That, is how I feel about Ireland.
I'm back in Ireland for the second time on this European tour. I'm back in Dublin for the fourth time.
Why?
Because I'm happy here. I feel incredibly free here. Here, I get wrapped in yummy nommy, ooey gooey nirvana.
A couple days ago I found a little local bookshop while perusing the city. There, I discovered a guide to Dublin that suggested something that I think is dead-on about the city and that is: "Live more, fret less."
Which is exactly a lesson I needed to learn when I first stepped foot on Irish land back in May. My trip continued all good and fine and I blossomed into yet another, better, edition of myself. Then I went to the UK and everything began to slowly creep down. I hit the lowest point about a week ago and decided it was best to get back to Dublin to regain my strength and willpower before I continued on. I was both bummed and delighted about this. Delighted to see a place I love so much. Bummed I felt so small and sad and couldn't pin-point why.
Back in Dublin, my friend loudly proclaimed over my worried thoughts, "Helena! We made so much progress." The "we" he was referring to was me. He, being my dear Irish friend who gave me the numerous nudges I've needed and was now somehow making me feel like when I did fall, I wasn't going to fall alone. We fall together. We rise together. We get weird and do a lot of weird things together.
And that's what's so great about this place and perhaps why it's so up-lifting. You can get as weird as you want. You can fly high and fall on your face. Nobody cares if you screw up and if people do, to hell with them is the attitude people have here.
I'm back in Ireland for the second time on this European tour. I'm back in Dublin for the fourth time.
Why?
Because I'm happy here. I feel incredibly free here. Here, I get wrapped in yummy nommy, ooey gooey nirvana.
A couple days ago I found a little local bookshop while perusing the city. There, I discovered a guide to Dublin that suggested something that I think is dead-on about the city and that is: "Live more, fret less."
Which is exactly a lesson I needed to learn when I first stepped foot on Irish land back in May. My trip continued all good and fine and I blossomed into yet another, better, edition of myself. Then I went to the UK and everything began to slowly creep down. I hit the lowest point about a week ago and decided it was best to get back to Dublin to regain my strength and willpower before I continued on. I was both bummed and delighted about this. Delighted to see a place I love so much. Bummed I felt so small and sad and couldn't pin-point why.
Back in Dublin, my friend loudly proclaimed over my worried thoughts, "Helena! We made so much progress." The "we" he was referring to was me. He, being my dear Irish friend who gave me the numerous nudges I've needed and was now somehow making me feel like when I did fall, I wasn't going to fall alone. We fall together. We rise together. We get weird and do a lot of weird things together.
And that's what's so great about this place and perhaps why it's so up-lifting. You can get as weird as you want. You can fly high and fall on your face. Nobody cares if you screw up and if people do, to hell with them is the attitude people have here.
Now, let me be frank. As you all know, this is what I'm good at but as I know, this could potentially offend some readers. Let me say from the beginning that this is not my intention, nor is this directed towards anyone (which is often strangely taken this way). But honestly, I did not like the United Kingdom very much.
How does this relate to Ireland? It's because of the sour feelings I took with me when I left the UK for Dublin.
I won't say that I don't like the people. This is not the case whatsoever. I met so many native and foreign gems on my trip throughout the UK that I would not have been blessed to have in my life had I not gone. Let me rephrase an email I recently sent to my father to give you all an idea of my view on my trip throughout Britain thus far. A comparison if you will...
"Britain really got to me. There are many reasons why it did but I think one major factor was that it reminded me a lot of America. If I had wanted to stay in the American state-of-mind I would stayed in America. I think that's why I love Ireland so much. Even most of Scotland. What I admire about the Irish and Scottish independent parties is their feistiness. Their stubborn-as-all-heck willingness to stay true to who they are and fight for what they genuinely believe is right. They're crazy foolish romantic bastards. Much like myself...
They're not all perfect. I know this. It's sad that it's these feisty fighters who live in the minority. I think the UK forced me back to this reality. In reality, people fight and the good guys don't always win. In reality, there is pain and suffering and life just isn't always fair. In reality, people won't always accept you when you let you let your freak flag fly and even though I know you aren't like that, this is the reality of the world. I was so high in Ireland. Everything that happened in the UK brought me back down to earth. Earth, where all earthly things live.
You know, sometimes I really think I'm crazy. Like, really really crazy. My mind goes and goes and sometimes it feels like it's going to seep out of my ears. A lot of people tell me to turn it off or chalk it up to me being "crazy". But the other day a man caught me thinking and I said to him, "I think a lot and often over-analyze. It's just me." He said, "It's because you're intelligent."
