Sunday, 28 December 2014

Finals




THE FINAL EXAM THAT DROVE ME MAD. 
(3 hours. 3 years. A lifetime.)


  • 1. 'and the Doctor said, "are you saying you feel guilty unless you are hungry?"
    Discuss, with reference to the roles of female c haracters in the American moderns, particularly  to Plath's representation of Esther in The Bell Jar , the relevance of this quote to your adolescent development. 

(10 marks)


  • 2. Should a poet's work invariably utilise enjambment or read in sequence, allowing the poet freedom to let the poetry find it's own form?
    (Candidates are encouraged to explore the source to which the question above alludes, and to formulate an original argument with an effective use of rhetorical devices to communicate it,)

(8 marks)


  • 3. Elucidate your role as a daughter, then compare and contrast it with your role as a student. Use quotes directly taken from personal experiences and your own examples to clairfy your explanation. 

(5 marks)


  • 4. They are all looking at you and laughing at you. You are a joke. You are hallucinating and haven't slept in days. How does this make you/the reader feel and do you think this was a part of your plotline intended to elicit a particular response?

(5 marks)


  • 5. Love is not unconditional. Discuss.

(10 marks.)


  • 6. "To live is to suffer, to survive is to find some meaning in the suffering." 
  • This famous quote by Nietzsche presents him as a nihilistic and misanthropic individual. Do you see him in this light or can you find hope in his hopeless stance? Use exAmples of your own suffering to corroborate your viewpoint.

(8 marks)


  • 7. Is morality a prerequisite for appreciation of art? Are you? Are you appreciating/appreciated? Discuss.

(10 marks).


  • 8. Calculate the 369th digit of pi as the fractal proxy to represent the infinite worlds contained witin each human being, and in doing so determine the contribution that you and the offspring you will most probably never have cannot contribute to the world shared between the infinite number of individuals posessing their own words, continuing on to deduct your own value from that of the mean value of the population considered in this infinite data set and draw up a graph to visually demonstrate the extent to which the world doesn't need you.

(15 marks).


  • 9. Using the individual calculations formulated in question 8, derive the meaning of Y.

(5 marks)


  • 10. Draw the shape of your sadness

 (20 marks).


  • 11. Don't you think you should have learnt by now? 

(25 marks)


  • 12. Explain what you are hoping for, and substantiate your hopes with empirical support.

 (5 marks)

Fairytale of London



A duet with William Nein doing our own slightly slurred version of my favourite Christmas song (other than O Holy Night, which I find a tad wordy and not far enough on the secular side)- Fairytale of New York- and a video to it, with a few clip of how this year I spent Christmas, peaceful, happy. I am not big on Christmas. I don't see why we can't spread cheer every day instead of reserving it for advent and the few days following Christmas Day that allow for leftovers (edible and emotional) to be enjoyed before impending stresses of the New Year and that weird woman-only stress that I don't actually suffer from but has something to do with sales settles in. It's strange that we have such highly developed cortices and elevated cognitive capabilities but when it comes down to it we get excited by shiny things like tinsel and gratified by the food we permit ourselves to gorge on during this season.
Anyway, I'm not the Grinch, and I like carols and I like people decrating their homes and getting together and I enjoyed decorating the 10 foot tree at James' building with him and seeing the faces of neighbours when they first set eyes upon it. I just don't feel that strongly about the day itself. This year, however, was perfect. Homely, natural, fun. I cooked successfully. We watched the sun rise from Primrose Hill and I've never seen a day so clear.

