Buddy Holly

Buddy Holly

When I told my American History Professor that I wanted to write my Michaelmas term paper on Buddy Holly, he looked at me funny. Not in a “who is that” kind of way but more in a “sounds pretty specific but ok” way. I wrote my paper on race relations and Buddy Holly’s music – spoiler alert: not a whole lot to write about there – but it was a paper I wrote more for myself than anyone else.

If you have read this blog long enough, you’ll know about my struggles with anxiety. In fact, I seem to be starting all my blog posts like that now. But this one is a little different.

When I was younger, Buddy Holly never meant more than a dorky kid with black rimmed glasses that tried his hand at rock and roll. I didn’t know any of his songs or his impact or his untimely death. I didn’t know he inspired Elvis or The Beatles or Bruce Springsteen or that he broke the foundations to what is now rock and roll. He just wasn’t someone I was bothered about.

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2009 v 2019

2009 v 2019

I see everyone posting their 10 year challenge pictures.

Ten years ago my life was widely different to what it is now. Sure, everyone’s is – be a bit weird if it wasn’t, right?  But ten years ago, I was preparing for my Junior Cert which  was a catalyst for some of the major issues I faced in my late teenage years and early 20s.

Up until 2016, I categorised my life before and after 2009. My life was calm, smooth and pleasant before 2009 and after, it became a chaotic, anxious mess. Because 2009 was the year that I first experienced Obsessive Compulsive Disorder.

I’ve written about my OCD before. Numerous amounts of times. In fact, I’m pretty sure you’re all sick of hearing about it because God knows I am. I can’t say I was an anxious child growing up – I don’t really remember – but if you had said I’d an underlying mental health issue, I don’t think I’d have believed you.

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Being

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It’s eight minutes past three in the afternoon and I’m in a local coffee shop with high hopes of “getting my life together”.

In fact, I’m sitting here, with this humongous weight on my chest. I’ve been struggling for a while about what to write, to bring to life the ideas in my head either for this blog or otherwise. I had great plans of figuring everything out but once I sit down, my mind falls blank.

There’s this catch in my throat. I’m feeling guilty about my life at the minute – it’s not something I’ve really experienced before. I rehash events in my head where I was the direct cause of something negative. I go through friend’s profiles, I try to remind myself that their beauty isn’t an absence of my own but it doesn’t work.

There’s definitely been a sense of isolation I have been feeling lately that could be as a result of my location, my job, my all-consuming hobbies, and maybe my lack of desire to do anything in between due to sheer tiredness. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say I was depressed.

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OCD, Nine Years On.

OCD, Nine Years On.

This year will be nine years since I started experiencing Obsessive Compulsive Disorder (and six since I started doing something about it).

I think a lot of people who knew me when I started college are aware of this but I’m choosing to write about it now, nearly a decade on from the first instance of it (during my Junior Cert!), and six since I sought help, as I have a much better perspective of my experience than before.

There are two days in my life that could categorically be dubbed ‘the worst days of my life’.

The first one was when I was 18 on a family holiday in France and the other when I was on a trip to Achill Island in 2013.

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Here’s To

Here’s To

A brief one as I stand in line for 2018

Here’s to the one who said it was going to be fine, when I was sure it wasn’t.

To the one who wanted a catch up but didn’t let me say a thing.

To the one whose actions contradict their words

To the one who didn’t ask questions and just sent support

To the one who never makes me feel welcome

To the one who thought I had no feelings of my own to hurt.

To the ones I hurt more than I knew.

To the one I wish I ended things better with

To the friends I disappointed by my own lack of courage or back bone

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a note on the culture of depression

a note on the culture of depression

It can prove difficult to stay positive in the world today. Between gig economies, dating scenes, and social media, it’s easy for your mood to see-saw from different extremes. Add that to the horrors going on in the world right now like London, Manchester, Syria, and the U.S. (I’m talking about you, Trump) and Turkey, it’s no wonder that more and more young people are being treated for mental health issues.

This isn’t a post aimed to cure mental illness. I will not go down the route of others who advocate along the lines of “depression? shur have a cuppa tea, be grand” – they are just frustrating. However, if I’ve learned anything from my eight years of CBT and therapy, it’s that the small things can be the catalyst in creating better states of mind.

But before I go into that, let’s have a look at depression and suicide rates.

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Hey, it’s ok

Hey, it’s ok

I’ve always been really hard on myself. Not in a ‘give me sympathy’ kind of way, more that I can get anxious and guilty about anything. Anything. at. all.  It’s a work in progress but there are times when I find myself beating myself up for little, miniscule things, and blaming myself for other people’s actions or lack thereof.

I’m still in the habit of letting one thought completely change my mood (and forget that happiness is a choice). So, for my own sake, I’ve decided to draw up a list to remind myself of the things that I purposely make myself “feel bad” for.

A flower can’t bloom all year round, right? A cringe idea but it’s true, and neither can you.

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When Suicide Knocks

When Suicide Knocks

Yesterday was World Suicide Prevention Day. You may have seen it trending on Twitter or it being discussed on Facebook by brave people who shared their experiences. But our attitude towards talking about suicide still needs work.

It’s a concept that is thrown around a lot lately.

We all know people, sometimes ourselves, who use it in jest if they come across something that requires a little effort, (“Oh my God I’ll shoot myself if I have to go back to that class” or “X happened, kill me”, you know you’ve heard them).

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