“We’re all in our private traps, clamped in them, and none of us can ever get out”

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Wednesday Night, I got back after a hectic five days travelling all over the country. I had an assessment centre on Monday in the North of England, and another on Wednesday in the South. Yeah.

I went home on Friday night, to see my mother and my cat and to break the travel north up a bit. My father is away on business, again, and I get the feeling that my mother gets lonely without him around, and finds it tiring looking after the house and herself whilst working long shifts. I can understand that. I get like that too, living alone. Some nights I come home and wish there was a meal waiting for me, that the dishes had been done, that the trash had been taken out. I don’t usually have anyone to pick up for me when I’m busy though, not like my mother has my father. So I went home and spent the weekend babying my mother a little – keeping the house neat for her, making sure she had nice food to come home too, listening to her. I had a good time – my mother was working so I had the house to myself a lot. Just me and my cat in a nice quiet, heated house- what could be better? On Sunday I hooked my phone up to our HD TV and watched korean dramas whilst ironing. I felt like a total ajumma but korean dramas, a mindless chore, the sun streaming through the windows and my cat sleeping on the mat nearby. It was wonderful. I needed that.

On Monday my mother woke me up early so I could catch the train to my first assessment centre. As the train pulled away she waved and blew kisses which was embarrassing, but also kind of cute and made me smile. The day turned out to be very long and tiring. On the way back I picked up katsu curry from yo sushi, because I did not want to cook but I wanted to keep my personal promise to myself that I wouldn’t let my mother do anything until I left. Then my mom picked me up from the station and we got home, planning to go straight to bed, food and all. My mom had to catch a call from her friend so I sat down to eat by myself – although the cat has started to climb up on the table to sleep at night, and that evening she took it to the next level – climbing up and sniffing at my plate, at my spoon as I lifted it to eat. I started to laugh, I couldn’t help it. I knew I shouldn’t encourage her but she was so blatant and cheeky, and so cute for it. I ended up reaching out with a chopstick, flicking it side to side and my cat started playing. I realised she was entering crazy time and abandoned supper to play with her, laughing and teasing her. I needed that too. My cat makes me so happy. My cat grew tired and gave up and my mom got off the phone so we took to bed. I curled up with my favourite stuffed toy next to my mom and we watched crappy TV and talked. We were both exhausted after our long days. This is how it’s going to be every day when you get a job, my mom told me, and I whined at that because I was so tired I could barely move – the whole day keeping up a mask, trying to be someone else (I read somewhere that if you are shy you should pretend to be someone confident you know when at job interviews. I pretend to my sister. It’s exhausting – we are nothing alike – but I definitely feel more approachable and less awkward when I do this) and I cannot even imagine having to do that every day.

I had Tuesday morning to myself where I planned to get up and do prep for the next interview, but I slept in and then rushed about to pack and get ready. My mom took me to the station again, with a quick trip to McDonalds before hand. Perhaps not the best idea as I had a long, stressful journey to look forward to, not that I had quite thought out how much it would be so.

There had been a landslide in the south of England, you see, which is causing massive disruptions to transport around it. For me, I then had to go via London to get down to the city I needed to be. The journey to London was quick but went slowly if you know what I mean – it was so dull. I tried to work but it made me feel travel sick. Well, that and the McD’s beforehand probably. I got to London and immediately I felt panicky. Where did I go? There were so many people too. I eventually found the subway, and then I had to ask for directions and then I got down into the labyrinths of London’s subway system proper and felt totally overwhelmed and out of place – a country bumpkin in my bulky northern winter clothes and walking boots and big bag. I got told off on the elevator by a pissed off Londoner for standing on the wrong side of it. On the subway now, I nearly fell over and my bag did and I felt embarrassed as hell. I was hot and felt dirty. I knew I looked like a tourist. Out of place. I made it to Paddington where my day picked up a little as there was a South African stall right there. This meant I could spend the next train ride – it must have been a diesel train as it had manual doors and windows which could be left right down! – standing by the huge open window in the vestibule, breathing in deeply the cold air after the filth and muggy heat of London’s underground, munching happily on biltong before downing a cold Fanta – with all the sweeteners left in, compared to the rubbish UK version. Eventually I made it to the city I needed to be, found my bus ok and even succeeded in making my way to my hotel without fuss. The hotel was amazing – look at that bed- but I had left all my charging leads at home which meant I couldn’t quite chill out and work on my thesis and job prep as I anticipated- I had even set up tethering on my phone to do so- but my phone was too flat and my laptop although mostly charged does not hold charge like it used to when it was new. Dinner was from lidl – cold pasta salad, strawberries and chocolate. A little dodgy, but cheap. It was all OK, but a little boring. I went to bed early as the next morning I had to get up early to make the breakfast buffet – bacon on croissants for breakfast remains one of the best things about hotels – and get myself checked out to be ready for pickup at 8am. Breakfast was so weird – there were all these business men in their suits and it hit me that there I was, in my shirt and pants, just like them. I was on business just like them. It was very, very weird. I felt like an imposter. Anyway, then I had to get to the company for another long, tiring day. This one was worse, as I wanted this job really badly…

