Choosing your own ending

So imagine that you have to flip a coin. You can choose one side to bet on, and you hope that side is facing up when the coin hits the floor.There's a chance of it turning out either way (obviously), but here's the catch - a complete stranger will decide what happens if the coin lands with the other side facing up.

It's a pretty scary thought. Taking a gamble when there's a significant chance you can't control the outcome is unwise at best, and you have no idea what this stranger (destiny, perhaps?) is like. It makes it seem clear why we find it so hard to take risks in our day to day lives.

But here's the thing - more often than not, the cost of misjudging a risk and ending up with the wrong side of the coin is largely just living with the fact that you were wrong. Take the idea of pursuing a career that is possibly beyond your capabilities; the worst case scenario is that you go all out for this position, and instead end up in a different job. Still alive, still surrounded by the same loved ones, still fundamentally the same person, still most likely able to sustain a life full of things you enjoy. The cost? Aside from any financial investments you may have made, it's hard not to be afraid of the barrage of self hate that would follow: you couldn't do it. Your best wasn't good enough. You're too dumb/untalented/unattractive to succeed. But here's the thing: the worst case scenario is only so soul crushing because of the feelings and ideas you attach to it.

So if you end up with the flip side of the coin, it's not a complete stranger deciding what happens: it's you. You can decide to rip your self esteem to shreds because of how you failed, or you can decide to recognise the fact that you were braver than most can ever claim to be. You can decide to be at peace with the fact that you tried even when it seemed impossible, that you chased a dream relentlessly and that you left no stone unturned.

And really, if we're looking at probability here, you actually maximised your chances of reaching your goal - there's no chance at all of the coin landing on your side if you never flipped it in the first place.

One thing to rule them all..or not

It's so much easier to push on when armed with the belief that fixing one little aspect of our lives will make us happy.



For me, that little aspect has almost always been physical appearance. Whether it's mastering make up, investing in fashion, or shedding that extra 2 kilos, the outcome would - I imagined - be the same. Having finally attained attractiveness, my confidence would blossom and I would immediately become charming, sophisticated and generally brilliant.

In reality, that idea is obviously ludicrous. And it's not easy to live with, either - monitoring everything you eat, dodging calories from this home made cake that mum wants you to try, and that jug of sangria the girls ordered while you were all out for dinner. At the same time, it's impossible not to be aware of how shallow it is, and how much time and energy I'm investing into one of the areas I should care about the least.

What makes this obsession so insidious is that no matter how awful it can be at times, it's still easier to deal with than the truth: it takes a multitude of people, activities, and circumstances - some of which may be outside your control - to make you happy. It's not as simple as going down a jean size, it's about being in healthy relationships with family and friends, doing things you're passionate about, and being in touch with yourself. It's about figuring out what you want out of this day, or this week, or your entire life, and just going for it. And all of that is a lot harder than just putting down a piece of cake every now and then.

I've recently gained some weight after returning from a trip overseas, and the temptation to retreat back into my comfortable weight loss phase is very present. Surely I'll feel much better about the other concerns in my life when I'm a size six again, after all - never mind that when I was that size, I was actually severely underweight for my height. I'm realising now, though, that last year when I was at that weight I was just as insecure about my body as I am now. I still avoided jeans on days when I felt "fat", I still feared that when people glanced at me they were judging me by the size of my thighs. There's no freedom from the endless chore of trying to convince other people that you're beautiful. But now I'm just left with the uncomfortable task of figuring out what it takes to make me feel like my life is fulfilling and worthwhile, such a huge question that I'm not surprised that me and the many other people with eating disorders hide from it so thoroughly:

What do you want to live for?  

The difference between roadblocks and flat tyres.

The handy thing about roadblocks is that while they're inconvenient, frustrating and occasionally disheartening ("I'll totally make it to work on ti- oh.") they only bar us from one path. And whether you follow the directions of the handy flashing yellow sign proclaiming "DETOUR" or find your own path, chances are that you'll still end up where you want to be.

Flat tyres..not so forgiving. You accidentally drove over an industrial nail in a parking lot, and shit. You're stuck, and unless you're one of those mature, responsible people who a) carries a spare tyre and b) knows how to replace said tyre, there's nothing to do but ask someone else for help. A taxi, a tow truck, your dad - someone with resources and/or capabilities far beyond yours at this particular point in time.

I feel like this week I've hit the point where I've got so many flat tyres, I may as well be driving Fred Flinstone's car. Earlier this morning, when I was first diagnosed as needing biological aid to overcome my depression, it felt like it came out of nowhere. Surely it was just last week when I was assuring my general practitioner that I only needed another 4 sessions with my counsellor to really make sure I had my mood swings under control? How did it spiral out of my control so suddenly? And why can't I even identify the trigger?

I'm not on anti-depressants, but I have been given 5-HTP capsules (to be taking in conjunction with tablet containing a multitude of B vitamins). At this point, I've put any sort of psychological progress on hold until I can get out of this immediate low point. It's the most reasonable way to go about dealing with things at the moment, but it's also the most frustrating quite simply because being this way stops me from doing almost anything I want to do.

Feel like you should be studying? Sorry, your concentration and short term memory are going to be AWOL for a while.

Feel like going for a run? Nope, extreme lethargy's not pleased with that idea.

Feel like creating interesting, funny or insightful content for the creative project you've just begun? Oh honey..not now.

It's infuriating when you know exactly what you want to do, but simply cannot find it within yourself to get on with it. For example, I know what it is that draws me into a good blog - captivating content, a clear but unique layout, colour, a balance of text and images, a mix of serious and entertaining posts. Yet I can't bring myself to generate any of those features right now, and so I'm left staring at yet another facet of my life that's not quite up to scratch (in itself not particularly helpful when a sense of not being good enough is embedded deeply in the heart of my depression).

To be honest, though, a rubbish blog is not the type of thing that'll get me down for days on end. Really, I know that it will continue to be rubbish for at least another two years as I try to improve my clunky, juvenile writing style. Perhaps these moods are an obstacle, but nothing of real consequence will occur even if I fail to overcome them, so far as blogging goes.

Earlier this year, I changed university course from Pharmacy to Science. A simple enough switch, albeit one strongly discouraged given that I was performing quite well in Pharmacy which is a) more prestigious, b) more challenging and c) far more likely to provide graduates with a high paying job than plain old Science. An innocuous enough decision, surely, except that I changed to Science because I decided that I wanted to pursue another career path, one that I felt suited me far more than being a pharmacist and would enable me to make a genuinely positive difference in people's lives.

Earlier this year, I decided that I wanted to be a psychologist.

..well, fuck.

Nothing is original..

but no one has done something in precisely the same way you have (Alexandra Franzen, 'Unicorns for Socialism').

When stuck in unfortunate circumstances, there are few things more reassuring than talking to someone who has not only gone through the same trials, but succeeded in overcoming them. That is what I hope this will become. It has been estimated that one in five teenagers struggles with mental health, but how often do we hear from these afflicted adolescents? And what difference would it make if we did?

I like to think that someday I'll look back at this poorly written post and be able to read it without (much) embarrassment, because I'll know that this is where it all began.