If only more people thought like him. I know you do. You raised me to ask questions. Some things I still can't comprehend. I watch the majority of the world live without purpose or meaning, without anything to fight for. They quote, buy things they can't afford to impress people they don't like. The world has displaced its priorities. People don't fight anymore. Sure, we've evolved. We live in a slightly better and certainly more modern world. We're very blessed. But we've also chosen to dwell in a comfortable blindness--cutting ourselves off from the world, from each other. We've taken so many good things and soiled them with our hands. Take feminism for example, I don't think my foremothers burned their bras so that we could live in a world full of Kim Kardashians. We haven't bettered ourselves. We're merely put on the facade, or in this case, the dress and high heels that will make us appear we're better. That we're luckier. That we've earned respect. And yet I see all these beautiful people corrupting such natural wonders and it's not because they're living out their rights but because they still feel that's what they have to do to please society.
Society. Sometimes I loathe society so much I want to kill myself. I don't say this to sound manic. I just think I understand why monks have burned themselves in protest. Sometimes I feel so alone in this world I can't fathom. Will we ever win this war? Dad, I know you may not have the answer but I need to think we will.
Is this why we're here on earth? I don't know. I do know there is nothing more beautiful than the chuckle of a little kid, the sound of a mother's voice when you've been hurt, and the nervous ecstasy of a first kiss. I can think of a billion little things that fill my heart and soul with joy. I don't ignore the good. But it is this good that I want to fight for."
I've written a lot of things about America since I've been away. Not all of it has been good. I don't mean to offend my loved ones who are American but I'm also not going to lie. With the UK and America being so similar--it's hard not to ignore. Since this trip, I now understand why the Irish wanted independence. I can understand why people in Scotland want theirs. I can comprehend the rumors I've heard about French societies doing their part to stop the "americanization" of France.
It's not because America isn't the land of the free and home of the brave. It's because now we're constantly being sold all these consumerist ideas and beliefs that we need more, more, more. It sounds cliche and I've been hearing it for years but it seems that there is still this belief that money will make you happy. No, money will just make it easier for you to survive. I've watched my mother and father just barely survive all my life with the premise, "If I can work just a few more years I'll have just a bit more for retirement." Their age for retirement keeps getting higher and higher. I can only hope and pray they'll live to enjoy it all. I hope it will have all been worth it. For their sake. They, like the rest of the world, were sold the idea of the "American Dream." I'm not sure this dream covers good samaritans, humanitarians, do-gooders, and the poor. Not to mention people who just aren't white. They can just sell their souls to the devil.
I know a lot of these crazy people. They try to fight for what they believe in. They don't care for the frills of a society in which they would have to sell their souls. I mean, they're really fucking nuts. They make mistakes. They're not always happy. They have days where they can't stand their own faces. They love. They hate. They fail. They fail again. They give up. They break down. Sometimes it seems like society is against them. Sometimes society tells them they're wrong.
A girl I met in Manchester told me this, "Maybe you're not wrong, it's just the world isn't good enough for you."
This, is what I have to say about, and to, Ireland. Maybe you're a little wild. Maybe you don't always know when to stop. Maybe you fuck up and don't learn your lesson right away. Maybe you spiral out of control sometimes.
Go ahead. Go nuts for a while.
It's all those things that make me love you.
How does this relate to Ireland? It's because of the sour feelings I took with me when I left the UK for Dublin.
I won't say that I don't like the people. This is not the case whatsoever. I met so many native and foreign gems on my trip throughout the UK that I would not have been blessed to have in my life had I not gone. Let me rephrase an email I recently sent to my father to give you all an idea of my view on my trip throughout Britain thus far. A comparison if you will...
"Britain really got to me. There are many reasons why it did but I think one major factor was that it reminded me a lot of America. If I had wanted to stay in the American state-of-mind I would stayed in America. I think that's why I love Ireland so much. Even most of Scotland. What I admire about the Irish and Scottish independent parties is their feistiness. Their stubborn-as-all-heck willingness to stay true to who they are and fight for what they genuinely believe is right. They're crazy foolish romantic bastards. Much like myself...
They're not all perfect. I know this. It's sad that it's these feisty fighters who live in the minority. I think the UK forced me back to this reality. In reality, people fight and the good guys don't always win. In reality, there is pain and suffering and life just isn't always fair. In reality, people won't always accept you when you let you let your freak flag fly and even though I know you aren't like that, this is the reality of the world. I was so high in Ireland. Everything that happened in the UK brought me back down to earth. Earth, where all earthly things live.
You know, sometimes I really think I'm crazy. Like, really really crazy. My mind goes and goes and sometimes it feels like it's going to seep out of my ears. A lot of people tell me to turn it off or chalk it up to me being "crazy". But the other day a man caught me thinking and I said to him, "I think a lot and often over-analyze. It's just me." He said, "It's because you're intelligent."
