I am not defined by my illness

I think back to when I was 12 and I had just discovered what I thought was the best kept secret and how excited I felt, as if I had just stumbled upon a secret stash of gold that was all mine.
I do not remember how I made this discovery, was it something I read or did my childlike brain really think of this on its own? I was so young, so naive and so desperate for perfection that anything that was shown to me at the time I would have grabbed onto with all I had and never let go.
Thus my descent into madness began; a very long dark tumultuous struggle with life, love and the longing for perfection.

***

Tears stream down my face, I can barely see, my throat burns, my hands shake and my face is a nice shade of blood red. I wipe my hands clean and slide onto the floor, rest my head against the wall and hate myself.
I am 12. I am bulimic. I am broken.

I start to collect images from magazines, newspapers, anything I can find that shows thin women, I cut out these images and create a box full of these with any exercise and diet information I can find. “Lose ten kilos in two weeks!” and “how to have the body your man wants”, articles like this never cease to appear and soon enough I need to find a new box and then another. This holy grail is my saviour, whenever I feel weak I look into this box and find strength, I can be that girl, I can be skinny.

***
No one ever talks about bulimia. Anorexia gets more air time so to speak. The magazines that line each newsagent always have a headline practically promoting anorexia and shaming those who are not thin. Anorexia is almost made to seem normal; something to strive for, after all to be anorexic means self-control and conformity. Now bulimia? Who wants to think about standing over a toilet bowl dry retching and coughing? It isn’t glamourous.
I never had the self-control for Ana; I didn’t even have the self-control for normalcy. How I envied those who could say no to food, I envied those who legs seemed to have an ocean of space between them. I envied pretty much everyone, as to me I was the whale of the world, lost in a sea of dazzling dolphins. I often wonder if people spoke more openly about how they felt then maybe I wouldn’t have gone down that path, maybe I would have been able to seek help at the beginning and avoid a lifetime of anguish. If my parents had been better equipped to deal with Mia, hell if they even knew the severity of what Mia could do then maybe I would have been OK.

***
Dear Diary
I ate too much today. I had an apple and a piece of bread with peanut butter on it. I feel sick. I feel sick when I don’t eat. On Friday’s I can’t throw up as mum is home. I just have to not eat. Maybe I am not healthy. I am healthy. I eat an apple every day and exercise every day. I will eat slower, maybe throw up my apple. Is there a word for anorexic and bulimic? That’s what I am. I don’t believe either is an eating disorder, maybe when you are stick thin and need to go to hospital but I am not thin so I can’t have one. I am fine.

Dear Diary
No one understand me, I feel lost inside, I don’t know, I feel so angry but so upset. I want to cry and scream at the same time.

***

Throughout school my diary is my confidant, it saddens me to read what my poor, 13, 14, 15.. year old self would say. You can feel the self-hate and desire for love dripping off each page. It’s not only the weigh in’s, measurements and calorie counting that sadden me, it’s the confusion I felt, the darkness that clouded my brain and stemmed onto each page that is most concerning. I remember not wanting to live, feeling like I was suffocating and without a doubt believing that I was worth nothing but time has played its role and these memories are less intense. I wonder how I could have ever felt that way but then I feel their dull ache deep within my heart and remember that I still carry remnants of these feelings and perhaps I always will.

***

I become a master of my illness, purging is no longer an effort; I know what to eat and how to eat it in order for it to be purged successfully. I know how to make it look like I am eating so my parents do not suspect anything and I know exactly how long I have to ensure I bring back up every miniscule piece of food consumed. I became an expert in my chosen field, people didn’t notice what I was doing, the damage was internal, no bruises to hide here. I drifted through life, not really forming close relationships and I distance myself from my family. I was alone, so awfully alone but I had Mia who was the one that I could rely on to always be there. I was slowly killing myself but I held onto Mia with all I had.

***

Recovery is a funny thing, for me I am not sure when it began. I tried and failed many times to be normal, over a few years I went back and forth between my learned behaviours and my desire to no longer be sick. I am not proud of some of the things I did out of pure fear of fat. It sounds so ridiculous to write that, fear of fat but that fear is what made me destroy my stomach, stop my period, faint an inordinate number of times and consider simply cutting my fat off with scissors. Bulimia is the ugly cousin of eating disorders, unless you have been there you will never know just how truly self-degrading and unhygienic it is.
There were times during my recovery that I wished I could tell everyone what I was going through so that I could be understood but the fear of being judged kept me silent. An important step to recovery was gaining weight, this was an incredibly enlightening experience for me as I learnt to accept the body I was given. I admired my breasts and the curve of my hips. I was proud of the muscle in my legs and battled my way to accepting my soft belly. I was the biggest I had ever been but I I didn’t resort to purging or hating myself for eating. Instead I enjoyed seeing my body change and soften. A difficult part of this was everyone else. It seems that you are shamed if you do and shamed if you don’t. The worlds obsession with weight is grotesque, I had to fight off comments on my weight and act like I was simply being lazy instead of flourishing. Then further on in recovery I lost the weight, the healthy way and now I receive such positive comments as if I could not have looked good before. We are so engrossed with weight that we forget we are people.

