Iridescent Spirits

Shelter of a constantly changing Soul.


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Things My Panic Disorder Taught Me – Writing 101 Day 2

Life in itself is a coursebook with lessons to learn. Only it becomes a bit thicker if it is coloured with a certain mental disorder. Here is a short but very consistent list on what my panic disorder taught me:

  • Even though there are problems in my life I have to solve on my own, I’m never alone.

I mean, really. This is the hardest thing to admit, right? We, humans, all love to suffer, accuse others for our misfortunes and it all goes right until we bump into someone, who desires to help without any second thoughts. Then our whole view of the world goes upside down and if we are lucky enough we can finally learn to see the bright side of life. Watch out mates, these people do exist! Thankfully ūüôā

  • ¬†Sometimes, actually most of the time, I am the only one who knows what’s the best for me.

I know, this is going a bit against the first point but this is another important lesson I’ve learnt…the hardest way. Just think about it. At times when we are inconfident we tend to ask advice even in matters that don’t really affect other people besides us. Furthermore, there is that very annoying situation when we know exactly what we should do, but since it seems harder or a bit nonsensical we may end up doing what others think is best even though it’s result will be boring or unsatisfying for us. Then we think; ‘oh man, I should’ve done what I wanted to’. Rings a bell? And when we end up in a mess not listening to our intuitions? Nope, nope. Though, I have to say, I don’t mean we should never look for advice or take care of the opinion of people around us it’s just we have to learn to make a difference between healthy selfishness and sacrifice.

  • I am my biggest critique.

Literally. Have you ever been in a situation, or I should say in such a bad period of your life when you constantly thought people around you do nothing but tease you, deceive you and even talk about you behind your back? That you were so cautious not to say anything inappropriate that you ended up like as if you weren’t even there? Because you were afraid they would take all of your words and actions in the exact opposite way you meant them? If not then you are a very lucky dude. I have and it was a horrible feeling.
It is like you always have to be en guard to be able to protect yourself because you take every little sigh, words and actions of others as a potential threat.
Thankfully by now I have managed to clear this exhausting misunderstanding that occupied my mind. Most of these thoughts were ignited by my own imagination and self-hatred. A frighteningly incontrollable menace of my own darkness.

Maybe some of these points sound familiar to you or even may help to realise and face your own problems if you have any. That would be great!
If not then thanks for your time ūüėČ

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Once in a While…

A few days ago, something unusual happened to me.

Outside my blog, my panic disorder is a secret. Only a few people, who are the closest to me know about it. Also, about my abusive, alcoholic father, who beat my mom in front of me when I was a child. People hardly realise my sensitivity both when it comes to my inner peace and when I have to deal with everyday problems.

Those people cannot see into my mind, don’t know about my past, basically I seem to be a less then ordinary person to them. Somebody strange, a little weird, too silent and somebody who is afraid of almost everyone. But I’m quite fine with it. Furthermore, sometimes I love this idea that at least in my mind I can be alone and don’t have to express every feeling of mine. I have something I can keep only to myself.

As a result of these, over the years I got used to that people make judgements about me without getting a little closer to me, they arbitrarily label me as a weep, a doormat to rub their dirty feet on, somebody perfectly irresponsible, because I overslept due to my sleeping problems, and disorganised because they cannot see the mess that overtakes my mind, neither can they feel the fear that every little physical symptom of my illness raises in me. Over the years I got used to hide these things in me, and endured the painful prejudices without defending myself as I was well aware that some people simply cannot understand it. In fact, I never expected anyone any more to realise and not even acknowledge that I have a much bigger problem than what they think. I decided to fight all alone for my own good because I know no one else would do this for me.

But the other day, first in the approximate 7-8 years of living with my panic disorder, me and my illness got acknowledged. It happened on the primary school graduation of my distant nephew. I haven’t been in their town since I was a little girl but all of his family remembered me. His grandpa smiled when he saw me and said ‘here comes the shy little girl’. I didn’t really understand why he said that, I was so little when we last met that I could hardly recognise him. Later my mom said, I wasn’t really friendly towards him in the past. So I told him I can’t remember that time but I’m sure there was nothing personal about it. Then, he told me of course, and he didn’t mind as he knew I was just a little girl, and maybe his really deep voice scared me. Or..

He said he heard about my past, he didn’t elaborate on that so I asked him what exactly je was talking about. Instead answering, he just patted my head, smiled gently and said that we don’t have to talk about it.

This little acknowledgement and unexpected care surprised me so much, I just stood there petrified and couldn’t believe what had just happened to me. The little girl in me was more shocked, I was simply surprised. She would’ve cried but I didn’t. This very simple but caring act of grandpa¬†melted my heart and I felt that all my silent sufferings got acknowledged. And this feeling was simply awesome.¬†I wish all of us could experience something like this, at least once in a while.

