the crushing weight of getting a bit better just to get a lot worse would probably have destroyed me, being quite honest.
A complex miasma of bad vibes clouding my head I cut through when I rang the campus GP to make an appointment, waited two weeks to see the psychiatrist, made an appointment with Pieta House, got assessed and am waiting two weeks for the process to start properly. It should be the happy ending at the end of the story, the mental illness tale framed in the past tense, a form of discourse that's easy to be cynical and frustrated with, for good reason, but I honestly wish was just the way it was because that's how they all conclude, while resenting the fact that is seldom the case. I can't draw much in the way of positivity from my experiences with mental illness, maybe I wouldn't like a lot of the tunes I do as they wouldn't resonate as well but they'd still be there for the bad days and rough spots, not the extended season that's run far past its prime and I wish would just be cancelled already. It's the possible start of recovery, that I'm going to throw myself in, and I'm terrified folks.
I'm scared I'll give up when it gets too annoying and I'm not seeing progress, or I'll have an OK week and think everything's grand, a trap I fell into with the on campus counselling where the appointments are too spread out and the final assessment one is just too much effort to make when there's rollies to be smoke while waiting for people after a vague call for companionship was made. I'm an impatient person, easily discouraged when things don't come easy from being one of those kids who copped to things at an early stage and had the development of a work ethic hindered by that.
I'm scared the things I thought dismissively about recovery would come true, that I'd just grind my way through final year, do some post graduate course, find myself in whatever job came around, still spending the time not fulfilling obligations alone, not happy by any stretch but a functional society member. While I hate the focus mental health discourse takes on being functional, in a way that takes the blame away from how external factors and stresses can destroy you and leaves those with long term conditions and difficulties out in the cold, I...need to be functional, this is my last year of this degree, I need to be on top form for it. I like being functional as well, feeling like my presence in this world and my contributions have a concrete value in the lives of others. I never knew how to do the taking it easy self care thing with bubble baths and the like, with absolutely no disrespect to that avenue of self care, I'd always just take the bins out or answer all my emails or something along those lines. The old pulling through under fire thing raising its head again.
I'm scared the self loathing isn't gonna die off, the persistent negativity I direct towards myself for various things that are to be frank, go from serious things I still need to fix to pretty ridiculous. I hate the way my hair doesn't grow naturally into whatever style is in vogue, or even a consistent aesthetic. I hate how I've watched every episode of Danny Dyer's The Real Football Factories both original and international editions, despite not following the sport. I hate how the bands I love and that mean so much to me and I want to scream about from the rooftops aren't likely to strike a chord with the average person for whatever reason. I hate how much I depend on the opinion of others for validation and yet outside of general agreeability and not being a gobshite I refuse to compromise. I hate how pretentious I probably come off despite the fact this is how I am on a day to day basis, and if I was pretending I'd pick a persona with a good deal more social capital. I hate how I haven;t done all the travelling almost expected with a worldly college student, the exploring I've done being the depths of various music blogs and documentary channels. I hate how moody I am, how that results in me being awful to the people i'm close to. I hate how much I worry. I hate my impatience, my poor work ethic, my faulty eyes and faulty brain and always noticing how I don't fit situations. Maybe coping mechanisms or coming to an understanding with these may come, but it'll be long and messy.
Yesterday was World Mental Health Day, and while the discussion and discourse was better than kids in second class just calling suicide the coward's way out back in primary when they likely had no idea of the gravity of that statement, it took its toll. I'm aware that having been able to access services, though Pieta is a charity being run off its feet with the failure the state has made of service provision, makes me a lucky one in a sense, but I'm also too aware of how services have not only not been there but actively failed people. If I ended up being failed by them for whatever reason, I'd probably still take out that failure on myself, wasting the professional's time when there's some poor bastard out there would possibly fit quite perfectly into that mould provided and would provide that happy ever after story. It took its toll seeing people talk about it who I knew were actively awful with mental health stuff, including the recent OCD coffee cup bollocks, knowing I'd fallen into those traps in the past and how that has an effect on people getting help. More than anything it acted as a culmination of all the shit I've seen and heard lald down right in front of me, the dual forces of optimism and cynicism, how they're both right and both wrong and just how tangled the whole thing is. It sparked this onslaught of words, how the things I'd say to other people in jeopardy don't line up with how I treat myself and my own mind. Seeing all the people at the end of a journey through Main Street in Maynooth on Maynooth Christmas Day with the crowding and cacophony of voices and fear of bottles being thrown or shit kicking off that could be one of my better analogies for the shit inside your head, and yet it feels like I'm at the start.
