The root of my issues

It's taken more than ten months of mentoring, shovelling muck, and messy community for me to get to this point. I arrived at Gilead Foundations knowing that I had issues - a lot of them. Yet, somehow, I was reluctant to accept them. Today I received a revelation that explains all of my issues whilst holding them all together. It is a truth that I have been told over and over, but have never known. It has taken study, prayer and a willingness to alter foundational beliefs that were untrue. Finally, I have an understanding that is allowing me to accept the fullness of God's love, which has always been a mystery to me.

The source of my difficulties is found in one place: me!

(Classic Christian blog, you think. I would have thought the same. I may be writing this to an audience of just one person who finds this helpful on their journey towards God: so be it. Even if I am writing this just as a simple expression of thanks to God for His work in me, I am content.)

Allow me to back up to explain myself.

On the first day of August, I started a workbook called "The Genesis Process", which self-identifies as "A relapse prevention workbook for addictive/compulsive behaviors" (the authors are American, give them a break). It is based on "client participation, counselor involvement and proven counseling techniques". It is absolutely fantastic and I could not do it credit here. Put simply, it gets to the root of a client's compulsive behaviour and corrects false beliefs in the areas of identity, control, fear etc., whilst putting in place healthy accountability to self and others, with the aim of allowing the client to live a life without addiction. 

Initially, I was reluctant to even accept that I had issues. Slowly, after a few weeks, I admitted that I don't like accepting things about myself that are unpleasant, especially issues of vulnerability and honesty. I realised how people-pleasing was a central issue. I began to accept that all of our actions come from choice and that I must challenge anxious/angry/arrogant thoughts. I slowly realised that humility was necessary to successfully progress in recovery, which means that I am not necessarily right. I gained understanding of how I have used a variety of different mechanisms to anaesthetise pain and fear instead of facing them. Anxiety was present in almost every area of my life, yet I started to learn that I could do something about it. In the late autumn, I learnt that I have maintained narcissistic tendencies since a young lad (confirmed by my father who is a psychotherapist, who wisely did not tell me so until the right time). Manipulation, arrogance, judgmentalism...slowly, more and more profound truths came up, each more surprising, unpleasant and fragile than the previous. (Above: Narcissus, Caravaggio)

Many of these things (and many other things - I have filled nine journals and three notebooks in my time here) overlapped in their occurrence. Whilst I did feel overwhelmed at times, I look back and see that it was guided by an unseen hand. By myself, or even by the guidance of Gilead, it would have happened in the wrong order and I would have had a breakdown and returned to a depressive, uncooperative state. 

Essentially, I learnt that I am reliant upon other people in my life, instead of myself. Whenever I started to rely on myself, things started to go downhill. I slowly learnt this by making many mistakes, but being in a loving environment that has helped me to understand them. Yet, other people could not guide my life - indeed, basing my identity upon others' views of me was one of my problems! Stability only came when I based it upon God. I returned to Him each time, relying on His definition of Himself and me. He sets the rules. 

Yet one thing did not change: I could not truly receive love. I had come to realise that, whilst I understand the idea of love and I could appreciate it, I never actually let it in. I had begun to step out in faith, seeing healings and transformation, even growing in knowledge and wisdom...yet not knowing love. I prayed for months to know His love. Did I know it? Had I experienced it? Was it just...less impressive than I thought? 

Then, on Monday, I gained new understanding. With the help of my wonderful girlfriend, I came to the realisation that I do not believe I deserve love. How could I receive it, if I do not believe I deserve it? This was ground-breaking! It explains the root of many of my issues. But...now what?

It occurred to me about a month ago to do some study on the Cross, since I realised I have little understanding of this central event of eternity. I walked up to Calvary, asking what it was all about, like Susan after seeing the risen Aslan. I was at the feet of Jesus. I look up...and I cannot relate to His sacrifice. Why? This is the revelation I have received:

               I did not believe I am responsible for His death.

I have been a Christian for nearly a decade, yet I have not truly believed that Jesus died for me, because I have not seen myself as His murderer. I have been a Christian, yes - Romans. 10:9 says we are Christians if we confess Him as Lord with our mouths and believe in our hearts that God raised Him from the dead. But it has taken years of maturing to actually believe in my heart that I killed Him. I was re-experiencing the Gospel; more truly this time. I went through all the questions of how I was involved. But that was not the end.

This morning I learnt of a more profound, more blasphemous, more humbling truth that explains why I did not believe I am responsible for His death. It is actually written all throughout the Bible and it is preached and taught by Christian leaders all around the world. It is condemned in the second of the Ten Commandments.

               I believe I am God.

This may sound ridiculous; but is it really? I have not seen myself as culpable because I have lived in an illusion of self-elevation, in which I am above the sinful humanity for whom Jesus died. If I judge others - which I am inclined to do - then I raise myself up into a position worthy of judging others. I don't know their background, their thoughts or what they do when they're alone. Only God knows all that. (This inclination is seen all over the place: do we not culturally idolise Google as omnipotent, omniscient and omnipresent?) If I am God, then I am already righteous. However, this does not fit reality. Thus, I attained a perfectionist attitude that attempted to alter my life to fit with my illusion. I fear being human. I have been so terrified of vulnerability and weakness that I have covered it up with reams of (self-)deceit (all lies starts with self-deceit - see the fall of Satan). I have not been able to experience the fullness of God's love because I have not seen myself as deserving of His wrath. What is forgiveness without the hurt? 

God has not been answering my prayer to experience His love until now, because I have not approached Him with the correct structure in place. Dr Larry Crabb writes, "From the example of the Israelites, it is clear that God will not listen to me if I approach him proudly, requiring that he prove himself to me, thinking that I have the right to demand him to do things on my behalf" (Finding God; p. 96). Now that I am bowing at the Cross instead of standing, with hands on hips, in unconscious judgement of it, I am starting to experience the sweet river that so many sing about. My main love language is, I believe, time-spending. Jesus obviously knows this (He designed me so He would) and revealed to my heart this morning that He wants to spend time with me. I connected with this truth and knew a glimpse of the forthcoming empowerment (Eph. 3:14-21). The very best thing is that I have barely tasted of this sweet river. It will only get better! What a wonderful truth!

In giving up all control, in accepting my identity as a creature of God, and in accepting that God is God, I am coming to know life without anxiety and depression as God intended. Life is going to be very tough, but that's okay because my life is in His hands! Better yet, I am experiencing Him increasingly more and knowing ever more fulfilment (John 10:10). 

"I am the LORD; that is my name! I will not give my glory to anyone else, nor share my praise with carved idols." (Isa. 42:8. NLT)

All glory to God!

To my Valentine

You are so important to me.

I look around at the world and sometimes feel like I miss something that others have - then I remember that I have you. Relationships are hard, but we are meant to put the effort in and know what it means to love and be loved. I have that with you.

You motivate and accept me.

I have purpose and goals because of you. You make me feel alive and I don’t feel right when I’m away from you. I want to think about you all the time. I don't care what other people think because I know you and that you're in my heart. It may all be a cliché but that's because it's real. I know what true love is because of you and I want to be with you forever.

Thank you, Jesus: I love you.  

Recovery

On one sunny June morning, a 21 year-old boy, full of darkness and confusion, arrives at Gilead Foundations. He moves his belongings into his new room, fills out the necessary forms and settles in. He knows that this is the right place to be; he has reached rock bottom - though he tried to dig down further - but the time has come to turn around and start climbing up again. 

It is time to leave behind the selfish ways of childhood...and grow up.

