I stepped onto the plane hoping for nothing more than this ride to be over. I felt the familiar sense of unease as I located my seat, but found it was intensified by knowing I would not have a familiar face sitting next to me as I contemplated all the possible scenarios that could lead to my death. I saw the engine burst into flames, the wings snap off as unexpected turbulence took hold, and my body flung from my seat through the gaping hole in the side of my flying tomb. I have never flown solo before, and clearly I am not the calmest flyer at the best of times. I decided to go over my speech and try to take my mind off the situation I had put myself in.
As the longest one and a half hours of my life eventually passed, I began to realise the realness of my situation. I was entering a city I had never been before to speak to a room full of people I had mostly never met about my experiences as a recipient of a Pinnacle scholarship. I was excited, anxious, nervous, but above all, utterly thrilled. I was in Brisbane, a place I had never been and whose appeal had called to me for as long as I can remember. I was greeted with warmth as I entered its streets in search of my destination and once arrived, the warmth continued as I was met by the familiar faces of Pinnacle. Any sense of apprehension faded immediately and I began pumping myself up for the event that was about to unfold.
As I entered the room full of unfamiliar faces I took my place ready to deliver my speech. I stood next to my fellow scholar Harriet (who’s calm and collected exterior was both refreshing and intimidating) and waited for my name to be called. As Harriet finished her brilliantly moving presentation I was called to the floor and without hesitation began a verbal assault on my graciously receptive audience. My notes became irrelevant as I recounted the history of my affiliation with Pinnacle and the impact their generosity has had on my university experience. I explained the unparalleled impact my mentor has had on my introduction to University and by the end I felt as though I had had a therapeutic experience as I relived the state of bliss which had accompanied my first semester of learning.
The reception was incredible. I was met with words of encouragement from complete strangers whose enquiring nature made me feel supported and respected. I left the event feeling even more confident in my abilities as a student and, as I explored the streets of Brisbane, knew that without the generosity of The Pinnacle Foundation I would not be the worry-free student I am right now. Pinnacles’ empathy has healed me of my self-deprecating nature and I am truly grateful.
By Steve Walker
Imagine. You’re perfectly healthy. You have your good days and bad days, like most people. Only thing is, your bad days are far worse and far more frequent than most people. Sometimes things get so bad that you can barely breathe. It affects your quality of life. The worst part is that your illness is not easy to talk about. You don’t (usually) look sick.
Sometimes it strikes you in public. You’re having a bad day, something sets you off and one thing leads to another. The next minute you’re in a foetal position struggling to remember the breathing exercises your Psychiatrist taught you. Something about breathing through your nose. You’re crying and you’re not entirely sure why. Your chest feels ready to explode. If you survive this you might make it to work/uni/the party on time, right now you don’t care. You just want the world to stop for a minute so you can catch your breath.
I learned when I was diagnosed with this Anxiety Disorder that people can be cruel. They’ll sympathize with the kid who broke his leg or the girl who has severe diabetes. But when it comes to mental illness it’s out of sight out of mind. Don’t talk about it or you will suffer both the illness and peoples’ reactions to it, and stigma hurts. If people ask you why you’ve gained weight or vomit a lot or miss days off school or work, tell them you’ve got a virus. Don’t explain. They don’t want to know that your medication makes you ill or your anxiety is so bad that you can barely get out of bed, let alone leave the house. You’ll have a lot of viruses as a result.
They do care about you. But mental illness scares them, in part because they can’t see obvious physical signs of it. Seeing is believing in Western culture and as a result mental illness isn’t seen as real, except when you self-harm or your physical health suffers.
Well, after a decade of this, I’m pretty tired. Being tired at the age of 19 is not fun. I’ve been sick, made myself sick, missed school, failed classes, been physically and verbally assaulted, self-harmed, have scars, survived suicidal episodes, bad medication side effects (some of which are too graphic to write about here), last year I lived through the suicide of a family member, despair and the constant question: ‘when do I get better?’
I decided on my 18th birthday I wasn’t going to uphold the status quo by being quiet about my Anxiety Disorder. It wouldn’t be fair to me or the other people I know with mental illnesses, many of whom are LGBT. I’d like to think that honesty is the best policy and that it might help someone, somewhere. I know it helps me.
I’m not going to lie to you: I still struggle. I’m not depressed any more but the anxiety remains. There are days when I would rather eat my shoes than put them on and leave the house. Days like those I breathe deeply and remember that my phone has a lot of numbers in it. I can press a button and instantly be connected to someone who will listen. Honesty has allowed me to connect with people who can both support me and need my support. I feel loved.
I know that I am a strong, resilient person and that my struggle to get healthy is not in vain. I also know that mental health problems are extremely common amongst gay, lesbian, queer and trans* people. If we break the silence and support each other more, we can only get stronger as a community. And I know I love my community.
By Isobel Connell
I made a promise with myself at the beginning of my university study. Not to procrastinate. At the time I thought it was a reasonable decision to make, I thought I had grown out of the habit which I had so brilliantly perfected during my high school years. No one elected to tell me that university, aside from introducing a whole host of nasty essays into my life, unleashes a demon of unimaginable evil whose very existence is for the sole purpose of providing distractions, and illuminating otherwise uninteresting things. I’ve called this demon the Distraction Monster. Why had nobody given me the heads up about this guy? I have close friends who have completed university, yet none of them warned me! I think it is a massive oversight on their part, and makes me reconsider the closeness of our friendship. I mean imagine my surprise when I am seconds away from understanding the ins and outs of Marxism, and completely out of the blue I have an overwhelming urge to clean the barbeque… A barbeque I’ve not used in 6 months, let alone thought about cleaning. It doesn’t make any sense and can only be explained as the work of the Distraction Monster. It seems to me that people are either frightened of this monster, or enjoy his company. How else can you explain such widespread silence about his existence? Now I am certainly not frightened of this particular monster, but I may be able to explain why he is possibly welcomed on occasion.
My most recent encounter with the Distraction Monster was over the last weekend. I had two essays due and very little time to do them. I was a little anxious and ready to get them out of the way so I could relax and enter end-of-semester holidays as quickly as possible. I had sourced all of my readings and was just about to enter the study zone… and something happened. I can’t recall whether it was the colours, or the familiar voices, but I knew something about my environment had changed. I felt an incredible sense of excitement, a feeling of unparalleled bliss which could only come from one source… EUROVISION! I had completely forgotten it was happening, but knew there was no turning back now. The Distraction Monster had won, he knew my weakness and was only happy to remind me of it. Whatever chance I had of getting any work done was now completely out the window, but if I’m truly honest, I think I may forgive the monster on this occasion. It is Eurovision after all.
By Steve Walker