If only more people thought like him. I know you do. You raised me to ask questions. Some things I still can't comprehend. I watch the majority of the world live without purpose or meaning, without anything to fight for. They quote, buy things they can't afford to impress people they don't like. The world has displaced its priorities. People don't fight anymore. Sure, we've evolved. We live in a slightly better and certainly more modern world. We're very blessed. But we've also chosen to dwell in a comfortable blindness--cutting ourselves off from the world, from each other. We've taken so many good things and soiled them with our hands. Take feminism for example, I don't think my foremothers burned their bras so that we could live in a world full of Kim Kardashians. We haven't bettered ourselves. We're merely put on the facade, or in this case, the dress and high heels that will make us appear we're better. That we're luckier. That we've earned respect. And yet I see all these beautiful people corrupting such natural wonders and it's not because they're living out their rights but because they still feel that's what they have to do to please society.
Society. Sometimes I loathe society so much I want to kill myself. I don't say this to sound manic. I just think I understand why monks have burned themselves in protest. Sometimes I feel so alone in this world I can't fathom. Will we ever win this war? Dad, I know you may not have the answer but I need to think we will.
Is this why we're here on earth? I don't know. I do know there is nothing more beautiful than the chuckle of a little kid, the sound of a mother's voice when you've been hurt, and the nervous ecstasy of a first kiss. I can think of a billion little things that fill my heart and soul with joy. I don't ignore the good. But it is this good that I want to fight for."
I've written a lot of things about America since I've been away. Not all of it has been good. I don't mean to offend my loved ones who are American but I'm also not going to lie. With the UK and America being so similar--it's hard not to ignore. Since this trip, I now understand why the Irish wanted independence. I can understand why people in Scotland want theirs. I can comprehend the rumors I've heard about French societies doing their part to stop the "americanization" of France.
It's not because America isn't the land of the free and home of the brave. It's because now we're constantly being sold all these consumerist ideas and beliefs that we need more, more, more. It sounds cliche and I've been hearing it for years but it seems that there is still this belief that money will make you happy. No, money will just make it easier for you to survive. I've watched my mother and father just barely survive all my life with the premise, "If I can work just a few more years I'll have just a bit more for retirement." Their age for retirement keeps getting higher and higher. I can only hope and pray they'll live to enjoy it all. I hope it will have all been worth it. For their sake. They, like the rest of the world, were sold the idea of the "American Dream." I'm not sure this dream covers good samaritans, humanitarians, do-gooders, and the poor. Not to mention people who just aren't white. They can just sell their souls to the devil.
I know a lot of these crazy people. They try to fight for what they believe in. They don't care for the frills of a society in which they would have to sell their souls. I mean, they're really fucking nuts. They make mistakes. They're not always happy. They have days where they can't stand their own faces. They love. They hate. They fail. They fail again. They give up. They break down. Sometimes it seems like society is against them. Sometimes society tells them they're wrong.
A girl I met in Manchester told me this, "Maybe you're not wrong, it's just the world isn't good enough for you."
This, is what I have to say about, and to, Ireland. Maybe you're a little wild. Maybe you don't always know when to stop. Maybe you fuck up and don't learn your lesson right away. Maybe you spiral out of control sometimes.
Go ahead. Go nuts for a while.
It's all those things that make me love you.
You little fooking coont, you.
A little note: I originally wrote this a couple days prior to the death of Robin Williams. I couldn't believe the news and am still absorbing it. It's even stranger that I had been dealing with similar feelings as I hinted at here on this post as well as past posts.
You know, I've never liked to use the word "depressed" in reference to myself-- thought others graciously have. Thank you-- person who does not have a degree in Psychology. I've found it's been a word used against people who are misunderstood. I believe it exists in other ways but for someone like myself (and that's all I can write about), I've always felt oppressed by the word and when people tell you to just shut up, you're just depressed-- how can you not feel this way?
So, I don't know if I am or not. I hate the idea of having to label myself with something so permanent when it feels so fluid and circumstantial--at least for me. I do however know that anxiety is real. I have very very real anxiety. Anxiety isn't based on genetics alone either. Outside factors can have a huge impact on one's anxiety. It's these outside factors that make me depressed and sometimes, I'll just say it, want to die. And I've fought this urge many times over the course of my life thus far.
These outer factors are numerous and a list could go on and on. I'll put it this way: the more people I know, the more I respect dogs. Yes, there are good people but there are also a lot of really really shitty people world who do things that are incomprehensible.
Am I weak because I feel this way? Am I weak because I let others and the world around me affect my joy? Or does it make me empathetic?
I think some people are both blessed and cursed with this empathetic soul. They can be anyone I'm sure, but I've known many who were humanitarians and artists. I can't and won't diagnose Robin Williams of course but as a student of comedy, I can empathize. I have people telling me all the time how fun and jolly I am. That I rock. That I'm a ball of joy. And I can be these things.
But then someone reads a poem I wrote or doesn't understand my macabre sense of humor and they shudder in horror and remind me that I'm a big ball of fun.
