Like, I’m proper sick, bro.

And not in the urban way defining someone or something ultra cool and edgy.

Like, I’m proper sick. Old fashion ill, nothing edgy or cool about my situation, just plain laid out bare fucking naked sick. If you’ve read a couple of the previous entries, you’d hopefully see that I am endeavouring to be an advocate for mental health, perhaps in my own misconstrued way, but I want the conversation to be started and carried forth. And so I share my personal views and experiences. Another voice who thinks she needs to be heard, wants to be heard blablabla. Yes perhaps, however friend of mine said once she always thought twice before sharing because the net is just so filled with everything and nothing. She’s tots right. However, my response was: “If you feel strongly about what you want to share and it’s authentic, then it will add value to this world. Opinions are like songs and melodies, and what you share or your message could become somebody’s favorite melody.” So here I am singing in my crackly broken vocal chord voice, I am not an expert. I am Human. And honestly, I think I am sick. Proper sick, old fashion ill, nothing edgy nor cool, just plain laid out bare fucking naked sick.

I barely have it together. Whilst I truly believe in the power of meditation, mindfulness exercises and self-care practices, if you were to dissect my brain in tiny eetsy-bitsy bitesizes of “what is going on”, you’d get a potent mixture of very extreme and opposite emotions at their rawest deepest DNA strand, felt and experienced all at the same time. Emotions don’t have a DNA but let’s just assume they do, I mean perhaps they do and perhaps I’m hurting their feelings ( see what I mean, and how my brain just processes something and then something else, like that nutter Rabbit in Alice in Wonderland). STOP. I am saying I am all over the place like a stripper with too many clothes and no paying audience, and my feet are getting tangled in my linen trousers.

How do I know I am sick? Like you mean other than the evident clues left like a bread trail aka wanting to escape reality and reconnect with my true self during my sabbatical because I needed ( and still do) the “space to process and reset”; or the many teary breakdowns I have had in front of colleagues; or the recurring panic attacks I can feel creeping in when my heartbeat accelerates and I can’t tell it to stop – not literally, not yet anyway; or the muscle spasms, and the acne devouring my once-upon beautiful and smooth skin on my face; the ravaging body acne destroying my back and leaving it with scars because I scratch the motherfuckers until they bleed; the lack of sleep because your dreams are violated with realness – and not the RuPaul realness. Just very real fucking problems. Another clue of sickness? When you know I spent the third weekend in my gown not wanting to move, not being bothered whilst all the meanwhile being very bothered and anxious about Life and not being able on concentrating much. Or the weight gaining which I’ve noticed because I just emotionally eat. PROCESSING. ALL. OF. THAT. SHIZZ. AND. STILL. NOT. SLEEPING. And basically wanting to cry my eyes out, and wondering perhaps I should very clearly tap the fuck out but then realising I can’t even do that because some people do rely on me and whilst harming myself may sound like an option, I can’t bring myself to hurt others.

Why don’t I get the GP involved? Very good point Sherlock. I would literally say the same to “me”. It’s been three months I said I would contact the doctor to see if they can help; and my recently provided medical cover seems like they have therapists on the go if you need help. I do most definitely need the help, look at me waving the freaking SOS Flag. I’m waving it like a maniac, my volley-ball has now a face and I call her Wilson, she too is going through a bit of a rough patch since Tom and I made the exchange and I’m the one stuck on that deserted island. Why don’t I call the GP? I don’t fucking know. I am scared, I am tired, I am busy, I am avoiding. PROCESSING. ALL. OF. THAT. SHIZZ.

And mostly because I’ve been there before so I am low-key wondering what is my life about. Half of me wanting to throw the towel in and the other half wanting to pick up the towel and the beat the crap out of me. Listen, it’s complicated. Nobody can pick up the phone for me. I know I have to reach out, because even though I have done it before and it does not make it easier to reach out again. I can see the feeble remains of my mental health spiraling down like that very precious piece of jewelry you dropped in the public washroom sink with a gaping drainhole. Yeah. ALL. OF. THAT. SHIZZ. Fucking scary, ain’t it.

