See: To perceive with the eye, to be conscious of what is around you byusing your eyes

At the end of 2012 I was diagnosed with vocal chord dysfunction, a severe anxiety symptom, born from my high levels of anxiety at the time. Basically, whenever I had a panic attack (which was at least once a night) my vocal chords would begin to close over and I would struggle for breath. That, along with asthma and an inability to calm down and regulate my breathing, made for a rough few months with far too many ambulance rides.

I spent the following weeks in and out of doctors and counselling, the first to prescribe Lorazepam for acute attacks and the second, to put mental steps in place to alleviate the stress and begin breathing exercises. As my partner would attest to, these were not easy times. The amount of sleepless nights, uncontrollable shaking, crying, outbursts of anger and weight loss only added to his own stress of university, and together we became very reclusive.

This isn't to say that we weren't happy, we were just struggling and treading the ever deepening water of our relationship. We went to social gatherings when we were needed and most people were none the wiser of what we were going through as a couple. I like to think that I was the victim of my anxiety but unfortunately, it has a contagious effect when you live with someone else.

Thankfully to his resilience and many of my close friends, I was able to gain confidence over my anxiety and come off the Lorazepam and learn to control attacks through regimented breathing exercises and yoga. I continued to take Venlafaxine for depression and Quetiapine as an anti-psychotic/sleep aid in the hopes that I would also be able to work my way up to removing them from my daily intake. 

A month ago I stopped taking the Quetiapine as I was becoming reliant on it to sleep. Not only that, I also found myself abusing it if I had a particularly hard day or simply couldn't deal with the pain inside. It became increasingly easy to just knock myself out instead of facing my problems. I would wake up groggy and and see traces as though I had been on an LSD bender the night before. I was having nightmares that I couldn't shake all day and was confusing dream with reality. Some days were so foggy that I literally couldn't remember what I had for breakfast or how I got wherever it was that I was going to. I lost weeks of memories and conversations all from a tiny pink habitual pill. 

Although this last month has been a bit of a blur it makes me realise all the things I've seen but didn't get a chance to see. I was there, it happened, but I didn't truly see what was happening. Just like others see me out at a dinner or at a party, they only see surface value, not what is underneath. It never ceases to amaze me how little we actually see of the world around us and just how little we really know our peers. People are often heard saying to someone feeling negatively about themselves "I wish you saw yourself how I see you" or "If only you could see what I see". To even begin to see yourself as others do takes immense courage and strength. Too often we base opinions of others on gossip and hearsay, using our ears and not our own eyes. The same can be said for when we try to see ourselves the way our loved ones do. We only focus on our own bias opinions of ourselves and wade through layers of insecurities and self instated flaws so by the time we reach our outer beautiful selves, all we see are the flaws. When others look at us, they don't have these negative layers smearing their view they only see the outside.

I did not consult my physician before I ended my love/hate relationship with Quetiapine however I discussed it in great detail with my counsellor. I in no way advise anyone else to stop taking prescribed medication without first consulting your doctor. I am still working on building up a healthy, unassisted sleeping regime and hope to eventually wean myself off caffeine and high concentrate sugars as well.

As the great Mrs Beauregarde said "Eyes on the prize violet, eyes on the prize."

