| Dancing Queen |
[Jan. 27th, 2009|01:19 am] |
I'm now well into my third month of Citalopram 20mg once a day, and I'm beginning to feel like a completely new person. It's actually rather frightening, since I never expected to feel or experience the changes so vividly.
Let me show you an example:
This was me dancing on a platform while I was DJing at a club night I organised with a friend of mine. While I had a couple of drinks, I don't think I've ever felt as confident as I did at this point: a packed sell-out crowd at the Star and Garter before me, dancing and jumping to everything I was playing, while I made a fool of myself.
Still, it was great to get compliments like "it was nice to see a DJ enjoying himself for once". That was the whole point of Asparagus Next Left: to be an unpretentious pop and indie dance-fest that shirked the derivative and promoted the D-I-Y aesthetic. We played everything from ABBA to Wire. Unfortunately nothing that began with a Z. No, not Zappa. Never been into Zappa.
The night had free zines and badges, too, and we received nothing but compliments all evening as well. For the first time in years, I felt like a success after working hard. I even asked a girl out openly, too. I got a mixed answer, but never mind! I did it, and that's what really matters. In fact, I'm feeling very attracted to several women at the moment, which probably isn't a good thing.
I've spoken to people about this, and they comment that it's natural. I guess the point is that I've never really been like that before; usually, there's been someone in particular, I've tried my luck, and then left it at that. Now it's a little different. I'm not sure. I feel it'll get me into trouble for some reason; that eventually, I'll end up offending someone or getting into some sort of predicament. Why does everything I do always come back to women? Because I'm a man, probably.
Uni's been a little mixed recently, yet it hasn't been bothering me - well, it has, but nowhere near as prolonged. I got a mark back for a sub-editing and design piece I did and disappointingly, I only just scrapped a 2:1 on it because I essentially used two colours that weren't right. I had a brief panic attack in my room. But the strange thing about these pills is that since taking them, the panic is pushed to the tops of my thighs, achieving a cool tingling feeling: the butterflies are non-existent. I went to the extra effort of paying 80p per A3 colour sheet as well. The irony: less effort in printing it on two A4 black and white sheets and I probably would have got a better mark. I'm definitely going to query it. Still, I'll remember the irony.
On the positive side, I got a first for a music feature and managed to somehow please Dave Haslam; and I handed in my dissertation, which I have big hopes for. I'm still on course for a first despite the stumble; luckily I've built up a slight cushion to prevent any mishaps like that from affecting me greatly. Provided I have an overall average of 66 by the end of this semester, I'll be fine. Need to crack on with my shorthand and newswriting.
I have around 14 weeks of undergraduate education left before I attempt to get a full-time job. What a time to be leaving university. Rather than worry about it, though, I find it rather funny: there's always the dole, I suppose. Work placements as well - something I really need to sort out this week. Oh, and employing the D-I-Y aesthetic I preached about. If I get my 100wpm on my shorthand and sort the newswriting, then that makes much more employable, too. I'm hoping to do an MA part-time while working at a paper, although I'll probably be taking too much on. I make a habit of that. I like it, though.
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| Short Ride in a Fast Machine |
[Jan. 11th, 2009|12:20 pm] |
I feel I'm beginning to get better. On Friday, I went to the Wellbeing Centre in Stockport for my introductory session of cCBT. The therapist was called Lydia, and she came across as someone incredibly nervous and timid, friendly but unsure of herself: this was reassuring. It was mainly an administrative exercise, with forms to fill in and numbers to circle to questions like "in the last two weeks have you had suicidal thoughts?" and "in the last two weeks have you had difficulty in sleeping or have you been sleeping too much?".
I've never really suffered from suicidal thoughs per se. I've had the odd fleeting thought, but it's never been driven to the point where I've tried anything - they were thoughts borne out of feeling sorry for myself in hindsight. The sleeping has been a problem recently but that's of my own doing; I've been going out a lot and staying up until 5am going through my dissertation, reading or listening to my Spanish CDs.