And that my dear friend, is one of the definition of depression. You want to be happy, but sometimes you just can’t. For whatever reason you hold dear, all of them very true and real to you, maybe you only, but still very true and real to you. I know I am strong, blessed with a good and caring network. But maybe, I don’t want to be strong. Maybe I am tired of having to be strong. So what do I do? Throw the towel in or pick it up and beat the crap out of me.

Here you go. I have no answers. Just an offering of very real and conflicting emotions for your reading. If you have a friend or someone you love who is going through a tough time, you can’t fix it for them. You can only be there for them, reassure them. And if you are going through a tough time, or another tough time, it fucking is hard ain’t it? I know. So let’s take a deep breath and close our eyes, and as you exhale, if you need to cry or scream or do both, just go on ahead. Let it out.

My Life Doesn’t Suck – It Just Feels Like It.

Needless to say the current state of affairs in the world have reached unpreceded levels of what-the-fuckness. We keep telling ourselves: “It is going to be OK”, but really I want to ask: Is it though?

Pre- Covid times, I had to worry about my own fuckery ( to an extent), but is it me or since the pandemic hit, there seems to have been a shift in universes, and all the wrong that was present has been brought to the forefront and you just can’t ignore it anymore. Everything is twisted. People say 2020 was one of the worst if not most challenging years, like we had nothing to do with it, but I kind of believe 2020 was the climax of our collective karma brought to an eruption. Yeah, you know what I’m talking about between police violence, racism, climate change, pandemics, universes shifting force fields, flying rats, zombies (just checking you’re still with me). Being stuck indoors because of lockdowns and government guidelines is forcing us to realise the extent to which our mental endurance can be tested and also how very wrong some of our priorities are and have been for a very long time. The ever present feeling of movement, action, traction, reaction in our daily lives kept us in an occupied mindset; feeling like we were actually doing stuff.

However, remove the motion, and replace with nothing else but working from home, for example, or home-schooling your kids at the same time, that sh*t would drive anyone beserk. Add to that the existing underlying mental health conditions of each one of us, diagnosed or not. It’s just bonkers how much of a battering our mind is undergoing. Might as well go stand in boxing cage with a gorilla, trust it would probably have the same effect.

I know I’ve been experiencing drastic melt-downs way too often over the past few months; my poor colleagues have seen the best and the worst of ALL of me ( and not in a John Legend way either). I mean, who wants to break down in tears when asked the question: “Are you OK?” no one really, but it happens; sometimes you just can’t answer that question without putting on your brave face, so there go the gates of River Cry, plunging into the abyss of Wailing.

We are humans, we’re not robots ( and I’m pretty sure robots probably have feelings too, because I say so!) . But seriously, what we are going through is HARD. There aren’t the usual niceties of daily life to hide how f*cked up stuff can be. My biggest realisation since 31.12.2019 is that I give too much to my work; it’s not even my passion so I don’t even have the excuse to say I LOVE MY WORK, nah, it’s just because I carry childhood trauma; I taught and nurtured my own self to be this insufferable people pleasing weird chick, workaholic, not wanting to disappoint EVER in any situation; so when I started my professional life, my work became my life, because that’s how I identify myself, and benchmark my success mostly. It wasn’t a problem for many years, and it turned out to be a weapon of mine because it made into this high achiever. It wasn’t a problem until it was. I slowly started experiencing depression, feeling worthless, anxious about anything and everything. Then one bad relationship drove me down the alley of seeking for counsel in the end, and I decided to take a sabbatical to go travel………then Covid-19 kicked in when I was India loving life, being OK, repenting and what-not; so my travels got cut short, and I came back to gloomy old London in March 2020 ( and the rest is history straight out of a sci-fi movie with flying rats, universes shifting, zombies).

