My New Life

I’ve been safe in the castle in my mind for a while now. In May I wrote about how one day I knew I would find my wings and flutter out of it’s all walls, but for the time being I was happy laid on the floor, sheltered from the potential chaos of the outside world.

I often wondered what was on the outside and what might be waiting for me, but my castle wasn’t like a club where I’d get my hand stamped to ensure I would be welcomed back in – if I left I couldn’t come back, and terrified me.

At one time the castle walls seemed to tower over me, only showing me the glorious blue sky above. So tall nothing could peek over at me, and I could never scale them to peek out either – but as I became strong, I became taller, and I outgrew my castle walls.

Now was the time to leave.

In preparation for leaving, I tried to control what was on the outside of the walls, as I tried to scrape together parts of my life from before I entered my castle. The biggest part of my life was studying counselling, and putting my own wants aside, I sent a desperate email to my university asking what was next for me.

Yearning for a sense of my old normality, I thought it was what I wanted until I received an email that read:

‘If you fill in the form attached, we can arrange when you want to come back and finish the course.’

I stared at the email and the attachment, but I couldn’t bring myself to even open the form. I wanted normality, and I wanted comfort – but this felt like neither. It was then I knew for certain it was over and I couldn’t go back.

That familiar feeling of being a square peg attempting to squeeze into a round hole was settling in my chest again. I never liked this feeling, so why am I putting myself through it again?

I allowed myself one final week to make my decision, and of course after that week my thoughts hadn’t changed, and so I wrote an email explaining my want to withdraw from the course.

Sat at my desk, I smiled and shouted all the things I wouldn’t miss about it. All the stress, the people I didn’t like, theories I hated, the deadlines, and that one lesson where we watched a documentary on asylums and I felt physically sick – it was all finished, over in one email, and so feeling completely liberated I clicked send, and let out a sigh of relief.

Of course, my email was met with advice suggesting I give myself ‘more time to think about it’, and so I told them sternly: I had plenty of time to think and this was my final decision.

For a week, I checked my email inbox everyday to find nothing new, until today.

‘The board have confirmed your withdrawal from the course’

My eyes became watery, and a lump appeared in my throat.

It’s finally over, and I can’t quite believe it.

I have left a lot of things in my life and I have struggled to stick with most things I’ve ever done in education. I left school at fourteen, I was kicked out of college at seventeen, I left a course in music halfway through at nineteen, and pretty-much got kicked out of another college at twenty, and then I found counselling.

It pains me to have left something again but the fact I did it at all makes me very proud. I completed three full courses of ‘Counselling Skills’, one full year of my foundation degree, and 90% of my second. I also passed my GCSE in Maths before beginning university because, for once, I didn’t want to have to lie my way onto another course. (Sometimes you have to tell a white lie or two to get where you want in life, don’t judge me!)

There are somethings in my past I wish I hadn’t left. I regret leaving the music course, and I wish I had finished school, but I know when I look back on my time studying counselling, I’m not going to get that feeling, because it’s all still in my mind and will forever be present in my daily life.

The things I learnt on the courses from the tutors, my books, my peers and my compulsory therapy, aren’t going to vanish from my mind simply because I don’t own a piece of paper with a Foundation Degree in Counselling and my name written on it – them things will stay with me for the rest of my life, and I am so proud of the person I’ve become through it all.

I always imagined fluttering out of my castle walls like a dainty butterfly, but I feel as if I’ve kind of burst out the castle door and took them off their giant hinges! If I had flown out the top it would have remained intact, but breaking the doors ensures I cannot come back to that part of my life. My castle served it’s purpose, but I have no need to ever return.

As the saying goes, as one door closes another opens, or in my case as one door hangs off it’s hinges, another will sit perfectly and will await my arrival.

If This Is Happiness…

Over the last week I’ve felt like a different person, like a switch has been flicked and I’ve been able to do things, go places and enjoy life. I’ve felt happy.

Now, I know all of us here know I’m depressed. I near enough write about it every week! (And yet you keep coming back to read about it?!) I thought my depression was something that came and went from time to time. I’d get times where I’d be drowning, and other times when I felt fine again. However, everything I thought I knew has been flung out the window, because I just found out that my depression never took breaks, it was actually there all the time; I just had no idea.

I didn’t know something in my own mind, how could that be? How could I not know what I’m feeling? Well, I think my problem was feeling that way had become my normal; my default setting had been turned to depression and I was none-the-wiser.