Within one month of returning to work (physically/spiritually/mentally/emotionally), the boy's family say he is like a different person: willing to hold a conversation with those he previously blamed and disrespected; lighter in spirit and less angry; starting to open up, even accepting responsibility for his decisions. His sleep patterns have started to even out. He is eating healthily. Goodness me, is that...is that a smile?!

Slowly, surely, he changes. As he listens to those who know what they are talking about, he learns that he has believed the wrong things for many years. God is not malicious. This boy is not supposed to sort everything out by himself. He is worthy of love. He had believed these truths in his head, and confessed them, even taught them, to others; yet, emotionally, he had not truly believed them. Emotionally, he was not practising what he was preaching. "God is love and He wants you to experience His love" - "but His love does not apply to me: how dare I receive it?" God may have saved his spirit, but his mind was unrenewed and was enslaved to lies and desires.

Such change requires choice, however. Those who rely on compulsive behaviours to cope with life chose, at one point, to seek escape in their 'drug' of choice, instead of asking for help. They find it helps, for a brief moment in time, and use it again. Thus begins an addiction. Alcohol, heroine, sex, shopping, even exercise...anything that takes away the pain and fear. Our 21 year-old has relied on the wrong things for over a decade. He is blessed: some go for many decades without change; some never change; some never even learn that they need to change.

He chooses to take the more difficult route instead of blocking out the pain. He does not get it right straight away, and sometimes chooses to go back to the ways of comfort that he knows so well. However, because he has support - a lot of it - he is able to stop beating himself up and receive love and help. He discovers that he is worthy of love - he always was! He's actually kinda cool. He's liked himself before - too much, in fact; enjoying the attention of others had been one form of escape - but never truly loved himself. That is a choice. 

As this boy continues down the narrow path, it does not get easier. Yet, it becomes more rewarding. As he gives instead of just taking, he finds that it is better to give. It is more difficult, yet more rewarding. Giving...gives back. He learns many such new things. Putting these things in practise takes courage, but when he has faith, he grows. Things do not work out how he expected, but they turn out to be better in the end. This strange new life needs new tools, new muscles, new sight and new ears. Following Jesus turns out to be more difficult than he imagined, much more rewarding, and much, much more glorious. 

This boy has started to become a man.

Denial: singles & couples

(Written earlier in May)

As I write this, I am sat on the wall between Torre Abbey green and the beach, looking out to sea. I've been thinking that the only thing ruining this otherwise lovely evening (apart from the occasional stupid driver roaring past) is the couples who seem to make up the majority of the people walking past, or also enjoying the evening sun. I don't usually give in the couples/singles dichotomy (e.g. When I've been in a relationship I've made sure to not seem "coupley"), but I clearly feel in the minority and it highlights an aspect of my unhappiness. Indeed, I looked at my shadow and it was moving: upon looking behind me, the sun burned a silhouette of a smooching couple onto my retina.

Then I wondered how said couples would respond, if they could hear my thoughts. Some may rightly remind me that I should focus on being more grateful regarding what I do have. Some of them may claim that this should be 'their' time since the rest of the time is spent working, caring for kids or some other stress. I imagined how 'the town' would look if single people took over in the evenings and couples dominated the night. Obviously I am making generalisations in all this.

Now, I've been reading Slavoj Žižek, and his first chapter in Living in the End Times is called 'Denial'. It's absolutely fantastic and recommend everybody read it - especially those who identify as liberal. Denial has hence been on my mind. When I apply it to this topic, it becomes clear that we are often in denial of our own situations, and believe others' self-denial. Single life is hard, but there are things that make it easier. Life in a relationship is hard, but there are things that make it easier. Apologies to any Mormons: I can't comment on polygamous life.

Keeping this in mind, if I see a couple enjoying the sun, I am glad for them. They should enjoy the little things; as should the rest of us. We all have equal right to that. If they are showing off with gratuitous public affection then I remind myself they are not portraying a true reflection of life as a couple. They are in denial and I shouldn't believe it; just as couples shouldn't believe the image of single people "living it up", since it may be a coping mechanism enacted in denial. If they are truly enjoying themselves, then the couples should feel glad for those who are single, since they have something to enjoy. Life is hard for all of us. We can wish we were single, dating, single, married, Kermit...back and forth; or accept our own struggles and be glad when we each find things to enjoy. Wishing does very little, except for encouraging denial and frustration. Acceptance is key. 

¿Por qué prometemos?

¿Por qué prometemos? 

No sabemos 

Lo que pasará.

Parece insistimos

Que tenemos 

Fingir.

Por el porvenir.

Lo que vendrá

Determinará el promete.

Tu fé es fuerte;

Es un caso de suerte.

Pues...

¿Rodarás los dados?



Why do we promise?
We don't know
What will come to pass.

It seems we insist
That we have to
Pretend

For the future.
That which will come
Will determine the promise

Your faith is strong;
It's a case of luck
So...

Will you roll the dice?

Tomorrow

Tomorrow:

A twisted idea.
More work? More stress?
Do I still try my best?
All of it's pointless and we'll turn to dust,
It all looks the same, like we're stuck in a rut.
No time for answers,
That's it, back to work.
Don't even try, mate; and that's not a joke.
Get through today; have a drink, do you smoke?

Tomorrow:

We all need tomorrow.
A chance. Some hope.
Don't get stuck saying "nope".
Dream all want for it might just come true.
The sky is the limit, and you'll make it through.
Get off your backside,
Get up, try again!
So much is out there: we've been to the moon!
Why not keep going and why stop so soon?!

Today's all we have;
And it's quite enough.

Beautiful does not mean perfect

One of the projects in my final year of studying art in high school was entitled 'Patterns and Structure: Exploring decay in the natural world and challenging my perception of beauty'; essentially, I photographed a dying leaf and found myself more attracted to it than a healthy flower and wondered why. I consider it still.

There is beauty in perfection and there is a different beauty in imperfection. Consider:

A three-legged dog who still bounds around.

A dirty, battered teddy bear.

A marriage fighting against illness.

An unfinished symphony.

A love-letter that was never received.

A tree that yields just one flower.

A human.

None of my friends are perfect (whereas, clearly, I am). The vast majority of us seem to struggle with self-image, in some way. We all tell each other the same things without believing our own wisdom. I wonder if these thoughts will help us know we are beautiful, by removing connotations of perfection. Is a model more beautiful if they are covered in make-up, or crying on someone's shoulder as they open up about their issues? Which is more real and true? 

You're not perfect. If you're trying to be then I recommend you stop. The prior examples talk of love, commitment, faith, vulnerability, joy and hope. They may seem sadder, but that doesn't negate the other elements. Beauty, like these, is higher and lasts longer than happiness: it can reside past a memory. Similarly, it is not simple: like truth, it is multi-faceted, and is not stale in a Stoic eternity but changes with history. 

I am writing simplistically, because I have to. Each individual is flawed in their own complex way. Death, evil, loneliness, pain, suffering: these are not beautiful. Perhaps it's the fight against them that is; the declaration of truth in the face of hardship. Fighting together. I'm being simplistic because all I'm doing is planting seeds of thought.