I'm gonna do my best and maybe the change from how I traditionally dealt with things is what I've been waiting for my whole life and this is the darkest hour before dawn moment that makes everything coming together much more sweeter. But I've seen too much, I've heard too much, I want to go in headfirst into this process but the fear is still there, it's not something I think that really gets talked about enough. I wish I was making a grand point with this article, a valiant call to arms that kick started my career, maybe going round to schools giving talks with the whole "I can do it, why can't you" thing being an unsaid truth that's impossible to escape. But it ain't. It's just me baring my soul on this platform for the first time in a wee while, hoping some of this resonates with at least one person and you know you're not alone in your fears and reservations.
These kind of pieces either come out really slowly or all at once, and this was the latter, hopefully I can get back to more esoteric or relatable in a positive fashion content.
Mal out xoxo.
For as long as I can remember i've always dragged my feet when it came to different things, but in the end I'd always come through. Giving out about doing a farm job but still trekking up the fields in my wellies. Fucking around getting drunk most weekends out of the month during sixth year until the gravity of the situation set in and I went on to crush my Leaving Cert, a pretty crass boast at 21 in final year of college but fuck it, I tried to kill myself that April, I thought scraping arts would be lucky, but I pulled through when shit got rough. It's something I like about myself, and it's something that's held me back from getting proper help for a good long while. Well, that and the fact that mental illness fucks over your cognitive abilities, energy, all the shit you need to get better. The fact I've seen and heard enough to leave me deeply cynical towards the medical services and not want to put myself through the stress of sorting that shit out. A naive sense of "sure things'll get better after a wee bit", a nagging sense that my external circumstances were so bad and I was so trapped that getting help wouldn't make me happy, I'd just be "functional" or not "at risk" or whatever term you want for still having a shit time of things but not putting you the acquaintance at any danger of having to speak to a journo after the person in question was found in a river. A brutal, cynical, pretty horrible way of viewing things, but it's been in my head for a while, popping its head up every so often. The process of ringing and sorting appointments, changing your sleep schedule, making sure to eat right and fulfil all your obligations, keeping a mood diary, whatever recommendations you're given, though they're better in the long run, are shite craic. Sure, maybe I wouldn't be drinking as much, or self harming, or wasting my free time eating shitty takeaway and watching shitty documentaries, but I didn't really see any meaningful reason to stop living the way I was, and I'm still trying to cut those things down. It wasn't that being in that spot was in any way beneficial to me, I was an awful fucking mess, but it was familiar, the crushing weight of getting a bit better just to get a lot worse would probably have destroyed me, being quite honest.
A complex miasma of bad vibes clouding my head I cut through when I rang the campus GP to make an appointment, waited two weeks to see the psychiatrist, made an appointment with Pieta House, got assessed and am waiting two weeks for the process to start properly. It should be the happy ending at the end of the story, the mental illness tale framed in the past tense, a form of discourse that's easy to be cynical and frustrated with, for good reason, but I honestly wish was just the way it was because that's how they all conclude, while resenting the fact that is seldom the case. I can't draw much in the way of positivity from my experiences with mental illness, maybe I wouldn't like a lot of the tunes I do as they wouldn't resonate as well but they'd still be there for the bad days and rough spots, not the extended season that's run far past its prime and I wish would just be cancelled already. It's the possible start of recovery, that I'm going to throw myself in, and I'm terrified folks.
I'm scared I'll give up when it gets too annoying and I'm not seeing progress, or I'll have an OK week and think everything's grand, a trap I fell into with the on campus counselling where the appointments are too spread out and the final assessment one is just too much effort to make when there's rollies to be smoke while waiting for people after a vague call for companionship was made. I'm an impatient person, easily discouraged when things don't come easy from being one of those kids who copped to things at an early stage and had the development of a work ethic hindered by that.