Recently I’ve been fairly concerned about my physical health, as I’ve been experiencing a lot of pain. Pain that was out of the ordinary for me; pins and needles in my bones and joints, I’ve been going to work and feeling crippled after an hour or so. I’ve only been able to get through my days by tricking myself into thinking I can go home early! “Just see how I am in an hour, and I might go home…” until the full nine hours were over, and I could actually go home. I had to get a bath every night because it was the only way to stop my body from hurting before bed, because pain killers didn’t touch what I was feeling.

Mentally and physically, I’ve been dragging myself through days as if I’m trying to walk up a hill, carrying a hippopotamus on my shoulders! Nothing felt good, things that were a slight inconvenience felt like the worst thing to ever happen to me, and time felt like it was at a standstill.

As we all do, I took to Google and typed in all of my symptoms. It kept coming up with things like fibromyalgia and arthritis, which are things I considered, and I did further research on. But what else kept coming up? Depression. And what did I keep scrolling past, and thinking “Nah, it can’t be that! I’ve never been in physical pain from that before.”? Yup, you got it: depression.

On Sunday 5th September, I spent most of my day at work crying. My body hurt, I was exhausted in every way, and I was struggling with everything. I came home early, ran a bath and generally moped around for the rest of the day. “What’s wrong with me? When will I feel better?”

And then on Monday 6th September I saw McFly.

Now listen, my blog isn’t going to become a weekly post of adoration for McFly, and after last week’s post, I didn’t expect to write about them again (Sorry McFly), but I had no idea what a difference being reunited with live music would make in my life.

Throughout the pandemic I knew I needed to go to a gig, I felt it in my bones. I needed to be a nobody, in a room of strangers and leave my problems outside, instead of carrying them around 24/7. I needed that break from being me, and to just be a face in a crowd and a voice in a chorus of thousands.

Despite knowing I needed it, I failed to comprehend just what a difference it would make.

After seeing McFly I’ve felt like a different person, a version of myself I forgot even existed. I’ve been reunited with myself, a version who has colour in her life (And maybe 5 Colours In Her Hair), and isn’t dragging her feet and wallowing in grief and sadness. I’ve been flying through my days at work (with minimal tricking myself into thinking I can go home early), I’ve been chatting to people, smiling without forcing it and most shockingly, I haven’t been in crippling pain every day.

I mean, my leg kind of hurt for a couple of days after the gig as I definitely pulled a muscle dancing to ‘Shine a Light’, but other than that I have been pain free. I’ve been able to come home and get a shower instead of a bath, and I can move my body without wanting to cry, or as if my bones are being zapped with tiny electric shocks.

Since seeing McFly I’ve been listening to them every day, and naturally I’ve had some McBusted, Busted thrown into the mix for good measure. I’m not sure if the music is simply sucking me back to an time when life was easier, or if it’s making the ‘now’ a tad easier… or maybe it’s a lovely mix of the two.

McFly and Busted have always been my comfort blanket of music, after loving Busted since I was ten, and twelve for McFly; I don’t really remember life before them! They’ve seen me through all my trials and tribulations and at the age of twenty-nine, they’re very clearly still doing it to this day. Despite my age, I’m still able to get that sense of being a carefree 12 year old when I listen to them, and that’s the spirit I need to hang on to right now.

Over time I know this feeling will wear off, but now I’m able to go to gigs frequently again, I’m hoping I can keep my happiness topped up enough to continue to feel human. And hey, maybe I’ll make a happiness playlist on Spotify for all my favourite McFly, Busted and McBusted songs, to help me remember this feeling more often.

In the words of McFly themselves, ‘If this is happiness, I don’t mind having this’. It’s been a long time since I felt this way, but I’m hoping it will stay for little a while longer.

(Thank you McFly)

Back To a Happy Place

There was a lot of things I missed during lockdown. I missed seeing my family and having the hugs I desperately needed. I missed meeting up with my friends for a coffee and a catch up. I even missed going to work, and wandering around a supermarket when I was in my twelve weeks of shielding. I missed going to eat at TGIFriday’s and wearing a long baggy top so I could sneakily unbutton my jeans when I inevitably got full! But arguably what I’ve missed the most was going to gigs.

I think a lot of the things I missed could be substituted; I could see my friends and family over a video chat, or at the end of my garden. I could shop online and scroll instead of walking aisles, and we did get a takeaway TGFriday’s meal one night, but there’s no real substitute for live music. I would often put on a recorded live show on my TV and have a dance, which made me feel a little more human, but it just didn’t hit the spot.

