This too shall pass

It's mental health awareness week and I don't know about you, but since the rona I have been more aware of my own mental health than ever before. It's not an easy or fun thing to talk about but it is so important that we do. Sometimes it's good to deal with stuff on our own, and often we are able to, but when we can't, talking to someone just helps take the weight off your shoulders. For me, that is often the best way for me to heal and move forward.

Part of me absolutely hates this lockdown; I long to see my friends, family and just to do something that resembles normality, like going for a coffee or browse in the shops. The change of scenery and renewed perspective is often what helps me get through bad days. And, like a child, I crave structure. I want to be told what to do and when to do it, but right now it's one big waiting game and quite frankly, I'm getting sick of the sight of these same four walls. Although I never had any control over the future anyway, it feels more uncertain than ever. I feel helpless and stuck, and since I'm in between jobs right now, (careers, even), I just want it all to go away and shun any form of responsibility.

The other part of me is grateful to have this time. I have a roof over my head, food to eat and a loving family around me. It should be enough, but every day I am plagued by my thoughts. I can usually tell them to be quiet and get on with the day, but since there isn't much to do right now they seem to be louder than ever. But this might be the time I need to reflect and try and allow myself to find better ways of living and processing things. In the past, I have been so used to just shutting unhelpful thoughts down whenever they crop up, thinking it was unhealthy to dwell on them. But stewing in your thoughts is different from allowing yourself to experience a feeling and figure out better ways to cope.

So, how have I been coping? One foot in front of the other, it feels like, most days. Just get through it, is what the pragmatic part of my brain tells me. Also, talking to my family and being honest about how I feel, and a new thing I've been doing: forcing myself to get out of bed every morning regardless of how I feel.

Like so many others, mornings are the hardest time of day for me. When anxiety hits hard, I wake up with a racing heart, tense all over, and an overall feeling of dread. But – and I'll be forever grateful for this – my doctor gave me some valuable advice once. He said that instead of waiting for my feelings to tell me what to do, I should just do it anyway. In this case, getting out of bed even when I feel like I am completely paralysed. It is really flipping hard, but it's a bit like pressing snooze on your alarm. The sooner you press stop and just get up, the sooner you can move on. That part of the day is over and, sometimes, so is the feeling that comes with it.

I listen to a devotional (Lectio 365 has been amazing). I put some clothes on and go for a short walk. Right now I am more thankful than ever to live in such a beautiful, peaceful part of the world. There are trees and fields and mountains and I can hear the river and the birds singing. I ask God to help me get through the day, to help me to do my best and to serve him in whichever way I can. I speak scripture over myself, reminding myself of God's truth and promises. It amazes me how some time off from our busy world can cause us to be overwhelmed by thoughts and feelings that simply do not align with God's plan and design for us. I don't always feel better. I don't always hear God's voice or feel his presence, but I know he is there and that he will help me to persevere even when it is really, really hard.

And I know I am not alone in this. As isolating and terrifying anxiety and depression are, I know they do not just affect me. It says in 1 Peter 5:6-10:

"Humble yourselves, therefore, under God's mighty hand, that he may lift you up in due time. Cast all your anxiety on him because he cares for you. Be alert and of sober mind. Your enemy the devil prowls around like a roaring lion looking for someone to devour. Resist him, standing firm in the faith, because you know that the family of believers throughout the world is undergoing the same kind of sufferings. And the God of all grace, who called you to his eternal glory in Christ, after you have suffered a little while, will himself restore you and make you strong, firm and steadfast."

I have to be totally honest and say that I often wonder if the scripture I read is really meant for me. Maybe I'm different? My anxiety is different, my circumstances don't fit into what the word is saying. Then I am reminded of the very first part of this passage: humble yourselves. Who am I to think I know better? Whether you believe in God or not, I think we can all do well to humble ourselves. We can't know it all; sometimes we don't know what's best for us – I find the mixed messages my poor mental health gives me utterly infuriating. But that's when I need to give it back to God and wait for him to show me the way. There is so much mystery in the world and while everyone's suffering is valid, it is important to remember there is a season for everything and this too shall pass.

When I was 18

When I was 18 I had a plan. My plan was solid because I could see so far into the future. I could see so far, as in, up until the age of 21 – the age up until when everything was laid out and navigable. When I was 18 I went to university and I definitely shouldn't have. I mean, I definitely shouldn't have left home at 18. I was too young and I was still a child. I was still too young when I finished university and turned 21.

