Honest Lies – Page 23 – "Okay, so I'm the dragon. Big deal. You still get to be the hero."

Welcome! Honest Lies is the personal site of a 26 year old graduate electrical engineer living in the UK. Covering every day life, books and various other randomness. Read more about me and the site here.

unknownpicture I was cleaning my room at my parents’ house when I stumbled upon two old photo albums, and even more interesting, two old disposable cameras which had not had their contents developed. I flicked through the photo albums and it was amusing, seeing my clunky captions in my big, shaky childs hand writing, seeing photos from when we went on safari for the first time, when digital cameras and zooms were not common, were expensive, so all we’ve got is these terrible pictures from a disposable. (My father actually had a better film camera, but he never carried it around so disposables it was.) “Spot the giraffes” the one picture says. You have to bring the photo close, squint, and there in the distance you can just about make out the shapes of two giraffes. It makes you realise how weird it is that people obsess over vintage filters when really it’s amazing and we are very lucky to have moved to an age where we can get crisp, clear photos for nothing at all, with a decent zoom also being affordable. Still, it was interesting seeing those old pictures. The other album was slightly more recent – 2004 – and by this point we had an OK digital camera. My current phone camera is about triple the resolution of this at the time very expensive, very basic digital, but still, at the time it was great, and the photos are certainly an improvement from the disposables. The album wasn’t finished, so I trawled through our old photos on the computer, picked out the ones I wanted and printed them off to finish it off. Creating an album from about 2004 to 2011, when I started university. It’s fun to have photos in a “real” format, something tangible to hold on to for the future.

Then there were the two cameras. I was dying with curiosity when it came to those – how many photos were they? Were they still OK? Or had they completely degraded? And just what were they photographs of?

I googled and found out about Photo Hippo/Fuji Film and the good reviews and decent prices inspired me to send one of my cameras off, just to see what would happen. They had an option to just have the photos developed and put on a CD, which meant they didn’t need to be printed, so if they were bad they could just be shoved somewhere on my computer and forgotten about! I sent it off on Tuesday and today my photos have arrived, on Friday. Talk about quick service. I was so nervous as the photos began to load, and even more so when the first picture was black. But 3 pictures in and it was clear they had come out. (And that first picture was just me being a bad photographer, even then.) It was also clear that these were photos taken randomly on a school outing. I cannot remember which or who anyone is, really, which makes me feel terrible. None of the photos are particularly good or interesting, or indeed worth developing. Again, I realise how great digital cameras are. None of this waiting, anticipating, and possible disappointment – you can see immediately what has been taken and delete it as necessary. I am now pondering whether to send the other camera off. Will it also be as random and disappointing as this one? On the other hand, the photos are remarkably OK for having been in my cupboard for the past decade+. Fuji Film did an amazing job, very quickly, and it wasn’t that expensive. Although a little frustrating, it is also a little fun, experimenting with this old school way of doing things.

* NOT sponsored

Because nothing is forever

The summer is going past at breathtaking speed. I am feeling overwhelmed by all the changes going on in my life right now, and struggling to keep track of it all. I want to sit down and write but I don’t even know where to begin,and then the next thing happens, and the next.

