Depression ~ Entry Two ~ Grief

A few days ago I shared the news that I had been diagnosed with depression at the age of twenty four, and as I assumed, this has been long awaited. Just to recap my first post, when I entered my third job in the care sector it was as if everything had hit me at once. I was a different person, and as a result I'm now dealing with the horrible days that depression is bringing. In the first post, I explored why depression had sunk its claws into me. Was it because I realised that I no longer had passion in the career I worked so hard for? Maybe it's because I'm now growing up and realising that the illnesses of several family members is getting to me? Or is it because my life as of the moment doesn't seem to be going anywhere compared to most of the people I know? Honestly, I'm still in the dark. The purpose of me writing this blog is not just to educate myself, in the sense of revealing why I might be feeling this, but to give courage to other people that might be suffering from depression too. I was touched to receive messages from fellow suffers, and I'm glad it gave you courage. 

It's sunny today.

So here I am at 9.30AM on Sunday morning. I've just come back from my mate's house, where we drank and laughed and spoke of memories and good times. Everything was so full of promise, that we can do what we want with our lives. Of course, the drink had its part to play in that; I realise that. Anyhow, now I'm home, and feeling not as groggy any more, I wanted to explore further into my depression. My situation has changed since my first post a few days ago. I now cover shifts at my friend's shop; his actual shop that he owns. It's the first time I've ever done retail, or any kind of job other than care work, and I absolutely love it. I engage with the customers, I'm learning about transactions, stock, quality control, and specifics, and I love it all. I don't get many shifts, it's mainly when the staff are on holiday or some one is ill. I'm fine with that, in all honesty it works out best for me because I want to take control of my life slowly but securely. I'm also further into my T-shirt business, where my website is getting new hits every few days. I'm looking into having a stall once or twice a week. I'm in touch with my friends again, doing several activities I enjoy, and I'm thinking about continuing my novel ... and yet something is missing.

A question in the dark. 

I feel fortunate that I realised I was suffering from depression in an early stage. Had I not gone to the doctors I may have felt there was something wrong with me. After all, my friends are having a quality time, they enjoy their work, they have things they're looking forward to, they regular update Facebook with their friends and family. Even with the diagnoses I feel like an outcast, as though I don't belong in any group. It's true that some of my friends have been supportive, and I'm truly grateful, I'm sure depression is making me feel vulnerable, but I can't help feel that I'm actually alone in this battle. As they say, depression is a battle in the dark. I'm looking after myself now, and things have improved, but my mentality has changed little. Only yesterday I went out to do some shopping with my friend, and I couldn't help but compare my image with other people. I beat myself up about it mentally, felt ashamed by how I looked, that I weren't completely in shape. Even now I feel like I'm letting myself down because I'm not being my true self, I'm not being kind to myself. It's a strange feeling, I've always had anxiety, but almost 95% of the time (before the depression) I learned to ignore it, and everything was great, until now that is. Truth being told, I no longer feel proud for being me, and that is tearing me inside. 

So why am I feeling this way?

I wished there was a simple answer to why. I go back to the time I felt so proud of myself, and everything I had done. I go back to the time where I was productive, involved, contributing to society. I go back to the time I was there for my friends, strong for myself, and full of joy and possibilities. And all this was before I started my third job in the care sector. The truth being told; at the age of 24 I realised that half of my life had come to an end, the career I once loved was something that was tearing me. At the age of thirteen I was volunteering with people with learning disabilities, up until I left the group to help stroke survivors for the Stroke Association, which then led me to doing three years degree in Health Care, finally landing three jobs in care work since. And now I look at myself today and realise that the career I once loved is no longer something I take joy in. That is why I think my life suddenly took a turn for the worst. The realisation was sudden and terrible, and now I doubt my credibility, skills and employability. I was so confident I would work up to be a senior, a lead senior, and then a manager. I had ideas, full of ambitions of how I would work with the staff and make their working lives so much better. It was almost a dream to work my way to the role. And now it's all gone, shattered. I truly believe it's because of the family members at home that are ill, and that I've realised I have somewhat neglected them. I was taking care of strangers and ignoring my family. Today, that's different. I'm closer with my family since the depression, I'm helping out so much more. I wouldn't say the realisation has ended my life as such, but it's left me in an abyss where I can't grasp what I want to do with my life. For so many years of my life I was running in a direction, and now the path has been torn apart by a storm. Yet I've salvaged a few things, as mentioned before, I'm now doing cover work in retail. Is this the result of my depression? Knowing that my love for my career has come to an end? Perhaps I'm in a strange sort of grief? I don't know. 

