Killing who you used to be...

It is often that moment when you realise that the person you are becoming is different from who you used to be, and not in way that leaves you fulfilled.

It's a heartbreaking realisation but it is the price of admission you pay for adulthood.

For the price of adulthood I've had to repeatedly sacrifice the sweetness I once had because people take advantage.

For the price of adulthood I've had to restrict that level of enthusiasm I use to have because everyone made me feel like that was out of place for someone like me.

For the price of adulthood I've had to sacrifice the gentle manner I used to have because it is not appropriate for a man.

For the price of adulthood I've gained a large dose of cynicism because people deceive and lie so regularly that you will pay dearly for  accepting something at face value.

For the price of adulthood I've had to learn to protect my heart to the hatefulness of other. To shield myself from those who seek to do me harm for no good logical reason.

For the price of adulthood I've had to watch people hurt each other and all I could do was watch, because sometimes the ways they hurt each other are intangible.

For the price of adulthood, you learn about the grey:
- where black and white blur
- where good and bad aren't defined
- where right and wrong both harm and hurt.

The price of adulthood is costly, but it's a price you have to pay.

It sucks to look at the person you were and the personality traits you love in yourself that no longer have a place in your life, all for the price of adulthood.

I've been watching myself kill off the parts of me that can't exist all for the price of adulthood.

I miss the me I used to be.

Fuck adulthood.



PS - Hope you enjoyed the cool video, I thought it was a great representation of my feelings in this post


Theo. Over and Out.

My "Open Wound"

Picture: David Ritchie

I have repeatedly heard that tattoo means “open wound” in Samoan.

I am not sure if that is true or not, because I haven’t found a source reliable enough for me to trust it, but I would love to think it is true.

Regardless, there is still something very poetic and appropriate about it for me.

I had always wanted to get a tattoo, but the whole permanent aspect was a major speed bump that put me somewhat off it.

As I got older, I figured things out and learned more about myself. Over time I changed, as we all do.

Coming out was a pretty big deal for me, it permanently changed my relationship with my mother and my family. It changed how my friends saw me. It changed how I saw myself. How could it not?

That sweet wallflower, that gentle-hearted, ever-the-do-gooder boy I was died that day, and it wasn’t something I realised until writing this.

Coming out broke that boy.

To realise that the fact that I was gay (which was the one thing I was told never to be my entire life) broke the image I had of myself. I loved being the sweet and good boy, the one who made my mother proud and my family proud.

In some ways I still am that boy but it is not the same.

Seeing my mother's look of disgust, hearing her bang her head against her cupboard door, and hearing her wail “Why me?” as if I had just punished her in the worse way imaginable, had forever changed me.

A piece of me died that day, but in return I gained a stronger piece of me.

The piece of me who can stand up for himself when he wants to, a piece of me who does his own thing regardless of what others want, and who is still a kind person (or tries to be).

I gained a piece of me who recognises that I can’t be anything else but myself, even though it can be alienating. I am idiosyncratically me, and I am a better human being for it.

A year or so after coming out, I started falling in love with having a way to commemorate the day that I came out. I had forgotten the specific date that I had come out on, because there were more important things that had happened that day than for me to remember the date.

Anyway, thanks to a Facebook post, I found the date and the fateful post that came the day after I had done the bravest thing of my life.

Some time had pass and in the back of my mind, it was impossible for me to escape the idea of celebrating this act of bravery. To me, it was the scariest and bravest thing that I had ever done in my life, and I felt that I wanted to cherish that.

Fast forwarding a bit, a few ideas would pop up and then pass, and a new one would come along and then go but they all had my coming out involved in some shape or form.

I finally settled on an idea which excited me: why don’t I record myself saying the date I came out and then use the sound waves of that recording as a tattoo?

I thought about this idea actively for over a year and it was the one that stuck. Also it was the one that felt the most “me”.

The idea of a standard (though little generic) LGBT tattoo was cool but it felt too broad, especially for a community that I don’t entirely feel settled into. The sound waves idea appealed to me because of my love for music.

