Oh hell, a couple of centuries have passed since I was last here. But since it's the Halloween night and I'm the unarguably the most boring person on the planet, and instead of going out or doing something I have elected on staying in my pyjamas doing mostly nothing but consuming excessive amounts of peanut butter as per normal, I might also produce a little bit of rambling over here.
I have not been up to anything special since I moved to London. However, after four months I've reached the conclusion that working for seven days a week is not an ideal scenario - especially when you only get paid for four days' work, and when that work is spectacularly unmotivating and unchallenging. After careful consideration I now have decided to take one day off every week.
I've experienced so many different levels of tiredness that the whole concept of being tired has lost its meaning to me. Oh, so you're tired? How tired? You feel like crying? Or fainting? Like your limbs are made out of clay? Like your brain is so hazy that it feels like you're still dreaming?
Trust me, there are too many different variations of exhaustion, and I'm regularly discovering new ones.
Regardless of my persevering state of half-asleep, I up and went to a house-warming party last weekend figuring that a sufficient amount of alcohol would kill the social aspect of my anxiety as well as help me ignore the fact that I was exhausted. Against my expectations the night turned out to be a relaxed and entertaining one with some goofy humour and most importantly, a game of Truth or Dare, which I hadn't played since the age of 12. Consequently, the last time I'd kissed a boy had also been 11 years ago, probably in the same game, and of course someone dressed up as a hot dog (the dress code was movie characters and he represented every hot dog in every film ever; needless to mention that I was Black Widow) was dared to kiss the most attractive person in the room and he picked me. Luckily for me, it was only a peck and not a full-on smooch since my attraction to the opposite sex is pretty much zero when it comes to physical contact. Not to say that I wasn't flattered. Sadly though, I didn't get to make out with any of the girls either - probably because our game was on the more tame end of the spectrum.
Speaking of unwanted male attention (with all due respect), I work in a coffee shop and most of our clientele consists of regulars who work and/or live nearby, and most of whom also happen to be guys of different ethnic origins, and who seemingly have no second thoughts of overtly flirting with our all-female staff. And let's face it, I'm a flirt - especially with men because it doesn't mean anything to me and they could be dogs for all I care. So I flirt back. And then, very recently one of our regular customers asked me out. To which I just thought something like, holy mother of all I really want to work somewhere else and this is only the tip of the iceberg. So far, this particular guy has been nice about my immediate rejection but we'll see whether I'll have to draw the lesbian card or invent myself a girlfriend at some point to get rid of him. I just find it puzzling that you would ask out someone you know absolutely nothing about and with whom you only ever interact over the coffee shop counter a couple of times a week. And honestly, stuff like this makes me frustrated at my job even more than I already am because I'm reminded how absolutely brainless and dull the work is, and how much more I'd have to give somewhere else. Somewhere that people who want to get to know me, are actually interested in something beyond my appearance. I'm not particularly dazzling by any means and hence I'm definitely not used to getting compliments on my looks. I'd be a hypocrite if I claimed that I detest being told that I'm pretty, but I'd still much rather be noticed for my mind, my ideas and stuff that I do than what I look like.
I'm not used to being objectified, and now I fully understand what some much more attractive friends of mine have been complaining about for years and years.
2014-10-31
2014-08-28
It was probably my fault.
I am a people pleaser. You may not think I am unless you know me really, really, extremely well. I'm not the nicest, most considerate and self-sacrificing person you will ever meet. I'm not even particularly friendly all the time. I don't know why the things that I express outwardly sometimes totally clash with the things that I feel inside. Anyway, to me people pleasing means being terrified of disappointing others to the extent that sometimes I need to ask myself if I'm striving towards my own goals, or somebody else's projection of my goals. It means that I will experience anxiety if I refuse an offer or invite or anything along those lines coming from another person and including my presence or contribution. And it means that when I feel like I have disappointed someone I will get a surge of anxiety that makes my stomach turn, heart race, and if I'm in the same space with the person I will get a primal urge to run and get to a safe place as soon as possible.
I will give you a couple of examples of how my people pleasing issue has manifested itself up to this moment.
