How a movie helped get me out of a sneaky depression spiral

So, I meant to post last Friday and I didn't and I meant to post the next part of the 'prison' topic that I am working on, and I'm not.

You see I'm shaking off what seems to have been a sudden onset of I-don't-care-but-staying-in-bed-seems-like-a-perfectly-valid-use-of-ALL-my-spare-time, I don't like calling it that, it's too long, I like things to be pithy, and I would give it an expressive and descriptive name, but that would take effort I don't feel like expending.

I don't know why I feel this way recently, and I don't know why in the last day or two I feel like I'm shaking it off. It's no doubt a few (well, probably more than a few) little things that have chain reacted into me feeling the way I do, but I just can't figure what caused it to start or what caused it to stop, so I'm going to talk about a movie I saw in the midst of it all that helped.

Now, I normally wouldn't have dragged myself to see a movie in the week I was feeling crap, but, I had been wanting to see it for ages and I'd asked someone to come with me, it was quite a nerdy movie and had I not made plans to see it with someone, I'd probably not have gone to see it and that would have been a great shame, because it was awesome and I'd have missed out on something that has consumed my thoughts since I watched it.

We're going to talk about Chappie, if you've not seen this, go, like, now, it's got robots, it asks the audience questions and there was one scene that I had to get the Kleenex out for because it was very emotional to have to process. If you have seen the movie it's the bit where the protagonist is wandering the streets of Johannesburg all alone and what happens on his way home.

I struggle to connect with certain topics and situations, in fact, most of the movies that have come out in recent years I've just not bothered watching, I mean, I've still not see the first avengers movie yet, I'm sure I'll like that movie, but Olympus Has Fallen just seemed like "Die Hard: This time it's political" and I just fail to enjoy most action movies, favouring a much richer character driven story.

And, the interesting thing is that I didn't watch the movie and enjoy it, I knew I was going to enjoy the movie going into it, and it was two very subtle things that when discovered through the context of the movies plot were wonderfully executed.

What were these two things that are mentioned once and are seen in every scene with the character with no further attention?

Labels.

You see, the character has two labels on his body, wonderfully accurate labels that I certainly wore myself and didn't notice the significance of the placement of the labels until a week later. Without wanting to spoil the story, before Chappie was 'born', he was labelled. He had things declared about him that he had no way to defend against or no say in. His fate had already been summed up in two words.

You see, Chappie was 'born' with a label on his chest (arguably where his 'heart' is) that read 'Crush' and another on his forehead that stated simply 'Reject'.

This little hero walks around for the duration of the movie with labels on him telling others exactly what people who had no way to know who he was, or what he could become thought of him.

He is a reject and doesn't deserve a chance. He is damaged, crush him down, he's not worth anything.

Does anyone ever feel like that sometimes? Does anyone feel rejected or crushed?

I do, I feel it a lot, my personality is, as I have been told, on several occasions, an acquired taste. I have purposely been rejected by many people due to what goes on up in my head, the way I think, the things I think. The fundamental essence of who I am has, and no doubt will be in the future, be rejected. Likewise, I feel like my heart has been crushed, a lot, it's hard not to be crushed when people actively choose to walk away from friendships and relationships because of who you are rather than anything you've done. It is quite crushing.

Yet, our protagonist seems totally oblivious to these labels.

He just wants to paint, to be read to (he is nothing much but a child, mentally), to be held by his mother and be loved by his father, he wants to be approved of and live his life as he so chooses.

Don't we all want that?

It's easy to live with labels, ugly, dumb, useless, fat, reject, worthless, etc. Somewhere along the way some of us appear to have interpreted them as facts, rather than just a word someone, somewhere, at some point spoke over us. We were never obligated to agree with these labels or live as if they were true.

When I stop to think about it, maybe I do know why I've been feeling kinda low and unwilling to venture anywhere it's socially awkward to wear a dressing gown, maybe it's labels that are bothering me, maybe once in a while one, or a few come back to mind and they get me down and they shouldn't.

I like Jeremiah 29:11, I hate over using it though and for the power of the verse to become familiar or to loose its meaning, but in the message it's translated like this:

"I know what I'm doing. I have it all planned out - plans to take care of you, not abandon you, plans to give you a future you hope for."

I don't hope for any of the labels that were applied to me, in fact I outright hope they're not true, and if that's what I hope for and that's what God wants to do, give me hope. Then what power do labels hold?

Like Chappie I should understand that I can see them, but at no point was I told that I had to believe them.

