Can we truly cure our own minds?
The girl breathes. With each deep inhale, she’s unsure what to prioritise above bodily needs - her suffocation or her joy?
We can all recognise it. Those moments you feel as though you're drowning, unable to reach the surface as you sink deeper into the abyss below. Recently, I’ve found myself anchored to the ocean bed. The fish know me by now, sending me winks of understanding and laughing at my misfortune, but I scare them away with a swipe of my hand, asserting myself as the dominant species.
But, really, the lack of empathetic behaviour - along with the severe lack of school work - makes me feel lesser than the fish. The fish don’t have target grades, beckoned propriety, or academic expectations to live up to. They simply swim, eat, breathe, and survive. To us, it’s unfathomable to even consider such irrelevant creatures to be more privileged than ourselves. But what do we know? The fish could have botherations of their own, such tiresome acts that we can barely comprehend as human beings. Visually, however, they seem content. So why, when I look at those walking by me, do I notice them all looking so sad?
It is a natural human disease to want more than we can have. Desire is portrayed throughout all modes and media, whether that be literature or cinematography, it’s all the same. If we consider The Great Gatsby; that iconic novel is groundworked on variants of desire and yearning. Pining for money, love, or status, the characters pursue innate human emotions and face divine intervention through punishment. Whether that be - spoiler alert - Jay Gatsby’s murder, or (in other media) Kylo Ren killing Han Solo, human cravings always seem to culminate in the form of pain.
Although these examples are simply works of virtuosic fiction, they are heinously relevant to real life and how we, as living people, desire things that are higher than we can reach. Consider a panic attack: that repetitive, known cure to breathe. In and out. In and out. In and out. As our emotions surface all at once, and the ghastly thoughts haze our psyche, we prioritise ideas and rumours over what it is that literally keeps us alive - breathing. We want to evaluate our thoughts, listen to them all at once and panic about each individual statement. By doing so, we discard our health. The human mind desires so much at one time that it crushes our lungs and suffocates us. That is only one of the infinite ways we overestimate our abilities.
As I write this inaugural blog post, I have just completed my first two weeks of sixth form. I could detail the events - what I’ve done, how I’ve organised, and how exciting it all must be - but with fervent honesty, I feel too lost to even recall a comprehensible story. Not once did I enjoy secondary school, but the brightest beacon of hope that assured me to keep going was college. Freedom, they said, but I’ve felt even more restrained since I got here and I haven’t even received a real piece of homework yet.
Ultimately, there is nobody to blame for this misguidance other than myself.
That natural human disease has been within me since birth. Now, something that should be enthralling and new - a clean slate - seems corrupted and dirty. I only see my future as filled with hurdles that I cannot jump because that is what desire ruled. For example, while studying the literature mark scheme, my teacher warned us that our initial essays would most likely be D grades. Hearing this news, I was not the only student in my class who felt nauseous; the disease was present in all of us. We shoot for the stars, stars that our hands glide through and cannot grasp, all because we want to be the best. My mind wants me to conjure an A* essay after 10 days of education. Why? I don’t know. But I’m trying to find a cure.
My fundamental, and very unqualified, opinion suggests this: distract yourself. Put on that show. Read that book. Watch that movie. Spiralling over the future is dangerous, and can really impact your life in a negative way. In heavy contrast to that idea, I soon learnt to realise that exposing yourself to media (such as this blog post) and seeing anecdotal examples of others sharing your stress is key. Health websites will tell you to “talk to others” but such words are written by those who have never even struggled. It isn’t easy to talk to people, but it is easy to watch and relate to their emotions.
One of my favourite writers to mull over in times of distress is Sylvia Plath. Her work, and entire life, was tragic, and tragedy helps other tragic souls.
Below are a few of her works that I believe relate:
“I have this demon who wants me to run away screaming if I am going to be flawed, fallible. It wants me to think I am so good I must be perfect. Or nothing.”
- The Journals of Sylvia Plath.
“What is my life for and what am I going to do with it? I don’t know and I’m afraid. I can never read all the books I want; I can never be all the people I want and live all the lives I want.”
- The Journals of Sylvia Plath.
“I know pretty much what I like and dislike; but please, don’t ask me who I am…”
- The Journals of Sylvia Plath.
“Something in me wants more. I can’t rest.”
- The Journals of Sylvia Plath.
And, especially comparable:
“I desire the things which will destroy me in the end.”
- Sylvia Plath.
Plath’s poetry makes me miserable. The deplorable sadness in her words stabs me through the gut because they are loaded, emotional, and excruciatingly relatable. But that, in my opinion, is the cure.
Movies and TV shows work in the same way, but I deem that writing is much more powerful than any artificial media can ever be. Plath’s words are true, and there is something much more intimate and touching regarding a soul taking its time to type out what is written. A writer does not have to share their thoughts with us, but they do. We can use that to help ourselves. Next time you suffocate. Next time your desire vetoes your breathing. Next time you struggle, remember this blog.
Stress can alter our thoughts, but what is written is immutable.
We must breathe alongside the flow of ink.
Take your time.
