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Hey people,
Moons here. Merry Christmas! It's been a while - as usual! A lot has happened since I last posted - too much to write about in one update. However, in the spirit of the season, I wanted to sit down and have a think about this year. It's been a year of many, many ups and downs, and it only felt fitting that I overshare and get deep in a good old way-too-long-to-be-justified blog post. I wasn't going to do this, but I watched a very honest and open video by Neetu Singh (she studies at Oxford Uni too!) about her mental health, which inspired me to talk about it in a little more detail. She's been so strong, and I'm so grateful that she spoke up about how difficult living with a mental illness really is! Please go check out her video and subscribe to her channel here. As for an update from me...read on for a whole rollercoaster of emotions and major life moments and more...singingsonnet style.
2019 has been a whirlwind. It's gone faster than I ever thought it would, but somehow seems to have weaseled in more than I bargained for. I started the year in a very difficult place (much the way I'm ending it lol). I had only just been diagnosed with depression, and I had also only just come back from a few very chaotic weeks in Pakistan. I think I was ready for some change, so it kind of frustrated me that the whole new-year-new-me thing didn't really happen. At all.
Despite the fact that my problems only seemed to be increasing, I had some wonderful times with friends in my second term at uni. My home friends came up to visit me a few times, and I went on a Queen-themed club night, so I can't say there haven't been high points. I also spent a lot of time at my favourite tree trunk by the River Cherwell, playing my ukulele and writing and sometimes just being. I haven't been there nearly enough recently, so that's something I definitely want to bring back next year.
My last term of first year, retrospectively, was probably the best one. Sunny Oxford has a real romance about it, and I had lots of great times punting on the river with friends, pretending my academic work didn't exist, and having a Glee-themed birthday party. Yes, you read that right. When I have my own place in the future, I am going to remake the Glee party in all its glory. It's going to be a Glee extravaganza. I'm already planning it. There are going to be Jesse St James balloons floating around as well as themed drinks (Sue Sylvester Meltdown, Teenage Dream, Dalton Delight, the No. 5, Berry Mohito...etc etc). Whilst I also had many a panic attack (I had one in a tutorial too yikes) and many a breakdown, something about that term seems significantly better than the other two in my memory, which is probably why I went on summer holiday feeling a bit optimistic about second year.
Something else which I also feel like I should mention because it was kind of a major life moment - I entered a writing competition run at my college in May. The premise was to write a synopsis and the first three pages of your very own novel. So, me being me, waited until the last day of the deadline to pressure myself into actually putting my idea into words, submitted it, and didn't really give it that much thought, because, I mean - there was no way I'd actually win, right?
Wrong. Very wrong. I came first place. Now as much as you might think I'm downplaying this, this is still something I am really not over. How on earth? And guess what the first prize was? A WHOLE ASS BOOK DEAL. So I'm trying not to get ahead of myself here, but....maybe my dreams of being a writer aren't as impossible as I think? That was June. It is now December. Have I written any more than my entry for the competition? No. Am I worried that the publishers are gonna forget and laugh when I give them a finished draft two years later? Yes. Am I still incredibly confused and weirded out that I won? Abso-fricking-lutely. Honestly - it felt like a gift. After going through the most difficult academic year of my life, it felt like God was saying here - you deserve this. You've worked hard for this. After all the bad...immeasurable good. I guess I need to get writing!
Summer holidays. I went to see a cricket world cup match LIVE! Pakistan versus New Zealand at Edgbaston, and WE WON! The scenes were ridiculous. And we flashed up on TV a couple of times. Major moments. I still watch back the photos and videos I took of that day and can't help smiling. I can't wait to see more cricket live this summer!
I also volunteered for a month at Gympanzees, an inclusive leisure facility in Bristol! It was a fabulous experience - the Gympanzees family is the most heartwarming, hardworking bunch of people that I have ever had the pleasure of being part of, and I can't wait to hopefully join them on the staff team in Easter 2020! Working with vulnerable children and young people has always been a big dream of mine, and to work in a setting where I can make these kids smile with my ukulele? I'm on board for that.
Towards the end of the summer, my aunt and uncle and my cousin came over from Abu Dhabi! My cousin started uni here in the UK in September, but we managed to sneak in a full two weeks of shopping, gallivanting around London, and many, many face masks. I'm so so happy to have my cousin here, even though she's back home for the holidays right now. I miss you Jia!