For the last two years I’ve had tickets to see bands I like, My Chemical Romance, The Weeknd, Neck Deep and Enter Shikari; all bands who have had to reschedule the shows I bought tickets for. Even though I had the tickets, they felt miles away because who knew when I was ever actually going to get to see one of them!

It was really beginning to feel as if I was never going to go to a gig ever again! Until last night of course, when I saw the beautiful McFly at The Globe in Stockton.

When I saw McFly were playing so close to my hometown it was a no-brainer; I had to be there! It didn’t matter who was going to come with me, or how much it would cost, I had to find a way! I’ve loved McFly since 5 Colours in Her Hair, and I’ve seen them live once before, and then again as McBusted (which will forever be the best gig I have ever been to!) so I knew this was going to be a beautiful first gig back, and a nostalgic injection of happiness through my ear drums!

To me, gig days feel unlike any other day, like a birthday or a special event. They have a special feeling and a smell in the air. While driving to the venue with my boyfriend, McFly blasting from my car speakers, I announced “I CAN SMELL IT! I CAN SMELL SWEAT AND BEER IN THE AIR!” and no, my car doesn’t smell of sweat or beer, but the memories of being at a gig were starting to flood back to me. After all, it had been 19 months since I’ve seen a band live, my live music brain cells (and nose cells) had shut down!

Walking through Stockton, the speakers near the shops were playing McFly songs, which only added to my excitement. While we waited in the queue we managed to dodge as many cameras and interviewers as we could; there was a hype about the show, as it was not only McFly playing in Stockton of all places, but they were the first band to play at the venue in over 40 years!

Entering the venue took my breath away; walking by the bar and round the corner to see the stage greeting me, as it if was a pair of giant open arms welcoming me home after all this time.

Live music is what keeps me happy, it’s always been that way. Music keeps me going, but live music is like my anti-depressant. Deafening music, dancing with people you don’t know, smiling without having to making an effort, and feeling the bass rattle in your chest – it’s when I feel the most content, and I’d missed it so much.

In one way, it felt as if no time had gone by since before the pandemic, but in other ways it truly felt alien. Being shoulder to shoulder with strangers and no social distancing, and no one wearing a mask! Apart from the girl stood next to me, and well done to her for keeping it on throughout the show, I managed one song with my mask on and I was suffocating and so took it off.

Taking my mask off felt wrong – let me tell you that. I’ve been so well behaved throughout the entire pandemic, but I am fully vaccinated, and so I allowed myself to break my own rules just this once. I wanted to enjoy McFly as much as possible, and not fight for air behind a mask.

I feel a sleep to the sound of my ears ringing, I danced so much that I’ve pulled a muscle in my leg (I’m so out of practice, it’s shameful) and I sang so much I sounded rather hoarse this morning (maybe less hoarse and more of a man who smokes a few cigars a day), and I allowed myself to relax and feel happiness once again; true, complete, musical bliss.

For me, I feel as if I truly have my life back now. Gone are the days of yearning to attend a gig and feel carefree and happy again; them days are here once more, and I feel as if my door to the depression of the pandemic is closed.

Thank you McFly for taking me back to not only a happier time, but a happier place emotionally and physically, I loved every single second.

It’s Time To Turn The Volume Down.

“How am I going to get my plants to the car without looking like an idiot that’s being viciously attacked by two plants?” I always worry about the silliest of things. I had fallen in love with a faux cheese plant at work, but they were far too expensive and I couldn’t justify buying one, not even as a treat. So, when I saw one waiting to go in the bin because of its broken pot, I decided I needed to ask if I could give it a new home.

“It’s okay, I’ll just carry them to my locker with me. But what if I drop them and I break them even more? I’ll be sad and everyone will look at me.” I asked my manager and she told me if put some money in the charity pot, I could have the cheese plant I had fallen in love with and a faux fern with the same destiny. I jumped at the chance and quickly emptied my purse into the charity tub and I felt happy for a moment; I finally have my cheese plant! But then came the negative chit-chat in my mind, telling me to worry about getting them out of the place.

“What if someone thinks I’ve stolen them? I’ll have to tell someone I haven’t. But what if that makes it seem like I have stolen them? But why would anyone nick two plants with broken pots!” I decided the best idea was to get a trolley and take the plants to my car, put them safely in the boot and then come back in for my shopping.

