Tag Archives: alcohol

Looking Back On My New Year’s Eve, Stupid Decisions & Stability.

The art of self-sabotage.

Just an indulgent repeat of my New Year’s Eve night, these thoughts are getting tedious, drinking is definitely not my friend. Trying to make these experiences ‘life lessons’. 

I had a few drinks; my head was swimming; swimming deep, trapped in the thoughts of the past. My present life is going extremely well, but it always seems that my past plays on my mind, slowly taking away from the joys of the present. I wonder if you can start to forget these thoughts, put them behind you, hoping for a fresh start. I know I’m stable, yet there are always these particular thoughts, amplified by a glass or two of wine. The alcohol brings the past back into clarity, who I use to be and what I use to do to myself. Binge drinker, depressed, self –harm, binge eating to combat depression, attachment issues, suicidal tendencies, un-empathetic, fitness junkie, food restriction and control freak. I think about all of this, I have time off from work and no university at the moment, I feel completely useless and unproductive, spending my days doing nothing. I know I’m stable, but this uselessness isn’t helping me. In the early hours of New Year’s day, as I slowly walked home through the worst parts of town, I knew I was out to hurt myself, I knew full well that it was dangerous to walk here. I stopped on the rickety bridge that was above the overpass, I didn’t move from that spot, wondering what my body would look like if it had fallen and hit the rocks below.

Drinking that night and being on medication wasn’t in my best interest, it was self-destructive. I type these thoughts so that I can put them behind me, hoping they won’t come to haunt me later. I pushed myself away from the bridge, the indulgent distraction led me into a drunken group of men that had been kicked out of a pub, I heard their catcalls, but I wasn’t bothered, I don’t think I cared. Their jeers continued for a while, I kept walking, not enticing them. In the morning the only thought I had about the night was the fact that my heels had allowed me to walk the 6km home without any bother. I didn’t regret the night, the adrenalin I got from my potentially dark walk home served to reinforce the negativity that I had been searching for. My friends said goodbye to me that night, asking where my cab was, telling them it was coming and that they should go back inside, I started my walk, thinking that I needed to clear my head, but there wasn’t anything to clear, just an angry voice inside that was egging me on just to see what would happen, there wasn’t any weighing up of risks, I just walked.

The Hidden Masquerades & Mutuality.

My story is about a friendship I formed two years ago, it seems like much longer. We were two sad little girls sitting all alone with attachment issues.

One of my many nights of drinking, excessive drinking. ‘Classily’ indulging in two bottles of wine to myself, past the point of inebriation. Tonight was new, it was her house. She was this small eccentric ball of fun, like a small child chasing the butterflies. She was beautiful, so comfortable and alluring in her uniqueness. In my own way I was fascinated and mesmerised by how she drew people to her. I didn’t realise then the underlying toll that she was putting on herself by being part of this social gathering, by pretending to fit in.

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The hours slowly passed and I was drunker(I wonder how that was even possible), thinking that I might make a pass at her but undecided if she was interested. It wasn’t what I expected when I walked into the dark room where she had been sitting, quietly isolating herself from the others with tears falling down her face. All my intentions quickly dissipated, this was different, this was real. Her body shook, physically racked by her emotions. I sat across from her, waiting for her to speak, uncertain if I should embrace her. Through the tears and jumbled words I found out that today was her dad’s birthday, her dad who had willingly taken his own life, like my own had.

I understood too well the pain that the selfish action causes to those around them. I asked her about him, trying to calm her breathing, I later confided in her something that only a handful of my closest friends new, the inner workings of person who also suffered from the abandonment of one’s parent, the build of attachment and trust issues. The deaths created foundations for our negative mental health. In her, I saw myself, I was the quieter subtly version of her, but we were still the same. Our friendship grew on the mutual hurt created by our parents. No one else understood in its entirety, no one could relate.

Her anxiety ruled her every day, not always able to leave the house. She would sit under all the covers on her bed, waiting for the day to be over, finding some comfort in the warmth. Her heart would start beating so fast, the quick panic written on her face, I could rarely calm her. The simplest of things would make her over-analyse, layer and layer of potential bad would fill her thoughts. The triggers making her fight the waves of nausea and the shaking confusion that would afflict her. I couldn’t make her panic go away, she was immune to the calm voices around her, the panic amplifying. I loved her and I still love her, she is a beautiful person that is slowly finding stability now, being more comfortable and happy for the first time in a year. I saw her the other day, the difference was overwhelming. In my own way I was the extremely proud mother.