I don't know when I grew up. Maybe it happened the second time I left home and my mum and I were at this new pizza place she had read about in the Guardian and somehow, all of a sudden, we were both crying in the middle of the restaurant, Mum squeezing my hand over the table. I didn't cry again – not even when she left – because I had a huge new bedroom with bay windows and a blossom tree outside and Friends to watch on Netflix and the sweetest new friend with the most beautiful ginger hair I'd ever seen, just in the bedroom next to me.

Until about a year or so ago I thought it all had to mean something – life – and every moment of every day had to be worth something, or I was wasting time, or what was the point? I had the plan until I was 21 and then I got lost but found my way again and then after all that, and another breakdown, I decided I didn't need a plan – not a long term one, anyway. Going along with what everyone else was doing, and what I thought I should be doing, was very overwhelming. Back then, and maybe even now, still, I filled every spare moment with things and people and events and stuff. I had no time to think or be by myself and stop thinking about other people for just one minute or spend time with God or learn about anything new. I spent so many days, weeks, years just ticking over to the next, following a plan I had laid out for myself, following what the world said, following, following, following...

When I was 18 and I moved away to university I latched onto the most beautiful person I had ever met. I remember the first time I saw him, leaning against our new kitchen door as he introduced himself and my jaw dropped, which I always thought was so romantic. We argued maybe twice the whole time we were together, and I can't remember exactly how long that was because there were a good few months either side of the ~relationship~ when we were still texting and saying I love you. He bought me flowers and Krispy Kremes and he read difficult books and wrote these amazing essays and he taught me a lot about films and history and literature, because at 18 I was still a child and he was 19 and had had a gap year and was so wise. I would describe what he looked like but his face has kind of faded from my memory now. It's not even about what they look like when you fall in love, anyway.

I wrote a lot of romantic shit when I was 18. Like, if I could go back to uni now and re-do my degree, I know I'd write some amazing stuff. But sometimes I think maybe I don't want to be a writer anymore, except I know that isn't true. I am just extremely lazy. I think (part of) my problem is I don't know who my audience is, and I've written self-indulgent internal monologue type diary entries for far too long and it's hard to change your style once you've found a groove, you know? Another truth is... I'm scared of what will come up if I'm alone with my thoughts for too long. In a way, therapy helped with that, but I dreaded going every week and I still don't know if it fixed me.

When I was 18 I didn't know anything about mental health and sometimes I wish I still didn't. I was 18 when I first experienced anxiety and I thought I was dying. I couldn't leave my bedroom and I couldn't get on a train and I couldn't go to work and I was too scared to do so many things because of this sick feeling that wouldn't go away. My friend said something recently that I've thought about loads. She said that mental health awareness may be worsening the problem for some of us. And at first I thought, nope, I don't get it. But now I definitely do. When I read about other people's experiences of mental health problems I have to try really hard to see if I can relate. What I feel and think and experience is so different to what everyone else does, and that's the scariest thing about mental illness. I can talk about it now from a grounded perspective and see where I have been in the past as seasons of change and growth and disruption and pain, because right now I am okay, but I still can't explain any of it, really. And no one can. There is no test or scan, only a questionnaire you fill out at the doctors and the words you can scramble together to describe how isolated and scared you feel, and even then it's their interpretation that determines how sick you are. So how does that work?

When I was 18 I was on the precipice of adulthood and the unravelling of myself. Sometimes I go back to that town, where my best friend still lives, and it's like I didn't exist. My halls of residence are no longer, my friends have dispersed, old love dissipating with every new build that concretes over where we walked. Only one book shop we spent collecting novels for the summers ahead remains and if I go inside and put my hands on the shelves, stacked and stuffed with titles we both know and don't know, it almost feels like that time never passed.

The second time

It's like you're being split open, my mum said. Childbirth. Pain no woman knows until they have been through it themselves. I was at that age when you ask about everything – how are babies made, what happens when you die... I didn't like the sound of being split open. Why were people still having babies if it hurt that much? But mum said that as soon as I was handed to her she forgot all about the pain. Her body healed and she had a brand new baby – it had been worth it.