Stuck indoors and working from home, like most people doing longer hours because let’s face it: 1). what else is there to do? and 2). I’m already home, so I don’t have the physical separation of buildings, having to take trains. So I just work, and work, and work. So yeah, my mind is taking the biggest battering ever. Mental Health Marathon: it’s a f*cking parkour with sharks on steroids in murky waters if you’re asking me.

It really does seem like my life sucks and is absolute sh*te, and has been for such a long time. And this becomes my reality: entirely fabricated, true, but it becomes my reality. I watch myself going in spiral mode, anxious at every email popping up in my inbox, OCD traits are kind of sprouting, and for sure panic attacks feel like they’ve become my best friend. What to do then? I say to myself “My Life Doesn’t Suck, It Just Feels Like It”. And when I can’t take it anymore, I take a time-out, close my eyes, close my ears, and try breathing. I also reach out to my close ones to let them know I am not OK and I don’t know what to do.

If you are suffering from ongoing stress resulting in depression, anxiety, panic attacks, lack of appetite, substance using, REACH OUT please. There are people who care about you, I promise, whether these are friends, family or strangers on a help line. You’re not a burden, you never will be; you deserve to be heard, so don’t try and be brave and handle your sh*t on your own, just reach out. There is strength in asking for help, and there is help out there, so please don’t suffer in silence. Check out the links below for help.

And please look after yourself: remember what makes you happy, play music, buys yourself a drum, draw, or sit down and breathe. You will be OK, we will be OK. We’re not prisoners of our fabricated lives.

MIND: https://www.mind.org.uk/

SAMARITANS: https://www.samaritans.org/

I Am Not Defined By My Boobs Or My Vagina The Same Way I am Not Defined By My Skin Colour.

Alright, I read the tweet that She Who Shall Not Be Named posted on Twitter. 

Uproar about how she’s transphobic and how she’s not. One thing I don’t get is if you’re a writer, supposedly a person of words, how come millions of people are interpreting your tweet one way and not the other. You’re either not very good at your job or you’re transphobic. 

And listen, there is not even a fence for me to sit on in regards to She Who Shall Not Be Named because I for one was never a fan or even someone who didn’t like her. She never bothered me, I never bothered her. I knew she was homeless at some point, caught a break and was doing well for herself. Kudos to you. All I know is that I didn’t like Harry Potter, I wasn’t part of the “gang” and when the movies came out, they too I found shite. For me, Radcliffe was doomed to play this what I found an anti-hero of a young white boy who other than a scar on his forehead had seemingly powers and really did nothing but be rescued by his rejects of friends, an unpopular girl, a ginger outcast and who else again? Oh yeah, a giant. I did like the eagles though. Yeah, as a kid I was pretty much reading in between the lines already.  Anyway, sounds to me like the image of our Society: white man with power does nothing, and minorities suffer and pick up the pieces. Just funny there weren’t that many Black people in the movies. And don’t talk to me about the casting faff of Noma Dumezweni. An author would describe their characters well enough for the reader to get an idea of who they are. And if the only description you have to say Hermione was potentially Black stands on “bushy brown hair, large teeth and shrill voice” then dear oh dear, what does that say.

Anyway…. The tweets went on like this. 

Then I wondered, “But Who Asked Her Anyway!?”; my sister retorqued “she probably was ruminating about trans-people and it came out”. Fair point. I pictured She Who Shall Not Be Named, glass of Pinot Grigio in her living room, scrolling the net and stumbling on the article “Opinion: Creating a more equal post-COVID-19 world for people who menstruate” and sadly instead of putting her hurt egotistical feelings away for the greater cause of what this very valid article was approaching, she went on Twitter to basically talk trash and be seen as for what she really is: uneducated, old times supporter, white privileged woman who has forgotten her hard times, and sadly is transphobic, takes the media away from another very valid cause right now which is affecting a race globally, and I’m talking about racism, and racism against Blacks.