After that I had to make me way home again. I wanted to avoid London so decided to risk the replacement bus going on my original route. Bad idea. My phone was flat. I had to get a train (OK), a bus (packed to the max and chugging along in heavy traffic), a train (cramped), another train(OK) and another bus(blessedly empty) and a short walk(which felt longer than it probably was) before finally getting home. A two hour journey turned into five hours. With a flat phone and a flat laptop so little to do but listen to music and stew in how miserable and bored I was. I was so tired when I got home. I slept through the next morning and could barely concentrate in my lecture in the afternoon. The next day I missed work and barely made my driving lesson, and only just got myself to do some work on my coursework.

The thing is, neither of my assessment centres went well. And it’s really knocked my confidence. I struggle to talk about it here – I don’t know what would be too much information, crossing boundaries. But basically I just don’t feel like I measure up. I don’t feel ready and I think they (companies) look at me and don’t think I’m ready either. I feel technically incompetent. It’s embarrassing having to admit to how badly my project is going right now. Its embarrassing how much I stumble when asked about basic engineering principles- my mind just goes blank and I end up saying something stupid, or nothing at all. I’m not good at the social part of assessment centres – lunch and breaks where you are expected to mingle, and I’m never sure if we are also being assessed then too. Either way, I do not know how to mingle. Pretending to be my sister can only get me so far, after all. On Thursday I changed put of my work clothes in a cramped bathroom stall at the train station even though I nearly missed me train to do so – because I just could not stand wearing my work clothes a second longer. I don’t feel like they suit me – as if I’m a child dressing up in an adults clothes. I don’t know how to carry on with uni when it feels so pointless now, when it feels like all my hard work is amounting to nothing. I have always believed that if I worked hard enough things would work out, but here is a thing – job seeking – where it doesn’t matter how hard you work. Sometimes, you just aren’t good enough. You just don’t measure up. Or “fit the requirements” to put it formally. And isn’t that terrible? I am beginning to wonder if I will be able to get an engineering job. But if not engineering, then what? Just what is going to happen to me after graduation? I don’t know, I don’t know. And I hate that. It is stressing me out, paralysing me with fear. What am I supposed to be working towards? What use is it working for a 2:1 when you can’t even get a job with it? All these questions go round and round my head. I know I need to move on, somehow. So I’ve set the deadline as Monday morning – come Monday I will work, regardless of how I’m feeling. I can mope now, but I still have things I need to do. Responsibilities. If nothing else, I owe it to myself to keep going and stay true to my own beliefs, even if right now the world is trying to tell me things don’t actually work like that. I tell myself that and try to believe it.

I have more lectures and labs next week. Another awkward meeting with my supervisor where we both wish we were somewhere else entirely. More driving lessons. Another assessment centre to go cross country to. I’m so tired. I’ve got to keep moving forward though.

Monday morning.

I’ll have gotten over it by then.

(NB: the pictures are lying slightly as the top one is from the North and the bottom one is my hotel in the South. Oh well. )

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I’m currently playing around with photo editing apps. I really want to get around to publishing my Snowden and some Japan or even Thailand posts…by now they won’t be as text heavy or descriptive as I like my travel logs to be but they will still be something. I have some nice enough photos, but its fun to play around to make them better. I’m not a good photographer and I know no amount of filtering will make me into one, and yet I can’t help but enjoy playing around and thinking they do improve with it.

