Eating again

One of the unfortunate side effects of my anxiety is the distinct lack of appetite caused by intense nausea. This, in turn is directly linked to how stressed out I am.

In short, while some people comfort eat when stressed, I almost stop eating all together.

And it’s not a diet because I’m not trying to lose weight. I like my body how it is!

There was a time over last summer where my anxiety hit new highs. I had just started working, which was stressful, and was getting the bus to town nearly everyday, which is enough in itself to send me to a spiraling pit of self destruction, so I was feeling ill constantly.

Which meant I was eating… maybe… one full meal a day? And surviving off crisps and cereal bars for the other two ‘meals’.

Since then, it’s never been so bad. Usually, I eat two meals and a snack if I remember.

Until recently. I should be incredibly stressed, because uni work is amping up, I haven’t done much work on my project at all recently, my presentation on Tuesday sucked and we’re going to court tomorrow morning!

But I’ve been eating three meals a day. What’s more; I’ve been having breakfast, which I haven’t eaten regularly since year 9.

I feel good. I don’t feel stressed. I’m scared about how long I have before this goes belly up and I go back to the nausea and sleeplessness.

Cutting my hair… again.

If you go back through my blog, you might find the first post I did about cutting my hair for my BEDIN challenge.

I have since cut my hair EVEN SHORTER – to the point where I’m not even sure if I like it this length.

No, I’m not going through a rough breakup. No, I’m not trying to find myself. No, I didn’t do it to ‘be more gay.’ Well… not intentionally.

I’m no psychologist, but I think the reason runs a bit deeper.

See, I’m a bit of a control freak. I like plans, organisation, structure. When things change, it makes me very panicky and anxious, because I don’t have a planned reaction to this brand new situation.

This is just who I am as a person; I’m working on being better, but let’s assume I’m not going to alter this core aspect of my personality overnight, okay?

So. There is a deep need for control. HOWEVER, it’s very exhausting to be like this all the time. I think that’s why I’ve been feeling really bad these past few weeks, really zoned out and anxious – because I’ve been wound so tightly.

Because I woke up feeling awful on Thursday morning, I acted without thinking. I just pulled the scissors out and started hacking at my hair and suddenly it’s too short to even put up in a ponytail.

The weird part? I felt a whole lot better the second it was gone.

Irrational behaviour done.

Back to planning out my life.

‘Children’ vs ‘Adult’ books… Or, you know. Just books.

As much as I love music, people, and Nutella, the greatest love of my life has been, and will always be, books.

That’s just how it is. The feeling of finishing a book for the first time, and the emptiness you’re left with is a kind of masochistic addiction that I always need more of.

And, look, I’ve tried to be a book snob. I love Dorian Gray and Great Expectations as much as anyone!

But reading classics is like eating an entire cake; it seems like a great idea at first, and you’re really into it! But the novelty quickly wears off, and you’re left feeling a little ill and wishing you had chosen to do anything but that. Yet now the challenge has started and god damn it, you have to finish this entire cake.

But there is a certain prestige that comes with reading The Three Musketeers, and The Odyssey, and Hamlet, when you’re not studying them in school. I would love to be able to read them, remember what happens, and pretend to sound like an intellectual. I have a theory that people read these kinds of books for the ‘stimulating thoughts’ they get from them.

Personally, I’d rather read something fun, but if you want to ‘grow’ your ideas and ‘mature’ as a person, then be my guest!

Though, children’s lit does this too, at a child’s level. Still discussions of death, of living life while you can, of discrimination, abuse, love, hate, war… just, in fewer, easier to understand words.

Same software, different casing, right?

This is why Rick Riordan, Anthony Horowitz, Michael Scott and Lemony Snicket will always be on my list of favourite authors. They tell adult stories in a kid friendly way. They don’t talk down to kids, they don’t patronize them. They simply make the same themes more accessible and easier to read.

And how could I not look up to these authors when I’m trying to do the same dang thing?




Depressed Studying

So this is probably the first time I’ve recognised depression as depression. I’m still not entirely sure why; maybe I’m getting better at noticing the shitty feelings I get?

Regardless, life goes on.

The last time I felt like this – the infamous Year 12 disaster – I didn’t know what it was. I took endless mental health days and basically kept saying “I’ll do it when I feel better.”