Then I did what I do best, I read in between the lines of her tweets:

“Black Lives Matter?! I’m sure ALL lives Matter! What about me! Little White me!”

“If race isn’t real, there is no racism. If race isn’t real, the lived reality of White people globally is erased. I know and love Black people, but erasing the concept of race removes the ability of many to meaningfully discuss their lives. It isn’t hate to speak the truth”. 

“The idea that white women and white people like me, who have been empathetic to Black people for decades, feeling kinship because they’re vulnerable in the same way as Blacks – ie, facing injustice, inequality – ‘hate’ Black people because they think race is real and has lived consequences – is nonsense.”

“I respect every Black person’s right to live any way that feels authentic and comfortable to them. I’d march with you if you were discriminated against on the basis of being Black. At the same time, my life has been shaped by being white. I do not believe it is hateful to say so.”

Sounds to me you’re saying you’re not transphobic, the same way a racist would say they’re not racist because they had a #blackouttuesday post or have a Black, or Asian, or Trans friend. 

Where She Who Shall Not Be Named went wrong:

  1. Scroll her phone, tablet, laptop, whatever device she had on Saturday night, jazz music in the background, probably a fag hanging from her dry mouth and a glass of spilled Pinot Grigio on the expensive rug of her mansion.
  2. Stumbled on the article “Opinion: Creating a more equal post-COVID-19 world for people who menstruate” which is worth an actual read
  3. Read “People Who Menstruate” and went into her usual unrequired white woman fury seeking attention from the world.

I mean I’m sure she probably didn’t read the article otherwise her undeniable need for the absurd tweet she birthed would have been erased by the very relevant topic ( OK this is the 3rd time I say this article is relevant, get the hint and go read it please!). 

Also it had African people as leading picture too – what a coinkindinc!

Instead of realising the WORLD IS CHANGING and the lines of gender are blurred because people don’t belong to boxes anymore. They don’t want to! They don’t have to! They don’t fit the system! The system does not fit them! 

So yes, we have nowadays “People who Menstruate” get with it, it doesn’t take anything away from me as a woman, as a female, because guess what! I am more than my boobs and vagina! The same way I am more than my skin colour! I am a human being worthy of Love, Respect, Justice, Equality!

I have no answers to this absurd world we live in, but I know a fraud when I see one. You’re welcome. 

Common Misconceptions on Yoga and How I Missed The Boat.

What we think we know about Yoga, at the start, is usually wrong and biased. I say so because I misunderstood Yoga when I came across it.

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Picture a 17 year old girl who had left her home country, the Republic of Benin, to relocate to cosmopolitan London city, in order to study and live. Study what though, that was the question. For a few months, I frantically ordered university brochures that came through the post in their shiny, glossy covers and showcased pictures of happy to be students living on campus, having found their way in Life. I didn’t know what I wanted to study, I knew I was creative, and was interested in being active, and that I wanted to have my own successful business by the time I hit 30, at the very latest. I had it all planned, whatever it was, it was going to be tactical and great. So I scanned websites, glossy brochures for inspiration, signs, and whatnot.

I often caught myself wanting to go down the road of a practical certificate or diploma in fitness and maybe top it up with a degree in nutrition. “Become your own Boss”, “Change a life, become a Personal Trainer”, ” Dance to Music Diploma”, all these unequivocally stirred something in my heart, I could picture myself in about 5 years time maximum the owner of a gym or Fitness Centre, for sure. Why? Because I liked fitness, lifting weight, cardio, “looking fit, being fit”; I understood it. I mean I trained, and I could relate to the happy people in the pictures, who looked out of breath, sweaty, toned, with slabs of abs, full of energy and vitality.