Oh, I'm sorry. Was I not living up to the image of me you've created in your head?
But you're so loved.
I love you too but I still feel this way. Am I not entitled to my feelings, let alone expressing them?
Oh, you're one of those depressed girls...
No! I'm just expressing some things. I express good things too! Didn't you like any of my jokes or puns? It wasn't all bad, was it?!? Hey, watch me do something goofy. See! I can still be goofy! Hey!
Hey!
Come back!
I promise not to cry again!
I battle with this not only externally, but after years of hearing these judgements, internally. All those outside voices have become inside voices. They've dumped their garbage trucks in my head and in my heart. I don't not believe I can, these false voices tell me I can't.
So I find ways to drown out the voices. I used to do it in unhealthy ways but with the love and support of friends and family--I now express myself the only way I've ever wanted to and that is through art.
But the war never goes away. You turn on the news, look at a magazine cover, some asshole reminds you why you suck at life-- and the voices come back. I'll probably fight this war forever. So you can imagine the shock of a suicide like that of Robin Williams.
Maybe his was more severe. We'll never know and I can't begin to say. May he rest in peace. As for those still with us, please don't think that's the only way to peace. Maybe if we were all more open about our pain and less afraid to be who we genuinely are, we could find peace here on earth. I know it's not this simple so all I can suggest is this, if you have these feelings and if you've ever been told to not talk about them by some jerk (this could include family), please reach out to someone who is willing to listen without judgement. Heck- reach out to me if you don't feel you have anyone.
Until next time, I love you. You crazy little cunt you.
A little note: I originally wrote this a couple days prior to the death of Robin Williams. I couldn't believe the news and am still absorbing it. It's even stranger that I had been dealing with similar feelings as I hinted at here on this post as well as past posts.
You know, I've never liked to use the word "depressed" in reference to myself-- thought others graciously have. Thank you-- person who does not have a degree in Psychology. I've found it's been a word used against people who are misunderstood. I believe it exists in other ways but for someone like myself (and that's all I can write about), I've always felt oppressed by the word and when people tell you to just shut up, you're just depressed-- how can you not feel this way?
So, I don't know if I am or not. I hate the idea of having to label myself with something so permanent when it feels so fluid and circumstantial--at least for me. I do however know that anxiety is real. I have very very real anxiety. Anxiety isn't based on genetics alone either. Outside factors can have a huge impact on one's anxiety. It's these outside factors that make me depressed and sometimes, I'll just say it, want to die. And I've fought this urge many times over the course of my life thus far.
These outer factors are numerous and a list could go on and on. I'll put it this way: the more people I know, the more I respect dogs. Yes, there are good people but there are also a lot of really really shitty people world who do things that are incomprehensible.
Am I weak because I feel this way? Am I weak because I let others and the world around me affect my joy? Or does it make me empathetic?
I think some people are both blessed and cursed with this empathetic soul. They can be anyone I'm sure, but I've known many who were humanitarians and artists. I can't and won't diagnose Robin Williams of course but as a student of comedy, I can empathize. I have people telling me all the time how fun and jolly I am. That I rock. That I'm a ball of joy. And I can be these things.
But then someone reads a poem I wrote or doesn't understand my macabre sense of humor and they shudder in horror and remind me that I'm a big ball of fun.
Oh, I'm sorry. Was I not living up to the image of me you've created in your head?
But you're so loved.
I love you too but I still feel this way. Am I not entitled to my feelings, let alone expressing them?
Oh, you're one of those depressed girls...
No! I'm just expressing some things. I express good things too! Didn't you like any of my jokes or puns? It wasn't all bad, was it?!? Hey, watch me do something goofy. See! I can still be goofy! Hey!
Hey!
Come back!
I promise not to cry again!
I battle with this not only externally, but after years of hearing these judgements, internally. All those outside voices have become inside voices. They've dumped their garbage trucks in my head and in my heart. I don't not believe I can, these false voices tell me I can't.
So I find ways to drown out the voices. I used to do it in unhealthy ways but with the love and support of friends and family--I now express myself the only way I've ever wanted to and that is through art.
But the war never goes away. You turn on the news, look at a magazine cover, some asshole reminds you why you suck at life-- and the voices come back. I'll probably fight this war forever. So you can imagine the shock of a suicide like that of Robin Williams.
Maybe his was more severe. We'll never know and I can't begin to say. May he rest in peace. As for those still with us, please don't think that's the only way to peace. Maybe if we were all more open about our pain and less afraid to be who we genuinely are, we could find peace here on earth. I know it's not this simple so all I can suggest is this, if you have these feelings and if you've ever been told to not talk about them by some jerk (this could include family), please reach out to someone who is willing to listen without judgement. Heck- reach out to me if you don't feel you have anyone.
Until next time, I love you. You crazy little cunt you.
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