“A revolution must come on the due instalments plan.” – James Joyce in ‘Ulysses’

I have been putting this off, I’m not going to lie. A sudden month of silence is not really my style, but nowadays I am not exactly sure what is my style. All I know is that in the past month life just got a little more real and yet somehow decidedly surreal at the same time. I know that I am over-worked and it’s official. I know that my heart broke, again. I know that if I don’t turn things around, my depression will quite literally be the end of me, sooner rather than later.
But I also know that I have put my mind to self-development. I know that I have friends and family who love me and who care about me. I know that I am not alone, that there are so many of us who face the same problems and yet somehow we all carry on. I know that this makes us strong. And I have options – a point driven home by David Foster Wallace, who’s This is water (2005) is one of the more insightful works I have ever read.

In a revolutionary step, I informed my supervisor that I have a burn-out. Though I still work, I have – finally – set some much needed boundaries regarding my physical presence at university. I’ll show up when I feel like it, but it’s unlikely I’ll feel like it often. I much prefer working from the comfort of home where I can intermittently cry, laugh, sing, dance, read out loud, cry some more, and cuddle with my dogs whenever I feel the need to. Likewise, I can sleep (or I suppose ‘rest’ is more accurate as sleep and I are still on precarious speaking terms), run, box, hike, play PC games, read novels, read philosophy whenever I feel like it. I’ve met my deadlines, I have one more chapter to go, an introduction, a conclusion, and the reworking of my thesis on the whole, and I still have thirteen months to go.
Slack needs to be cut, not just by me though, but by others too.

I have taken up an actual ‘study’ into self-development, including the things I never thought I’d even consider (like meditation and different meditative styles), and I am actively trying to reframe my thought patterns. It sounds super cool and simple when I say it like this, but most of you will probably know it is anything but. However, I absolutely must re-design my life and that doesn’t just take careful consideration, time, dedication, and some serious effort, but it demands sacrifices as well. I have to choose the options that will lead to the best results for me. I don’t like it much. It’s counter-intuitive and goes against my very nature. I am always inclined to help others and put their needs before my own, whilst at the same time I have quite a set of expectations to fulfil for my own performance in life as well. So, basically, my nature tells me it’s okay (or absolutely vital) to completely dedicate myself to help others and disregard myself, yet at the same time I must also perform at the top of my game which can sometimes be difficult to do even if you put your own needs first.

Hey, I never claimed to have it all figured out, and none of the above is particularly new or groundbreaking. Like I said, I am not alone, and I am pretty sure at some level you, dear reader, understand exactly what I’m talking about. One of the many qualities of paradoxes like these is that they have an isolating effect. They always manage to make me feel alone and like I’m on my own. My rational observation that that emotional observation is BS is completely useless – emotions trump rationale every damn time. So humour me and let me be super cliché when I say: you are not alone. No worries though, I am not fooling myself into believing that my saying that holds any sway over how you feel. But I’ve noticed recently that thinking about others who face the same struggles that I am trying to overcome helps – and not just ‘others’ as in ‘people I know’ but actually ‘others’ as in ‘people’, you know, in general.

I am not out of the woodworks yet. As the saying goes: the pain is real. I suddenly identify with every song ever written on heartbreak and heartache, and no matter how often I try to classify it as ‘life experience’, all I can feel and know now is that this pain will never go away. I am not yet far enough removed in the process that I can see more than three feet in front of me. Likewise, I am trying my damndest to reframe and re-design, to study and to work, to be kind to myself and always just a bit kinder to others, but I am not a saint and the best intentions do not always result in the best outcomes. I am still worried about myself, I am still uncertain whether or not I will finish my PhD on time, I am still at times overwhelmed by the sense that I am a fraud, an imposter, someone who is usurping the position of someone else who would’ve been so much better at this than I am. I still think life sucks more than that it is fun. And yes, I still believe I will be lonely forever, die alone (yes, technically we all die alone, as you are the only one who dies when you die, but I digress), and never be able to meet anyone’s expectations, much less my own.
Baby steps, though, very tiny baby steps.