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There was a section I systematically did not bother with when I was looking up subjects to learn, and after so many years, I sincerely laugh at my younger self. That section was “Become a Yoga Teacher”; Yoga for me at the age of 17 was not “cool”. And the pictures in the brochures were pictures of older Caucasian women split in two on a mat, looking straighter and slimmer than anyone I’d seen. I just did not relate with what I thought was a bunch of bendy people cutting shapes or wanting to look like Indian gurus. I mean how could this be fitness, they weren’t even sweating! Nah, nah, Yoga was a “white people thing” and it was honestly not my cuppa tea. It didn’t feel like a real sport, a real practice.

For someone who had the privilege of growing up with spirituality as an ideal and was initiated from a young age to meditation, you would have thought that I was better placed to be interested in Yoga. Needless to say, I ended up the conventional way of studying a “proper” degree in Creative Industries…whatever it was I enjoyed it, but my profession is in Human Resources, yet again fitting the cliche of “what you study won’t necessarily be what your job will be about”. I missed the boat, I did. There aren’t two ways about it; I’m not sad about it, it’s a reality and I did what felt right for me at the time at which I did it. But, I missed the boat. And why? Because of misconceptions about Yoga but also how it was, and has been, represented for a long time.

Patanjali writing the Sutras

What is Yoga: Yoga is a 5,000 years old philosophy, a code by which to live, free of ailments of the mind, body and soul. It is a spiritual practice that is enhanced by the physical practice called asana. The practice of Yoga in its whole form allows a yogi (male) or yogini (female) to attain Union with the Higher Self and therefore Freedom. To fully understand what Yoga is, you’ve got to try your hand at reading Patanjali who basically is an Indian sage who took the time to compile what yoga is and gave the world a step by step guide on how to liberate ourselves from pain and who we think we are – the Yoga Sūtras of Patañjali are a collection of 196 Sanskrit sutras on the theory and practice of yoga.

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Yoga is not religious, although it refers at times to God, this is more in the sense of the ultimate Higher Energy, the Universe. And if you’re not into this cuckoo concept that there may be a spiritual energy out there, then Yoga can still be for you, because it allows for personal growth inwardly and outwardly, regardless of your beliefs, religion, gender, race and what we’ve decided to be a label nowadays. Yoga is inclusive of all things.

Asana is the “exercise” part of Yoga, the one that keeps us physically fit ( I sang that in my head), because we like to move it – move it. And asana is most of the time the only part that people understand Yoga by. The Headstand, the Big Toe pose, the Wheel, the flying in the air pose and so forth. What we have forgotten in the globalisation of such a traditional way of living, is that asana is also the sitting pose, and lying down pose. I am not saying the above quick intro to Yoga would have swayed my biased 17 year old self, but what I am trying to say is that Yoga is so much more than a far away practice that a select group of slim looking people do, breaking into impossible poses whilst not sweating.

Yoga isn’t for flexible people: yoga is for everyone who wants to make space and time for the betterment of their selves, physically, emotionally and mentally.
Yoga is not less than, or rather Asana practice is not less than a 45 minutes workout of Legs, Bums & Tums. I am biased, but I will go on a limb here ( pun intended) and say it could be more than. A well defined asana sequence can get even the fittest athlete in sweats in 20 mins or less.

Asana practice requires a level of fitness and this level can be built up to either beginner, intermediate and/or advanced levels. Just like any other sports. Asana practice is based on sequences of compound exercises that effectively work multiple muscle groups at the same time; you can increase the intensity either by staying in the poses for longer or shorter periods of time.

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What’s even greater I feel, but again I am biased, is that asana practice or Yoga in general helps us link our breath to our body and movement. I mean yes, that is pretty much a natural thing, but when was the last time you watched your breath and noticed the goodness it brings to your body, as a cellular level.
And this brings me to talk about the dreaded M word; yes, we’ve tried it, some stranger told us to close our eyes and quiet our mind. Easy for them to say, and also what’s this business of sitting in an uncomfortable seated position for hours… Meditation. Yes, it can be a challenge, although scientifically proven, the practice of meditation truly helps alleviate anxiety; you can quiet your mind, it is possible, and it helps your brain function better.