Anon Guest Post: Eating Disorder

They called me fat, and I believed it. Not only did I believe that, but nothing I ever did was good enough for the standards I set myself.
 What started as a diet turned into waking up one morning and literally telling myself I would not eat anymore. I exercised whenever I could, I would throw my lunch in bins, I lied, I deceived, I would not allow myself to sleep until I had done 500 sit-ups. I forced my fingers down my throat ten times a day, not even binging. I felt unworthy of even having water enter my body. I was weak, I was cold, and I felt alone, I spent my days counting calories, hiding food, being scared of gaining weight, thinking about how I was going to keep my secrets hidden from the people I love most.
It felt amazing to be good at something, and it felt even better to see the number on the scale go down. But this was always a temporary feeling, until the voice in my head would be telling me I was too fat, ugly, and a waste of space. I felt worthless; I wanted nothing more than to disappear. It began with people complimenting me but quickly turned into people begging me to eat. Eventually I was forced into hospital treatment, and remember having an ECG and being told that if I did not start eating I would die. I had a 40% chance of having a heart attack at any time, and I was going to need to gain over 10kg to get discharged. I cannot begin to describe how confusing and alone you feel when everyone is trying to make you eat, love yourself, and gain weight, when the person looking back at you in the mirror is your own enemy. There is literally a voice in your mind feeding you with negative thoughts, but you have no idea that it is destroying you. You cannot simply “just eat”.
I was going to the hospital five days a week, getting blood tests every second day, and regular heart tests. I was put on bed rest at home and was not allowed to do any physical activity. My mum was so scared that she was going to wake up to find me dead because I was so weak. I had no idea how bad my health was, and it is only recently that I can understand how close to death I really was. It is even scarier to admit that I wanted to die. There was an incident where I fainted at home when I was alone, I then drank some water and punished myself for this by purging. This was somewhat of a turning point for me. Did I want this to be me for the rest of my life? I had dreams, and I had goals, and with the amazing support from my family and friends my voice started to become stronger than anorexia. I gained the weight I needed too, got discharged from the services I was under, and then did some extensive counselling to deal with the mental side of the illness, rather than just the symptoms. It was the hardest journey I have ever been on, and I am lucky to be ‘recovered’, and even help people going through the same sort of things.
I would be lying if I said I love my body and I never feel fat and I never struggle. Most of the time I have no issues; some days I need to remind myself how far I have come, and that eating something unhealthy is not going to make me gain ten dress sizes. I have actually turned my focus and life around in the sense that I am motivated to be fit and healthy. I exercise 4-5 times a week, eat healthy, feel the best I ever have about my appearance, and hope that I can stay this way for the rest of my life.
Recovery can seem scary, and it is. But trust me when I say it is worth it. You begin to see the beauty of life again, the reasons why you exist and that your existence and worth is nothing to do with the number on a scale. Smash the scale if it helps, because it is nothing. And you are worth everything. Beauty is more than skin deep; your personality, your laugh, your goals, your dreams, your wishes, they are all beautiful. Everyone has scars, but scars tell a story and are nothing to be ashamed of. When the battle gets tough, do not give up because there is so much waiting on the other side. It does not matter how long it takes you to get there.

Guest blog post | Promise: a declaration or assurance that one will do a particular thing or that a particular thing will happen.

I've always wondered about "pinky promises". Other body parts, such as the heart and the head, warrant their representations. But why is the strength of one's commitment symbolised by the most fragile bone in their body?

As witty and wise as I felt writing that, I'm wrong. Our most fragile bones are actually found in our feet and face. But I'm hoping my error will be excused since it serves as a perfect example of how promises do happen to break so easily: through intention and assumption.

One intends to do well, assumes they can, and a promise is made.

And there the promise sits like the pinky finger on a hand: at the bottom, under the commitment to our other fingers. We carry on with the routine of our lives, and then - be it by being too playful, working too hard, or though conflict - the promise is broken.

The ramifications differ depending on what was promised, but if there is one thing we can hope our promise has in common with our poor little disfigured finger, it is an ability to be quickly repaired.

...And there's another assumption.

I've never broken a pinky, but I've shattered my share of promises - mostly made to myself. And I can tell you, disappointment in yourself is hardest kind to dislodge.

Does all this mean that  promises were made to be broken? No. I think showing our little finger is actually not an act of assurance; it's one of acknowledgement. It's a person recognising that what they hold is fragile, easily forgotten, and well within their ability to break.

So should we ditch the word itself, or replace it with something more realistic? Probably not. It just doesn't work in the same way that half a wedding ring can't be worn.

Luckily, it's often said that "promises are made to be broken." Which also answers my original question: I think "pinky promises" show that people were made to be honest.

Written by the wonderful Boy Under The Bridge and my good friend, Ricky. For more written work from someone who will never cease to inspire you please visit his blog linked above.

Vulnerable: exposed to the possibility of being attacked or harmed, either physically or emotionally.

