Self-Reflection

A couple of days ago, Facebook reminded me of the below picture. It was taken outside the front of Yale College on the last day of my second year. During those two years at college, I was lucky enough to find myself as part of a group of about 30-40 tight-knit friends. I remember the day the picture was taken; I was so proud to be there. I was even more proud to be in the center; it added to the feeling that I mattered. At that very moment, I was surrounded by the best friends I had ever had.

This picture made me think about how I've changed over the years. Within many of the photos taken during that period of time, I can be seen pulling stupid faces and trying to overcompensate for my lack of identity and self-confidence. I often talked too much about very little. I was unsure of myself and so I mimicked the behaviour and mannerisms of friends as a means of fitting in and having people like me. There are few things more powerful than the urge to belong; to be a part of something bigger than yourself, that in turn makes you a bigger, better person. These people shaped who I was for years to come, and I am forever grateful to them for doing so. For as unsure of myself as I was, God knows I was happy. It was that happiness that dictated my behaviour around others going forward for a very long time. I just wanted to fit in; I was desperate for people to like me and so being included in anything was an absolute gift. 

This next photo is another example of that. Atop a pyramid of my friends, I felt like a king. I was literally and figuratively lifted by these people. They made me feel worth something at a time when I was still trying to figure out who the hell I actually was. The reason these pictures stood out to me this week (aside from simply being wonderful memories) is because I recognise just how different the "Ethan" in these photos is when compared to the "Ethan" many of you now know, but I'll come to that later. For now, I'd like to continue delving into the unseen depths held within these snapshots of my life, because it wasn't until I went back and actually looked at these photos that I realised that the person smiling back at the camera wasn't necessarily the person he thought he was. 

For the next photo, we go back even further. High School. It's worth noting that during my last two years of high school I did have a group of friends whom I loved dearly. The few that I still talk to continue to hold a special place and I consider them good friends regardless of the distance or time between our last meetings - particularly Phil, Jack and Naomi who have each in their own way remained pillars of support and friendship in times of need, just as Charlotte W has since college. What's worth noting in this picture (besides my incredible haircut) is the smile on my face. By no means false, but when I look at it now I see a kid who was very unsure of himself. Somebody who was simply happy to have found a group of people willing to call him their friend. The only one in the picture not focused on the camera itself, but the moment it was capturing. Proof that I belonged. In that moment, and many others to follow, that was all I cared about. 

This mindset and sentiment is echoed in another picture taken at the end of college. This picture, taken as a joke between four gingers, shows me looking about as shy as I've ever looked. My smile is coy, my shoulders hunched, hands clasped and my body language in general is very submissive. Unsure that I belong, but happy to be there nonetheless. 

As we move toward the future, beyond the uncertainties of college and the follies of youth, I find myself forever grateful to have had, and continue to have, these people in my life. They have given me gifts that I couldn't possibly repay, and my admiration and respect for each of them is boundless. 

That brings me to University. The 18 months I spent there were complicated, to say the least. I found myself another group of wonderful friends almost by accident. Unfortunately, my behaviour during that time eventually led to the alienation of these people. In the unlikely event that any of you ever find yourself reading this - thank you for the time you gave me, and I'm sorry for the person I ended up being in the end. That person is found within this picture.  Skinny and badly dressed, I began to allow the mask of confidence I had worn up until that point become a permanent fixture; one that slowly developed into a face of arrogance and hubris, instead of the self-assuredness I should have been aiming for. I began University still very keen to impress, but without realising it, I soon hit a 180 and became somebody absolutely convinced he was right all the time. Suffice it to say I was anything but.

My life between school and university had been one spent re-inventing myself; following the examples of others as a means of attaining acceptance. It wasn't until I left university to come home that I began to change for the better. No longer were the camera-captured smiles shy, forced or even "grateful". There's just a simple comfort in my smile; an ease with who I was, and who I was with. When I look at this picture, I'm reminded of the last time my life was unmarred by depression, anxiety or any other worries. It is one of the only pictures in existence that was taken at a time where my mind wasn't filled with noise. Just a normal 22-year old in a normal relationship. Of all the pictures you'll see here today, this is unquestionably the most authentic smile. 

