Honest Lies – Page 29 – "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.

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I went home last weekend. Well, I went home on the Thursday before last weekend. I should have blogged sooner but the anti-depressants, or whatever, are still sucking all the energy out of me and its difficult to do just about anything. I’m so tired and so lazy.

Anyway, home.

I went home on Thursday afternoon. My mother picked me up from the station, and we went back home and cooked supper together, and talked. It was surprising how gentle and unheated the conversation was, how nice it was. So often my mother and I have nothing to say, or we can only pick at each other. But we talked easily this time, and we had a pleasant meal together, then we went upstairs to get ready for an evening out – my mother, my sister and I all together to go and see a ballet. A girls night out. The first time in a long, long time that my mother had got to spend with both her daughters. My mother was excited, which made me happy. I was the one who had arranged this, who had listened to me my mother asking to spend more time together and done something about it. I am trying so, so hard to develop a better relationship with my mother- being more patient, being more interested, contacting her more often, even if its just a random text to show her the progress on my cross stitch, or to recommend a book she may like. I’m 22 and it feels stupid that I’m still clinging to the hurt my mother gave to me when I was a teenager. I hurt her too, after all. And now time has passed and its time to let go. It helps of course that I’m not living with my mother – a certain distance between us is helpful, but its important not to let the distance get too great. I am trying to be mature. I can learn to trust and depend on my mother a little bit more.

Anyway, my mother told me how my father had given her a list of things not to say, which made me laugh. I could imagine my father fretting about the evening – knowing how rocky the relationship between us three is, wondering if it were even possible for us to spend several hours together without killing each other.

I had thought about inviting my dad too, almost felt bad about not, but I wanted it to be a girls night. I wanted to give my mother time with her daughters alone. Its important to remember that just as I like getting my parents say, without my sister, they like to get their kids to themselves sometimes. My dad certainly gets my sister and I to himself a lot – we are daddy’s girls all the way. But my mother deserved an evening with her girls. So I did not allow myself to feel too bad.

My sister arrived to come pick us up and she was in a terrible mood which made me nervous. Well, the evening went very well. We went to see Inala, a Zulu ballet with Ladysmith Black Mambazo, and the music and dancing was fantastic, even if the overall message was confusing and unclear. It was very experimental. A great experience though. And we had a good night out. Except for my mother and sister fighting on the way home we got through the evening unscathed and maybe even managed to enjoy each others company. I could tell my mother was happy, and that made me happy. My sister remained in a foul mood which was disappointing, although it being a work night it was probably understandable.

The next day I went hiking with my father, which I really need to get round to writing about. It was very intense but very rewarding. I love going walking with my father.

I was tired and stiff by Saturday, but I had to wake up early as I was going shopping with my sister and for whatever reason my sister, who used to be late for everything, is now pushing for early, on-time starts (she gave my mother and I hell the Thursday night for being 5 minutes late, as if we have not spent years waiting around for her.) After my sisters foul mood on Thursday I was nervous about meeting with her. I admit I was also nervous because I made some personal confessions to her a few weeks back, and I wasn’t sure if it was going to be awkward between us now she knew. It turned out I was worrying for nothing. We had so much fun together, and a very successful shopping trip to boot. We talked practically non-stop and blew through both our budgets, and had a delicious dinner of American diner food. (Is there anything better? I had a hot dog with bacon and BBQ sauce and mayonnaise. And sweet potato fries with the same condiments. So fattening, so good.)

I love being around my sister, and yeah, I loved spending money on myself. I have to spend money though – I’ve long outgrown my old wardrobe and I needed to let myself let go of it. The other week, I took some photos of my old jeans and put them on Ebay – just like that. No hesitation. I cannot go on any longer thinking I’ll fit back into them. I’m bigger now, but healthier and the only way I’ll get smaller is by giving in to my disordered eating. I won’t do that. So I’m getting rid of my old pants and I went out and bought new pants in a significantly larger size – my sister there to reassure me that I looked fine, that I was not fat. I’m glad my sister was there.

My new jeans do look fantastic on me though. I’m not satisfied with my figure, but I’m getting there. I can recognise that having curves isn’t necessary a bad thing, even if its not what I want to be. I shouldn’t get so hung up on what the label says anyway – its how I feel, and how the clothes look on me. My new jeans fit, perfectly. They are larger than what I want but I look good in them. I feel good in them. I also bought some fitted sweaters – too long I’ve been hiding my figure in baggy tops, ashamed. I will try to show off my figure a bit more – and maybe eventually be proud of it.