1381394_839421942734750_954659834668011364_nMy pocket rocket.

An Attempt At Being Truthful About Suicide & Media Correlations.

I would think about suicide often, with a morbidly intense curiosity, never with the ability to carry out any plans. I couldn’t stop myself from thinking about the day after the act, thinking of what I would be doing. My misconceptions of death were my driving interest, pivotal to understanding the finality associated with death which I clearly didn’t comprehend. I started to think of suicide at 7 years old, not in any strong capacity, a more unhealthy preoccupation about something I didn’t understand. Death scared me, the thoughts kept me up late at night; I would always think “what if I wasn’t around? Would things be better? Would I be better off?”.

A child is given the simple idea that when people die they go to ‘sleep’, they look asleep and as far as their parents are concerned the pets went to ‘sleep’ when they were put down. Early on we are given these ideas, fragmented concepts that hide actual truths. All through my school life my preoccupation was present, not always in the forefront of my thoughts, but always present none the less. In my mind I doubt I would ever have the nerve to carry out the act, the thought of blood stilling or hearts stopping makes me recoil away, intentional death becomes a monstrous act. It’s a monstrous act because most intentional acts of death are forms of violence and anger, sometimes premeditated or acts of manslaughter. Society negates death in such a light that even for ethical reasons it will always be frowned upon.

I write this after successfully drinking a bottle of red wine and finding out that a work colleague had opening tried to commit suicide on numerous occasions, publicised in our local paper about the realness of teen suicide and awareness. It made me wonder if I was just like her, except I wasn’t, I might be more sadistic and morbid, but I had no intentions, my suicide ponderings were not only during depression but also during times of great happiness in my life. I start to question why a person who is happy actually contemplates suicide on a regular basis. No person can adequately contrast their personal experiences or their inner turmoils, each individual is innately different with how they interpret and experience life as a whole. I start to wonder if this is a normal state for people or am I outside the norm without realising it, can it simply be that the norm is whatever a person wants to make it, what is normal for one person isn’t always normal for another.

I’m starting to question my own mental health awareness advocacy, I want people to be aware, but what they do with that information is entirely up to the person. It’s strange that I actually frowned the whole time of was reading my colleagues article, whose work pretence was good I will admit, but does admitting mental illness to a wider audience actually help yourself or is it merely about raising a generalised awareness to a public that is generally overwhelmed with other stimuli offered by media that dominates their thoughts? My pretence is focused more internally, I prefer to write, be anonymous, protecting myself, protecting my family from the hurt if they knew the truths from my writings. Putting an article in the local newspaper is following a new trend to make mental illness a ‘trending’ topic, highlighting its need for change and help.

the_suicide_by_navidoutlaw-d3ao76hI see the publications as sometimes detrimental, people start to only see the negatives associated with mental illness, the overloading of negatives creating the stigma that so many people in the mental health awareness advocacy are trying to remove. The publications are trying to make the public more aware, but they are failing to educate to a higher extent, the public doesn’t understand mental illness to any great degree, they see and read its consequences and why it’s an issue, but they fail to understand why some people suffer from mental illness and why others do not. They can even read the symptoms that people suffer, but that doesn’t make the content relatable. Yes this is a depressing post, but it allows me to vent the rage about mental illness and media, in its own way it’s a form of censorship. Only those who experience mental illness can help others, public media doesn’t always have to be the way to achieve this, often categorising and pigeon-holing mental illness creating misconceptions. End rant. Thankyou wine for allowing me to write tonight.

Analysis Of Happiness & Mania. Part I

Analysis of Happiness & Mania

Defined:

To first understand happiness it needs to be defined. Happiness is seen as a complete, lasting and justified satisfaction with one’s life. Although if one has to justify their happiness it is no longer experienced subjectively, becoming objectively grounded. It has to be understood that there is no standardised rules to measure a person’s happiness as they are dependent on a person’s pre-dispositions.

Background:

Two philosophical schools who look at the concept of happiness, the ancient, which arose in Greece and survived until the 18th century, and the modern, which was created in the 19th century in Europe. Happiness was originally perceived as the possession of the highest goods, whether of a material or spiritual kind. Happiness later became subjectivized and relativized, based on a person’s overall satisfaction with life.

Happiness & Mental Health: The Darker Side of Happiness.