As time went by, I began to lose people. Dad passed away, my relationship with Charlotte ended, and my mental health began to decline. The smiles became forced in a way they never had been before. The mask had once again shifted. What once was a mask of false confidence became a mask of false happiness. That isn't to say there weren't moments of genuine peace and happiness, but generally I'd smile simply because that is what one does in photos. I began my relationship with Hannah and we shared experiences and times together that despite everything, I continue to treasure. Even so, the smile began to fade. It was harder to muster. Heavier. During our travels together, I suffered a huge amount with anxiety. I wasn't even sure why at the time; it just hit me. We were travelling, however, and nobody wants to see or be a part of travel photos populated by somebody unable to summon a smile. So I did. I smiled, and I pretended I was well. This denial, or lack of realisation on my part, was no doubt detrimental to my health, but it was what I felt I was supposed to do at the time.

Back then, I was hiding my illness. Very few people were aware of the noise within my head and only those who looked closely enough could see it. Looking back now, it's rather obvious. When you look at this picture, you'll initially see me smiling with an idiot behind me. I might look happy, but look at my eyes. They're sunken, with a heavy purple tinge. They're tired, worn eyes. I didn't notice it myself until Hannah pointed it out to me. I was ill, and I wasn't being open about it. The lie continued. I wasn't to know it at the time, but things progressively deteriorated. Over the next few years, this relationship fell apart, my depression worsened, my anxiety increased and my self-worth plummeted. Germany happened, along with all the things I've written about to no end here. 

But what's worth noticing, and what is perhaps the point of this entire (rather self-indulgent) piece, is that for better or worse now, the way I feel is reflected in my photos. Those of you who follow me on Instagram will likely notice that I rarely smile. I often look rather blank, maybe angry or stressed, or tired. But it's honest. It's real. The kid who withdrew in photos with his shoulders hunched now stands with them squared and confident. The child who spent years trying to figure out who he was finally knows. It may be far from perfect, but it's me. The countless hours of portraying somebody else has given me the ability to know who I truly am better than ever. So I'll smile when I'm happy, and I'll no doubt continue to look tired and frustrated when I'm not. 

Either way, you can be damn sure that the person you're looking at is me. Ethan Ross. I've come through far too fucking much to waste my time pretending to be something I'm not. 

So I'll leave you with both. One sincere smile, and one weary-eyed, restless soul getting up to face another day of noise. 

Of all the things I worry about, the man I am today is not one of them. 

For better or worse, I've come a long way.

Taking Your Time

I’ve been thinking a lot about time recently, and the way in which it presents itself.

Watches, clocks, phones, alarms and even the sun itself would have you believe that time flows consistently. Ironically, it’s all relative. I’m not talking Einstein here; nor am I about to start an article on gravitational time dilation, but it is relative. It’s subjective to a certain degree.

Time ebbs and flows. It flies when you’re having fun, and slows to a crawl when you’re in the midst of a battle you’d sooner not be fighting.

We’re in March already; a month which holds a few significant dates for me. Amongst other things, tomorrow will be 2 years since I travelled for the first time. As if to prove my point, the six weeks I spent travelling through Europe felt as though they lasted a lifetime. The experience changed me. It changed a lot; not least my relationship at the time. I came back from my travels with a view of the world I didn’t have before. Everyday things became a little more mundane and pointless when compared to the journey I had just been on.

See, we use time as a benchmark for the experiences and events in life which change us. Birthdays. Anniversaries. Holidays. Dates we lost loved ones. Dates we found new loved ones. Time is so much more than a calendar year. It’s so much more than a life time. It’s the one thing humans will all invariably fall victim to. It takes time for us to come into this world, time to learn how to live in it, and time for us to eventually leave it for those whose own time has just begun.