Bulimia formed a large part of my life and perhaps I will never be fully recovered but I will hold my scars with pride and not cower down out of fear or shame. I had bulimia. I had an eating disorder and that’s OK.

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Ramblings found on my phone

Vodka, cigarettes and nothing but the sound of my own thoughts rattling through my head. I have always loved the poetic romance of drinking into oblivion, puffing away at a stick that ends life, reminiscing about past loves and pondering the meaning of it all. Something about blowing away all care for self preservation and life goals has me hooked. It is like a part of me lives to die a slow death. A part of me that loves that I can choose my fate and give zero fucks about how ends.

Its been a long time since I have blown caution to the wind. For a period of time I spent many nights emptying bottles of wine..yes that is right, bottles and filling my room with a smoky haze that somehow made me see clearer. Heartbreak can do that to a person. Take away all hold you have on life and throw caution to the wind. I will forever look back at these nights with a sense of fondness and love. It was on these nights that I deconstructed the meaning of love and the value I placed on it. In many ways these nights were detrimental to my immediate present but it made me grow. It is only in darkness that one can truly find themselves, and I have had many dark nights.

Perhaps heartbreak was the most hurtful pain of them all. The realisation that your so called prince charming does not exist and that love you thought you had was not real. Your first love is one of the most incredible experiences, your body tingles with excitement, anxiety, fear and hope. All of these feeling battle themselves inside of you. You cant believe that a love like this could exist, how can one person be all you ever imagined? You feel invincible, you want to scream out to the whole world I AM IN LOVE.
And then they break you. Into a million pieces and you scramble to try and put yourself back together again. It’s hopeless, you will never be the same.

This is me.

I am lost in a sea of confusion most of the time. There are few things in this life I am sure of, the rest I am just figuring out as I go by.

Everything sounds better in my head. I can never articulate my words to show what I really mean, leaving me feeling despondent and misunderstood.

I crave intimacy yet when it appears I feel like running away.

I so desperately wish I could be a seductive goddess that bites her lip in anticipation and invites you in. Instead, I laugh and make a joke to deflect the tension.

I am an idealist. I forever want to live in a bubble of happiness and love, floating above everyone else, away from the fires below. I fail to understand why love should be anything less than that.

The harsh reality of the world strikes me often and I am still learning how to cope with this. The desperate romantic in me loves to drown in music and wine and puff away at the chemical ridden cigarettes while I demolish my ceaseless thoughts. I am learning healthier ways of coping.

I don’t value materialistic items. Give me your heart, loyalty and honesty and I will be yours. No amount of paid dinners will ever win my heart.

In saying that, I like thoughtful gifts. Poems, cards, my favourite book, something that shows that you know me and who I am at that that time will fill my heart with love.

I detest drama but I can often cause it. This is because I am conflicted by my own thoughts and feelings. I struggle with change, social pressures and large crowds.

I value my independence and ability to support myself. I was a child that grew up with the notion that a man would save me and care for me. Learning that I could save and care for myself is one of my greatest personal achievements.

I don’t understand those who cannot fend for themselves when they have faced minimal adversity. Perhaps I need to learn how to ask for help more often.

My home is my sanctuary. I struggle letting people into my private space.

I think I am a nice person but sometimes I scare myself with negative thoughts about others.

If I will lose, I will not try. I am my harshest critic.

I want to be loved but even more than that, I want to be understood.

I am still learning, I don’t think I will ever have myself figured out and I think that I will always be yearning for something more in life but I do think, hope, that I will find peace within myself and a balance of love, happiness, friendship and fulfilment.

I just hope that you can ride this wave of life with me.

Father figure.

“Higher Dad, hit the balloon higher” I scream, laughing until my belly hurt, running around the garage playing the aptly named “looney ball”. He would hit the ballon back at me, making it soar up into the air, and I would run and hit it back before it touched the floor. We would do this again and again until our legs buckled from tiredness and our lungs could no longer take in air. Looney ball is one of my favourite childhood memories.

