2011 was not a great year. At least, the first half wasn't. It was a bit like ying and yang really.
Part of the year was awful. It was dark, hung with a black shadow that didn't seem to go away. And every time I thought it would improve it just seemed to get worse.
But then, the second half of it was amazing. I've been having a great time at Bristol, and I'm better in myself than I have ever been. I'm coming off my meds. I'm happy. The outlook for the year is good.
I don't do New Year's resolutions. There I things I want to happen next year, aspects of myself which I want to change. But I'll be changing not because it's New Year, but because it's a new start to myself. So, over the course of the next year I aim to be healthier (in body and in mind) to be more positive about myself and to stop putting myself down.
So, here's to a new year *raises a mug of tea*. May it be a good one. I wish you all peace and happiness, and good fortune in all that you do.
Earlier in the month I wanted to blog about how I was drowning in beginnings, both in terms of my writing and the books I'm reading (and in life generally). I will probably still blog about it at some point, after I've fallen out of this little pool of bliss in which I'm currently floating.
On Thursday I told someone that I don't write poetry.
A while ago I thought about what a waste it was that I didn't write more during the bad times last year, and how I had somehow missed out on a way to document the experience.
I'm not sure if all these scenes are relevant to this but they seem oddly appropriate.
Whilst I was lamenting about drowning and trying (and failing) to write a blog post about it (I couldn't get past the beginning), I did things the old fashioned way and went back to pen and paper. And I scribbled. I wasn't allowed to cross anything out. I just wrote. I think one line even reads "Don't cross this out". It wasn't much, and it wasn't profound. A few lines were about this odd half dream I had had the night before where I purposefully jumped off a bridge, fully dressed, in the middle of winter. Not a happy thought, I'll give you that. But somehow those few lines became a poem.
I was listening to Sam Tsui sing "If I Die Young" on YouTube earlier (about 1am-ish because the insomnia is still there) and did the same - I just wrote lines on Word about how I keep getting scared at night. Somehow those lines became two poems.
They're not much. And they're not profound. But I'm oddly proud of them.
It turns out that I felt the way I did about a month ago because I reduced the dosage of fluoxetine too fast. Which is interesting. Because there was no external trigger. I wasn't feeling lonely. I wasn't hating the course, or the city, or the uni like I did last year. There are no battles being fought on the family front, no evil housemates, no horrid course mates. Nothing. Which shows that it is all in my head. Not in the "I'm making things up" way or the "stop acting crazy" way or the hallucinating way. But in the science way. It's all to do with the neurotransmitters. Or the synapses. Or something. Somewhere there is a deficit. Which makes me feel a little happier, cause it shows that I wasn't making it up. It wasn't teenage angst. It's not my fault. Well, not totally :p
I'm not sleeping much better. When I do sleep I sleep for hours and can't get up but it still takes me a while to fall off, although the time between head hitting the pillow and dreams is getting less. Last night I woke up every few hours, which I used to do every night but which hasn't happened for months. In the overall scheme of things it may not be that great but it is a small improvement on earlier in the term. I do however feel like I'm hibernating. And I feel awful at night, round about this time. Everything goes back to being pointless. But it passes (generally).
So I really want to write a really insightful post about...something, anything. But the words are evading me en ce moment. Instead, this is for everyone who feels like they're shit, or worthless, or pointless, or less than perfect. You're not. We're not.