—

I went to my new city again, and this time I was successful in finding a place to live there. I saw a flat I liked and was already so done with house searching, that I asked to apply for it right then and there, and was allowed to do so. A few weeks of paperwork and sorting out references (and much more time spent on the phone than I really feel comfortable with) I have a flat to live in. Its a first floor apartment, two bedrooms, set in communal gardens, in a nice area of the city, in a quiet development surrounded by other flats that all look exactly the same, but white washed walls with red details and well maintained gardens means its attractive. Its close to a main road so I should be able to get the city center and work without any trouble. The flat has plenty of windows to let in the light and there is a full sized kitchen, and thus a full sized fridge which means I will finally have a freezer.(My old house did not and life without being able to freeze meals or have frozen vegetables was possible, but annoying.) There are wooden floors in most of the room and a built in cupboard in the bedroom (I love built in cupboards – my room in my parents house and my uni house both had them, coincidentally, so I am glad to carry on the trend.) It was love at first sight, and I am a bit worried that the flat harbors some terrible secret I didn’t catch during that brief viewing – perhaps a really loud neighbor, a mold problem, especially cold and drafty in the winter, large windows but no light. I am very nervous about it. But also very excited to have my own place, having started to really panic about how terrible house hunting was going and beginning to resign myself to settle for a house that wasn’t quite right or deal with a house share for a while. But no, I will be living on my own in a really nice place. I will have my own space, and I do have a lot of furniture, but I’ve already got plans to take my artwork and hang it up, to bring my CDs and Hi-Fi, to buy a really nice bookcase, to really make it into my home in a way that my old place was not quite. As settled as I felt in my last house, it was always a temporary place and I lived in it on a student budget. Now I look at this place as somewhere more permanent to settle down in, to make my own …with the help of a salary. ;)

—

I have been living with my parents these past few weeks. My father came to pick me up from my old city with a ridiculously large van, in which my entire house was packed up into, then there was a mass scramble to get the place clean before handing it over to the letting agents and driving away. Just like that, I left behind what had been my life. Well, packing was terrible and I left it all too late so I’m sure I’ll never find anything again, and my father was angry for me not having packed, and angry because my house was untidy. Meanwhile, I was stressed and overwhelmed by packing, and reacting to him, so actually it wasn’t pleasant, and it was a long two days to get it all done. But it got done and my full deposit on my old house is being returned, so it must have been done well despite being so last minute.

Living with my parents hasn’t been too bad, a little stifling as to be expected, but also nice not having to worry as much about bills and chores and food. There are other people to share the burden with. I am enjoying lazying around and eating in excess, because there is always food here.

I am also not looking forward to moving to a new city and starting work. Panicking is putting it mildly. I am desperately trying to ignore the passing days and how the time between then and now is narrowing so quickly.

—

Learning to drive is not going well and my test is next week, but I am resigned to not passing it and having to put up with public transport for a longer while. I can get the bus to work, well two buses, and it will take an hour, but I have commuted for an hour and a half before, I remind myself, and was always on time then, so I can do it. I can do it and am fine with it. But my parents are expecting me to pass first time and that I cannot handle.

—

As a belated birthday trip, my sister took me to the aquarium which was as fun as ever, and then we went shopping. I think we shopped from about 2pm until 8pm. We were absolutely on a mission to find nice work clothes, the both of us, as well as a few other things. Powered by a delicious lunch of American Diner Food (Hotdogs/burgers/fries/shakes) we shopped and shopped and burned through crazy amounts of money. I now have a killer work wardrobe, even if I say so myself. My sister guided me as to what looked good and was appropriate both for work and for my age. I thus now have two skirts, a handful of dresses, nice shirts and tops, and a couple of pairs of pants for work. All of it in materials I can handle or loose enough to utilize cotton camisoles and slip dresses underneath. (I am allergic to polyester and most synthetics, which usually makes shopping hard, but as it turns out when you have the money, and you take the time to really hunt through the shops, it is possible to build a work wardrobe around this issue.)

—

I also bought perfume for the first time. My mom says its the grown up thing to do, to wear a light, subtle scent. It’s so strange, wearing those clothes, doing my makeup just so, putting on perfume. It doesn’t feel like me. But this is how I want to present myself. No, I need to present myself well in my new role. I need to look put together and professional. I know that. Its just so strange.

—

My mother and I took the cat to the vet the other day, and it was uncertain whether it was the cat or myself who was the most anxious. I took the cat and put her in her cage and sat with her in the car, and she protested the entire time. Sitting in the vets, she continued to protest loudly. (At least we were the only ones in the vet, and there were no dogs) She was good during the appointment though. And she was healthy – apart from a flea problem, and the fact that she has lost 1/4 of her body weight. This shocked us. She has also changed color. This surprised the vet.