Source

As I recover from my second episode of anxiety and depression, I am catching glimmers of what is coming next. When I was at my worst, just ten weeks ago, my close friend Emily held my hand and said there would be something good at the end of all this. It is difficult to admit that I was struggling to live back then, even when, on the outside, there was nothing 'wrong' with my life. It's not your fault if you don't understand. I didn't, either, until it happened to me.

It has been up and down, with a debilitating two weeks at the start of it all, back in June. But right now I am excited for the future. Everything feels new, like I have never written a blog post before, never eaten porridge for breakfast, never known the joy of living a simple existence – underneath the dark screen I couldn't see past for so long was this wonderful fresh layer of hope and I can't help but think... maybe it was worth it?

If mothers can give birth and fully recover, with a baby to love and look after, I wonder if I might, too. I'm not thinking about having children anytime soon but I do wonder if I have the ability to bounce back from difficult experiences? Because what I am experiencing now is so much better than I could have ever imagined.

God never gives us more than we can handle, so I've been told. But there were moments, days, weeks when I felt like I couldn't go on, like I would never get better and like I had never felt worse. I knew the pain I felt wasn't from God, but I wondered where he was, why couldn't I reach out to him and feel the peace everyone was talking about? Why was this happening to me, again? But even when every slow second of living felt worse than the thought of death, I kept going.

Setbacks shake us out of our routines and cause a right shit show. Ten weeks ago I was waking up with heart palpitations, my whole body stiff with fear, every limb double its weight. It literally happened overnight, just like the first time. Simple tasks like showering and putting on clothes were mammoth, exhausting, impossible without the help of my mum or dad, talking me through it all as I cried down the phone. I was scared of everything – of leaving the house, walking to work, of the day ahead, of coming home, how I would feel tomorrow, of the past. The rational part of my brain fought to be heard among all the lies the emotional part was telling me, often to the point of sheer panic and despair. It baffles me, then, that I am now in a position in which I can sit here and write about this horrible ordeal, with some kind of new and improved perspective, when I, the same person, was thinking and believing terrible things about myself just weeks ago.

I was naive, I understand now, to think a prescription for antidepressants would rid me of the depression and anxiety I had experienced in 2013. I never thought I would feel like this again. I thought I had it under control. But really, it was sitting there at the back of my mind, waiting for the right opportunity to attack. Over the years I had put it to one side, thought of it as something I had dealt with and didn't want to talk about or associate myself with anymore. It was easier to get on with my day-to-day life than dig up the root of my anxiety and depression with the help of a professional. But then it came back and I had no choice.

I tried to write when I was in the midst of my crisis, but my brain had stopped working properly. It was as if a switch had been flipped. I tried to read the blog post I wrote last time I was in recovery, but I couldn't concentrate on anything for more than ten seconds. There was no room in my mind for anything except dark, deep sadness, a feeling of total isolation and melancholy. The joy had been sapped out of everything. I saw everything differently, everything dark. Dull, depressive despondency made everything I usually loved bad. I didn't eat, I didn't exercise, I didn't even want coffee! The only escape was in my sleep, which was irregular and often disrupted with nightmares, anyway. I didn't know how I could have ever felt any different to this.

Everyone says depression isn't a weakness, it's an illness, but it certainly makes me feel weak. It makes me tired, hypersensitive and completely dependent on other people to help me get through each day. I look at others my age who live in cities far away from their family home, who travel the world solo, who are able to cope with everyday life and feel like a failure in comparison. We are encouraged to be happy by ourselves, to follow our own paths, to do whatever we want to do - so long as we're strong and independent. This message is everywhere - on social media, in blogs, books, magazines, TV, but it is so damaging. We all need a support network, a community around us, we can't do it all by ourselves.

I'm just going to say it plain and simple: it's okay to be lonely. It's okay to need company. It's okay to need community. It's okay to need friends. It's okay to need love. It's okay to need physical touch. It's okay to want someone to look after you when you're feeling unwell. It's okay to want to come home to a family and not a messy house you share with people you don't know. It's okay not to want to live alone or want a high-powered career, or a career at all. It's okay to want to live one day to the next with the simple aim of enjoying it. It's okay to be different to others your age. It's okay to still need your parents at 26 years old. It's okay to be completely and utterly vulnerable even if your mind is telling you it's not.