I don’t yet know all of the direct links to my mental health, but I know workload is one of them. The more I left, the worse I ended up feeling, so the more I left.

Which is why I’m currently in the university library about to bash out some words for this podcasting project, despite not wanting to do anything except lie in bed.

Even if I force myself to type some utter crap, something so bad if anyone read it I would be put on publishers’ blacklists, it’s still something.

It’s something more than I would have had, and less work for me later.

Sorry, I’m not saying this is a way out of feeling like crap. It really isn’t – I’m still numb and will probably be for a while. But this helps me. Or, maybe it doesn’t. Maybe this is depression’s best friend anxiety STILL worrying about this project even though it’s not due till may and I haven’t yet done the work that is due for this Wednesday.

Who knows. But that’s where I’m at, mentally. I hope you’re doing better.


Anxiety makes it nigh impossible to avoid thoughts and feelings.

There’s always something to worry about, something that takes up far too much time and energy, something that, perhaps, you don’t necessarily need to worry about. But when you’ve had it for a few years, you learn to live with it. If it weren’t such a distraction, I might find the constant pressure useful, and turn it into something productive.

Think of it like a wind up toy; for the past 2 and a bit years, I’ve been wound up so much that, eventually, I’m released and just spin out of control (this is how panic attacks happen!)

Now though… it’s different. I’m not wound up, I’m not spinning out of control.

There’s nothing there.

Don’t get me wrong, I know there’s things I need to worry about – like the radio package due tomorrow morning that I haven’t done yet – but I can’t bring myself to care. I just… I just don’t. And that terrifies me, because that’s where I was in AS levels.

Things aren’t great right now, but other people have it worse, so what do I know? Should I even be complaining about this now, when there’s so much going on, when my family are hurting, and I’m bitching about… It doesn’t matter.

I wanted to get something out. Sorry I have to share it here.

I saved this as “gay ass poem.”

My first kiss was with a girl.

Aged 11, a friend’s house, we swear to never tell
anyone of this,
a pact made by 6 of us,
just wondering,
just curious.

And, in my defence, it has taken 8 years to even write of it;
Time has passed so rapidly, I’m not sure if the others,
self-named straight girls, even remember that night,
for them, a blurred memory buried deep with
play-doh fears and lego stacked dreams,

for me, 8 years of ignoring half of myself;
8 years of “crush or friend?”
And I suppose it’s funny, because
When I kissed a boy a year later, it was a huge deal
Pressure of friends expectantly watching, daring me, laughing at my
the buried fear that they would find out;
us dorky queers are taunted enough at school.

But none of that aged 11.
None of that at my queer revelation.
No wondering, just wonder.
No longer curious, but satisfied

in the knowledge that no one would know how much I liked
the smooth softness
and long hair
and sunshine that radiated from her.

I don’t remember which of the others I kissed –
8 years is a long time to sit on a memory
and now I will never remember my first kiss,
stolen from me by fear and time and a promise I no longer
have the patience to keep.

Where have I been?

Happy 2k17 guys! I’m about 17 days too late in saying this, but I think I have pretty good excuses for not blogging, in my defense.

First off, it was the Christmas holidays. After a semester of basically nothing but blogging – in the form of this corner of the internet right here, and uni assignments –  I though I was entitled to a bit of time off thank you very much.

I was going to post in the week between Christmas and New Year, but I ended up working for most of that week, and wasn’t really up for much blogging; my creative energies had been wiped out of me by crying children and endless boxes of shoes.

Then I celebrated the new year by coming down with the worst case of flu I’ve had since I was a kid. Genuinely, I had headaches, body aches, a fever dream, the whole shebang. I couldn’t get out of bed for a solid week and was in pjs for around 10 days.

So wasn’t really up for writing at the time.

THEN I move back to Halls, ready to start my anxiety fuelled productive lifestyle once more, when my laptop won’t connect to the internet. Today was the first day it’s been fixed and here I am, uploading literally minutes after the IT people leave.

So that’s where I’ve been; working and ill. It was nice to be at home for that long though – I was there a full month – and I watched so many films and so much tv I’m surprised my eyes aren’t square!

I also read many books, and there will be a post defending my stance of reading children’s books as an adult coming soon. I just have to figure out how to phrase my adoration of Rick Riordan’s books without sounding like a crazed fan…