It's so easy to look back on who we could, would and should love, because as a whole, we are so terrible at it. I alone have spent countless hours sobbing into pillows and wholeheartedly believing I am not good enough, all because my love was not reciprocated or was mistreated in some way. We spend far too much time changing ourselves to fit someone else's criteria and focusing our love like a laser beam, instead of broadening its vicinity to include ourselves.
Recently I have been reading Daring Greatly by Brené Brown and how the courage to be vulnerable transforms the way we live, love, parent, and lead. When I look at times that I have felt the most vulnerable or the most shame, it is usually around falling in and out of love or not feeling loved enough personally. Times when I truely believed in my heart of hearts I am not capable of loving because I am not capable of being loved. In her book (or for those more visually inclined, her videos) she talks about how essential it is to embrace vulnerability as a key to 'engage with the world from a place of worthiness" and having the courage to let ourselves be seen.

Along with Brené Brown's wisdom (and some Eat, Pray, Love by Elizabeth Gilbert), I have also been delving into Gary Chapman's 1995 book - The 5 Love Languages. It may sound nonsensical, but it discusses how we mirror the way we want to be loved by the way we love others around us using either physical touch, gifts, words, quality time or acts of service. For instance, I adore buying people small, thoughtful gifts or writing them uplifting notes. It makes me feel good to point out others strengths and telling them how they positively effect my life. So it comes as no surprise that my main love language is a very strong 'Words of Affirmation' followed by:
2. Receiving Gifts
3. Acts of Service
4. Physical Touch
5. Quality Time

The beautiful thing when you take the test (linked above) is there are no right or wrong answers and it by no way defines your love, it is merely a resource to help you recognise others love languages and strengthen your relationship with them. I've met so many people who chase after this fabled diamond ring, like a goal to tick off a 'to do' list, instead of looking further at what it intrinsically means. What good is a ring if you don't have a solid foundation on which to hold its significance up with? How can you offer someone the rest of your life when you don't take the time to be present in right now? For me, I know I first need to dare greatly to achieve a healthy level of worthiness and wholeheartedness before I can offer my love. Always commit to yourself before committing to someone else.

Learning how to love is not something you can be taught by someone else, it's something you discover on your own. But I had some advice for my younger self I would say:

- Protect your love from those who would mistreat it
- Love who you want to openly and freely, knowing it is your love to give
- Love infinitely
- Have the courage to share and express your love

- Always know that you yourself are loved

“It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly"

-Theordore Roosevelt

Mask: anything that disguises or conceals.

A huge issue we face today is that we all think we are in the 1% of people with mental barriers or problems when the truth is, we are actually part of the 99%. We over think, over analyse and over compensate for things that are out of our control but we hide it behind benign smiles and dishonesty.
We see surface value instead of delving further and we build a two dimensional world around ourselves to protect our pride. We exist for others and not for ourselves and make appearances at events although we are not emotionally there. We take narcissistic selfies to show people how "happy" we are, not willing to share the bigger picture.

Sometimes admitting you are in pain feels egocentric and selfish. It's easier just to hold those feelings in your mouth and swallow them whole, just as you would a pain remedy. The difference however, is that ingesting mental pain can often lead to very severe illness and grow faster than bacteria in agar. For years I sat bottling emotions and hiding how I felt, not realising just how transparent I was. I greeted every morning with a dose of self pity and ignorance as I fell back into my routine of being comfortably numb. It almost began to feel reassuring, that my emotional state was so predictable because I let myself hover along the "I'm okay" line, not willing to dip above or below. My pain sat un-dissolved and for the most part dormant but I started to become more and more detached from those around me.

Luckily for me, my friends and family did not give up on me even after I had refused their help and advice for so long. I, like many others do, believed I was fine and that nothing was wrong because my medication was stopping me from having episodes of rage and anguish. I didn't realise that while I may be able to prevent terrifying symptoms of my mental illness, I may also start to learn to be truely happy within myself and use my life for its real potential. I am still walking a thin line with my happiness but now when I smile it is a genuine smile. I don't feel the need to lie to myself and especially to others about how I am feeling which I believe is a preliminary step in learning to love and accept yourself for who you are. We are all flawed but it's how you deal with your flaws that defines how you live with yourself. 