I don’t know where music became so vital to me, but it did.

When I was in primary school and part of the xylophone group performing at school events, when I did choir for a bit, when my mother and stepdad were arguing I would be in my room listening to music, when I was feeling sad, music would be there - when I was becoming depressed because the stress of keeping the gay secret had started killing out every drop of happiness – music was there.

It is why I run my music blog posts because a life without music is not a life at all, it is just an existence.

So...I had settled on it. I had figured out what I wanted and that was most of the war won.

Everyone knows how neurotic I can be and overanalyse everything, so for me to permanently mark my body in such a way, I had to get to a point where getting the tattoo felt so natural. I kept visualising what it would look like on my arm and the more I did that, the more I settled into the idea of getting one.

Picture: David Ritchie

Why the right arm? No reason other than the fact that it needed to be somewhere I could see it. 

Whenever I feel like shit or like I am not strong enough, the tattoo while be that reminded that I did the thing that scared me most. I did one of the bravest things I have ever done, and if I could do so, then I can certainly handle anything else that comes my way?

The only thing left to do was execute it.

Last week was a bit mad because I hadn’t thought out the details of getting a tattoo. I hadn’t even scouted out tattoo parlours and taken my time to settle on one. It was all fast-paced.

In all honesty, it needed to be. I would have procrastinated and maybe not gone through with it if it had been all delayed.

Wednesday - I made sure to record myself saying the date and then get that into a program which created the sound wave.

Thursday – I was off and also found out that I can’t just walk in and do a tattoo on the same day, so I would need to book an appointment. I had already been planning to see them the day before, but this only confirmed it.

Friday – I went into the place only with my design, and the rent money I usually pay my mother, and went to speak to the people at Metal Machine.

(Side-bar: I had initially planned to go to Wildfire but my friend suggested that I try Metal Machine because Wildfire is overpriced. Honestly, I did not put enough effort into finding a bargain because all that mattered to me was the tattoo.)

The very friendly tattoo covered lady at the parlour took my design, went up to one of the tattoo artists and asked him about it.

After some back and forth, he said that he can do it but the design needed to be 25% bigger.

So they made it bigger (who doesn’t like bigger? :P ) and then asked me if It was alright.

It was.

I then committed to it:

Female Trainee Tattoo Artist : “When would you like to make the appointment?”

Me: “Tomorrow if possible.”

Her: “I don’t think that will be possible as Andro has another client.”

Receptionist: “Patrick actually changed his appointment to Monday, so Andro is free tomorrow.”

Lady: “Then you can do tomorrow. We do require a 50% deposit though...”

Me: “Cool...Uhm, Can I swipe?”

Lady: “We only accept cash.”

Me: “Okay then –uses money from the rent money I pay-“

Lady: “Well then, we will see you tomorrow. –hands me a card with appointment details-”

Me: “Okay, cool.”

Picture: David Ritchie

I pretty much then freaked out that I was actually committing to getting a tattoo for the rest of the day.

Saturday- I was nervous, excited and scared, but I knew that it was something I wanted.

I had to do a few errands before, but soon enough 12 o'clock came and along with David Ritchie, a work colleague who came for moral support. I was at the tattoo parlour ready to get my tattoo on.

Filled in the indemnity form thing and then once that was all sorted, I met my tattoo artist.

He seemed super intimidating at first, but that was only because he was questioning me about the tattoo, and also he had a serious demeanour about it.

After sorting out the finer details about the tattoo, we were ready to roll.

He had talked me through everything before, seeing as it was my first time (pun unintended) but he calmed me and just was a really cool guy about it.

Picture: David Ritchie

So they took the design, made a sticker thing out of it and then used that to put on my skin...which is what they do because then they trace the tattoo on your skin and still have another reference to look at the same time.

I officially have a whole new respect for tattoo artists because they make you feel at ease, explain everything and still try to be friendly and sociable even though they have a job to do. Maybe I was very lucky that I got Andro, but he was a legend.