2017 dragged as though I was pulling a truck behind me. 2018 is flying like it was born with wings. I’m not sure which scares me more.

I’ve always felt as though time is the most valuable commodity we have. You can’t buy more of it. You can’t get it back, and you can’t return it in exchange for “better time”. I’ve spent so long trying to find a way to make the most of mine that I’ve probably wasted far too much of it worrying in the first place.

Time is the one thing that is always on my mind. It’s a source of anxiety that I fail to battle against in every instance. I constantly wonder if there’s something I could be doing that’s more worthwhile. Maybe that’s why travelling is such a beautiful idea to me; it’s time spent viewing the world I’ll one day leave, so I want to see as much of it as I possibly can. Meet as many people as time will allow and see how I look back at my time just as it begins to run out.

As a result of my constant obsession with time, I can remember almost every single date of significance I’ve ever known. The date my relationships began. The date they ended. First kisses. First “I love you”s. Last “I love you”s. Dates of great joy, and overwhelming sadness.

I’ve often pondered what I would do were I granted the ability to manipulate time. I was once certain that if I could go back in time and change things, I wouldn’t. I felt this way because I was more or less happy with who time had turned me into.

More and more, I’m unsure that that’s the case. Maybe I’d go back and stop myself from saying or doing something. Maybe I’d go back and say or do something I should have.

The irony is, and as if to further prove my point, I’ve just spent the past 20 minutes writing about time and now I’m wondering how much it was worth. I think in this instance, it needed to happen. I needed to vent.

Today is Mother’s day. I know two dear friends who, due to time, didn’t have the opportunity to spend today with the one person that brought them into this world and granted them every single second they’ve ever had.

If you’re both reading this, you hopefully know who you are; I’d like to take this time to thank you both for being such good friends to me. I hope you were able to spend today looking back fondly on the time you had with your Mums. Wherever they are, I’m hopeful that they’re doing the same.

At this point, you may be wondering what the point of my words have been. I know I am.

I guess I’m saying “make the most of it, if you can”. It’s not always, if ever, that easy, but try. Time is a gift, so I’m sorry if you feel as though you wasted some of that gift reading this.

I’ll end by saying this. To those of you I once cherished, alive or dead, who are no longer in my life; I miss you. I hope the time you spent with me made you a happier person.

And to those of you I have in my life that I cherish, thank you for making my time worth spending on you. It’s a gift I am endlessly happy to share with you. I’ll be grateful for that time until mine runs out.

Love to you all.

E.

Love, Relationships & Mental Health

Today marks 9 years to the day since I first told a girl I loved her. Why do I remember this date? Primarily it's because I'm good with dates, but I'm also quite sentimental.

In the intervening years I've told three more women the same thing, and I can honestly say that I've meant it each time, without hesitation. I'm always rather cagey during the early stages of a relationship; primarily because of how much they mean to me. I love being in a relationship; I love everything that comes with it. The companionship, the private jokes, the pet names etc. So, as I say, during the early stages I'm always a little nervous about things; making promises, talking about the future and so forth.

This rarely, if ever, has anything to do with the woman herself, but rather how much it means to me to be able to say something and truly mean it. The idea of making plans for the future before I'm certain that there's a future to plan scares the shit out of me; I can't stand the thought of letting somebody down anymore than I can stand the thought of being let down myself.

An old memory; it's called "Daft Subway Photo Shit"

As you've no doubt gathered, these four relationships have each now come to an end, and for the most part I treasure the memories I made during my time with each of my previous girlfriends. Hannah C showed me what it was to be in love for the first time. Lucy taught me what it was to have a family outside of my own; her family were deeply welcoming and loving, and embraced me immediately, for which I was immeasurably grateful. Charlotte showed me what it was to be carefree and adventurous, but also what it was to have somebody deal with my mental health issues for the first time as Dad passed away midway through our relationship and I began a downward spiral that I've struggled with ever since.