***

“But you’d save the best for last” – Adele in ‘Best for Last’

Sometimes getting started on writing is the most difficult thing in the world. And sometimes that kind of sucks because half my job is writing. Besides, I use writing to rearrange my thoughts and at least attempt to make sense of what I’m doing in life. I know I’ve been quiet on this blog for a while and my writing block is part of the reason behind it. Though I also went on a holiday for the first time in seven years (like a proper holiday, lounging by the pool sunbathing and doing absolutely nothing). I needed the break, I think. But no break in the world could have prepared me for the emotional upheaval that followed closely upon my return.

Getting started is only marginally more difficult than ending it. In any situation in life that is. Whenever I am writing for work – say an article – it usually takes me a while to get into the writing phase, but once I’m there, I never want to stop. There’s always something left to say, something left to edit, something else that could make it so much better, and it’s fun. I get caught up in what I’m researching and find more and more details that make everything more interesting. Though perhaps some would say ending any sort of relationship is more difficult than starting it, for me it’s usually the other way around. It’s scarier to begin opening yourself up, allowing the other to see you, than it is to close everything down and shield yourself from the other’s sight. What makes ending it worse, though, is the crippling pain that accompanies it. But, like with writing an article, at some point it has to be finished.

And so, I ended things. I finished a paper, a chapter, and I am on schedule for the rest of my upcoming deadlines. And I ended a relationship, not because there couldn’t be something more, but because relationships only work when both people are involved. It’s a two-way street. At some point, you need to be frank and honest, look at how things are going and how they have been going, and admit to yourself that you’re giving everything you have but that it never seems to make much of a difference. That’s all there is to it.

My own state of mental health is ill-equipped to handle such things. The situation itself, the circumstances that led to this solution, they provided plenty of triggers and my ever-present depressed side was quick to take full advantage. Work gives me some much needed stability, but I would be lying if I said I am okay. I’m still in that stage where I don’t think I’ll ever be okay, not just because of this whole ordeal, but because of the multitude of struggles that come with the territory of being bipolar, and of having other issues as well. Even at the best of times I don’t see how I can ever truly improve, and now, despite the progress I thought I’d made, I have little hope for the future, and even less faith in myself. However, on this point it might actually be a good thing that I also don’t trust myself much and thus am more willing to take the word of the people who have a different perspective. To those people, who care so much and are truly supportive of me, I owe a lot. So, though an acknowledgement in a blog is insufficient, I would still like to say ‘thank you’ because by sharing your perspective with me, I can never forget that what I perceive to be ‘the truth’ is only partly true. It’s a constant reminder that things can change.

***

“I’m taking these chances and getting nowhere / And though I’m trying my hardest you go back to her / And I think that I know things may never change / I’m still hoping one day I might hear you say…”
– Adele ‘Best for Last’

“To the person experiencing it as a diminution of his or her professional authority and influence, change can only be seen as the work of the devil.” – Stanley Fish in ‘There’s no such thing as free speech’

There are a few things I have learned as an academic:
– no matter how long I have been a part of this project, I still need to consult my university employee profile to remember the title of it
– regardless of my best intentions, my conference papers are hardly ever what I promise they will be in the submitted abstract
– ‘deadlines’ for abstracts and other conference/seminar related stuff are almost always flexible
– all academics measure their progress by how much is produced, not by how much is researched, considered, thought through, evaluated, etc.
– trying to explain what I do for a living inevitably ends with a blank look from whoever I am explaining it to
– for that matter, explaining what my project is about to other academics is not a guaranteed success either
– hierarchy in the university is not only based on one’s research experience, but also on whether or not one has a temporary contract or tenure – as if not obtaining the holy grail of academic contracts (tenure) is somehow a failure on the part of junior scholars (who are mostly hired on a temporary basis)
– there is always more research to be done than there is time to do it
– I will truly never remember the title of my project

Sometimes I remind myself of this list because it helps me not to take myself too seriously. It also helps me to remember that I am not the only one who experiences what I experience as a PhD – we all feel like we make no progress if we spend a week not writing anything even if we were to read twenty books, a hundred articles, or spend all our time structuring the obtained information in our minds. No words on paper = no productivity. I am also not alone in occasionally feeling overwhelmed by how much research should be done (i.e. how much research this particular topic or line of thought deserves) and how limited the time is in which I have to do it, resulting without question in the sensation that you only did half of what you were supposed to do. I love my project and I can talk about it for hours… finding people who can bear to hear it is a different matter entirely. And the project’s overall title… in my defense it is a long title.

