The complexities of teenage-hood.

What you see above in that slightly-small picture is two piles of gutted journals. Some still have pages that haven't been written on, others (like the red one on top of the left tower) have been completely decimated.

These are the journals that I wrote in from ages 13 to 18. Now, I'm not a very dedicated journal writer - I write a lot, but not always in a journal and not always about my day or my feelings. So some of those journals were written in the same year, some span a couple of years. Some have random entries in a code I can no longer crack (and don't really care to).

Xin and I decided recently to go through our old journals and only keep the entries we wanted, and shred the rest. I finished fairly quickly (my writing was quite big...), but it left me quite depressed.

The thing is, I had always pictured myself as someone who was friends with everyone (as a form of necessity at times), but stayed fairly removed from all the drama of high school life. Hmm. Think again. The emotions I was experiencing as I wrote in those books were very strong, and I even noticed how past-me kept trying to convince herself that she was fine with everything when she really truly WASN'T. I wanted to be able to adapt to anything, but through my efforts I ended up hating myself on the inside and feeling absolutely fake on the outside.

Don't get me wrong, I did write about some good times, but the majority of the time I was trying to convince myself that I didn't have feelings for someone, or that I wasn't hurt by something else. I also used a lot of page space to yell (and by 'yell' I mean write in capitals) at myself about how little study I was doing, how I needed to get healthier, do more exercise, be nicer.

It really showed my how long I have had depression without properly realising it, and it showed me some of the worst years of my illness. Not the worst in terms of pain and discomfort, but the worst in terms of not understanding what was happening to me, and constantly feeling like I was letting everyone else down by being sick two - three times a week.

It was only after I left high school and had entered uni that I realised how deeply unhappy I was. And how sick I was.

For awhile after reading, I was trapped inside the world of liking people who didn't like you back, trying to help friends when I hated myself, and feeling so alone. (From talking to friends, I know that this isn't a unique experience of high school.)

Having said all that, though, and after finally shredding those journals (I saved about three entries - mostly about Xin!), I realise the good that has come of doing that. I can see how far I have come with accepting myself and my health. I can see that I look after myself much more effectively, and I am not too shy to follow dreams. I see the self-love that I have cultivated since 2009, and how I see myself as beautiful rather than 'painfully average'.

I am proud of who I am now, and I am grateful to who I was before - because she was working so hard to become who I am today. And I am glad that I have gotten rid of those journals, because I feel much lighter now.

Love to all who read.

P.S. Just a little link here that I adore about friendship-love. Check it out!

I'm back!! Also, new obsession!

Hello hello!
So, my work for semester one is officially over (yay!) and all I have to do is (try not to) worry about my results... Blah.

So I've been getting really caught up in my reading lately, and a dear dear amazing friend of mine surprised me by sending me a book by John Green recently (I will be reviewing it soon, so look out for that!). Anyway, I ended up looking him up on the internet to find out what his other books were, and I fell down the rabbit hole and never looked back.

For those who don't know, John Green and his brother Hank have MANY MANY youtube channels about lots of things. My current favourites are vlogbrothers (where they answer questions and talk about things...generally) and crash course (all about history, science, and my favourite LITERATURE). Honestly, I can't get enough of their sense of humour, their thought-provoking questions and discussions, and the lovely community they have created (nerdfighters!). They also often refer to an acronym - DFTBA - which means Don't Forget To Be Awesome. 

How could I not love them?

So, I know this post is a little crazy and all over the place, but I'm still dealing with the random health swings that accompany finishing a semester, so I shall be back on track soon enough! But please, do yourself a favour and check the vlogbrothers out here!

I hope you're all having an awesome weekend! :)

Small absence~

Dear readers (as I have been convinced that I do, in fact, HAVE readers),

as this week will be my last week of doing uni work for this semester, I am going to take a brief hiatus for what has been tenderly nicknamed by me as my 'last hurrah'. I plan on returning next Sunday (16/06).

Thank you for your understanding! I hope to have a few tea reviews, some book reviews, and maybe even a continuation of my story for you guys! Looking forward to having some time to put together some things :)

Thank you for reading! See you soon!

Love,

Bethwyn

getting through the tough days

flowers and then garden.