Learning to (truly) love ourselves seems to be one of life's toughest lessons - which makes it sound as if it's possible to learn (I hope it is) - I know it is for me, anyway. Perhaps if we learn to accept living with flaws (not to say they're "good") we will uncover a delicate beauty, which will in turn help us love ourselves. How that looks depends on the individual. When I think of each of my friends and family, I think how each and every one of them is beautiful: partly in similar ways, partly in their own way. In a paradoxical way, it seems better to accept our ageing bodies and flawed characters as they change with time, than 'try' to fit the ideal. By fighting against the cultural ideal of what it means to 'stay beautiful', we will develop a more lasting, true beauty. I'm not at all saying we don't need to change: I'm encouraging us to think again about how we need to change. Compare a celebrity with Botox to a smiling pensioner on their way to bingo with friends. One can attempt to squeeze oneself into the idealistic standards of our culture, or accept and love oneself, "warts and all". 

Stop trying to be beautiful. You already are. 

The question is: do you see it?

Down the dark Downs.

A moonless walk makes a monotonous world;
A rest for the eyes.
Electric lamps a half mile away,
Stolen from the gods;
We swarm and huddle around them,
Cooking and eating our own livers.

Consumed by the cold, comforting night.
Around the slippery corner, and
The lights from the motels
Hit me, and the wind.
Is anyone sleeping,
Surrounded by these unnatural stars?
My presence incends another one,
The brightest;
Sorry.

Back into the woods,
30%; come on thighs.
Along the road.
19%; come on phone,
Back into the stale light.

Freezing fingers are worth the time,
In a hidden cavern of peace.

Torquay seafront at night

Orion over the Western towns,
Lights driving people to and fro,
String of striking blue, white, red, green.

The dark grey sea reminds us of its quiet menace,
Looking to be only an arm's length away,
Millions of pounds of white trapped until morning.

Cold, black wind.
Strained silence; thousands of echoed warnings,
Authorised by a lighthouse and his minions.

"Don't get too close!"
Worried parents,
Cautious skippers.

Rusted metal, once new,
Fighting the salt water with concrete,
Man and nature: who is crueler?

Orange-lit rooms for a cosy night,
Escapism bought with tired eyes and pensions,
"Leave it until morning, dear".

Dead, alone; perhaps
Resting, comforted.
What will morning bring?

Mental health stigma: Crazy vs. Depressed

It has become quite commonplace to complain about the lack of awareness and understanding when it comes to mental health; so much so, I reckon that a good few people will scroll past this post because they're already fed up of it. Is it really that bad?

I could write about my experiences with psychiatric nurses and doctors, who should know what they're talking about but unfortunately sometimes don't. Indeed, I have had some pretty shit experiences, which is statistically not unusual for somebody with BPD/EUPD. However, I thought I'd demonstrate the lack of awareness in the wider arena, shown in the public usage of language.

When I was younger I was fascinated by mysterious things, driven on by youth's imagination. I adored (and still adore) studying black holes. Scientific topics were more interesting to me, compared to the more cultural/mythological topics like Bigfoot, since effort put into study seemed more likely to produce results. Then, at one point, I began to think: when does somebody become crazy? Madness seemed to cross that topical boundary. Of course, psychology is a well-developed science, but it's more common to just hear something like "Oh, here comes Crazy Jerry" than a statement based upon a psychological understanding of insanity. But seriously: does somebody just get closer and closer to madness until they 'snap'? Who is crazy? I discussed it with a couple of friends and in the end decided that many of us exhibit signs of madness at some point; and that's actually not far from the truth. Due to its over-usage, it could mean a variety of things, including bouts of fury, as purported by Seneca and Saint Basil.

Ironically, despite being such an alien topic when I was younger, I have ended up suffering from a condition that includes psychosis in its symptomatology. I have heard things that weren't real. It was scary. If I recounted that to a stranger, they would be much more likely to show a prejudiced concern or fear of me than if I said "I am often very depressed": big deal, everybody gets depressed. Are only the really messed-up people "crazy"? Is it reserved like a dinner at The Ritz-for-Schizos...hmmm? People who suffer from psychosis deserve judgement no more than those who suffer from depression. Why judge anyway? Aren't we all human? If you judge somebody suffering from dementia then you're an arsehole, yet they may be just as likely to hurt somebody out of fear and confusion as somebody with BDP. We're not trained assassins. We're in pain.

How do you use such language? Do you ever talk about somebody "going schizo"? Or "spazzing out"? I've used these phrases. I've also 'done' these myself. If you see a lonely old man talking to himself, do you label him as "crazy", avoid any eye-contact and thus aid his loneliness? That old man might be you one day. I'm already him. I had one of my laughing fits over nothing, on the way down to the library just now. Evidently, I know what's real most of the time; but even if someone is completely delusional, labelling and dismissing them will do little good. In the same way that there is more awareness to not use "gay" to describe someone's dress sense, I'm advocating that we think before using "insane", "nuts", or even "depressing" as adjectives if they're belittling.

"Using that kind of language sends the message that it's OK to trivialize mental illness and lazily substitute real people's lived experiences for 'wild,' 'silly,' 'dangerous' or 'out of control'."

- Lydia X. Z. Brown, an activist, writer and speaker focused on disability justice.

Language is changing and nobody has authority over it. Furthermore, if you don't know that certain words are hurtful, why would you change how you use them? I've been known to get annoyed at political correctness gone mad and I recognise that this isn't in a vacuum. Understanding is a two-way thing: we sufferers must be patient with those who don't know what it's like. But if you've read this, you have no excuse but to be more aware of how you use such language. Please?

Living with BPD/EUPD

Once again, I'm not following my own plans but I think this post could have beneficial effects for me, those around me and support for anybody else who suffers with BDP/EUPD...hence, I've allowed myself to post it. I was given a prognosis of Borderline Personality Disorder/ Emotionally Unstable Personality Disorder by my local Crisis team that has been supported as a working diagnosis by my doctor and a psychiatric nurse (let alone my own research and support from friends with experience); so whilst I haven't had a final diagnosis, I believe I am warranted to discuss the issue and recount my experience. It has taken this long to get to this diagnosis because the condition is often confused with depression, anxiety, bipolar disorder, anorexia and others. This is a pretty hefty post, but I do hope it is helpful to somebody. At the very least, it should help raise awareness. I start with showing symptoms of the condition found in my previous blog posts, then my life leading up to recent times, and finish with my most recent experiences. In the first two sections, symptoms are in italics. If you can relate to them, please do not self-diagnose, but speak to a professional like your GP. 

In previous blogs:
- "I get bored easily" (June).

- "My life still feels quite turbulent. I cannot remember when my fingernails were not completely bitten back. This process - of feeling confused, depressed and vulnerable, then clarity, enjoyment and a degree of peace - is continuing with no apparent end or purpose. It is like watching an endless tennis match...apart from, in this instance, I'm the tennis ball: thwacked and thwopped from one side to the other at 100mph. I don't know how to answer the question, "How are you?", anymore" (July); "I seemed to be switching between feeling very sad/defeated and angry/content with being selfish" (October).

- See also "RESURRECTION" and "You're the judge (oh-oh)" for examples of elation/rapid thinking, or "Lessons from heartbreak" for consequences of unstable and toxic relationships.

In life:
- I used to say I was an adrenaline junky, when in fact I just got a thrill from being reckless. In adolescence this took the form of painful experiences on a mountain bike, or an eagerness for parkour (not unique to a teenage boy, I know); but I always dreamt of skydiving, bungee-jumping, squirrel-suiting etc. Fortunately, my desire to achieve and a good upbringing prevented most backtalk (talkback?) to teachers.

- Both my ex-partners said I'm like The Hulk with regards to my anger which can rear up quickly and be overpowering. Interestingly, I seem to relate most to the contemporary Hulk who said in Avengers Assemble that he's "always angry"; anger seems to be my underlying 'emotion', as if it's constantly simmering and is ever ready to boil over.