I hear yelling and screaming, Mum crying somewhere in the lounge room, Dad hitting his fists against the wall. I sit in bed, tears streaming down my face wondering what is going on. Why is Dad so mad? Why is Mum crying?
Then I hear the front door slam, I run to my bedroom window and see Dad driving off. I wonder if he will ever come back.

Growing up with parents who didn’t know themselves let alone know how to raise a child was a challenging experience. I have a lot of good memories as child however the dark ones always seem to take more focus. I remember the amount of times my Dad drove away in the middle of the night after hours of fighting, I remember walking out into the lounge room when I was 9 busting to go to the bathroom and seeing my mum sitting in a heap on a chair, red faced and hopeless. I remember waking up one morning and seeing red wine stains on the wall and broken glass in the study with a hole punched through the door. I remember seeing my Dad’s face filled with rage, his eyes popping out of his head, strained with anger and the smell of liquor coming from his lips.
I remember tip toeing around the house as Dad slept his hangover off the next day, afraid of waking the beast that lurked within him. I remember never wanting to tell anyone that my life was anything but perfect.

For the first 12 years I was an only child, I spent my days creating fantasy worlds, escaping from the failing marriage within my families walls. I had fantasy love stories with my barbies, fantasy space adventures with my teddy bears and fantasy lies about who I was and where I was from. When I was 10 I pretended to be Irish for a month, when I was 12 I pretended that I family fun days when I really had maths tutoring, I when I was 15 I pretended I had a boyfriend. When I was 18 I told everyone my Dad was a teacher and yet he had been unemployed for some time. I spent a lot of my youth living a lie, I never felt that I would be accepted if I told the truth. I kept a lot of my family life a secret, none of my friends had a family like mine. Everyone appeared to have picture perfect lives, happy parents who would let their child do as they please. I always felt that my family was just too different, didn’t quite fit right. I never invited people over.

As I became a teenager I sunk into my own state of depression, I stopped sitting on my Dad’s lap when our favorite show was on, I stopped telling them about my day and who my friends were. I stopped talking. I spent most of my teenage life hiding in my room, filling myself with confused thoughts and feelings of love and hate for my parents. Why didn’t they love one another? Why are they still together if all they do is fight?

When I was 17 I was siting with my sister on her pink lounge watching the Simpsons when I hear Dad yelling. My heart freezes, I strain my ears to hear what is happening but turn the TV up so she doesn’t hear. Then I hear it, “smack smack” I hear my mum crying. My sister turns and asks what is going on and I just hold her, try and laugh at the tv, take her mind away from whatever darkness is happening down the hall. The next day I sit in my room and hear my mum get out of the shower, my dear little sister who was 5 at the time walks in on her and asks “what are those bruises” Mum shrugs off the comment. I sit in fear at my desk, could it be? Did he hit her? I am too scared to move, maybe just maybe she is bruised from something else, her ivory skin so easily turns black. But my heart sinks, I feel I know the truth but I can never say it out loud.

For years my father and I have played this dance, we greet each other with a kiss on the cheek and a quick hello and then move onto whatever task is next available. We glide past each other in the hallway, somedays smiling, somedays looking the other way. I think he is filled with regret, I know I am filled with confusion and the desire to bury my feelings.
Finding out my father was diagnosed with anxiety and bi polar brought a lot of relief to my life. At least I knew the reason as to why he could be so horrible sometimes. And so amazing at others. His diagnosis and medication began to change the family dynamic but it didn’t heal the pain of 22 years.

As an adult I now understand that just because you are a parent doesn’t mean that you have it all worked out. I understand that everyone is fighting their own battles and that my parents did all that they could for me. I am thankful for them in so many ways and yet I cannot shake this deep feeling of, what? hate? anger? I think I am hurt. I think there is a part of 12 year old me wondering why my Dad would tell me I wasn’t smart enough to be a Vet. There is a part of me that cannot forget my mothers words at 16 telling me they knew I was sick years ago but never did anything about it. I cannot forget the fear I felt as child whenever Dad opened a bottle of scotch and turned the music up loud.
How does one forgive and move on? How do I let him into my life, there is a part of me that wishes we could be close but then I recoil, not wanting to hear his opinion on how I should live my life. But then, what if his 33 years of heavy smoking catch up to him and I have no time left? Will I really sit here in the past not moving forward simply because I am scared?