When I was finishing college, my teacher sat me down and discussed university. I was so pleased to be thinking about it. I told him I was going to do Creative Writing. People say I come alive when I talk about novels, reading and writing. Truly, I believe I do too, I fucking love it. "Creative Writing won't get you anywhere in life. You should do care work, something you said you would enjoy. Don't bother with the writing." He said, and I took the other route. Would I say I regret it? Most likely no, because as a result of my choice I have met some wonderful people who are now my friends, including my best friend. Perhaps it's time to think about my other career and get my head down in creative writing, while working on the T-shirt business and covering part time for my friend's shop. 

My purpose of writing this is to help me, sort of like self therapy. And it's here to give courage to others who may be suffering too. As a result of writing this post, I've realised I'm possibly in grief. Many of the things I once did I will possibly not do again. A chapter has come to an end, and another is about to begin. You may smirk at some of the grammar mistakes above. I guess I should be more careful in my writing when writing blog posts, yet I feel the best sort of writing comes unedited from the heart. Perhaps I'm not in the dark, truly. Perhaps my mood is just positive this morning ... who knows. 

Depression

Do forgive me, I tried to come up with a creative title but failed miserably. Ironically, however, the title is appropriate. I'm writing this short diary entry for two reasons. One, I was inspired by other people who suffered with depression to share my story to inspire others to seek help. Two, to create notes daily and review them at the end of every week to discover why on Earth the dark beast has awoken. Three weeks ago if you had asked me whether I would be diagnosed with depression, I would have found you both hilarious and foolish. My life was good, my novel was coming along, I had plans to start my T-shirt business, I was active in my social groups, I took care of myself, and I had big plans. What excited me most was getting my third job, and like the previous two, was in care work. Honestly, I wanted part time work to work alongside the business, give me free days so I can go to stalls and process orders. My third job, however, was not a part time job, unfortunately. I've never shied away from doing cover work, if you cover one's shift they should cover yours when needed, right? Ultimately that is not how it works for most of us. I'm going off subject slightly, but my point was that I expected to do a lot once I started my new job. I was going to get my own rented flat (and just a week ago it was reported the top layer of flats had been burned down, thankfully no one was hurt). I was going to pay back my friends that have helped me, even gift them with something decent, buy my parents another holiday (with mother being terminally ill with a brain tumour, this was high on my list), and treat my grandmother (who too is suffering from dementia) on a weekend away to her favourite place ... Blackpool! I was going to put money aside to study several courses, one being in counselling and the other in creative writing. These were my plans, as well as fund the T-shirt business so I could buy stock and lots of colourful materials and T-shirts. This was all I wanted from the year 2015, and of course, to have good health, keep my good friends close, and maintain happy. Yet when I started the first day of my job, something dark woke up inside me, and it was then when I realised I had just made the biggest mistake this year. 

Oops ...

I had graduated from university with a degree in Care, Community and Citizenship. For more than half my life I have volunteered with people with physical and mental disabilities. My first and second job were both in the care sector, the second helping people with dementia at nights. So when I applied for my third job and realised I was successful; I had a 3 month wait before my CRB was accepted (a government process to ensure I am safe to work with vulnerable people). I could not wait to begin! Yet finishing my first shift, a 12 hour one at that, I was left feeling shattered. Not physically, in the sense of being exhausted, though my feet did hurt, but in the sense that I had made a terrible mistake, and there was no easy way to fix it. Helping vulnerable people, dying people, terminally ill people; it was all too much. Suddenly I realised that I was trapped by illness, sadness and death. I was leaving home, where members of my family were ill themselves, to work half a day with people who were also ill. I found myself trapped, and throughout the working week I ate two bowls of soup, showered once, ignored brushing my teeth, cared little about sleep, engaged in no social activity, stopped reading, stopped watching documentaries and politics, stopped talking to people, stopped writing; I stopped living. When I finished work, I would go home and sit at the computer, feeling dread, anxious, regret, guilt, trying to hold back the tears. What on Earth was happening to me? This shouldn't be happening, yet I knew why I was like this ... or so I thought. Cutting a long story short, I figured the problem was that I was surrounded day and night by ill people, It took its toll, and I needed a change in careers. I handed in my notice, and finished after the first week. My parents at first weren't pleased, but when they saw the decline in my health they realised I had to do what I had to. When I spoke to the manager and handed in the letter, I thought everything would be fine. I could search for another kind of job, get my life back on track, continue with my plans ... and yet the beast did not sleep. 
 

Depression is a battle in the dark, as they say. 