When I was 16 I saw a psychologist for a while to help me with my issues in synchro skating. I was diagnosed with vocal chord dysfunction, which has a psychological dimension to it - and as I've later on understood, this was merely a symptom of my panic attacks that were never the primary focus of any treatment. So anyway, I met with the psychologist for a handful of times, and she was helping me to notice and break down my own thinking patterns in order to stop the negative cognitive cycles that were feeding into the hyperventilation caused by my vocal chord dysfunction during vigorous exercise. She gave me cognitive exercises to carry out during my skating practice to give me tools to manage the hyperventilation. Every week she would ask how I'd felt about doing the previous exercise and if it had helped and so on. And every time I would tell her that yes, it was helping and I was feeling very hopeful and positive about it.
And yes, the breathing exercises and mental images did 'cure' the worst of my impaired breathing.
But instead of getting in touch with the heart of the issue the visible panic turned inward.
At some point after 'resolving' my breathing issue I stopped seeing my psychologist, and was left to my own devices. I was grateful about not having to suffer a public display of craziness time and again, so grateful indeed that I ignored the internal experience of being trapped inside my own body. The anxiety - physical and mental - would begin to increase on my way to skating practice, reach its peak at some point during practice, and slowly decrease as I got closer to home afterwards.
In a nutshell, I was so concerned about my psychologist's feelings and aspirations for me that I never revealed the whole truth of my pain, and always showed good progress and gratitude for her help.
Another instance where I had to kick myself really hard to see how much harm I was doing to myself was when I'd found out that my ex who I still had feelings for, who knew, and with whom I nevertheless tried to be friends with had been pretty much lying to my face for some time. Or you know, not telling the truth - which in my books constitutes as lying. Even in the initial pain that was more intense than anything I've ever felt before or since, I found it in me to feel sorry for her. I thought that I didn't have the right to be furious because I knew that she had her own issues. I wanted to comfort her because I saw that she was suffering from something as well. And it took me a while to get myself together enough to understand that it doesn't matter if the people who hurt me originally set out to do so, or if they are hurting also. My pain is my own, and if through negligence you do ill to another it is just as bad as a conscious act. I am not responsible for somebody else's mistake, and if it causes me pain I have every right to protect myself from them.
In other words, I have a habit of making everything into something that I contributed to, seeing everything that makes me feel bad as my own fault in some weird and twisted way.
And then to the most recent example that actually prompted me to discuss this issue in the first place. This is something that will hopefully show how my people pleasing sometimes works in very mundane circumstances with no drama involved.
I had a meeting with a Personal Trainer who had come up to me at the gym a week or so earlier because my squats were so amazing (ahem). We went through a couple of upper body moves at the gym and he told me about personal training and what kind of results I could expect and so on and so forth. It was really interesting, and the guy seemed super excited (probably part of his job though) about starting to train me. And I was excited too because I've always wanted a PT who could get me in a superwoman shape. However, I knew that at the moment, there's no way I could afford any PT's rates, and as he got into talking about all of the different offers and training plans that I could take up on, I started getting more and more anxious about eventually having to stop and tell him it was not going to work. I said I'd think about it, and get back to him later on. I got so worked up about the situation that after our meeting I just rushed to the changing room and out of the gym without showering because I felt so claustrophobic in the building. I power-walked home and really slowly started to calm down after an obscenely massive dinner and several brainless hours of doing something on my laptop.
Today I got a text from him asking when we could start and if this or that payment plan would be okay. I typed a long message explaining that I really can't get into this right now, and ever since pressing the 'send' button I've been too scared to even look at my phone in the case he has replied - let alone go to the gym because then I might bump into him and what could be worse than that?
What else to say?
This issue is very inconveniencing and irritating. I am consciously fighting it, and have gotten much better at handling it since my teenage years. But as we can see here, it is still an insistent part of me.
But at least I'm no longer massively petrified of disappointing my parents, which is pretty awesome.
I will give you a couple of examples of how my people pleasing issue has manifested itself up to this moment.
When I was 16 I saw a psychologist for a while to help me with my issues in synchro skating. I was diagnosed with vocal chord dysfunction, which has a psychological dimension to it - and as I've later on understood, this was merely a symptom of my panic attacks that were never the primary focus of any treatment. So anyway, I met with the psychologist for a handful of times, and she was helping me to notice and break down my own thinking patterns in order to stop the negative cognitive cycles that were feeding into the hyperventilation caused by my vocal chord dysfunction during vigorous exercise. She gave me cognitive exercises to carry out during my skating practice to give me tools to manage the hyperventilation. Every week she would ask how I'd felt about doing the previous exercise and if it had helped and so on. And every time I would tell her that yes, it was helping and I was feeling very hopeful and positive about it.