Then, lo and behold, it was time for second year to start. Already! I bounded in - with so much optimism, so much hope, and to give myself credit, I lasted for a couple of short weeks. I went in, trying to fix some of the unhealthy patterns from last year. I revised for my collections, I did up my new room, I made funky notes on flashcards - hell, I even went to lectures! It was a new me. I got college children, and I'm still astounded at how fast they've become some of my best friends. I organised a surprise birthday party, started seeing a private therapist, sang high school musical at an open mic (major major high point) and seemingly popped my head out of the water.
I don't know why exactly things went south so quickly. I wasn't kidding myself. I knew that things could not just be amazing for that long. And they weren't amazing! I mean, I had some pretty rough times those first few weeks, but weirdly, it felt like I could pick myself back up. I had the chance to be more than my mental illnesses, and I tried! I tried to be a Moona I haven't been in a while. An outgoing, friendly, dependable Moona. I always valued those things about myself in secondary school.
Actually, I just checked my Instagram to try and investigate when the bubble burst. Like the sound detective I am, I think I have an answer. Because I was new, unshakeable Moona now, I worked up the courage to go to an Islamic Society event. It was going to be awesome, a dinner at an all-you-can-eat buffet place not too far from college. So I dressed up in a new Salwar-Kameez and felt really quite good about myself for a change. Then I walked to the venue with a few other girls and tried my best to make conversation.
I think the calm broke because even after my positive reinvention, my new enjoyment of university - I still felt so goddamn anxious! I was sitting there at the restaurant with literal snakes worming their way around in my stomach. I felt like I was going to be sick every time someone spoke to me. And, you know - poof! Back I went to small, depression-and-anxiety Moona who wanted desperately to get out of there. So I did. I made a quick getaway, before anyone even got on to dessert. I walked alone in the dark back to college in my high heels and starting crying as soon as I got in my room. I think that's when things started not to work as well.
The next week, I stopped going to lectures and started having trouble getting out of bed again. And I guess the rest is history. This autumn/winter has been so incredibly hard. Even though I think things may be improving on the social front (I don't feel so terrified if someone speaks to me now), I've become much lower than I thought was possible.
I've had a lot of support around me. The disability and welfare advisor at my college has been a literal Godsend. In times where I was really down and out, she came in with the practical steps that would take the pressure off of me so I could try and recover. The college nurse was similar - I actually started dropping in to see her every week. My therapist helped me figure out and identify some of the reasons why I behave the way I do. My GP put me on a new type of antidepressant. My tutors were great about it, and I leaned on friends - so I felt as though something should've started working. With so many people trying their best to help me feel better, I thought there had to be enough to mend my broken-ass brain. But sadly, it wasn't.
I remember one of the lowest points being this horrible night somewhere in the middle of term. My sleep has always been terrible, but it felt like it was just getting worse and worse. I kept waking up in the middle of the night and staying awake for ages, unable to get back to sleep. Then I'd wake up in the morning feeling like I'd been run over and had barely slept at all. Nightmares were regular occurrences too, but none quite as bad as this particular night. I woke up feeling more scared than I have ever done in my entire life, screaming and crying and unable to calm down. I called my mum and she was genuinely on the phone for 40 minutes trying to pull me out of my panic attack. It was really, really bad.
There were loads of low moments like that. Depression doesn't have any sense of timing - it really sucks you into it until you can't do anything but lie in bed and wonder why God put you on this earth. I couldn't eat at all, I wasn't sleeping, I wasn't leaving my room, and I certainly wasn't doing any academic work. My home friends visited, and I saw my cousin almost every weekend - and I even went to Birmingham to see Kodaline live, but none of it helped. Dirty dishes piled up on my table, as did the pile of unwashed clothes, and even thinking about the next day was enough to make me be sick.
A curveball that came after some particularly bad days and a trip to the hospital, was that the NHS finally had a spot for me to start therapy with them. This felt like a real step. I've only had two sessions so far, but they've been surprisingly good. To help get me through the Christmas holidays, my psychologist has told me to keep reminding myself that she will be there when I come back in January. We haven't even properly started my treatment, and if I can use the tiniest little bit of hope inside me, I have to. Some more help came from my GP, who got me to take a blood test and found out that I have extremely low iron and vitamin D levels, and there's something suspicious about my thyroid. It explains why I feel so exhausted all the time, and why doing something as strenuous as having a social interaction can make me go into zombie mode. That's okay - I can take tablets for that. I'm on them now, no change yet.