Come Sunday, I was ready for a day at home and that is mostly what happened. I went to buy groceries with my dad, then my sister came around, and my mom came home from work, and we had a proper Sunday roast all together. There was some bickering, but it still felt great to be around my family. To have all of us be together. It felt a bit like an occasion – we only ever have a roast dinner on Christmas – and so it felt special. Then I had a quiet day with my family, and on Monday I came back, in time for lectures to start on Tuesday.

It’s been a miserable week. After such a great weekend it was more than disappointing to find I’m still not feeling great, the great weekend was a distraction not a cure, and being back at university is not helping. There’s so many people around, and already so much to take in information wise. I’m still behind on my theses. I need to get my act together. It’s October already! But I’ve felt tired and weepy and overwhelmed all week. This week I’ll try again. I was in a good place just before I went home – had set up good habits, begun to take control, and I took several steps back this week. But I can get there again.

“What you accomplish will never quite matter as much as where you fail.”

I had my driving theory test last Thursday. It totally sneaked up on me. I had been cramming desperately for two or three weeks, but still felt hopelessly unprepared. It left my wondering what on earth I was thinking booking it so soon (well OK, the plan was I would get it over and done with before I started uni but still, I quickly discovered this was a flawed plan.)

That morning I was supposed to wake up early and do last minute mock tests and studying, but typically I overslept. I got to do some practice, but in doing so I left late. The bus got caught in traffic. Once off the bus I realised I had no idea where to go. My phone GPS wouldn’t connect. When it did it sent me to the wrong entrance of the test building- I had to go into that wrong entrance and managed to find a very nice, understanding man to give me directions. Back out the building and around to the right entrance where a security guard gave me a set of confusing directions- left? Up the stairs? Left again? What? I found the place soon enough anyway and it was OK. The people at the test centre were great and friendly which helped ease the nerves a bit. I begun my test with a series of multiple choice questions and a case study. I did my best to breathe deep and trust in my revision, trying not to second guess myself, get confused and worked up. Next came hazards – a series of video clips to spot the developing hazards in. I was confused because the set up was completely different than the mock tests on the official practice DVD- I had to go through the instructional video twice! Worse, halfway through my test I remembered I hadn’t touched off my travel card when leaving the bus, which was distracting. I kept thinking about fines and how to sort that out, rather than paying attention to hazard spotting.

I left the test room conflicted and worried. But when I got my results, I had passed. I had done well even. I let out a long sigh of relief. “That’s a big sigh of relief!” The lady at the reception desk said. I grinned at her, laughing. Then I thanked her. “I’ll see you around…well I guess I won’t now. Good luck!” The lady said. I smiled and thanked her again before leaving. Just like that, it was halfway over. This driving thing. I went to a nearby café and ordered a coffee, sat down to drink it and wondered why I had put it off so long. Of course, I remembered that the practical part of driving isn’t going as well, and doubt returned, making me wonder if I am capable of getting my full license. Perhaps I had only passed the theory because I had drilled the practice questions into my brain in such a thorough manner. My driving lesson last week was bad, as was the one before that. I am progressing very, very slowly. I am not enjoying driving very much.

At least I managed to study for my driving, at least I managed to muster the effort to put some effort into that. My university work is still being stubbornly ignored. And tomorrow I have to begin university again. Just introductory lectures, but I’m terrified. Real life is rearing its head, and I can do nothing else but confront it, even though I’m so scared. This is my final year of university. I’m going to be doing a lot of independent work. A whole thesis on a topic I do not understand, and worry that I won’t grow to understand. I have to apply to jobs- and what if that doesn’t work out? It feels too soon, I just want to press pause on everything. Well, that is what I have been doing for this summer, haven’t I? Now my fun is up and its time to work again.