Our cat came to us from a friend of my mothers, who had kept the cat indoors mostly. When she came to us, she was a black cat, a little plump, very shy and scared of men in particular (or maybe just my father, who is very big and very tall), wouldn’t go outside at all. When we installed a cat flap for her we had to work hard to coax her outdoors. Now, this summer, we have hardly seen her. She comes in to eat, but spends her days outdoors. She is confident, no longer scared of men (she loves my father). She is playful and friendly when she feels like it. She has thinned down and her coat has turned what we call a coca-cola color – dark red, turning redder or even orange in bright light, still just about black in the dark. Sometimes it feels like we’ve ended up with a changeling cat, a creature entirely different from what we originally had. We love her to death, but she is constantly surprising us with her growth.

Child

I went to the doctor today for a work medical. I was terribly nervous about it before hand. I knew what it would be about. I had filled out a medical form a few weeks ago where I had put details of my anxiety and the fact I was on antidepressants. I knew that this had come up as a red flag for HR. I was so terrified about saying the wrong thing and being found unfit for work or needing special precautions. I don’t want any of that. I never, ever want to give in to my mental illness or let it define me. To do that would be like giving up, like giving in. Then my father and I got terribly lost trying to find the health center and my father shouted at me for messing up the directions, and then I was sitting in a large, empty waiting room waiting for my medical to begin. All of it combined to make me feel panicked and like something very terrible was about to unfold. I quite frankly, wanted to run for the hills. (So to speak.)

The doctor was nice enough. He went to the same university as me, so he made small talk about it between routine questions. And yet, I left the appointment feeling upset and annoyed. In the end, I was told that he would tell my employer I was fit for work, but vulnerable to highly stressful situations, which I think sounds reasonable. But I also got the old you need to be in CBT talk combined with a dose of medicine won’t fix your problems. One thing I appreciated, of many, about my old doctor was the way he never pushed anything on me. When I said I did not want anymore CBT, that I had enough of it, my doctor understood. He let me take control of my treatment, and he never made me feel ashamed of my choices. This doctor did not.

It also annoys me, the way that CBT is touted as the answer to everything, as the great cure. It’s dangerous, I think, to give that impression to patients. Yes, for some people maybe it does work, but I don’t think it’s a one size fits all treatment such as it’s touted to be. And even if it helps, it may not cure. It didn’t for me. CBT was fine when I went through it but in the long run I don’t believe in going through CBT again and again and again. What is the point? I get it now. You go to the CBT, you come away with some things to think about, maybe a book to refer to in the future, and then it’s up to you. Even with the CBT it’s up to you. And quite frankly, all those questions and work booklets never did anything compared to having someone anonymous to listen to me. And I can quite easily ramble to my mother or write a diary entry instead of dragging myself to the doctors. It’s all the same for me, you know? I never quite got the point of CBT, or what exactly I was supposed to be learning or how I was supposed to be changing. It always made me feel vaguely confused. I always worried about putting the wrong answers to the questions and it all felt like one very difficult test without a clear marking guide.

Besides, you need to move forwards. I have moved forwards. I’m not at that stage now. This doctor was talking to me like I don’t know anything, like I have not been dealing with this for years and am still confused about it all. I’ve been having problems with my mental health for years and I can cope with it. Just about. I take my medicine, I try to eat well and look after myself. I do yoga and breathing exercises to help me relax (and to sleep). I try to be creative: to blog, to read, to do needlework. I push myself to do things that scare me: from the smallest things, like making phonecalls, to learning to drive, to completing a difficult degree and starting a graduate position. I don’t need to make any mood diaries or to evaluate my feelings: I understand, by now, my triggers, and what to do when triggered. When things get bad, I rely on beta blockers, I make sure to take a day or two off for wallowing, and then I throw myself back in the deep end. Ultimately, the only thing you can do is to keep going. To acknowledge the bad thoughts, but not let them define your actions. To always have hope for something better, that despite the bad foreboding feeling, something unexpectedly wonderful could also happen. No matter what, never give up hope. I felt myself slipping this last year of university, felt my hope beginning to twist and grow small. So I took medicine. I took strong medicine, I got through, and now I am on a low dose just to keep myself stable.