Pic from Pinterest


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The Key to the Door Behind

Today’s task at Blogging U. is to write about the three most important songs in my life. There have already been lots of songs shared on my blog, either as a supporting feature for a story of mine, or in the centre of a certain blog post. I can say they all are very important to me, so this task was pretty hard for me. After thinking it over I decided I would write about the one and most important song of my life from the time when I was about 4-5 years old.

By now, most of you, who reads my blog, know well that how much music can influence me and my imagination. I wrote about it several times before so as avoiding repetition, now I would talk about my a little bit extraordinary relationship with music from a slightly different angle.

First of all, I hardly write posts when I’m “speaking” just like now, instead I try my best to write gripping stories that tell you about me and my emotions more effectively than I ever could. Well, that’s the thing with music as well. It uplifts me, unlocks doors that had been closed for years and were hiding in the back of my mind without my realisation.

Finally, let me present you the most important¬†song of my life, from Sleeping Beauty… This is the hardest one, because I don’t know wither the composer, or the name of the song. I’ve heard it around twenty years ago, in the Hungarian (originally Japanese) edition of Grimm’s Fairy Tale Classics and it has stayed with me for all this time. Connecting the dots in hindsight, probably that was the one that made me fall in love with the sound of the violin, the one that made the desire to learn to play it a life-long desire, and also the one, that opened my eyes to see the path¬†that led me¬†towards the world of both anime and fairy tales. ūüôā I already know if I ever learnt to play it, I would cry out of happiness the first time I’d play it. ūüôā Though unfortunately, it doesn’t matter how many times I looked for it and how long hours I spent searching¬†it, it never had any result, as if the song would never have existed.

So, now, I would humbly ask all of you who reads this post, that if you know anything about this song, please contact me! You cannot imagine how happy I would be! 

This was my fifteen minutes of free writing. Thank you! ‚̧

(I managed to find a latino version of the tale, the song starts at 10:28)


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Happy Birthday, Iridescent Spirits!

Exactly a year ago, on 6th April 2014 I started my blog. Oh my God a year has gone away :O

In 2014, I only had two short stories written for a seminar, and though I had been thinking about starting a blog way before, I was waiting to have more content. Even the name popped into my mind in a rush, but interestingly it turned out that I possibly couldn’t come up with a better and more meaningful one.

I’ll be honest, I had no idea what I¬†was¬†going to write about regularly, and true, at first I thought I would only post stories written by me, that has never been something I could do (and finish) within a few hours, every day.

Also, last year, around this time, I’ve had learnt¬†for sure that I have panic disorder and that was also the time when I’ve decided to start therapy. Along with my blog, I’m sure that was one of my best decisions.

Anyways, April 2014 was a very deciding month of my my life. It was easy, concerning that I was going to university, I had a stable schedule and I could think of my blog, and my life was flowing in a stable direction. Yet, it was hard, I had my illness, I was angry and shocked when during every single sessions with my psychologist, I’ve learnt newer problems I had to solve but had absolutely no idea how. The problems in me were constantly piling up and I couldn’t see what was inside of me, and even an expert couldn’t find a way to help. I was devastated. I remember my psychologist¬†once said “Just be yourself!” and my answer was okay but how?

Well, I don’t know if in the last year I have managed to learn how to be myself but Iridescent Spirits has helped me a lot, Actually, after the start I was a bit afraid. At first, it seemed like my personality had cracked into two separate parts. One was present in my “real” life, the anxious, depressed and extremely shy one, and my iridescent one, that appeared on my blog, who wasn’t that afraid to expose herself. I didn’t know which one was the real, and I was afraid that this would never change. But slowly, yet firmly, the blogger me started to rise, without me noticing it. The whole situation was exactly like when a little child learns how to walk.

With this, my life took a 180¬į turn as well. Daily challenges became harder, now there wasn’t university, but¬†a¬†job with a hectic schedule. Family losses, diseases and no time to spend meaningfully. Yet, things inside of me became clearer and the ceaseless anxiety in me has finally started to ease. Desires from my past, I tossed away because of fear are getting stronger and now the only problem is the lack of time not the huge and scary obstacle put up by fear. And all of this could happen thanks to my blog and WordPress.

All in all, I love my blog, and I thought it deserves to be celebrated on this very important day. ūüôā I don’t know where I would be now without Iridescent Spirits. It is not only my shelter, it became my best friend, my island of peace and the place of acceptance. I would love to thank Everybody who joined me on this wild ride and I wish many more years like this.^^

Happy 1st Birthday Iridescent Spirits!

hbis


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Writing should never end.