Anon Guest Post: Male Depression Perspective

Is it better to be naturally happy, or to achieve happiness in through overcoming life's
hardships?

Depression is a term I'm sick of hearing. A predefined set of criteria which lumps you in a
category. A label that's comfortably thrown around.

I, like many, have had my own journey through such a disarray.  This journey plagued me with
the question, why am I feeling this way? The fragility of porcelain isn't a feebleness, but a
fineness. We know that if we don't care for such things, they could shatter and cut us, yet we
are not as astute when it comes to our own minds.

I come from what most would consider a healthy, stable environment; a model family. Two
supportive parents, with a generally harmonious marriage, passionate, affluent through their
own hard work. My parents taught my sister and I how to carry ourselves in this world, through
structure, discipline, education, and arguably most importantly, love. They consistently pushed
to achieve highly, and provided a nurturing, positive environment.

It brings me back to questioning myself, why am I feeling this way? Why aren't I enjoying
things? Why can't I sleep?
Often when I have felt low, the guilt, and confusion have been the most overwhelming
fragments. I have lived a somewhat perfect life compared to people who live with actual
hardships.

My thoughts and feelings slowly changed who I was. I was once the outspoken loudmouth, the
class clown. Always joking around and high spirited. Progressively this changed. It was a slow,
prolonged adjustment to the way I lived my life. Without knowing, I let it increasingly dictate my
actions. I stopped getting out of my comfort zone. The things I used to enjoy become more of a
chore. Worst of all however was Iet it affect not only me, but my relationships with those closest
to me.

Ultimately the person I had become was not the person my partner fell in love with. It was a
direct contributor to our relationship failing, something I found difficult to rationalise in my head
at the time. I quickly hit my personal rock bottom. She moved on quickly, whilst I felt forsaken
and alone. I had supportive friends and family around me, but it was the figurative nail in the
coffin of my head. I wasn't functioning anymore. I couldn't sleep, I didn't have the appetite to eat.
I couldn't stand being alone, yet when I was with others it was worse.

This went on for while and eventually came to a point. One night as I was sitting around I
thought, fuck this. I grabbed the codeine from my drawers and took what was left. It didn't take
long to come back up. Whether my body genuinely rejected it, or subconsciously I knew better,
who knows. I spent the rest of that night feeling pretty ashamed of myself. I felt embarrassed
and guilty for almost putting the people who care about me through that.
I'm not stupid. At this point I knew things had to be addressed.  So I rather sheepishly decided
to visit my GP and lay out everything that had happened. Que the standard questions;
How often do you feel down, hopeless, anxious?
Do you look forward to things?
Have you had any suicidal thoughts?
How is your energy?
How is your sleep?

My GP told me I was depressed. He assured me it is extremely common, even revealing my
father is in the same boat (he treats us both). He set me on an immediate course of SSRI's, and
set me on my way. I left feeling rather indifferent to the whole process. I, like many people,
carried a stigma about being "depressed". I categorised people in my same socioeconomic
background being depressed, mainly as their choice. I felt like people abused the term, using it
to justify self indulgent behaviour they deep down knew was detrimental to their mental
wellbeing. Obviously I was wrong, but I was terrified about the premise of being one of those
people. I didn't want to get worse and just say, oh well, its because I'm depressed.

Taking pills felt like a bandaid to me. Obviously for many people they are hugely beneficial to
living a healthier life and getting on top of things. Initially however, I didn't want to just take
something and pretend like the problems weren't still prevalent. I was anxious about not fixing
the underlying issues, and falling back into old habits upon coming off the treatment.

