Driftwood

This is a short story I wrote over a few years. The first part I wrote when I was about 19. I then edited the story last year when I was 23 and added on the second half. Now 24, my story has been published on a website called Mental. Created by Liv Young, Mental is a growing collection of human stories that explore experiences and aspects of mental wellbeing in Aotearoa.

I felt like driftwood.

You'd always see bits of driftwood sitting on beaches amongst everything else. There might be a couple of broken seashells lying around, some seagulls squawking at each other. Sometimes you'd see dogs running up and down the coast, their owners frantically trying to catch up. But if you look hard enough, you'd always see driftwood. Even if it was just a couple of small branches, it was always there. Kind of nice looking, kind of not.

It smells salty (like the rest of the beach). It feels rough on some sides, smooth on others. It's just a piece of tree branch that is somewhere it shouldn't be. It's not part of a tree anymore, and doesn't really serve a purpose. Sure, some hippie guitar player might think it's 'rad', take it home to decorate his room or snap a photo for instagram. But at the end of the day, it just sits there, doing it's job of being 'driftwood', not really doing much else.

That is how I felt the first time I experienced it. It made sense, there was a reason I wasn't happy. I had just moved out of home, I wasn't enjoying what I was studying and I felt isolated from friends. Something wasn't great in life - so I wasn't very happy. To me that is a logical version of Depression.

This time it’s different. I don't feel like driftwood. I feel like the swell of water in the ocean. Waves crashing on the beach. I am the dog running running as fast as I can, depression snapping at my tail. A beach is only nice before you go out too deep and find yourself weighed down by all the water. Everything I'm doing seems perfect on the outside. Inside, my mind races around all day making lists of a hundred things. Some things are important - car WOF due on Tuesday, take guitar to school on Wednesday. And some are just stupid - fill up drink bottle, message friend on Facebook. I don't need a list for those things but before I even realise I've thought it, I've put it in a list. I spend most of my day going over the lists in my head, rewriting, reorganising. Doing anything to them to make more sense. I'm left with no time for me.

If depression wants to take over, maybe it just will. I can't stop the ocean swelling. I can't stop the waves crashing. I'm trying to control something that can't be controlled but I can't stop myself from trying.

A calm, beautiful beach. "You're so calm." Calm. I fucking hate that word.

Scones and Sparrows

I had been experiencing a lot of stress (mostly self inflicted) which was leading to a negative outlook on life, withdrawal from social situations and both hidden and outward panic attacks. I could feel myself slipping into depression. Along with taking medication, my doctors suggested attending an 8 week mindfulness programme. I was sceptical about participating - were the methods used backed by science? Or was it just a new age hippy trend? After talking to some people who had previously completed the programme, I decided that maybe it would be helpful. There was clear research that showed the physical changes in your brain that occur when practicing mindfulness. Maybe this was my way out.

After the first few weeks, the practice did the opposite of what I expected - the depression got worse and really took its toll on me. I think this is because I became really aware of my thoughts through the meditations. We were supposed to be observing our thoughts, not becoming caught up in their stories, but I wasn't in the right place to do that. My thoughts were confronting, confusing and downright terrifying. With the support of an incredible counsellor, I made it through the worst parts of those weeks, coming out the other side with a great sense of appreciation towards what the mindfulness had taught me. I chose to take some time off work because although I was feeling better each day I was utterly exhausted from the experience. I don't like having to justify why I took the time off. My doctor was all too eager to give me a medical certificate and if it were any other illness I would jump at the chance to rest. I find it interesting that even though I've experienced mental illness first hand, I too hold a stigma against it.

I still have so much to learn about being mindful and being kind to myself. Along with practicing on my own everyday, I'm going to attend the mindfulness course again in a few months which I'm really looking forward to. This time I won't be judgemental of my thoughts. I might still find them scary but I know that I will have the strength to observe my thoughts and accept them for what they are.

The following is an email I sent to the coordinator of the mindfulness programme on my first day of sick leave. I was sitting at a cafe eating a scone and watching some sparrows.

These birds are so beautiful I just have to tell you.

I've taken some time off work so I can have a long Easter break and really take time for myself. Its my first day off today and I was so anxious about it a few days ago.

But now I'm sitting at a cafe eating a delicious scone and watching some sparrows. I think for the first time in my life I'm actually 'at the cafe'.

This stuff works. It's changing my life.

Have a great day.

It doesn't really show much when you read it the first time but I'm actually quite emotional looking back. I know that sounds incredibly 'fluffy' and spiritual which is usually not like me at all, I was just so in awe of the calmness I was feeling. The skills I had learnt from practicing mindfulness were having an impact on my everyday life. When I say its the first time in my life I'm actually 'at the cafe' I'm referring to the idea that usually, my mind is elsewhere. I could be having the most delicious meal but I miss all the flavours, the smells and the experience. I'm so used to following my thoughts, thinking about the past or the future, that I miss out on what is happening right here and now in the present moment.