You don’t have to sit for long hours in a Lotus pose, you don’t have to close your eyes if you don’t want to. All you have to do is allow your own self to make the first step, and breathe. And with focus brought on your breath, comes the rest. Meditation can also be chanting mantra. Again, that is the beauty of Yoga. It is truly inclusive and you can make it your own.

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Back then I didn’t know nearly enough about Yoga, and it was not represented to me the way I see now it should have been represented – what we tend to lose along the lines of marketing to the West, is a truly inclusive practice. I had cast Yoga aside when I was 17, and understood it as something for flexible people. I was good at being flexible, I dabbled in the arts of gymnastics at school, but other than that, what else was it. That was back in 2005, we didn’t have Instagram yet. Maybe if I had seen people like LaRuga on those brochures, I would have bothered a bit more.

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14 years later, here I am, a qualified Yoga Teacher and I thank the Universe for granting me such a gift. Because that is what Yoga is, a gift.Discard what you think Yoga is and give it a try. And if you have given it a try already, and it wasn’t your cuppa tea, then don’t banish the idea, give it another try because from one human being to another, it truly is worth the time and try.


But hey, I am biased I guess.

Why I Didn’t Celebrate My Birthday.

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Or at least, not in the way that most people understand the word ‘celebrate’ anyway.

Who Cares!?

Today is my birthday, I hit 32.

Like I said to my sister, “Tatty-too (thirty-two)”. Yesterday, I actually had to get my calculator out to make sure of the age I was actually hitting, once you’re past your 30’s you kind of start amalgamating the years and stop counting; what counts is the decade now, we know we’re adults, there’s not much else to prove apart from showing that we’re not total douchebags deprived of hope.

Anyhow, today’s my birthday, I woke up wishing to my own self a ‘Happy Birthday old girl’, I am not even kidding. In the mist of waking-up-why-I-gotta-work haze, I had a little warmth in my heart, just at the thought of me making it to another year. Maybe, that’s what you call being content.

Like me now, I’m important!

It’s amazing, is it not. A few years back, my phone would be popping and flashing and ringing and notifying me every minute of a so-and-so wishing me a happy birthday – my Facebook page would be littered with emojis and memes, and stickers and exes wishing me to stay beautiful ( I would obviously secretly or openly cussed them out, but that’s another blog). As the years went by, the popping-and-flashing-and-ringing-and-notifying-every-minute would reduce, as would the feeling of being young and famous. And today, I count the notifications to have been a handful.

You know what else comes with age, aside from contentment? Wisdom. And knowing, for sure, ‘Less is More’, or that it is all about ‘Quality and not Quantity’.

I know that the people who have wished me to be happy today, truly mean it because they have taken time out of their real-life-sucks-you-dry-mothereffin-deadline-boss-is-on-my-back schedule to wish my little old self a Happy Birthday indeed. What matters is what’s happening in the real world, outside the matrix, human beings made of flesh and blood giving you hugs.

What Sorcery is this.

So when I get asked the question of ‘What are you doing tonight’ and the answer is ‘not much’, don’t be surprised.

I bought myself a San Miguel, a pack of red grapes and cheered to myself and my late father, face-called my mother and told her I’m coming home soon. And to see the look on her face was worth every hard working year I broke my back for Mr. Boss-man, because I am an adult now, and I adult good. I don’t need an extravagant party, I am actually quite good at this minute with what I represent in Life, so I’ll take that with me. Yeah, maybe I’ll go to the cinema this weekend, and who knows, get popcorn or something, go crazy. You’re probably thinking what sorcery is this…

Sometimes it’s not what you think

Nothing fantastic, nothing glamorous, you might even be wondering what type of celebration this is, surely the one of a depressed mind; start analyzing my choice of beverage, and lack of cooked dinner.

I’ll give you a pass and thank you for your concern. I’m OK today, and most of all I am grateful. I’ll take that win.