I’m not doing so good though. The anti-depressants make me feel tired and lazy and inexplicably sad. I keep waiting for them to work, to feel different somehow, but I don’t. Not really. In some ways I feel better, but in other ways I almost feel worse. In the same way, I keep waiting for certain things to happen, thinking that once they do finally everything will click into place, and I’ll be OK. But I’ve already ticked so many of those boxes and nothing changes. I’m starting to lose hope. And that is what has kept me going and that is ultimately why I am afraid of fourth year, because without hope, with this horrible sadness and helplessness clinging to me, I cannot bring myself to work. I just want to hide away and sleep. It’s not a good frame of mind for this fundamental year. It feels like what will happen this year will define the rest of my life. It feels enormous and important. And thus, overwhelming to be facing it. Thus, overwhelming to be facing it when I feel this way.

I’m not ready to be a graduate. I’m not ready for the ‘real world’ – to work. I don’t feel capable or grown up in any way. It’s all very worrying. I cannot stop worrying.

At least work is going well, and I’ve found some things to help keep my eating under control, and to help me sleep better (which I will write another entry on!) and I passed my driving theory test. And I’m going home soon so I can see my cat, and go hiking. There, I can be positive. Just.

Post Title: We Are All Completely Beside Ourselves - Karen Joy Fowler

It was, above all, a human landscape , settled and shaped by people, and still a place where thousands of years of history might be expected to come to the surface, if you cared to look.

– Black Dog, Stephen Booth (Cooper and Fry #1)

The Cooper and Fry series are thrillers set in the Peak District. Yes, murder and intrigue right next door to me – how could I resist? The Peak District is one of my favourite places in England, and its somewhere I have actually been and actually kind of know, so I knew I had to read these books.

Thankfully, they exceeded my expectations.

The main characters are Ben Cooper and Diane Fry – Ben being the local lad, and Diane being the newcomer from the city (in book one.) Ben is instantly likeable- he’s a very interesting character with a cheerful, approachable front hiding very dark thoughts and insecurities. At first, I hated Diane fry and this made it difficult to get through the first book. She was so judgemental, so selfish and close minded. I was horrified at some of the things she thought appropriate to say out loud. I didn’t like, nor get, how she could have formed such negative, extreme views of the countryside.

Then again, I may have been feeling defence because of my love for the Peak District.

Anyway, I grew to sympathise with Diane fry once her background is revealed even if I still didn’t like her. It also helped that I love the dynamic between Cooper and Fry- Cooper softens Fry, whilst she likewise toughens him. They challenge each other, and their dialogue is delightful. And I just love how the tough, ambitious Fry falls so obviously and so fast for Cooper, way before he even thinks of her as a friend. Cooper is attractive and intrigues her, and its amusing how often she thinks of him, as if its totally natural. Cooper thinks Fry has beaten him in everything, without realising there is one way he has Fry utterly defeated. I felt for Cooper and the way Fry challenged his position in the force, but by book two I could see he needed that. Again, Fry toughened him- made him question and challenge himself. They have such an interesting dynamic that swings from dislike and annoyance to grudging respect and attraction.

The writing is delightful. At first I wasn’t sure about how often the point of view changes, but the author manages to build up strong characterisation even so. The crimes are intriguing, with no clear answers. The writing is clever, with a dry sense of humour, a bit dark too, that often had me laughing out loud. I loved how I don’t know- playful? Teasing? The writing is. The writer has a great way of leading your thoughts in one direction with regards to what’s happening, only to reveal the situation or meaning is something else entirely. It could be so annoying- but its done so cleverly, and the answer always revealed quickly without dragging it out that it made me grin every time. Also it has to be said that the books have a strong sense of place. I actually thought Edendale was a real place! And I love the focus on life in the country, and this also adds an interesting element to the crimes – what do the police do to handle crimes in open, mostly remote areas with temperamental weather? It’s fascinating.

These books are so very enjoyable. I ploughed through the first three books in a matter of days.

The one downside to these books is that they are an unfinished series- I don’t want the series to become tired or plodding. Already by book three I felt myself becoming impatient, looking for a conclusion that wasn’t there. The books all stand well on their own in regards to the cases but the strands of the personal lives of Copper and Fry, and the teasing hints of potential romance, is something that is always open ended. I don’t like this.