I’ve finished my exams and with that the autumn semester comes to a close and the spring semester rapidly approaches. I had one exam and a coursework due last week. I didn’t really get stuck into the coursework until about a week before the deadline so I was pretty stressed out. Oh I had tried to get the coursework done sooner but it was so hard, every time I sat down to go through it I would only end up getting more confused. I kept thinking that I just needed to revise some more and then it would click, but soon I found that even having gone through the notes, the example sheets, the past exams, I still had no clue. Stressed out and full of despair (yes, things had gotten that dramatic) I turned to my father for help, and he kindly sat with me for four hours each night practically every night that week so that Sunday, right before the deadline I had it done. My report wasn’t the best and I foolishly thought I could fluff it out on Monday morning before handing it in. Of course, I actually overslept and ended up rushing to uni and handing it in 10 minutes before the deadline without much polishing up. Then the exam was Tuesday and I was feeling more confident about that. The past exam papers had been fairly straight forward. Alas the paper I got was weird and I couldn’t do it, I just couldn’t. I felt angry and disappointed. I had worked so hard and for what? A terrible exam and a hasty coursework makes me nervous for this subject.

Of course, no time to rest. I had two exams this week and these were my weaker subjects. Seeing so my strong subject had gone to bits I was terrified. I ended up phoning my mom last Friday, Saturday and even Sunday because I needed so badly for someone to tell me it would be OK, that I could only do my best, that I just needed to try. You see, I’ve been struggling this semester. I’ve been slipping back into my old mentality of I’m just going to fail so why even try? This was especially true for these subjects. They were required business modules. And I wish I hadn’t been required to do them. I didn’t understand. The terminology was one thing, the main thing. And the exams were essay based and I hadn’t written essays in exams for a long time. Thankfully I found a book my dad had bought my sister a long time ago, and that had somehow fallen into my hands. How to pass exams every time. Most of it was patronising but the section on essays was invaluable. That and my fathers advice. Make key points. Use diagrams, tables and charts to help you remember. I tried my best to revise like that, even though it was so dull and frustrating I really struggled with it and I was always left with the feeling if hopelessness, that no matter what I did it wasn’t going in, it wasn’t enough.

So I had my exam on Tuesday which was half essays and half maths questions. It was a good paper but I stupidly forgot some key formulas. On Wednesday I had a pure essay exam- one and a half hours to write three essays. I put my calculator out in the exam anyway, just because it felt too weird to study without it close by. I followed the books advice and spent ten minutes whizzing through the questions jotting down a quick plan- all the key points I could remember before settling down and getting stuck into the questions. It was OK. The exam paper was good. I didn’t write enough for one question but I’d like to think the others were OK. Neither was as horrendous as I had been expecting, but neither were they good. I just hope I passed.

Its OK now. It feels great for them to be over. Today I lay in bed until well into the afternoon, warm and comfortable, enjoying not having the pressure to do anything or go anywhere. I wrapped myself in a bubble, not thinking of everything I still need to do for next semester and just letting myself relax.

I’m surprisingly calm. These pills must really be working because I have felt low, negative, worried (see:all those hours spent on the phone to my mom) but I’ve only had a proper panic attack one and a half times, and never in the exams. Unfortunately the flip side of the pills is that they affect my concentration and sleep, so in that way I’ve been tired and unfocused, but feeling calm helps me to stay relatively clear headed in the exams. To be able to tackle them without anxiety distracting me. Its good. I hope it shows on my marks. It would be too cruel that I felt like I coped on these exams in a way I never have before, just to….do badly. I won’t say fail.

Tomorrow its back to work. Got driving, and gotta get stuck into my thesis and job stuff too. I feel rather dazed, detached. I feel like I’m going to return to work tomorrow as if I’ve come back from another planet.

On Tuesday its back to lectures too. Everything continues to happen quickly. I am coping though. Just.

“There’s an innocence I possess but you, you keep snatching it away. Even from the smallest openings”

Only a few hours left of this year. Less than two. Time passes so quickly. I remember being 15 years old and thinking about the way I wouldn’t be alive after I turned 18. 6 years later and I’m still alive, I’m still here, clinging on. I finished school, now I’m about to finish university. It feels strange and more than a little scary – I’ve never seriously thought about what comes next, cannot imagine a life without exams and coursework and lectures. I still don’t have a job anyway- but I have plenty of rejections, and a couple of failed interviews to show for my efforts. I’m at home and my dad is taking care of me and my sister is here, a little because of me but mostly because her boyfriend isn’t at their home and she wants company. My sister and my father and I went to the zoo on boxing day and we saw snow leopards. It was fun. Christmas itself was boring.