Sounds easy, right?

For anyone normal, yes. But me? Not so much.

Now my plants were safe in my car and the people at self-scan knew I hadn’t stolen them, I set to my next task: doing the shopping.

“There’s no tomatoes, how embarrassing, I’m looking for something that’s not even there. I look like I’m just wandering the fruit and veg aisle for the fun of it! Uh no, there’s someone working on this aisle, what if they judge me on how many packets of noodles I pick up? I don’t want them to think I’m some kind of crazy, noddle addict!”

After a record shopping time of twenty minutes, I scurried across the car park, put my shopping in the boot of my car and ran, in the rain, to put my trolley back. Jumping in my car and locking the door with my elbow, you would imagine this would be the time to take a breath and relax, the chaos of shopping is over? Not exactly.

“Flippin’ heck, look at the time! I’d best not waste time putting on the radio, I don’t have time to sort that out now!” I quickly sanitised my hands and threw my phone in my handbag and put it in the passenger side footwell. “…but I want to listen to music.” I innocently challenged myself.

It was at this moment I realised I may very well be losing my marbles.

I took a moment to sit back in my seat, still rubbing the last of my sanitiser into my hands (Garnier hand gel is the worst!) and told myself “You’re not on a timer, relax! Listen to music! The only place you need to be is home, and no one minds what time you turn up.” I took a deep breath and calmly slid the front of my radio into the slot, connected my phone and scrolled to find the Ice Nine Kills song I’m currently obsessed with (‘Hip To Be Scared’ if you’re interested), and began my, now relaxed, drive home.

For as long as I can remember I’ve had negative chit-chat in my mind, but it’s not very often I acknowledge it anymore. When I was a young teen I struggled with social anxiety, and the negative chit-chat stopped me from living my life. I learned over time to live my life despite having these thoughts and so I’ve learnt to ignore them. However what surprised me that night after work was just how much of an impact they still have on me, even if only in little ways.

I am able to do things that would have scared me in the past, but the fact I’m bullied by my own mind into buying less packets of noodles than I need, and to not listen to music on my drive home from work, proves that the anxiety is still very much alive, and makes daily life exhausting at times.

Many people, I dare say, would not have had a single thought the same as mine that night. They would have simply taken their plants to their car and got their shopping without a worry, and that’s hard for me to imagine.

I am very hard on myself, (if you hadn’t noticed) and I think this is the wake up call I needed to begin challenging them thoughts and feelings. I want to work on giving myself the time I need, taking a deep breath when I need it and not allowing the potential judgement of others to hold me back.

I think wanting to make sure no one thought I had stolen the plants was important, and I understand why I wanted to get home from work quickly. But what I don’t think was important was the judgment I gave myself and denying myself my musical self-care on the way home.

It’s time to try being nice to myself for a change, and to start shutting down the negative chit-chat. It’s not enough to simply live life with it playing in the background anymore, it’s time to turn the volume down.

The Birthday Depression Stole.

If there’s one thing about myself that is for certain, it’s that I don’t give myself a break unless I am forced to. I told myself I’d take a week off everything for my birthday week, but you know me, I was writing and aiming to be here as usual, but then a little thing called depression showed her evil self and forced me to stop.

For a little while I’ve been feeling her presence getting stronger, and a potential relapse imminent, and on my birthday, she came to swallow me whole.

When I was young, I’d look forward to my birthday, it was my favourite time of the year. In the summer holidays, all my friends were off school and around me, the weather was always lovely for all the visits to Flamingo Land when I was young, and shopping trips to York or Newcastle when I was older.

I’d always have my family and friends around me, and Mam would piece together a table of party food for us all to feast on. Egg mayo buns, cheesy potatoes, cocktail sticks skewered through cheese and pineapple chunks, and a birthday cake fit for a child’s birthday no matter what my age was.

My birthdays have always been filled with music too, from NOW CDs I listened to religiously over my birthdays, or albums I’d received as a gift; there’s so much music that has that birthday feeling attached to it. Avril Lavigne’s The Best Damn Thing and Ke$ha’s Animal albums are my birthday staples (Although I recently discovered my copy of The Best Damn Thing is a censored version!) In the past I’ve listened to this music to get me into the mood for my birthday, but not even censored Avril could help me with this birthday – I dreaded it, and I fear I always will.

