A Quick Introduction

Welcome!

I’m IvyMoon and I would like to personally welcome you to this 'Sanctuary for Old Souls'.

Throughout my life I have struggled with this constant, underlying feeling of being out of place; of being in the world, but not a part of it, and I think that part of the reason for this was being born an old soul. 

Ever since early childhood, I knew I was different. I didn't know how, but I knew I was.              

I couldn’t escape the feeling that my soul, the 'real me' was from somewhere else, and was older and wiser than my body. Being young, this 'real me' seemed to be somewhat dormant; I could feel it inside me, but it seemed to be asleep, this key part of me that I could never really express or articulate, and as I grew older, my soul seemed to wake up - I seemed to wake up. In fact, I am still in that awakening process. All of this I have come to realize through hindsight, and although this old soul of mine is both a blessing and a curse in this crazy time that we live in, I wouldn't have it any other way. I am proud of who I am now, and excited to see who I will become.
I wouldn't say that my childhood was necessarily a bad one, I was born into a regular working-class family in Wales, grew up with a loving and selfless mother and a kind (and slightly crazy) little sister, and we had a good home in each other. Of course, not all was perfect; no home is. My father was around, but not much throughout the majority of my childhood. Somehow, we lived in the same house and yet we hardly talked. When we did it was awkward, intimidating; you could cut the tension with a knife. I don't know why, I just never felt comfortable around him; never felt comfortable calling him 'dad'. There was no bond there. If anything, I was afraid of him. 
His very presence seemed to bring with it a thick, suffocating feeling of opression, of fear. Of always walking on eggshells for fear of rousing his temper. Of making myself as small and inconspicuous as possible so as not to draw his attention. Of keeping my eyes fixed immovably on the television when he came home from work or walked into the room to avoid as much eye contact as possible. Of being hesitant to raise my voice much above a small, meek whisper, or even raise my voice at all. Of never stepping out of line or putting a foot out of place. 
I suppose, looking back at my childhood, I learned to internalise everything. Show as little as possible. Become a full-time resident in my own head, within my own self. Learning how to separate the inside from the outside, so to speak, to control and manage as much as I could I suppose. 

I wouldn't say that he was a 'bad' man, and perhaps he did love us, in his own way, but he did have many narcissistic tendencies. The emotional and mental abuse was relatively subtle, as it always is, but it was constant, and particularly directed at my mother. Eventually, it became too much, and that, paired with a number of other things led to the split that was long over-due, and much welcome. 

How I always felt about my father was never something I could fully explain or articulate. I still can't. But I've come to realize that why something is doesn't always matter, what matters is that it is, and that's OK. 

When I hit 12 years old, everything seemed to happen at once, I started puberty, I had just entered Comprehensive School, and my family was in a massive upheaval due to the suicide of my uncle and the complicated family and legal circumstances that led to us losing contact with my close cousin, his son. 

I think this was when the 'dark time' started, whether it was one, all, or none of these things that started it, I don't know, and I don't suppose it matters, but around this time, I started struggling with the early stages of depression and anxiety. The 'start of the spiral' so-to-speak. It was subtle, just bubbling under the surface. Manageable, but there. 

Over the years, it grew and grew, and I just held it in, like I did with everything. As my school life became more stressful, and my social life more complicated, I slipped further down the spiral. 

I was constantly lonely, I didn't have close friends or anyone that I felt I could really talk to. Those who I thought of as friends turned out not to be so.

Now, those of you who have struggled - or are struggling - with depression and/or anxiety know that the effects aren't just emotional or mental, although those are bad enough; it's physical too. The chemical imbalances in the brain, the lack of sleep, the sluggishness, the delayed reactions that feel like your brain is constantly buffering, the physical, mental and emotional exhaustion, the low immune system, the concentration so bad that sometimes you can't even read, the constant tenseness in your body, the aching loneliness, the suicidal thoughts and tendencies, it's enough to drive anyone insane! And the fact that you are still here is a testament to your strength. You are a tough cookie, and you deserve to be happy. 

Now, all this is not good when you are going through school, particularly in today's society - especially with the concentration and 'buffering brain' part - but that's what happened, and at 16, my GCSE year, everything hit rock bottom. I became ill. Really ill. All of the stress and anxiety that was building up over the years just came out in one big ugly blob. Like my body was saying "hold your horses! You're trying to run a marathon with broken legs. Stop. You are going to deal with this properly and get better."

I guess I always knew something was wrong, but I just reasoned that it wasn't really that bad, and that it was 'just me', but it was getting ill physically that forced me to deal with being ill mentally. Only then did I realize how bad it actually was.

I'm 17 now, nearly 18, and I am actually getting better.

I know! I'm surprised too! 

A year ago, I was suicidal, sickly and all-round miserable. I was a bookworm unable to read. I was an extremely depressed INFP, on the shadow side of life.

I know what it's like to despair at the state of the world and to just want to end it all. To wake up and cry because you're still here. To feel that death is the easier option, rather than feel the unrelenting pain and deal with the mess that is humanity and it's systems and predjudices.

But I am still here, and so are you! 

Sometimes I wish I was born a bird, or a cat. 

Life seems to be a lot easier for them, doesn't it?

The world has always been so strange and wonderful, nature has always been cruel and kind, and mankind has always been so imperfect and dangerous and fragile all in equal measure! But regardless of the crazy shit that's been happening in the world, I refuse to believe that human nature is bad by default, and I think that mental illness is some proof of that.
Personally, I have always taken great comfort in spirituality, but whether you are spiritual or not, we are beings of light and love, and I think that we have just lost our way and need to find it again.
It's OK to not be OK, and it's OK to admit it and seek help.
There is always someone there for you, and you are never alone.

I'm sending you all my love from the (currently raining) Land of the Dragons.

IvyMoon. xxx