Overall, my work is going well. I know I am at risk of sounding repetitive here, but I am still on schedule. This is a feat I cherish above all others and I will go through great lengths to keep it this way. One development I am particularly excited about is that I get to go to Washington D.C. in April for a combined research trip and as a participant in a seminar. I am really looking forward to this trip, even though it is still months away.

This week has been one of trying not to take myself too seriously, of trying to relinquish some control, because to be frank: I have no control. I feel very vulnerable as I am confronted with the reality that at the moment I am in a position where, truly, little is within my grasp and it drives me to respond reactively, which I do not like. Proactive is more in my nature than reactive, yet sometimes things are outside of my control: they just are. It’s a difficult position for me to be in and naturally I hope it won’t last.
However, being uncomfortable – as I currently am – usually also means that I am learning. Discomfort is a sign that I am outside of my usual ‘bubble’ and that, I think, is a good thing. I already know everything inside of the bubble, nothing in there makes me uncomfortable, it’s safe. But what is safe is also routine, and thus not great for progress.

So, even as I remind myself of the list, of all the things that I do not experience alone, of the experiences that pop up routinely, I am also well-aware that this stability at work is what allows my discomfort (i.e. progress) in private. It’s a precarious balancing act, as it always will be. I have continued what I started in therapy week and for it to work to the utmost, I must be able to give myself the time and space to process everything. I can give this to myself for as long as my work maintains its stability. In this way I hope to do what I always do: everything at the same time. I want to commit myself 100% to everything, and so I do, and as I feel like I have no control anywhere – at least not where it matters most – I see this list of things that never (and may never) change. I remember that it doesn’t matter how I’m doing, I will always fail to recall the title of my project. I remember that it doesn’t matter whether I am depressed, manic, or something in between, deadlines for the submission of abstracts are still almost always flexible, and academic productivity is measured primarily according to what one writes, not what one reads. Some things stay the same, even when I am changing. And that… is a very comfortable thought in a very uncomfortable situation.

***

This is a painting by one of my favourite artists, Gustave Doré, of the Pyrenees, painted in 1860

“Your heart screams ‘yes,’ your head says ‘no,’ and you’re never really sure” – Passenger in ‘Survivors’

In theory, I should feel pretty okay. I mean, I finished my chapter and handed it in (that is 3 out of 4 for my dissertation done), I am on schedule in terms of training to run 10k, and I have been socially active – something I actively avoided since last December. So all in all, sounds good right? Except none of those things register. For all my effort and all my work, I feel… nothing. There’s no satisfaction, no relief, sense of pride, or even just a momentary ‘phew, now that’s done.’ I just move on to the next thing and so life continues. You can probably imagine my frustration at this utter lack of appropriate emotional response.

Yes, I do know why I can’t quite enjoy the accomplishments of last week, even when I recognise them. In order for me to function at all, I had to shut off most of my emotional experiences in the last couple of weeks: if I give in to what I really feel, I won’t be doing much of anything apart from assuming a fetal position and cry. Heartbreak is a cruel mistress. Not a single part of my life is safe from it, and so in opting to continue my daily activities, I likewise opted to shut it out as much as possible. Am I always successful doing that? Of course not. The grief, loneliness, and overall sadness that comes with the territory inevitably overwhelms me every once in a while, and the longer it goes on, the less hopeful for reconciliation I become. I know this is what happens with heartbreak, it’s kind of what it does, but naively I never thought I’d be that kind of girl – you know, the one whose whole life gets affected by one event.

No worries, my self-criticism is having a field day with my current emotional state. Between judging me severely for my ‘weakness’ and outright laughing at me for my (dwindling) hope, that little-though-loud voice in the back of my mind is happily negating what I would normally enjoy. None of these achievements – not finishing my chapter and being perfectly on schedule for finishing my doctoral research on time, not becoming a better runner and generally improving my health, nor even doing the things I truly love like horseback riding and taking long walks with the dogs – matter because none of them are the one thing I want more than anything. The fact that that particular thing is out of my control, and that I know I did all I could do, is meaningless.
It is frustrating, annoying, and downright illogical. I might’ve dealt with the first two, but not that last one.