I confided in a couple of close friends and made the decision to try counselling. For me, this was
both a hugely beneficial, and equally eye opening. It wasn't like speaking to people I knew, this
person was completely neutral, I didn't feel like the broken record I knew I was to my friends and
family. Still, in reality I felt like a fool, like I had no genuine reason to be there. I appeared to be
pretty transparent to him. Events and emotions I struggled to process in my head appeared so
straightforward to apprehend by him. Im the most diplomatic way possible he pointed out my
own shortcomings in acting out behaviour that I openly knew was bad for mental standing. I
spent a little over three months going back, trying to get small wins, catch low hanging fruit to
bring me to a better understand of myself, controlling my emotions, and anxiety. Looking back,
the strategies I learnt were imperative to aiding me to where I am today, but ultimately, the
counselling alone wasn't enough to keep me on the right track. I maintained a healthier lifestyle,
but I often slipped back into old habits, especially in relationships. I didn't feel like I was
progressing, I had plateaued halfway to happiness. I didn't understand how I was doing
everything I was supposed to, and I still felt so underwhelmed with my life.

Okay then. Pills. No biggy right? Just a helping hand. One a day everyday.
This went on for a while. Initially I couldn't sleep, and I was skeptical about the effectiveness
they could provide. To their credit, they did help. Slowly I did feel happier, at least to the point
where I found the motivation to start making more of life in terms of achieving natural highs;
trying new things, getting plenty of exercise, healthy eating, getting more sleep. There is two
sides to a coin however. I felt desensitised. Its hard to rationalise if being a degree happier was
worth feeling so apathetic about everything else. Additionally I had a very diminished libido. As a
guy, this can make you feel like you're not a real man anymore. It has been almost two years
now I have been medicating myself. I have changed prescriptions twice, altered dosages, gotten
frustrated, coming on and off the course.

Medicating depression and anxiety is a trade off. The benefits and side effects must be carefully
weighed up, and they are certainly not a fix-all wonder cure. Still, we live in a country where one
in nine people take anti-depressants, with prescription rates having grown almost 40% in the
past five years. At what point will adequate psychological care become more accessible and
thoroughly provide through our health system as opposed to the quick fix of drugs? A
moderated system providing a combination treatment of both medication and talk therapies.
Personally, I still take half a dose every other day; progress from one viewpoint, dependency
from another. In saying this, my life is more on track. I'm happier, am in a loving relationship,
and most importantly, I am considerably more self aware about how to stay on top of my own
head. I feel like I'm emerging out the other side, hopefully to stay. To quote Primo Levi; "I also
know how important it is in life not necessarily to be strong, but to feel strong", something I'm
sure many struggling with mental illness could relate to.

Time: the system of those sequential relations that any event has to any other, as past, present, or future; indefinite and continuous duration regarded as that in which events succeed one another.

I bought a diary to start off last year that read "2014, This is your year" and I genuinely believed it would be true. I would read those words inscribed on the inside cover of that hardbound organiser as we grew close to the end of another crappy year and thought to myself YES. Next year will be MY year. 

Two days into 2014 I found myself lying on a hospital gurney being wheeled into surgery to have my appendix removed. Seven months later I was back in having another laproscopic procedure to remove a mandarin sized ovarian cyst. I gave up my new diary a couple of months into the year as I began to realise that this really was not going to be my year. I flicked through the brightly coloured pages and stared back at the happy woodland creatures that jotted the pages and screwed my face up at my illegibly messy handwriting soiling the book with useless 'don't forget's. I felt like a phoney even as I wrote down those important dates and bills to pay in a book fit for a child. I told myself that this was how to do adulthood - writing lists, eating breakfast, making my bed every morning. Perhaps I would even venture into the realm of the 5 plus a day culinary regime. This wasn't the case however and 2014 was fay from being 'my year'. I was in a job that made me miserable, my health was in disarray, my family seemed broken beyond repair and my bed was still unmade. 

I felt the constant pressure of time running away on me and was feeling ever more analogous with the lyrics "So you run and you run to catch up with the sun but it's sinking" written by Roger Waters for Pink Floyd's song Time. Every day I would wake up with a "what's life going to throw at me today" attitude which, as I have learned, makes you a very angry and unhappy person. I began to see patterns in my unhappiness after I was made redundant from my job and thus decided to make a useful list of things I wanted to focus on to make my life better:

1. Don't stress about things that are out of your control

2. Don't make excuses

3. Listen

4. See beauty in the small things

5. Take your time, don't rush

6. Don't take on others negative energy

7. Smile

8. Breathe

Although seemingly stupid at the time, this list helps me every single day. I now feel sorry for people who speed through their life and honk when they catch up to those who at their limit. I empathize with those who spend their days in anger and resentment instead of looking further, through all the shit, and seeing what really is important. Hollywood glorifies this to no end with the classic cinematic tale of a man who works all his life, focused on money, never taking the time to see what really makes him happy. So why is this such a regular occurrence? Why do people sit so comfortably in misery?

