3rd Year, You Are Going To Kill Me!!

I had such high hopes for 3rd year. I had witnessed two groups ahead of me doing this year and from them I thought the year sounded interesting. I mean this is the year I finally got to do a script writing module which was exciting and fun for about 3 weeks but then it lost its appeal, but I’ll come back to that!

4 out of 6 of my modules have group projects. This might not be two bad if the groups were more varied and I had a chance to work with a lot of different people because right now having mostly the same groups for 3 of these groups is confusing. For two of them I don’t have so much of a problem with the group thing because I do think it’s necessary in order to get the project done right. What I can’t stand is the need for Media Writing, my script writing module, being s group project. The group component of this too is a big part of the overall final grade which, I’m sorry, is utter bullshit. This project is writing a script plus a few other things for a 10 minute feature. Could someone please explain to me the absolute necessity why this needs to be a group project??  I would gladly write that myself. This isn’t because I have an idea that I’m “really precious and protective over” like my lecturer asked me multiple times, as if I’m actually the problem as to why this group dynamic isn’t working. Ever since I was in junior infants, I’ve had a massive fear of every authority figure. Since being in college, I’ve been finding it a bit easier to deal with authority figures because I’ve had lecturers that are respectful, understanding and that listen. That was up until yesterday when a lecturer approached me and addressed a problem I had with my group which I had emailed her about the night before. First of all, it was the day of the college open day which I was working for so I thought it was extremely inappropriate to bring up the subject while I was working at the stand for my course. I also felt very intimidated and small because I was sitting down and she was standing over me. It also seemed like she was very close to my face but that was probably because the place was loud with students and music. All those things made me feel uncomfortable especially the last thing because I don’t like eye contact and because she was so close to me I couldn’t avoid it and she was talking to me for much too long. She kept saying things to me like “in a real job you’ll have to deal with loads of people you don’t like and you’ll just have to deal with it”. I’m sick of this excuse. I’ve been in this course for 3 years, I get that’s what a real job will be like but guess what? This is not a real job, it is a college course. Being a college student isn’t cheap and I expect to get the most out of my education. I’d would have expected my lecturers would want me to succeed, but I guess that’s not always the case. My grade in this particular module would be so much better if I was in a different group, or better yet by myself. Also I should mention that my current ambition for when I finish my course is to be a script writer for TV so this module was the one I was the most excited for and should have been the most beneficial for me but unfortunately that’s not the case. When I finished having this super unhelpful “conversation” with that lecturer I ran into on if the recording booths in the radio studio and burst into tears. Not because I can’t change groups but the fact that now that the lecturer has told me not only by email but also now face to face, I can’t take this any further, to any higher power within the college. 

I have never asked for much since starting this course. Rarely have I ever asked for extensions, and this is the VERY FIRST TIME I have asked to change a group. The argument that the other groups are much further along in their story development shouldn’t matter because most of them have not even started to write anything yet. She tells me that she’s sympathetic but she shows me that she’s far from that. I guess now would be a good time to let my script writing dream die because this module is killing my love for that, and my love for other things as well. 

Another reason as to why I’m currently hating 3rd year, is because of another lecturer. I won’t even mention what they teach because you don’t need to know who they are and it’s not like they teach me anything in that module. I’ve skipped a lot of these classes because the lecturer makes me so angry and what makes me angry also is that my classmates have the ability to laugh at what he says because of how ridiculous it all is. I wish I had that ability because it would make my life so much easier. However, I can’t laugh at constant racist remarks, stories and videos he has us watch. I get angry at this and also the pointlessness of having 3 hours of this module a week and not learning a single thing. 

These last couple of weeks, I’ve started to feel invisible again like I’m starting to fade away again. I feel like my voice isn’t heard and therefore my voice is not important, not that I’ve ever thought it was. I’m glad I have a support system there to help me because if I didn’t I definitely would have given up by now. I am currently physically, mentally and emotionally drained. I’ve also been feeling a bit disconnected and less of a human when I’m in college and more of a number on a page. 


Should I Tell My Parents About My Ongoing Mental Health Problems?

This isn’t a question in which I want your answer. I know what you’re going to say. You are going to say that I should tell them because it’s better to be open and honest about these things otherwise I’m bottling things in and keeping secrets from them. However, my answer would be no, I shouldn’t tell them. I feel very strongly about this and while no one is forcing me to tell them or telling me that I have to do it, I feel like there is a strong sense of annoyance/confusion as to why I won’t tell them.

My relationship with my parents has changed a lot throughout the years and the main thing I have learned is that they won’t find things funny the way I do and they have concerns over certain things I do. I get it. They care about me, they only want what’s best for me and all that shite. I used to tell my parents everything. Everything that happened at school. Every conversation I had with my friends. Every fight and confrontation I had. Everything I was feeling. I reckon I stopped doing this when I was in around 2nd year of secondary school so like 5/6 years ago. Sometimes they would be supportive and helpful and I might even feel better. However, a majority of the time anything that happened to me was my fault. When my friends left me, at the end of first year because they realised they didn’t like me anymore, I got zero sympathy from my parents in the beginning. That was the point in time in which I was most upset about the situation. They kept asking me what I did wrong. They kept saying is was up to me to fix it and I should try really hard to make things right. They couldn’t wrap their heads around the fact that I did nothing wrong. My friends and I just grew apart and we all knew that nothing was going to fix that. That event in my life has shaped a lot about how I am as a person now. How I handle and portray my emotions is always linked to that. The fact that I have the constant fear of that happening again. The fact that I do things that would actually now give someone the reason to leave me because I push people away because I don’t want to be hurt again.

When they finally began to accept that my friends were now gone out of my life and I was left with no one they started to go a little easier on me. I wasn’t blamed as much. Anytime I went to school, and still to this day , they would ask me “So, who were hanging out with in school today?” During that time and for the following few years the answer would either be no one, which they disliked because they want me becoming the loner which I did become, or else I would have actually been with people in my class that I got on with but never really connected with to a great extent. The second one made them happier because their child was normal, their child had friends or at least friends according to my parents. It was that point on that I went through my angst ridden teenage stage of “my parents just don’t understand me”. Which I still feel like they don’t but I pick and choose now what I tell them about. For me, this is a lot easier. If I did tell them everything that has been going on, I would be riddled with questions especially by my mother. My mother wrecks my head enough as is, I don’t need that getting any worse. She has this ability of making me feel really bad even when I’m having the best day. Either by giving out to me for some reason or another, or else telling me all the little things I need to do that have no real purpose. Practically all the reasons I don’t want to tell my parents about any of this relate to my mother because she’s the one that would just make this all a lot worse.