I always fear I am tiring people with this ‘complaining,’ especially because it is about something as everyday and common as heartbreak. However, I can hardly pretend this isn’t on the forefront of my mind. One day I might write a stellar novel which will make use of these feelings, that will describe in animated language how every incoming message on my phone inevitably gives my heart a momentary jump as I secretly hope it’s him saying all I hope he’ll say, or that even hearing car doors close on the parking lot of my building sometimes give me a short-lived flutter of ‘maybe it’s him…?’
Yes, another novel on heartbreak, just what the world needs.

***

Scotland, my favourite country on earth. This was in the Lowlands, I would not mind living in that little cottage there and just waking up to this view every day.

“For those men who look to Nature for support, she does not care.” – Wyndham Lewis in ‘Life is the important thing’ (Blast)

I thought I knew what heartbreak was.
I was wrong.

As anyone who’s ever experienced a broken heart knows, functioning becomes a somewhat difficult affair when such a feeling courses through your body all the time.
I am no stranger to intense emotions, yet this is different. For once, I feel pretty normal. Because for once, I don’t have to explain what ‘happens’ to the people around me, because these emotions have nothing to do with being bipolar, but they have everything to do with what happens in life.

And since life cares little about my love life, it simply goes on.
I finished my chapter on time (the one for the collaborative volume) and am almost finished with the one for my dissertation. When I first began to shape the concept for this chapter I was not really excited. It’s a chapter that is absolutely necessary (it connects all levels of my research) but that also made it 1) a big undertaking, and 2) difficult to fully conceptualise. I don’t work well without a clear concept in my mind’s eye: I have to have an inkling of what it will look like in the end. I’m not particularly attached to that image but it helps me on my way. It indeed turned into a monster chapter, it’s now on 65 pages and counting + 3 separate appendixes. But I also like it a lot more than I thought I would. Fingers crossed my supervisor agrees with me that I went about this the right way.

Because this blog is not really about my research, I’ve never really shared much on the subject of my work, at least I can’t remember doing so. In a very short sum: I look at national stereotypes in early-modern literature (of course not all stereotypes, and definitely not all early-modern literature, but you get the idea). It’s fascinating, as to some extent, we have not changed at all: the same xenophobia persists to this day. Perhaps that is why, on occasion, I also feel rather hopeless about humanity on the whole. When you read something in a seventeenth-century play text that could just as well have been tweeted today by right-wing conservatives, it’s kind of sad. However, understanding what created the early-modern stereotype also makes it possible to understand its persistence, and more importantly, how they aided in the creation of the nineteenth-century concept of the ‘nation-state’ which, in turn, fuels the nationalistic rhetoric we are becoming more and more familiar with in its extremist forms nowadays.

In other words, my work is historical, and literary, and it teaches me a lot about the world today. Likewise, it is somewhat soothing to know that being brokenhearted is hardly exceptional: it is a type of pain familiar to everyone, even if you have yet to experience it yourself. We know about it through stories written by men and women who, if they did it right, conveyed a semblance of the feeling to the audience of their works. Heartbreak is universal and timeless. And since people have survived it for centuries, I reckon I will too.

***

“I started running…pushed myself on with suppressed shouts, and screamed mutely and furiously at myself whenever I felt like stopping” – Knut Hamsun in ‘Hunger’

I find it kind of fascinating how our minds are capable of putting unpleasantness aside for the sake of functioning properly. It is a skill we all possess, be it in different measures, and it is one we all kind of need to survive. If we’d all just be overwhelmed by emotions all the time, we’d never get anything done. Putting off what you’re feeling can be incredibly helpful at times that you need to pull through. It’s just when you do it a little too much, a little too successfully, that it becomes problematic. Once you can no longer access the emotions that you supposedly only put ‘on hold’, then you cannot deal with them either. That would be totally cool with me, were it not for the fact that not being able to deal with them does not equal them being gone.