- I think I've struggled with blaming others for my issues for longer than I've thought.

- In December '16, I experienced psychosis after prolonged and extreme stress, combined with reckless suicidal behaviour.

- Resorting to maladaptive coping strategies has led to/worsened my addictive personality.

- I've always had a bad memory, which is just a characteristic of mine, though I do seem to be especially forgetful when stressed.

- My lovely previous partner once likened me to a chameleon who changes colour to its surroundings - though I was watching QI the other day and apparently they change according to their mood/temperature instead of environment?! - meaning that I seemed to adapt to different groups of people so I get on with most folk. Of course there are some groups I just can't get on with, though it is true that I like to approach/be approached by all types of people. The downside of this is that I have issues with believing that I'm actually putting on a face, like a mask, and that underneath I'm actually extremely unlikeable. Sometimes I can identify and combat this, but most of the time I don't even realise. For a long time I have believed people will abandon me when they know the real me. This seems absurd, and it is, but it's actually become so subtle that I don't find it strange when I get annoyed at people for laughing at my jokes because in my head they're falling for a trick; it actually comes back to hating myself (instead of being annoyed at people for its own sake) since I then treat myself like a trickster for 'catching out' my wonderful friends. 

- The consequence of this belief is that I become very emotionally attached to people who do know the 'real me', leading to unstable relationships. I may rely on some people too much, acting like a jealous and fragile partner if they take long to reply or say something I don't expect or understand. On the other hand, I may push them away, believing that it's better for my sake if they leave me sooner, or better for their sake because I will eventually hurt them. Clearly, this is not a healthy approach to any relationship/partnership/friendship.

New experiences:
- Complete. Instability. Ever since the overdose I have no idea what I'll be like - or more accurately, who I'll be. I'm understanding why it's called a personality disorder now. If somebody is sad most of the time, they'll probably become likened to a sad person...no? Same with a happy person. If you're happy a lot, you may put 'bubbly' on a dating profile. With BDP/EUPD, instead of having mood swings, it's like I have personality swings. Imagine a triangle with "Angry", "Sad" and "Happy" in each vertex. Now imagine another triangle overlaying the original triangle, of an area twice the size (for example). In the vertices of the larger triangle read "Violent fury", " Suicidal depression" and "Elation". My emotions are very intense and very hard to control.

Somebody with this condition experiences emotions to an extreme degree, and they can change very quickly. It's like I change from a stereotypical convict with anger issues (which is unfortunately not far from the stereotype of BDP/EUPD, so it seems), to the life of any party. Obviously, emotions are more varied and complex, so it'd be more like a circle than a triangle, but the latter was better for an example. Can you see why I struggle to know who I am?

What makes it worse is that my family and local friends only see me at my most 'normal'. I may seem irritative or depressed, but I certainly don't look 'that bad'. They haven't seen me walking around at night because I haven't slept for 30 hours. They haven't seen me when I'm lying in my bed, staring ahead motionlessly (like Stewie Griffin when he has the ADD pills), because there are so many thoughts going around my mind that I can't capture any of them. I can't follow my emotions, or tell which ones are reliable or true, let alone anybody who can't get inside my head (which is most people). Sometimes my emotions and thoughts do make sense to me, because they're all interlinked: apparently they don't make sense to other people. I'm misled like humanity in its sin. Some friends do understand, which is wonderful, but some have listened to my rants and seemed unable to help...because they can't! It's like being in a labyrinth, apart from the labyrinth changes and changes quickly. Furthermore, in my eyes, it *might* just be a straight road. How on earth would somebody reach out a hand in that situation? Am I holding your hand or this just another illusion? I get so stressed that to prevent me from tearing my hair out or walking into traffic, I distract myself with TV or YouTube, which only aids my ongoing spiral into isolation. I can rarely exercise since I may be able to eat only 400 calories in a day, or barely move for hours. I hope the complexity of this condition is starting to come across.

I am still me. Maybe. I mean, if I am me, I don't know when. Indeed, I don't know how long I'll be me...or at least a pleasant me. It's really difficult not to believe that the likes of Gabriella or lost friends have dodged a bullet. They probably did. Whatever I think changes quickly anyway: "Maybe there's hope?"; "Look at the damage"; "It's better not to talk"; "But I need them"; "Try and work things out"; "They're better without me"...essentially the normal post-relationship/friendship thinking but seemingly more extreme. Sometimes people suggest I try to remember what they think of me, but the lies still seep in with camouflage. If we do talk, I often victimise myself - maybe to try and even things out? I don't know. That should be written on my tombstone (like that'll be affordable!) as the new caption of my life:

I don't know.

Whenever I talk to people I try to ask how they are so I don't get others involved in my introspective spirals. It's pretty foolproof. I can't spend very long with people in real life since I get exhausted quickly, so I tend to talk to friends mostly over Messenger. This isn't ideal when isolation is a problem but there's little I can do until I'm in an environment that provides psychiatric support and routine. This will be provided in the programme I hope to join soon. It is very expensive, so if I am accepted I will set up a fundraising account for anybody who wishes to help.

I hope this has been beneficial to more than just me.

A story that nearly had an ending

TW: The following post contains language/imagery that some readers may find upsetting.

The flood waters had been rising and falling as they do.

Then, they rose.

From multiple sources, all coming in; very subtle at first so I was unaware for a long time. I'd notice things were off sometimes, but only when my thoughts were already out of place. Ehhh.

Then it worsened.

It became more obvious: I started noticing the water, where it came in. It had already become stagnant in some places; it would require a proper effort to clear it. Efforts were made, but never fully successful. How could they be?, when nasty-smelling stuff was rising up without even attracting my attention.

Going to uni was the game-changer. The new experiences. The opportunities. A new style of life! It felt great. Little did I know that the consequences of both old and newly made choices, combined with different types of stress, led to the gradual opening of separate floodgates. When I realised what was going on, it was far too late. I got help - I had to be rescued. I'd slipped over on the wet floor: this became a regular occurrence. I let people in. We tried to look for the sources to plug them, but the water levels kept rising. There was some apparent progress at times. Illusory, unfortunately.

My inner quality of life deteriorated. I lost the ground floor and had to survive upstairs. People helped; lo, 'twas a complex situation. Eventually I had to give up uni in the hope that the stress would stop the pungent waters rising. It did so for a moment, but the other sources opened up, or restarted their spewing of the unhealthy fluids. I tried sorting things by myself; sometimes making things better, but more often worse.

I began to camp in the bedroom. The chamber of pleasure and rest became my survival raft as the waters still rose. Tough decisions and unfortunate events occurred. Things only got worse. From the outside the house was still standing and appeared functional, though its owner was in torment and debt. Those who ventured in could see the trouble. Some swam to provide supplies and comfort.

Finally, I moved into the attic. Dark. Alone. The black, lifeless water cutting off hope as it lapped up to the hatch. Only in sleep did I drift away to warmer tides, even feeling sand between my toes before waking up shivering. A few books. Late-night comedy. Alcohol, cigarettes and pornography. Starting to lose oxygen. Cried for help. A few came but didn't know how to help; or if they did, it oft-times made me worse. Underneath, the floodgates are open and still flowing. Any effort was futile. Darkness all around: outside-in; inside-out. My eyes strain to see the letters I read or write. Bed's soaking. Everything stinks.

The end is inevitable.

How did it get so bad? Didn't I try?