Things at home were great, actually. My dad helped fund the business. Fortunately, I saved a large sum of money from my second job, and afforded all of the equipment. All I needed were T-shirts and the materials to create designs with. So my father helped me, and my grandmother too, and now I have several designs available to purchase, I have an office in the house now, I have a website, a Facebook group, business cards, and people know what I'm doing. I've made extremely little sales, but that is expected with a new business. It can take years, or so the experts say. My relationship with my father, which at best of times is rocky, is now actually fantastic. My relationship with my mother and grandmother has improved too. My mother's illness, which I've put under the carpet for more than seven years, finally hit me like a truck. And since, I've come to grow up and realise the seriousness of the illness. I've taken away the curtain, and I've realised why my dad has been stressed, moody, somewhat negative as of late. It has all made sense. I've always said that cancer doesn't just change the person, but everyone around also. And yet, with all the good things happening at home, I've never felt as low in my life. Whenever it was dark at night, I would feel hopeless, alone, afraid. I searched on forums, where people suffered the same symptoms, and they were all depressed. I didn't want to believe it at first. I tried to focus on reading a book, I couldn't focus. I tried to play a game, I couldn't perform. I tried to speak to my friends, I couldn't help but cry. I dreaded night, absolutely dreaded it. Even now I dread it, though not as much. It's true that I started to take care of myself again since quitting the job, I eat and sleep, and engage in social activities. Yet inside I feel hollow, lost of hope, sad, lonely, afraid. 

Every tunnel has a light, right?

I eventually booked an appointment with the doctor, told him how I felt, how the ill family members were taking its toll, how seeing my friends on Facebook happy and joyful, with plenty of pictures of healthy family members, were ruining me. When he diagnosed me with depression I grinned, not shocked or surprised, maybe it was relief? After all these years I felt like I could take off the armour and tend to my wounds. Just the diagnoses was a huge relief. He suggested medicine, I refused. I wanted to do this myself, without the assistance of medicine. He offered therapy, I gladly accepted. I've had counselling years ago, when I was at the age of 16. The attack had left me vulnerable, afraid to go out, ashamed to do anything in society. My friends were dropping me, assuming I didn't want to go out with them any more; and all because I kept my problem to myself. In the end I paid for private therapy, and it helped dramatically. No longer do I fear for my life when I go out. Not everyone out in the world is out to hurt me. Yet the attack had made me believe so. Going back to the current story, I strongly believe in therapy, thus I accepted. I spoke to a counsellor on the same day, surprisingly, and he too was shocked at my rapid decline. At the end of the 'thirty minute get to know each other' session, he said he would get in touch, but possibly months away. I smiled, a sad smile however, knowing that a 'few months' at best was possibly half a year away. I took my leave, and met with my good friend for a few drinks in the pub. When I told her about the diagnoses, she replied "You don't look anything like depressed." I nodded and agreed, yet afterwards, when I returned home, the same dark hand had gripped me by the throat. I sunk in this darkness, loneliness, a sadness. 

We all have ups and downs

As of today, at the age of 24, I feel double my age. I feel guilty that I have let down my family and friends, and broken my vows to help them. I feel ashamed that I have fallen when I thought I would never. I feel embarrassed that I feel stigmatised. My ambitions have crumbled, I have no vision of the future, I read each day on the computer for a few hours about beating depression, I don't smile as much, and when I do it's often just to try and laugh myself out. I see my friends achieving so much, travelling the world, getting engaged and having promotions, and I have achieved none of that. And is not envy that I feel, I too was once proud of my achievements. Graduating, focusing hard on my writing, starting a small home business, gaining experience from different jobs. It's true, I don't have my own apartment, or a partner, or a flashy car. In honesty, good friendship and family is what makes one rich, I believe. I have told several friends of the depression, and they have all been supportive. Well, almost but one, who told me bluntly to man up. Strong words coming from someone who has no terminally ill family members. It matters not though. We all go through journeys, light and dark; I know I will beat this. I do not know when or how, but I do know I will beat it. 

Ultimately, I'm writing this because I know there are people out there that are afraid to share their problems. And as a result, people are left to feel alone and afraid. When in reality, it's the opposite. Depression is now understood by society, there is little stigma. Reports say we all suffer with it at least once in our lives. Why should we let it cripple the many - many years of our lives? I, unlike many people, is fortunate enough to discover my depression and do something about it. Other Bloggers often regret not tackling it sooner. Again, this short diary is designed to get things off my chest, for me to discover why I'm feeling this way, and a way to encourage other people to speak about their depression. As always, I am fortunate to have the great friends that have been supportive. Forgive any writing mistakes, and leave a message if you want, I'll get back in touch :)

Breaking the cyber shackles

In other words, Facebook. I'm quitting Facebook for good and here are my reasons. Let me make my belief clear that I agree that Facebook is useful for specific uses, such as keeping in touch with long distant friends and family members, however, It serves me nothing but a big list of negatives. I think Facebook is personal; it works for some and doesn't for others, and for me it's been a nightmare. I've created a list of some reasons why I am walking away from Facebook.