Once happy memories of August 4th seem so far away right now, and it’s for no other reason than the fact it’s just another date with depression taped to it. I know the tape will peal off one day and the depression won’t be stuck to it anymore, there will always be a part of it still stuck to it with its nasty, sticky residue.

I don’t remember much of my birthday in 2020, but I do remember being on the phone, organising my daughter’s funeral, worrying about songs, worrying if everything was going to be perfect. I sat upstairs at my dressing table, taking notes of the phone call, with that hollow feeling in my chest. I put the phone down and walked downstairs to sit with my Mam and brother who were visiting me. I remember sitting on the floor in my living room, trying to remain socially distant from my family and Harry Styles’ Fine Line album was playing. We ate cake, and we laughed, and it was as okay as the day could be.

But the memories of the last, haunted this year’s birthday and I spent most of my time sobbing in between visitors.

Sobbing because pretending to be happy is hard work.

Faking laughs and smiles, while trying to keep up with conversations while I feel as though I’m drowning is exhausting. But then again, most days feel like I’m drowning these days.

I could have cancelled, but it’s not very polite to tell people you’re not celebrating your birthday because you’re too sad. However, after such an exhausting day, I did just that and cancelled all other plans I had for my birthday week. I decided I just needed to listen to my body for a while and allow myself to feel sad, and all other emotions that come with depression.

I can’t keep faking happiness, because every time I do, I feel myself go out of frequency just a little bit. Like when the car radio sounds a little fuzzy from driving too far away for it to connect anymore. Equally, I can’t keep letting depression take over me and not allow me to feel happiness anymore; and so, you see why I’m living in such a strange state of limbo somewhere between just okay and kind-of alright.

In my static days I was able to just be. I cried, I didn’t wear make up, I didn’t even wash my hair for days; I truly allowed my depression to take over, because I knew if I did, she would then leave me alone for a little while after. It’s dangerous letting her in because I’m never sure if she’s going to leave again, but I’m relieved to say she has settled down again now.

I dare say it was just a birthday relapse – thank you to my mind for such a lovely gift!

Since then, I’ve been feeling better, which makes me question whether let her in, or did I just listen my body and give it the rest it needed? Either way, I feel like I’m owed another birthday, one that’s just for me. Not one where people want to visit me, or give me cards or presents, just a day to me – from me.

Maybe I’ll buy myself a present, and maybe I’ll make a playlist of birthday music from the past (with the uncensored Avril Lavigne songs thank-you-very-much) and I might even make myself a cake.

At least when August 2022 comes around, I might not recall the birthday depression stole, maybe I’ll remember the little birthday I gave myself and the happiness I created within it.

Where’s the rules that say we must celebrate our birthdays on the day anyway?
It’s my birthday – I’ll celebrate it when I want!

A Lesson In Gratitude.

Something I’m very aware of within myself sometimes, is my lack of gratitude. Now, don’t get me wrong, I’m a thankful person, I know I’m lucky for what I have, but sometimes I get so caught up that I need to force myself to take a step back to realise, I really need to be more grateful for the things I have.

A few nights ago, I cured my boredom by scrolling away for hours on Right Move. Nothing good ever comes from setting the filters to show you houses with a minimum of four bedrooms, and set it to see the highest priced first; you inevitably fall in love with a house you could never afford!

I scrolled and scrolled, looking at the layout of houses, imagining how I would live in it, and taking a moment to judge the current owners taste in decoration. (Why is it the most expensive houses are ugly inside? Does the bank arrange the surgical removal of all taste as soon as your account hits the million mark?)

Then suddenly – there it was on my screen: my dream house.

It’s not what I had expected to fall in love with; a new build, four bedrooms, double garage, a big garden, close to schools, and in an area, I know of. Absolutely gorgeous! The only problem was the £400,000 price tag.

I’m not the kind of person that rates material things, and I see money as just a set of numbers that help you get through life; I have no interest in being a millionaire. I’m not the kind of person that wants to break my ankles on a pair of Christian Louboutins, or dress head-to-toe in Gucci! Or live in a big, fancy house for-that-matter; but in the moment of falling in love with this house, I convinced myself I do rate them things.

Imagining pulling up to this gorgeous house, in a brand new car was sounding really good to me, and it then led me to wonder whether I should suck-it-up and go back to finish university, do the BA and all the other training I was going to do, just so I could maybe one day have enough money to buy this house.

“I’d hate it, but I’d have a nice, big house to go home to.”

… just let that sentence sink in. “I’d hate it, but…”  

When I caught myself thinking about it, I couldn’t believe I’d even considered that was an option!