According to this doctor, taking medicine for anxiety is not right.

But you know, maybe I will up my medicine if things get really bad again, and I don’t need this doctor to tell me this isn’t a solution. I tried for years to cope without medicine, too ashamed to admit I needed it, and it was stupid. Being on medicine has its side effects, and it’s not the “happy pill” its touted to be, but it gives me the right edge to help me get through my days a little easier. I will not be made to feel ashamed of that. (Except I have, haven’t I?)

To me, more CBT would be running backwards, back to the start of my journey to forming myself into someone competent and capable. I no longer believe in recovery, but I believe that I can be strong, that I can live a brilliant, fulfilling life despite the darkness lurking in my mind. I believe in myself and my own strength. I can do this myself, with the support of my family, my doctor, and my little pills. I don’t need CBT.

Fine. Right now, I do not need therapy. Mostly I hate having it pushed on to me. Let me make my own choices about what is right for me. Don’t patronise me and make me feel like a child who knows nothing about what is best for herself. I am not so far gone that I do not understand myself or my needs.

(I feel so sad to leave my doctor behind in my old city.)

“There should be just one safe place in the world, I mean this world, I’m still talking about this world”.

My tenancy at my current home ends the end of July, which means I am back to house hunting again. It’s proving to be stressful, with few properties in my budget in the areas I want, and with those few properties getting snapped up very quickly. I went to visit my new city last week. Due to limited funds I decided to take the bus there and back again, two and a half hours there, two hours back, just £10 plus minor booking fees. Rather a bargain. Also due to limited funds, and a lack of willingness to repeat the trip numerous times, I packed in as many appointments as I could that one day. This was a mistake in many ways. My first appointment was at 11am, which meant I would have to get to the city center by 10am in order to get to its suburbs on time for the viewing. This meant I had to wake up at 5am to leave the house at 6am to get the bus to get to my city center to get the bus to the new city center. As you could expect, this was no fun at all. But I succeeded in waking up and meeting every bus. It was an uneventful set of bus journeys and I got the city at 10am, right on time. I bought a greasy breakfast as a treat and sat to wait to get the next bus. Only to receive a call telling me my appointment had been cancelled. I was too tired and it was too crowded to really talk, so I couldn’t chew them out for this, but I sent them very bad thoughts the rest of the day.

I had a feeling then that this day going to go wrong. And it did. Go wrong. In all ways. I got the wrong bus, used up my money buying the day rider ticket for the wrong bus network, got lost trying to find my second appointment, was late to my third appointment due to messing up the buses again, was late the fourth appointment due to a combination of messing up the buses and getting lost. It was a big mess. I was confused, I was spending way more money on buses than I needed to, and probably more time too. I was cold and wet, it was so cold up north compared to the midlands that at one point I was shivering. Worse, none of the houses stood out to me. I ended up coming home, exhausted and disappointed. The only good thing about the day was the fact that my sister let me text her throughout in order to vent. Oh, but my phone went flat at some point in the day too (and it had my return bus journey ticket on it, although thankfully the service center was still open and they could print a ticket for me.) Navigating a new city and its bus network without gps is no fun. This was probably why that last appointment went so, so wrong.