Let me share a little fact before I begin. Did you know, according to TIME, 'one in  three felt worse after visiting the site', and THE NEW YORKER did an experiment where people communicated via mobile phones while using Facebook, and as the article reports 'The data, he argues, shows that Facebook was making them unhappy'. According to HUFFINGTON POST, Anxiety UK released a study revealing that 'over half of the social media users polled said Facebook, Twitter and other networking sites had changed their lives -- and 51 percent of those said it's not been for the better.', and if you're interested in personal opinions on no Facebook all you have to do is type 'I'm deleting Facebook' on Google and you'll be surprised at how many people are doing this. Facebook does have potential, the fact I can find information easily on charities or social events is appreciated, but that is as far as the positives go.

1) The Lack of Freedom of Speech 
It seems, especially as of late, that our freedom of speech is being questioned. All you have to do is look at the awful Paris attack to understand the sole reason was because the press released a cartoon of Prophet Muhammad, which caused violence due to offense. The same applies to Facebook; watch out what you say. People are extremely sensitive and should you disagree, the possibility of being branded with vile insults is likely. It's happened to me many of times. For example, when I refused to share a picture of a man, apparently God, with the caption 'Share if you love God or burn in hell for being sinful', I was branded as being ignorant and abusive. All I did was refuse to share the picture and explain my reason, In no way did I attack anyone's belief. Many of times I'm having to delete my posts and pictures due to the fear of offending some one. I don't have this trouble when engaging in physical communication, and I certainly don't appreciate it happening online either.

2) It Kills Social Time
It absolutely kills me when I'm out with my friends and almost all of them are glued to their phones with gormless expressions. I'm halfway through a conversation and It's obvious they're not paying attention. Now don't get me wrong, I take my mobile out too in case of emergencies, and I will reply to one or two messages at most; and only if they're important. However, I'm glad I'm not the only one to find this irritating, I have a few friends that share my opinion that It's pretty depressing seeing a group of friends tapping their phones in silence. I actually know of some people that text each other while near each other. Soon we'll be robots at this rate.

3) Useless Content 
We all posts things that are not interesting to other people. I often post quotes of positivity and motivation, charity events, updates on my writing and critique group, and sometimes how I enjoyed one of my social groups. Don't get me wrong, I'm sure there is some one out there that gets annoyed at my statuses; that's perfectly fine. My problem is when it's frequent. I would need to count my fingers, toes and every hair in my nose the amount of times I see people posting pictures of themselves at gyms, restaurants, or clubs. The fact that people take a 'perfect' picture of their meal really baffles me? I prefer my meals hot, but that's probably weird nowadays. Very rarely there are posts I admire, such as people doing charity runs, I absolutely have respect for those kind of people. However, and I'm not kidding here, there was one time where a friend posted a picture of her baby's poo with the caption 'It smells earthly, and I think it's healthy. It doesn't weigh a lot, but It smells normal. I'm so proud'. As you can imagine, I gagged on my beans and toast, something I looked forward to eating (especially with brown sauce, yum) but I found that pretty disgusting. What made me feel dead inside was that people were commenting on it saying how proud they were and how brilliant it was. So does that mean I can upload a picture of my poo and say how wonderful it smells? I can imagine the torrent of disgust. Another thing I don't understand is people posting hundreds of pictures of their holiday WHILE on holiday. I thought the whole purpose was to get away and relax? I'm all up for sharing holiday pictures when I'm back in sunny England but never when I'm on holiday.

4) You Rang?
Maybe it's because I'm an anxious person, but I have this feeling that I have to check my Facebook almost every minute of my life just to make sure I've not missed a message. I get a lot of messages each day, and I hate the feeling of ignoring people. Yet I feel like I'm actually on call, a never ending role where I must be glued to my seat and reply at once. It's getting that bad that I've been accused, quite angrily too, of being ignorant. I remember one time when I got home late, I logged in on Facebook and was let down when I saw that a friend was angrily accusing me of being ignorant. What's worse is the green icon now, I often will look at a message but it will take me a while to reply, I'm either writing a chapter, or I'm about to dash; or something. More than not I reply 'I'll be back with you in a minute'. I can't help but feel like a secretary? Actually no, a prisoner would be more descriptive.

5) Strangers! 
Everyone has had that experience where some one unknown has added us. They might have a shady looking profile picture with hardly any information. I never accept them, and while I like forming new friendships I can't help but feel uncomfortable. I mean, they could at least send a message with something to let me know why they want to add me and who they are. Then there are those people that work in local stores, that never smile or greet me while I'm handling my money over for my goods. I accepted one of the friend requests, we didn't speak a single word, and when I walked past her on the street I smiled and greeted her, and I kid you not, she looked as though I had just told her that I mate with rubber duckies. In complete silence she walked on by. So unless I'm mistaken, she added me to do what exactly? Maybe she was an assassin, in which case I best get myself some armour.