The whole experience was perfect, it hurt but was perfect.

Picture: David Ritchie

For me my tattoo is an open wound for me.

It is a physical representation of an internalised scar that will forever be with me.

Sometimes we forget that we can leave scars on each of mentally, emotionally and psychologically. My tattoo is a scar that I want to wear on me because it is a battle scar. A battle scar I want everyone to see because I am not ashamed of what it means.

It is my symbol of bravery and strength from a battle that I made it out of.

I survived, especially in a world where many LGBT kids kill themselves because they don’t have anything to fight for. If things hadn’t turned out the way it hard, I might not be here today.

*shudder*

It is a sobering thought, isn’t it?

Theo. Over and Out.

Pictures: David Ritchie

PS: The thing that I find really funny was how in all of this, I overlooked the part that someone was going to be puncturing my skin repeatedly with a needle. It hurts people. Getting a tattoo hurts, it did hurt less than I thought it would but it hurts. Those first few manoeuvres were painful but you adjust and try not to focus on it, which is why Andro was so legend.

PPS: Also me and my mom are on good terms now. She doesn't accept the fact that I am gay but she still loves me and respects me which is really all I can ask from her.

A Week in Cape Town's Student Protests... #FeesHaveFallen

A week in student protests...

Footage: http://www.iol.co.za/

It was also announced on Friday by President Jacob Zuma that there would be a 0% increase in student fees in 2016.

http://www.iol.co.za/news/politics/zuma-says-0-increase-in-fees-1.1934941#.Vis_v64rJBw

Theo. Over and Out

Mental Health Awareness

 You are ill, and while there is nothing physically wrong with you, you continue to suffer in silence.

This is the struggle for many people who are suffering from a mental illness across the country. October is Mental Health Awareness month in South Africa, and it is a issue that needs to be discussed, as the stigma surrounding mental illness still unfairly persists.

Many individuals, families and co-workers, and the broader community are affected by it, and yet, many still treat mental illness as a taboo subject.

Very few South Africans seek treatment for their mental disorders, seeing it as problem that cannot be overcome. In actuality treatment is available at the nearest clinic, hospital or healthcare provider.

I asked some people to share their thoughts on why it is important to speak about mental health and this is what they had to say.

Chloe:

"Talking about mental health is so important. I have a form of OCD called purely obsessional OCD, and for the longest time I thought that there was something completely wrong with me, and that no one would understand what was going on. Eventually my mum convinced me to see a therapist. It took a few different therapists and much uphill from me (because I thought that seeing a therapist meant there was something wrong and broken about me), but I eventually got the right diagnosis. Being on anti-depressants has helped me in more ways than I can count. I am so much happier now, and able to deal with the intrusive thoughts in a much more productive way. Looking back on it, if there wasn't such a stigma around mental illness, I would have gotten help a lot sooner, and I would have been more receptive to that help. I think it's so important to let people know that seeking help for your mental health problems is brave and wonderful, and that looking after yourself is the most important thing you c an do"

Nabs: 

"I think it is important to educate yourself about mental health illnesses. As a person who looked after someone with dementia it is very important to educate yourself so that [you] can look after the person accordingly."

According to the Psychology Today website: 

"Depressive Disorders is not a passing blue mood, but rather a persistent feeling of sadness and worthless and a lack of desire to engage in formerly pleasurable activities. A complex mind/body illness, depression can be treated with drugs and/or therapy."

I want to make a distinction clear before I tackle something personal. I am a bit reluctant to discuss it because I don't to disrespect or trivialise those suffering from depression.

The only reason why I am tackling this personal experience, is because it is why I find talking about mental health to be very important.

A few years back, I was in a depressive slump. I felt hollow and like I was living my life a state of grey. I wasn't always sad but it was like a invisible darkness that clung to my soul and no one else could see.

