Is it strange to say that in Tokyo I feel more connected to the people around me than I ever did back home, in little London, Ontario? Is it odd to say that I feel less like a number, that in a city with a greater population than all of Canada, I can walk down the street and feel part of something — part of a community.
It feels strange, it feels odd, but is it really? In a country where people are culturally trained to show common courtesy, to bring their garbage home with them, clean the toilet seat after using it, and be quiet in the evenings, is it really so bizarre to feel a sense of camaraderie with these people? Continue reading
It rained in the middle of the afternoon today, with sunlight still pushing between the clouds and mixing with the droplets on the way down. What brought me outside was a grumble of thunder in the distance and the thought that maybe the heat had subsided (it’s currently unbearable).
While stepping out onto the balcony, I came face to face with, along with the rain, my own stagnancy. My own inability to accomplish, create, or produce — I had spent most of the morning trying to write and being unable to. The longer I stood, the more the rain washed this feeling of inadequacy off me, down to the pavement below the balcony, down to the gutter where even the rats couldn’t pick it out.
I’m always wishing for sunlight, but sometimes it’s the rain that does the job. It’s the rain that gives us reasons when the sun’s been blotted out. Continue reading
There is no greater happiness than getting lost in new, daily adventures to such a degree that you forget to write your bi-weekly blog post.
Although on one hand I would love to be a flawless, hyper-organized person, on the other I realize that forgetfulness is a key to relaxation, and relaxation a key to mental health. I have spent this past week in exploration and lazy forgetfulness — I’ve forgotten about work, about the stress of paying rent, about studying, eating healthily, counting calories, exercising regularly (my sincere apologies to my last post on exercise), and anything else that ties my brain up in a tight knot. Continue reading
This post may seem a little hypocritical after returning home from my run this afternoon wanting nothing more than to never exercise again, but it’s important nonetheless. I came out of my thirty-minute jog with a fit of coughing and a dangerously high heartbeat — not the most encouraging symptoms, and certainly nothing I want to recommend to anyone else. Continue reading
Warning: distraction is not a long term solution for anxiety, depression, or any other mental trouble you wrestle with on a day to day basis. It won’t solve your problems or teach you anything meaningful about yourself. It certainly won’t do the dishes, get your body into the shower, or finish that story you’ve been working on for weeks.
Distraction, when indulged in too often and too deeply, can be downright dangerous.
From time to time, however, distraction is magnificent. There is nothing better than, in the midst of stress and emotional disaster, to plop down in front of a favourite TV show, start up that old, familiar video game, or settle into a perhaps not-so-intellectual novel. To alleviate pain even temporarily — especially in healthy, or at least not particularly unhealthy, ways — is a small but notable victory.
To give ourselves a break, to laugh and relax, are essential practices in the game of snakes and ladders that is mental health.
Recently, I’ve plunged into phone games, TV, and long-distance running to distract myself. Some distractions are better than others, but I do what I can to get through the day.
What distractions do you indulge in?
Keep climbing that ladder, keep watching for snakes. Keep finding those reasons to keep living. Continue reading
There is hardly anything more valuable to a sick person than people to take care of her. I am lucky enough to have always had caretakers, and the story of my struggle with mental illness can’t really be told without their inclusion.
The photo above is from a time in my life when I felt very taken care of. It’s blurry, out of focus, just like everything was at the time; but still there was a sense of being grounded, of stability, of feeling the earth under my feet. That’s what caretakers provide: a rock to cling to within the waves.
So here’s to the parents and siblings, friends and boyfriends. Here’s to the people we chat with online and the ones who come over for tea. Here’s to the caretakers who give relentlessly and believe in us relentlessly, who read stories to us in bed, take us to the hospital, and help us to the bathroom. Here’s to the people who feed us and give us a place to sleep, who make us shower and exercise — who grab the extra big tissue box and glass of water when we have drained ourselves of tears.
Here’s to the people who never give up, even when we have. Continue reading
Getting out of bed isn’t always the easiest thing, especially on a day with no work and no plans, when the hours stretch in front of you like gaping crevices you need to somehow jump across. What motivation exists to pull you up and into the shower? What point is there to start your day?
In these instances, we must remember that depression is illogical. Because, at least in my case, I can come up with tons of reasons why getting out of bed is a good idea (maybe even 101!), and even more reasons why staying in bed is bad. But my depression doesn’t care. It doesn’t use logic, and it doesn’t want to hear why it would be a good idea to get up and a bad idea to stay under the covers.
And so, to counteract this illogical sluggishness, this blankness in the brain, we have to trick ourselves. Continue reading
“We mortals, men and women, devour many a disappointment between breakfast and dinner-time; keep back tears and look a little pale about the lips, and in answer to inquiries say, “Oh nothing!” Pride helps us; and pride is not a bad thing when it only urges us to hide our own hurts — not to hurt others.”
— George Eliot (Mary Ann Evans), Middlemarch
Sumida River, Tokyo
Life can be loud. Traffic on the street, birds in the trees, people talking in a clamour at the subway station, sometimes even your own headphones in your ears — it can all be loud.
Life can also be loud in a spatial or visual sense. Although I’ve generally become accustomed to bustling Tokyo, there are still times that shuffling crowds of people, tightly packed buildings, and bright billboards overwhelm me. They seem to be shouting, and maybe they are — at least in the sense that they all fight, squabbling, for my attention. Continue reading
Visiting the hospital can be frightening under the most comfortable of circumstances. Visiting the hospital in a foreign country, while having to speak a foreign language, can be downright terrifying.
I’ll never forget my friend who had to go to the hospital in Barcelona because of kidney troubles. “We’re going to give you a surgery,” the doctor told her (in English). After she protested and refused, the doctor consulted an English translator and corrected himself: “We’re going to give you an X-ray.”
This, mind you, was in Spain, where there is a lot more English floating around than here in Japan. In fact, the English and Spanish languages aren’t that vastly different to begin with. English and Japanese, on the other hand… Well, good luck.
I first knew I had to go to the hospital in Japan when I started having symptoms of what could have been post-surgery complications. I won’t get into the grimy details, but a minor, laparoscopic surgery before leaving Canada made me wary of my body in ways I hadn’t been before. Now I knew it was better to be safe than sorry, so I started my research on what hospital to visit in Japan. Continue reading