I used to look back on my past with some kind of sense of superiority, as if I had it all figured out now with my "proper" job, my stable mental health and the fact that I was 100% independent, living away from home and supporting myself without anyone's help. But who was I trying to prove myself to? I am already accepted, already flawed, already never going to earn the only person's approval I need, because I already have it. Once again I was living according to some made up rules I had set myself to try and keep up with everyone around me.

"For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother's womb. I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well."
– Psalm 139:13-14

It took another breakdown for me to come back down to earth and refocus. What is important to me? Why do I do what I do? What am I living for? Why don't I talk about my mental health more? Why don't I ask others how they really are? Why am I constantly comparing myself to others? Why am I afraid to be vulnerable?

It might not be the obvious route for most twenty-somethings, but I am now living with my parents again in my hometown and adopting a slower pace of life. I have a new job (which I love) and am beginning to enjoy living again – not for anyone else and not by anyone else's standards. I am learning about what I need to take care of myself and my mental health – meaningful human contact every day, community, purpose, serving. I am trying to keep the vulnerable part of me vulnerable, allowing myself to cry, talk about the worries I have that I never thought I would voice – be really real.

Wouldn't it be great if mental health wasn't such an awkward thing to talk about? For me, it's almost as if pretending it's not a problem is exactly how it manifests. So if you're still reading this (thank you!) and you are going through something similar, have done, or know someone who has, I'd love to talk to you about it. Who do you turn to? What advice would you give? Please leave a comment below or email me at whatnaomiwrote@gmail.com.

Where is Your Identity?

Do you ever bury your words? I began writing this in May but my anxious nature left it in the drafts. I worry about who will read this. What will you think? But, sometimes, a moment of bravery brings you back – both in writing and in life. 

About four years ago, I woke up one day with an enormous weight of sadness hanging over me. I was a final year creative writing student in Cheltenham, and that was my life. I could pinpoint exactly what it was that triggered it, the beginning of it all, but there were so many other things to come. It was a snowball effect. There was no single reason. Not one I can pinpoint. If there was someone or something I could blame it would be easy.

My 21st Birthday was one I would rather have forgotten, had it not been for my family. You don't realise how fortunate you are, how much worse it could be, how much love there is in the world, until it all goes to shit and your family is there to see you through. Had it not been for the smallest gestures, the constant love, the every-day smiles, I might not be here.

Mental illness isn't a choice, but the way you deal with it is. And you always have a choice. I chose to find a way, and now, four years later, I am still struggling, but I can say with great boldness that I am 100% myself.

It is now, when I look back, that I see what God did. He brought me back to Him.

When I went to university I turned my back on God. I couldn't wait to do whatever I wanted after living in a Christian household my whole life, and while it was fun to begin with, the inevitable downfall was not worth it. Not even a tiny bit.

Now I know who I am, I know where I am and, even though I don't know where I am going, I know where my identity lies. My purpose is in something much bigger than me or anyone on this earth. It isn't spread around in a random scattering, on anyone or anything. It doesn't land on whoever captures my attention for longer than a minute, or two. It lies solely in Him.

When I put my identity in other things I allowed a part of myself to be lost. Whatever it was... it couldn't keep me safe. Nothing is forever or as constant as the love of God. He was the only thing that stayed the same in the darkest moments of my life, and for that I thank Him every day.

I have lost love, friendships, time, experiences, a piece of myself... but what I lost was found ten times over when I put my identity back in Him. My life is richer now. I have a purpose. My identity is in Him and I am protected. And, when I feel like I'm beginning to falter – when I feel like I am losing a part of myself again – I re-centre my focus onto Him, and it is well with my soul.

The Rest

It was over two months ago that I flew to LA on my own. I was meeting a group of people – some I knew, some I didn't. I wasn't nervous. I guess I should be thankful that my anxiety is irrational. The scary things don't scare me. It might be easier if they did.

I welcomed the heat to my skin like an old friend. I had left a long summer behind, over 5,000 miles away, and was happy to see this one. This place I had known from a distance my whole life. 

Happiness hit me, like it does, but with the fog that the drugs promise. I'm figuring it out, I tell myself daily. There aren't enough resources for mental health, you know. Just drugs. The sun's rays fought through, resting on my eyes, lighting me up. What a place to absorb, a scene picked right out of The OC. I forced myself to believe it. A sky with its fresh coat of paint and that pool, a haven, whirring beneath us. How far I had come.