I’m currently bored at home, with too much to do and too little motivation, and feeling trapped. I’ve been at home too long. My mother and my sister keep fighting. My father and my mother keep fighting. I don’t know why I thought coming home for two weeks is a good idea. Why I thought it would help me to feel better by being here. The atmosphere in the house is tense, very still but not in a calm manner – in a fragile manner, anticipatory, waiting to be interrupted, always watching over your shoulder, always ready to turn the music up louder and pretend that it isn’t happening again. Still.

Summary: Christmas was not bad, boring. University is not bad, boring, difficult, I’m still sick of it. Revision is only just happening, and I may hand my coursework in late for the first time this January. I haven’t been to work for a while and I cannot decide if I miss it. I still feel tired and sad, and so so anxious.

2015.

I doubt anything will be different.

Travel

I caught my best friend on Saturday. We went for brunch – sandwiches and juice at a homemade cafe. Very delicious. And it was only for a couple of hours but it was brilliant to catch up with her. I am so, so glad that she still considers me a friend. I was so worried about her outgrowing me, but in those few hours it was as if we had only seen each other yesterday, as if there hadn’t been months of silence. Ok, there were a couple of awkward moments. But mostly it was just great. I felt relaxed and happy, which is such a rare and precious feeling at the moment.

One interesting thing we discussed was our classmates from high school and where they are now. It is amazing how far people don’t go from home. Even my sister is living right next door to our parents really. And even I although I talk big about wanting to live abroad, as I apply for jobs I find myself seeking ones close to my parents location. When I was younger I didn’t get on with my parents, and I found being home made me feel trapped. I had my head in the clouds – dreaming of going far away, dreaming of different places where it won’t matter if I’m the odd one out, because it would be expected. There is still a part of me that thinks like that. I do still want to travel. But as I get older my relationship with my parents gets better and I like going home, even if it is frustrating in some ways. I also become more aware of my parents aging, and I think about how horrible it was to be so far away from my grandmother when she died, and how little closure there is when you can’t be there, and I don’t want that. I am aware of my parents aging and I also want to be there for them as they do so, to make the most of it. Which is terribly morbid, isn’t it? It feels terrible to think like this – it feels uncomfortable and scary to think of that inevitable end. Yet, time passes so quickly.

I am also aware that there is a part of me that needs to be close to home, that actually doesn’t cope so well with independence. In many ways I struggle with change and I do have a lot of anxiety around it. I found immigrating to the UK hard, I found spending a year abroad in Malaysia hard. There is a part of me that wants the excitement and learning experience of going abroad. I do still want that feeling I had in Malaysia, or whenever I travel – of it not mattering what mistakes you make, because it won’t last, it won’t be forever. It will be a year, two years. Not long. Not like immigrating, where every mistake, everything that makes you stand out, makes you feel desperately embarrassed and frustrated with yourself. That’s what you have to remember when you feel scared of travelling, it could always be immigrating. At least there is an expiry date. At least, that is how it is for me.

I also look at the locations of the companies I apply to and seek out Cape Town, South Africa in them and dream of going back and reconnecting with whatever it was I lost when we immigrated away from SA. Then the fear hits of never being able to reconnect, and I shy away. I want to go there, I tell myself, but would I really have that much courage?

Ultimately though, I just find myself wanting the comfort and familiarity of being close to home. Home not as in a place, I want to clarify. Not the UK. I still feel alienated from this country, uncomfortable calling it my home. But home as in my parents’ house, my parents, my sister, my cat, my old room and my old things. I can understand sticking close to home. Anyway, I can at least be grateful that when we immigrated my father chose a lovely area of the UK to move us too. There could be worse places to be tied to.

It feels presumptuous to talk of travelling already though, when I don’t have work yet. I feel naughty looking at the location pages of company websites and letting my mind wonder. It feels wrong to think of the future like this, as if you really have that much power over it, as if it isn’t like anything could happen next.