I am not sure what to do or how to move forward, all I can do at the moment is keep the lines of communication open as best as I can and hope that one day these walls will be broken down.

With love.

I once read that people don’t desire to be loved, they desire to be understood. That you may love someone without understanding them as we often perceive people to be not who they are. This resonated with me as I think my greatest struggle in life is being understood and learning to understand others. As soon as I know why someone is the way they are I can forgive them for their callous actions. Without this, I live in a haze of confusion and anxiety. Quite often I have placed people on a pedestal, loving them for who I want them to be and being so deeply wounded when they don’t live up to that standard. This is not fair for anyone involved.
I believe this is also the reason why I write. I want to be understood and the words flow out through my fingertips far better then they ever could from my mouth. I hide behind the written word, there is no need for me to look someone in the eyes and open my heart, I do not have to face the prospect of being turned down, misunderstood or disappointed. The written word is my blanket, speaking provides no such blanket for me and without it I cannot bear to function.
Now I know this is not healthy, one needs to speak their mind in order to get what they want and have others know how they feel. I know I need to suck it up and conquer my fear and simply let my thoughts flow out of my mouth.. however I feel that I am not ready for this right now. I will sit here behind my computer and try my best to explain why I am the way I am and why I am filled with uncertainty.

Where do I begin?

Do I start from the beginning and talk about the first relationship with a man every girl has? Their father? I know without a doubt that many issues I have in relationships stems from him. That’s only natural. My father taught me, whether he wanted to or not, that the man is the dominate one in the relationship. He taught me to fear the anger of men and taught me that often speaking your mind is not always the best idea. I grew up fearing my Dad and loving him at the same time. Quite a weird combination for a child and sadly I still carry this with me in life. I never felt like I was good enough for him, whenever I tried to stand my ground I felt like I was crushed. Now as an adult I see that he had his own issues to deal with and he just wanted the best for me.. but it is hard to forget the countless arguments and the fear I felt inside when he lost his shit. I spent many years walking on egg shells because of him.. something I still do to this day.
I think this is why any time a males tone of voice turns to one of frustration or anger I instantly recoil and cry. It’s like the child in me comes out again. I hate fighting, I hate knowing that my love is angry at me, I hate any form of conflict.

Then there was the first real relationship I ever had. I was young and naïve and didn’t know a thing about relationships except I thought that love could conquer all. You know this story all too well and I know that so many years later I should be able to shrug off this time of my life as holding no importance but I think this relationship helped define me in many ways. It taught me to question everything, that often people lie to you and no matter how good of a person you are, they will still betray you. It taught me that men will say and do whatever they need to, for sex. That no matter how right you are, they will not let you win because they are too afraid to admit their own faults. For a long time, I believed that there was something wrong with me, that maybe I wasn’t good enough, from my weight to the bedroom, I felt that I must be the reason this happened. I know that this is not true, that cheating is a reflection on the person them self rather than the partner but the pain of the act stays with me far longer than it would with him.
My greatest fear since this time is allowing myself to go through this again. I know that I wasn’t completely faultless and I stayed far longer than I should have. I know that I kept going back, I almost wanted the pain. I knew in my heart that I was being lied to, but I held onto my childhood fantasies of love and belief that no one could possibly be so cruel. I believed I was loved back. I also believed that I may not ever find someone else again.

Without going on about this too much, I feel like the limited experience that I have had with men has not been a great one. For someone like me who is very emotional and feels quite deeply, it is hard to let go of these feelings. I am terrified of letting myself go freely in case it turns out that I am yet again in the same spot.

Where do you fit in?
Ahh my sweet amazing sexy pants. I remember the first time I knew without fail I loved you. I had landed from Europe and I was sitting in the park and there you were, walking shirtless down the road, your hair glistening in the sun, oblivious to me watching. Your muscles rippling, tanned skin inviting me in.. I stared at you from across the street and my heart raced.. I wanted you then and there, I couldn’t believe you were mine, how could I get you? Why did you want little old me? How did I manage to score you after all these years?
You were the one. I wanted to devour you and yet I was scared of showing too much emotion in case it wasn’t real.
I think that sums up my feelings for you, so scared of losing you, gaining you, what it meant, how I feel, where we are going.
Then you loved me too. Ahh that sweet moment of when you first said those three little words that carry so much meaning, I love you. My heart exploded. Could this be real? Did I find my true love? Does he mean this? Let’s forget about how we got here, let’s forget about the lies and the deceit and just enjoy the fact that you love me.

