I sat, head in my hands, wincing and said, for probably the 15th time that day;
I cannot deal with how tired I am
I was so tired. So tired that I felt physically ill. So tired that my anxiety had been sky-high. Between sleep deprivation and too much caffeine, I was losing my mind.
I couldn’t really figured out why, though. I was looking into high-energy foods and promising myself I’d go on a diet of solely these if it meant I’d actually be able to get through the day. I was considering that maybe I had a deficiency of some sort. I just… couldn’t place it.
That was until a coworker pointed out that for the past month, every single time she’s asked what my plans for the evening are, I’ve had something on. Nothing too extravagant but still, all the time and it always involved me travelling, not quite catching dinner, getting home after 10 and struggling to fully wind down.
I struggle with my physical health as it is and I really should spend more time relaxing. I just like being busy. I like telling people how busy I am, how tough my job is. We all do, we just don’t tend to admit it. Being busy isn’t always something to aspire to, though. Being so busy that you are ill, you are exhausted and you’ve lost all sense of normality is extremely unhealthy.
Bertrand Russell once said:
The kind of leisure which is quiet and restoring to the nerves comes to be felt boring. There is bound to be a continual acceleration of which the natural termination would be drugs and collapse. The cure for this lies in admitting the part of sane and quiet enjoyment in a balanced ideal of life.
– The Conquest of Happiness, Bertrand Russell
I agree. There is peace to be found in taking it easy. It’s been less than a week and I am already feeling better for the quiet moments.
The solitary hours reading alone, the baths lit by candlelight, curling up in front of an old favourite show or even just taking a couple of hours out of my evening to call my mum have all been extremely restorative.
We romanticise stress. We believe that the more stressed we are, the more we’re achieving but it’s not true. Take the time to look after yourself, even if it’s just for a couple of nights. Remember that it’s okay to be “boring” for a while if it means you can truly recharge.
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“I think I’ll stay here ‘Til I feel whole again
I don’t know when.”
The Mountain Goats – Until I Am Whole
So, it turns out the secrets to having a great holiday are:
Go through utter hell during the months preceding it
Feel too miserable to really acknowledge that the holiday is coming up
Don’t plan anything
Have no mobile internet
Barcelona was always the plan. When I got my current job, I promised myself I’d go there with Shannon for her birthday. 2 years ago her family paid for me to go to Greece – it felt like the right thing to do and also, I really wanted to go abroad with her again.
Life has been hectic for the past wee while. I moved across the city to live with an old school friend, I had hospital appointments and I really just had to try to get my shit together. I didn’t have time to get excited for Barcelona – it’d probably be shit, anyway BECAUSE EVERYTHING IS AND FUCK THIS YEAR.
So, when it was finally time to leave, I was so wracked with mental health issues and sheer exhaustion that I still wasn’t excited. I was just really sad. My mental health has really dipped, unsurprisingly, and I have been privately wallowing. I love silver linings but honestly, I’m a little tired of seeking them. I’m just tired.
Two bottles of prosecco, a chatty flight and some shared pretzels later, I was excited. And I was in Barcelona. There was a thunderstorm but I really didn’t care – I was in *in* Barcelona! After much kerfuffle and finding out that some streets in Barcelona have two names (not annoying at-all, promise), we finally made it to our tiny hostel room. It was plain, it was uninspiring but for the next three nights, it was a place to lay our heads.
Armed with gin and adrenaline, we settled onto our cosy balcony and looked out at the buildings surrounding us. Barcelona is beautiful. In the dark, in the rougher areas, it’s beautiful. I’ve never seen anywhere like it.
On our first day, we decided to go for a short walk, just to see the local area. Turns out that our local area was, in fact, Las Ramblas. A tree-lined market sprinkled with vibrant floral displays and on our first day, under a clear blue sky. It was so alive! Our “short walk” turned into 6 hours and before we knew it, we’d seen a massive chunk of Barcelona. It was all accidental, there was no itinerary and that is exactly what we both needed it to be, I think.
Aimlessly wandering around a gorgeous city with one of your favourite people is a really great way to blow cobwebs out, I’d recommend it to everybody.
I couldn’t share a lot on snapchat, instagram or any other social network. Nobody could contact me until I got back to the hostel. This used to be something that really freaked me out and caused intense anxiety but it was wonderful. Nothing home had to tell me couldn’t wait. I’d had enough news.
I wanted sunny skies, fruity sangrias and to be around people that understood me. Nothing else had to matter for a few days.
I love Glasgow. More than anywhere else in the world, I love Glasgow. I needed to see another city, different friends, experience a world so separate to my own to really be able to come back and appreciate the life I have, even just for a little while.
The friends we went to visit have built their own lives, have their own tiny world that we were lucky enough to get a small glimpse of. From restaurants with unbelievable comfortable seats, to a tiny ice cream parlour even right down to their favourite delis and eating brunch (who am I?) with the friends they’ve made since moving there… It was so refreshing.
We found a fairytale themed bar, with stories in photo frames and tiny fairy pools. Dark and secluded, it was a stark contrast to the clear skies and vibrant colours but it was gorgeous. Another accidental treat. The other memorable bar was on a side-street from Las Ramblas. It was essentially a hole in the wall with four stools in front of it. Fake flowers, disco balls and Christmas decorations. It was every bit as tacky as it was dreamy. The barman made a promise that if I could guess where he was from, I’d get a free shot.
Free shots all round.
After a night of homemade sangria, dinner cooked for us and a surprisingly tasty dip made of dried onion soup (honestly!), we only had one day left in beautiful Barcelona.