With that in mind, another reason as to why I don’t want to tell them is, their perceptions of mental health. My mother always says things whenever that topic comes up being like “Well thank god you and your brother don’t have any problems like that.” I’m pretty sure one of the times she said this she also then said “I don’t know how we’d cope” as in how they would cope with my brother or I having problems. As if, the burden is on them and they are the ones dealing with a mind of chaos and sadness. Anytime I have told my mother about any friends I have that have gone through things, she always have a judging look on her face and I think has questioned the odd time whether they are a good person for me to be hanging around with because what if it rubs off on me. What if I get infected by the treacherous depression virus or self-harmitis. I’ve definitely been told a few times to be careful around said people and to yes be there for them and support them but not to any massive capacity. I think my mother’s logic when is comes to this is that if someone’s mental health is bad they’re going to be that way forever so there’s not much help you can be to someone.

Even when I do nothing wrong I can still get in trouble. If I get home on the late bus from college I can get in trouble. I’m sorry I’m focused on my education, I’m sorry I can’t get a job to support myself, I’m sorry if I’m tired when I get home and are less than talkative. I have a life to live and I shouldn’t have to follow a set of guidelines that my parents have set for me. I’m sorry I can’t pass every exam I ever do. I’m sorry that I’m a disappointment and not going to go on to become some scientist or science lecturer in the years to come like my brother probably will as he will soon be starting his PhD. I’m sorry I chose a course that has no definite promise of a job at the end. I’m sorry I don’t have a passion for anything. I’m sorry I’d rather spend some nights with my friends instead of you. I’m sorry I want to live a life that is mine. I’m sorry that I’m me and I’m not more like this girl or this daughter of one of your friends who is going off right now to do great things. I’m sorry I want to write and probably not make money for a good couple of years if that is the career path I choose to take. I’m sorry I want to be so involved in the student movement. I don’t want to feel sorry for having bad mental health yes part of it is my own fault but not entirely. It’s been effected by an accumulation of events and moments from the last 19 years. I don’t want to feel sorry for trying to get help on my own with your permission. You just would have forced me to go see your doctor who I have never met and have no intention of meeting.

If I told my parents what’s wrong with me, I think my home would feel like a prison. They wouldn’t know what to do with me so they probably would be very cautious about where they would let me go and would probably make sure I was supervised at all times. I already feel trapped in this house at times, I don’t want that to get worse. They might stop me from seeing certain people because they might have influenced my bad mental health either because of their own struggles or else for no reason at all. You might wonder how they could control all these things but believe me they would find a way.

This whole thing might sound confusing and not make sense to anyone. This could be just one long ramble of nothingness but I feel like it makes enough sense and I can’t change how I feel about this and I don’t think anyone can talk me into changing my mind. If I do ever tell them it will be in my own time which probably will be another few years away yet. While I might not be the best one to make this judgment because I’m biased and want to assure people that this isn’t a problem, me not telling my parents about this stuff is actually better for my mental health. You might not think it does but maybe I’m just a pro at hiding things. I do it everyday! I don’t have the energy right now to stand my ground and defend MY feelings and MY emotions to my parents. They would try to fight me on it in some way and I just can’t have that in my life right now because it will just make things worse. I’d appreciate anyone who decided to read this not to fight me on this either. I don’t mind if you ask me if I’ve told them, but please don’t tell me that I should tell them at least not more than once. If you’ve made your point once, I have heard it, I don’t block these things out and I have a good memory. I will remember what you told me. I know you are saying it because you think I will benefit from it but please hear me out when I tell you that I won’t.

Sometimes I Need a Break!

Usually when it comes to any time off from college I get sad because I will miss all my friends and having something to do everyday. This time around I couldn’t be more thankful to have some time off not only from college but from people as well. Since I have social anxiety, I tend to use a lot of my energy to try to stay calm and to talk normally in social situations. Hence why I’ve been so tired lately, because these social interactions over the last 2-3 weeks have gotten a lot more strenuous and difficult to deal with. I have been made feel like an idiot, like I’m invisible and like my opinion is not valid on any subject matter including myself. Like it’s something serious when someone shuts down how you identify personally because they think your something else and refuse to believe that you’re being honest.

I got told during this week that I’m not actually a lesbian, I’m apparently bisexual. I’ve been told to just let it go and not think about it but I can’t. It isn’t that simple. I have questioned my sexuality for about 6 years and I’ve been at the conclusion that I’m definitely a lesbian for about the last year really. I have thought I was bisexual at different stages but I have realised that if I labelled myself as that I would just be lying because while I can appreciate a good-looking guy who could be boyfriend material to someone, I could never see myself kissing, let alone dating a guy. The person who told me I was bisexual used a joke I made about wanting to get with a guy because I liked the smell of his deodorant. It was a joke for a reason and I know that person has a hard time understanding any jokes I make especially, she also has other evidence about “the guys I fancy” that she refuses to tell me. It’s  been in my mind so much that last night I had a dream where I had a one night stand with a guy and got pregnant and had a baby. Eventually deciding to get into a relationship with the father after having to choose between him and a woman who I had also been attracted to. It seemed like a bunch of random people in my dream and all. I’ve never wanted a child but in the dream it started off focusing on my relationship with a guy but about half through began to focus on my pursuit as a mother. This dream baby obviously was invincible because I left it in alone for 3 days until I actually started to take responsibility for it. I gave the baby milk then realised that where the baby had been left had affected the skin on their face so I used like baby lotion to try to make that better. Then the next thing I had to do was get a lift to the shop and buy nappies. I got a lift from a friend and while the baby was in a car seat for the entirety of the dream (I refused to take it out for some reason, probably for fear that I would drop it). Even in the car though I held onto the car seat so I could keep looking at the baby and have their hand wrapped around my finger. I felt very maternal and it’s something I’ve never experienced before. I was also sitting in the back of the car and had to remind my friend who was driving that I was holding a child and not to go speeding or brake quickly in the event that the baby would get hurt. Even after this dream, I still don’t  want a child and I still am in no way looking for a relationship with a man. More than anything the dream scared me. I’m good at acting like an adult when I have to and putting on a serious front but not to that extent. I mean I went with the father because I wanted help with the child not because I actually loved him. Dream me was in love with some woman with long blonde hair and possibly had glasses, I don’t know she appeared in the dream very briefly. I woke up and I felt kind of anxious but I also really wanted to talk to someone about my dream but like most people hate hearing about dreams. That’s why I wrote it in this blog instead of calling someone who’s probably busy. Also in case you’re wondering, the baby was a girl and she had no name.