Should I just wait in agony, or do it myself? No; wait, hang on. To what? Do it. No, I'll keep trying.

Don't bother. It'll be ages before you're missed. You're only endangering the houses on either side. You're the cause. You're the problem, you always have been.

No it's okay that's not true. I'm loved and have hope...

Hope? Hope?! You idiot. Just finish it; everyone'll be better off.

No...stop!

Die! No! DIE! NO! DIE! DIE! DIE!!!




Angry parents. Abusive nurses. A cannula in each arm. Disbelief all around. Such potential, nearly wasted.

"We're all our own solutions."

F*** off.

Back in the attic. Quiet. Water gently rises. Thinking. My stomach rumbles and gurgles; I have no appetite. More thinking.

"Get a job" - get your head outta your arse. Night becomes my day. Little sleep.

2 a.m. Wakey-wakey.

I still love Him.

CLUNK. A few of the floodgates close.

I still love Him. I feel betrayed - that's why I don't talk to Him - but He hasn't changed. He didn't shut the floodgates...but He didn't let me drown. A peace. A presence. Warmth in the cold. Hope. True hope. Somehow, He's in control. A smile. Colour.

A sigh. Okay, you're here. But...there's so much to do. Everything's rotting. Everybody's so worried and hurt. Where do I begin? Seriously? Hello...?

Psalm 46:10.

Fin.

RESURRECTION

I can tell everybody who feels out of control or hope that THERE IS HOPE! True, grounded, effective HOPE! I repeat: THERE IS HOPE.

You don't have to solve it all! The pressure's off! He has a plan, just accept it from Him! I know it sounds cliché but it all fits and it all makes sense - best of all, it's true!

I still have depression, anxiety, addictions and personality disorders mixed in with a whole load of other shit that all needs dealing with and of course I'll have bad days but now I have a reason to look up! The reason. No more of this "My girlfriend keeps me going", "New meds will do it", "Dogs", "Yoga", "Sex", "Weed", " Retail therapy"...they're all replacements!

He made you. You weren't known and loved by Fido or Ralph Lauren before the beginning of time but by Jesus!

Look at my writing. Look back. See how different it is. This is not some ridiculously orchestrated religious feat to 'get you over to my side' - I have had the worst year of my life and genuinely attempted suicide twice last weekend. Read the accounts on my blog of loss, pain, numbness, doubt, anxiety and general misery that has defined my life for months. Read it. It's all true.

But last night, at 02:00, I woke up and realised I still love God and somehow he's still there - as in here - and that my eyes have been opened to the fact that there's HOPE. The only real hope I've ever felt (again). Thank you to those who've been praying for me. Now, just as the Gospel writers testified to the new life and HOPE they found in Jesus, so am I doing the same now. He's the same, it's all the same, it's all true.

I don't know about the future. I may die tomorrow. My depression may get even worse but at the present moment all I can say is what I know about the past is true and frankly, since that's the case, then our lives have eternal consequences; and I think I've been through utter shit so that I can wake up those of you who are trundling through this life without realising the gravity of living everyday without Jesus because we need Him. I need Him. I kinda knew I did but was blinded to just how much I need him - don't scoff; don't be that stubborn old man who doesn't go to the GP before it's too late. Jesus has given us our diagnosis and we need to wake up and accept him!

I might be depressed but I'm awake, and it ain't hypomania because I understand the gravity of not accepting the true source of life! The Bible says we're dead in our sin if we don't accept Him! Dead! Don't give me those comfortable, actually-really-outdated arguments like "Well, we don't really know what happened" BLA BLA BLA WE ARE BEING OFFERED HOPE AND JOY AND LIFE AND IT ALL SEEMS TOO GOOD TO BE TRUE BECAUSE GOD IS AWESOME AND YOU WON'T SEE IT UNLESS YOU JOIN THE PARTY (NOT THE POLITICAL KIND).

Share this, get talking: this is good news, people - think about why it's called that.

Just because this country "used to be Christian" (I am not denying that, I just don't like the phrase) it doesn't mean it can't be again! (bite me)

HOPE HOPE HOPE HOPE!

DO YOU KNOW WHAT THAT'S LIKE?!

Nothing can promise the future unless they're god-like...or God! No human, no Government, no job, no relationship, no ideology, no philosophy (stfu Hegel); nothing human-based can promise hope because hope is based in the future and none of us have been there/ are capable of envisioning it, let alone planning it. Let me assure you from experience that plans mean nothing. What is a plan? An idea? Even if you have things in place, there is nothing to stop those falling apart because everything is fragile. Millionaires have become homeless. Scared? Good! WAKE UP! We can trust Jesus!

What's gotten into me? Life. New life. A good friend of mine had the insight that I was exhausted...not (just) of energy, but of life. Now I have new life and HOPE. Jesus is real and you need Him. You can choose to go your own way (love a bit of Fleetwood or Chris Rea) but let me tell you that being self-obsessed/self-sustaining/self-focussed does not get lighter. It does not get more fun. Being surrounded by oneself gradually twists one's thinking; it gets darker, lonelier and colder. You do not give yourself life; you never have. You got it from your parents and you keep it going by your environment. Don't settle for biological life but come to the source. LIFE. LOVE. JOY. HOPE.

If this seems off to you then that's probably because your view of God is off. That's usually the case - it was with me.

Are you excited by this? Get talking and reading! Confused? Get talking and reading! Angered? You get the idea!

If you're indifferent then this isn't your time. But if you're engaging, DON'T STOP! (really got a Fleetwood theme going)

Why are you still reading?!

WAKE. UP.

JESUS IS ALIVE.

Ask

I have written an account of why I attempted suicide, but I cannot make it public for the sake of those whose similar condition(s) I may worsen due to the account's very depressing nature.

Should you wish to read it, ask.

Message me on Facebook, Gmail, or leave a comment.

Why have I written it? To get it off my chest. To seek attention. To raise awareness. To correct the view of some people who still seem to view me as some sort of knight, valiantly fighting a tough battle when I'm actually a frail, selfish boy. A bit of each of these reasons, perhaps.

I know there are a few out there who understand my situation...I do not know whether that makes me more glad or sad.

"One forgets

that one is one.

I must try

to

remember this."

- M. Danielewski, House of Leaves.

"When you feel so tired but you can't sleep,

Stuck in reverse"

- Coldplay, Fix You.




You're a bit late, Chris.

You're the judge (oh-oh): Excerpt from journal 27/12/17

Started 'Texas Chainsaw' (not original). Usually I'd been v. critical, but I was actually satisfied. The characters were interesting & relatable, the scenes weren't OTT or 'slow'. Was this an average film? I want to see what others say. If the other reviews are condemning then it'd suggest I feel less condemning - if not then I'm not the thing that's changed & this movie was exceptional in its normality. Made me think: why do we judge? 

Overwhelmed at Q's and A's. 

If we haven't listened. If we sit thru a 'bad' movie but listen to the director. Seems fine in intentions and qualifications. Cameramen? Fine.

Is it bc it doesn't suit my taste? Or the publics'/critics'? Or our ideals? If somebody likes it, is mocked & later leads a revolution in the film industry w/ its legacy - are they a genius, fool or lucky bastard? 

Did you answer? Was about to write "fool!" for your judgement but then I'd be a judge, let alone for guessing the future. Is that allowed? Where's the line? Is deconstruction necessary, & if so, how far? 

Sometimes we're encouraged to "see past" the bad acting, poor cinematography, or tacky CGI. See past...to see what? Does a good plot save bad acting? What about if it's all but its core message is 'racism is bad'? Oh that's obvious now..., well what if it's to an area where that isn't obvious, like the UK or US? Does it depend on the film? The time? Place? Audience? Individual? 