Time. We all know we are running out of time. A yearly diary helps cater to this by consolidating all the things you don't have time to remember on paper whilst simultaneously making you feel like you have achieved something. Add to the mix some pre-existing anxiety and depression and you've really got yourself an i'm-lost-and-don't-know-where-i'm-going-with-my-life party.

It has taken me years to start addressing my problems and recognizing what I need to add or subtract from my life an it all comes back to time. Do I have time to fix this? How much time have I wastefully invested in them? Will I ever get time to do that? Who will be there when my time runs out? There will always be kinks in the chain but you cannot stress about things that are out of your control, it is an enormous waste of your time. Only you can provide the answers to your own questions, don't make excuses as this only hides to the truth. You can't begin to move forward if you are not honest and don't listen to yourself. Take your time to see beauty in the small things. As Sura wrote in her article Why We Rush Through Life, "To be present is to fully inhabit the moment, to slow down and pay attention to everything around us" which you cannot do if you don't take the time to actually be present. Don't let others rush you and don't take on their negative energy, move at your own pace. Do something, read something, see someone that makes you smile. The scientific benefits of smiling outweigh any negative influences and help to begin to calm you and your body down. Last but not least, as my gorgeous yoga instructor Kotte has taught me, Breathe. Breathe in until you can feel every corner of your lungs expand and let go of your daily conflictions as you exhale.  Breathe in in an extended rhythm with your body and your mind will follow. Don't convolute your mind into thinking "this year will be different" because a year is just another way of measuring time. 

Every year can be your year. 

"You are young and life is long and there is time to kill today" - Pink Floyd, Time.

Forgive: To stop feeling angry or resentful towards someone for an offence, flaw, or mistake.

"Just keep swimming." I think every person who's ever watched finding Nemo can find meaning in this. For me, it is to rise above jealousy, see through insidious people and focus on making myself a better person. Regrettably, I have done a lot of shitty things in my life notwithstanding I have learnt from my mistakes and grown from them. I also find myself empathetically defining my behavior from others mistakes which is not to say I am a better person that them, I was just lucky not to have been first. 

Whether you are a biblical person or not, one thing we are taught from a very young age is to treat others how you want to be treated, yet we rarely ever do. I can say with confidence that I have said and done things to people I care about that have damaged relationships and caused irreversible pain that I choose to be believe I have grown from. I can also say that I haven't always been treated in a mutually acceptable manner but once again, I CHOOSE to rise above it. 

In my step fathers suicide note he wrote "This is no-ones fault" but for years I blamed myself for his death. I would replay my last moments with him over and over  until I wasn't even sure how much of it was reality or how much I had concocted in my own head. It wasn't until June 2011 after I had been drugged and raped by a friend of a friend that I began to realise you cannot take responsibility for another persons heinous actions. For the months that followed I hated myself and being around other people, particularly men. I wallowed in self loathing and condemnation until I reached the apex of my hate and decided to end my life. Quite clearly my attempt was futile and I couldn't be happier for this fact. I made a list of not what makes me happy but why these things make me happy and attributed them to the importance of my existence. Although I still struggle being alone with male company and have my moments of doubt, I am thankful for my life and remember how lucky I am everyday to have so much love and support. 

Something I have learned from these emotional scars is that you cannot begin to forgive others until you have first forgiven yourself. You cannot live in the grave that is your past, you can either climb out or dig further down. There is no middle ground. I know now that luck does not just happen and forgiveness is not an overnight odyssey. It is a long road of letting in the sunshine that is unequivocal love in and no longer living in the dark.

"He who cannot forgive others breaks the bridge over which he himself must pass." - Confucius

Fear: Something that causes feelings of dread or apprehension; something a person is afraid of.