For the most part, my 2019 can be categorised as periods in which I succumbed completely to illness, and periods in which I managed not to go too far under. It's felt like a constant battle - I've been fighting on the same front for so many years now, and it feels like I'm now being attacked from many different angles. It's not just past trauma anymore. It's present trauma. It's physical debilitation. It's going to sleep hoping I don't wake up.
Depression is possibly the most difficult illness to explain to someone. Mostly because you have to face these kinds of comments: Why can't you just get out of bed? Just snap out of it. Shake it off. Try and keep yourself motivated. Eat well. Drink water. Try not to think about it so much.
Let me give you the lowdown. Depression takes everything from a person. You can't get out of bed, you can't shower, you can't have three meals, you can't motivate yourself, you can't stop thinking, you can't forget trauma. You can't because your body shuts down! Even if you want to do something, you physically can't fathom the idea or picture doing it. Whenever I think about eating food, I feel sick. Whenever I think about getting up and getting dressed, I start crying. Thinking, or just being, is so hard without going to some dark place in my mind. It really cannot be called living my life.
So 2019 sucked. Yep, it really did.
But! There's a but, you know me.
Friends. Gosh, I know where I'd be without them. Relationships have always been so difficult for me to navigate, partly because of things that happened to me when I was younger, but also because I find it hard to let people get close to me. But I have friends who have only gotten closer and closer, and know that sometimes - all I need is a voice on the phone, or a buzzfeed quiz about which peppa pig character I am to make me smile. Old friends who've known me eight years, and new friends who've known me two months, both have been the light in the darkness. Going to London to see two of my best friends was a huge highlight. As were my catchups with my college children, and the visits from my gorgeous school friends Becx and Harriet. I bought 5SOS tickets with my cousin! You knoooooooow how I feel about THAT!
Things are hard right now. I'm staring down the eyes of a monster called second-year-exams. I want to do my best - I really want to get up and show my tutors that they didn't make a mistake picking me to study here. Unfortunately, that's not really a realistic goal until I can actually start recovering. Which doesn't seem to be very soon. The fact that these illnesses are genuinely ruining my life makes me feel even more low. I can be as optimistic as I want and repeat that it'll get better but the truth is, I know it won't. At least not on the timeline that I need it to.
I'm trying to write a lot. I've been reading back on the poems and prose I've written this year, and guys - I think I'm getting better! I'm proud of my writing. Even though sometimes it feels like it's stupid and pointless, it can calm me down from a panic attack or feeling really low, and the result is making my thoughts and feelings slightly more understandable. Next year, I'm going to try and submit some of my work to some magazines...let's see what happens!
I've also been listening to a lot of music (hello, it's me). I'm probably going to do a Jukebox post soon, let you all know what exactly I'm listening to because I know you're all desperate to know. I can't wait to get back to performing at open mics and who knows, even actually write a good song!
I won't pretend that any of it solves the roots of the problems. It's not that easy. It sucks. It will suck for a long time. I'm getting the right help, though. As much as I feel like I'm going nowhere, maybe I'm at least going somewhere. A bit of a detour to where I wanted to go, but...you know. To quote my idol, Rachel Berry - 'There's one thing that hasn't changed: my dreams. I'm still going to be a star.' Whilst I am cringing at myself for rounding off on an optimistic quote when I am feeling as pessimistic as you could possibly imagine, I think the sentiment I take away from it is this. Depression is changing me beyond recognition, but through it, I'm still writing. I'm still singing. I'm still sharing way too much of my life on a blog that I barely ever update. Maybe I'm closer to my dreams, and indeed myself, than I know.
I told you it was going to be a long one. Congratulations for making it to the bottom of this post. If you did, how about leaving a comment? Or following me on my social media (top right!)? You know what, I'll even accept a smile at your screen. I hope you're good, wherever you are. This time of year can be especially difficult, and if ever you need a safe place to land - my DMs are a good place to start. There is absolutely no judgement there (you know, unless you're a Tory). Thank you for keeping up with me. I'll see if I can do a few more posts before the holidays are over. A Jukebox, maybe even my hopes for 2020...let's try and speak them into existence, shall we?
All the love in the world,
SS xx