And yes, the breathing exercises and mental images did 'cure' the worst of my impaired breathing.
But instead of getting in touch with the heart of the issue the visible panic turned inward.
At some point after 'resolving' my breathing issue I stopped seeing my psychologist, and was left to my own devices. I was grateful about not having to suffer a public display of craziness time and again, so grateful indeed that I ignored the internal experience of being trapped inside my own body. The anxiety - physical and mental - would begin to increase on my way to skating practice, reach its peak at some point during practice, and slowly decrease as I got closer to home afterwards.
In a nutshell, I was so concerned about my psychologist's feelings and aspirations for me that I never revealed the whole truth of my pain, and always showed good progress and gratitude for her help.
Another instance where I had to kick myself really hard to see how much harm I was doing to myself was when I'd found out that my ex who I still had feelings for, who knew, and with whom I nevertheless tried to be friends with had been pretty much lying to my face for some time. Or you know, not telling the truth - which in my books constitutes as lying. Even in the initial pain that was more intense than anything I've ever felt before or since, I found it in me to feel sorry for her. I thought that I didn't have the right to be furious because I knew that she had her own issues. I wanted to comfort her because I saw that she was suffering from something as well. And it took me a while to get myself together enough to understand that it doesn't matter if the people who hurt me originally set out to do so, or if they are hurting also. My pain is my own, and if through negligence you do ill to another it is just as bad as a conscious act. I am not responsible for somebody else's mistake, and if it causes me pain I have every right to protect myself from them.
In other words, I have a habit of making everything into something that I contributed to, seeing everything that makes me feel bad as my own fault in some weird and twisted way.
And then to the most recent example that actually prompted me to discuss this issue in the first place. This is something that will hopefully show how my people pleasing sometimes works in very mundane circumstances with no drama involved.
I had a meeting with a Personal Trainer who had come up to me at the gym a week or so earlier because my squats were so amazing (ahem). We went through a couple of upper body moves at the gym and he told me about personal training and what kind of results I could expect and so on and so forth. It was really interesting, and the guy seemed super excited (probably part of his job though) about starting to train me. And I was excited too because I've always wanted a PT who could get me in a superwoman shape. However, I knew that at the moment, there's no way I could afford any PT's rates, and as he got into talking about all of the different offers and training plans that I could take up on, I started getting more and more anxious about eventually having to stop and tell him it was not going to work. I said I'd think about it, and get back to him later on. I got so worked up about the situation that after our meeting I just rushed to the changing room and out of the gym without showering because I felt so claustrophobic in the building. I power-walked home and really slowly started to calm down after an obscenely massive dinner and several brainless hours of doing something on my laptop.
Today I got a text from him asking when we could start and if this or that payment plan would be okay. I typed a long message explaining that I really can't get into this right now, and ever since pressing the 'send' button I've been too scared to even look at my phone in the case he has replied - let alone go to the gym because then I might bump into him and what could be worse than that?
What else to say?
This issue is very inconveniencing and irritating. I am consciously fighting it, and have gotten much better at handling it since my teenage years. But as we can see here, it is still an insistent part of me.
But at least I'm no longer massively petrified of disappointing my parents, which is pretty awesome.
2014-08-14
Thursday Night Stream of Consciousness
I've been trying to think of a somewhat coherent topic to put into a blogpost but in the lack of one I've just decided to opt for a stream of consciousness.
My fingernails are in a terrible condition, which normally doesn't even bother me but now they just keep chipping and bending into completely useless trash at the end of my fingers and I can't grip anything with them. It's probably because of the continuous dishwashing that I have to engage in at work so I guess I'll just have to live with this until such a time that I get a paid job in my own field - that is, never. Other than that, I quite enjoy working in a cafe. I've even managed to mostly get over the fact as the newbie I often get treated like some kind of an idiot - I either keep telling myself that they don't know anything about me and my inner life, or singing random Nightwish songs to myself. Both seem to be working so far. And at least three days a week I spend with people who treat me as an equal - and who also have an excellent taste in music. So, it could be worse. But I also look forward to being in a situation where I don't have to work seven days a week.