For my own part, I don’t even know anymore when I do or do not put things off. I can perform at almost any time, and it is such an automated skill that I employ with so little effort or thought that I generally only realise what I’m doing when the giant pile of ignored emotions crashes over me. Single-minded focus, discipline, whatever you want to call it, the ability to have one goal and reach it regardless of all other events of life, it’s a skill that I never practiced, but which comes naturally. Great, right? Except I’m discovering more and more often that it hinders rather than helps me. Even when the pressure is low, when I could make do with just putting things off for an hour or two, I don’t, and the pile steadily grows – though I am not aware of it at all.
There are moments, however, that I am confronted all at once with all the things I have not dealt with. These moments always present themselves when I least expect them (I mean, what’s the fun in seeing emotional mayhem coming?) and particularly when I challenge myself physically. As I have begun training to run 10k, all of a sudden I find myself confronted with ignored stuff on a regular basis. So… how am I supposed to deal with that? Because being good at putting things aside apparently comes with being bad at knowing what to do when I have to deal with what everyone sometimes has to deal with and that leaves me kind of at a loss.

I was very productive until about a week ago, today I handed in a chapter before the deadline, the second chapter is coming along very well. However, this lull in productivity annoys me. ‘What do you mean I cannot always perform on the top of my game? I was doing fine just minutes ago!’ But I suppose that’s what happens when heartbreak enters the playing field, and it is joined with a steady cycle of emotional confrontations whenever I start running – lasting all the way through to the end. More than anything, I am tired. So, so tired. Surely emotions aren’t this exhausting? (Spoiler: they are)

So I am practicing being patient with myself more than anything. Just because my brain processes work-related information very quickly doesn’t mean it can likewise rush through the rest of life. Life is more than work. How I operate when I work is not how I can tackle the rest of life, that would simply be too exhausting.

***

This is the inside of the book cover of Min in ‘t Lazarus-huys (1674) by Willem v. Focquenbroch. My work sure can be pretty sometimes.

“Be rushing as a wind; Be stately as a forest; Be ravaging as a fire; Be still as a mountain; Be inscrutable as night; Be swift as thunder or lighting” – Sun Tzu ‘The Art of War’

We all want it, some achieve it, but most struggle to find it: happiness.
These past weeks have revolved around a simple question: what do I want? And my unequivocal answer is, and always has been, happiness. I did not think that was a possibility for me, but one of the things I discovered during my therapy week is that actually, it is.
But happiness isn’t gifted, it’s earned. It’s hard work and it requires difficult choices, tough decisions, frank self-reflection, and above all, a ton of courage and bravery. So many of us are stuck in semi-happiness because at some point we stop asking ourselves what will make us happy. Sometimes we stop believing in the concept altogether. Yet happiness, like love or trust, is something attainable for everyone though it is often underestimated how much effort goes into achieving it. We tend to see happiness as something we should be granted just because. Like it is something we are entitled to. It is a view I encounter too often on Instagram with those ‘inspirational quote’ images. Those quotes hardly ever inspire action, but rather encourage us to seek happiness in a passive way. ‘Live happy’, ‘be happy’, ‘everyone deserves happiness’, you know the drill. I do not fundamentally disagree, but the part we leave out is the part where happiness is difficult.

Even when we do answer the question of what we want and need to be happy, it is another thing entirely to ‘go and get it’. Because, sometimes, you’ll find that what makes you happy is inconvenient, or it will require sacrifices to get it. Sometimes, you’ll find that what you need to become happy will hurt someone close to you, or will require some life altering changes. It is at this point that most people will fall back, will cherish comfort over happiness, as safety always has a stronger allure than potential disaster.
Yet, I was reminded this week by someone I greatly respect of something that is hardly new, but easily forgotten: people always regret not taking chances, not taking risks, and not having dared to follow a different path that could’ve led to greater happiness when they look back on their lives. There seems to be little regret for the decisions made that didn’t work out the way they’d hoped because at least they took that chance. Regret comes from looking back and seeing where the potential had been but where you, for whichever reason, decided not to pursue it.

Happiness is a scary thing and there is never a guarantee that once you put in all the hard work and you attained it that it will never leave you again. But this is exactly why we need to keep asking ourselves those questions. When we stop asking, we stop progressing, and so we get stuck. Stuck in a place of ‘semi-‘s, where everything is sort of the way you like it but when you’re truly honest with yourself, you’re not truly happy. Contentment is not the same as happiness. Neither is comfort. They can be part of what makes you happy, but they are not the end station.
I am aware this must sound like preaching, for that I apologise. I am not trying to get anyone to join me on the band wagon to happiness, not even when I do believe we all have the potential and the right to become happy. The truth is, everyone is responsible for their own happiness. I am responsible for my happiness, and it took some grueling therapy sessions to truly embrace that concept.