To go back to the point of this blog, I have been extremely frustrated for the last few weeks. Anything I say in anger as been taken too seriously and people have thought of me as being completely inconsiderate and ignorant whereas I sometimes have to point out a bad thing from the situation before I can move on whether this bad thing actually affects me or not. Another reason I have been frustrated is because anything I’ve said has been ignored or laughed at in a group situation. Nothing I said was taken seriously and it made me feel like everything I was saying was wrong and that it would just be more beneficial to everyone if I just stayed quiet and out of the way. I got told by the same girl who told me I wasn’t a lesbian, that I was mean to her lately. Anyone who knows me knows that I am never mean to people because God knows I’ve been bullied enough and laughed at that I wouldn’t want anyone to feel like the piece of shit that I have always felt that I am. What reason would I have to be mean to someone, I hadn’t even talked to her that much that week because in the evenings instead of being down in the kitchen like normal and hanging out with people in my student accommodation, I was up in my room trying to sleep or just relaxing because I was so tired from all the energy I had been used while at college. I’ve nearly cried so many times over the past few weeks just out of frustration of not being listened to and treated like I’m just some idiot that knows nothing. I decided that for my week off, I’m going to isolate myself as much as I can because that’s what I do when I feel ignored or invisible, I take it upon myself to make that a reality. People might forget that I exist would be a good thing for them, give them one less thing to worry about. I think people are finding it harder and harder to deal with my mood swings and irrational behavior recently. I can’t help the way I feel about certain things. I am tired of being thought of as an idiot. I think about anything that people say to me a lot and I can’t help but overthink it. I have insecurities that I’ve developed over the years just by one very small comment that has been made to me. When I was about 5 or 6 years old I was cycling my bike in my estate and a girl who was younger than me called me big ears and Dumbo and since then I’ve always thought that my ears were too big and one of the many reason why I will never cut my hair really short. When I was about 11 or 12 I think someone looked at my eyelashes and said “Oh, you have light brown eyelashes, interesting.” They genuinely just found it interesting because it was different to theirs but I took it as “Oh your eyelashes are different to the norm you are some kind of weird looking alien.” Therefore some morning when I go to college and I think my eyelashes look too light coloured I put on mascara so I can change them to black and not have to worry about someone saying anything about them. If that isn’t proof of how much things can affect me than I don’t know what is. I don’t think anyone ever understands how much even the smallest comment can affect and how sometimes things that might sound worse won’t affect me at all.

I went out Thursday night and put up a snapchat when I went home saying that I had a shit night and I didn’t want anyone from college to contact me on the week off. I should have prefaced this saying that it was my own fault that I had a shit night because I drank too much of the wrong drink and I could hardly see straight. Also I just felt really out of place from the moment we stepped into the nightclub. I really should have stayed at home and not gone out but I had already bought my ticket so I didn’t want to stay in because of that. I was asked to help with one of my friends FYP’s during the week off, just to go in for a few minutes to film a quick thing. I have no problem doing it whatsoever. I will go crazy at being at home for a week, but I would also go crazy being at college for a week but being there for a day will be grand. However, again the girl who said I wasn’t a lesbian, and that I was being mean, told me that “There is already like 5 of us doing it, it would be a waste of your time coming in to do it.” WELL NOBODY FUCKING ASKED FOR YOUR OPINION BITCH!!!!  IS IT YOUR FUCKING FYP???NO, I DIDN’T FUCKING THINK SO!!!!!! While I say I need a break from people in general at the moment, like social interactions and stuff, I really just need a break from that one person because she is wrecking my head. If I wanted someone to tell me that everything I do, say, think, and believe is wrong, I would have asked for her opinion but I didn’t she just feels the need to let me know that I’m wrong on a constant basis. Thanks girl, appreciate it so much!! (*SARCASM*)


Why So Serious?

I’ve been told for years that I am serious. This was always meant in a bad way. I was always “too” serious and unable to take a joke. First of all boy (because it was typically boys who told me this) please explain to me how your  way of making me feel like complete shit is in any way a joke. I like to think of myself as someone well versed in comedy and what is and is not a joke. Those boys never made good jokes,  and very rarely they actually made something that could constitute as a joke. I went home crying in floods of tears while they went home laughing each day because once they had berated me for not “getting” the “joke” they would laugh their ass’ off all the way home. I was only in primary school and I was forced to go through this and my friends at the time were no help whatsoever. They even laughed along with those guys most of the time. They too would tell me either to lighten up a bit or laugh it off. They wouldn’t listen when I told them how the guys’ comments hurt me. They told me I was over-exaggerating and that those comments weren’t that mean so it’s impossible for you to actually be upset by them. Aren’t friends really something? This being the beginning of when I started to believe that no emotion or opinion of mine had any validity. 

It’s also why it took me so long to tell friends I made in the future anything that was wrong with me. I was scared of any friends I made. To me I felt like they could be the bullies if I gave them the opportunity but by bottling up all my emotions I never did. I realise now since sharing all my emotions with them, that they aren’t bullies they understand and accept my feelings and want to make me feel better. Although I still get worried that a friend could snap into that bully mode, intentional or not. Most jokes amongst friends are pretty much insults said in a way to make it funny i.e “It’s funny ’cause it’s true.” So either way if they do I might not notice straight away. 

I go into my serious mode when I am forced to. For the most part I am not serious at all I will laugh at the stupidest jokes and innuendos. When I’m alone I’m actually the goofy person I wish I could show myself as to others. I’m forced to get serious when I’m upset or offended. It’s a way to hide the fact that I’m probably on the verge of tears. I have always put up this front since I was about 6 so that no one would ask me the awkward question of what is wrong and for me to explain and for them to either not understand or just brush it off. If this serious thing is forced upon me by an unplanned occasion of someone causing me increased anxiety or upset, I can turn into one of the coldest,bitchiest people ever. I give very quick one word answers, or sometimes I won’t talk at all (Good luck trying to decifer when my quiet spells are related to this state). 

I tried to hold onto my naivety for as long as possible and I did but I felt like this seriousness aged me more than any scandalous or inappropriate thing could have. While I was naive, I was pretending for my sake. I actually knew a lot. No one needed to know how much I actually knew. When I was serious I always felt like a parent or a teacher. I very rarely used to get told that it wasn’t that I was overly serious, I was just mature. Well whatever you wanted to call it I felt like I was babysitting people for free for 12 years. I was usually the youngest or nearly the youngest in my class groups. I had to look past things that I didn’t agree with because I hated confrontation. I had to always try and be the bigger person (I’ve had weight issues since the age of 8 or 9 and was an early bloomer so it was very easy for me to be physically the bigger person). Anytime I lost my temper… wait I should change that.  Anytime I LOSE my temper I get laughed at. I still feel like I’m not allowed to get angry over things. Even as a child any temper tantrums I had were cut short by my mother. Even later on in life I was never allowed to express the emotion of anger in front of her without being given out to. Anger is one of the worst feelings to keep bottled up. Kids are supposed to throw tantrums and you denying them of that stunts their emotional growth so much. I had to hit myself when I was angry. It left no damage to anything and it wouldn’t make a loud thud when I would slap myself across the face, punch myself in the stomach or beat drum sticks off my thighs and shins. Luckily I don’t do that any more I just punch walls now the odd time. As in I’ve done it like 3 times and the worst time was when I was drunk and so uncontrollably angry. I’m trying not to make a habit of it. 