I remember there were weeks that I would feel like I was broken. I wondered what it would be like if I was gone. Would anyone miss me? I figured that for all intents and purposes, I was already nonexistent so it wouldn't have been any different from how I felt.

There is another instance that I will never forget because it still give me chills thinking back to that moment.

I was lying on my bed staring at the wall, and that was all I did for about three hours. I was alone in my room. No music, no nothing... just staring at the wall feeling numb and like nothing mattered.

I feel asleep sometime, and woke up when someone needed me. After that I just tried to fill the void I felt with series or movies because it distracted my mind from feeling numb.

I came out of my depressed slump as soon as I started facing my truth - I was gay.

Now here is why I made that distinction at the start.

I suffered from a depressive slump, I was not depressed.

Depression is a condition.

I live a life experiencing all the joys and sadness of life, but for people suffering from depression they have to face the battle of getting through everyday feeling unmotivated and a seemingly never-ending pit of sadness.

Depression, like many other mental illnesses, can be treated but there is such a stigma around mental illness in this country, and the world, that those who often need treatment don't get it.

THIS NEEDS TO STOP.

A friend, directed me to her blog post titled: "When Darkness Descends..." which I highly suggest you give a read because she honestly speaks about her struggle with depression.

For now I will just quote this piece of it:

"Some people just don’t understand depression. They don’t know how to deal with someone who has it. The feeling of loneliness… the isolation can be worse than the illness. Then there is the uncertainty…that you leaving normal life for some other place. All too often, we are told to snap out of it. We are shamed into thinking there is something wrong with us and thus sufferers fail to seek treatment. It’s time that society stops treating depression this way. We need to raise awareness.

...Depression is treatable but getting help is not as straightforward as simply throwing meds down your throat. Meds is only part of the equation. Getting well and staying well involves eating and sleeping right, diet and exercise and having a support group.

Don’t be afraid to reach out. Someone will be there for you."

Posts like hers highlight why just how important it is to speak about mental illness.

So many people need to realise that there is nothing wrong with admitting that they are suffering from depressive disorders, anxiety disorders, and other mental illnesses.  There is nothing to be ashamed of.

This past week, I've taken to reading about bipolar disorder

.

I felt compelled to find out more about it following time I spent with someone who has Type 2 bipolar disorder. This person was actually the one who made me realise how important it is to be aware and speak about mental health

.

One of the post's that I shared was commented on by a friend. A friend who I had absolutely no clue had bipolar disorder. She left this comment on the post which forced me to actually sit up and think about how we treat people living with mental illnesses.

Tk: "What I cannot stand is referring to people as bipolar... Or any other mental illness because I think it contributes to the whole stigma of us being defined by our illness, you know? I'm always like okay yeah, I have bipolar, not I am bipolar. Cause I'm me first before anything else... Is that just me or do other people feel that?"

Me: "I think it is ignorance and a lack of understanding for the large part. I make that mistake sometimes. Often people suffering from a mental illness are described by the condition instead of being a person who happens to be suffering from a mental illness. It is unfair and unfortunate but it is the stigma and lack of knowledge around mental health issues."

As someone currently not suffering from a mental illness, I am trying to educate myself on these matters. There might be some things in this post that may be offensive to those with mental illness or I might have used the wrong terms so please feel free to educate me in the comments section below.

Mental Health needs to be discussed without stigma or judgement. I really hope that at least one person has learned something from this post.

I am including the details for the South African Depression and Anxiety Group known as SADAG, because if you need to speak to stranger who will understand what you are going through, then they are certainly the people.

Number: 011 234 4837

Read more at http://www.sadag.org

Love yourself, and please take care of yourself.  If you need someone to talk to then please contact SADAG or contact me.

Theo. Over and Out.

Sidebar - To elaborate on the whole accepting my truth as gay thing - I still needed 4 sessions with a councilor to properly adjust, but this just highlights how important it is to speak to someone about what you are going through. Speak out.

In closing I will leave you with this comic strip from Buzzfeed. Love Buzzfeed.

Source: Buzzfeed