Friday, 26 December 2014

LOVE





I have long been asking friends of mine, several of them, many of whom were eager and happy to help out with my art project (including men, even though the art project is T-shirt printing, which I have, as some of you may know, have been doing a few years now)- for old T-shirts that they do not use anymore. I ask them for blank, old t-shirts that are no longer wearable t them and they don't mind getting rid of. I don’t need T-shirts because I have clothes of my own. I can still fit into the clothes I wore at 13 and 14.
I refuse to accept myself as anything of an ‘artist’ or to describe myself as ‘creative’ (I don’t like labels- original, I know- and I additionally think human beings are fluid and always changing and adapting, on both superficial, observable physiological and behavioural levels but also on deeper, undetectable levels. Our surroundings and the environments with which we interact consistently alter the architecture of our neuroanatomical structures, promote synapse growth, form new neural pathways and, of course, cause cell degeneration, and that is a considerable force behind the chances we make cognitively and emotionally. The brain isn't everything- at least that's what I believe. Sure, it is the most complex thing in the universe that we, as human beings using brains as our tools, can ever try to understand and probably never will in its entirety, but I think that the experiential and psychological changes that we undergo through our lives are not purely the result of amendments to the neural substrates of our behaviours and emotions. Anyway, I've massively regressed). It does not only seem strange to reduce a person to a list of character traits because it’s just that- reductionist- but it’s also frightening to me, and surely damaging to any individual who decides upon labels and wears them for too long, because people can go around for their whole lives saying they’re a this and a that and they’ve got this list of qualities, and surely that would hinder them from getting the opportunity to grow into and become and act like and think like all of the people they’ve decided they aren’t). And the most awful situations arise when you meet someone who is happy to tell you all about themselves, label themselves in numerous ways, and then fail to show any of their aforementioned attributes. Then there are the other terrible cases- those who smother you with their labels until you don't have a choice but to say yes, yes, yes, until you realise all they are doing is smothering you with little care for the person they are smothering or anything else but their labels. I've met very few people so bad, thankfully. Over the past few weeks, I have come face to face with actual human cruelty. Deliberate cruelty, which I think is the only thing that is unforgivable. But I have been told by a lot of people I’m creative. I once was told by my good friend Charlie I was the most creative person he knows, when I dropped into a conversation that I considered him the funniest person I know. I am/was flattered but I still don’t think I’ll ever call myself creative. Not until I’ve created something substantial or important. In fact, I won’t go around telling people I know who I am and this is what it is like.  Recent events have been pretty troubling, but I am sticking by my life philosophy-or one of them- that has kept me from turning bitter and cynical about the state of the world and the human race. The black echo theory- my flatmate of days gone by and myself- coined this term to describe a phenomenon collectively affecting all peoples in all societies, and we probably all have words for it and all know of it but it operates mostly beneath the level of awareness. In short, when someone hurts you, if you don’t either forgive them, get closure or settle without it, or just put down the load of resentment you are left carrying (the longer you walk with it, the heavier it gets), then this blackness- this dark feeling passed onto you by someone you know or a stranger or anyone- can start to release itself from you and pass itself onto others. Or you pass it on in ways you don't notice- below the level of awareness, this bitterness leaks out in, made manifest in your interactions with the world around you as what is eating you inside makes you hungry to start taking small parts of other people's joy perhaps, to feel a little better. Breaking hearts because yours was broken. The bullied become bullies. The abused become abusers. I'm thinking of a specific person now, someone who was once abused in a marriage, and somehow has become a vicious, intimidating bully. I am not saying abuse is forgivable. No abuse of anyone is forgivable if it is intentional. But if you can't forgive or forget it, you have to find a way to move on without those two luxuries. So you have to accept there will be no closure. No apology. Life isn't fair. Those who hurt us are the exceptions to the rule- I have to believe this and I do. I do not see the worst in people. I see the good first, I see even the potential good when there isn't any obvious good to see. I wait for the good. When there is bad, I give chances for things to be made good. Eventually, though, I run out of chances to give. This happened fairly recently. The aforementioned person- I am not expecting them to have forgiven their abuse. Of course that is not humanly possible. They were once a victim, but it seems that instead of accepting that their victimisation happened and that the world can be cruel but that there is a future ahead filled with people to love and filled with reasons to see so much wonder that that horror of the past can almost be obscured, this person took on the identity of the victim. They made this their whole life. They turned their tragedy into their identity, which I think perhaps a lot of people do, and again, I am not judging this. I understand the concept of searching for an identity to fit into if you feel hollow or hurt or confused or unsure about what your purpose is or who you are meant to be, who you can be, should be. I saw people in my group, as I mentioned in my last post, take on the 'BPD' identity role. Birthday parties with only BPD guests, conversation topics restricted to BPD-related content. I understand that is how people cope, but it frightens me, personally. The idea of letting my personality disorder become the entirety of what my self is made up of is terrifying. The idea of making myself a perpetual victim due to a situation in which I was victimised and yes, was a victim, is even more horrifying. Because that is letting the monsters win. When I was the victim, I had no power. I felt like an enormous part of what I knew of the world and myself and how to be and how to grow was lost. I was helpless, and for a long time didn't ask for help. But I am not a victim. If I were to spend my life framing my identity as the victim, I would still be powerless. There is one thing that couldn't be taken away from me, and that's my hope and love of people. I will not extrapolate from one or a few bad encounters to the rest of the people in the world. That is dangerous because it would mean I'd be going out expecting to encounter the bad, and this would be the black echo. Someone else would then cross my path, and the grudge I'd be holding might cause me to mistreat them or make them my victim, and then they would be the victim, and then do the same to others, and it goes on. This person has let the monsters win and take away her ability to be free- not just from the past, but free at all. She victimises others and I know the black echo so I won't let her echoes seep into me and begin to reverberate from me. I will stop the echo. But it scares me to see the black echo so clearly exemplified a year or so since the theory was conceptualised.

