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."

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.

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.