“I’d hate it but…” If you hate it then why entertain it in the first place?

Knocking the silliness out of my head, I realised I need to be more grateful for what I already have!

Not only do I have air in my lungs (Questionable whether that air is actually good during a pandemic, but never mind) I have my family, and friends. I have a gorgeous, big house I already live in, with only one bedroom less than the dream house! I have a car that, even though it doesn’t have working A/C and often makes a humming noise I choose to ignore, gets me from A to B safely. I have my health and I have a job that gives enough money to pay all my bills on time. That’s a whole lot of stuff to be thankful for.

It’s alright to dream and look at houses you can’t afford, but not if you’re contemplating sacrificing your happiness to fuel making that dream a reality. Especially when you already have everything you could ever ask for all around you.

I’m from now on going to make a conscious effort to be more grateful for what I have.
There’s nothing in the cupboards that I fancy eating – but there is food in my cupboards.
I feel skint from paying the mortgage and bills – but I bought my own house, that’s safe, warm and dry.
I’m tired when I get in late from work – but I have a job in the first place.

Of course, life still can be worth moaning about sometimes, (Who doesn’t love a good moan?) But I think gratitude is so important for our wellbeing. Afterall, if we’re not grateful for what we currently have, then what makes us think we’d feel grateful for the things we’re lusting after?

There’s always something you think is better, but as the saying goes, ‘The grass isn’t always greener on the other side.’ Take care of your own grass and be grateful it’s there, and it might end up being greener than anything you could have imagined on the other side.

A Plaster For The Day

I’m exactly where I said I wouldn’t be. Where, you ask? Well, here, on my blog.

I planned to take a week off, get away from social media and writing for a week. I even spent an evening on Canva creating an Instagram post saying I would be gone for the week as of today; and yet here I am.

I thought I’d give myself the space to breathe this week, to experience and just to be, but in reality they’re actually the last things I want to do right now.

This week is the one year anniversary of the worse week of my life; losing my baby girl.

I just feel like a giant question mark with legs about this week. What am I supposed to do? It’s the first time I’ve ever experienced this anniversary and there just feels like such pressure on my shoulders to do ‘the right’ thing.

Do we buy her a present? Do we buy her a birthday card? Do we do something with family? Do we do something just the two of us? I don’t know, and I really wish I did.

So far, the only plan I’ve come up with is to have a day out on her birthday, something for us. Which feels selfish, but I think we need something to enjoy; I really don’t want to sit indoors and think about last year, think about the pain we felt, and think about what we don’t have; I’ve done that every day for the last year – it would be nice to have a break from that feeling, even if just for a couple of hours.

My counsellor suggested letting off a balloon for her or naming a star or rose after her, but I saw a Facebook post about a horse that nearly died from eating a balloon with a note to a loved one attached, I never look at the stars and I have a habit of killing plants (Apart from Peter the spider plant, he’s doing well!) So, you can see why I feel a bit hopeless.

I suppose there really isn’t a set thing to do, and everyone is different, but I wish there was someone to tell me ‘Yes, do this, this will make you feel better.’, it would make it a lot easier

All I’ve been doing is living with my head in the clouds recently. From watching the Euros, doing over time at work, writing in a new fictional world, reading a new book, and listening to Pale Waves’ Who am I? album on repeat – it’s all been keeping my mind away from life, but now life is smacking me in the face with this anniversary.

I keep telling myself to experience it; feel it and it will get better, but do I have to? I have the rest of my life to keep grieving and ‘feeling’ it, can’t I just have a break instead? I’m tired of feeling.

I don’t need one date on the calendar to think about her, I think about her every single day. I’m not going to benefit from having another day solely dedicated to saddness, but I am going to benefit from a day off, which is why I think a day out is the best idea for us.

Something for us.
Something to take our minds away.
Something to enjoy.

Like a plaster to cover the wound for a day.
…one plaster a year is okay, right?

Third Person Prompt

“Describe yourself in third person – your physical appearance and personality – as though you were writing a character in a book.”

*

Sat at her desk, listening to music that was far too loud to get anything productive done, Gwen stared at the laptop screen in front of her. Nothing of worth being caught by the net she was holding out in her mind; in fact, she hadn’t felt quiet so lost in a long time. Words always came easy, so why were they currently so far away?