Anyway, the message of this post is that forgiveness may not be possible. I was sad to figure that out when I realised I couldn't forgive until I understood. And I don't understand the mind of the person who made me a victim at 17 and I don't understand the mind of the intentionally cruel. I therefore can't forgive, and I never forget because if you forget you don't learn from your experiences. But I don't need closure. I don't want it, even. I am happy with where I am and I am becoming happier with the person I believe I am becoming. I am not a victim. I am sorry for those who attack others to make themselves feel better, but it is the saddest thing of all that the attack can have happened decades ago and yet there is no letting go. Walking around with that much hate inside you, I am actually not surprised about the bullying behaviour. I don't even mind being a punchbag if it helps them release some of that hate, especially if it can somehow prevent their black echo from spreading too far and to too many others.

Back to the T-shirts, someone didn't read the entire message I texted saying blank old ones but generously gave me some new ones. When they started to bully, I decided to to the art project anyway. So in the image above, I sport one of the tops with the one word I would like to pass on: Love.




Monday, 22 December 2014

Borderline Personality Disorder

FmiakL on Make A Gif, Animated Gifs

This gif is totally unrelated to the material below. It just entertains me.


Some of you may know that some time ago- when I was completing the first part of my Master degree- I was diagnosed with Borderline Personality Disorder. It's not something I write about often, or talk about often, or really want to. Not because I am ashamed of it. If someone asked me if I have it, I would not be ashamed to say that I do. It's just that it's not something I would go around introducing myself with. I know that, by definition, personality disorders- of which there are 14 according to the newest publication of the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Disorders- are a specific class of mental disorders unlike sleep disorders, anxiety disorders, eating disorders, somatic disorders, mood disorders etc., characterised by patterns of maladaptive behaviour, cognition, affect and inner experience that are enduring and exhibited across may contexts. These patterns are said to develop early and remain inflexible. Some say that they are associated with disability and significant distress. This is where I, personally, deviate. I will never say that I 'suffer from borderline'. I do not suffer. I made my parents suffer for a long time. I am still learning to regulate my emotional responses in certain situations where they deviate from what is acceptable because I am aware that my behaviour can cause suffering, especially for those who care about me. I am very lucky to have people who care about me. All I can say is that, disorder or not,  my actions are never intentionally carried out to cause anyone else harm. I am not going to whine about how I hate myself so much it's punishment enough. I am finished with my days of wallowing.

Now I'll just run through them briefly, for education purposes. The personality disorders are organised into clusters. This makes them a little more interesting, I guess, at least if you play it out in your head like a bunch of crazy characters with idiosyncratic off-the-wall ways of existing and bouncing off one another. Cluster A (the odd types) is comprised of these 3. Let's imagine them as characters.
Paranoid: irrationally suspicious, mistrusting of everybody, interprets people's motivations as generally malevolent.
Schizoid: not interested in social stuff, detached from others, no relationships, apathetic, doesn't express emotions.
Schizotypal: very uncomfortable with social interactions, does not like them at all.

Cluster B is where my diagnosis falls in. They are the erratic, emotional types. There are four types in Cluster B. The characters:
Antisocial: no regard for the rights of others, lacking in empathy, overblown self-image, manipulative, impulsive (sounds lovely)
Narcissistic: needs admiration, thinks that they are above all the rest and deserving/entitled to all, lacking in empathy too
Histrionic: attention-seeker, excessive displays of emotion
Borderline: pervasively unstable all over in terms of relationships, self-image, identity, behaviour and affect, often leading to impulsive behaviour and self-harm

Then there's Cluster C, the anxious and fearful types.
Avoidant: feeling socially inhibited all the time and feeling inadequate, extremely sensitive to being evaluated negatively
Dependent: pathalogically needy, basically
Obsessive-compulsive: rigidly conforms to rules, perfectionist, needs control to the point that they are excluded from friendships and other ways of having fun.


Anyway, after that short and informative digression, I guess I just wanted to write about it this once because it's not important for people to know about because of me, but it's important for people to know about personality disorders. I don't want to raise awareness or start claiming I get any special treatment. I didn't bring this upon myself and neither did anyone else. The causes are thought to be a mixture of genetic heritable factors and mainly averse early events. It was heartbreaking when I was in treatment because the majority of women in the group, myself included, had experienced traumatic events that had critically altered our lives. I am not about raising awareness or trying to claim it's something I should wear proudly. What I think is important is education.