“The star, called ‘suffering’, that was shining in your eye, is your city”

This summer has passed quickly. I’ve not been writing anything down. I don’t know where to start or what to say. I started anti-depressants and it has been strange adjusting to them. I started on a low dose and as my serotonin levels adjusted – or whatever happens – I was left feeling numb and detached. Robotic, my doctor described it and I mostly agreed. I did not feel as anxious or as sad but nor could I feel happiness or excitement. Bad and good emotions were gone. Fast forward and I’m on a higher dose and not quite so robotic, but still not quite where I wish I could be. And I’m tired. No matter how much or little I sleep I’m always exhausted and I cannot concentrate. This state I’m in…its no state for blogging. I’m actually not having a bad summer and plenty has happened but I couldn’t find it in me to write any of it down. The first time I was struggling with my mental health I needed to write it down. I’d blog, and I also kept a private written diary for my counselling- I’d write the bad thoughts down, and then I’d process them. In another notebook I’d scribble down what I was feeling, ranting, so emotional that the pen dug in deep, almost cutting the paper, then I’d scribble it out, turn the page black or blue. This time I’m internalising it, I’m thinking a lot, always thinking, but I struggle to express myself. I’ve become very withdrawn.

Nonetheless, this summer hasn’t been bad. I’ve been in a bit of a limbo with things- spending too much time asleep, or wasting time, all my grand plans for university work lying at the roadside. Fairly typical.

I’ve been home a few times. My sister came back from a big holiday so I went home to look at her photos, and I went walking with my dad the following day. Looking at my sister’s photos should have been boring, but I spent most of it curled up resting on my fathers shoulder, and I felt so safe and comfortable and relaxed that it became one of those perfect moments I’ll remember for a long time. I’d only just started antidepressants then, and I did not feel good. Feeling safe and relaxed felt foreign but wonderful. In that moment I also felt loved. Sometimes I feel so alone, I forget that I am precious to my family at least. With both my parents- its easy to tell how amazed and proud they are in regards to the daughters they raised. It must be a strange feeling to see the babies you once had and can still remember so clearly, now grown up into adult woman. Even I look at my sister, who has matured so much, who is so grown up that I struggle- she’s my sister, but she also has her separate life and as she grows older the ratio changes and her separate life grows. I know I need to respect that, but I still remember how it used to be and its hard to let go. Family relations get so strange as you get older. I feel so clingy and burdensome sometimes, I wonder if I should be more independent. I don’t really know how to act around them anymore, where the boundaries have now shifted. It’s just strange.

It was my birthday in July – 22 now. My sister took me to a food festival and we had a grand time stuffing our faces with overpriced food and watching the demonstrations from cooks and bakers. It was good to have my sister to myself for a time. See: above paragraph. That evening we went out to dinner- my parents, my sister and her boyfriend who I invited because it was the polite thing to do, because I thought that was one of the changes to make now we are older. My sister was so happy to hear that I wanted him there that I knew I had been right. But… I was the only single person there, and the only child. I felt so out of place. I couldn’t enjoy myself. Yes, I turned 22. It doesn’t feel much different than 21, although my embarrassment at how childish I am only deepens as I age. I don’t feel like I act as an adult should. I feel naive and inexperienced.

Walking with my dad was as always delightful and improved my mood, at least.

Later, in August, I went home as my cousin had come to visit and spend time with our family – which was awkward, but not too bad. I stuck close to my dad mostly, which made me feel like a bad person, but my cousin is too unfamiliar, and too gregarious for me to feel comfortable. Looking at him, my mother and my sister they looked more like a family than if I were there. Especially my sister and my cousin- they are so similar in looks and personalities it hurt to look at them.

I’m going home again soon. Going to try spend more time with my mother and sister. It seems whenever I go home I mostly hang with my dad. It’s most comfortable, but its not right.

Apart from that, I’ve settled into work quite nicely. I spend my Tuesday afternoons and Friday mornings there now. I’ve taken on the role of health and safety officer – so I test the fire alarms every week and do visual inspections monthly. I’ve been allowed to help with the cashing up. Mostly I shelve and cull books, and occasionally go on the till. Its monotonous work mostly, but I like it – there is something oddly calming about sorting and shelving books. It does make me anxious dealing with the public though- I never seem to have the answers to anyone’s questions, and I mostly fail at small talk. When I’m on the till I can’t meet anyone’s eyes and I have a little script I made for myself. Sometimes, perhaps I’m imagining it, probably am, when I look up from staring at the counter, just briefly, I think I catch bemused glances from the people I serve and it only makes me feel more ashamed. I can’t go on the till too long otherwise I start feeling sick and shaky, my chest tightening, my words starting to run together, even if I’ve taken my anxiety meds. The fact that I can do this though- that I can deal with strangers for 8 hours a week makes me feel good. And I like that it adds a bit of routine to my week- I would probably lose track of the days otherwise.

