Sunday, 25 March 2018


Aside from Kat Dealey, feature walls and people who claim to be afraid of small holes, nothing pisses me off more than people trying to 'fix' me.

Actually, fixing and Kat Dealey are probably the same, the rest are just afterthoughts*.

I get this ALL. THE. TIME. People close to me treating me like they're my carers instead of my friends and family, acting like I'm this volatile bomb that could explode any minute. What they don't understand is that, by treating me like a fuck up, I feel like a fuck up, and so am more inclined to do things that they would consider to be the behaviour of a fuck up.

See the irony here.

I'm not broken, I'm not a mess, I'm a human being. I don't need to be looked after, cared for or treated like an inmate at a high-security prison, and being treated this way is wearing me down.

For years I was treated like a bad person, screamed at, shouted at, called mean, hurtful and fat, all of the things that slowly grind yourself esteem into the ground. These are hard thoughts to shake off and, as Julia Roberts says in Pretty Woman if people put you down enough you start to believe them.

This earth crushingly low self-esteem and constantly being treated like a fuck up is killing me, really and truly killing me. I can't keep crying, I can't keep hating myself and, most of all, I can't keep apologising for who I am.

I'm a good person, one who can and does look after herself and is in no way in need of a carer, and I have a good life. So, for the love of deep fried fuck,  I need the people who treat me otherwise to please please PLEASE stop. You have no idea what it's doing to me.

And if you can't, I direct you towards the words of Kellin Quinn and Sleeping With Sirens, who I once watched wrestling with along with Pierce the Veil. I told you my life is awesome.


*There's no such thing as a phobia of small holes, suck it the fuck up.

Sunday, 18 March 2018

They Told Me So

I wrote this post last night but didn't publish it because I didn't realise this was how I felt until I wrote it. It's not necessarily how I'm feeling right now but I want to put it up regardless.  

I've been feeling really ugly this week. It's the only way to describe it. I stood in front of my bathroom mirror one morning and told myself I looked fat and orange.

Fat and Orange. 

I sure do know how to boost my own confidence. 

Today I realised it's because I feel society is now telling me I'm old, that at 25 I'm not young anymore and too old for certain things. This particularly hit me when I was in Urk over New Year, when a group of strangers told me I was too old to go into a pub. Complete bollocks of course, but it still stung. 

Am I supposed to now accept the fact that I can't feel beautiful because I'm on another side of 24? Am I supposed to accept that my body is about to fall to pieces? The thought of this hurts so much, if this is it, will my body ever look the way I've been fighting for it to look? Will I ever get to the non-existent goal I've been focusing on since I was 11? 

I secretly feel as if I have been cheated out of feeling beautiful. My eating disorder stole my teenage years from me, I remember standing in front of my mirror screaming asking myself why I was so ugly. I've always felt fat and my teenage skin has never left me. Although I've never felt "beautiful" in a conventional sense, it's been a long time since I've felt ugly. 

There are a lot of different thoughts woven into this. Sitting on the edge of a relapse after weighing myself last week, diving balls into giving up drinking and realising that I have to actually deal with my emotions instead of hiding under a blanket of dangerous and disfiguring coping mechanisms, and the all-consuming anger inside me that I can't find a reason for.  I know that my goal weight doesn't exist, I don't know what looking beautiful would be like to me, and I hated high school so wanting to relive the ages of 11 to 16 is not the top of my to-do list. I just want to finally feel thin and beautiful. 


Saturday, 3 March 2018


Jealousy is a weird subject for me to talk about. As much as I hate to admit it, I'm a really jealous person.

The green-eyed monster on my back is rarely directed at specific people. I don't tend to lust over people's shoes or handbags, but more where they are in their lives. As happy as I am with the unique path I've taken, there are times when I yearn for something different.

Take, for instance, the people in my life who have recently gotten married/engaged/pregnant or have just had children. I'm 26 next month, it's to be expected that my peers are settling down, but it still kind of smarts.

I don't want kids, I've always been very adamant about this and I'm a raging commitment-phobe which makes relationships kind of difficult. There's no way I could have the life I have with a family and I'm happy with that, but that doesn't mean I don't get jealous of people that do. But does that mean I don't get jealous of people who have started their families and found the person they want to spend the rest of my life wife? Of course not.

The old saying the grass is always greener is 100% true. I plan my entire life around travel, but there is always someone who'll have gone to more places or spent more time on the road than me. People tell me they're jealous of my moving around a lot, but they have long terms homes they love and close friends that make them want to stay where they are. Someone will always have something you want, and you will always have something they want.

The way I see it, as is my usual way of thinking, is that it's best to be selfish. Take care of what you want, of what you love and what you aspire to, that's the only thing that matters.

But that's a post for another day.