Rest takes many forms. For years I would tell people 'I'm an introvert.' I needed time on my own to recharge. Maybe I grew up, or changed, or trained myself to enjoy talking to people, because now I don't know what I am. Now I like time alone with others. Lying, sitting, standing, in comfortable silence with almost strangers. I am fine on my own, but then it scares me more than anything else. At what point do you tip over? By day five I was ready for the 11-hour, solo flight home.

Home to my new home. Home to my not home. I cried for a week, like I was 18 again, except I had no one to latch onto. I had responsibilities. My mum, instead, took the phone calls, and my God took the night calls. 

When does it start to feel okay again? When does something painful turn into something positive? Four months of misery in my mind, a weight on my head, somehow lifting without me even noticing. My rest – I saw friends more, made new ones, said yes, spoke up, answered, asked – adjusting to a fresh new way of life, richer than I could have ever imagined.  

Now perspective is sinking in. Hindsight – they say it's a wonderful thing. 

I realised I didn't need a home away from home. I didn't need a replacement mum and dad. I didn't need what they were dangling in front of me, but not quite offering. I didn't need church 24/7. I needed to be on my own, to be afraid, to push the boundaries of my faith and what it truly means to be a Christian – to step outside of my comfort zone. Why would I let anyone, or anything, else do that for me?

You have to thank God for the way He is so right about everything. Something shifted. I began to thank Him for it all. For all the stress, the tears, the time. Where would I have gone had I stayed where I was? Nowhere. He gave me the push I needed to go. And I came up for air.

Changing perspective in Barcelona

The day before we left for Barcelona I was feeling pretty low. I won't delve into why but if you want to know a bit about my experience with depression you can do so here. Flying over the Alps on the morning of our trip and I was lifted out of the dark completely. When I see natural beauty like this I am reminded of what and who I am living for. He is so much bigger than a bad day, a broken heart, a missed train or ignored text messages. Perspective is a wonderful thing.

I can't remember exactly where this photo was taken but I know it was near one of Barcelona's many museums, if that's any help. We stood in a large courtyard surrounded by old and new architecture. The contrast was stunning, especially with the reflections and the clear blue sky.

Ever seen a vending machine as big as this one? We were amazed. Found in one of the metro stations, we had to stop for a photo and buy a snack.

The Sagrada Familia was recommended to us by so many people and it was one of our favourite sights in the city. The light inside this magnificent church was beautiful. So many different colours, shapes, patterns and avenues of light. If you're heading to Barcelona you have to check out this incredible work of art. Designed by the late architect Antoni Gaudi, construction of the Sagrada Familia started way back in 1882 and is still being built.

The beach in Barcelona was warm and quiet. We watched the shore lap close to our toes and dogs swim in the lukewarm water when this little chap came to say hi. There were so many dogs in Barcelona, which made me happy but also sad because I don't have one of my own.

We stood on the roof of Barcelona's cathedral in the January sunshine – what a treat. Another stunning piece of architecture.

If only my spending money had allowed for a pair (or ten) of these beautiful pumps. Found in one of those shops you stumble upon and never see again, there was a pair in every colour you could imagine. 

On our last day we headed to La Rambla, the tourist hotspot in Barcelona. Just off this busy street was Plaça Reial, a square in which friends meet for lunch, holiday-goers stop for selfies and, when it's warm, people sit on the edge of the water fountain to soak up the sun with an ice cream. We did all three.

Read more about my trip to Barcelona here.

Thankful Thursday

I had a particularly good day yesterday, and at the end of it, when I got into bed to go to sleep, I thought about how thankful I was – how thankful I am – for friends. 

Lisette from Lisette Loves writes a Thankful Thursday series and it was only last night that I felt inspired to do the same. It's good to share this sort of stuff. The only reason I picked Thursday was because it's the day after life group, a meeting I go to every Wednesday with friends from church who are around my age. I always leave there feeling uplifted and positive.

Mac at life group. He's a softie.

It's good to remind whoever may stumble across this little blog of mine that we always have something to be thankful for, no matter what is going on in our lives.

For the first time last night, and, ever – or since I last saw a counsellor – I talked to friends – some I would barely class as acquaintances – about what's been going on in my life in the past year. It was terrifying. I hate talking to more than two or three people at the same time. I don't like people looking at me all at once.