One who supports orthodox (probably) "No!"

One who supports cultural relativism (probably) "Yes!".

Did I just reveal sth obvious & embarrassing that'll be pointed tomorrow, & sth in 30 years? Yes. That's for sure.

May write a blog & include that. Get praise, v. clever. Big my ego, just like now. "Oooh...awareness!". "Good for you". Not the gentle voice of God.

Still a fool. Still don't know most things. Still in the dark. Does that make sense? Should I scoff at making sense? Should I pity the scoffer? Should I rebuke the pitier? Should I judge the rebuker? Should I judge the judger? Should I love the judger? Should I pray for the lover? Should I covet the pray-er? Should I judge the coveter? Should I teach the judger? Should I teach the ones trying to answer these? Should I rebuke them? Should I entertain them, like I'm entertaining myself as the all-knowing one, like the ethics teacher who can see the elephant? Should I criticise myself? Should I ever stop

criticising myself? Should I start loving myself? Should I expect answers? Should I work for answers? Should I wait for answers? Should I try more or less? Should I start sleeping? Should I write sth clever? Should I write sth humble? (Clever people being stupid is humble). Should I thank the academy? (Woo fight club) Should I stop here? Should I stop being self-aware? Should I stop being self-aware-self-aware? Should I show off every area of possible interest to look really good? Should I keep reading Einstein, Sun Tzi, Pa...

There is meaning. I can hear it, in the quiet. So far away. "Hello?!" 

Try again in the morning.

That was fun. Now 00:30 - early night. Mind's racing now.

- Don't worry if this doesn't make sense. If you do up on the more playful nature of this entry, please don't commit a logical fallacy of composition and suppose I'm "fine" in general. Didn't sleep until 04:00 haha. Plans are hoping ahead for me to live in a 'supported living' centre for a year, though it's very pricey so I'll make a FundMe thing for anybody who would like to help - regularly or not.

The woes of a young, white-British, middle-class male

So, I visited Oxford. I hoped to have a simple trip, but due to bad luck and bad choices I'm now back in Torquay. I expected to receive money from SFE by 6th October as they had promised in July, but it turns out that they had thought I was returning to uni as a full-time student. Hence, I went to Oxford expecting to live off of a loan, but instead used money I didn't have and ended up more bankrupt than my homeless friends. There was one week when I only had one guaranteed meal per day. I relied heavily on friends for more support than they should have given. I continued trying to do things for others. I suppose that never really stopped. I love people and want the best for them, and I like to help with things to ease the burden for others. I was able to do that and I hope to continue doing so. It's very important to do that. I think it was my attitude that changed. I seemed to be switching between feeling very sad/defeated and angry/content with being selfish - even now, I only occasionally feel willing to humbly make the best of things. Keep this tension in mind as you read this month's post.

As soon as arrived in Oxford, it became clear to my closest friends that I was not in a good place. They soon expressed concern...for a variety of things. I had assumed I could simply travel up and spend a little while relaxing with friends; evidently, I hadn't realised how the events of the previous few months had affected me. Two close friends expressed concern that I was seeking help at the bottom of a bottle rather too easily; another said I wasn't being myself in how I was relating to others in that I wasn't being as considerate as I used to be. These were true, among other pervading issues. I tried to improve things. It was a struggle: I'd expected to see the uni psychiatrist, the chaplain and perhaps my old counselor to discuss how to improve things; I hadn't expected to receive advice/criticism/concern from multiple sides. I was told that I had the strength to improve things myself. Maybe I did.

But I didn't care.

There's a parable in Matt. 13 that talks about seeds, which represent the message of God's kingdom, and how it's received when heard. One analogy describes how thorns choke up the growth of the seed so that it dies. Jesus' explanation of this is that somebody hears the message, but the worries of the world kill off any fruit/growth. Over the past few months I've felt those thorns creep up my legs, digging into the skin as they become tighter. I tried to shake them off, but every effort I made would only seem to worsen things. Several times I felt like giving up, yet somehow I managed to carry on. This month, the thorns felt like they reached my neck. So, I gave in. I accepted my weakness and apathy. I stopped caring. If you've tried to make good and right decisions but only been let down and let others down as a consequence, yet you've managed to maintain healthy coping mechanisms, then I commend you. I failed to do so. If you haven't been in that scenario, of seeming to only make things worse despite trying to make good decisions, month after month, all while dealing with mental illness, then don't think to judge me. Or...you can, but I won't engage in conversation with you. Ain't nobody got time for that.

During a breakdown I had in Oxford, I realised that I no longer expected answers. As someone who's believed in a loving God all his life, this was tough. This realisation was accompanied by a release of built-up frustration and fury: I destroyed by brick phone, spent a good while punching the shit out of the punchbag in the rowing room and wept so hard my whole torso ached for the next two days. About a week later, as I was sat alone in the library, I came to understand that since that breakdown (as well as the time leading up to it), I'd been distracting myself so I didn't have to deal with that question of why nothing's seemed to improve. Questions without answers. Classic, yet novel. Where does one go from there? Should I have asked more questions? Narp. No thank you. Well, I did. I struggled on for a bit, but ended up in the same place. So I stopped struggling, let the thorns engulf me, and gave into the temptations set before me. I reckon that the newer friends I made on my trip will be/have been surprised to look back on my blog/profile to see my call myself a (dedicated) Christian. Sure, I helped people out and did my usual tidying up after others, but that was accompanied by leaving my own mess behind in drunkenness, and language so foul you may as well have called me Slim Shady. Do I have anything to say for myself? Aaahh...not really. Not yet, anyway. I'm just thankful for the new friends I made, who didn't hold me to any expectations.

My college did want to help, but they're not a clinic. They are a college at the top university in the world. If an unstable suspended student runs rampant on the campus then things will only go downhill: they have 200-odd students and staff to prioritise! I appreciate the effort they put into helping me and hold no grudges against their concern to balance my needs with everybody else's. (I did get rather sick of hearing, "Have you thought about getting some form of part-time job?" as if a. I haven't, or b. like that would suddenly solve my situation.) They have permitted me to return for one weekend later in the term so I can update them on any progress (always nice to be optimistic eh?) and to allow me to visit friends once again. 

I am writing ironically, as the title of this post should suggest. I have loving family and friends, with a warm place to stay. I cook for myself, and watch movies most nights whilst eating Haribo (is product placement allowed on here? If not, kiss my ass). If I were to add "heterosexual, Christian and living in the Southwest" to the title description then it may illustrate just how privileged I am. Yet I'm still bitter and complaining. I don't even know. This is probably quite rambly and may not actually seem coherent; but again, I'm just putting my thoughts out there and I'm just trying to remain honest. I guess I have some integrity left. I sure hope this somehow helps somebody, 'cause I'm struggling to find a 'lesson for the month'.

Now? I'm looking for a job, since I will no longer be supported by SFE and need to settle debt; it is also a good way to pass time and 'create meaning'. At the weekend I visited my lovely sister in Bath uni, and stayed with family in Gloucester where I spent a day working on the farm. I suppose I have calmed down since in the past couple of weeks. My initial draft of this was still pretty angry. I think my time in Oxford elevated all of my emotions: elation, sadness, confusion...now they're all just below average, so I'm a bit numb.

That's it for October. Enjoy Halloween, whether you're worshiping or mocking Satan, or neither.

No clever title for this month

I have no idea what to write for this month.

