A Difficult Pill to Swallow

Eilidh Huggan

I want to present you with three scenarios. So settle in, close your eyes (figuratively), and imagine the following.

1) It’s a cold morning, around mid June. You wake up to the sound of your flatmate coughing in the room next door. You sit up in bed, slightly shivering, treated to the sight of your own breath. You go to clear your throat, only to break out into your own fit of chesty coughs. Fuck. You’re sick. You knew it was only a matter of time before the late nights, poor diet, and shitty insulation caught up to you. You decide to take the day off, call in sick to work, take some Irish moss and blob out on the couch for the day. The next morning, you are woken up by your own coughing at 2am. You feel like arse, you can barely move, and you definitely can’t go back to sleep. You decide to call your GP as soon as they open and get an appointment to speed up your recovery. Success, they can see you at 2pm that day. You get to your appointment, and are diagnosed with a chest infection (probably bronchitis). You are prescribed a course of antibiotics. You rest up and take the antibiotics over the next 7 days. A week later your cough is gone, you feel almost normal again. Just don’t hīkoi up the library stairs any time soon!

2) It’s another cold morning, mid July. You wake up as you always do. Slowly, reluctantly, you don’t want to be awake. You barely slept last night. You had thoughts rushing through your head, and a constant urge to burst into tears. This has been happening for weeks, and you’re tired. So so tired. The day is no better than the night. You eat your breakfast out of habit, but you aren’t that hungry. You find yourself staring into the distance a lot, numb to any feelings. This is weird, you think. What’s wrong with me? Why am I so empty and sad? But that’s all you think. You don’t know what to do about how you’re feeling, you don’t know who to talk to, and you would be too ashamed even if you could talk about it. So you keep it quiet, dragging yourself through every day. Maybe one day it’ll be better. But you believe that this is your burden and there is nothing you can do about it. (You’re wrong about that btw, which becomes clear in scenario 3).

3) It’s another cold morning, mid July. You wake up as you always do. Slowly, reluctantly, you don’t want to be awake. You barely slept last night. You had thoughts rushing through your head, and a constant urge to burst into tears. This has been happening for weeks, and you’re tired. So so tired. The day is no better than the night. You eat your breakfast out of habit, but you aren’t that hungry. You find yourself staring into the distance a lot, numb to any feelings. This is weird, you think. What’s wrong with me? Why am I so empty and sad? Your flatmate walks into the kitchen, they ask how you’re doing, you look sad. You pull a smile, you go to say what you always say, “I’m fine,” but you catch yourself. “I’ve actually been struggling the past two weeks and I don’t know why.” Your flatmate stops making their coffee to sit next to you. They listen. They suggest making an appointment to see your GP, and they’ll go with you if you need the support. You agree, and you make the appointment together. They can see you tomorrow. Tomorrow comes and you’re nervous. You don’t want your doctor to judge you. But you are also ready to feel better. You go with your flatmate at 11am that morning. You sit and explain how you’ve been feeling to your GP. They listen. They understand. They suggest making an appointment with a psychologist, and offer you a prescription for an SSRI, an antidepressant. You leave your appointment, fill your prescription, and wait for the call from your doctor confirming your psychologist

appointment. You’re taking the first steps towards feeling better, you should be so proud of yourself. Recovery is not easy, but it’s better than staying unwell. Trust me. I’m proud of you.

Open your eyes (figuratively). You may now be wondering: why did you make me imagine those three scenarios? Here’s why. Scenario one was an example of how we know exactly what to do when we are physically unwell or hurt. We are not ashamed to take a Panadol when we have a headache, go to A&E when we break a bone, or see the Doctor when we think we have a chest infection. We do it because it’s socially acceptable. It’s what we are taught to do, and it comes almost naturally.

Scenario 2 and 3 are similar, but not the same. Both of them are representative of our mental health, but both with very different outcomes. Scenario 2, which we see too often, is tainted with shame and stigma. Why do we treat our mental health so differently from our physical health? No one deserves to suffer through treatable pain. I suffer from clinical depression, anxiety, and OCD, and I’ve been on antidepressants for the best part of 5 years. Antidepressants saved my life, as did talking about it. We need to change the rhetoric around mental health, destigmatize the use of medication for mental illness, and start to talk to each other more. If you feel you may be experiencing a version of scenario 2 in your life, I will start by telling you that there is nothing wrong with you. You deserve to be happy, and you are worthy of help. Talk to someone who makes you feel safe. Make an appointment to see your GP. I know it feels hard but it’s worth it. You’re worth it.

For more information on mental health: www. mentalhealth.org.nz

If you or someone you know needs someone to talk to: Free call or text 1737 any time for support from a trained counsellor.

