Sunday, 27th March 2016
Dearest Friend,
Unfortunately I’ve had to resort to using a marker pen because my previous quantities have all inked out… I’m mostly unhappy about this because I prefer to write in the same font (inky pen) in all of my notebook pages; the presentation on paper looks better and more familiar, and finally the feel of the pen moving between my fingertips and crossing the page is a lot more natural and requires less pulsing effort. Anyway, sorry it’s had to come to this – but I suppose being able to write at all is the better option than not at all!
I know you may think this seems petty and pretentious; I mean why be affected by a particular kind of pen, right? Well, believe it or not, with my special (also pricey) pens, I’ve raced through countless experiences, thoughts and intense feelings more naturally because pens that flow out inkier on the pace (and require less pushed effort) give more desire to continue, until I’m left satisfied with all that’s on the page. The common, stiff ball-point pens are exhaustingly frustrating to write with – as though I may as well be stabbing the page!
Jeez, Jay, get a grip… You’ve wasted a full page arguing the power of pen and haven’t given us anything relevant… Sorry, friends. I’ll try to focus!
I have some not-so-good news to report about my efforts here throughout the Erasmus experience. I mean, on a social scale I’d say I’m probably getting more of a culture familiarity here in Finland by putting myself out there with some wonderfully friendly people that live nearby. Academically, I know I haven’t been up to scratch and giving more of an effort that I know (in better circumstances, emotionally) I’d be able to conquer.
It all has to do with me oversleeping and not waking up on time to catch the bus with my other teammates.
I know as an outsider you could easily prejudge this habit as down to laziness or carelessness, but it’s been upsetting me deeply, and I’m sure my withdrawals, I think they’re called (or side-effects) of my antidepressants play a part in this issue.
I’ve been too embarrassed to explain this possibility to our college staff members or the facilitators of the institute here, and it’s because I feel lame to be giving this as my “excuse” …
The truth is, my depression is a deeply personal part of me, and when I experience those low days (which have occurred frequently while I’ve been here) I just want to conceal everything happening to me and keep my distance from people, at least until I make sense of these hurts and what’s prompted them…
And I can see (apart from superficial conversation and the odd joke) my college mates have little to say to me, and I know it’s probably because they find me depressing to be around.
I don’t really blame them. I know my own efforts have been dry and are lacking spirit, too.
My head-space has definitely been distracted by either the draining past or the pressurizing future; nothing in the present seems to really grip my emotions.
And this habit really must go if I want to get anywhere; I tell this piece of advice to myself so often that, at this stage, it’s hopeless holding onto ideals I can’t keep…
Even with these thoughts in mind, I had no choice but to put myself out there. And like I said, socially things went perfect for me with the Finnish friends I made here, but every time I slept in in the morning and had to give my instructors the same excuse, I was overcome with anxiety – and those thoughts of being a hopeless case returned!
The fact is, I know I wouldn’t have been able to sleep in if I agreed to share the hostel room with my classmates. So, part of me regrets for deciding to stay in the living quarters on my own, as friends would have been able to wake me up out of a deep sleep (as moving onto the new dose of my medication has been exhausting).
But, when I think hard and reflect on it, I also know my experience with the new people here in Finland wouldn’t have been outstanding either, as from my observation my classmates kept within their academic group (probably the more sensible choice, to be honest!) and because of my independent situation I didn’t feel obligated to stay within the clique, but actually I felt more driven to socialize and get to know the locals; to get that full experience for what it means to live in Finland.
Now I don’t mean that I would just go up to some strangers purposely with the intention of gaining friendships. No, it didn’t happen quite like that.
Some evenings after our long day of training at the media centre, we would all go out in the town for a social drink and catch up.
There is this Irish pub in Pori that my pals and I frequently go to, and it’s interesting because it’s pretty popular with the locals here.
Back in Ireland, I rarely frequent in the traditional Irish pubs because they always seem to have a harsh smell of cigarette smoke and also because young people my age prefer the “modern” bars to drink and hangout.
It probably all comes down to my taste really, but to tell you the truth I only drink socially so if my friends weren’t pushed I certainly wouldn’t be drinking…
Some would say that’s poor judgement call on my part; for allowing myself to be easily led and not knowing my limits, but it’s difficult to cut in the boundaries when you’re so caught up in the good mood. And that’s what usually happens for me. And I’ve never had situations where I wake up the next day and am gobsmacked with flashbacks of the previous night, where you recall your behaviour and choice of words as highly embarrassing and regretting… That is, until St Patricks night out. I really did fly off the handle…!
I didn’t know, until later, that taking mood altering medication was a terrible idea while drinking alcohol. Actually, in the beginning I read somewhere on the label that it’s suggested not to drink, but I didn’t expect to get so caught up in the moment that I forgot all about my limits with alcohol.
At first I felt so happy and having such a good time with the others, but after an intense conversation about depression with one of the guys, that quickly changed. He believed that people who are depressed were lying about their problems and that in the case of antidepressants it was a Placebo Effect; that by believing the medication is making you better you automatically change your system of thinking.
I fully respected his belief but I just didn’t see it that way. I argued that depression was a real and serious thing, and those that might be damaged emotionally may need antidepressants to keep their nerves balanced and emotional state grounded.
I know I don’t exactly like taking medication; it can be such a grilling experience, but I also know in order for me to remain well I need that boost, to keep above those depressive lows. I know at the moment, with everything feel so near and tense, I’m at serious risk of reaching meltdowns, self-harming or even thinking horrible thoughts of suicide. It’s awful, but at the moment this is a reality for me…
Although I didn’t show/express it, what the guy was saying seriously irritated me. The fact that he could just shrug it off casually; thinking it’s just something people tell themselves (as if people utter to themselves that having depression is like some excuse), led my heart to skip a beat… I wouldn’t wish states of depression on anybody – but unless he experiences those dooming glooms himself he has little judgement to call on!