I thought to settle on one of the houses, but I reluctantly agreed with my sister to try and find something else. So I’m going back this Saturday and am hoping that neither of the places I picked to view gets nabbed before I can get to them, and that one of them proves to be the one. This is proving to be much worse than the last time I looked for a rental. Then I went on one trip, and found this house I’m in now. Perhaps the fact that it was my first time helped? Beginners luck? Or maybe it was just that my standards were low as I was coming from university dorms. Now I am in a house I like and an area I like and comparing everything to it. I try not to be fussy, but there are certain things I don’t want to compromise on. If I’m going to be living in a new city, starting a new job, I need a place I feel comfortable in, so that I can make it into a safe place to retreat to after a long day. My home is my fortress against the world.

It is nerve-wracking to think of moving home soon when I don’t yet have anywhere to later move out to, with my job is starting in September.

Since then I have gotten sick so have spent the past few days in a daze. I need to be better though as it’s my birthday tomorrow (well, later today as posting this past midnight), and I have some things planned. My dad is coming to visit tomorrow and I am excited. Soon, I shall meet up with my sister too. So it’s not all bad, as long as I don’t think too hard about next month, or any of the months after that.

Post Title: Richard Siken - Road Music

When exactly did I give myself over to sleep? When did I stop resisting…? I used to be so lively, I was always wide awake – but when was that? So long ago it felt like ancient times. Like scenes out of the most distant past, panoramas of ferns and dinosaurs that spring roughly to the eye, vividly colored, my memories of that time always appeared to me as images shrouded in mist.

– Asleep, Banana Yoshimoto

Kitchen by Banana Yoshimoto is one of my favourite novels ever. It’s a little strange but engaging and never fails to make me cry with its stark portrayal of grief. After reading Asleep I think that perhaps grief and loss are a central theme in Yoshimoto’s work. This is a collection of three short stories, and each is centered around a death.

In the first story Night and Night’s Travelers a young woman is dealing with the sudden death of her childhood sweetheart. Interestingly, the story is told from the point of view of the younger sister of the boyfriend, one year after his death. Like Kitchen, her plain, matter-of-fact writing is undeniably powerful. She writes about grief and loss in a painful, realistic manner. I cried like a baby reading Kitchen and after just finishing this first story in Asleep I cried too. I also loved the underlying darkness to the story. Satomi’s jealously never explicitly stated, but always there. She was an outsider looking in at her brother and his relationships and you could feel her alienation, her resentment and her jealousy.

The second story, Long Songs, was my least favourite. A young woman finds out someone she knew has died, and this makes her rethink their relationship. In this story the lines between reality and something else is blurred and it’s never clear whether there is something supernatural going on or not. This was interesting, but ultimately it did not leave as strong an impression as the other two stories of the trilogy.

It was the final title story that was my favourite and which affected me the most. It’s a little disturbing this story, again the lines between reality and some other is blurred, but here it comes across as more obvious a slip in sanity rather than reality. Again the story is told from the point of view of a young woman, Teruko. She is involved with an older married man and their relationship is tinged by his circumstances. Meanwhile her best friend, who maintained a very strange job, has recently died. Teruko quit work because of her relationship and finds herself tired, sleeping all the time, beginning to lose focus, only being able to wake up when her boyfriend calls. I could relate to this strongly. The escape of sleep and how it can eventually trap you is something anyone who suffers from depression or low moods knows. I feel like that has been happening to me over the past few years – becoming exhausted, finding myself questioning whether something happened or I dreamed it because the lines between being asleep and being awake are so blurred, wandering around “with an unfocused look in my eyes” to quote Yoshimoto. It disturbed me to read this, it hurt. The ending made me cry. Like Kitchen, it is a deeply romantic, very sad story. It starts off disjointed and strange, as the summary I put of it probably comes across, but it comes together beautifully into something quite profound.

None of these stories feel unfinished or unsatisfying, none feel too short. Each story has the element of the surreal, and yet also manages to be very slice and life, and quite ordinary. I think…the emotions are ordinary, although the set-up of the story can be slightly absurd. but because at its core are the realistic emotions and feelings the stories become engaging and highly relatable. I loved this book.

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