Being the “mature one” at such a young age helped me a lot intellectually I think but not so much fun wise. All my friends would be climbing trees and I would be too afraid to. So while they climbed I would walk around beneath the branches they were on saying “If you fall don’t say I didn’t warn you. Don’t come crying to me when your leg is broken”. Essentially I felt like the mom of the group although it was usually only when it came to safety not when it came to emotions. I would just sit there and listen intently if my friends ever had a problem I would rarely ever ask them what was wrong and if there was something I could do to help. I had no one who was like that for me and we didn’t really learn stuff like that in school so I didn’t understand how to deal with stuff like that. I still haven’t really learned. 

People and Sport:How I’ve Grown Up In Its Toxicity.

I have always been someone who loves sports with a great passion, especially for someone who never really joined many sports clubs. I enjoyed doing a variety of different things in P.E. but I always excelled and rather enjoyed the likes of football and soccer. I preferred soccer but never gave it a go until college and I’ve realised I’m no good at it. The very first team sport I ever joined was my local Gaelic Football team. Back then I did really like the sport and I was an avid fan of the Kerry team. I played football for about a couple of months, when I was about 8 years old, until figuring out that team sports are in no way fun, at least as a child where everyone yells at you for every little thing you do wrong. I supported Kerry as a football team from when I was really young up until the age of 10 or 11. Then I started supporting Cork because I had family from their and I thought somebody else deserved to win other than Kerry. Frankly I thought they had won enough All-Ireland’s and that somebody else should get a chance at victory. Just as I had started to support Cork they actually won an All-Ireland a year or two after. Also so that Kerry had less games to play, so my dad wouldn’t be watching them.

I started getting busy so I never really kept up with the goings on of the world of the G.A.A. Except for all the times my dad would talk about it. I’ve grown up dreading any games, especially any sort of finals, where Kerry are playing because my dad always drinks more than usual when those are on. He comes home after watching a game in town drunker than usual and always angrily repeating threats about what he would do to the games referee. Even if Kerry wins he’ll say that we should have won by more but that referee fucked things up. For years I’ve just agreed along with him as he spews his drunken, angry opinions until he finally goes upstairs to bed. Tonight, however, after he came home from watching Kerry get beaten by Dublin by just 2 points he said something that made me have to hold back all my emotions for like 20 minutes until he went to bed.  I did walk out of the room because luckily my dog had just gone out into the hallway and I just sat with my dog for a few minutes and hugged him to make me feel better. For the last 5 years since I’ve had my dog he’s always helped me through these times when my Dad was drunk and angry.

So today’s referee was a man called David Gough and according to his Wikipedia page he is the sport’s first openly gay top-level match official. I only found this out because I wanted to check this in relation to my Dad’s comment about him tonight. My dad said “If I was at that game today, I would have run onto the pitch and killed him. He’s gay too so that would make it even easier for me to kill him.” This comment is coming from a man who voted yes in the Marriage Equality Referendum last year because he was undecided and I asked him could he vote yes for me since I wasn’t old enough to vote at the time. Anytime I brought up my friends who were gay, he never had any problems with them. He never had anything against him. On a day that I was out drinking with him I mentioned that one of my guy friends, who my parents have always really liked and I had been friends with since I was little, recently started dating a guy and identifies as bi. He totally accepted that and he doesn’t think of my friend any differently. So I think the worst of my Dad always comes out and is caused by watching Kerry matches and the referees of these matches. I know that in the morning that he won’t remember what he said because he never does remember anything that he says or was said to him in those moments.

While this is something that I see prominently in my dad, it is also very widespread amongst other football supporters. An example from today being that when the game ended, David Gough got objects thrown at him from the crowd. Like I understand how strongly these fans feel about the game and how outraged they might feel by some of the calls, but what kind of person feels the need to throw something at another human being. Could you please tell me where I can find the baboons who raised you with this inane sense of morality where you think that doing this is right and will help in anyway? Like what is your thought process “Kerry lost, but if I throw this at the referee maybe they will somehow win even though the game is over!! Amn’t I just sooooo smart? Of course I am.Now, throw all of the objects!!!!!”

“Party Party, Disco Disco!!”

The title is really only half true there was no “Disco,Disco”. Well actually there kinda was but we missed it all because we were all outside. So last night I was at a 21st and I got to see people from college!!  I was at the party early and was being my usual awkward self for the first hour until a few more of college people had shown up. Jodi showed up a bit after they did then. I got to see her for the first time in like a month and a half. To say that I missed her is an understatement.

Overall I had a good night. Now it’s time to look at my drink count as I do in all of these blogs where I talk about my nights out. So my dad wanted to go have a drink after he came back from cycling the Ring of Kerry so I had a pint of Orchard Thieves at half 2 in the day, and I hadn’t had a breakfast or anything so it did kind of affect me. Then I didn’t have a drink until like 8pm I had 2 Captain Morgans while I was doing my make-up which took way too long to do. At the party I think I ended up having 2 pints of Orchard Thieves, 3 or 4 Captain Morgans and orange and 2 shots. I also smoked like 11 cigarettes which is a lot when I haven’t smoke regularly since the middle of May.  Somehow I didn’t get sick at all last night or today. I’m actually so proud of myself. Jodi was trying not to drink too much because she had to work really early this morning so she set a time for when she would start drinking water. So she said that at like 2 she would start drinking water and she made me pinky promise to also start drinking water at 2. So I promised but I broke it. I broke the pinky promise. It’s been nearly a day at this point and I still feel really guilty about breaking it. You might think I should just get over it as it’s only a pinky promise. What if this one small thing leads to a myriad of broken promises? (It won’t I just really wanted to use the word ‘myriad’ in a sentence.) To be fair to me though I hadn’t been out in a really long time with that group of people and I hadn’t been out in general in a while.