When I started treatment- it's a very, very effective treatment called mentalisation based treatment- I was lucky enough to know how it works. It's not a talking cure and you don't have to sit there talking about the past and what it was that damaged you. For all anyone knows, it could be one thing, it could be a million things, or it could actually be nothing at all. Whatever it is or not, you have problems fitting in. You're making mistakes. You don't know why. You don't feel like a person so you act like a person but you're terrible at acting so you try and make your surroundings respond to you, to give you something to mirror yourself against. I happened to take a lecture in BPD and mentalisation based treatment as part of my neuroscience module as an undergraduate at UCL. I actually didn't think it had anything to do with me. Weirdly enough, I'd been sent to the university counsellor who had said the word 'borderline' to me, given me some numbers and books, and sent me away saying he could only provide 6 sessions and I needed long-term help. I laughed it off at the time. It wasn't until I was put into a mental health institution that someone wrote borderline on my health notes, which so far had been riddled with eating disorders and PTSDs. I still didn't get it. When I started the treatment, I was reluctant at first but soon I found myself in a room full of women who were speaking a language I understood and had been trying to communicate with my whole life, and nobody else I'd known could understand me. I was diagnosed with BPD so completed the full 18 months of treatment, and the reason I think education about such treatment is so important is because they work- if you understand them.

Mentalisation isn't a psychobabble word. It's also the name for a neural network in the brain that, among most people, operates automatically and without any problems at all. It allows them to infer the mental states of others, without assuming that they are absolutely correct and can read minds, without always assuming the worst, without taking their assumptions and turning them into their own destructive actions, and without neglecting them entirely either. People with BPD have a dysfunctioning mentalisation process. My whole life my mother had been saying, You are putting words in my mouth, and she had been right. The assumptions I was making were due to my lack of ability to naturally infer the mental states of others. I just can't get people by looking at them, basically. Isn't that almost tragically simple? When someone smiles at me, I think they are laughing at me. I take things too personally and I know it is irrational. I know these assumptions are not the truth. Now I know. Thanks to the treatment. I was taught what my problem was. I was taught how to see from other angles. It still takes effort and I 'mentalise' every day but it stops me from hurting myself so badly I end up in the funny farm.

Borderline personality disorder isn't something that I was diagnosed with and grew into. I have known people take on symptom, get worse, act out, use it as an excuse, claim disability funding. I am not going to turn into the diagnosis I'm given. I have made mistakes and maybe this explains some of them but it sure doesn't excuse them. 

The way I see personality disorders is that there is a societal order- some people are a few standard deviations away from the norm. We are the abnormal ones. The disordered, out of the order. In a few centuries, maybe, the order will have changed. Maybe we'll be the ones who are the norm. That's just an idea, but I just wanted to write positively, because I may have a few screws loose, but I spend time screwing them back in, and I will probably have to my whole life. A good description is as follows: "People with BPD are often exceptionally idealistic, joyful and loving. However they may feel overwhelmed by negative emotions, experiencing intense grief instead of sadness, shame and humiliation instead of mild embarrassment, rage instead of annoyance and panic instead of nervousness. People with BPD are especially sensitive to feelings of rejection, isolation and perceived failure. Before learning other coping mechanisms, their efforts to manage or escape from their intense negative emotions may lead to self-injury or suicidal behavior. They are often aware of the intensity of their negative emotional reactions and, since they cannot regulate them, they shut them down entirely This can be harmful to people with BPD, since negative emotions alert people to the presence of a problematic situation and move them to address it."

Now I am not saying I wanted to be treated differently. Ever. It is my personality. It is not an aspect of it or a problem I can solve. It's not all I am but it's mixed up in the sum of my parts. I just thought I'd write a little about it since I haven't done so before. If you'd like to read a good scholarly article, click below my hysterical laughter


Borderline Personality Disorder

Sunday, 14 December 2014

Christmas en route

Yuletide banter is sluggish, half-hearts wreathed around
the doors knocking closed.
Today, a small breathing of pine perfume,
my face reflected in a red bauble and I blushed,
in a gold bauble and I am sickening for something.
In my head, the guests sip their drinks and zip sequin dresses,
and a man goes mad on the piano.

kl2LKi on Make A Gif, Animated Gifs

Sunday, 7 December 2014

observations of a fictional mind

The warm white noise of endless highways, riding into infinity on the back of a Harley, tasting pieces of heaven between my newly sharpened teeth, fanged fresh from the orphanage. Whispers cut from baby-breath in the dark follow me at night.I imagine raindrops of sound, falling and forming pits that fossilize into a documentation of this temporary transient brilliance. Who birthed me with this head full of holes? Empty of holes, should I say? Should I say anything at all? No, stay silent and fall into the shallow ears of shells that line sleep's shore. Marching in my bedclothes. Caped crusader, watching everything going about loud, loud, loud, in expectation; everything sighs, missing and waiting, impatience for the beckoning. Pigeons swoop from the underpass. A million stars make up the city's glow in the dark violet-blue jewel swell of the night. Yawning on furniture, humming as fog rolls over to bury our vibrations beneath its haze of captured metropolitan light. The whole earth has tilted and I have lost my reason to look now. I am weak, napping, crying softly, yelling loudly. Head aching and I can't listen to Unchained Melody and keep my face dry at the same time.