Happiness is usually conveyed as a source of good outcomes, highlighting the pursuit of important goals, social bonds, well-being and psychological health. In some instances the pursuit and experience of happiness can create negative outcomes. Happiness is generally highly beneficial but this is completely reliant on the context it is experienced in and the level of happiness.

“Getting angry . . . is easy and everyone can do it; but doing it . . . in the right amount, at the right time, and for the right end, and in the right way is no longer easy, nor can everyone do it.” —Aristotle, Nicomachean Ethics (II.9, 1109a27)

Potentially high levels of happiness can become a source of dysfunction, research often highlights that happiness is beneficial, yet psychologically it can become maladaptive. The maladaptive nature of happiness suggests that it has a possible ‘dark side’. People have argued that excessive levels of any mental state or experience—including happiness—can be undesirable and unhealthy. In relation to mania and the euphoric or heightened level of happiness (which is also experienced in hypomania) individuals are more inclined to engage in riskier behaviours, such as alcohol consumption, binge eating, and drug use. Extreme levels of happiness become a marker for emotional dysfunction.

The extremely positive emotion that is associated with mania undermines the person’s ability to experience negative emotions, trapped in a form of happiness overdrive and incapable of downshifting happiness. Excessive happiness leads to risky behaviour and neglect of threats and consequences. Extreme happiness seen through the lens of mania suggests that the emotion creates dysfunctional behaviours which result in poorer clinical functioning. The pursuit and achievement of happiness can no longer be seen as a hallmark for psychological health.

Subjective Bipolar Perception:

I had always imagined that happiness was a sign that I was getting better. After recently getting better from the pit that is depression, I keep wondering if this new happiness is real, or a daydream or merely a new page to living with bipolar. I have to remember that bipolar is part of who I am and why I feel things, but it never stops me from questioning the reasons for my emotional experiences and whether the emotions are manifestations of my illness or the signs of getting better. How can anyone fully differentiate between the two? It’s frustrating to say the least. To me there is great value in experiencing depression, without experiencing the worst aspects of your life you will never be able to completely appreciate the positive times. I can understand and relate to the all-consuming mania or hypomanic emotional overdrive, my personal experiences with hypomania made me incapable of understanding the consequences or perceive the drastic contrasts between my current state and depression, there was no room to understand other emotions.

This is truly my wonderland, a handful of pills keeping the bipolar at bay. The pills mediating a mid-line of emotions that are both boring and uninteresting. Unlike the majority of the population, people with Bipolar Disorder can actually reach the usually unobtainable level of happiness that society seems to always be aiming for, our level of happiness only becoming wrong when it makes us dysfunctional.

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A Dark Side of Happiness? How, When, and Why Happiness Is Not Always Good. June Gruber, Iris B. Mauss and Maya Tamir. Perspectives on Psychological Science, Vol. 6, No. 3 (MAY 2011), pp. 222-233

Analysis of Happiness by W. Tatarkiewicz. Review by: E. R. The Review of Metaphysics, Vol. 32, No. 3 (Mar., 1979), pp. 569-570

Analysis of Happiness by Wladyslaw Tatarkiewicz. Review by: Max Rieser. Philosophy and Phenomenological Research, Vol. 38, No. 1 (Sep., 1977), pp. 139-140

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The Bipolar Diet?!

The yearnings ‘no no’s’ of Bipolar.

-Alcohol (ah goodbye my friend)
-Recreational drugs or excessive caffeine intake (Think caffeine is my biggest loss)
-Toxic friends (even the ones you don’t realise, or they need to get with the new positive program)
-Discontinuing medication
-Bad sleeping habits (easier said than done to fix!!)

My bipolar express is starting to slow down, my slow descent into the pit of despair boring life.

I’m creating positive reinforcements in my life to combat social anxiety (replacing word associations – ‘awkward’ with ‘awesome’ – good self-esteem improvement). Removing the friends whose negativity makes me more withdrawn. Realising that I’m content with who I am, I’m not the extrovert, nor do I see a point in conversing with some people, usually those conversations are futile. Just because I choose not to participate in some useless group interactions doesn’t make me ‘awkward’ or ‘autistic’, there are just different types of people in the world, I just happen to ‘choose’ to not talk to people that are of little value to me. Harmful relationships are a massive negative that are likely to trigger more mood episodes, intensify the risk for self-destructive behaviour and contribute to the attitudinal perception towards yourself that undermines any stability and wellness you have achieved. Cheers, friends suck.

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