Til next time.

Bombshell

WARNING: This post contains rather disturbing subject matter and if you have some psychological or emotional triggers this might be the kind of post that you just want to skip. You have been warned... and... I'm sorry, in advance.

I received some news that I'm having some real issues understanding, it starts on an unremarkable Monday on some cold November afternoon. An individual I've worked with for three years didn't show up for work, we have flexitime and he's not usually in until later in the afternoon anyway, but it was still considerably late in the afternoon, even for him. He doesn't show up.

No big deal, maybe he's sick, it happens, it's customary for one to send an email to the office to explain the absence, but whatever, it's above my pay grade.

He's a no show the next day, and the next.

The company I work for has had two suicides prior to me beginning there, we were understandably concerned for our work mate.

He's not there the next week, or the next. The month ends and he's not been seen or heard from. He had previously threatened to quit and we were beginning to wonder if he'd gone through with it, but his desk had not been cleared and looked like he had every intention of coming back. Half finished bottles of soda, reading glasses and personal effects still left on the desk as they had been the Friday night he was last here.

The next month comes and goes, he's off the grid, his Twitter account went silent, he's not responding to texts or emails. It was sad, kinda, this guy inspired me to learn new technologies and to think in new ways. I felt like I owed him a debt of thanks for helping me and for helping me develop the skill set that I enjoy using even today.

Someone at work managed to contact his brother and we were politely but firmly told that his is "alive", it was... Rather blunt.

It just seemed like he'd walked out and abandoned everyone and everything, it... I took it hard, I really looked up to him and he just vanished.

If only I knew.

Four days ago, on another random Monday afternoon, I'm quietly told to Google his name followed by the name of a newspaper local to his city. I wasn't prepared for what it was I read. It was indicated that it was a bit not good, but I really wasn't ready for it.

There's no real way delicate way to put this, and I've not really in any real way put it down, so I'm just gonna write this down and... It's really not nice, so here goes.

He had turned himself in to the police and admitted to five counts of sexual assault and one count of serious sexual assault upon a child under the age of thirteen years old.

So, yeah, that's really messed up.

I really did look up to him, I sought his help frequently, I would not be the programmer I am doing were it not for his help and advice.

I feel weird. I wander around and pause and try to figure it out, maybe understand why.

I can't.

I feel a whole bunch of things, most seem entirely irrational if I'm honest. I feel confused, kinda betrayed, weird, definitely feel weird about the whole thing. I take a small comfort in the fact that others in my work place seem to feel the same way. We stop, look at the desk he used to work and take down some art work, or disconnect more of the equipment. Slowly beginning to move on. At least it's nice to know that I'm not the only one just trying to make sense of it.

You know how people say they just wouldn't have suspected, that he just seemed so normal and you think that it must have been impossible? That someone MUST have suspected something? Yeah... He just seemed so normal...

I don't really have much else I can say at this point, it's a situation I'm still kinda in disbelief about and it's kinda shaken me up a little bit.

Don't know what else I can say really, not sure I've fully processed the fact that someone I worked with for three years was capable of such things.

So... Yeah... Til next time, I suppose.

The Prison In My Mind: Part 2, Shackles

I'm sure I'm not the only one, but sometimes I just feel really weighed down by stuff. It's like this big ball of oppressive junk that makes me feel slow and heavy, I've found myself recently getting bogged down with something and just like sometimes, on my own, as I was walking, I'd just stop and pause. I felt like I was dragging things around with me that were limiting me.

As we continue this series it occurred to me that were was a device that's used to limit a prisoners movement. This device has many names and forms, ankle shackles, leg cuffs, ball and chain, the point is the same, a device that limits movement and holds a person down. I call them “shackles”.

Shackles don’t just weigh you down, they can also be used to chain you to one particular place, prisoners can be chained into a sort of kneeling position with their wrists shackled to their ankles. Holding you in a fixed position, unable to move from it.

As I mentioned in part one, everything in this ‘mind prison’ is either self inflicted or self created and what is it that leads me to find myself bogged down and unable to move sometimes. So what is it that’s caused me to feel this way?

Unforgiveness.

More specifically, I find it hard to forgive myself.

Yeah, I know, it’s supposed to be easy, I screw up, I ask God to forgive me and I try not to do it again, but, what if it’s one thing that you did once and only once and you find it hard to move past the fact that you did it? What if it’s something you did in good conscious and later found out it was bad?

