This is a repost of an early piece from my first blog. The original version can be accessed here.
As you might have been able to tell from the last article, ever since a couple of days of having the implant removed a week and a half ago I have been in a state of overwhelming euphoria. This took hold after one last weekend of crying and insecurity, beginning 3 days after it was removed.
How did it feel? I was sitting in a coffee shop with my little sister at 9am on a Monday happily getting absorbed in my revision. As my eyes scanned the pages of the book I was reading, (Barkan’s The Gods Made Flesh if there are any literature nerds reading this) I noticed that my attention to my work was absolute, and that every new idea about Ovid’s Metamorphoses this talented man had written filled me with wonder, respect, and joy. My uncharacteristically increased lucidity and complete and utter focus was something I really enjoyed. The implant had robbed me of my natural joy, I thought, and now I am back to myself.
I did feel myself. But myself intensified to the highest degree of Amelia I have ever experienced. I felt – feel – the most passionate about everything I love, the most excited to be in the world, the most loving, with the keenest appreciation of all the beauty in the world around me. Suddenly the wind playing in my hair and the pleasure of sitting, drinking coffee and exploring my intellectual responses seemed like an absolutely impossible gift.
Sound good? It was – is – fucking great. I wrote the first implant article that day, have written three since, and cannot spend five minutes without another idea for an article gently nudging me, asking to be realised.
That week and into this one that euphoria – or mania, as my mum called it – has stayed and continues to stay with me. The day after that I had a burning desire to head down to the park alone. I listened to this instinct and wandered the five minute walk by myself, and stepped into the park (Gladstone Park in Willesden Green if anyone feels inspired to have their own Solo Yolo. Credz to the amazing Lucy Cole for this phrase.) I was overwhelmed by awe at the colours in all their shades, the beauty and integrity of the trees, the way the sun clarified everything I saw and brought the essence of its beauty to the fore. I felt amazing.
I started to have some happy but pretty intense thoughts. For example, that every tree, flower, rock, bench, cloud, and bird was part of nature’s endless and endlessly regenerating work of art. I am in myself – we all are – living, breathing works of art, which we adorn with clothes, glitter, jewellery and tattoos in ways that feel true to us. I remembered Laura Marling saying at the Cambridge Union last year:
“I identify not as a Musician working in the Music Industry but as an Artist living on Planet Earth.”
At the time I loved this but suspected it was a bit wacko; suddenly I knew exactly what she meant. The urge to create was tremendous. Not only did the articles I had always written and wanted to share whisper their longing to be let out into the world, but I took careful photos of the most beautiful things available to me with my phone, made a very long and very hippie snapchat story (to everyone I have on Snapchat who isn’t reaaaaally one of my friends, you must think I’m fucking weird, and I’m not going to try and defend myself). Music helped bring out the beauty of nature: I was listening to Laura Marling’s new album Semper Femina, which to me reconciles a longing for love and intimacy with a desire to be free and retain one’s sense of self, combined with an adoration and respect for nature. Perfect. “Nothing matters more than love no nothing no no nothing no not nearly,” she sang as I danced, by myself, among the trees, reaching up with my hands to the sky, feeling a love in my heart that somehow had space not only for the people I am closest to but for the whole planet and every single sentient and non sentient being on it, who shared this experience with me.
I think my body was so happy it was finally able to make babies again that it made me create things, it filled me to the brim with the empathy for people, for Nature, that I would have needed to look after a tiny baby.
The desire to commune with nature remained. The gratitude for all of the love that surrounds me and all of the love my own heart has space for remained. But my sleep, usually regular (I go to bed at 11 and wake up at 7) came to me less and less easily. Ideas flared up in the early hours of the morning, aching to be expressed. Part of me continues to enjoy this euphoria, but most of me is glad that, as my fertility diminishes day by day, I am coming towards the end of this cycle.
This relief I am coming back down to Earth is heightened by the fact that yesterday I had an overwhelming and upsetting experience. Despite being on very little sleep – I wrote an article about happiness at about 6am – it seemed like the right thing for me to head down to my favourite café half an hour away from my house, and do some work. I have finals coming up, four exams upon which 100% of my degree rests. The impulse to study is huge. But as I sat in the cafe, the pleasure of hearing the chatter around me, the music the cafe was playing and the book I was reading became too much and I began to feel very anxious. My heart racing, I ran to the bathroom to have some space. But when I looked in the mirror my pupils were dilated to a terrifying degree.
I started to cry. I ran to two of my best friends, who were sitting with me, tried to hug them, and started hyperventilating. Their kind words, and their cuddles, kept me in the moment and saved me from the extreme of a panic attack. One of them called 111 and held my shaking hand while we waited for a response. Luckily we were a five minute walk from A and E.
Thank goodness, the doctor I spoke to told me I was fine, I wasn’t about to die, become psychotic, get over- or dehydrated. While I waited to see him, my friends sat with me and entertained me with ‘stories from their youth’; my dad left work and came to join us 20 minutes later. I don’t think there has ever been so much giggling in a hospital waiting room. I know I would have ultimately been ok if I’d had an anxiety attack by myself, but I am so grateful they were there, and so glad they looked after me as generously as they did. If somebody you love has anxiety, I would personally recommend listening to them wholly, and giving them what they need, be that water, cuddles, reassurance, silliness. Just demonstrate your love, really. Nothing is more soothing than that.
To underline what my fiery inner feminist is burning with as I write this: I never had problems with anxiety or depression before I went on the implant. It is a fucking disgrace that so many women suffer what I suffered and that pumping hormones into our precious bodies and brains is normalised to the extent that it is. The anger I feel when confronted by the vastness of the patriarchy to the extent that I feel I am now, to look this hideous systematised sexism in the face, is something I will express in greater detail on another day. But I will say – with the greatest caution, and the anxiety that I am being arrogant for attempting to universalise my experience -that in my experience the ultimate antidote to anxiety and depression is patience and generous, generous love. This needs to come first and foremost from yourself, and everyone has the strength in them to look after themselves, but it does make it a damn sight easier to cope if you are surrounded by the people you love.