Clocks only tick 
Things only get older
People only grow
He only loves me
I only hope.

Friday, 5 December 2014

This poem

So, this is the poem that I will end up writing
when no other poem is willing to do the work.

This is the poem I write when I'm past not
able to sleep and well into not
even trying. This is born of body burnout.

This unfolds as I unpack myself from
bags beneath by eyes.This is an ugly poem
unfolding from ugliness.

In this poem, I'll make an ambiguous allusion
to someone who is missing.

This may be one of a few kinds of resentful:. parental
psychosocial, rebel-without-a-cause sentimental.

This poem is to say I am not a talented poet.
I'm a poet with a stammer,speech impaired,
a poet with neither the rage

So this poem may plagiarise, quoting,
not even poets have measured how much
the heart can hold. -Zelda Fitzgerald.
This poem throws itself down the stairs.

How do I urge this poem to do better?
I can't, I can only keep writing it.
Writing out my resentment, my restlessness.
Wretchedness, Wanting.

In this poem I CAN RAISE MY VOICE
for my wanting, and then in the same poem
shut my voice into a music box
to leave on your nightstand.

This poem has managed a neat trick. Illusion?
Some rhetoric magic. Some see a rabbit appear from
nowhere. Ohers see a girl being sawed in half.
.
The best (- though, at what?) could see both
but know it's not really about that.
They know it's about appearing as something
that are you not and that's a craft in itself.

As I or this poem already told you,
I am  not a talented poet. I am just a girl
masquerading as someone she's not,
because she doesn't know what she is yet
or wants to be or could be, yet.

She and this poem may seem to have more
to them, to be even interesting,
but both are waiting for you to grow bored.
"

Thursday, 4 December 2014

Haikus

Lonely, long-winded
as the Vatican hallways-
words not always true.



The sunshine was stolen,
petrified in the shadows
of midday stillness


Monday, 1 December 2014

Losses

Losses are not felt incidentally for my body being 
in constant withdrawals. 
I still stretch on tiptoe to reach things 
I grew into years ago.

As I accumulate memories,
it seems there is more missing
The stairs are missing.
A watch I wore once, now unlearned,
but I can still hear ancient voices in the attic.

I am meeting people who have sold their bodies
act like guilty children
and deny deny deny.

I am meeting the guilty children who were
unearthed from orphanages
into cruelties and then armies and then jails
and they still blush
when you tell them they've done good.

They still check the rooms for recording devices 
upon entering, entertaining old echoes. 
I check my quiet corners for signs of you.
I check my poems for signs of wounds. 

Things in pairs


We grew



We grew the earth, grew it around us and grew into it. We grew into pairs of shoes after pairs of shoes and we grew into our names. We learnt to tie the laces of our shoes and to tie our tongues around our names, and the names of other things, other people, and around other people's tongues. We planted our cultures, cultivated them, and they blossomed into traditions and stereotypes and generalisations and rituals. We broke in our shoes, broke the ice, broke our voices, broke promises. We broke glasses, hearts and bones. We built hierarchies, looked up, looked down, bowed down. We broke down into dictatorships and demonstration. We found solutions like democracy and diplomas and delegated. We fixed fountains and freight trains and falling trees in the forest and faucets that leaked. We formed partnerships, made promises, pledged to parties for both politics and both parents. We made marriage and then we annulled, we divorced. We fabricated the faiths that we fed on. We invented stopwatches, reality television, pedicures, lampshades, philosophy, greenhouses, dictionaries, exclusivity, feng shui, hand-holding, opiate medication, street art, martial arts, lawsuits, lingerie, car boot sales, snow days, psychics, boarding schools, toast, baseball, psychiatry, bird-watching, plaid, research, stag nights, salads, and interventions. We wanted and we wished and we waited and we wanted for more. We were growing faster than we invented. We were outgrowing ourselves and our earth and our shoes and our names. We forgot what we had found and fixed and formed. We broke down eventually and went broke. We are waiting to invent a new way we can fix ourselves.