That sensation of being wracked with guilt over something you did and you continue to punish yourself for it. Yeah, when it comes to un-forgiveness of self it really is essentially shackling yourself to the past and you’re either dragging it around with you or it’s holding you in place.

Yeah… Shackles suck.

I’m behind in the daily devotions that get sent through and fortunately so, because I had a bit of a binge this morning. I’m too sick to get to church and I thought catching up on bible study and having some quiet time to myself would be a good idea and what do you know? I happen upon a message about forgiveness. It was split into two parts, upon reflection though I discovered something. It raised the points that we find it hard to forgive others because what they did was so bad, it hurt so much and no-one could understand the pain.

I realise this is how I feel when faced with the fact that I need to forgive myself. 

In relation to harbouring unforgiveness against others it read “Unforgiveness [against others] is like drinking poison and hoping someone else gets sick” and I realise in my own little world I was drinking the poison, sure, but I wasn’t expecting anyone else to get sick. 

I was hoping I would.

When you refuse (or, in my mind, find it hard) to forgive myself, it’s like drinking poison, knowing full well it’s poison and not caring.

That’s either really dumb or just means you wish to punish yourself.

Fortunately this devotional briefly talked about self punishment. If God has forgiven us and we don’t forgive ourselves and continue to try to make up for what we’ve done by refusing to forgive ourselves, or trying to atone for it, or perhaps other things, then we’re saying with our attitudes that the cross wasn't enough.

I mean, that’s bold for all the wrong reasons. 

How can we… How can I, as an informed, forgiven individual believe that the cross wasn’t enough? Where do I get off telling God what did or didn't work. 

I can hear myself thinking (in a rather perplexing inner monologue) it now: 

“But you don’t get it I’m horrible! I don’t deserve to be forgiven.” 

“God can wrap space and time around his little finger, I’m pretty sure he knows how nasty or not I am, were or could ever be.”

“Yeah… but, but but….”

There’s not really an answer to it, but I still try to justify it, for some really weird reason, does anyone else?

It begs the question of why I hold onto the issues of not being able to forgive myself. So, this morning, I recognised that I had been living with my rule of punishing myself in the way I deserved and I felt I had to live as God wanted me to life, not as shackled down to what I had done, but free to move freely into what's coming next.

I tried to find a passage to include here, but I couldn’t find something really deep and meaningful, maybe that’s because being forgive in just so simple and we overly complicate it with our issues and disbelief. I guess when we are forgiven we are forgiven in our entirety and we are free indeed.

Til next time.

The Prison In My Mind: Part 1, The Walls

Hi folks, I woke up from a series of rather unpleasant dreams one morning and one of the big images that came to mind was that of a prison and a maximum security prisoner, and while I've been wanting to write about something to do with this topic for a while, the whole thing poured out of my mind rapidly and rather forcefully, and I knew I had a multi-part series on my hands again.

This part will deal with what I typically think of when I hear the word 'prison', a place of containment, of limitation. Future parts will discuss other aspects of prisons that we might imagine when we think of incarceration. It is also important to note that everything discussed here is a creation inside my own mind and was created by myself almost exclusively.

You'll have to bear with me though, I'm going to be more open than I have been in the past. I want to be... I have to be. Even while writing this I read another post that encouraged me to just let myself be known. So here it is, some days I just feel trapped inside my own mind and here's what I'm going to try to do about it.

When I imagine a prison, the first thing that comes to mind is bars and walls, sometimes steal bars and sometimes solitary confinement boxes made from concrete. It doesn't matter too much however, because the point is that these are a tool to contain the occupant. My container is not made of steel or mortar but instead it's made of lies and false beliefs, it's what prevents me from being able to reach out and fully engage with the freedom on the other side of the container, because that's the purpose of prison walls, to separate the occupant from the freedom of the outside world.

My history is what it is, I don't talk about specifics much, but I feel that to provide the context I need to be open about what it is that my cage is composed of.

I was bullied at school, a lot, by the time I was 16 and leaving school it had become a daily thing, it was verbal, emotional, psychological and physical. The guys would trip me to the ground and kick me while I was down, punch me in the gut as I passed. In gym class, one dude would pin my arms behind my back as the others would take turns punching me in the stomach, where no one would see the bruises.

The girls were no better, one time a girl invited me to join her at an event, only to later turn around and exclaim "I was only kidding, like I'd invite you anywhere!", many girls in fact would pretend to talk to me and express concern, only to not talk to me the next day, or simply spread rumours about me throughout the school.