I often wish we got together on better terms, I think some of my issues would have eased if we had. It is difficult forgetting what you did in the past and more importantly I struggle with knowing that I am no different to the women of your past. Who am I to change your ways? What did they ever do to deserve being cheated and lied to? Perhaps this is karma’s way of playing a cruel joke on you.. here fall in love with Jess! Take this bruised woman and try and repent! Hahaha she laughs in your face, you thought you got away with it but oh no, sorry, all of those lies you said in the past? Well now you need to convince her that you are different. Good luck!
Life is funny like that.

Karma is a bitch and I am sorry you have to deal with me sometimes. I do believe that I am a great partner and together we have so much potential. I am just crippled by fear at the thought of us not working out.
My greatest concern with us is whether or not I am or will be enough for you. Here you are, quite liberal and free thinking, with so much experience in ways that I could only dream of. I am the vanilla to your chocolate rainbow swirls with macadamias thrown in for fun. I cannot compete with that. Will I be enough for you? Will you tire of the same old me and yearn for something more? Most people who know you would probably not say that you are one to settle with one woman. Most would not expect you to spend the rest of your life with the same woman and be faithful. Not to say the everyone believes you cannot be faithful, but people may expect you to be in an open relationship, a swinger, someone that is honest about your sexual needs and chooses a woman who matches that. I do not think I am that woman.
Ever since I was a little girl, I have fantasied about my knight in shining armour, fell in love with Disney and the romance of all they bring. I wanted to be whisked off my feet, loved without fail and loved singularly forever. I still want that. Can you do that for me?

I ask these questions for a variety of reasons but mostly I ask because I have started to work on myself and who I am. For so many years I let alcohol and drugs define me and I hid behind these so no one could get too close. Everyone loved party Jess.
I am now at an age when it is not acceptable to be drinking until I pass out or spend my night behind a toilet bowl. I no longer like party Jess and need to start defining myself in other ways. I know I need hobbies and I feel like I have made great improvements this year at changing my life. I know I have so much further to go but I am really giving this all I have. I want to be a better person, for myself and for you.

So I sit here, opening my heart and expressing myself in the only way I know how and I am sorry. I am sorry that you ended up with someone who can be so closed and confused and mirrors all the things you do not like about women. I am sorry that doubt runs through my mind and I am sorry I shut you out. So now I am asking you my dear love, have you thought about the future? Have you thought about having only me to lie in bed with and how that makes you feel? Do you think you can possibly stay with me for the rest of your life and not be tempted? Do you think you can control yourself if ever presented with the opportunity to be with another?

I know I can be, I know in every fibre of my being that you can be enough for me physically, mentally and emotionally. Being with you has been one of the most challenging chapters of my life, you push me to move forward and think in different ways. You make me laugh everyday and your smile is enough to make me forget any anger that I have towards you. I love you, I know you love me. I have never once doubted our love for each other but I am older now and I know that love is not necessarily all you need to make a relationship work. I also understand that monogamy isn’t for everyone, I understand that people can separate sex and love. I understand that my beliefs may not suit others. However I also know without a doubt that I cannot separate these too and I feel that perhaps you can.

So my dear sexy pants, this is what I think when I drift off and seem so far away from reality. I am trying to put together the puzzle pieces that is life and love and figuring out where I stand. I know that we are ever changing and I may not be the same person this year nor the next and relationships are about working together towards a similar goal. I just think maybe we need to figure out what these goals are and decide if we are even on the same path to begin with. If we are, then I promise to give it all I have, I will work at making this an amazing adventure. I just need to know I have your 100% commitment and support in return.

My safety jacket.. oh how I loathe you

I have never had a healthy relationship with alcohol. From the very first time I drank I smashed my head on a wine glass to ten years later, still falling over and ending the night with my head in a toilet bowl.. yes I think it is safe to say alcohol and I have never really gotten along.

From the age of 16 I used alcohol as a mask, it created a false sense of security in me that allowed me to step outside of my cocoon and step into this world of boys, parties, music and drugs. Each sip I took allowed me to gain the strength to talk to that cute boy I had been eyeing off in the corner, allowed me to enter the dance floor and let the rhythm of the music take over my body and provided a fake sense of belonging and trust.

See, when I was 16, I didn’t know who I was, what I wanted or where I wanted to go. I struggled keeping friends, making them was strangely easy, people have always gravitated towards me, wanting to take me under their wing and become their best friend. Problem was, I was always searching for something more, climbing the social ladder that is high school and feeling inadequate at every turn. I never felt like I truly fit in, no one understood me and my social anxiety prevented me from ever opening up and allowing anyone in.