I thought I would cry, but I didn't, I was just happy when I went home, to have understanding, caring friends who listened. They really listened. Is there anything better than a friend like that? Who doesn't interrupt, and sit texting someone else, or nod vacantly, waiting for their turn to speak?

I am thankful for these people. I am thankful that God has touched their lives in one way or another. Friendships are fantastic. They are like family.

I Used to Hate My Hair

For most of my teenage years, I sported the infamous side fringe. It was a security thing. I didn't like how unsymmetrical my face was. When I was thirteen, I begged for GHDs, and when I got them my best friend and I would spend each morning straightening the back of our hair, making sure there were no kinks, making sure the ends were curved in properly and not sticking straight down or out. Friday nights before youth group and my bedroom was a sauna, whatever the weather. If it was a special occasion, I would curl my hair, and I thought I looked amazing. Anything to transform myself from the natural flow of how my hair actually fell after washing and drying it. I was sure my hair was frizzy, kinky, and I had to mask that to make sure no one saw how ugly I was.

 

I don't know what changed, but when I got a bit older, my hair stopped being like that. Or maybe I stopped being like that. I grew out my fringe because it was too much effort and I didn't really like how it looked. I stopped reaching for my GHDs every day. It's funny to think that how my hair is now is exactly how I wished it could have been when I was thirteen. It's straight, it's smooth, soft and shiny. The ironic thing is, though, is that my hair is not what is 'desirable' in the beauty and fashion industry anymore. Now it's all about the naturally wavy, curly, effortless mess. That's what's 'sexy'. That's what's 'cool.'

But my hair isn't like that. It's dead straight. It's thick but it's flat, and it's pretty boring, plain, and like a lot of other people's hair. It's nothing special, it's just hair. But it's mine, and no one else has my hair. So what's the point in trying to make it something it's not? I stopped dying it a couple of years ago because it was too expensive to maintain, but it's a choice I am glad I made because I am in love with its natural colour.

I used to hate my hair, and sometimes I still do. It seems like a superficial thing to blog about, but hair is personal and I don't think I'm the only girl in the world to feel protected by it. Hair is beautiful, but it doesn't define you, your beauty, or your worth.

Post Uni Life: Am I an Adult Now?

Source

I started my big grown up job last month and I still can't quite believe it. When I get a spare moment between editing stories at my desk I find myself thinking... WOW. I would have never expected I'd be doing what I'm doing now if someone had told me a year ago. I know I've said that before, but it's just taking so long to sink in.

This time last year I was working on my dissertation and other various assignments for uni, not knowing what I was aiming for in the long run but feeling very stressed nonetheless and, just, going with it. Even though a full time graduate job wasn't what I had in mind for my life after uni, nothing else worked out. Nothing.

I am enjoying it more than I thought I would and I think I'm OK. I get this feeling when I'm walking from the car park to the office, through the hallway and when I sit down at my desk — I get this 'grown up' feeling. I ask myself, is this it? Have I made it to the adult world?

I love that I can snack at my desk. I love that I can have my lunch whenever I want. I love that I can drink as much coffee as I want. I love that I can read all day and do what I do best. I love that we can have a laugh and talk and not have to serve customers — that the computer and the stories are the only things I have to face. But I don't think I love this transition into adulthood.

I wonder how I'm supposed to feel. I wonder how everyone else feels. The problem with me, is that I wonder these things, and I don't think you're actually supposed to. Growing up just seems to happen, but even though I have everything that tells me I'm a grown up — a degree, a car, a full time job — I just don't feel there yet. I look at all the older, more experienced people working in the office and they seem to have it all figured out, in the way they talk, walk and work with such confidence and ease. 

Am I an adult now? Then there are people my age getting married, having babies, and although these two things are major goals for my life, I can't think of anything more terrifying at 21. We all develop at different ages, of that I'm sure, I would just like to know when I'll develop a bit further, or at least stop worrying about how I am now, because right now I feel a little stagnant, despite everything I am so fortunate to have achieved.

Free, Natural Medicine - Couch to 5k

For years I've been telling myself I'll start running. Not to lose weight, but to get fit and to feel better on the inside. Only once in my life did I ever really do it and that was in sixth form when I had free access to the gym at my school. When I left at eighteen, so did my enthusiasm for exercise and throughout uni I became a proper couch potato. I couldn't even walk up a hill without getting tired. I was seriously unfit, miserable and tired all the time.

