As someone who has a pretty fraught relationship with their emotions, I’m constantly in the process of trying to work out what I’m feeling, why I’m feeling it and if I’m ‘allowed’ to feel that feeling. Since deciding that certain extremes of ‘feels’ were not conducive to leading my life comfortably and with any level of productivity, I’ve become quite invested in keeping myself at a low ebb. Yes, friends, that’s why you haven’t seen me at the discos lately. Nights of staying up past midnight and eating sweets after I’ve brushed my teeth are behind me.

I have a neat little checklist to ensure that today’s emotions are valid. Am I feeling particularly het up because I’ve lowered my dose of anti-depressants? Or is it because that article on The Tab gave me real pause for thought about the state of student journalism? Have I not had enough coffee today? Am I secretly homesick? Do I miss being able to snuggle my cats? Is it PMS?

I’m only sort of joking. It’s essentially my DIY-CBT, which I’ve only started to find useful since my emotions became more manageable. Trying to talk yourself out of ‘knowing’ that you’re the most hated, most annoying, ugliest person in the world is like trying to herd lots of really angry badgers. I’d talk myself out of one ridiculous thought and right into another. ‘Oh, so you don’t think you’re the worst person in the world? You must think you’re the best. God, you’re always thinking about yourself, you’re selfish AND arrogant.’

That was me at my worst. I’ve got better. I like my anti-depressants because they have reduced my emotional repertoire to a reasonably healthy level. They work for me because when they work I simply can’t access any feeling that could utterly overpower me. Think of it this way: the strongest cocktail of terrible circumstances can only make me feel rubbish for a couple of days, rather than a couple of weeks. Before, when I had a bad day my classic solution was to crawl into bed and say mean things to myself. Now I’m clear-headed enough to actually want to make myself feel better - perhaps by buying a nice shampoo, or looking at pictures of baby alpacas.

When Inside Out was released this summer, it got me thinking about the idea of having five different characters tearing about in my own head. I liked it a lot because it has the kind of useful and practical moral message that gets people talking about mental health and how to treat the emotions which as children we’re told are ‘bad’. I think at some point we’ve all turned to a friend and said ‘don’t be sad!’, as if avoiding and supressing their response was the healthy or mature thing to do. Sure, nobody likes it, but you’ve got to let them out at some point - otherwise they’ll appear at inconvenient times. I once burst into tears when my French teacher asked me how much holiday allowance the average British person gets per year.

So we’re all going to be sad at some point. But that doesn’t mean that I’m about to welcome my depression back with open arms. Depression is so very different to sadness. Before, it felt like I had 10 different emotions running around in my head and none of them would listen to me. Depression drowned out my ‘real’ emotions.

The most common complaint about anti-depressants is that they stop you from feeling the extremes. Many people I have spoken to aren’t keen on them because they numb the senses, which was a concern for me. I like writing stories and what-not. What if my new limited emotions prevented me from being that instrument through which poetic inspiration can flow? Well, it hasn’t really done that to be honest. Maybe if I ditched the pills I’d be able to look at a daffodil and break down in joyful tears at the sight of it bobbing its little yellow head but, for now, it’s enough that I can still feel warm and fuzzy at times.

I was sat in a café the other day. It’s one of my favourite places in Cambridge because they play Motown and sometimes Northern Soul. I heard the opening notes of ‘I Can’t Help Myself’ by The Four Tops. Sometimes when it catches me by surprise I panic. No one puts trigger warnings on songs that make you think of your dad.

I stayed and listened, though, because I felt okay. I was sad, but it was okay. It made me think of my dad dancing to his old vinyls. He used to be able to do a really bizarre dance move where he lay on the floor and essentially flipped himself up onto his feet with his hands behind his head. It occurred to me that I probably wouldn’t have remembered this had I kept the emotions of intense self-loathing and panic that used to suffocate my memories of him. My dad belongs to me again, rather than being a weapon my head can use against me. I guess you could say I felt really happy to be sad.

If you think you or a friend may have a mental health issue, or you would like to know more, go to:
www.studentminds.org.uk
OR
www.nhs.uk/Livewell/mentalhealth/Pages/Mentalhealthhome.aspx

In Cambridge, the University Counselling Service can normally fit you in pretty quickly if you’d prefer not to go down the NHS route:
www.counselling.cam.ac.uk