If one member of a social group had fallen out of favour with their usual group of friends, they'd sit with me for the day, much to my annoyance, I knew they were only sitting next to me, because sitting next to me was better than sitting alone. Well, to them at least, I didn't enjoy their company much.

I don't remember much of this at all, the memories occasionally come back when I'm dreaming, but for the most part they have been expunged from my concious mind.

At college, I was ferried to and from the campus by buses that the college provided and someone decided to set my hair on fire. This placed the lives of 60 other students at risk because the seats were highly flammable and had the individual been careless the whole bus might have gone up in flames.

At university someone I passed in the street smashed my face in for no reason.

Another time, supposed "friends" left me with a concussion and forty minutes of lost memories on my own, the injury occurred in the context of a uni social event and if I was taken to A&E their insurance premium would go up. I had to be escorted to A&E after the event had formally ended.

That is what it is and it can't be changed.

The result is that unfortunately, I don't know exactly when, but I began to realise I believed the lies that had been spoken over me or that I had determined based on the behaviours I was used to and I found patterns in the events that I experienced.

That I'll never be smart enough.
That I'll never be strong, or fast or tough.
That I'll always be unwelcome and unwanted.
That I'll always be unloved and unappreciated.
That I'm not important.
That anything bad that happens to me is deserved.
That no-one really cares.

Right now, in this moment as I write this, I believe these words are axiomatic.

And that's wrong.

Each lie, each little whispered word of pain is another bar, another limitation in my life, another steel obstacle that I can't get over, around or through.

Eventually, so many form around you that you are, surrounded by them and you find that you can see glimpses of the free life that you're always supposed to have... It just feels like you're kicking and punching and shoulder barging yourself against the inside of your own head, trying to grasp the freedom that you know you're supposed to have.

It gets tiring, it really does.

The question is, how to we begin to disassemble the prison from the inside out?

At this point, I think the first thing I'm choosing to do is begin by looking at the bars, what are they made of? What weaknesses do the walls have? Can a rock hammer slowly chip away at the stone, piece by piece?

Remember how I said the bars were lies?

That's how I'm tackling this. Even if the lesson I learned is 'truth' there's still an inherent lie, the lie that states that the particular truth can separate me from the life I'm supposed to be living. It can't. We are more than conquerors, and we can't be separated from  God.

Romans 8:37-39 reads: "No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us. For I am sure that neither death nor life, nor angels, nor rulers, nor things present nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord."

I mean, that's pretty explicit and does cover the physical as well as the mental prisons I imposed upon myself: "Nor anything else in all creation", that's got everything covered.

The first step in breaking tearing down the prison in my mind is to begin by realising that God is bigger than the prison I am in and it is important to note that Acts 16:26 details the fact that Paul and Silas were in prison, and they were praising. This forms the second part of an escape strategy, because I'm pretty sure that Paul and Silas lived with the knowledge that God was bigger than the situation they found themselves in and God showed up, freeing them from the containment they found themselves in.

Or more concisely:

#1: Know that God is bigger than the prison we find ourselves in.
#2: Praise God in the midst of your incarceration.
#3: Wait for God to show up and break the doors wide open.

It's hard to keep all this in mind when your prison exists mentally, but it's absolutely essential and it's something I know I need to hold myself to doing each and every day. My head is a mess at the best of times and even when remembering what I have to do, I want to scream inside my own head and smashing against my own limitations from the inside, but it's not going to help.

It doesn't help.

Only God can.

Til next time folks.

New Year, new series.

So, happy new year to you all, sorry for my absence, however, I helped run a charity event, moved house and have been without the internet for quite some time. During this time I found it hard to sit down and focus, made even harder by the fact that I got sick and wasn't sleeping right, on a home brew cocktail of cough mixture, pain killers and coffee.

In short I wasn't quite... Thinking clearly.

I had the beginnings of an idea, one that I couldn't get out of my head and it's kinda crazy, it scares me. A lot, I wrote it down, and wanted to throw it away and I heard one of the pastors at my church say "If it scares the pants off you, then it's God" so I will have to publish that post at some point, but not yet, as I thought deeper on the subject someone said in passing John 3:30 "He must become greater; I must become less" and it really resonated with what I was trying desperately to get at.

As I thought about this and the other things that plagued me I realised I had a much bigger idea on my hands, one that will make me sound like I've gone insane, I haven't, but, I feel that I simply have to write it down as it is and hope that it is of some use to others.

