Behind the Beard

Not my failed attempt at trying to look like Ned Kelly, but my failed attempt at trying to grow a beard. Something I said that I'd do before my boss left for his holiday 10,000 leagues under the sea. He has a nice big beard, so this was my best attempt at being him while he was away. I honestly don't know how people breathe or eat with these things. It felt so weird to be breathing with this thing in front of my nose. I said I'd last until lunch time with it on, and I did.

Don't worry, I'm not going to talk about facial hair again today, but in honour of Movember starting, and how men tend to neglect mental health, I thought I'd write about mental health today. Not just with a focus of trying to get men to check up on themselves, but for everyone. Because I think there's still a bit of a stigma around it (though it is getting better), and I know that when you're down in the pit, it can feel like you're all alone, and nobody wants to hear about it, but you'll be surprised how many other people have gone through something similar.

I've mentioned in the past how I went through a dark period, but I can't remember if I've ever written about it in any great detail or not. If I have, well,  you can just skip this post.

It was in year nine that I first stopped going to school. Yep, me, Miss Goody-Two-Shoes was wagging school. But not in the sense that I would pretend to go to school then spend the day somewhere else. I just refused to get out of bed. In fact, I probably spent most of my days just lying in bed. Doing nothing. I didn't even care about eating - something that you'd find unbelievable now!

This was probably my "emo" phase, but a lot of the time I felt really worthless. I spent a lot of time thinking about ending it - I felt like I wasn't worth the resources it cost to sustain my life. Worse. I was a drain on everyone around me.

You'd think that with all this spare time, I would have done something productive like learn a new skill, but I didn't. I was mostly in a conversation with myself the entire time. My mum would eventually convince me to go to school, and then I'd spend the next few days analysing what happened. Gathering more and more evidence for how worthless I was. Even if I did do something great, my internal dialogue would convince me otherwise.

"I liked learning about electrochemical reactions today."
"Yeah, it was interesting. But you weren't the one who answered why we need the ion bridge."
"That's true. I probably wouldn't have figured it out on my own either."
"You're not very good at figuring things out. You're only good at repeating what you read in books."
"Who would want to hire someone who is only good at repeating things other people have researched?"
"You probably couldn't even get a job at McDonald's - you're mean, and ugly, and can't cook."

I had friends at school, but I didn't feel particularly close to them. Even amongst my friendship group, I felt like a bit of an outcast. Until one of my other friends came along, I was the only gamer. TH also enjoyed reading fantasy and sci-fi, but she left for another school. I really just felt out of place. I was a weirdo. I felt incredibly anxious talking to other people, and I tried to hide it by "owning it" and pretending that I loved being weird, but deep down, I hated it. I just wanted to be a regular girl. I wanted to be the daughter that my mum wanted, and not this worst-of-both-worlds daughter who is interested in "boy things", making me both a failure of a daughter and a failure of a son.

Even though I was lying in bed most days, I was exhausted. Exhausted by the constant thoughts that I was a burden. It's like my brain had this weird ability to remember every single bad thing that was said about me, and play it over and over again. It was a self-fulfilling prophecy, as I had convinced myself that I was worthless and there was no point trying to do anything as I would just fail. Which meant I never tried anything, and so I never achieved anything, which further fuelled my feelings of worthlessness.

It's not all doom and gloom, obviously I'm still here, writing this post. Eventually, some teachers from school intervened. There was one that lived near me, so she would come to my house every morning and drive me to school. Even back then, I was beholden to authority, and there was no way I'd go against something a teacher said, so if she said I had to get up and go to school, I got up and went to school. She didn't even teach any of my classes (she taught ESL), but she ended up teaching me one of the most important lessons I've learned in my life: Just because someone isn't interested in you doesn't mean you're not interesting.

I ended up seeing a social worker, and a counsellor for a while, but I felt like neither of them really helped and I hated going to those sessions. It made me feel worse, like there was something so wrong with me that even professionals couldn't help. I didn't know that sometimes you'll need to shop around to find someone who you have rapport with, which will make them better suited to helping you.

I had to sit a bunch of tests, and I guess that's the only reason I got a pass that year, even though I probably missed 75% of my classes.

Playing the piano played a huge part in my recovery. I had a huge crush on my piano teacher, which probably helped motivate me, but I also enjoyed just losing myself in the muscle memory of playing. It was one of the few times I managed to silence my brain and relax.

My school friends knew something was up. I never really explained to them why I attended school so rarely, and after a while, they stopped asking. I never felt comfortable talking to them about it, partly because I didn't feel comfortable talking to anyone about it, but also because I didn't want to appear weak.

Both things which I realise are absolutely stupid in hindsight. The Star Wars motivation to keep going was just a band-aid, and in my second year of uni, I crumbled again. I still remember lying on the top of a hill overlooking some train tracks. Thinking about just rolling down - the train had to round a bend to get here, and probably wouldn't see me there. It was pretty dark. I ended up calling MrMan1 (or was he MrMan2? I don't remember anymore), and I asked him to keep talking. I just wanted to hear his voice. I'm pretty sure he could hear that I was crying, but he didn't mention it. He kept talking about stuff I don't even remember. Pretty sure it was Warhammer 40k. But it was the first time I had allowed myself to be vulnerable in front of someone. To (almost) admit that I needed help.

I've been slowly opening up more now. I'm comfortable letting people see me cry. I'm a lot more comfortable talking about personal things.

Sorry for the long read, but I just wanted to say that if you do feel like you're struggling, that your internal voice is telling you that you're not worth it, I think you should speak up. I often hear that the friends and family of suicide victims often feel like they didn't see it coming. And it's probably because of that internal voice telling you that you're not worth it -  you're not worth burdening the people around you, you're not worth taking up the time of a psychiatrist. But you may be surprised to find how many people care about you more than you thought they did, and would be glad to lend a helping hand if you ask.

There's nothing wrong with being weak, as being able to walk the path to becoming strong makes you far stronger than someone who happens to be "strong" because they were born lucky. My favourite character in Naruto is Rock Lee. He's rubbish at anything other than physical combat, but he just works so hard at trying to be better, and I find him much more admirable than the "naturally talented" Sasuke. Also, I'll stress again, don't be afraid to ask for help.