Speaking of things to look forward to, there's finally a visit to London's cat cafe, Lady Dinah's, marked in my calendar! And then obviously the next Nightwish album that has began giving me random chills and giggles thanks to spending the past weekend head-banging in Helsinki with my best friend. Every time I go to proper metal gigs I start fantasising about the future concerts that may or may not be attending. I think that the energising power of live music is a vastly underrated form of therapy, which should absolutely be covered by the national health insurance. A rock concert is still much cheaper than a 60 minutes' session with a psychiatrist. I can't believe it's only about a year since last summer's epic festival adventures - and the total lows of my depression too. So much has changed in these 12 months that it seems surreal like a dream.
I have a job now but I'm still afraid that I'll never find my own place in the world and be able to provide for myself in the way that I want to, and will therefore end up an eternal burden to my family. It's kind of dramatic sounding but it's a genuine fear. Especially in today's world where nothing is really stable. I also recently was able to articulate another source of unease if not fear per se. I'm totally, absolutely 800% content to be single, but I'm afraid that should I ever fall in love again it would go straight from 0 to 100 and I'd become totally codependent and obsessive again, which would ruin everything again, and send me tumbling down tend flights of stairs into whole new depths of melancholy. I fear that I can only be totally indifferent to romantic stuff, or plunge into it headfirst. However, I still want to stress that this is not the only reason that I'm happy to keep away from relationships. I just really don't have any capacity whatsoever for anything like that right now. I'm not scared of being alone for the rest of my life, but concerned that something disastrous might happen again. I mean, it's not a secret that I sometimes struggle with the grey area of life. And I easily become codependent and lose myself completely in other people. One more thing that I'm scared of is - and I know that a lot of creative people fear this as well - that as I recover from my mental issues, I become a less interesting individual and my art loses its power because I don't experience intense emotional strain every day.
I'm already worried for my creativity and that I've lost the artist in me for the everyday exhaustion which doesn't allow me any spare time to just be and think and let inspiration grow into unique visions and ideas.
I'm not actively agitated about these things but I know that they live somewhere at the back of my mind. I know I'm impatient so I'm making a conscious effort to enjoy what I have right now, at this moment and not worry too much about distant future and things that I cannot control. But hey, I need something to panic about, right? And in order to have things to look forward to, I always have to have things that I'm worried about because that's just how I'm wired. I guess.
So that was tonight's word vomit. I should have been in bed about an hour ago if I wanted to be somewhat awake and alive in the morning but sometimes one has to write. And wait for her hair to dry a bit.
My fingernails are in a terrible condition, which normally doesn't even bother me but now they just keep chipping and bending into completely useless trash at the end of my fingers and I can't grip anything with them. It's probably because of the continuous dishwashing that I have to engage in at work so I guess I'll just have to live with this until such a time that I get a paid job in my own field - that is, never. Other than that, I quite enjoy working in a cafe. I've even managed to mostly get over the fact as the newbie I often get treated like some kind of an idiot - I either keep telling myself that they don't know anything about me and my inner life, or singing random Nightwish songs to myself. Both seem to be working so far. And at least three days a week I spend with people who treat me as an equal - and who also have an excellent taste in music. So, it could be worse. But I also look forward to being in a situation where I don't have to work seven days a week.
Speaking of things to look forward to, there's finally a visit to London's cat cafe, Lady Dinah's, marked in my calendar! And then obviously the next Nightwish album that has began giving me random chills and giggles thanks to spending the past weekend head-banging in Helsinki with my best friend. Every time I go to proper metal gigs I start fantasising about the future concerts that may or may not be attending. I think that the energising power of live music is a vastly underrated form of therapy, which should absolutely be covered by the national health insurance. A rock concert is still much cheaper than a 60 minutes' session with a psychiatrist. I can't believe it's only about a year since last summer's epic festival adventures - and the total lows of my depression too. So much has changed in these 12 months that it seems surreal like a dream.