In fact, there's a lot I have to write up, not just in relation to this series (which I will be titling 'The Prison In My Mind') but there's a subject comprised of two elements I feel I need to write up "Actions" and "Words" respectively.

So, all in all, although I've been absent for the best part of a month, I'm back and I have specific things I want to approach this year and I just hope that you find at least something in the words that I write.

So with all that said, I embark upon attempting the first of 'The Prison In My Mind', next time.

Who do you want to be?

This is a post I've wanted to get out for a while, however I fear it won't capture all I wish to say, it's been a hard subject for me and I don't quite know why.

I don't feel like I fit in, this isn't the reality of my situation, just my twisted perception of reality. This lead me to question why I feel like I HAVE to fit in, which in turn asked a bigger question than "How do I fit in?" it is "Who do I want to be?" Because, how can I know where to fit in, if I don't know who I fit in with?

Despite appearances, I don't know how to fit in, but I kinda know how to be myself, and as I write this I ask myself "Do I know how to be the BEST I can be?" and the answer is: "Not yet." So, how do I find out how to be the best of myself?

Well... I've had this quote in my head for months, ever since I heard it and it's been festering in my mind and it's perfect for helping me figure out who I am.

"It's hard to talk about the importance of an imaginary hero, but heroes are important. Heroes tell us something about ourselves. History books tell us who we used to be, documentaries tell us who we are now, but heroes tell us who we want to be... And a lot of our heroes depress me.

But when they made this particular hero they didn't give him a gun they gave him a screwdriver to fix things. They didn't give him a tank or a warship or an x wing fighter, they gave him a call box from which you can call for help. And they didn't give him a superpower or pointy ears or a heat ray they gave him an extra heart. They gave him two hearts.

And that's an extraordinary thing, there will never come a time when we don't need a hero like The Doctor."

- Steven Moffat on The Doctor: The Ultimate Hero.

This is absolute genius because it is absolutely true in my mind, our heroes influence us, they define us, my heroes are not the conventional heroes I was ever expected to aspire to. Most of my heroes are either long dead or are fictional.

So, in no particular order, here are three of my heroes:

Nikola Tesla

Mad cap engineer who developed alternating current, radio, radar and so much more. When Westinghouse (the guy who paid royalties to Tesla) almost went bankrupt Tesla famously tore up the contract and told Westinghouse to keep using his inventions, making him not just an amazingly accomplished scientist, but also one of the nicest guys ever.

Jim Henson

Another creative genius, but his vision was to entertain the world and teach us that we are actually not much different from each other, no really, watch Fraggle Rock, it's all about being tolerant and learning how to live with each other. He brought joy to millions and he also advanced modern puppets so far and his work lead the way for some amazing developments on screen.

The Doctor

I can only sum the nature of this hero with this quote:

The Doctor: "What's the point of having two hearts if you can't be forgiving once in a while?"

And a transcript from the episode "Dark Water".

Clara: "You're going to help me?"

The Doctor: "Well, why wouldn't I help you?"

Clara: "Cos of what I just did! I..."

The Doctor: "You betrayed me. You betrayed my trust. You betrayed our friendship. You betrayed everything I ever stood for. YOU LET ME DOWN!"

Clara: "Then why are you helping me?"

The Doctor: "Why?"

Slight pause.

The Doctor: "Do you think I care for you so little that betraying me would make a difference?"

When I combine these characters and historical figures I get an idea of who I am and who it is I aspire to be. Examining the people I look up to, the first two real heroes are misunderstood creative geniuses, now, I'm not claiming that I am, I'm just saying I aspire to be creative and smart, I'm not satisfied with the way things are and want to change that which is in my power to do so.

When I look into fiction and look at the totally unrealistic possibilities, I don't want to be super strong, or a mind reader, what connected with me more than Wolverine or SpiderMan ever could, was one man, angry, but so massively full of compassion that he forgave his friend instantly.

That is what I aspire to, to forgive so easily and so freely. That takes some courage, and that demonstrates such extraordinary humanity. I don't know if I'll ever react like that, but I'd certainly WANT to be able to react like that.

The remarkable thing was that when I learned who I wanted to be, I stopped caring about how to fit in. I became far more consumed with how to be the best of who I am. I am seeing the dynamic of the relationships I have change and become and that's interesting because as I become more of the person I want to be, the more fulfilling the nature of the relationships I have with the people that are in my life.