6) We hate people! 
I'm so ashamed at the amount of racist and homophobic posts that appears on my newsfeed. It was only yesterday when I saw a post about deporting every black person in the United Kingdom. I thought this was tasteless and ignorant. I was surprised to see this appear on my news feed and I instantly wanted to challenge her. And people will believe almost everything! Seriously, if I got a picture of a rough looking woman and typed 'She is on benifits, and enjoys playing Rugby on the XBOX while you're working super hard, share this to end benefits' you would have a torrent of people believing it. It's absolutely terrifying how people will believe in this nonsense. I have never once seen any of my friends come up to me and do something of the like. It's as if Facebook changes how people interact? It goes beyond that, and this is pretty much the entire internet, but people can type such abusive comments without any fear of prosecution, and that's a tricky debate because I believe in freedom on the internet, but I will admit it has its flaws. Getting back to my point, however, all you need to do is go on Youtube and you will see hundreds of terrible comments. Sadly I see this on Facebook also, and reflecting on my physical life I hardly see any of this, and if I did I would challenge it. Somehow, Facebook strips me off that ability, and instead feeds me utter nonsense. 

7) Changing The World
Now don't get me wrong here, I am extremely passionate about making a positive difference, and the fact that Facebook makes information and events accessible is one, and if not, the only quality that I like. And while I know that social media helps create awareness for many good causes, I can't help feeling dissapointed at the illusion that liking a post is going to make a difference. That's right, I know a few people that honestly believe that liking a status will make a difference. I remember when a charity posted a picture of an abused dog. It said to share the picture to CREATE awareness, and so I followed that. Some one liked my status and expressed how awful it was that people were so wicked and that they wished it would stop. So, out of curiosity, I asked what they were going to do about it. They were confused at my question, and made it clear that they're helping already, whether I had seen their like. I replied calmly that liking a status doesn't really do bugger all, and the entire conversation went down the wrong direction and I had apparently caused offense. Another hate I have, and I absolutely hate this, is that people brag when it comes to donation. I've been volunteering since the age of eleven, and never once have I bragged about it. Yet not long ago was an Ice Bucket Challenge, and my wall was flooded with people sharing texts stating how much they donated. No, that did not encourage me to take part whatsoever, all I felt was the feeling that people were being smug. You do things out of kindness, not to be idolized for being generous. Comparing this to my physical life, I know of people making great sacrifices to help charities, and not once do they brag, and for that they have all of my respect.

8) I'm Worthless
I could be having a wonderful day, and when I get home to log in on Facebook I'm filled with hate for myself. My positivity is destroyed and my energy turns into sadness. We've all posted our successes, though some do it far more than others. I don't brag about my achievements, or what I bought or what was bought for me. I tend to keep that to myself, however, when I see every single day that a friend is getting married or is going to be a parent, or they're moving to America, or they're going on a 2 month holiday; I can't help feel compare their situation to mine, and It's absolutely silly to do this, but I begin hating myself. I forget about what I'm proud about and nag myself that I'm not good enough and this is why I'm not doing these sort of things. Then, when I leave Facebook, I literally have to bash it in my head that I have achieved a lot, and I'm very - very proud of myself. I never used to doubt my abilities but when I joined Facebook that changed, and I hate it so much. Please don't mistake this for jealousy, I am proud of many of my friend's achievements. What's worse is at Christmas. I know some people that will upload a picture of every-single-gift. I actually don't log in on Facebook when It's Christmas, I really - really cannot stand the need to brag about gifts. I guess this point makes me sound bitter, but as I previously said, I never used to compare my life to another, and It's wrong I'm doing this.

What Facebook really boils down to is how it makes me feel. As I said previously, I can have a fantastic day, log in to Facebook and feel worthless, ashamed, embarrassed, and lonely. When I have told my friends I'm quitting Facebook they persist I stay, that I should disable this, and get rid of this person, and remove that and this; what is the point in all that effort to keep something that isn't working for me? Why do people feel the need that Facebook is essential? My life was so much better without it, and I found myself to be a better person before it. I had less worries, anxiety and troubles. I was reluctant to join Facebook a few years ago, but I gave in and I regret it so much. It's done nothing positive at all. Facebook might work for you, and that is great, but personally it's been nothing but a tomb of troubles. I will be deleting Facebook soon, and I'll post another blog of the changes to my life. To any of my friends reading this, you have my details and you know where I am. Let's go out sometime with no mobiles, that would be nice. It's time to start living again!

Please excuse any typing errors, I like to casually edit my blogs. This is based on my personal opinion of Facebook. 

Why I find it terrifying to talk about religion

Yesterday I opened up about the truth about my battles with anxiety. In a way it was only to share my feelings to people that might possibly be fighting the same battle, little did I know was that people would respond within hours, both supporting and thanking me for sharing my feelings. As I mentioned in the post, we're not alone, and I'm feeling very positive that other people in the same place like myself are enlightened that they're not alone; keep on smiling.