But a question I did ask in relation to the forms was "at the moment I'm on anti-depressants and I'm obviously not suffering from anxiety in social situations as much as I was - which should I circle?". I still circled 3 since it's always a good compromise when having to gauge between 1 being not particularly and 5 being constantly, but the fact I asked the question shows the pills are working - working very well, in fact.
On NYE I went to Smile, and I realised that the pills are beginning to block the anxiety I have in approaching people and engaging in conversation; indeed, while it was NYE and I was horrendously drunk to the point where I'm still trying to piece the evening together, I must have kissed several women and I remember having lots of fine, spontaneous conversations.
Last night I went to a night in Manchester and again, I managed to introduce myself and talk to people I don't know without that dipping feeling in my stomach. It's liberating; each time I go out and reflect on it the day after, I realise that my behaviour and mood are changing for the better. I'm taking risks, and they're beginning to work. I'm getting away from worrying about possible inane consequences, and going ahead with asking/saying/doing what I feel. Instead of worrying about participating in a prison workshop at Styal Prison where I help with the inmates' magazine, I'm just going to do it and see.
The cCBT should start soon; I'm just waiting for my timetable to arrive from Uni before I plan any sessions. |
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| Sport, Life and Art |
[Dec. 29th, 2008|01:33 am] |
I've enjoyed my Christmas; it's been calm, relaxed and sociable. It's also been a time where I've thought quite a lot. Oh, and I have done silly things with my phone while drunk.
Coming towards the end of the year, it's obviously natural to reflect on the year that's passed. Overall, it's actually been a constructive and useful year; my work placement at The Independent was a particular highlight, and having the opportunity to go back there next year is exciting - that's if the paper's still around by then, although I think The Guardian are doing their best to scaremonger. I got published in a book after starting a blog one afternoon while incredibly bored (a blog that has remained untouched for ages and desperately needs overhauling, mind), and started a night in Manchester that's gained a fair reputation.
But the problem with my anxiety, particularly with coming to the end of my time as an undergraduate, is that I obsessively doubt what I've achieved; that any time now, something is going to happen where I let it slip and lose control of my life and future. It's like I'm waiting for the slip-up that may never come: a moment I can blame my failings on. Since I started the pills, these feelings have lessened; I do feel a lot calmer, more serene. But waiting for that moment will remain for the foreseeable future, I think.
I don't think people realise how restrictive anxiety can be; it's a condition that I feel can be just as debiliating as manic depression, although by no means as volatile or serious. The waiting, the moment, it stops you doing things; it makes tasks much more difficult because you're almost paralysed with doubt. The constant desire for that feeling of perfection. Yet if you fail to meet that certain level you ask of yourself, you regress; you have to start at the beginning, as if everything you've learnt or experienced has been irrelevant and useless.
I shouldn't talk about regression, for I feeling I am progressing. I do feel happy. I'm not completely happy, but I'm happy. Still, I pin my life on trivial things; moments are exaggerated and overblown. I think this is where the drunken text messages to women comes in. It's something I like to do while I'm pissed. I drink because it lessens this debiliating strength anxiety holds. I'm by no means dependent on alcohol - far from it. When I send these texts, they're by no means offensive or lewd - nothing like that. In fact, when I look back over them, I guess they hold a sort of innocent quality to them - teenage, perhaps. Alcohol acts as a release; it gets the feelings and thoughts I'm desperate to release out of my system. It isn't a healthy way to live.
In fact, something I have realised is that my thoughts revolve around women and, to be honest, sex, far too much. That makes me sound insincere and misogynist, but it isn't like that: if it was, I wouldn't have been single and a lapsed celibate (thanks, Morrissey) for two years. I want something fulfilling; I want to meet other people, share experiences, and love.
And yeah, I want a fulfilling sex life - who doesn't? But if I want to love, why do I fall for several girls at a time? Is it based on simple lust? Or am I too easily attracted to women? I really don't know. It frightens me. I don't want to be considered a lech or a misogynist. I don't talk to women because I fear I'll be considered in a negative way. At times, I pin how I feel on the very fact that I have been without a relationship for so long. It's a pitiful excuse, since I felt like this even when I have been in a relationship. These thoughts continually run through my head. They lead to performing acts of pubescent nonsense. They make me look desperate and pathetic. Dependent. I need to work on this.