And if you think you or someone you know may be in immediate danger, call 111.

Jak Rāta

These days, we throw around the phrase “cultural reset” with reckless abandon and a complete disregard for what that even means. For me, though, the TV show Skins held a place so close to my heart. Skins was and will be a cultural reset. Not because there’s some wholesome quality that allows me to understand the errors of my ways throught the characters’ trials, but because I became a secret gremlin that hid his drug use from his whānau in some fucked attempt at creating a “edgy persona.”

What the fuck?

Skins, for me, was the epitome of what it means to be alternative and living below your means but in a sexy, cool kind of way. There was something so invigorating about watching the drug fuelled sexcapades of the barely-legal cast throwing their lives into turmoil. But what does this have to do with me? The argument can be made that most kids watch grungy drug montages and understand how that isn’t the tahi or the direction of their life – I was not so lucky. That’s not to say that I became a drugged up hoodlum who lived on the streets, but rather someone becoming reliant on drugs to understand the fucked up world that surrounds him. This is NOT the way you deal with your problems, my friends.

So here’s the dilemma, folks - what should you do when consuming media around drugs? Is there some sort of glorification that drugs are okay? Well, the impressionable brain of growing teens is becoming more and more easy to manipulate. Fast media turnover allows for the over-consumption of content to become prevalent in the developing psyche. I wasn’t the same. While I think there’s a romanticising element to Skins, there’s also a harsh look into the underbelly of teen drug abuse. At no point do they brush over the fact that people die from continued abuse of Class A substances but that wasn’t the main focus. That was the result of the product.

The issue with this show wasn’t anything to do with the drugs they were using. It was everything to do with the fact they were making it look like a blast. Every week I’d tune in and watch as Effy did lines or Chris was rolling a joint with his mates. Every part of me wanted to join and make myself a part of this group, allowing myself to become immersed in the life that they created for themselves. It’s almost a form of self-deprecation as you feel you’re deserving of being a drug based friend group, socialising only when their bodies are unable to function without feeling perpetually high.

For those who knew me in highschool, you already know I wasn’t a kid abusing drugs like it was my job, but I also wasn’t afraid of using drugs as soon as that graduation certificate was thrust into my hand. There were the dark years where I felt my that the only solution to fixing my fucked up brain was using those substances that help. Am I saying that I regret it? I don’t know. But honestly I’m still here, can’t kill a weed my bro. Smoke it instead.

There seems to be a continuous trend where entertainment is romanticising topics that, not so long ago, were taboo. The media’s depiction of these subjects have become prevalent influences in the coming-of-age stories of many people. One show that’s been all the rage these past few years is a clear depiction of this. Euphoria took people by surprise with its unfiltered, gritty take on mental illness, drug abuse, and a plethora of other ideas. However, in simple words, Euphoria is also pretty. The colourful aesthetics, “bad bitch” energies, and unorthodox scenes drew people in on a deeper psychological level. I’ve never personally felt affected by this, but I can see how other people have.

Euphoria is a pretty good show. I haven’t had the pleasure of watching the entirety of season two, but I can see why people enjoy it. For me, I see the show as a way to educate people on the severity of certain situations, as that is what it does for me. Perhaps without the unnecessary drama, I would be inclined to watch the whole thing, but there’s many things about it that just don't sit right with me.

The show revolves around American high schoolers who, for the most part, abuse drugs, people, and sex as a means to feel something. Kinda fucked, right? You may think I had the most boring high school career ever, but I also lived in the United Arab Emirates and was a huge fucking nerd. My idea of fun was staying home and watching movies, or playing Sevens and blasting music on the bus rides. I didn’t have that stereotypical “NZ lifestyle” that it seems many people got involved in. Even when I moved back here, I didn’t fall into any trap. Although, it seems that there’s one scene that is rampant in New Zealand: the drug scene.

In my opinion, I think the show does a pretty good job at describing the effects of drug abuse. It’s never going to be sunshine and rainbows, and it hurts you and the people that you love. Euphoria gave me even more insight into why drugs should be avoided. That may sound boring to you, but it’s just the way I feel most comfortable. And it’s not like I’ll judge someone for dabbling in that, but if I had to see someone begin to spiral I would try to help without ever uttering the words “I told you so.”

I’m not saying any of this to be like “hey look at me, I’m better than you.” No, I’m saying this to highlight how entertainment seems to be becoming more of an influence on people. Euphoria has it all; the general aesthetic, the party life, the beautiful people, but it also has the topics that the show is trying to promote people to understand, not partake in. Sure, the glitter, outfits and makeup go pretty damn hard, but the addiction, self-sabotage and mental illness are not things that viewers should be celebrating.