Such a response has encouraged me to talk about other topics that I find disheartening or troubling. And what I find truly terrifying is a discussion about religion. In no way do I wish to cause offence, let me just make absolute clear on that, because my intentions are to share the troubles I have when discussing religion in a respectable manner.

Why I find it terrifying to talk about religion

I'm an Atheist, I do not believe in God or Gods, and as a fantasy writer you might find that hard to believe. Of course, I have Gods in my stories, many faiths that strongly believe in them and so on, but as a person living on Earth I do not believe in the existence of God. I was raised by religious parents, made to go to a Christian school, and preached religious ways. This did not make me feel bitter, but as a being that takes great interest in history, facts and science I found it quite difficult to believe in something high in the sky; but such questions did not make me announce that I was an Atheist. When my mother, whom still suffers today, was diagnosed with a brain tumour, I was shattered. My family went into a very dark period, the cancer was incurable, and as today my mother is fighting still. However, it was when people started to approach me and say they would pray for my mother when I felt the most confused. What exactly does that mean? Are they asking a God to cure her? Are they saying the situation is so dire that only religious ways can save her? Does it mean they're trying to cure her? Does it mean they do not believe in medicine, science and surgeons? Of course, I can see it as a will of good manners, just as people say good luck before an interview, but I was really confused at how helpful this was.

This is where my title begins to make sense. When I questioned a teacher that said this to me, in a manner of curiosity, she was taken back that I did not share the same belief that a prayer had any power. Being realistic, we hear about death almost everyday, and I am more than sure that people have prayed and have seen no success many of times. I never once prayed for my mother, and while my mother was upset and wanted me to pray, I refused. Of course that did not mean I did not want her to recover, but I knew that treatment was the only way of any chance of recovery. My teacher told me the power of prayer, how it can cure illnesses and protect people from harm. My mother has been religious her whole life, and has a litre of Holy Water in most rooms in the house, so why would she suffer from cancer? She's religious, she follows the ways, she prayed and prays today? It is silly to think about the question why she suffers, no God has inflicted this on her, and no God will cure her from it. It just happens. My teacher wasn't giving me any answer of sorts that made sense, so what did prayer mean?

My grandmother prayed for my mother, as I'm sure that other members of the family did also, but I saw no results whatsoever. My mother had treatment, lost her hair, looked pale and sickly for many months, was horrified of going bald, was told she only had years to live, where was the power of these prayers? This was when my friend tried to reveal the true fact that my mother was still alive because she was being cared for by God, and that the prayers were keeping her alive. I disagreed completely with my friend, and this is where I started to have a fear of disagreeing with the religious mass. I had offended him, and as a result he believed my mother would die because of my lack of faith. I do not believe for one second that a greater power is keeping her alive, or that prayers work. He was upset, but more offended that I was not thankful for his prayer. The reason for my mother pulling through the operation was because of the surgeons, and the doctors, and everyone involved medically in her recovery. Should she have refused medical help because of the power of prayer she would have been long dead, and that is a grim fact. I wanted to share just a little background to why I struggle with religious discussion today. A few of my family members, including my grandmother and mother, were absolutely appalled at the discovery that I did not pray.

Now back to the title to why I find religious discussion terrifying. Again, in no way do I go out my way to offend anyone, yet so much offence is caused, and why, because I ask questions. I know there are many people, both religious and not, that will go out there way to force their opinions on others, and my purpose is far from that. For example, and this is one reason I am considering quitting Faceboook, is that a lot of people share around these pictures of a man (supposedly Jesus) with writing 'I love God and God loves you. Only the good will share this picture, just you watch!'. Now I'm awfully sorry, but what exactly is that picture meant to mean? Does that mean that only religious people are good? Does it mean only Christians are good? Is it meant to give the impression that If I do not share the picture then I am sinful? And like many times, I simply ignore the picture, and chose not to engage in a discussion about the meaning due to fear of causing offence. Like I mentioned about my past, some people are sensitive about their faith and believe any form of discussion is an attack. There are many people like myself who like to ask questions, our intentions are not to offend.

However, when I see a picture of the same supposedly Jesus, with writing saying 'Follow me or burn in Hell' I find that absolutely insane. Imagine if I said the same thing about reading my novel, Cold Heart, 'Read my novel or you will all burn in a pit of fire for your ignorance'. More than likely people would find that amusing. Now, please do not mistake me, I am sure that there are lots of religious people that would agree with my statement that It's stupid, as I'm sure there are others that will strongly support such a statement that people who are blind to the faith shall burn; I know there are sides to everything. However, that does not change my opinion that I find it insane, and I will challenge this. When I asked my friend why it was acceptable for me to burn because I won't share his picture, he was taken back at my lack of faith, and accused me of being mean, and this was just the beginning of the discussion. He later went to say he finds our friendship questionable. At first I thought this was just a silly joke, surely no one was so sensitive about being asked just a single question? However, he was most furious, and asked me not to talk to him again. Now, this is a friend I used to get on with, quite well actually. And I find myself questioning myself whether it's worth actually trying to have a civil discussion about it? Is it worth losing friends because of a discussion? I don't want to lose a friend because of a discussion, yet it has happened in the past, and this is worrying. Should I keep silent to keep the peace?