It does link into a wider problem in relation to social situations in general: the fear of offending people, wondering what they think of me. It's why I end up spending so much time on the internet. It's like a comfort blanket. Regressive.
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| Return |
[Dec. 22nd, 2008|02:11 am] |
| [ | Music |
| | Stereolab - Tone Burst | ] |
A month ago, I started anti-depressants. It was quite a big decision for me, yet over this past month I've realised that it needn't have been; it's not as if I'm doing something that is rare and uncommon.
I put them off for two years, but during this last part of the year, I finally caved in. I went to my doctors, and decided to explain to them once again that I occasionally have crippling stomach pains when I go out; suffer from heart palpitations when I get increasingly nervous; can't concentrate because of worry and over-analysis; a constant fear of rejection and consequently, a struggle to interact with people who are either not on the internet or I just don't know.
In jest, I suffer from severe anxiety, and I'm trying to sort it out or at least reduce its impact before I leave university and attempt to make some mark on the wider world.
I've been fairly open about this with people, and I was quite shocked by how many were surprised when I told them. It seems it's been something I've hidden fairly well and I think that's one of the problems: I've felt I've had to deal with this exclusively on my own, which has probably exacerbated the problem.
As well as anti-depressants, I'm also receiving some counselling that's currently proving particularly useful. My counsellor's called Richard, and he's just what you'd expect from a counsellor I guess: he sits there, nods, agrees and acknowledges, and then offers his opinions and conclusions which are constructive, encouraging and helpful.
One of the things he recommended was that I took more risks, which I completely agreed with: from the more subtle (e.g. attempting to do things differently like altering my daily routine) to the more ambitious (beginning a random conversation with someone I've never met, chatting-up a girl I've seen in a bar/club (perish the thought...)).
By taking more risks, whether they work or not, there is a sense of confidence that can be gained: by succeeding, you gain the positives of achievement; from failing, you gain from the act of performance.
Therefore, this is why I've decided to revive this LiveJournal. It's a place where these risks will be documented and reflected upon, a place that now holds a purpose again. And you're invited to reflect on them with me if you wish.
My first act of risk-taking: making this journal public. |
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| S-T-O-C-K-P-O-R-T |
[Apr. 11th, 2008|10:59 pm] |
| [ | Mood |
| |  happy | ] |
| [ | Music |
| | The Hebrides, Op. 26, "Fingal's Cave": Felix Mendelssohn | ] |
I haven't written anything of much substance in this here journal recently, but I thought I would attempt to do so right now.
University is going well. I got an essay back yesterday (entitled: Hitchcock's Vertigo (Or the dizzying, nauseous experience of trying to satisfy the Other), if you're interested) that achieved a mark of 80, which means if I don't fuck things up over the next couple of weeks, I could be going into my final year knowing that an average of the mid-to-high sixties through the year will probably get me a first.
Getting my essay back was probably the proudest I've ever felt at Uni (including my stint at UCL) so far (even after an 82 I got for a 3,000 essay I did before Christmas), since I was worrying while writing it, wondering whether I'd gone for something that was far too complex for a 1,500 essay.
Also, to be told that my essay was original (!!!!) by a tutor who specialises in film and Psychoanalysis was rather ego-boosting if I say so myself. Although was this original as in "oh, it's original for an undergraduate" or something higher? I don't know. Probably the former.
Anyway, as you'll probably be aware, I have quite a keen interest in all things Freud and Lacan, so I was rather chuffed.
In terms of the journalism side of things, it's been a little mixed. I've got two major pieces due in over the next two weeks, both of which are mostly done, but I'm still tweaking them both to make sure they're right. I'm trying to get myself ready for the NCTJ exams, but I have the feeling I've bitten off a little too much -- we'll see.
I haven't been able to do anything for Fake DIY for a few weeks which is worrying me, but I haven't received any abusive or angry emails from them yet (the editor seems to quite like me, which is a bonus), so I'll carry on as I am until I'm ready. To be honest, I could have written some, but I would have only sat there saying "Oh! You should be doing Uni work!" -- can't win.