My general health wasn't the best before I started exercising regularly. I suffer from Crohn's disease as well as anxiety and depression and one of the best treatments to combat all three of these is exercise. I wish I had made myself do it sooner, but the hardest part is starting. But one day I did. I had been feeling down for four months and I had had enough. I downloaded the couch to 5k app on my phone and off I went. I got into it straight away, and after my first twenty-five minute work out I could feel the positive effects instantly.

It has taken me quite a lot longer than I first expected to get through the programme. Some weeks I am away from home, busy all day and night and sometimes I have to repeat certain weeks to allow myself to adapt and strengthen. I am now in week five, having started back in September and I am steadily improving my stamina and general fitness. I know it might sound like nothing, but to me, being able to run for five minutes without stopping to catch my breath is such an achievement and I am determined to get even better.

I have days when I get dressed, get out of the house, run for a few minutes and decide I don't want to do it anymore. I go home. I make myself a sandwich. I have a nap. I don't ever want to feel guilty for doing this, because when you run - no matter how little or how slow - it is always more than if you had stayed home.

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In terms of running gear, I haven't really invested in anything new. I don't think it is necessary at all. If you have a pair of joggers, leggings, a t-shirt or a vest top and a pair of trainers you're good to go. Don't put it off with excuses like 'I don't have a sports bra' or 'my trainers aren't proper running trainers.' You can run wearing anything.

If you do need that extra motivation and want to kit yourself out, go to Primark. They have an excellent selection on offer and I bought my running socks from there for just a few pounds. Previously I had been getting blisters when wearing regular socks, but these socks from Primark are padded and made specifically for running. I have been very impressed with them so far so I would recommend them to even the most advanced runners.

Running really is an incredible free, natural medicine. If you're tired, if you're anxious, depressed, just run. You will feel better.

Do you run? What are your tips?

Defeating Depression

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If you have ever experienced depression - however serious and to whatever extent - you will know what a cripplingly painful and indescribably lonely illness it is. There is a difference between feeling down in the dumps and having depression. If it lasts a long time, and you feel like you can't cope, then none of these expressions should be tolerated:

"Just snap out of it."
"Everyone gets sad." 
"Cheer up." 
"It's not the end of the world." 
"Other people have it much worse than you." 

All of these display ignorance, and it needs to stop. A lot of people mistake mental illnesses to mean that the person in question is a "psycho" or "crazy" and, due to the negative connotations of these words, they steer well clear of people who have been diagnosed with depression because of the stigma attached - purely because of our ignorance and fear of the complex and varied illness that has been avoided for too long.

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In our society we are not very well educated on the subject matter, despite it affecting 1 in 4 of us. Rates of depression are increasing in the UK, and although there are a number of reasons to suggest why, it is important that those who are lucky enough never to experience it first hand understand and educate themselves if they ever have to support someone who does go through a mental illness.

"I knew that if anybody spoke to me or looked at me too closely the tears would fly out of my eyes and the sobs would fly out of my throat and I'd cry for a week. I could feel the tears brimming and sloshing in me like water in a glass that is unsteady and too full."

- Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar.

Depression and anxiety are words that have become desensitised in recent years. People say they are depressed if they aren't having a good day, if it's raining, they've spent their pay cheque already, and sometimes it's difficult for us to differentiate between what is real depression and what is just having a bad day.

It is also important to remember that there are physical aspects to suffering with depression, too: 

• Headaches
• Exhaustion and fatigue
• Digestive problems including queasiness, nausea, diarrhea and chronic constipation
• Sleep disturbances
• Change in appetite or weight* 

Having been a part of an online community since the age of twelve, I have noticed an increasing trend in how 'cool' it is to have a mental illness. Perhaps, if there were more emphasis on the physical aspects of depression in the media, then it would reflect a more accurate picture of what it is like to have a mental illness.

Unlike in Twilight: New Moon, we don't all have an immortal vampire for a boyfriend who is the cause and cure for our issues. I can't deny that I absolutely love the soundtrack in this film, though.