Yeah, I know I haven’t been blogging too much lately, I’m really really sorry and it makes me so sad. But right now, I’ve just registered to¬†the next Blogging University course, Writing 101. To be honest, I don’t know how I’m gonna balance it with my suddenly changed life but I want to blog. I love blogging, so I’m just gonna do it, I have to do it^^

I can’t wait April to come and I hope you’re gonna be with me on the next challenge to make my blog much much better.^^

Love to the blogging world! ‚̧


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Now that’s why She is my role-model

 

So right, so true, and I wish I could tell this my teen self. Yet there still are many many lessons to learn..

“Spread the love!”

Hugs! ūüôā


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‘I love You!’ Or What Compassion Means to me

I struggled a lot with this post. One of my blogger friends¬†said I have lots of things to say (and really!) and she told me to say them well. Well, I tried my best with this one¬†and this is what happens when I’m writing while having a panic attack:

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This post is written for the 1000 Voices Speak for Compassion movement, I stumbled across a while ago. Lots of you may know that my initial goal with blogging would be reagining and developing my real self. This is a hard and long journey of mine, but I have to tell I feel very enthusiastic about it.

Compassion has always been one of my strongest traits. Or empathy, the two of them are equal to me. And not only these two, but also acceptance and support, loving a person for who they really are. These all fall into the category of compassion in my dictionary.

Ever since I was little I could feel sadness and sorrow for anyone, starting from a homeless person, through the sadness in the eyes of a little child and even towards a movie character. I had a strong desire to help¬†anyone I could, while I forgot about the one person I should’ve taken better care for. It took me years to realise that while I am able to support lots of people in my life, I was completely incapable of being compassionate towards my very own self. I took all of the pain I had for granted just like breathing and seemingly, I accepted it as a solid part of my soul. Seemingly.

For so many years, I got told a lot that I’m weak, far too fragile and sensitive, and also that besides these, I don’t have any other problem so I shouldn’t say a word. Without noticing, I began to take over this attitude but only until I got the diagnosis of my panic disorder and I decided to start therapy in order to put an end to it. I remember, my very first ‘homework’ given by my psychologist, was to look in the mirror, examine myself¬†deeply and say this right into my face;

‘My family and friends love me, God loves me, and even I love You, Adrienn.’

When I looked into the mirror I saw a face completely emotionless and fearfully strange to me. I thought to myself, I don’t know who this person is, and besides, who does this person thinks she is to say anything like this? I was supposed to repeat this single line a few times every day in front of the mirror. Yet at first I couldn’t even finish the sentence, I burst out into tears. For the time of the blink of an eye I managed to notice something really painful hiding in the depths of those dim and dark brown eyes, something that reached my heart. I saw the little girl living with her mom and sister after leaving an abusive and alcoholic father. I saw the little girl who was only 4 years old when said to her to let her father take more money to go back to the pub instead of having her mother hurt. I think that was the first time, I realised how sad, desperate and how broken I was. I cried because I pitied myself, as if I was looking at somebody else. I cried like a little child, like that little child who went through the hardships I tried so hard for years to forget. But it doesn’t work like that. I had to learn that these became the part of me¬†and accept what others rejected, because I rejected it too. It was me who was unable to accept myself, so naturally, how could others do it for me? I also had to look at my naked body which was as horrible as looking at only my face.

And yet, despite I often felt no empathy towards myself, especially considering my mental illness, I never forgot how important being compassionate and supportive towards the struggling is. Or towards anybody. Probably it was because I longed for these feelings so much. Also, I couldn’t understand what those people were thinking or feeling when they told me those rude words. I still can’t. We all have problems and weaknesses but that’s fine, it is the part of learning and development as humans. Also, we all are unique and different. For example I went to university to another city so I had to go there and back by bus that took two hours of my live every single day. I hated it but didn’t have any other choice so I accepted it. It exhausted me like hell, as I usually had to get up at 5 am and got home at 8 or 9 pm. Once I told this a friend of mine, who shrudded and told me he did this for years. Yeah, for him it wasn’t a big thing, but to me it was too tiring and I couldn’t focus on my studies properly. When I told him that okay, then that’s him, and I am me he didn’t reply. Yeah… Maybe commuting was easy on him and hard for me but I wondered, would he be able to live with panic disorder for years? I never asked him but as far as I am concerned, it’s sure like hell¬†that I would choose years of commuting instead of years of suffering on my own.

As for acceptance, sadly, it is a very rare thing to accept people for who they really are. We all tend to either look upon them, we make celebrities and stars out of them, thinking that ‘Oh, they are so unique and such rebels! How cool!’ Or the on the other side, we belittle those children who are a bit different from the ‘normal’ saying that ‘Oh! (s)he’s such a freak and so weird.’ Or am I wrong?

True, I rarely felt being supported or loved, yet I am willing to give others what I didn’t get. I do believe that there are people who think like me, and WordPress became a place not only precious to me but also the one that proved that wonders do happen. ūüôā