So, heroes help us learn about who we aspire to be, perhaps this is why Christ came and gave us an example. First Peter 2:21-25 (Cos you know, the Message is a bit weird with verses):

This is the kind of life you've been invited into, the kind of life Christ lived. He suffered everything that came his way so you would know that it could be done, and also how to do it, step-by-step.

Maybe we should use this example first and foremost, before we look to humans and imaginary time travelling aliens to inspire us. Perhaps we needed to have an example to look up to and to get our inspiration from.

Anyone with me?

The attitude of isolation (Part 4): Welcome to the masquerade...

Before I start my friend Rebekah wrote a blog post and I read it the eve of posting this and I think it's awesome and you should so totally read it! It also borders on what I want to talk about here, to a degree anyway. She talks about loneliness and how we hide and I'm guilty of hiding myself, it's time to stop...

I have wrote up a few of my experiences and what I've learned from them, but unless you see me frequently you will have no idea who I am. How rude of me to not introduce myself!

I'm Neil, I'm a nerd. I'm (mostly) left handed, and have a proven INTJ personality type. I'm kinda English, kinda Scottish and kinda Russian. I like badgers, soup and heavy metal music.

See, you're getting to know me already.

Except you aren't, it's just information.

I'm in total control of the information I give out, and as such, the information was specially crafted to be just enough to inform you and make you feel like I was being open and honest, but it just was not quite enough to actually give you the ability to make any firm conclusions about me.

I'm quite skilled in manipulation like that. I swear I only use my powers for good, well, if not good, certainly not evil! Well... Not until "the machine" is finished anyway...

See, I did it again, I crafted (I won't say funny though) a-designed-to-be-amusing little comment intended to put up a barrier between us to stop you getting too close by making you feel like you are.

The reality is I wear a mask and it's like one of those mirror/window things you see in police shows, very much like one in fact, let me explain.

These devices are not what they appear, the magic of glass on one side a mirror on the other. Except it's not, it's just glass, regular two way glass. The trick is one room is brightly lit while the other is in darkness. The light in the brightly lit room reflects off the bright white walls and reflects off the glass causing a mirror effect. You see, if you turned the light on in the dark room that "mirror" would very quickly reveal the illuminated darkness and the suspect can see who is identifying them.

My mask isn't a mask, it's just a piece of glass, the outside shines bright and I keep the inside in darkness so that no one can see into me.

When you are developing as a young person, you need to stretch and grow into who you are. I didn't have that luxury. I had to retreat into a dark little corner of myself, put up the glass and let others reflection of themselves be what they thought I was.

It worked... Too well.

There was a fundamental issue with this, it assumed that people on the other side of the glass were a threat to me. For a time this was certainly true, but it isn't any more, or at least I'm statistically less likely to find someone actively out to try and hurt me these days. Yet the glass remained in place. It was safe, comfortable, even. The thing is, while I could now see wonderful people and situations on the other side of my glass, I couldn't interact with it and they had no idea who or what was on my side of the glass.

I had two things I needed to do, I had to light up my darkness and break down my glass, not exactly an easy thing to do. After all, this is a coping mechanism I've had for years, so long in fact I can't remember not having it.

From my point of view illuminating the darkness is the easiest element and the place to start. I begun to do this by looking through into what felt like another world, one I could see, but not feel, a world that I wanted to be a part of and revealing my presence seemed like a good way to introduce myself. 

So I begun to let myself be known and I found out that the more I revealed, the more people seemed to like me. For example it has been pointed out to be that I have a very dry tone/sense of sarcasm and a flair for being overly dramatic, especially when I re-tell the stories that happened to me. Observational evidence (and outright statements by others) affirm that this combination seems to generally be regarded as "amusing".

So under the surface I appear to have a sense of humour, one that is seemingly socially acceptable, but rare enough that it has some punch. I didn't actually realise any of this until I let myself be known and opened up to other people. 

I had a choice, listen to the voice in my head, the one that says I'm not worth knowing or that others are only being polite or I can listen to my friends who feedback and contradict what I think about myself.

I could pick many examples where this has been true over and over, but I don't yet feel comfortable doing so. I'm still a work in progress, I hope you understand.

The fact of the matter is though as I have begun to open up and show myself to others I am learning that the more I open up the more I feel safe without having to hide in my darkness.

And now that I'm comfortable with being in the light I have to then attempt the harder part. Fully and unreservedly engaging with the wider world. It's an ongoing learning experience, but I'm slowly learning what I need to do...

... And it's much better on the other side of the glass.