Disappointment pumping through her veins, she sat back in her chair and let her blue eyes stare out through her glasses, and out of the window instead. Watching people walk by, with places to go, why didn’t she have any direction like the people outside? Surely they weren’t walking aimlessly, like she was writing.

Gwen had today embraced her natural look, in the hair department anyway. Her hair many shades of blonde, ginger and brown flowed wavily down her back and onto her shoulders; the odd lock curlier than the rest from her fingers becoming intertwined with it during the odd daydream she got lost in.

To someone outside of the room, it would sound as if her fingers were typing, but she was actually just tapping away to the rhythm of a song blasting from the speakers either side of her. It’s her speciality to get lost in music; it hadn’t crossed her mind that maybe if she turned off the music, the thoughts she desperately needed may just pop into her mind. Not that she cared. “Self-care!” She told herself after every dance break she took.

“Why is this so difficult?” She allowed herself to feel slight anger, “It’s not usually this hard!” Expecting the anger to expel words from her fingertips as if magic; but sadly, no magic happened.

Her lips touching her cup of tea, hoping the magic may be swimming in there instead, she left a lipstick print in her favourite nude shade on the rim of the cup. A sigh blew the steam away from the boiling drink, she put the cup down, and picked up a book of writing prompts, hoping the answer would lay within.

Each page turned and still nothing leapt out at her, nothing sparking that excitement to write. Slamming the book closed, she declared to herself that maybe today was the day for neither personal writing, nor creative writing – maybe today is the day to escape into someone else’s world for a change.

The bookshelves that stand behind her, now look as though they all beam smiles her way.

Her shoulders relax, the anxiety of having to create a small world of her own for the week fell from her. Gwen closed her laptop screen and grabbed a book that had been calling her name for a while, covered herself with a throw, and settled in for an afternoon of escape.

*

Okay, so the prompt book actually wasn’t put away. I actually really fell in love with this prompt, and so I described my own difficulties with trying to figure out what to write this week. It’s hard to write about yourself, and imagining yourself from someone else’s view, or even your own, but writing about yourself as if you’re a character is actually strangely enjoyable.

Now to get comfortable and escape to that book I spoke about, because sometimes it better to retreat to someone else’s world, than to sit and sulk in your own.

I Was Lost

In a previous blog post I wrote about ‘My Backpack’ (click the link to read) My metaphorical backpack is something I’ve been working on recently in therapy. On my first session with my current counsellor my backpack was huge. I imagined it nearly as big as myself, and it was black with lots of zips, locks, and pockets.

When emptying the backpack I realised there was a big mass growing at the bottom: an abusive relationship from my past, and it was killing me.

The fact of this ‘killing me’ was something I knew all along. I knew it when it was happening, and I knew when it came to the end of that relationship, it was a case of either I lose the relationship, or I lose me. The only thing is I naively thought that choosing me was as simple as it sounded.

Spoiler alert: it really wasn’t that easy!

For many years I thought I’d dealt with the relationship and the effects of it, but I hadn’t, I’d just suppressed them, despite talking about it in therapy many times in the past.

One counsellor told me it was my fault; I was asking too much from him.
One counsellor told me it wasn’t my fault; I was asking the bare minimum from him.
And my current counsellor told me; you need to talk about this, you have to talk about this, you really need to talk about this, this is something we need to talk about! And even though I hated her at the time, she was so right.

It wasn’t my fault, the second counsellor was right, and maybe I was asking too much from him, the first counsellor was also right. But what didn’t come up with either of them counsellors was just how much of this I am still carrying around to this day. That’s what was weighing my backpack down and weighing down my life.

I always assumed the shame and guilt I felt about that relationship was solely directed at the relationship, but it wasn’t – it was directed at me. That hatred seeped into all aspects of my life from that time: my hair, my style, my favourite music, and my personality.

Everything that made me who I am, was now covered in a layer of shame.

I accepted it for many years. I resigned to the fact that I would never be able to look at my hair and feel happy while it was dyed black. My purple lipstick was now tainted with guilt, and I’ve been unable to enjoy the band Beartooth ever since, because they were a band I listened to religiously at the time. They were all ‘bad’ things that I needed to get away from.

I accepted it without a thought. Until last week anyway.

Them things belonged to me, but the opinions and shame didn’t; they belonged to him.

And then it clicked in my mind: I had been looking at myself, that relationship and everything from that time, through his eyes. Why? Because at the time I was so certain that his eyes were right, and obviously mine were wrong.