Often my days start off well but then I notice different symptoms creeping in. I am given a few things to consider - am I in too much pain and need to rest, or is this pain soft enough to continue moving forward? - those sorts of things.

Aside from physical symptoms, many people know that I also deal with some mental issues, too. CFS has this tendency to bring depression with it, and then occasionally anxiety is the not-so-lovable sidekick. I don't suffer with these quite as much as I used to, but I still have my days. Tuesday was one of them.

The main issue I find I have to confront when this happens is that, while the physical symptoms are generally still hanging around on these days, it is the mental symptoms that are the main ringleaders. I suddenly find that my zest for whatever I was working on has disappeared. I don't want to do anything, but the idea of doing nothing fills me with dread, too. I often find myself wandering around the house aimlessly (sometimes with Bronte on my heels, confused) and trying to coax myself into doing something.

In the interests of being open about my experiences - yes, my instinct is to curl up in a ball and cry and then maybe sleep. You know, sometimes this helps. It gets rid of all those stagnant emotions and I can move on with my day. The logical side of my brain says that this is a TERRIBLE idea, and so I don't know what to do with myself and end up wandering around again.

I tend to stay quite silent during these times - against my better judgement. This is simply because the people I love are never quite sure what to do with me when I feel this way (and you can't blame them - I don't know what to do with me, either) and they end up feeling more anxious and upset about the whole thing. Having said that, if I recognise that I am having a really bad episode, I WILL contact someone and ask for help.

I actually paused just then in writing this because I had to remember what I was trying to say here. So, on with the show!

Basically, I think it's important to allow these things to happen. I find that fighting them tooth and nail just makes them grip even tighter. Relaxing into it helps, but so does having a list of gentle things to try. Here's some of mine:

• watching something funny (I'm fond of Bill Bailey, Dylan Moran and Adam Hills stand-ups)
• watching a kid's movie (watching Tangled, Up, or Monsters Inc. really gets me out of the dark moods)
• reading a good book (whether re-reading or something new you just can't put down)
• talking to a close friend or relative who understands what you're going through, or at least tries (you don't even have to talk about what you're feeling - just talking generally can really help)
• get outside and breathe some fresh air (yeh, I know, sounds too simple. Honestly though, just remembering that there's a big beautiful world out there really helps)

What would you add to the list?

Creative Writing: Trial Run

I recently posted on my blog's facebook page about the idea of my posting some excerpts from my own creative writing work (currently for my own entertainment, but hopefully to be published!) on my blog. A few people said they were interested, so I thought I'd give it a trial run today.

I won't make it part of my regular posts on Wednesdays and Sundays, as generally I have other stuff lined up for them, so if I have any creative writing I feel like sharing, I will post it on Mondays - as a kind of Mondayitis-buster. :D

Just a couple of things: This work is MY OWN. Please do not reproduce it in any form without asking me first. Please be respectful of my right to post my own work without having to worry about it being stolen. :)

Okay, so this piece was something I dreamt up when I (unexpectedly) accompanied Xin and a friend to a shooting range (forgive any ignorances on my behalf about terminology!). It is not complete. Be warned: it is a little dark, but a lot of my work tends toward that direction! XD It is unfinished and, currently, unedited. This is pretty much the rawest form of my writing.

"Barrel and Burn

POP POP POP

I watched him through the window as he took aim and fired each bullet toward its target.

POP POP

Despite being in the viewing room behind double-walled glass, I still put my fingers in my ears to stop the noise getting in. There was an extra layer to the sound that made my brain ache with shock. I still watched him, though. His face set as if in stone, his mouth a grim line of concentration that was white with the effort of holding himself together while the gun tried to pull him apart.

It seemed that, even though he was shooting away from himself, the gun would always damage something in him.

POP

I thought back to the last time he had held a gun. He had looked so small. Like the gun had taken away a part of himself and locked it in a chamber with the magazine of remaining bullets. I remembered the smell of death, because that is the only label I could put on that cocktail of scents. The thumping of my heart seemed to have ceased entirely in that moment, and I felt nothing. I saw him crumple to the ground as if he was the one hit, but my eyes did not manage to convey this message straight to my brain. I saw, but I did not comprehend.

