Sunday, 16 September 2018


For someone who hated maths so much in high school, I spend a lot of time counting. I've counted the hours I couldn't sleep, I've counted the calories I've eaten and burned off, I've counted the lbs I've lost, the Ibs I've gained and the Ibs I've yet to banish. I've counted money and debt, days and Instagram followers, minutes and days and blog views.

I came to this realisation on Friday night at a gig. I was at the Islington Memorial Hall listening to The Devil Makes Three and, instead of relaxing, dancing and enjoying myself, all I could think about was money. Even at that moment, I couldn't stop thinking about whether or not I'll have enough money to go to Canada.

Truth is, I don't really believe I deserve money. My parents supported me a lot financially growing up and they still do, but all this does is make me feel ashamed. Ashamed because, despite everything I've achieved, I still struggle with the most basic of tasks. Ashamed because of how much of that money I've spent on drinking, drugs and things that I believe I don't deserve because of how much I enjoy them despite the fact that I'm perfectly within my right to be happy.

Planner supplies, all of the planner supplies.

I'm fully aware that this is something I need to let go of, but it's also something I struggle to shake. Every day I'm blanketed by the belief that I don't deserve something. Don't deserve money, don't deserve happiness, don't deserve love, all because of the things that I"ve done and the person I've been. This all-consuming blame, shame and self-hatred clouds every aspect of my life and I don't know how to let it go. Don't know how to convince myself that deserve all of these things.

And I really don't know how to fix it


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