He said I was a liar, so I must be a liar, right? Of course not! If I had been lying, I wouldn’t have been suicidal. If I had been lying, I wouldn’t still be carrying around this rubbish. If I had been lying, I would have been able to enjoy the things I once loved. I wasn’t lying.

Realising I had seen that time in my life through eyes that didn’t belong to me felt like such a relief. It finally made sence.

“So, what are we going to do with the backpack?” My counsellor asked.
“Give it back to him.” I told her as I imaged picking up this huge backpack, swinging it until it gained enough momentum for me to let go of, and send hurtling toward him.

Imagining seeing all that pain and false accusations I held on to being let go of, and being sent back to its rightful owner was amazing. The backpack flying toward him, smashing him in the face, taking him by surprise and making him tumble to the floor. And me walking away like a cool character in a film that walks away from an explosion with a smile on their face.

It was such a relief, and I’m so pleased I was finally able to do it.

I was lost because I was looking through the eyes of another, but I’ve got my own eyes screwed back in now and I can see it all perfectly. Although the black hair dye and Beartooth might still feel painful, it’s a different type of pain; it’s an acknowledgment rather than a life sentence.

That time in my life will always be a scar in my timeline, but I’m not okay with it following me onwards anymore.

It’s okay. I’ve been found, and that shame now subsiding.

I’m no longer in victim mode – I’m in survivor mode.
And let me tell you, it feels bloody great!

Your world is only as limited as you make it.

Should we ever accept that we’re just ‘not that good’ at something we’re passionate about?

I saw a Tweet by another writer (I didn’t catch their name because I didn’t realise the tweet would stick with me like it has) about how they’re resigning to the fact that their writing will never ‘change the world’, and are accepting the fact that they aren’t destined for greatness.

Reading the Tweet made me feel so deflated for them. Should we ever take our passions down off their pedestal and let them sit, instead of pushing them for the stars?

I used to be a perfectionist. I learnt over time that perfect isn’t always actually perfect and aiming for that is only letting yourself down; but I believe your dreams are a whole other thing!

I know my writing isn’t going to change the world either, I don’t have anything published; all I have is a website, and an Instagram with my name on them. But does that mean it’s always going to be that way? Who knows!

I guess the true question is how we do define success?
Does the world need to be changed in order for your writing to be successful?

It’s not very often I bake a cake, but when I do, I always enjoy eating it, and usually the people around me enjoy it too. But would Paul Hollywood and Mary Berry think that cake was as nice as my family do? Probably not. They’d no doubt tell me it looked as though it had been sat on, and Paul would most certainly keep that handshake to himself. But does that mean that my cake was rubbish? Of course it doesn’t! And more importantly, does that mean that everyone in the world would also think my cake was rubbish? The answer is, probably not.

Do I resign myself to thinking I can’t bake cakes and I should never bake a cake again? No, because what a waste that would be. I think much the same to writing: it doesn’t have to change the world as a whole, but it might change someone’s individual world, and that’s worth the risk if you ask me.

Personally, I would rather keep writing, keep enjoying myself and if someone else happens to enjoy it too, then I see that as a bonus.

Now, do I dream of seeing my writing sitting on a shelf in a bookshop? Yes! But if that never happens, am I less of a writer? No. To me, it just means that that never happened, it doesn’t mean I’m not a good writer or that my stories are crap, it just hasn’t happened yet.

It’s like that old saying ‘beauty is in the eye of the beholder’, it’s not down to you to say whether others do, or do not like what ever it is you’re doing. As long as you’re doing it – someone, somewhere is going to enjoy it too! Resigning yourself to ‘well, it’s not that good’ or ‘I’m not going to change the world’ is such a shame.

I whole heartedly believe that if the universe gave you a gift, and you owe it to yourself to indulge in that gift; for yourself and no one else. Anyone else that indulges in it with you is an extra little ‘well done‘ from the powers-that-be.

I believe everyone is capable of achieving absolutely anything they want, and in a really black and white way of thinking, you just need to go and do it.

I’ll be honest, sometimes I’ll have a wobble and think ‘What’s the point?’ too, but you know what, I’ve read some pretty crap books and articles in my time; I read a book once that had page long sentences and no other punctuation! My brain couldn’t get round it enough to enjoy the story, but that book has stuck in my mind all these years – and to put it politely, if that can get published, anything is possible!

Your world is only as limited as you make it. Do yourself a favour and believe the impossible is possible. You’ve got nothing to lose in trying, have you?