Needless to say I got very drunk. I also woke up this morning giving out to drunk me and being like “Did I really do/say that? FUUUCCKKK!!!” I feel as though drunk me at this point has turned into something of an alter ego. I feel like this alter ego deserves a name, something cool but also evil because while I’m less awkward I have little control over my mind and what I say when I’m drunk.  Lets go with…Zandra!! It’s like Sandra except with a Z to make it infinitely cooler. So Zandra was in full force last night, though to be fair didn’t go too mad. Zandra tries to be funny and sometimes just ends up sounding mean. Also she has a touch of anger about her and the only way in which she can express this anger in a healthy is by calling someone “Fucker” Believe me I wish she didn’t say it but I’m happy it’s not a worse word. I’ll use the name whenever I find a moment that could have be a result of Zandra. So a guy showed up at one point that used to go to college with Jodi and the other 3rd years. So I talked to this guy for a good bit of the night because he was outside with Jodi and I for a lot of the night. All in all he seems like a nice guy but if I had been sober I don’t think I would’ve liked him. Zandra loves people and is a little bit more outgoing with conversations with strangers. I, on the other hand, am not. While I’m not in control with what Zandra says, I do listen to what everyone else is saying. So reason number one why I don’t like this guy looking back on it from a sober perspective. He said something that just made me feel really shitty. This is why I should never tell people I’m asexual because they will just invalidate it and tell me why I can’t identify as that. He tells me I can’t be asexual if I haven’t done certain things to make sure. Zandra doesn’t like to start fights and she is less affected by these things. I still feel really awful. Like I already hated identifying as it, I didn’t need another reason to feel insecure about it. Second and my only other reason as to why I don’t like this guy, is that he broke a pinky promise to me(Karma for me breaking my one with Jodi!!). He said if he couldn’t get me a lift home he’d walk me half the way home. We didn’t even get that far. We went to McDonalds and walked up a little bit and he goes “Right, you should be alright from here”. As in it was 4am and there was still a bit to walk. I let him walk away back into town anyways. If something happened to me on the walk home I guess I deserved it for trusting some guy I just met. Fair enough though he did point out that he didn’t rape me and I have to give him props for that because that is always a immense fear I have with guys. I also wasn’t sure if I would actually make it all the way home without falling but I managed to do it somehow. My mother couldn’t sleep so she was in the sitting room when I walked into the house at 4:30am and I think she was just happy that I wasn’t sick this time.

At the party I had a few conversations with Jodi and I think Zandra needs to bring the emotions back a bit. As in spill some of my deepest darkest secrets like no those aren’t for drunk conversations they’re for these blogs.  I was saying bye to Jodi at the end of the night and I gave her a hug and, just like I did the last time I was out with her which I think was the night I met her in Killarney, I kissed her on the cheek. Now there’s nothing wrong with this there is something wrong with Zandra decided to say before Jodi got on her bus while she was hugging the guy that walked me part of the way home. She said “I always kiss you and you never kiss me!!” This is where Zans emotions need to be taken down a notch. 1.Who the fuck says that to someone? 2. Desperate much there Zandra? I woke up cringing to the thought that she actually said that. She actually did get a kiss on the cheek but that’s  not what’s important here. You don’t say that someone, end of. I find it hilarious though how dramatically she said it and she had to say it twice before getting a response.

Let’s talk about today, the aftermath. I went to bed at around 5:20am and I woke up at around 8:30am. The reason for that being that even though I didn’t have work at 9, my brother did and I got woken up by him walking around upstairs. I did fall back to sleep only to be awoken about 2 hours later by my dad and the dog. I felt a little bit sick but I haven’t gotten sick today. I went downstairs around 12 and made myself tea and 2 slices of toast and I could only just about eat one slice of it and I couldn’t finished my tea. I haven’t eaten anything since. I’ll eat once I finish writing this blog which is what I said an hour ago but hey, writing takes time and it’s just a matter of priorities at this point. Also pretty much all day my hands still smell like smoke and cigarettes which is really concerning but thank god I was alone the entire day so my parents weren’t around to notice it. I also had major heart palpitations but what’s new there? I also noticed that I was extremely anxious at the party yesterday and I tried to distract myself from it by smoking cigarettes and drinking. I sounded as though I was sighing because I was breathing out so heavily but I told those who were around me that I was trying to breathe which in that context made sense because I was just after smoking. The breathing difficulties were only partially caused by the cigarettes, it was mostly me trying to make myself feel less anxious. I think in that moment I may have been having a bit of an anxiety attack but Zandra can’t process thoughts clearly and was just really confused and didn’t understand what was happening.

There is good things from last night that I haven’t written in this blog and I did that a little bit on purpose. A lot of the good things were just kind of difficult to put into words becaue they were just little things like parts of conversations that although they were just something simple meant a lot to me. Also other important parts of conversations I just want to keep to myself for once. I do that sometimes, I keep things locked in my own head and don’t even write it in a blog. I write most things here but these are meant to be almost something of an emotive analysis of my night, and how I take the major events of the night and think about them in a sober light.


What I Need To Get My Life Back On Track!

I’ve started writing a blog recently about how shitty I’m feeling but who the fuck wants to read that? No one does, or at least not anymore, according to my statistics. On this actual website my reader to likes ratio is fairly good. Most people who are WordPress users that read a blog of mine will like it. However, my Facebook readers don’t react at all. I look at the stats and see that 14-18 people have gotten to this blog by clicking the Facebook link that is only on my profile so  obviously those readers would be people I’m friends with. So I see that they’ve read it but that’s it. There is no response. No likes. Nothing. How am I supposed to know that what I’ve written is anyway good or bad? If it’s not of interest to anyone than maybe I should stop posting my blogs there? Why do they click on the blog link though? Do they read the whole thing? Do they read any of it and just do it to be nice to give my blog a view? The latter of which means absolutely nothing to me. I would rather 2 people reading it and getting 2 genuine likes than having 200 views and 6 likes. At the moment my stats are more like 20-30 views and 2-6 likes. All likes being through WordPress readers. Also if you are one of the people reading this off Facebook, don’t feel forced or asked into reacting to this I’m just ranting for no reason, you see how much I question my feelings about stats if you decide to keep reading! If you don’t want to react don’t, keep doing what you’re doing and I’ll keep doing what I’m doing.

Don’t ask me why I decided to mention this. I have never been hung up on likes and views on my blogs. Yeah I noticed trends over the last nearly a year since I started writing these. I noticed in the early days that if I wrote about the bad times in my life, my deteriorating mental health, or my sexuality, I would get more views. However, if I wrote about happy memories or aspirations I had a lot less views. (I keep calling them views which I don’t know if it’s the correct word seeing as it’s a piece of writing not a fucking YouTube video, either way I’ll keep saying views because it’s easier.) I guess I wrote better stuff when I was feeling depressed or fed up with life. Sometimes when I feeling like that I do tend to get a bit poetic so my writing probably is a lot better. I assume people click on these based on the title and also maybe on the little foreword I give when I post these to Facebook. They won’t click on it if it doesn’t sound interesting. I’m not one for click bait titles either. My titles will refer to my blog but because my thought process is a little different to some I get distracted and stray from the main topic for a bit. Overall the title is representative of the blog. When I got sexually harassed on the bus back before Christmas, I didn’t want to mention sexual harassment in the title because I didn’t know if that was the right phrasing so I contemplated not using it. I knew no one would click on it if I wrote “Late Night Bus Story”. I decided to turn the title into a question so I was making a false claim, (which I wasn’t it did happen and my sexual harassment was the right phrase) but it would still catch people’s attention. I’m never one for pushing my content excessively to be acknowledged by someone, I’m used to things of mine being overlooked and ignored. I needed someone, anyone, to read that blog post because I was frightened and I was alone. I didn’t feel comfortable telling my aunt everything. Mainly due to the fact that as someone who is really uncomfortable and feels really sick whenever something about sex arises in conversation, I couldn’t verbally repeat what that man said to me because I would have thrown up. I swear to God I nearly vomited on the man when he was saying those things. I wanted to cry, no one understands the full extent of how scaring and terrifying that moment was for me. I sometimes really don’t like when friends joke about things to do with sex, let alone a stranger on the bus that could potentially have turned that harassment into assault. I know I keep bringing up that story but unlike some of the other bad things that have happened in my life I get remember put myself back into my mindset that night. I can imagine exactly how it all happened. Just by closing my eyes thinking about it, I can suddenly feel like I am on that bus feeling all those emotions.