I have a job now but I'm still afraid that I'll never find my own place in the world and be able to provide for myself in the way that I want to, and will therefore end up an eternal burden to my family. It's kind of dramatic sounding but it's a genuine fear. Especially in today's world where nothing is really stable. I also recently was able to articulate another source of unease if not fear per se. I'm totally, absolutely 800% content to be single, but I'm afraid that should I ever fall in love again it would go straight from 0 to 100 and I'd become totally codependent and obsessive again, which would ruin everything again, and send me tumbling down tend flights of stairs into whole new depths of melancholy. I fear that I can only be totally indifferent to romantic stuff, or plunge into it headfirst. However, I still want to stress that this is not the only reason that I'm happy to keep away from relationships. I just really don't have any capacity whatsoever for anything like that right now. I'm not scared of being alone for the rest of my life, but concerned that something disastrous might happen again. I mean, it's not a secret that I sometimes struggle with the grey area of life. And I easily become codependent and lose myself completely in other people. One more thing that I'm scared of is - and I know that a lot of creative people fear this as well - that as I recover from my mental issues, I become a less interesting individual and my art loses its power because I don't experience intense emotional strain every day.
I'm already worried for my creativity and that I've lost the artist in me for the everyday exhaustion which doesn't allow me any spare time to just be and think and let inspiration grow into unique visions and ideas.
I'm not actively agitated about these things but I know that they live somewhere at the back of my mind. I know I'm impatient so I'm making a conscious effort to enjoy what I have right now, at this moment and not worry too much about distant future and things that I cannot control. But hey, I need something to panic about, right? And in order to have things to look forward to, I always have to have things that I'm worried about because that's just how I'm wired. I guess.
So that was tonight's word vomit. I should have been in bed about an hour ago if I wanted to be somewhat awake and alive in the morning but sometimes one has to write. And wait for her hair to dry a bit.
2014-06-30
Just a mild neurosis
Oh my. I've finished uni. I've (almost) moved in London. Whooaaah.
Actually I was planning to make a post once I'd moved in my London apartment but then again I kind of really want to talk about living there and decorating and such and it's still going to be a while till I can do that to the extent that I'd like to so let's have a pre-move in babble today.
So, my last day in Newport was Friday the 13th June - and despite the ominous date it was a wonderful day because I got to see all of my favourite (except for few) people from uni once more, make them write little notes in my copy of our ah-mazing publication and hug them goodbye until our graduation ceremony in September. And then I finally headed out to London to stay over at my au-pair friend's, which is where I'm still chilling. Chilling whenever I'm not maniacally washing dishes, writing job applications, making tea, engaging in highly intellectual conversations with the Frozen-obsessed 3-year-old or assembling and disassembling a Lego-train with her little brother.
When I started writing this I did so with an intention of - I want to say whining but let's for once give me a break and go with addressing my issues. So, anyway after finishing the first paragraphs I feel quite good. It has been an ever so lovely couple of weeks here and in comparison with the months and months of just trying to will myself out of bed and listening to every sound of every movement in the house like an animal hiding from its predator, the serenity that I now have the privilege to enjoy is exactly what I've needed for a long time. I mean, sure there is the kitchen renovation going on with the drilling and the dust and the occasional lack of hot water but hey, to me that's heaven.
This morning I was able to go for a short run by the riverside, which was great because last week I had a horrendous blister right at the ball of my foot that was so painful that I could hardly walk lat alone run. And after that healed I had two days when all of my body was achy making me feel weak and tired, followed by a couple of days when I was graced with an ever-strengthening headache that once woke me up in the middle of the night. Added to that I've been feeling really bloated and floppy and fat, and all in all it just seems like my body has decided to rebel against me in every conceivable way.
My mood is strongly affected by how I feel physically and so, I've begun to get very frustrated and irritable over of this bodily chaos. On the one hand, I know I've been eating differently and exercising a lot less than usual, and of course that may be a part of why I'm feeling so weird. On the other hand though, I blame myself for not working out more, of being lazy and eating too much this and not enough that. But I also can't really do a lot to change any of it since my current accommodation is temporary, which already makes living according to my own routines pretty much impossible.
But now, sitting in one of the cute little coffee shops in Hackney, having finished my meze platter yumminess that I don't how to pronounce with other people with their laptops sitting around and having lunch I feel alright. Also, how is it that coffee around here is so damn delish? Seriously, Starbucks, Costa and Nero, and every coffee chain in Finland too, can just get out quietly through the backdoor because this almond milk latte that I'm currently sipping is the best thing ever and it only costs £2,50 as well. Hackney magic, that's what it is.