Why is it acceptable for people to share pictures of a man with silly statements, yet when one questions that picture they are branded as offensive? No, it is not offensive that I am asking why I should burn because I am an Atheist, yet  the troubles continued, but with another friend. I posted a video on my wall a few months ago about a young girl who was killed by her mother for not following the same faith, now, you will find plenty of those sort of videos, but the video I posted was in the format of being told by a newsreader. It was a short clip, and I typed a few words with the video stating that everyone has the right to an opinion, and better yet, an opinion that is respectfully put. Unfortunately, another friend was outraged at both the video, accusing it to be full of lies, and that my statement was hateful towards religious people. She swore at me in all capitals, and quite quickly I took down the post and deleted her comment because I felt horribly guilty about causing some one so much stress. I spoke to my friend in a private message, stressing that I in no way was trying to cause offense. She said I'm a bitter man, and ignored me.

A few days ago my friend posted on her wall that her mother had survived an operation because of the power of prayers, and she was most thankful to her friends, but more so to God; without him 'she would have died'. Her friends were praising God, thanking him for this wonderful miracle. Now, I was extremely delighted to hear of the success of her treatment, but I was curious to why there was no thanks to the hospital and medical staff? Just going back to the point about the prayers for my mother, prayers alone would have done 'bugger all' to help my mother. She would have been dead without medical treatment, that is a fact, and I am forever grateful to the team that helped her, and still help her to this day (and my father who has sacrificed everything just to look after her). So what I did was send a message privately to my friend, keeping in mind that a lot of her friends are praising God, the last thing I wanted to do was to disrespectfully agree with the mass, I shared my many congratulations on the success of her treatment, not once saying it was a miracle, but I also questioned why there was no sign of thanks to the surgeons that had worked on her mother's heart? My friend did ask me nicely not to ask another question like that, that it was disrespectful and bad timed of me to raise that question. Yet I thought to myself, why is it fine if people are saying miracles are wonderful, yet the poor medical staff that had worked many hours to save this woman had received not a single bit of praise? Of course, I dropped the conversation, I was absolutely relieved at the recovery, and decided that trying to have a civil discussion was not going to happen. Yet this is the same friend that many months ago told me that she questions my morals because I don't go to church. Now I'm leaving that for another post, but you might understand why I am confused at the acceptance of speaking positively about religion, but should you question it you will be given the cold shoulder. And this is what I have trouble with, we can speak freely about politics, the difference between parties and leaders, about finances and education, and even who is the best singer on X-Factor, yet when we speak about religion there is so much sensitivity and offence caused that I find it truly terrifying indeed, while at the same time I find it terrifying that I am hiding my opinion in the dark, what does that say about the future of democracy, the right to speak?

I have a few none religious friends, one of which feels afraid to speak about Atheism as well, due to the fear of causing offence. I really find this saddening, in the age of 2015 there are still people afraid to speak their opinion? I can't even speak to my family about why I am an Atheist because I get plastered with 'I was raised better than to ditch my faith in Christianity'. Many of times I watch debates on Youtube with none religious and religious people, and I read books on religion also. Yet I keep this all very private, and I am ashamed that I do not have the strength of, let's say, Richard Dawkins, who many of times debates openly about facts, and while at times he can say rather brutal speeches, many of times he does act the gentleman in his debates.

I don't want to lose friends because of religious discussions, yet it pains me to see my wall plastered with all of these religious stories and messages, and it pains me even more that I have to keep my curiosity in knowing why to myself. I feel guilty of feeling weak, and ashamed I lack the courage. I often question myself whether a truer friend would not accuse me of such hateful things, and perhaps I just have a lot of sensitive friends. Many times I tell myself that there is absolutely nothing wrong with asking questions, and if It causes offence then so be it. I know for a minute if I were to post the picture below I would be slaughtered by my many offended friends, and yet I know should they share a picture saying Jesus died for us all, and that we should be grateful, that they would find it perfectly acceptable.

I understand I could have written this much better, but I am speaking purely how I feel. Perhaps in the future I will write about religion in depth and question it without the fear of causing offence, but as of the moment I might just have to keep my opinions to myself, yet at the same time ... I can feel this great injustice, it's not fair, and perhaps I might question (in the same old respectful manner) these posts and my friend's beliefs.

Do excuse any errors you might have found, I like to write my posts quickly, and not like a chapter in my novel.

Living in a nightmare / anxiety.