Fear is the cat fur of life. It gets on everything and you have no idea how it even got there. It follows you around like a physical manifestation of your mind. Fear indulges uncharacteristic behavior and not dissimilar from cat fur, rubs off on other people. Living with Depression and Anxiety, I wake up every morning with fear hanging over me like a one night stand that wouldn't leave. My mental state of mind is driven by the swift realization that I have another day to face and the fear that I may not make it to the end of that day. Eleanor Roosevelt once wrote in her book You Learn by Living that "You gain strength, courage, and confidence by every experience in which you really stop to look at fear in the face. You must do the thing which you think you cannot do." So who am I to argue with an esteemed First Lady who went through more shit than a dysentery patient? My intention in this journey is to find answers not from others, but from within myself and to face my fears.

As a child I was scared of trivial things like werewolves or my parents or getting lost. Now I lie awake at night, terrified of bills, becoming a parent and being lost. I stay up listening to things I never said in my head like a persistent "tink tink" of a car engine cooling down and worry that I will always be this way. I had never considered that I too one day, may find myself with the white picket fence and 2.5 children. How am I to raise a young malleable mind when I had my childhood ripped from me at such an early age? Am I to spend my life vicariously recreating the childhood I never had through theirs? Fear creates a longing for something lost that cannot be recovered (seemingly parallel with my debilitating debt) and pulls you and out of reality with its strings of hopeless expectation. I am extremely lucky to have such an overwhelmingly vast amount of  love and support from those that care about me however I know that is not the case for many others. This is where I would like to extend my help to those in similar situations because just like Mary Schmich wrote in her column for the Chicago tribune (later turned into one of my all time favourite songs Wear Sunscreen), "my advice has no basis more reliable than my own meandering experience".

Although I am still working on facing my demons with an affirmed confidence, I believe there is nothing more valuable than listening to others and being forthright with your afflictions. There is no shame in having a mental illness and the stigma around it is only created when people are ill advised on the symptoms of those who suffer.

Learn: to acquire knowledge of or skill in by study, instruction, or experience.

I can't swim. I wish I could, just like I wish I liked egg yolk or any music by The Smiths but unfortunately I just wasn't born to do everything. I like to think I have a sound understanding of the world around me but when I really look at something to discuss at great length, all I have is my own alluvion of experience. My attention span is so short that in this world, where we are given information in such quick succession, it is much preferable to find myself at the business end of a chocolate bar watching videos of cats rather than educating myself on Florentine architecture during the Renaissance. I can easily stay afloat in an intellectual conversation by adding quick fire facts and anecdotes but do I really even understand my contribution? For the most part, the answer is no (unless discussing a feline's ability to incite laughter on every level of stupidity) and thus uncorks my crippling social anxiety. Just like my inability to swim, my panic towards amicable "chin-wagging" is driven by fear. My fear of inhaling water and flapping aimlessly in a black abyss psychologically propels me into heavy breathing, sweating and snotty tears.

I spend most of my timing holding malicious thoughts at bay and taking medication to prevent grotesque panic attacks. Medicating mental illness is comparable to wearing inflatable arm bands in deep water; it temporarily stops you from sinking but doesn't actually fix the underlying problem which is of course that you are on a swift course to drowning. How I got so far out of my depth I'm not sure, but the medley of pills on my medical carte du jour for the past decade has created a crutch that I now so desperately cling to. I have been pharmaceutically treated by my GP for depression, grade 2 bi-polar, insomnia, acute anxiety and even Attention deficit hyperactivity disorder yet am still bound to my physician and his team of state-funded psychologists in a merry-go-round of emotion and instability.

To break this cycle I have now decided to try and teach myself to be happy physically, mentally and spiritually through a self-medicated dose of exercise, healthy eating, quitting smoking and trying out the Mantra that is Mark Manson's "The Subtle Art of Not Giving a Fuck". I do not intend to undermine any prior help given to me but more to offer myself a chance to live life how I want to live it. I also wish to invite others who similarly have been 'condemned' with ailing mental illness to join me on my bare all quest for happiness in hopes that it may aid them on their journey also. (Cat taxes included with weekly post.)