Being Fucking Authentic

Come join me, let’s just be real

“You will have to be completely honest. You will bare yourself, and all of your feelings. Otherwise what is the point? Be fucking authentic!”

~ Clementine Lloyd (to herself)

Here I am. The swear-y, punchy hippy. The random smash of different interests, moods, and outlooks. It is like ‘Watch with Mother’ has been cunningly cut together with ‘Withnail and I’. Maybe a bit of ‘Sex and the City’. Not the good bits. Just the bits where Carrie gets all self-referential and makes sweeping statements.

Being authentic is difficult when you change dramatically from one day to the next. Ideas swirl in my head, like twirling tendrils that form another life. One in which I’m happy and have it all.

I swear in these moments, that one formulating idea is the thing. The one thing I’ve been looking for, that will make me feel normal. Accomplished. Like my life isn’t a waste. The next day, or hour, that image will shift and something else will take its place.

What does authenticity look like, day to day, for you?

I witness an ever-changing sea, undulating with all the lives I could have lived. The fact that I am not living any of them breaks my heart a little. Depending on how I am feeling that day, of course.

But, then I think of all the places I have been, and what I have achieved. And I know I am doing OK. I seek new experiences and live in them. I am not afraid of change, even if it can be hard in the moment.

So I ask myself; how do you maintain a stable personality when you always veer wildly between disgust with yourself and pride in your constant search for an enlightened perspective?

With the addition of elf-judgement, layered with what other people might think of me. That, folks, is a judgment of myself based on what I think others think of me. Which is pretty fucked.

Maybe no one gives a shit.

That is supposed to be an age-old comfort but, as Oscar Wilde said, “The only thing worse than being talked about is not being talked about.”

I can get behind this statement! But, on the reverse, as Emily Hahn said ‘I wanted desperately to be known, but equally desperately to be let alone”. And here I am again. Where satisfaction seems so out of reach. Because I want different things, all the sodding time! It’s a full-on battle in my head.

I want to be known for what I do. I want to be recognised as a writer, to use it for something worthwhile, but sometimes I just want to disappear altogether. I struggle with the idea that unless I achieve my goals I haven’t truly existed.

And sometimes I know that none of this will matter until I am comfortable with myself.

I think of all the writers I admire; Wilde and Hahn, Hunter S Thompson, Elizabeth Gilbert, Lester Bangs. They all had shit going on that made them different, made them feel alone.

They were better writers for it, they forged their own path.

So maybe I don’t need a stable idea of who I am, or what my life is. What is required is to be more aware of what triggers those moments of sadness, of stuck-ness.

Those dreams where I run, but can’t move fast enough, bleed unbidden into the daylight.

It is all about awareness in matters of mental health. That curse of consciousness that is possessed by — and possessive of — us. For me, writing is a medium of escape. A sanctity of sanity. So honesty in the face of (possible) ridicule or indifference is brightening, and yet frightening.

What I truly want to do is to use this passion for writing for good. I want to make people laugh. I’ve always wanted to make people laugh more than anything else. Always said I’d choose this, and a robust character, over good looks any day. Still would…

But this doesn’t stop me from losing my confidence. It doesn’t stop me from feeling hideous and disgusted with my face and my body, or comparing myself to everyone around me and coming up short. It is crushing.

Oddly, it is crushing not just because I feel inadequate to others, but because my own thoughts drag me down this unwanted path. So, in that moment, the perception is not only that not only is my body and the world letting me down — but also that I am letting myself down. I am attacking myself.

To not love or nurture yourself is an act of self-harm. I say this not to dishearten those who feel it, but to draw a line under how dangerous it is. If you don’t value yourself, you are in danger every day.

I want to reach out to anyone who has ever felt this way and give the biggest, warmest hug. I love you. I love you with more love than you can give yourself right now, and I want you to know you are enough.

And this is what I say to myself too. I say it while imagining strong, warm arms engulfing me. My arms, my strength, my love.

To not love or nurture yourself is an act of self-harm

In forging my own path through mental health, I have uncovered a real interest in how we combat these voices. The ones that tell us we aren’t enough, to give up. My frustrations have grown fruit, blooming in curiosity.

With this in mind, I want to create a space where open dialogue around our mental health.