Back to the title because I haven’t explained that yet. So with this change in prioritization, where I have gotten more fixated on the views to like ratio rather than on whether I liked writing and/or reading the blog I just wrote. I can sometimes be really self-centred and attention seeking but when it comes to writing that is something I started doing for myself. To express my feelings in a healthy way, to help me feel like someone somewhere is listening even if it’s just one person. Usually I do the listening the thought of someone just listening and not criticizing me makes me feel like a human, like I exist and someone wants to hear about my existence. Even if they didn’t care personally about me, they gained either an insight into my life, they resonated with what I wrote and/or it helped them in some way. I never cared about this STATISTICAL  BULLSHIT!! Now that I have let those stats effect me,I’m obviously not happy, but what’s new there? Other than my parents constantly telling me to go out there and get a job. “Don’t come back home until you get a job!!” my father often tells me. This constant nagging doesn’t motivate me to go get a job. It makes me want to stay in my bed a hide under the covers. All of this is giving me unnecessary stress and anxiety that I thought the summer would give me solas from. I  thought I’d find it easier this summer to talk to people more via social media but I’m still extremely bad at doing that. I hate talking to people through Facebook messenger, unless I have loads to talk about and I can make jokes that will work. A lot of my jokes require sarcasm and intonations in voice which you can’t do on messenger. I’d rather talk to someone in person, but when people are busy doing those jobs that they went out and got, they don’t have time to meet up so that you can talk in person.

So in the meantime, until I see people again, I must find something to take my mind off this lack of social interaction and make me not such a miserable fucking person so that maybe when I do meet up with them I won’t be giving them reason to cut ties with me because all my conversations would consist of  me saying how depressing my summer has been going thus far. I can complain in these blogs because they are entirely optional to read. I don’t make people read them. So I was reading the book ‘The BFG’ by Roald Dahl. I’d never read it before. To be fair it was the first book I’ve finished reading for the first time in a very long time. I can write mounds and mounds of stuff but reading can be difficult for me sometimes. I can’t focus sometimes and I tend to skip to the bottom of page all the time and I get confused and have to go up to the top of the page where there is important information that I missed by skipping down to the end of the page. It then makes me confused sometimes with the story. I might have to go back a few pages and read them over again because I can’t understand what is going on. It frustrates me a bit too, because I love the stories but it takes me 100 times as long to get through a book than everyone else. It makes me feel like there is something wrong with me. So whenever someone judges me for not reading it’s not that I don’t want to, I mean I’ve bought so many books over the past year, it’s just not as easy for me as it is for you. So telling me I’m a bad person for not reading is not going to change anything it’ll just make me feel worse about the situation.

So let me take this back to The BFG. It was my first time reading it and it was brought to my attention because I saw the trailer for the upcoming movie version of it. It looked so cool but I felt like it was definitely something I would need to read first so that I could get the best experience possible watching the film. I’ve connected with the story and the characters since reading the book.So while reading it and when I had finished it I realised what I need in my life. I need magic. Before you tell me magic isn’t real, click away from this because I don’t want to hear it. I believe that magic is real and it can be found in everything if you just look hard enough for it. You mightn’t even have to look at all with some things. Magic in the case of bringing into my life isn’t exactly the definition you might be thinking of with wands, spells and flying, although that of course is part of that too. (Ravenclaw for fucking life dude!). In reading The BFG, you witness the magic in just seeing something different to what you’re used to.  Also I think magic can also be just finding you own enjoyment out of something like watching something and adding your own commentary which you laugh at more than what you’re  actually watching. Working on something that sparks something inside of you where you feel proud of what you are doing, like making something like some sort of craft.(No not witchcraft, but to each their own right?) Magic is everywhere, you just got to start letting yourself experience it. You won’t always see, mostly you will just have to feel it.

Evoked Emotions From An Empty Heart.

As I sit in silence in my isolated bedroom,
I am surrounded by darkness.
The room is only lit up by the light of the computer screen.
How depressing this must seem.

I, a girl of youth, up 'til all hours, online.
I should be well-rested.
I should wake up early and happy.
I should be energetic and excited.

I should do a lot of things.
Alas, I don't do them. 
Every moment is fleeting.
I waste time, I waste everything.

I often ponder what the world would be like without me.
Surely it would not be much different.
Perhaps a little more cheery and positive,
As I do nothing but spread negativity.

I am greedy.
I am never happy with what I have.
Or,at least, not until recently.
You see, I found a kindred spirit.

I don't know if she is real.
She must be, as my imagination is limited.
Writing is my only creative path.
She makes me question reality.

Happiness is very rare for me.
I am not a happy person.
I can act happy.
I have always been told I could never be an actor.

All because I act happy.
I do it with such conviction they believe it to be true.
My happy demeanor, is not serious and thus I lack discipline.
I am told I would laugh at the call of action.

Maybe I would, maybe I wouldn't.
She makes me believe I could do anything.
She thinks I am intelligent.
She has too much faith in this waster.

I feel as though I don't act around her.
I forget my woes, I forget life is happening.
Time freezes and my heart softens.
Contrasting the constant tense,clenched feeling of my constrained heart.

Sometimes emotional anguish can take physical form.
My heart hurts in more ways than one.
One day it will stop,
Maybe then I can rest.
Love makes people crazy.
But what if you're already crazy?
I love people too much.
I am crazy.

Have you ever wanted to hug someone,
Hug them so tight, that you make them feel your love?
What reaction would this cause?
A sympathetic almost equal hug back.

Love is never equal.
One always cares more than the other.
I am always that one.
One left alone with a teddy and a wish.

I wish to be loved and hugged tightly with such love,
But a teddy will never hug back.
Will my wish ever come true?
Am I stuck in a perpetuating cycle of despair?

She makes my wish seem possible.
I push her away.
I push everyone away.
I know she will start to pull away.

She will grow tired of me.
I am tired of me.
If you looked inside my brain,
You would see how exhausting it is to be me.

Each day I consider to be my last.
I got up today,
Will I get up tomorrow?
Do I have reason to?

Even if I did, 
I need to reason with myself.
"This reason is reason enough,
I need to get out of bed."

Existing is exhausting.
I exist, I live, I breathe.
I love, I hate, I break.
A lot goes on in the mind of the quiet.

A lot goes on in the mind of the loud.
The quiet hears their brain yelling.
The loud hears an eerie whisper that echoes,
Echoing until the loud listens.