I came out of therapy week a stronger person, though not necessarily a better one. Yet, I found that I am ready to dare to become happy. Every day I ask myself the same questions:
What do I want? – To be happy
What do I need to get what I want? – … and this is an answer too long to provide here, besides it may change somewhat from day to day 😉
Nevertheless, I have learned how much fun it can be to answer particularly the second question. Because nothing is too much, nothing too outrageous. It is, after all, your life, and your happiness. Your heart tends to dictate what you want, but it will gladly leave it your head to figure out how you will achieve it. This puzzle, so often cast in a negative light, can also be part of what makes you happy. At least, I have found that just having the nerve to excuse myself from suffering (i.e. to stand up against my depression and to work hard to prove those inherent negative thoughts wrong) is already cause for me to be a little happy.
I am happy that I dare to pursue happiness.
I am also happy that I was taught some of the skills I need to continue solving the puzzle when I was enduring a hellish week of therapy (shout out to my fellow ‘inmates’ though, they were truly a remarkable, fantastic bunch of people who took me into the fold without judgement and with understanding, care, and support. Should any of them read this: Thank you).

Tomorrow I am going back to work, though yes, I started (ultra-low-key) yesterday. I am excited once more. Normally, I would have panicked because where I thought I had but one deadline in August, it turns out I have two (and both for chapters). But not this time because part of that long list of what makes me happy is doing my PhD. I haven’t lost that passion, not even when the going was tougher than I thought possible. Though passion and lack of panic is no guarantee for meeting two chapter deadlines in the same time span (roughly a week apart), it does provide me with a sense of confidence in my own capabilities as a researcher. The passion will pull me through the long days, my calmer, clearer mind will make sure I don’t overdo it and end up, again, exhausted. Exhaustion and undue worries are two big feathers in the cap of my depression so I aim to avoid both to allow myself time to continue growing. After all, the closer I get to that mystical happiness, the farther away and the safer I’ll be from my depression.
I’m curious to see how these changes will affect my work. Surely, it can only work out for the better.

***

This is the K2 (8611 meter), and this may surprise some, but I am kind of obsessed with her. I will never actually climb this majestic beauty, but what I do aim to do is make the trek to her base camp because I want to see her in real life. So yeah, it’s on the ‘what will make me happy list’ 🙂
(I’m not taking credit for this photo)

“…his nights were spent reading … until lack of sleep and the excess of reading withered his brain and he went mad.” – Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra, ‘Don Quixote’

Guys, I’m working again, as in, I am productive. With a looming deadline and the intensive therapy week approaching, I am incredibly relieved that I am progressing steadily with my chapter.
After this chapter the rest will seem a lot easier because it’s ambitious and it’s the third out of four. So not only will I have passed the half-way-there mark once it’s finished, I will also be done with the most methodologically challenging part of my dissertation. The deadline is in August and once it’s handed in I will turn towards the chapter that needs to be contributed to our collective volume. Most of this chapter is already written, but it needs shortening… like a lot. At the same time I will also be working on a joint article for a peer-reviewed journal. This should all be done no later than October as then I will have until December to research and write my final chapter.

Now, all of this is of course me planning (ambitiously) and presuming I will always be able to work. And, of course, the truth is that I’m not. Yet, before any judgement is passed by others, I would like to point out that I am on schedule with my dissertation whilst having a number of extracurricular activities, a feat that is not nearly as common as it should be amongst PhDs. This line of work is notorious for its stressors and unevenly spread work load. It took me a couple of years to be okay with the occasional off-day or week. Sometimes I still feel guilty for taking time to recharge my batteries and to recaliberate. But almost always I come back from one of those ‘breaks’ with a better work ethic than ever and a fresh mind that can do more, observes more, and thus my dissertation progresses more.