You can be OK too. So there you go, no answer, I don’t even believe there was a question, but you’re welcome.

A Positive Nature In A Depressed Mind?

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So today at work, one of my colleagues said to a client that I was one of the most positive people in the office. I could not really hide my reaction and raised a dubious eyebrow, like I don’t have a poker face unless I want to prank someone you know; I wear my emotions on my face 24/7; it’s like a live stream of Panda’s Emotions En Direct!

Anyhow, I digress. My colleague’s statement stayed with me, and ultimately pushed me to start this blog. I got home pondering and hammering this one question in my head: “Can you be positive and be depressed at the same time?” Hell, I even Googled it to see if there were other people out there like me asking the same question. All I found was “How Positivity Helps You Through Depression” and other, let’s say, useful articles but not one was really answering my question.

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It has been a couple of years I have been suffering with Chronic Depression, yes yes the dreaded words. This year though, I hit a very low point in and effectively sought out help; had a breakdown in front of my GP – bless her I don’t think she’d anticipated her day to be faced with the Tragedies of a Thinking Panda in the dirty south east of London. I crumbled in front of a stranger, said my mind had been going a thousand miles an hour and I needed help; the allocated 10 minutes appointment turned out to be the golden hour of Realization.

I undertook CBT for a few weeks, was reassured I was not crazy and what I was experiencing was Depression and Anxiety. To keep up with my meditation and exercise as often as possible, drink water and hang on to a healthy routine as best as I could. I mean, the level of support you get through the NHS is not premium service, far from it. You’re basically equipped with a starter pack, a pat on the shoulder and off you go honey, call us when it gets bad again. Don’t get me wrong, it is helpful, 100%; you need that pat on the back, you need that “You’re going to be OK”; and there are other mental health programs available such as speaking to psychologists and therapists. CBT, and the lady helping me through those sessions, basically enabled me to make the first step towards that happy unicorn land, on a rocky road like Dora and her backpack. It’s just a road you need to be ready to take on, and it usually starts with asking for help.

That is why when people refer to me as potentially one of the most positive individuals in the office, I kind of bug and hesitate. Are they really referring to the lady who spent the entire weekend in her gown, in her bed, watching Netflix, knowing very well the day was passing her by but could not feel bothered enough to go for a walk or coffee down the road? That same lady who would avoid gatherings with friends, can’t be bothered to answer to messages, and who honestly has developed an unhealthy obsession with cat pictures?! Me?

So either we need to raise the bar in the office, or I am actually positive despite the array of depressed feelings I go through? Is it possible to have a positive onset in a depressed mind? As contradicting as this can be, could it effectively be possible?

At work, or with my friends, I’d crack jokes, make people laugh; I do my best to praise my peers’ strengths, help them do better and make them believe they can actually achieve their dreams; not because it’s the nice thing to do, but purely because I genuinely believe in the ability of others to reach their objectives and their version of their better self. I mean, my line of work being HR, I have a tendency of fixing situations and emancipating people as best as I can? I’m not a doctor saving lives, but the little I do makes people’s lives maybe a tad easier… I hope.

So how do you explain that this same uplifting, yoga enthusiast, meditating, zen panda would find herself glued to be a bed-for-an-entire-weekend, heavy hearted, can’t be bothered and undecided bear.

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A Positive Nature in a Depressed Mind; do I hide my depression too well, or am I actually this very positive person who’s struggling with her Life for what has been a very long minute? I mean I feel like a slightly less murdery version of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, more like a borderline crazy Mary Poppins in the kingdom of Wakanda type of girl at the best of times.

So, really, do you think it is possible to retain that forever eluding Positivty during Depression, still? Do you think it is feasible to be mindfully in two places and those two aspects to run concurently whilst being totally contradicting to one another?

Here we are with the first article of One Thousand Thoughts in a Panda’s Mind.

I have no answers. You’re welcome.

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