Oh, and my Broadcast Journalism tutor said that my writing was good enough to be broadcast on the BBC; again, ego-boost ahoy.
Erm... that's it for now, I think. For now, I leave you with this:
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| In Defence of Darts |
[Dec. 31st, 2007|12:41 am] |
| [ | Mood |
| |  calm | ] |
While trying to play darts during a pub-crawl, a common argument arose; an argument that always occurs when darts brings in the New Year: Is darts a sport?
The vast majority of people believe that darts can't be a sport because it apparently doesn't involve physical exertion, and is supposedly comprised mostly of overweight beer drinkers and purveyors of the pork scratching. It seems that it still works hard to rid itself of the Fred Trueman, Indoor League “na’then” connotations, where a jug of Tetley's is lingering on the table, awaiting consumption by the parched man frowin' a'raws.
The definition of ‘sport’ is so ambiguous, confusing and has so many meanings, that the Oxford English Dictionary is reduced to a series of huge paperweights and door-stops, where clarity is the last thing you find.
It is a “pleasant pastime; entertainment or amusement; recreation, diversion”; “a theatrical performance or show; a play” and “a series of athletic contests engaged in or held at one time and forming a spectacle or social event.” Given those examples, perhaps arrows is definitely a sport, after all. Still, I doubt that will quell the doubters.
So where best to look but at the website for that sporting of all sporting organizations: the International Olympic Committee.
As well as the IOC obviously listing the Olympic sports that figure in summer and winter games, it also has a list of 'recognised sports' which, if recommended and elected for by IOC members, could become an Olympic sport. These recognised sports, including golf, rugby and most recently cricket, also include bridge, orienteering and air sports (before you strain yourself, air sports encompasses the likes of aerobatics, ballooning, general aviation and gliding).
Now correct me if I'm wrong, but none of the above exert a large amount of physical strain (with the possible exception of orienteering; although from doing it once when I was 7-years-old at school, it mainly involved walking around a wood with a wet map and getting lost).
Most importantly, none of the above experience the atmosphere, the intensity and the physical and mental strain that a top-class darts player has to cope with, where you’re in front of 2,500 raving lunatics; throwing for trebles slightly wider than a postage stamp; (although according to Trueman, that’s nothing compared to a Yorkshire dart-board); computing sums at a rapid speed; and maintaining concentration of two hours plus, stood up, leaning over, continuously throwing and staring at a target.
The argument will continue, but I am unwavering: darts is a sport. Nothing demonstrates that more than this year's PDC World Championship at Alexandra Palace, which has shown the physical and mental stamina needed in order to win in a gladiatorial atmosphere devoid of your prawn sandwiches.
I wonder if we’ll ever see bridge in a similar setting? It would probably be reminiscent of this. |
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| Alan Johnston (Public Post) |
[Jul. 4th, 2007|03:19 am] |
| [ | Mood |
| | ecstatic | ] |
Alan Johnston has just been on the phone to the night-duty news presenter on News 24 and he was so astonishingly composed and measured after 114 days in captivity.
My God, I often shudder at my nocturnal nature, but it's paid off now. He has, without doubt, just become one of my all-time heroes. I know this may sound utterly ridiculous, but I honestly feel that this is a moment that could shape me as a person for the rest of my life.
Whenever I feel a shed of doubt, hardship, misery or desperation; or wonder whether I will reach my goals or I am ridden with pessimism, I will reach for this and remember what I saw and the feelings I experienced. A man threatened with death, who has just been released, was more articulate and composed than the vast majority of journalists (including myself) could dream of in normal circumstances.
This is perhaps the most personally affecting piece of news I have witnesses thus far in my life. Yes, even more than 9/11.
No-doubt the Beeb will replay it. It is required viewing - there are no excuses.
I'm going to make this a public post. |
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| Notice |
[Aug. 22nd, 2006|12:04 am] |
Friends Only.
Please leave a comment and who knows, I might add you. It depends how I'm feeling. |
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moscow_olympics's journal