This is where alcohol came in, it gave me this strange sense of confidence where I felt as though I had friends, had found a place where people responded positively to me because I could do the most beer bongs and my silly drunken behaviour made people laugh and smile. Over the years I created a persona, this girl that was a little bit ditzy and would do and say silly things when drunk and for whatever reason people responded to that. People wanted to be my friend; they wanted me to bring my drunk self along as that was the most entertaining. I grew to love alcohol as it gave me this life, a life that could never have existed without it as behind closed doors I was that quiet girl that felt like I couldn’t even make eye contact with the shop keeper for fear of being judged. Without alcohol, I was lost, wandering along feeling confused about my own self-worth with uncertainty clouding my every turn. Without alcohol, I couldn’t socialise, I didn’t have this natural ability to spark conversation and make people laugh. Without alcohol, I was no one.

Recently I have been doing a lot of thinking about my life, where I want to go and who I want to be. Some days I feel like I have made progress that I know who I am and feel confident with my choices. Other days I feel like sitting on the bathroom floor with a glass of wine in hand drowning my sorrows to the sound of love song dedications. See, that’s the thing with alcohol and I. It is my go to when I want to get out there and meet new people, then it’s also my go to when I feel like my world has fallen apart. I have always used alcohol as an emotional blanket, numbing my pain or increasing my confidence. I have tackled few things in life without it.

However I am now 26 and think that it’s time I start figuring things out the normal way right? I am getting a bit too old to be ending my nights crying at the drop of a hat and waking up with no memory. Learning ones limits is a very difficult task, especially when having no limits has been part of the reason as to why you are the way you are. When I think about what I enjoy, what I truly enjoy deep down, I think about being captivated by a book, watching 14 hours of a tv show and eating chicken laksa soup. I think about runs along the beach, freshly painted nails and winter jackets. I think about my family, seeing my sister laugh and grow, seeing my parents giggle in the kitchen. I think about my friends, the ones whose friendships weren’t based on alcohol or partying. The friendships that are based on personal growth, love, wanting each other to succeed and be happy. More than anything, I think about my relationship, how there is no one else in this world that I feel truly comfortable with. The way he makes me laugh and smile, his goofiness and tender touch, he makes me want to be a better person, a better drunk!

These are the things in life that I need and want. Does anything else matter? Does it matter that I am closed off to meeting new people when I already have amazing people in my life? Perhaps if I could summon up the strength to get out there and talk to people while sober I would make new friends, friends that are not a part of the party world and can show me a new side to life. Is that what I want though? I often feel like I am being pulled in so many directions by the people who are already in my life, people wanting my time and energy and very few of them actually I actually like. I don’t have the mental energy to let anyone else in.

I think part of the reason as to why I hold onto alcohol as my saviour and the environment that one binge drinks, is because I know nothing else. How could I possibly fit into an environment where people tackle the important issues of the world, discussing politics and religion and renaissance art when all I know is that Lyndsay Lohan is in jail again. On the one hand I want to meet people where meaningful conversations are had, learn about one another and hear their life’s story… then on the other I want to hide away all my thoughts and throw on my alcohol blanket and be that girl that no one thinks has too much substance. At least that girl is safe, if people don’t like her I can pass it off as them not knowing who I really am. What if they hear my darkest thoughts and deepest secrets and don’t like me? The thought of that makes me feel physically ill.

For some reason I haven’t quite moved on from those insecurities I had at 16, it doesn’t consume me the way it once did but I haven’t allowed myself to fully grasp the fact that it’s OK to not be liked. It’s OK if you can’t please everyone and it’s most important to be yourself. I need to accept the fact that it’s OK to not be social too, I don’t have to do something because everyone else is, more often than not, those nights are full of meaningless conversations and blurred memories and staying at home is a far better option anyway.

My dear friend alcohol, perhaps after ten years it is time to develop a mature relationship. Perhaps we should have a chat and talk about how this is working for both of us. Perhaps I should grow some balls and let go of my younger self and embrace a new stage in life. Perhaps I should just learn how to have two glasses of your delicious taste and then say goodnight.

 

 

Powerful words from Tom Meagher.. Must read

For those that do not know this man, Tom Meagher  had his wife savagely taken away from him in 2012. The below link is to his piece in the White Ribbon Campaign which aims at increasing awareness of violence against women.

It’s a powerful piece of writing that everyone needs to read.

http://whiteribbonblog.com/2014/04/17/the-danger-of-the-monster-myth/