Two weeks ago I wrote a draft that was angry and expressed my increasing confusion at the apparent absurdity of life. Life had become tiresome, like it was running out of fuel. I've spoken to friends, mentors, pastors and even gone to see psychiatric nurses (the worst appointment I've ever had, but that's another story). I felt like I'd done my best at trying to help myself and all I'd done was tire myself out; naturally, I wondered why I should bother, and started to stop caring what people thought of me or my actions, since nobody could hold it against me that I hadn't at least tried. I was particularly frustrated and bored with attempts to 'make my own meaning'. 'Roads' by Portishead or 'From now on' by Supertramp were two songs that accurately reflected the spirit of my life. Then, the other night, I had the realisation that God loves me, which is something I'd not considered or really believed for months. Through that, I realised how it is love that holds all things together, since life without love lacks meaning, warmth, drive and desirability. I still wanted to write an angry blog (why do I keep writing 'glob'?) and so I tried to deny that realisation. I couldn't help it though; it just went round and round in my head, warming my heart. The next morning, though, I was back to feeling like Camus was right: life is absurd.

I suppose I've been given a choice, in that I know that the love that comes from God (reflected in the first two commandments) is what provides meaning, but will I choose to believe that? Anything else - any attempts to 'make my own meaning' - is like being outside on a winter's night, drawing a picture of a fire and breathing on it in an attempt to create warmth. It's silliness. The book of Ecclesiastes comes to mind. All truly is vanity. 'Hevel': a mist, or a breath. I could put my everything into a family, or a job...even a charity; but at the end of the day, everybody will die and everything will eventually turn to dust. Why bother? I have been going slightly mad, to an extent, rather like The Master in Dr Who. I've stared into the vortex of time, of apparently endless nothingness in day after day of mind-numbing repetition, and it's had an effect on me. A good friend I've recently made met up with me a few weeks back. We'd both had a bad week. We talked...and laughed. That's all I can do. I've cried, screamed, sat and stared in silence...but nothing quite expresses how I feel, except for laughter. It's not a malicious laughter that enjoys others pain like some sort of Bond villain, but just a helpless giggle at the craziness of it all. Life is not what I expected it to be. I have a loving family, friends, food, a warm bed and much more, yet I'm going mad. The majority of you reading this will probably think I'm sounding melodramatic, and that's okay. Maybe it's just my depression, or a 'quarter-life crisis'. Y'all don't know all that's happened, and I won't waste my time trying to convince everybody that I'm not being a drama queen. Why would I bother, after all? Ahahaa...

I met up with my pastor a little while ago and described everything to him. He reckons that something isn't right with my view of God. I think he's right. Looking back, I didn't think God loved me. Going by my experiences of the past couple of years, I felt little reason to believe that - though my depression almost certainly had an effect on my hindsight. I felt bullied, by a cruel bully. I could have avoided a lot of pain, but I felt like a lot of it was not a result of choice. However, knowing that God does actually love me changes everything. I've been trying to hope without love, which meant all hope is empty and actually undesirable. Faith without love is bitter and stagnant, relying on rules and unable to help itself from just being 'religious'. People drift apart without love. It goes deeper: without love, everything drifts apart. If you don't love your work, it becomes a chore. If you don't love a partner, they become exhausting. If you don't love food, you won't make a proper effort to eat properly. If you don't love your body, you won't take care of it. Entropy is inevitable. Everything falls apart. I've been dying. Not physically (yes, I get that we're all dying, har-har, smart-arse), but emotionally, mentally and spiritually. Life without love, is dead. I couldn't help thinking why I hadn't yet committed suicide - the depression doesn't help, but it was more than that - since life without love is an oxymoron. I have previously written that God is the source of life and love. Those are inseparable. God=Life=Love. Remove one and things start to fall apart. Love isn't inherent in the natural world, according to Darwin: ‘Man descended from apes, therefore we must love one another’ (Vladimir Solovyov). It requires effort. It requires effort that I don't have. I need an external source. My life kinda still had God in it, but I didn't think He loved me. Therefore both my understanding of God and my actual life started to fall apart. Trying to have love in my life without God doesn't work because I can't provide what I don't have. If you can, great, but I can't.

I didn't know what I'd write until I started writing. I'm still angry. I don't want to believe. I'm going to be visiting friends very soon because I can't stay in Torquay any longer. I want to be distracted all the time. I feel like a burden to people, though I'm not quite sure what else to do because I've tried so many things and listened to lots of people in trying to help myself. Now, I'm out of energy. I don't deserve any commendation, since I'm not intentionally 'making it through' this. I'm being dragged through it, face-down. I make things worse for myself a lot of the time and am sometimes very tempted to just buy a ticket to the Philippines and disappear. I don't know if any of this has helped anybody, it would be nice if it did. I didn't really want to write a blog, but I promised I would, and I'd be annoyed later if there was a gap where this month's post would otherwise be. If it's confused and bitty, then it's perfect.

That's it for September. I haven't got the energy to think up a thought for the month.

Lessons from heartbreak

In a kind of irony, last month's 'thought' became a reality in my life, as I gave up that which I considered most precious to me. It had been building for a while, but it was only after a day of hard-thinking and an excruciating night of emotional pain that I accepted that Gabriella and I needed to break up. Looking back on my journal, I wrote of the pain that genuinely felt as if my heart was being ripped out. Neither of us have felt that level of pain, due to how close we were. Even now, there is nobody on this Earth who knows me like she does. The last thing we said to each other on the day of the break-up was "I love you"...and we still love each other exceedingly.

So why go through all the pain?

Because of love.

Eh?

It's true. Throughout the past year, she has essentially kept me alive. She has understood my struggles and my pain like nobody else, because she was going through the same thing. I wouldn't have made it through this year. We learnt how to distract each other, how to help each other cope and eventually how to start recovery. There have been plenty of issues surrounding our relationship and all of our struggles, but a main issue that remained was the bad habits we had assumed whilst trying to cope with the turmoil inside our heads. Unfortunately, we found we weren't strong enough to stop these habits whilst we were still together...in fact we ended up urging each other on, most of the time. This counter-intuitively worsened our mental health, since it was damaging our relationship with Jesus and hence causing anxiety/guilt etc. By July, there was a lot of 'fog' around every aspect of our relationship that prevented us from simply being around each other. I felt uneasy when stepping into Church, and jealous when she would worship God as her first love, the latter of which set alarm bells ringing.

Lesson: We are creatures of habit. Fellow followers of Jesus, if you find yourself in a habit that is contrary to the ways of the Spirit (Rom. 8:4-8), do not kid yourself into thinking that it won't (continue to) affect your life - including relationships - if you carry on.

Ultimately, we ended it. We obeyed God. My pastor, Tim Smith, spoke on how obeying God means to walk in his commandments, on Sunday evening. In John 15:10 makes it clear that we must obey the commandments given by God; in Mark 12:28 and Romans 13:8 we learn that the Law is summed up with commandments to love God with everything we have, and then to love our neighbour as ourselves. If I love God with everything I have, my manner of living will change: I will be spending time with God and we naturally become more like those with whom we spend time. There will always be a disparity between the ideal lifestyle of a follower of Jesus (the way Jesus lived) and the reality; indeed, Jesus seemed to have a soft-spot for outcasts and scumbags. The important thing is the mindset: 1 Sam. 16:7b "man looks on the outward appearance, but the Lord looks on the heart". Do I want to be more like Jesus? Do I want to have more love for God, myself and others (when you're connected to the source of love and life, it flows naturally to all areas of life...the stronger the connection, the more it overflows)? If I do, then I will be more inclined to let God in - He knocks, but He does not barge in. If I do not, then I need to seek advice or help, or make a necessary change if I'm able. 