I’m not dismissing his light intentions; that people can easily turn their lives around and do something about their depression (which I’m sure was hinted at me), but it’s not like a light-switch that easily can be battled.
On the other hand, I have hope and am working towards wellness (mentally) but his approach on the subject was so condescending; it was mere words put together without little empathy, I just know if he were in my shoes his viewpoints wouldn’t be so "enlightened"…
After a while, our conversation came to an awkward pause as he got up to get another drink at the bar. I listened in on what the others were chattering about; trying to forget the harsh words of before.
I wanted to think about anything but of the idea that what’s affected my emotions was a lie… The others were laughing around me on the sofas and I tried to chime in with them, and get more involved in the conversation so as to appear cheerful, before anyone noticed me as the odd one out.
There is a group of girls who came alongside us media students; females training to be hairdressers at GTI, and they’re staying opposite my apartment in the hostel.
One girl, unfortunately, felt so home-sick she went home. I thought she was nice. As a result of returning to Ireland, the girl now has to pay back the Erasmus bursary (which is the result of paying for travel, accommodation, etc.), and that’s an awful shame. She was very aware that this would be the risk, but, I mean, was it that bad?!
The other girls were very surprised by her sudden move, but the more I listened the more it occurred to me that she probably felt excluded by the other girls.
Not intentionally, of course, but perhaps the personality differences were too much, and she felt lonely… Who knows!
Anyways, so those girls around us lads (on St Patrick’s night) were laughing about their plans to visit Lapland, drink out of ice cups, skiing and snowmobiling, and lastly sleeping in igloos for the night and surrounded by the northern lights atmosphere 24 hours.
It sounded dreamy but also expensive. They even invited me to tag along but I missed too much classes here to waste my money on amusements. I kindly refused but thanked them for offering…
I think as I write this the girls are enjoying themselves on snow beaches in Lapland and skiing on slippery slopes… They’re wonderful people too – incredibly kind and bubbly; they really embrace the risks of life and see things as a great adventure. Like I did once (and still do sometimes!).
Out of nowhere a mental image of the abuse in the past flashed before my eyes; the sound of my cries overtaking the music in the pub, and with that I felt my stomach go into revolt – as I rushed to get up and hurry to the men’s room to vomit.
On the way of quickly storming through my group, to get passed the end of the couch and the awkwardly large shaped coffee-table, I knocked over one of the guy’s drinks from his hand and it smashed onto the floor.
I didn’t even look back after hearing the glass break, or the gasp sounds of shock from my friends; I just ran to the bathroom near tears and puking my guts out onto the public floor.
I know, underneath it all, my getting sick was down to me drinking too many shots of Tequila – and another two suggested from the bartender called an Irish shot for St Patricks day – which caused my stomach-upset.
But at the same time, that conversation about depression with one of the guys triggered something in me and left me riled with guilt/shame.
I felt so disgusting when I reached the toilet-bowl and got that yucky build-up out of me; all the whole crying my eyes out. Why can’t my heart and mind be free from all this misery inside? Especially when it’s things we have no control over! I don’t know if some part of me is subconsciously holding onto things, or if I just can’t accept what’s happened.
After some time, that guy who I spoke with earlier knocked on the door of the cubicle I was in and genuinely seemed concerned. He asked if I was okay and that everyone was worried about me.
I thanked him for checking in on me and apologized about earlier; I explained I rushed to the bathroom to get sick. He understood but gently advised I go easy on the alcohol from now on, and that’s what I did from then onwards… It was too risky to be more of an embarrassment!
I returned to the bar soon after and got that guy whose drink I broke a refill and apologized to everyone face-to-face. They were glad I was okay. I stuck to drinking water till the end of the night when everyone when back to their hostels.
I don’t remember much after that, except that I found myself lying on a street bench while it snowed in the dark. My head was pounding with a headache, and I just needed to lay down for a minute. I guess it startled me that things could affect me this intensely while abroad, if not worse, and bring this surge of loneliness time and again… It’s as if I’m feeling guilty to be happy and moving on; no, I don’t think it, I know it!
Eventually, some shapes came towards me in the park square. Not until I broke out of my blurry daze and they got closer, could I see who they were.
It was the friendly young Finnish couple I met the week before, as we first became acquainted with each other at the Irish pub here.
I was grabbing some drinks at the bar and I noticed the guy and girl were sitting quietly nearby so I struck up a general conversation; that it was my first time in Finland, do they go to this pub regularly? That I am Irish and that I’m here due to my course in Media and Film.
They were shy at first, of course (as most Finnish people really are reserved), but I had no problem with that because my best friend Lucy is just the same.
Once they grew comfortable with me and came out of their shell, they introduced me to a lot of the Finnish way of life. I welcomed them to join my table with the rest of my Irish friends, and from there we talked the night away and learned a great deal about each other; the rest of my group members included.
But there, outside at the bench, no happy faces were present; only worry could be read from their expressions, my own included.
“Jay, is that you?” one of them said; the man.
“Why are you lying there?” his girlfriend asked.
“I don’t know,” I found myself saying. “I felt too sick and dizzy to walk… I’ll probably grab a cab soon.”
“Oh, that’s too expensive… Probably €30. We’ll walk you back to your house. We’re going that direction, anyways.”
And with that they both helped me up onto my feet, and I walked with them.
I hardly remember a word of our conversation along the way, but I just recall the both of them holding onto my arms and trying to cheer me up with smiles and laughter. I probably didn’t pass any heed; I was so zoned out of it, but I kindly smiled anyway…
All I know is if it wasn’t for those two-lovely people, anything could have happened to me on the street!
More soon,
Jay