Click

I came back to the present moment as he removed the empty magazine and called in his target sheet. The shots were erratic, as they always were these days. One hole was outside the target entirely, only just managing to hold on to the outer edge of the paper. Still holding the target sheet, he lowered his gaze to the floor near his shoes and closed his eyes briefly. He looked exhausted - worn by simply being here. I almost made a move to stand up and get him out of there, but I remained seated. It had to be a choice he made.

He shook himself off, attached white dots over the holes, and sent the sheet back out. He breathed deeply for a few moments and then reloaded his gun and lifted his arms once more.

I did not want to watch anymore. I wish I had asked the attendant at the front desk for some headphones. He had said I'd be fine in the viewing room, but he obviously hadn't accounted for a woman with a sound-sensitive brain. Some small part of me refused to give in and ask, for fear of it being deemed the problem of a 'fragile female'. Even though this result was only in my head, I still thought of the attendant as a bastard. He could easily have offered them to me 'just in case'. Shouldn't a institution that makes money from people coming to shoot guns be a bit more focused on safety and the welfare of all visitors? Guess it wasn't really my place to dictate to someone who knew their way around at least 50 different guns.

POP

Off he went again, and my fingers found their way back to my ears. I looked down at a piece of lint stuck to my skirt and wondered about being able to remove it in between his shots. But they did not run on any sort of schedule - I'd rather not risk it. So I just stared at the piece of lint instead.

I remember staring at the pool of blood as it widened underneath the man. The body, I guess it was now. The blood was darker than I expected - I'd always watched a lot of those cop shows where they show the body while it's being examined by the forensic guys, and it always looked to be a brighter red. I remember feeling nauseous. Don't get me wrong, I have no issues with blood. Even that much of it on my dining room floor. It was the way it travelled. So slowly, like it was thick. I hadn't been able to stop watching, though. I could hear muffled sobs to the side of me, and could vaguely sense that I was kneeling on the ground, but nothing else had been able to get through at that moment.

A lot of people talk about how, in shock moments, things are blocked but then slowly come back to you. For me it was like someone had come up and slapped me over the back of the head, knocking all the cotton wool free from my eyes and ears, and even my nose. Every sense was completely bombarded with sensations. I tried to close my eyes and block my ears, but then my nose just filled with the scent of blood and what must be the smell of a recently fired gun. I gagged, forcing my hands to my mouth and my eyes to open. The blood had stopped moving and looked like it was forming a skin, like a rice pudding. The comparison had almost made me laugh out loud, but with my hands over my mouth it had just come out like some sort of maniacal squeak.

The sobbing had stopped, and I looked across. He had passed out, but I could see he was still breathing. It was like he had gone to sleep. A wave of nausea and exhaustion washed over me, but I knew I had to fight it. I wasn't sure I could trust my feet, so I crawled over to the phone (thankfully further away from the body) and I called for help. I thought about how I'd need to let everyone in and maybe I'd need to make tea for everyone, but then I remember that the body-formerly-a-man had broken down my door. So I stayed on the floor and stared blankly at a gap between two of my floor tiles. The grout had come away and so I picked at it, getting bits of grit and sand underneath my nail.

POP POP click click

I shook my head. I had completely lost myself in the memory again. I needed to stop doing that while I was around him. The reality was that my brother couldn’t remember anything about that day. After he had gone to sleep… we hadn’t been able to wake him up for a full week. The hospital staff had declared that he may never come out of the comatose state, and I was left to wonder how long it would be before his body would break down like his mind had.

A couple of months ago, he had surprised everyone by waking up and declaring that he was hungry and needed some food. I had arrived later that day to find my brother sitting up in bed. Like the day he had fallen asleep, I did not know how to react. I simply sat down and asked him how he was feeling. It turned out that he remembered me – remembered everything about his life, in fact, except for that one day. Whenever he tried to think about what had happened before he passed out, he experienced an intense headache and nausea. Naturally, he stopped trying to think about it."

Let me know what you think in the comments below. Constructive criticism only please - this is a huge step for me to be sharing my writing, as I tend to hold onto it quite tightly! :)

The main reasons that I feel drawn to write my own blog.

writing can mean needing to sit this close to a heater...