Lately my friends have been creating blogs, expressing their opinions and beliefs and struggles too, and it got me me thinking about starting my own. As a writer of fantasy, I'm without a doubt, passionate about writing. Many of the subjects in my story, Cold Heart, often tackle problems that people are facing today, such as discrimination. When I had the idea of creating a blog I was immediately confronted with the question of  'what to write about?', and that's when my phone started to buzz ...

Living in a nightmare / Anxiety 

If you have my number you may be one of the many frustrated friends that often get angry at me for not answering my phone. I would hope that my friends do not think that I am being ignorant, it's been a nagging thought on my mind for sometime, but is that my fault for not telling them the truth?

When I was young, somewhat the age of 14, I was surrounded by a large group. My two friends sped away, I painfully assumed they were going for help, but I was foolish to believe that. One of the people started to punch me, I could feel blood run down my face, but I was numb and I didn't feel pain. Of course I was terrified inside, I had never experienced such an emotion before. As a peaceful being that believes strongly in Gandhi's quote "An eye for an eye makes the whole world blind", you can imagine that this attack was a complete surprise. Unfortunately, I knew some of the people in the group, and while I could feel adrenaline rush through me, with the urge to strike back, I knew it would have been a horrible mistake. As a result, as I walked home, bleeding and feeling confused, I was filled with a terrible guilt as I reached the door to my house. Why didn't I do anything? Why was I so spineless to just walk away? I'm a coward ... I couldn't help these thoughts. Before the attack and I was confident and often cocky, I was adventurous and often fearless. Yet after the attack, I hid in my room with the curtains shut, month after month, reminding myself of how terrible I was to not do anything. I lied to my grandparents when they rushed to the door, I said I had fallen ... how cliche. I'm sure they didn't believe in it, but I think they knew it was best to leave me be. My friends knocked on my door time after time asking whether I was coming out, but I would ignore it, and hide away. At first I told them my feelings, that I was afraid to go outside. What if people want to attack me again for no reason? I actually believed that staring anyone in the eye would result in violence, I was terrified. Yet my friends did not understand, and after a short period they knocked for me no more, and that was the end of many great friendships. With my confidence destroyed, I locked myself away telling myself how horrible I was.

And until the age of 18 where I actually did something about it, I had lost too many friends and times of greatness. I would never go outside unless I had to. I struggled purchasing something from the shop, I would need to have my grandma to get me stuff from the shop. I kept my head low when at college, though trying to put a brave face on, hiding how I really felt. The thing was, and which confuses me today, is that throughout those years people would talk to me, and get on with me. It was only when I kept on declining to go out to a party or a night out where they stopped bothering. Don't get me wrong, I'm not bitter, and I can understand completely, but I still hated myself for it.

Anxiety was my nightmare. My friend rang me for her 18th birthday party, and while she knew very well about my troubles, she was mortified I was too afraid to attend. As you can imagine she hated it, and as a result I hated myself even more. I had considered suicide once, but the same attitude I once had when I was younger seemed to ignite from somewhere. I told myself enough was enough, that anxiety was some sort of illness, and cutting a long story short I decided to get help.

I received counselling and my anxiety had started to vanish. With no disrespect intended to my family, I had lied about my visits to the counsellor, telling my dad who took me there that I was getting work experience, after all, I was about to start a degree in Health Care; It seemed likely.  And with the help of a very special friend indeed I could actually share my troubles with someone, and quite frankly, with the help of both the special people, I could return to my former self. I am forever in their debt, always. I started to go out more, I rekindled lost friendships, and life seemed to be better again. When I was out in the summer, I actually cried as I walked through the town in the evening. I was astonished that no one was wanting to fight me. I was amazed that I could walk freely without anxiety crippling me. This was a feeling I did not expect to feel, not so soon. And now at the age of 23 my anxiety has been pretty much none existent.

Yet now and then it returns. Not long ago I had to miss going to a party, I told my friend I was petrified, this was the same friend that had helped me. He was confused at first, probably bewildered that it had returned, but he was understanding and as a result, I stayed inside but I did not beat myself up about it. My anxiety was repelled within minutes. And whenever my phone rings I am filled with anxiety, and I am still fighting that. I wonder who it is going to be, and even when I can see the name of my phone, I have to take a heavy breath and remind myself to speak calmly. Some days I tell myself I'm a horrible person, that I should have fought back the attackers, what a coward I was. Yet the better side of myself, a transformation of sorts, tells me that the experience was a test. Without it would I be who I am today? In a strange sort of way, I feel as if I have learned so much.

So my message, if you excuse the many errors, and cutting it shortly due to time, is to my wonderful friends who have not had the troubles of anxiety, please, just stay calm and understand that I do not do this to trouble you, I sometimes am fighting a demon alone in the dark, and I need to do it alone. I love you all.

Nathan.