Even in the most isolated,silenced of places,
It will never be quiet.
You are never truly alone.
Your thoughts accompany you everywhere.

Thinking,thinking, and then what?
Why won't the thought translate itself?
Thoughts are peculiar!
We can think about something, but not talk about it.

The thought can't be put into words.
"What's wrong with you?"
The thought is there but you can't explain it.
Nobody knows how to explain it.

You try to force the changing of a thought into speech,
You stutter and stammer until you find a seemingly appropriate word.
It's still not right, 
But what ever is?

It’s Been A Year!!

Well it’s been a year. I’ve been out of my rainbow coloured closet for a year (At least to everyone that is not a member of my family). I remember when I wrote my comment under a Facebook post that was urging us to vote No in the Marriage Equality Referendum. I just got so angry at the post, I got so angry at anyone promoting the No side. I couldn’t vote so all I could possibly do was encourage people to make the right decision like getting my dad to vote Yes because he was undecided and he knew how strongly I wanted the Yes vote to win.
When I wrote my comment, it was the second day of a back and forth comment war from both the Yes and the No sides. The Yes side in this consisting of all my friends, some of which are gay or bi, others are straight allies. All their comments made me feel less angry and made me feel really empowered to do something. I know I’m a quiet person usually but I couldn’t sit there in silence anymore. I know I still didn’t say anything and I was technically still quiet but shut up I’m trying to make a point. If anything it probably made it more personal that I wrote it and I know I would have messed it up had it not been typed. My social and verbal skills do not equate my written skills. I spent two hours writing my comment that Sunday before I posted it at nearly 3pm. I pressed the enter key and nearly shut my laptop screen while I buried my face in a pillow and screamed. Typical coming out right? I started crying and was shaking in fear at the onslaught of negativity that I could have possibly received. Which makes no sense because everyone has always been accepting of my friends why would I be treated any differently? To be fair I have a fairly low self worth so that probably attributes to my fear.
When I got the first notification on my post I jumped at the sound of it. I was still shaking as I opened up my laptop and looked to see what I had gotten notified about. I think it was a like and then another like and then another. Soon positive comments started popping up. Again I was in tears instead this time they were happy tears and I couldn’t believe it. The positive response, all the likes my essay of a comment got, but mostly the fact that I was coming out. Sure I thought when I was in 2nd year I might like girls but I just ignored it. I had no reason to be thinking about it because who would date me? So from then on unknowingly to myself I spent ALL of my spare and study time watching films,TV shows, YouTube videos with characters or real life people who were proud to be gay or else for the characters they were insinuations that they might be gay. From 2012 to 2014 I didn’t relate it to myself until one day at the end of 2014, when I was in 5th year, I started watching this couple, Rose and Rosie. They seemed so happy together and I wanted something like what they had. I started to think more about myself and realised that I like girls. Ultimately I find them more attractive, I’m more comfortable to be around them and frankly I can’t imagine myself dating a guy.
When I came out last year, I came out as questioning and mentioning that at some point in the future I would come out as gay or bisexual. As everyone should know at this point, it’s okay if you don’t, sexuality is fluid. You are probably more familiar with hearing that gender is fluid but sexuality can be too even though it is a completely separate thing to gender. Throughout this past year I’ve identified as gay, then once entering college I was bisexual because I got shocked that guys could actually be nice to me something of which I rarely experienced in my life prior to college. I didn’t like telling people I was bi though and as a result only ever used that label to like 2 people. Bisexuality is a really real sexuality and it should be respected just as much as every other letter and in the LGBTQIA+ community. I felt that I was lying saying that I identified as bi and I felt like I was tarnishing the label. For me it was part of my questioning state but it’s not like that for everyone. People are Bi, it’s not just a phase. They’re not being picky or indecisive. In those months where I questioned or not whether I was Bi, I learned a load about it. I will fight anyone that gives into this whole thing of Bi erasure. Why the fuck can’t someone actually be Bi? Why must one like one gender and one gender only? What do you find so difficult to comprehend about Bisexuality that you choose to ignore it’s legitimacy?? I will literally fight you, you biphobic fucking asshole. The same goes for any homophobic people and all that jazz but people are far more aware of homophobia than they are of biphobia. (Probably because biphobia tends to be more prominent within the LGBT+ community!!)
I think I feel even more strongly about it because of the way I currently identify myself which is as a homo-romantic asexual. I experience romantic attraction towards the same gender as myself, which is female (I AM A GIRL!!) However I experience zero sexual attraction towards any gender but more particularly males. I feel so strongly about Bisexuals getting the respect and validation that they deserve, because Asexuals don’t really have that at all. There is arguments that Asexuals shouldn’t even be part of the LBGT+ community because of their lack of sexual attraction. It seems like most people find asexuality hard to understand. “Isn’t that what we learned about in Biology? You know where you have the one strawberry and it’s able to create more strawberries on it’s own without the need for any other strawberry?” Yes you are right but that’s in relation to plants. We are humans we function slightly differently. We can’t yet reproduce without two parties being involved. Due to what people learn in Biology they think that all an asexual cares about is themselves. They don’t want someone else because they are only attracted to themselves. What you’re thinking of is known as an Autosexual!! I for one cannot look at myself in the mirror for more than the time it takes to brush my teeth and put on my make up in the morning. I’m pretty sure I hate myself and am not attracted to myself in the slightest. Another thing, which is said a lot in regard to anyone with a different sexuality to the “norm”,  “Oh you just haven’t met the right person yet to satisfy your needs!” Girl my only needs are my bed, films and ice cream, fuck you trying to tell me that sex should be on that list. I don’t want to have sex EVER!! I don’t have the same sexual urges as “most” people do. I don’t like hearing about people’s sex lives. Sexual innuendos and jokes are too much for me half the time. Nobody gets that though so instead of fighting them about it I will either stay quiet or walk out of the room so I don’t have to listen anymore. Sometimes I do find them funny. Sometimes I even make these jokes. I do find them funny sometimes when I say them but other times it’s because I know someone else would find them funny and my mind can pick these things out but I just doesn’t understand what’s funny about them sometimes.  There is points were a joke that maybe started out funny goes too far and if anyone actually looked at me when I’m in the room when that happens I will look physically uncomfortable. I’m supposed to be listening to the person so it would be rude if I put my hands over my ears. There may be too many people in the way for me to escape the situation so therefore I might be forced to just sit there until it’s over. I’m not entirely sex-repulsed there are people who would be a lot worse than me. The world needs to stop with this idea that everyone must want to have sex and those that say they don’t are either lying or are weird. Someone once said to me when I mentioned asexuality “I wouldn’t wish that upon anyone, they’re missing out so much that’s such a horrible thing to be.” Bear in mind this is that creep who harassed me on the bus. The thing is though, he’s not the only one who thinks like that. Believe me we’re not missing out.  You just think that because you don’t know what it’s like not to have a sexual attraction towards someone.
In relation to my sexuality over the past year, I don’t think anything has really changed. I pretty much knew I was asexual this time last year but I didn’t want to accept it. I’ve only accepted it over the past few months. I do think it’s funny how, while I still haven’t come out to my parents I am more than willing to tell anyone else that I’m gay. Also how comfortable I am about making jokes about me being gay in college because I know all bar one have no problem with my sexuality.  Also I had a dream last night and for most of this morning about me dating a girl and I was so happy. It was one of the best dreams I’ve had in a while. It was like the start of the next college year so she went with me to college for my first week because she wasn’t starting for another few weeks. However anytime I had to go to class, which was a lot, I had to leave her in the radio studio. Anytime I would come back I would kiss her on the cheek and she always looked really angry at me and was like “NO!! You left me here for the last hour.” It was just that pretend to be angry thing so whenever she would say that I would kiss her on the cheek again just to watch her get more pretend angry and then not being able to do it anymore and starting to smile. Then I woke up and realised I wasn’t in this cute relationship that I had been dreaming about. Sad times!!