I am slightly stressed out though. I'm scared that I won't find a job, or rather a job that pays well enough and that I even remotely enjoy doing. I hate getting so worked up about money since I don't see myself as a particularly materialistic person. However, the fact of the matter is that you need money to pay the rent and the bills and the food and the transport. And then there are some other things that can drastically improve the quality of life; like for me, buying good quality food, exercising at a proper gym, going to theatres, cinemas, galleries and other cultural venues, and buying new clothes every once in a while. And then my list of things that I would like to be able to pay for in some unforeseeable future including a cat, some new tattoos and a weekend in Barcelona. Oh yeah, and the next Nightwish tour......
In short, MONEY IS STRESSFUL AND I WANT TO HIDE UNDER A BLANKET
But it'll be okay.
Right?
Will it?
Actually I was planning to make a post once I'd moved in my London apartment but then again I kind of really want to talk about living there and decorating and such and it's still going to be a while till I can do that to the extent that I'd like to so let's have a pre-move in babble today.
So, my last day in Newport was Friday the 13th June - and despite the ominous date it was a wonderful day because I got to see all of my favourite (except for few) people from uni once more, make them write little notes in my copy of our ah-mazing publication and hug them goodbye until our graduation ceremony in September. And then I finally headed out to London to stay over at my au-pair friend's, which is where I'm still chilling. Chilling whenever I'm not maniacally washing dishes, writing job applications, making tea, engaging in highly intellectual conversations with the Frozen-obsessed 3-year-old or assembling and disassembling a Lego-train with her little brother.
When I started writing this I did so with an intention of - I want to say whining but let's for once give me a break and go with addressing my issues. So, anyway after finishing the first paragraphs I feel quite good. It has been an ever so lovely couple of weeks here and in comparison with the months and months of just trying to will myself out of bed and listening to every sound of every movement in the house like an animal hiding from its predator, the serenity that I now have the privilege to enjoy is exactly what I've needed for a long time. I mean, sure there is the kitchen renovation going on with the drilling and the dust and the occasional lack of hot water but hey, to me that's heaven.
This morning I was able to go for a short run by the riverside, which was great because last week I had a horrendous blister right at the ball of my foot that was so painful that I could hardly walk lat alone run. And after that healed I had two days when all of my body was achy making me feel weak and tired, followed by a couple of days when I was graced with an ever-strengthening headache that once woke me up in the middle of the night. Added to that I've been feeling really bloated and floppy and fat, and all in all it just seems like my body has decided to rebel against me in every conceivable way.
My mood is strongly affected by how I feel physically and so, I've begun to get very frustrated and irritable over of this bodily chaos. On the one hand, I know I've been eating differently and exercising a lot less than usual, and of course that may be a part of why I'm feeling so weird. On the other hand though, I blame myself for not working out more, of being lazy and eating too much this and not enough that. But I also can't really do a lot to change any of it since my current accommodation is temporary, which already makes living according to my own routines pretty much impossible.
But now, sitting in one of the cute little coffee shops in Hackney, having finished my meze platter yumminess that I don't how to pronounce with other people with their laptops sitting around and having lunch I feel alright. Also, how is it that coffee around here is so damn delish? Seriously, Starbucks, Costa and Nero, and every coffee chain in Finland too, can just get out quietly through the backdoor because this almond milk latte that I'm currently sipping is the best thing ever and it only costs £2,50 as well. Hackney magic, that's what it is.
I am slightly stressed out though. I'm scared that I won't find a job, or rather a job that pays well enough and that I even remotely enjoy doing. I hate getting so worked up about money since I don't see myself as a particularly materialistic person. However, the fact of the matter is that you need money to pay the rent and the bills and the food and the transport. And then there are some other things that can drastically improve the quality of life; like for me, buying good quality food, exercising at a proper gym, going to theatres, cinemas, galleries and other cultural venues, and buying new clothes every once in a while. And then my list of things that I would like to be able to pay for in some unforeseeable future including a cat, some new tattoos and a weekend in Barcelona. Oh yeah, and the next Nightwish tour......
In short, MONEY IS STRESSFUL AND I WANT TO HIDE UNDER A BLANKET
But it'll be okay.
Right?
Will it?
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