It’s a fundamental problem in academia that the work pressure is too high. When the problem is created by budget cuts, or management imposing new policies, then I get it, sort of. But what I will never understand is this persistent emphasis by senior colleagues that if I’m not working on my dissertation 24/7, if I don’t eat, drink, and breathe my dissertation every waking hour, that somehow I am slacking. Of course, it isn’t often that this is said outright (though there are some who have said it quite like that to me, and yes, they were serious) but the implied message is always clear. As a PhD you are only performing on an acceptable level when you work non-stop.
I am generalising here, of course.
And I will continue to do so with my next, and final, point.
There is a strong notion in academia that PhDs have to be thankful for doing a PhD. I cannot be certain on whether this holds true in other countries as their system is generally very different from ours, but since in The Netherlands, doing a PhD is a job – I am a doctoral researcher by trade at the moment – it always confuses me.
Now don’t get me wrong.
I am grateful in the sense that I know there are more people willing to do a PhD than there are paid positions for PhDs. And I am certainly grateful for being given the opportunity to continue learning, to continue researching, and to do all the things I get to do as part of my work. But that is a different type of gratitude. What is expected is that I am thankful for being allowed to work for the University, to be thankful for accessing the lowest rank in the hierarchy that is still – sadly – very much in place within the institution. Yet, does my work not contribute to that very institution? Are not my publications counted in the annual output reports? Will not my defending my doctorate add to the prestige of the University? The more PhDs finish their dissertations on time, the better for the University, right?

It must here be said that in this, both my supervisor and my promotor are great, the former has always treated me like an equal be it one who could still learn a lot from her, and the latter understands what doing a PhD is about: it’s a learning curve. The notion of ‘They’re just PhDs’, implying we matter less, gives off a very unpleasant vibe. It’s why I am, indeed, grateful that I can work from home a lot, and that I have supervisors who give me the freedom I need to work when I can work.

***

This is an image taken from the title page of the play Don Felix de Mendoza with the banner reading ‘Consistency and Hard Work’, which I found quite fitting. Besides, isn’t it pretty?

“When all was said and done, wasn’t it a matter of indifference whether the inevitable happened one day earlier or one day later?” – Knut Hamsun in ‘Hunger’

It is almost a given that when there’s radio silence on this blog I am not doing very well. To me, writing makes things real, and though my feeling bad does not become in any way less real by not writing it down, it feels worse to see it on the screen of my laptop. Worse still to know that what I see on the screen of my laptop will likewise be seen by you, dear reader, on whichever screen you read this from. So, in sum, it took me some time to gather the courage to set about writing a new blog post because, as predicted last time, I fell down the rabbit hole all over again.

Just how far down the rabbit hole I fell, I am not entirely sure. I have not been able to function all of last week, and by ‘not able to function’, I truly do mean I did not function: I was lying in bed most of the time, were it not for the dogs and my conviction that no other living creature should suffer from my failing to properly function, I would not have come out of bed at all. At least, I think not. Likewise, for someone (like me) who doesn’t sleep well overall, it is rather odd and extremely unsettling to suddenly fall asleep at random times throughout the day. Yet, regardless of the many (more) hours spent sleeping, I have never felt so tired.

I will not delight you with the deeper workings of my depression, I assure you they are not pleasant, and you may fill in the rest to your own fancy. Unfortunately, it fell in last week that I had my evaluation at work with my promotor, co-promotor and the director of my research school in attendance. The cross-examination went well enough and they are satisfied with my progress, I think, probably due to them not being aware of my recent inactivity. Perhaps the conference I helped organise more than a week ago took a greater toll on me than I wished to admit. Perhaps the impending intensive therapy week has already begun affecting me. Either way, I haven’t raised red flags at work yet, so that’s good. If this depressive spell doesn’t last too long I will still be in the clear.
But that’s kind of the thing. I don’t know how long it will last, or how much more serious it will become.

In terms of my PhD, I am on schedule. I am now in the second half of my third year (out of four) and the first versions of two chapters are finished. The deadline for the third chapter is in August, and the fourth in December, so that I have all of next year to actually make it coherent, cohesive, sensible, legible, and generally capable of withstanding the scrutiny of a committee of legendary scholars from my field of study. Oh, and I will have time to write an introduction and conclusion (not entirely unimportant). I have been clearing 2019 for this purpose for a while now; all my committee and board extracurriculars end in September, my final two public talks will be in October and November. I still have funds to go do research abroad, which I might do in the summer of next year, to cross-reference some of my sources or to check for accuracy in my transcriptions (as those are largely based on electronic reproductions). I am still pretty convinced that it has the potential of being an interesting dissertation, as I do aim to take care of approaching the subject from a variety of angles and on a variety of levels so as to offer a generally more comprehensive study that supports my hypothesis all around (and not just under specific circumstances). It’s a massive undertaking but I am still optmistic that if I don’t drown in my mental health issues, I will be able to finish on time.
Whatever happens, I do not want to have a piece of my dissertation left at the end of my contract. Contrary to popular believe in the academic world, us PhDs cannot live off of air alone and I do have a mortgage and a car lease to pay, not to mention a couple of dogs to feed and spoil.