Of course I’ve also started to learn to drive, which I don’t enjoy, but hopefully the doctor will say its OK to take my anxiety meds whilst driving and then it can improve. My instructor is lovely, but driving itself is still scary and foreign and overwhelming.

I’m trying my best though. To develop outside my degree. I said it before didn’t I. I put so much into university that other things got left behind. But I’m trying now. I’m working, I’m learning to drive, I’m trying very hard to get on with my family. I’m recovering, trying to keep going even though I’m exhausted and the future is uncertain and I’m scared and anxious. I’m trying to get better. I’m trying not to let the fear from stopping me from living.

Even though the fear that its too late never goes away.

Post Title: Epik High - One

“In search of something”

I had my first driving lesson today. This was my first time operating a car- ever – and it was fairly terrifying, although not as bad as I was expecting.

I admit, I have a lot of anxiety about driving. Accidents can happen so easily, and effect so many people besides the driver. I get distracted easily and have a lot of anxiety, which makes me feel vulnerable in such a position of responsibility over other peoples lives. I also don’t like the car dependency in this country. People seem to drive even for the smallest distances. Although you cannot always blame them. It’s a small country and so you’d think that trains, buses and walking would be adequate in a lot of situations- but unfortunately trains are expensive and train stations not always close to where you need to be, buses come whenever the hell they like, if they come at all, and the cost also adds up. Walking is fine, except when you find yourself lugging heavy shopping from a bus stop 20 minutes from your house, or there is snow or ice, as only roads get de-iced. Sometimes you just feel tired and don’t want to walk an hour through the rain (because this is the UK, and it is often terrible weather) to get your groceries. Which is just some of the annoying scenarios which make a person really wished they could have just driven from point A to point B. I like to walk and don’t mind public transport but I’ve started to seriously want the flexibility of having to drive, especially as I approach graduation and entering the work force- where offices can and are often outside the city or in remote areas. I am also trying to conquer my anxiety and what better way to do that than to force myself to do something I really don’t want to do. I’m already coping with working, so why not? I have been putting off getting my license for too long, for too stupid reasons, mostly sheer stubborness, to be honest. Yes, I can manage with public transport and walking, but my life would be easier and I’d have more flexibility with a driving license.

My dad was pleased to hear that I wanted to drive, after years of trying to persuade me and only meeting stubborn refusal, so pleased in fact that he promised to buy me a car after I’d passed, and pay for all my lessons. I had some money tucked away in order to help with the costs of lessons and test fees, but I can hardly complain if my father doesn’t want me to use it. I feel grateful to him, as apart from my long term savings I am really quite broke. I tried googling instructors but the results were too much, so I went to the yellow pages. Funny how that thing actually comes in useful sometimes. I talked with my dad and narrowed my options to three schools. I phoned up one driving school but they were booked up, couldn’t get hold of another so ended up with my third choice. Which as these things go, turned out to be the right choice.

My driving lesson today turned out just fine. My instructor is lovely and good at handling my nervousness. She thankfully did not start me outside my house- but drove to a quiet area where we could get started. We didn’t get through much- just the very basics, but even then there was a lot to take in. First understanding what everything in the car actually does and setting up the car – mirrors, positioning the seat, knowing where to find the blind spots. Then, actually driving. I had to get used to the pedals, and steering, and tried parking for the first time, and was utterly terrible at it. I felt a bit dazed, but at least I never had time to let my anxiety get to me – I was concentrating too hard. It was very strange and very unfamiliar and a lot to take in all at once. But it wasn’t as scary as I anticipated it would be to sit behind the wheel.

I have my theory test soon, and I don’t know when I’ll get the chance to take the practical test- I have a feeling this is going to take me a long time. But I’m feeling a bit more optimistic about it. Still very anxious, but I look forward to having my licence, and I think I’ll manage, perhaps even find some enjoyment in driving, though that’s probably being too optimistic.

*NB: In the UK in order to get a drivers license you have to take a theory test covering the Highway code/road regulations and hazard perception, before you can take a practical test in an actual car.

Post Title: Olivia - If You Only Knew

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