Lastly, Hannah L provided a drive to see the world and step beyond my comfort zone. Moreover, her family also became my family. Her parents were loving and caring, her siblings were welcoming and familiar. Even her family friends welcomed me with open arms.

For as wonderful as each of these relationships were for the most part, they were often met with complications brought about by my predisposition to depression and anxiety. I've fortunately never been a jealous or suspicious person, so that never factored into it, but having to explain to somebody why you're not always beaming when you see them or why sometimes the idea of going into town or doing the usual "date night" stuff scared me was always a difficulty. When you're getting about 12 hours sleep per week and dealing with a deep-seated anxiety and insecurity, it's often the case that the last thing you want is a Nando's or a cinema date.

These people begin to truly believe that what's wrong with you is a direct reflection on them, and the feelings you have for them. This, as you might expect, becomes something of an issue.

What's worse is that I personally consider myself somewhat of a romantic. I love big gestures and I love small gestures. I love surprising my girlfriend with flowers, hand-making cards for certain anniversaries, dates or birthdays, or just showing up with their favourite pizza or bar of chocolate. All this may sound insignificant and small, but these things were always my way of proving that "I do sincerely love you", despite all the arguments and the seclusion.

Four months into 2017, my most recent relationship came to an end rather abruptly. Things had been difficult for a while; my head was going, and generally the state of the relationship wasn't what you'd call ideal. She had often worried that I would leave her for somebody else. Ironically, she met a man at a new job and decided that was where life should take her next. It's a tough thing to reconcile when you're already that low, and when you follow it up with a drugging and an assault, you find yourself with little to no self-worth whatsoever.

So today being any other day, I find myself still in two minds about relationships. On the one hand, there's nothing I love more than pizza nights and Netflix with a partner. I love falling asleep with the woman I love in my arms, and I love waking up before they do and seeing them sleeping safely and soundly only to wake up, bright eyed and look at me with unconditional adoration.

To revisit my initial point, since this relationship ended I made a conscious decision to remain single for the foreseeable future. In large part, this was due to the prospect of having contracted HIV or Hepatitis hanging over me, but more so it was because I realised how much healthier I tend to be when I'm single.

It's an odd paradox. I love being in love, but it brings so many complications that become near impossible to deal with when you can barely bring yourself to wake up in the morning. With that said, I've been single for nearly nine months now. In terms of my mental health I'm leaps and bounds ahead of where I was a year or two ago.

Partly it's due to the time I've taken off work to heal after the events of last year, but I also feel it's because I'm not currently beholden to the duties inherent in relationships.

To clarify, I loved Hannah. We travelled Europe together, made plans, celebrated various occasions and had all the things you'd expect of a relationship (good and bad). Now, however, I'm able to focus entirely on myself. I can ensure I'm recovering properly and I don't have to worry about letting anybody down or visiting people when I simply don't feel up to it.

So where does that leave me? Do I believe relationships mix well with mental health issues?

Ultimately, I think it boils down to the individual. If you're the sort of couple that is each able to accept the nature of one another's problems, then yes, you can likely make it work, but for the time being I'm reasonably sure I'm happy being alone. That is to say, until such a time as I meet somebody that takes my breath away again.

I bear both a great deal of fondness and resentment regarding the past, especially the recent past. I'm still working through it, and I fully believe that for the time being I'm far safer keeping to myself and continuing to recover. I still lament the lack of somebody to fall asleep with and wake up to, but honestly I couldn't in truth say that I'd be willing to have that again if it meant a regression into old schools of thought. I don't have the energy or inclination for pointless arguments or jealousy. I suppose it's much simpler to say the following, and hope that it comes to pass:

I'm nearly 28. I've had some of the worst experiences I'll ever have since I turned 20, and I'm determined to make 2018 and beyond a time filled with as much positivity and happiness as I can manage. I want the next woman I say "I love you" to, to be the last person I say it to.

Though maybe you hope for that with every relationship; who knows?