Why Do I Write?

It’s a multitude of things really. I mean what else am I supposed to do, college work? Fuck that! (I don’t actually mean that I just have a really difficult time focusing and the more I don’t do my assignments the more I hate myself.)

It’s not like these posts are all that interesting especially to someone who isn’t me as I write all these posts primarily about myself. It’s weird usually people write about stuff they like. Hmm funny. I guess that’s just me isn’t it “weird”. It would be one of the nicer words I have to describe myself with because being weird isn’t actually a bad thing. With that in mind I do write about things I like about half the time in these blogs like events that happened and people I consider friends and people I have crushes on (sometimes people fit into both of those demographics).

I’ve started questioning my sexuality again but I’ve just accepted the fact that this is going to be a never ending journey on my voyage of self discovery. Am I actually gay?  I know I like girls that’s not the issue. The issue is do I actually like girls to the extent that a typical lesbian is supposed to? I think I could easily be a homo-romantic asexual, meaning I only have a romantic attraction towards girls and not a sexual attraction towards any gender. Maybe I’m trying to just hold onto any naivety that I can so I push away any sexual thoughts? Either way I wish I knew because if I don’t know at least that about myself like I’m fucked. (Not literally because right now the concept of that grosses me out to some extent. So for now I’m just figuratively fucked.)

So I don’t know where that paragraph came out of but I’m nearly up to 40 blogs posts and I don’t think a single one has kept on track, again more evidence as to why it’s hard for me to get actual work done. Another reason why I write is because I feel like I have a lot to say for myself but I haven’t found many people that get what I’m on about. My parents are definitely no help, I’m just angry these days any time I talk to them. It would be great if I wasn’t reminded every time the idea of living away from home to go to college comes up about how we’ll have to talk about getting me on the pill “just in case”. My mother just doesn’t  get me. I can’t tell her I’m a flaming lesbian. I can tell her when I’m “flaming” (aka drunk)  because you know we’ve all been like that at one point or another. I was asked by my Nan over Christmas if my guy friend was gay to which I hastily responded no. She said she was just asking because of how he friends with a lot of us girls and how nothing has ever happened between us. Did it ever occur to you Nan that maybe I might be gay? Did the thought ever occur to anyone? No not even in my most tomboyish of modes because surely it’s just a “phase”. Well mother,father, grandmother, all other relatives that have looked disapprovingly at my fashion choices, I still love wearing typically male clothing just as much as when I was younger. Me being a tomboy isn’t a phase and neither is my attraction towards girls. I know that tomboy and lesbian don’t go hand in hand and I’m just adding to the stereotype but it’s how it was for me. I wanted to wear “boy” clothes because girls like boys and if I looked like a boy maybe girls would like me.Of course that was my rationale when I was younger I know that I don’t have to look like a boy to get a girls attention. Which I’m happy about because the last thing I want is to be mistaken for a boy which has happened. I once heard a kid point at me look at their mom and ask her as I walked by “Mommy why does that boy have long hair?” I am a girl. I am a lady(nah not really I’m hardly a lady we’ll take this one step at a time). I’m a female humanoid (there we go!)

The only reason I might dress more femininely now is because I think they suit me somewhat better and I do like some of them. Also a fact about me that probably no one knows because I only made the discovery of this like a year ago, is that I don’t hate dresses. I don’t think I’ve ever really hated dresses but what I hated was the expectation that being a girl I must wear a dress when going out.  I also didn’t like the way my mom talked down on my ideas to wear anything but a dress. So I somehow convinced her to let me wear something of a suit to my 6th year graduation because all the clothes bar the tie were from the girls section of the clothing stores. Yay compromise!! Haha if that was only the case. I didn’t really feel comfortable in that outfit. Yes I did want to wear a suit but that was until I saw how it looked. I didn’t really like it but it was either that or a dress and I wasn’t giving my mom that satisfaction. She had already made a huge fuss about the fact that I agreed to wear make-up and I’m sure she made some sort of comment in relation to me finally agreeing to gender norms because make-up=girl. I stuck out like a sore thumb that night. I went to an all girls school. Therefore I was the ONLY 6th year student not wearing a dress and I hated it. I nearly felt more comfortable in the uniforms we were forced to wear to the mass beforehand.

I write to get rid of any mental anguish, anxiety or depressive thoughts/feelings that plague my mind. Again this is something that I would probably like to talk to someone about but nobody really gets it. They try their best to help but they don’t really know how I’m feeling. There is one person who I think  really understands it but I’ve only talked to her about it like twice and the 2nd time we were both drunk so I don’t think that counts if only one of us remember it.While writing doesn’t really resolve the feeling I’m having it helps in the way that I feel like someone is listening. It’s not something I need a response on I just like to know someone is listening and that someone cares. I keep a lot of this stuff bottle up, not nearly as much as I used too, so I barely ever actually talk out loud about this stuff. Most details of this have only ever been written in these blogs or in a notebook I have from last year (it started out as a chemistry copy). We want to erase the stigma around mental health but yet when someone actually wants to talk about their experiences who really listens? This excludes speeches and any talk where you are in a room with a crowd of people listening to someone in a lecture type of scenario. Sure they mightn’t always interrupt you if you start talking about it but God knows they are trying to find something else to occupy their thoughts.

I write because it’s something I’ve always liked doing, whether I’ve been aware of it or not. I nearly wanted to do Creative Writing for Digital Media which is another course in my college but I was talked out of it so early on that I didn’t even have it anywhere on my CAO by the time my list was finalized. I had courses I knew that I didn’t really care about on that list but I needed to fill up my list and just put down courses in places that were too far away for me to actually been allowed to go to anyways. They were more acceptable to have down then a course about writing because God forbid I become a write because where’s the jobs in that, why would you want to write for a living? However in a way I’m glad I didn’t go for the course for the reason that I probably wouldn’t find it fun anymore because I like to write for myself not be write something for someone else to give their critique on.