“This helpless heart and these scars”

I went to the doctor’s today for my monthly review. I was supposed to go to see my usual doctor on Monday, but I slept through the appointment so I was stuck seeing another doctor that I don’t like today. It was an awkward appointment, with a man I don’t know trying to get me to talk about my innermost feelings. I didn’t want to. I did want to know – how long could I expect to be on anti depressants and how long I have to drag myself to the doctor’s monthly. His answer confused and annoyed me. He said usually it would be 6 months, and then it may be possible that I go off them or go on longer prescriptions. He said that it would depend on whether I get “better.” And I was puzzled – I did not know what he was trying to say. What is better? He is clearly not as good as treating mental health as my doctor – my doctor would never make such false promises. I saw it as a false promise, and I was annoyed that he would dangle it in front of me. I’ve been struggling with my mental health since I was 15 – am I ever going to be better? And is it even OK to think in those terms? When I first overcame depression I thought I was better and I stopped treating myself, and I relapsed. I didn’t get depression again – but I relapsed into the negative thought patterns, the difficulties sleeping, the worries and anxieties and low self esteem. I developed disordered eating as I tried to eat away my feelings, because by the time things had gotten worse I hadn’t been prepared for them, and I had forgotten what it was like and what to do. I wasn’t ready to feel that way again. So – better? He talked like there was an end point to this. But is there? Isn’t it better to keep myself ready for it…

…or perhaps that would turn into waiting for it, and then where would I be.

And I wonder about the antidepressants. He asked me what was working about them, and what wasn’t and I struggled to answer. I feel it – I can’t describe it but I feel just a little different. I feel more able to cope. I’m struggling with insomnia, and I’m stressed and unhappy, but I’m holding on. I don’t know how they are doing it, but these pills are giving me just a little bit more strength to get through. I wish I would be able to fall asleep easier, that my concentration would improve, that I wouldn’t feel quite so tired. But when I’m at work, when I’m driving and chatting happily with my driving instructor, when I’m scared and worried but not hyperventilating or crying every day over it, I think its better. My disordered eating has completely come back – and that it worrying me. I wished the pills could do something. I wish they would have made it disappear – this hunger. Except its not appetite is it- this is a very different type of hunger.

I admit to maybe feeling a bit scared of going off the tablets – what then? I cannot imagine life without my shitty mental health. So maybe hearing “better” doesn’t annoy me, it scares me. What happens when I’m better? What would change? Would anything be different? Or would it be like the first time I went through CBT for my depression and I came out of my last appointment on top of the world, only to crash down a couple of years later when all my expectations and my hopes shattered as real life pressed its weight down on my shoulders?

Sometimes I think I am clinging onto my mental health, somehow doing this to myself, to give myself a convenient excuse for why I am so spectacularly useless at life.

I’m not writing much. I struggle to express these feelings inside me. This feeling of dread deep inside me, this fear, like I’m being followed by an invisible enemy. Something is going to happen and I’m caught in the headlights, paralysed. I’m coping, but just. I’m struggling with uni, still. I’m terrified of graduating and being thrown out into real life. I can’t sleep and I have horrible, disturbing dreams. Driving lessons are going well though, and work is too, and my family are being nice right now. I’m going home soon – two whole weeks. Hopefully my parents can help me reclaim the lost hours in my day as it is currently – hours lost to oversleeping, to finding myself spacing out, or too exhausted to work. I worry about the lack of privacy and alone time at home, but I know I need someone around me to make sure I wake up in the mornings and to watch what I eat. And I want a break from other minor responsibilities- like chores. I am not doing a good job at taking responsibility for myself right now, and so I’m trying to the proper thing and I’m going home where I can focus on trying to get through my work, and let my parents do the rest. I’m trying not to feel bad about needing that.

It doesn’t sound like I’m coping at all. But I’m not ending my days sobbing miserably or hyperventilating as I am overcome by panic and I can talk to people and go to work without panicking so I’ll take what I can get. “Are you enjoying your course right now?” the doctor asked. No, I said and laughed, because what else can I do?

“Its not that,” I told my mom when she told me to do something else if I hated my degree so much. “I want to be an electrical engineer. Its everything I want. I just don’t think I’m good enough.”

Can a pill make you feel good enough? Or are there things you lose because of depression and you can’t get them back? Just what does it mean to be “better”?