Point is, a lot of my friends have recently married, had children and begun a life together. I honestly could not be happier for them. Not only because they deserve it, but also because they keep having beautiful children that I get to visit with and coo over because I love kids.

So I'll finish with this. I'm happy. I'm healthy. I'm content for that to remain the case. Should the circumstances surrounding that contentment change without affecting the happiness itself then I'll be the first to celebrate it.

Until then, I'll remain happily alone, but not lonely; excited to tell the next amazing person to enter my life - "I love you."

The Spider & The Fly

I knew the title for this post before I even knew the content. Primarily because I only write tonight as an attempt to commit to and honour one of the many goals I've set for myself this year - write one piece a week, on a Sunday.

So why the title, and what train of thought left the station upon deciding on it?

Well. I'm 27, and for the vast majority of these 27 years I've been scared of spiders. I used to have my Ma kill them for me, but for one reason or another I've become almost fond of them over the course of the last six months. This fondness has resulted in me handling a house-spider to put it outside, and generally going out of my way around the house to ensure that the spiders are evacuated without injury.

Prior to this, however, there was a spider on the ceiling in my room. Thinking quickly, and with pinpoint precision, I squashed it with the edge of a mirror. I'm not proud of myself, but it happened and we must press on.

When I moved in to this house I was told that spiders would be a big problem, but in truth, this has been the only spider I've seen in my room since May 2017. In fact, aside from myself, my flatmate or other friends, it's been the only creature to enter my room since I moved in.

Cut to tonight. Something catches my eye. I glance around and I see a fly. Whilst I am in no way scared of flies, I am usually deeply irritated by them and often do my best to shoo them out of the room or annihilate them entirely. Again, it seems my baser instincts are failing me because I chose to allow this fly to glide around my room uninterrupted. It landed on the giant map of the world I have hanging in my room (in Russia, specifically. Not sure why; never been.) and I developed a fondness for this fly.

I had sat there for hours prior to his/her unexpected arrival; restless and impatient. There's not much to do on a Sunday evening, and even what there is lacks a certain appeal. One of the other goals I've set for the year is to see some more of the world and get back into what I love without having anything from last year hanging over me. So the fact that the fly landed on the map held a certain significance for me regardless of it being completely without agenda on its part.

It reminded me why I'm impatient and why I'm restless. Because I'm a week into this year and I want to start accomplishing things. Me being me, I want everything to happen at once; I want the successes, the plans and the bumps to be past me so that I can just enjoy the fact that the experience was one I got to have.

My issue reminds me of an Eagles song I love - "Learn to be Still". That's what I need to do. Not still and unproductive. Not still and unaware. Just still, and content to wait.

With that in mind and following a brief conversation with my Ma about how we both want to do more this year to make up for last year, I bought myself a stupid amount of food I couldn't possibly eat, listened to some Disney music and relaxed, whilst the thought that I hadn't written anything slowly chewed away at me.

At that moment, I glanced down, and I saw the fly on the floor. He/she was motionless. For the first time in my life I mourned the loss of a fly. Not because I suddenly love flies or because I'd developed some deep relationship with her/him, but because I had chosen to let him/her fly around my room and the fly died anyway.

Art by BlackBoxBerlin

It ties into something I was looking into last night as I pondered getting a tattoo, and if so, which I should get. Existentialist that I am, I was attracted to the idea of "Memento Mori".

For those who don't know, "Memento Mori" is Latin for "Remember death" or something along those lines; "Remember that you will die."

Seems bleak, yeah? Perhaps. For me, it's a reminder that I've only got so much time. So where possible I should spend the time I have being happy, content and patient.

The fly reminded me of my thoughts on this. The fly came in, flew around, lived and died. I picked the fly up on some paper, dropped him/her on the windowsill outside, and closed the window. Admittedly, this fly had in actuality taught me nothing. It just reminded me of things I already know, and need to bear in mind.

With that, I say to you all: Memento Mori.

Remember that, and use it to fuel the best year you've ever had.

Happy 2018 and I'll see you next Sunday.