I want to allow other voices to define their relationships. Colloquially, at length, through art and poetry. Giving a humanist spotlight in order to understand — to be understood — and to heal.

I want us all to grow and laugh together — as terribly shit and earnest that might sound!

This rambling statement of intent, this welcome to the Blognitive universe, is my truth. I dislike myself a lot of the time. And I have attempted to change this with good things: exercise, hobbies, reading, meditation, healthy food habits, humour and humility.

I have also covered these feelings, with drugs, alcohol, anger at the world, denial, weird food habits.

(Yes that sits in both camps)

I have oftentimes seen through the shit into the light and have been allowed some peace.

Other times I am on the brink of tears all day.

When I have these days, I don’t even allow myself the freedom to feel it, because there is always someone out there worse off than me, putting my problems to shame. So how dare I?!

But here is the thing: Allowing yourself to feel your feelings, to sit with them and view them for what they are, create space to understand, is magical. Your brain, an expansive array of molecular machinery, creating mental chatter. To undermine its power, making the voices seem less daunting, can change and improve your relationship with your mind.

Talking can make you feel lighter. It is fucking scary, don’t get me wrong!

Sometimes thoughts can be so disarming it is frightening. This is where being gentle is key.

So, to answer the question: how dare I?

If I don’t allow myself a break, how am I ever going to heal? Hating myself for not being perfect is never going to make things better.

So talk.

Talking about these feelings can make you feel lighter. It is fucking scary, don’t get me wrong! But there are people out there for you, Professionals or friends and family. Someone you may not even expect.

Maybe you can even be that person to someone else. Look someone in the eye today, and ask earnestly “how are you, really?”

Choose the right moment obviously, but go through with it. Allow that space for honesty.

To be able to say this openly — without fear of being judged — is difficult. A million voices in my head are saying “who gives a fuck about what you have to say?” But you know what? Care of the mind is such a massive deal. Something that isn’t given enough credence in our material world.

So I want everyone to know that we are not alone. I’ll start with my own personal viewpoint and experience, but I’m keenly aware of the huge landscape encapsulated in this simple phrase: Mental Health.

And I want to hear others speak of their own experiences.

I never before identified as someone with anxiety or depression. I am not even sure now whether I avoided these labels because it made me feel weak and ‘other’, or because I assumed it was my fault. Because I was dissatisfied with my career or my choices. Perhaps if I changed my circumstances, I would feel better?

Either way I have been regulating with self-help books and eastern philosophy for 13 years. And you know what? It has fucking helped! At least a little. It has taught me that there are ways of coping, of looking for positives, turning a perceived weakness into a strength.

Yet still I’ve struggled with talking about it. With asking for help. As I got older, I felt so ashamed of these feelings. At times, alcohol caused things to surface. The unlucky few of my wonderful friends have had to endure the inconsolable me who drapes herself across doorways or under streetlights at 2am.

I am so thankful for them, for sticking with me, for seeing and remembering the good in me.

Alcohol isn’t the root of it, though it doesn’t help. It does nothing but deepen the existential crisis. The crevasse where everything feels bleak and pointless. It is that swelling in my chest that feels like something is trying to get out, and I’m not sure just how to get it out.

Personally, I’m a massive advocate of exercise when feelings get to me. It’s a release of energy that I sometimes need, burning off the tension. But there are people out there who won’t have the time, energy or physical capacity to be able to do so. And, frankly, exercise can be used like drugs or alcohol. As an escape or cover up.

I‘ve realised recently how reliant I am on exercise to feel good about myself. I am also aware of how this is encouraged by advertising, by body-shaming so that we want to reach the modern ‘paradigms of beauty’. Which are, incidentally, impossible to achieve without surgical intervention.

Yet this is only one small piece of the puzzle that can affect mental health.

So! Let’s get our pressure valves going! I want to use every weapon; words, dance, music, laughter, art, as a release. I want to explore, to know how you struggle, how you make it work, and what helps make sense of it all.

If you’ve managed to stay with me til the end of this ramble, please continue to join me. You have seen enough in my truth to know that I am done with being hidden. I want to talk, I want to share, help and understand.

This is my mission statement, and I am going to need some mental-health missionaries.

If you’d like to contribute here, you are WELCOME.