The last thing I want to add for today is that in terms of finding a balance in life, I am doing pretty shit. My mood is stable, as in, it is stable in its getting worse, but hey, I’ll take stability where I can get it. I either work all hours of the day without a break, or, like last week, I work not at all as getting out of bed is the toughest thing on the planet. I am either obsessively physically active, or not at all. I either eat nothing, or I eat -in my opinion- too much. I either dress well, wear make-up and take proper care of my appearance, or I slouch about in my favourite outfit: sweats and a shirt. I either have a fully booked dayplanner or one devoid of any obligations, I can never seem to ‘spread it out’.
So to end on a positive note, I want to focus on the things I do do consistently, small things that in their own way bring some small portion of balance in my life. When I do get up, I still maintain the same routine: get dressed, brush my hair, walk the dogs, have coffee and maybe breakfast on the couch, watching YouTube clips. When I do have somewhere to be, I am still always 10-15 minutes early because I am obsessively on time. I have never missed a deadline. Speed limits when driving on the motorway are relative. The ensuing speeding tickets are not (I received the first four, three of which are from the same day…). I still walk my dogs at least three times a day. I still take them on long walks (or I risk some seriously annoying behaviour, consequence of having two very active dogs). I am still pretty devoted to reading and will always strife to cram an hour or more of doing so into my day. I am still open to undertaking new things and dare even call myself quite adventurous (I recently discovered I really like rock (wall) climbing and am secretly quite taken with klettersteigen).

My being depressed never keeps me from seeing the good in life. The problem is I cannot truly experience it, and though I endeavour to forget it, life is still pretty good at throwing me curve balls I do not consider myself equipped to handle. And on that cheery note… 😉

***

And here’s three Sequoia trees found in Belgium because trees make everything better.

“And you can’t help the world spinning cause heartbreak goes straight to your head” – Passenger in ‘Facebook’

You know what, sometimes life just sucks, and not all the positive thinking in the world seems to be able to change it.
I am strategic and logical by nature. I am quick on my feet and think and work well under pressure. I have found myself in situations where I could not imagine ever being able turn things around, but my rationale always pulled through.
And sometimes, like now, life gives all of those things the finger and it just sucks.

Okay, I have taken a deep breath (like a deep breath… or two… or twenty…) and I think some background information is in order here. I was doing pretty well in terms of ‘moods’, at least, for my standards, I was pretty stable. But last week I went to an intake for a different kind of intense therapy which I will be doing in a few weeks, and touching upon some of my underlying ‘issues’ set off the imbalance that I always dread but that is pretty much what being bipolar is. I am all over the scale, though steadily declining right now. And being the cool cucumber I am, I am totally freaking out. Let’s just say that I do not want a December 2.0.

But as life is known for doing: it continues. Tomorrow our conference begins and I will also be presenting my paper. The conference promises to be a good one (and no, I am not just saying that because we organised it…) but it also means a couple of very long days. At the moment, I feel like I can hardly brush my own teeth, let alone be a professional, organiser and scholar. I have little reason to believe that tomorrow will in any way be better. In fact, I reckon it’ll be worse.
Am I not your run of the mill ray of sunshine?
I do apologise. I am not usually this grim. I don’t want to come across as despairing and hopeless, though that’s exactly what I feel like. I am cranky, and I am tired, and most of all I am so, so sad. It is difficult for me to see the silver lining.

But as life is known for doing: it continues. And as the cliché goes: this, too, will pass. Whether it gets worse or better, I don’t know. Whether I will regain the happiness I have now lost, I don’t know either. I suppose we’ll find out.
Is this a real life cliffhanger?

***

Into the woods we go. Always.