I don't think it takes a psychic to realise that I love reading and writing, and that I have always felt drawn to the two. But, lately, I have been trying to figure out the main reason why I write on my blog.

It's true that, initially, this blog was all about just having a place where I could express myself and, to some extent, that remains true. I do want to express myself here, and to also stretch my writing muscles (don't think about that too much).

But I've also started writing here for a different reason. I have realised that not many people know how to rest properly. So many people work so hard every single day and then, when they get a day off or suddenly get sick, they don't know what to do with themselves. There's this sense of guilt and restlessness that seems to pervade everything they do and think.

When I first realised that my illness may actually be chronic, I was in a similar boat. I was feeling guilty every day because I wasn't doing as much as the other people I knew. I didn't know what I was supposed to do with my time. Mostly I thought that I needed to be sleeping, but I quickly realised I couldn't do that all day without messing my sleeping patterns up royally.

So I started actively trying to find what was restful and restorative for me. I worked to heal that inner guilt (which does still come up from time to time, but is much more easily managed) and stop blaming myself for needing rest. And then I started to see that the people around me, even the people I loved, hadn't healed their own attitudes toward rest and taking time for themselves. And that saddened me greatly.

I started writing about rest and dealing with uncomfortable emotions here. I started reviewing books and tea, because they are so genuinely entwined with what I consider to be restful. I write about my health and how I continue to try and heal MYSELF rather than waiting for that unattainable solution to come along. Everything began to mesh together and I realised that I was writing about the art of rest and rejuvenation - not just physical rejuvenation, but mental, emotional, and spiritual. I have realised just how closely laced these things are to one another. The way we see and interact with the world is heavily tied up in how we see ourselves, and how we look after ourselves.

It does come back down to that idea of: if you can't love yourself, how do you expect to love others?

And, through writing this, I have realised one more thing about my inner drive to write on my blog. A lot of my restful practise lately has become tied up with the practice of mindfulness, or being in the moment. This is something I believe in. And you know what? The title of my blog: Butterfly Elephant? The initials say: BE. Just remember to BE.

Love to all who read.

Oh unknowable Universe!

Stormy sunset

After I wrote my post on lacking community the other day, I had an interesting experience.
Due to new health symptoms needing to be investigated, I went in to have some blood tests done on Monday. This hasn't really happened for awhile, but it's not something unusual for me.

Now, let me point out that I don't have a problem with needles. I used to have two needles a week, so I was kind of used to it. This time, however, something happened. The nurse couldn't get any blood out of my arm, so she tried a different kind of needle. I started to feel nauseous, nearly fainted, and then was forced to lie down. I went to the doctor's office by car, alone. I was advised to not drive until I felt a bit better.

Normally, I would wait around by myself, then eventually go home and cancel the rest of my day and stay at home, alone, feeling sorry for myself and guilty about having to cancel everything I had planned. This time, I was very happily surprised. And very grateful.

I ran into some dear friends at the doctor's office, who watched out for me after my near-fainting episode. They also walked me back to my car and chatted to me until I was feeling better. (Thank you so much to them, it meant so much - particularly since you were both unwell! Thank you for your kindness.)

After I got home, I noticed I was shaking and had broken into a cold sweat. My stomach was hurting quite awfully. I had quite a bit that I wanted to do that day, including a much anticipated trip to see my cousin and her new puppy. I was sad that I was going to have to cancel it, but as one of my friends had said earlier that day 'don't be stubborn just because you have things to do, your health comes first' or something to that effect. I called my cousin and... she was completely fine. She told me to feel better soon and we'd catch up soon (turned out to be Tuesday morning ^_~).

I then contacted Xin, and he was equally amazing. He changed his plans and came over to my house, bearing dohnuts as a gift. He spent time sitting with me, making me feel better and generally being lovely.

I guess what this has all said to me is that I DO have a community, it's just that they are slightly more distant and harder to access than I had envisioned. But, every now and then, I am truly amazed at the amount and love and care that can hold me when I feel defeated. And I am so grateful, because that love and care is what helps me to build myself back up again. To remember that, while I have been sick for awhile, that doesn't mean I can't still enjoy the little things in life.

Do you have people in your 'extended community' that make you feel supported and joyful? Do you feel that there might be a link missing in your community? Can you restore this or renew it in some way?