I'm scared the things I thought dismissively about recovery would come true, that I'd just grind my way through final year, do some post graduate course, find myself in whatever job came around, still spending the time not fulfilling obligations alone, not happy by any stretch but a functional society member. While I hate the focus mental health discourse takes on being functional, in a way that takes the blame away from how external factors and stresses can destroy you and leaves those with long term conditions and difficulties out in the cold, I...need to be functional, this is my last year of this degree, I need to be on top form for it. I like being functional as well, feeling like my presence in this world and my contributions have a concrete value in the lives of others. I never knew how to do the taking it easy self care thing with bubble baths and the like, with absolutely no disrespect to that avenue of self care, I'd always just take the bins out or answer all my emails or something along those lines. The old pulling through under fire thing raising its head again.
I'm scared the self loathing isn't gonna die off, the persistent negativity I direct towards myself for various things that are to be frank, go from serious things I still need to fix to pretty ridiculous. I hate the way my hair doesn't grow naturally into whatever style is in vogue, or even a consistent aesthetic. I hate how I've watched every episode of Danny Dyer's The Real Football Factories both original and international editions, despite not following the sport. I hate how the bands I love and that mean so much to me and I want to scream about from the rooftops aren't likely to strike a chord with the average person for whatever reason. I hate how much I depend on the opinion of others for validation and yet outside of general agreeability and not being a gobshite I refuse to compromise. I hate how pretentious I probably come off despite the fact this is how I am on a day to day basis, and if I was pretending I'd pick a persona with a good deal more social capital. I hate how I haven;t done all the travelling almost expected with a worldly college student, the exploring I've done being the depths of various music blogs and documentary channels. I hate how moody I am, how that results in me being awful to the people i'm close to. I hate how much I worry. I hate my impatience, my poor work ethic, my faulty eyes and faulty brain and always noticing how I don't fit situations. Maybe coping mechanisms or coming to an understanding with these may come, but it'll be long and messy.
Yesterday was World Mental Health Day, and while the discussion and discourse was better than kids in second class just calling suicide the coward's way out back in primary when they likely had no idea of the gravity of that statement, it took its toll. I'm aware that having been able to access services, though Pieta is a charity being run off its feet with the failure the state has made of service provision, makes me a lucky one in a sense, but I'm also too aware of how services have not only not been there but actively failed people. If I ended up being failed by them for whatever reason, I'd probably still take out that failure on myself, wasting the professional's time when there's some poor bastard out there would possibly fit quite perfectly into that mould provided and would provide that happy ever after story. It took its toll seeing people talk about it who I knew were actively awful with mental health stuff, including the recent OCD coffee cup bollocks, knowing I'd fallen into those traps in the past and how that has an effect on people getting help. More than anything it acted as a culmination of all the shit I've seen and heard lald down right in front of me, the dual forces of optimism and cynicism, how they're both right and both wrong and just how tangled the whole thing is. It sparked this onslaught of words, how the things I'd say to other people in jeopardy don't line up with how I treat myself and my own mind. Seeing all the people at the end of a journey through Main Street in Maynooth on Maynooth Christmas Day with the crowding and cacophony of voices and fear of bottles being thrown or shit kicking off that could be one of my better analogies for the shit inside your head, and yet it feels like I'm at the start.
I'm gonna do my best and maybe the change from how I traditionally dealt with things is what I've been waiting for my whole life and this is the darkest hour before dawn moment that makes everything coming together much more sweeter. But I've seen too much, I've heard too much, I want to go in headfirst into this process but the fear is still there, it's not something I think that really gets talked about enough. I wish I was making a grand point with this article, a valiant call to arms that kick started my career, maybe going round to schools giving talks with the whole "I can do it, why can't you" thing being an unsaid truth that's impossible to escape. But it ain't. It's just me baring my soul on this platform for the first time in a wee while, hoping some of this resonates with at least one person and you know you're not alone in your fears and reservations.
These kind of pieces either come out really slowly or all at once, and this was the latter, hopefully I can get back to more esoteric or relatable in a positive fashion content.
Mal out xoxo.
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