A film that inspired me to write this post was Girl, Interrupted. Although it portrays mental illness in a rather extreme light, the protagonist, Susanna is actually, seemingly relatively normal. A frightening concept for the viewer, especially when we learn that she swallowed a bottle of aspirin to "try and make the shit stop." The film explores how everyone is human, and we are all capable and vulnerable of experiencing mental illness. I have come to realise that we all weigh somewhere on the spectrum, and it is constantly changing. We may be in one place for a long time and then suddenly move up or down, depending on where we are in our lives and what we are going through.

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"Crazy isn't being broken or swallowing a dark secret. It's you or me amplified. If you ever told a lie and enjoyed it. If you ever wished you could be a child forever."

- Girl, Interrupted.

We shouldn't be afraid of other people, when we could, so easily, be going through what they are, too. We are all of the same species. We are all unique, but at the same time, we are all vulnerable to the same afflictions. It could so easily be you, your friend, your sister, your mum, or dad, who suffers with depression.

Before I experienced it myself, my idea of the terror, fear, loneliness and darkness that is depression was so far off the mark that I felt I had to write this post to stress how serious it is to those who are as naive as I was. I would not wish the racing thoughts, guilt, panic attacks and constant worrying on anyone, but I want to urge people to learn more about it. It gets worse before it gets better, but when you finally see the light at the end of the tunnel it is the most glorious greeting of happiness that you just want to shout to the whole world about it.

If you are suffering from a mental illness, you shouldn't feel embarrassed or afraid to talk about it. It shouldn't be something people are put off by. It shouldn't set you apart from other "normal" people. It shouldn't put you in the box of "psycho" or "freak." Those boxes do not exist. While mental illnesses have names, they do not define you as a person. You will always be you, not whatever you have been diagnosed with. But this way of thinking needs to be affirmed by everyone.

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Depression is not a bad mood that you can just snap out of. It does not always have an obvious cause, or root. It does not mean you are going to be depressed forever, or that you are going "crazy." Sometimes, it happens due to stressful events, breakdown in relationships or major changes in one's life, and sometimes it happens for seemingly no reason at all.

What it does mean is that you are human, and that you are alive. You are never alone, no matter how isolated you feel, trapped by the evil thoughts in your head.

Here are a few things I have found that help allay some of the distress in depression and anxiety:

• It always helps to talk. 
• Run a bath, relax, focus on your breathing.
• Meditate.
• Pray.
• Write it down.
• Exercise - go for a walk. Get out of the house. A change of scenery will help, too.
• Diet - oily fish, brazil nuts, dark chocolate and plenty of fruit and vegetables always help boost my mood.
• Spend time with friends and family. No matter how much you want to stay inside, on your own, it is so important to carry on with the things you enjoy.  

And, if you need medication to help you get back on track with your life, mentally, then there is nothing wrong with that either. Depression has very real, physical side effects which need to be addressed. Taking medication for your mental illness is as normal and important as it is when taking medication for an upset stomach, throat infection - or any other physical problems.

Just remember, however lonely you feel, you are never alone.

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*Source: 9 Physical Symptoms of Depression

The Road Goes Ever On

Day 15: The road goes ever on

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Waking up is the worst part. Untangling the mass of dreams to distinguish between fantasy and reality on a wet, white morning can be the confusing start of a cosy day spent inside with the fire or a long, thought filled day at work hammering fingers on keyboards, blocking out drivel about meeting targets in time for next week's targets and the week after that's targets.

Some split their days into units like that guy in About a Boy. It's satisfying to plan things out, make lists, tick each item off, or draw a line through each one. Some psychologist might know more about that.

Nobody talks about what's wrong. Yet this is what almost everyone has to say on the matter:

"Talk to someone." 

Where to start? There's breakfast, work, targets, meetings, appointments, small talk, texting, tweeting, Facebook status updates, comments, likes, drinks, dinner, tv programmes, sleep. Is there any time for talking?

The road goes ever on, the impossible distance that is time and life. Wandering from one day to the next. Wondering if there is anyone else who spends as much time thinking, and why is it so quiet and lonely when there are a thousand voices talking to you? 

Books are read, films are watched, meeting friends, taking pills, contemplating God, going on. Appetites come back, laughter isn't feigned, new thoughts replace the old. Then, one day, waking up is not the worst part. It is just a part. Another unit of the day. And the road that goes ever on is an adventure to be embraced.