I must be emo: article

Last week, I found my hard drive from when I was fifteen, circa 2008. It was every bit as bad as expected; My Chemical Romance, Green Day, Panic! At the Disco; you name it, the terrible emo past was there. My shameful, black-clad, dramatic emo past was not something unusual, however. In fact, I’d wager that there are thousands of twenty-somethings around Ireland right now who still know every word to “Welcome to the Black Parade”.

Looking back, my obsessions with pop-punk bands and stripy things weren’t all that original. I may have paraded sayings like “labels are for soup cans!” and “I’m not weird, I’m different!” but the reality was that my pink highlights emulated a dozen other girls I’d been stalking on Bebo. But that’s not something to criticise; at the ripe old age of twenty-one, I’ve decided to embrace my emo past. See, it’s easy to fob off teenage fads. Even now, my boyfriend tells me how utterly ridiculous I looked at fifteen, derisively snorting at my repeated denials that I never hung out at Central Bank. But teenage subcultures exist for a reason. From the post-war swinger set, through hippies, punks, mods and grungers, there’s always been a group to be a part of. Emo was ours; many a friend of mine has a Fall Out Boy poster buried under their bed. But we’re all mad to deny the same fact – “no, I was never EMO, I was cooler than that”. Objectively, “emo” was a fad characterised by a belief that you were different from the norm, more your own person than everyone else. And while that may have been characterised by questionable spelling and bad music, what of it? The “random” sixteen year old who embraces difference often grows up to be unique, tolerant and confident. I see nothing wrong with that.

Another element of the emo subculture we frequently forget about is how it pushed mental health among teenagers into the limelight. There were half a dozen Daily Mail articles published heralding emo as harmful to teenagers. Yes, self-harm was an utterly terrifying element of emo culture, which I will never understand. But to my recollections, it was also a time when we spoke about our feelings – “emo” is short for “emotional”, after all. Feelings may have been overblown and melancholy, but still; we spoke about them. I remember feeling confident and happy as an “emo kid”, but I still was able to speak out about feeling down, because that was…well, expected of me. I’m not saying being an emo kid was the key to my mental health – but it gave me the ability to speak out and speak up, because to an over-dramatic, black-clad teenager, no problem seemed too small. Maybe I’m a healthy by-product of the emo lifestyle, but to me, it seemed integral to helping me deal with adolescent issues.

So the next time you cringe at a photo of your fifteen year old self, think twice. It’s so easy to criticise the person you once were, without recognising the benefits of a certain way of living. So while I have no intentions of getting a fringe cut in, I will listen to My Chemical Romance with gay abandon, because to be honest, I wouldn’t be who I am without them. 

Mental health and me: article

I doubt that any one of us will forget the moment we realised that we were going to Trinity. For me it was as I stared dumbstruck at the A1 in Agricultural Science – I had gained a passport to study English and History, my two passions, in the nation’s best college. It had been a long time coming – over-eager freshman doesn’t begin to describe my feeling last September. I had notebooks, pens, clothes, shoes and ambition pouring out of me, geared up for the best year of my life. What it turned out to be was by far the hardest, but also the most beneficial – in the long run, it’s what’s given me the confidence to write this article.

As something of a perfectionist, I’ve always been a bit anxious. I like things to go right and worry about things that might never happen. To me, however, the word “anxiety” conjures images of paper bags and swooning. I’ve always been far too sensible for that kind of thing. My life as of September 2012 seemed perfectly in order. By JF logic, I would take TCD by storm and the whole college would know my name. Optimism to the point of arrogance overwhelmed me, but this soon came crashing down. TCD changes a body, no more so than me. First of all, there was the academic competition. Other students seemed to know more, say more and study more than I did. In my head, they were tearing through literary criticism while I wondered what the hell Freud was talking about. Furthermore, friends and classmates become involved in societies, the union and newspapers while I struggled to make 9am classes and meet deadlines. I understand that college takes adjustment but this felt like more than that – a nameless, hopeless feeling of “why is everyone Trinity-ing better than I am?” As a self-confessed Big Fish In A Small Pond, this (real or imaginary) competition with my whole year soon took me over.

This competitive nature started out fine, but soon turned into a little voice in my head telling me why I wasn’t as good as everyone else. It’s easy for your brain to trick you into thinking that you’re too boring, too lazy, and too awful to get anything done. It made me feel unattractive and unproductive to the point that I wished I hadn’t chosen TCD at all. English, my favourite subject, was difficult and History was boring. Worst of all, no one seemed to share my concerns – everyone seemed to be having the time of their lives while I tried not to cry from confusion, loneliness and shame.

By Christmas, I was ignoring work, classmates and dealing with gnawing feelings of panic almost daily. This came to a head in January – someone close to me told me I needed help. I’ve never considered myself “that guy” in terms of mental health – I could always handle it myself. However, a new, softer voice inside me told me that maybe getting wouldn’t be such a bad idea. I have a really strong memory of browsing SpunOut.ie (an amazing resource for young people) and seeing the “anxiety” page. Out of curiosity, I clicked the link, and almost every tell-tale sign applied to me.

Fast forward six months and I’ve been to a lot of counselling and talked to many people close to me about my mental “quirk”. I’m a terribly cheerful Senior Freshman who still gets bouts of worry, but I’ve learned how to deal with it as well as I can. So what compelled me to work through my story again? It’s not exactly fun to think about. Well, I have something to tell the students of TCD, from scared freshman to sabbat: it’s okay not to feel okay when everyone tells you you should be okay. One of my pet hates is the “you have nothing to worry about!” attitude, because anxiety doesn’t care if you have causes or not. The idea put forth that first year is the best year of your life is potentially kind of damaging – first year of college is a rollercoaster of terror, exhaustion, adventure and yes, fun. It’s life changing and very, very scary. And it’s okay not to enjoy it. I didn’t, and I’ll tell anyone who listens that. I hated the first year of college. But you know what? I love second year. I’m delighted I stayed where I was.

I almost didn’t. While anxiety is rarely life-threatening, it can be hugely detrimental. I almost dropped out of TCD because I felt I couldn’t cope with the intellectual gulf between myself and my peers. My competitive, worrying nature almost stopped me from doing what I love. What I hope comes from this article is that this doesn’t happen to anyone else: that students realise that it gets better, should they want it enough. I admit that this is horribly difficult at times – counselling, therapy or even admitting you’re feeling blue is nerve wracking to say the least. However, it’s often the hardest part of the process: letting the floodgates open is often the biggest relief in the world.

College is amazing for mental health. We have S2S, the Student Counselling Service and a fantastic team of officers who refuse to let the stigma of mental health problems stick in Trinity. So this week, I want everyone to take a step back and think about how they’re feeling. If it’s a bit down, I want them to talk to someone else about it. So remember: it’s okay not to enjoy the club nights, the lectures or even college life. The more we talk, the more good we do, and the more good we do, the more we can change the way we act on mental health as a nation.