Whilst Gabby and I were together, we were hindering our desire to be more like Christ, or were blocking our own/each other's paths that would allow us to continue on our journey with the Lord. Upon realising this, I could choose to try and keep the relationship going on our own strength, though it was already showing signs of stagnation, or I (we) could give her (each other) up back to our creator. One choice was selfish, the other was selfless. I didn't want to do it, but I knew I should. Now that it's been a few weeks, I still really want to be with her, but I am glad we made the decision and have stuck by it. I cannot deny that I wish we would be together someday in the future (which she knows), but only if that decision is triggered by God, which nobody can predict. So, for the foreseeable future, we are both committing ourselves to our Creator. I have seen great change already, in the peace I feel, the dissipation of depression, and how my mindset has changed to be more selfless. 

Lesson: "God has no grandchildren", I heard somebody say recently. It's very true. If He adopts you, which He so wishes to do, then expect to be disciplined like a child. He's not malicious; "For He disciplines the one he loves" (Hebrews 12:6).

Though this month has been painful, it does not call for sorrow, but rejoicing. God is working in my life. If there was no God, or He did not look out for my best interests, then none of this would make sense. I would not have been willing to go through the pain - if you disagree, then...well, get your head out of your ass - and I would not have stuck to it. I certainly wouldn't be feeling peace and joy right now. God wants to heal broken hearts.

That's it for August. Hebrews 11:6; Psalm 51:17.

Thought for the month: To whom/what are you answerable? Partner? Friends? Yourself? Anyone who has an opinion? Now ask yourself why. If you feel able, consider what you'd do if they left or passed away.

A Month of Existential Crises

There is no way I could truly justify an account of my life over the past month in one post: it would be like trying to experience a rollercoaster from a single photograph (like those hilarious ones viewable at the end of the ride). The best I can give is a snapshot. I recognise that this is not at all unique to me, but since mine is the only experience I can recount, all I can say is that I definitely feel like my head is spinning a little more after this month in particular. Whilst I have intentionally tried to avoid making this whole blog-thing a vent for complaining, and tried to only describe anguish that adds to the purpose of this post, I'm afraid I've realised that that makes up most of it. I simply cannot make this month's post 'nice' - I have certainly kept it honest. However, I think there are still lessons to learn. Well, here goes...

July started badly. I had no energy or motivation.  I was barely keeping up with a third of the activities that I listed on the last post. In fact I frequently made things worse for myself in the ways I chose to use my waking hours. A combination of that, and a lack of communication and understanding, led to fights with some of those closest to me. Gradually, everything was losing its meaning. This is not an anxty, grumpy teen thing; I really mean that I could find no purpose in any activity, belief or even relationship. I started to despise waking up...behold, the anger just continued throughout the day. No feeling, no colour, no meaning. Sounds depressing? Yup.

My relationship with Gabriella suffered, until the point where she gave me the verbal equivalent of a hard kick up the ass. It wasn't for being depressed - she also has depression! - but for my response to it and the rest of 'life' (whatever it is). I needed that rebuke. I wasn't being loving or respectful to myself, let alone those around me. I cried hard that night. We sob-talked. I also cried/silent screamed at God (it was 3:00am) since I felt pretty isolated and forgotten by Him. I hadn't come to Him in a while. I felt peace. I felt good for a while, though difficulties soon hit again, hitting hard. The events of that night did not occur in vain, though their effect did not last. I'm not mad that they didn't - I don't think they were meant to last any longer than they did.

I needed help. I needed it anew every day. Part of my situation was my fault, and part of it wasn't. Either way, I needed help. I don't mean medication, I mean change...from the inside-out. If I'm honest I'm still not proud of how I'm living, or of the thoughts going around my head now. Little seems to have changed in that respect. Am I always responsible for my thoughts and desires? No. I'm ill. Diagnosed. Four times. However, I am responsible for a good lot of them. The question is whether I am able to own up to my weakness in giving in to living in ways that harm myself and others.

Ron Dunn is a Christian pastor who has written some incredible books. In one, When Heaven Is Silent, he recounts the suicide of his son and its effects. Dunn's easily had his fair share of suffering. What he writes is quite astounding. He cites the account of Jacob in Genesis, who wrestles with God. Essentially, Dunn wanted to point out that our biggest battles in life are with God. Death. Illness. Confusion. Unemployment. Doing one's best and still failing. Does Job complain to Satan? Nooo. His friends and he discuss why God is letting him suffer. Dunn didn't battle with demons. He battled with His Father. I can relate to that. I don't understand why He does what He does.

My life still feels quite turbulent. I cannot remember when my fingernails were not completely bitten back. This process - of feeling confused, depressed and vulnerable, then clarity, enjoyment and a degree of peace - is continuing with no apparent end or purpose. It is like watching an endless tennis match...apart from, in this instance, I'm the tennis ball: thwacked and thwopped from one side to the other at 100mph. I don't know how to answer the question, "How are you?", anymore. Words require historical context to have meaning (one thing I am actually enjoying is Anthony C. Thiselton and the Grammar of Hermeneutics - fantastic book by R. Knowles. See p.143 for reference), and I feel like if I replied "I'm fine", then any meaning attached to that phrase is lost in the past; and that nobody, especially not I, can phrase my ongoing experience in a way that makes sense (think of Robin Williams in Jumanji, trying to readjust).

Most of the time I feel meaningless. I believe Jesus died for me, yet I still feel meaningless - how? Well, I guess I still don't understand such love. I don't think about it enough. I only have a tiny bit of faith, but that wee bit is in the God of the Universe, and it is the object of faith that is the deal-breaker. If you sit on a weak chair and believe with everything that it'll hold you up, that does not mean it will. If you sit on a strong chair, it will hold you up even if you don't consider it. The little boy who offered up his small meal of bread and fish happened to give it to the one who made it feed five-thousand. In the meantime, even though I don't feel it, I know that He won't stop loving me. I don't always think it, but if somebody asked me then I'd say it. I need to learn how to receive whilst I give whatever is left of me, however meagre.

It is important to say that there have been times in the past month in which I have been up and dressed before mid-morning, or done exercise. I have successfully started tutoring Spanish to a young girl. My drumming has improved. I have lost passion for my story, though that was to be expected and it still remains in the background. I have also spent a very decent amount of time with friends, old and new, which is generally what I enjoy the most...the issue is that it's also the most tiring. In some ways I am achieving greater balance in the time I spend with people (other than Gabby), though in other ways there is no progress. Really, I don't really know how to measure 'progress'. If my description of my current state does not seem accurate to any reading this who may have seen me recently, then let that help you see how turbulent I really feel.

I still need help, every day. When I recognise my need and ask for help from God, I generally don't end up in a heap on the floor. When I don't ask for help, I find myself in that heap pretty quickly. I am not strong. It's not easy to admit but it is simply part of what God asks for.

Apologies for the longer post. Thank you for reading. I didn't really want to post anything but I said I would. There's a lot more I could say, but I'll stop. That's it for July. Isaiah 55:9.

Thought for the month: I could not think of any self-evaluative questions, which oddly led me to the most profound self-evaluative question I've ever considered. After all of the of distracting questions that skirt around the edges of your essence, after everything else is stripped away, what is left? At the very root, what is left? Are you really being honest with yourself?