We had brunch, walked around the city centre and made the most of our final day. We didn’t do much sight-seeing but we did remember to always look up. It’s a great rule for most cities but especially Barcelona. There is so much beauty. So much.
City breaks are supposed to be jam-packed with activities, itineraries and early mornings. They’re supposed to be so much more than what we did but Barcelona isn’t a place you only visit once. I know that now, already.
Sometimes you don’t need to tick all the boxes, sometimes you just need a break from your own world.
I am a bit of a homely soul and I am usually happy to be coming home from holidays but this time I wasn’t ready. I cried quite a lot. My little corner of the Earth didn’t seem appealing to me, at-all. I just wanted to continue wandering aimlessly, accidentally stumbling on gorgeous architecture and becoming rosy-cheeked with sangria.
It was only a few days but I think being unplugged and without obligations really soothed my bruised soul. The reminders that the world outside of my own tiny bubble can be so beautiful gave me a new perspective and while I wasn’t ready to leave, I think that’s the best way to feel. I spent 3 days with people I really truly adore, in a gorgeous city and none of the memories are even slightly tainted. It was just a gorgeous way to come back to life.
Thanks Barca, thanks pals, I can breathe again. x
Hostal River for a cheap, basic hostel that is very clean and very central Fabrica Moritz for affordable food, very comfortable seats and a lovely atmosphere (also cava sangria!) Gothic Quarter for gorgeous architecture, interesting stores and a lively taste of Barcelona
In all the chaos, flurry and rage of the petty squabbles we find ourselves in, we forget about the people who love us. And loved us. And will love us.
A family friend died this morning. I knew it was coming, and I honestly can’t even remember the last time I saw Les but the loss was felt, deeply.
Les was probably the most wholesome person I’ve ever met. A friend to everybody. All I can remember is his smiling face. I was a shy child but I always ran across the playground to hug him. I just loved him. A truly pure love. He taught everybody in my primary school bike safety and was a very patient mentor. He had time for everybody and the kids loved him.
I told them we were related. He was my godmother’s dad. Close enough.
I speak of all the things I want to do with my life, the places I want to take my writing, the career I hope to have but deep down, like everybody else, I want a life of love. Les had that.
Les was adored. He was humble, he was kind, he was everything you think of when you think of a good person. His family is tight-knit and they are all his biggest fans. Sometimes you make waves not with controversy or hard work but by being the best version of yourself, wherever possible. Les taught me that.
It’s comforting to know Les died at an old age with no regrets. That he really did have a life of love. He died knowing he was loved and those around him never questioned it.
I’m learning over time that a happy life is more important than an exciting one. I’m not sure the story of Les’s life would be a bestseller but to those that knew him, the lasting memories will be filled with love, and laughter, and kindness. We take these things for granted but more often than not, they matter the most.
I am so glad I knew Les. I’m so glad I have the memories of him. He was one of the really special people that never quite leaves your skin and I’m lucky to have known him in such formative years. No matter how long it’s been, how far away I am or how much I change, Les and his family are part of my core.
Les didn’t want flowers, or money being spent by anybody. He didn’t want a fuss. Humble and dignified til the end. What he’s left me with, and what I hope I’ve conveyed to you, is an acknowledgement and understanding of what it is to have a life of love.
The little things don’t matter. Remember the people that created your core. And try to always be the best version of yourself, or at least the kindest version of yourself, wherever possible.
“Leaves are falling all around
It’s time I was on my way
Thanks to you I’m much obliged
For such a pleasant stay
But now it’s time for me to go
The autumn moon lights my way”
Led Zeppelin – Ramble On
So, today is moving day. Finally.
Autumn doesn’t actually start ’til later this month but it’s the 1st of September and to me, that indicates that Autumn is almost here and the fresh start that F. Scott Fitzgerald spoke of is well underway.
I’m really quite excited to be leaving my big purple house now. Just as I was getting sentimental about leaving, one headache came, and then another, and then another. Now that moving day is here, I’m just really excited to move into a lovely southside flat with an old pal. It’s a new adventure for me and the cats. A well overdue adventure.
There’s something really exciting about moving house and I should know – this is my 20th(!) move. The actual moving part is tedious, costs more than you expect and exhausting but once you’re in, it’s a fresh start. It feels as if you’ve just really turned a page and there are endless opportunities ahead.
The new walls surrounding you, the new area to explore, the nooks and crannies that all make up a home… they’re all yours for the taking! The last tenants only moved out yesterday, so I won’t have that ‘new home’ smell. I have, however, bought candles to make sure it smells fresh.
I even love the unpacking and finding new places for familiar belongings.
I am worried about settling my cats. Cats don’t like change. But I do.
Initially, I freak out. Initially, I wonder how the hell I’m going to tackle it.
Then I get excited. Despite being surrounded by boxes, and binbags, and a flat that still needs to be post-tenancy cleaned, I’m excited. I don’t know what’s ahead apart from a big flat and living with an old friend.
F. Scott Fitzgerald was right, wasn’t he? Life really does take on a fresh new start in Autumn.
(Please carry my books for me. I have five huge boxes. WHO EVEN NEEDS THIS MANY BOOKS?!)
P.S – my first newsletter goes out today, if you’d like to sign up, just go here!
I remember the time before you. I did play on the street, I did go home with muddy knees and yes, my friends lived across the road from me. I had a lot of fun and I’m so grateful for my memories of being a scruffy kid who played on the street. My memories BI (before internet) are really exactly what all of those terrible memes say and I do get nostalgic thinking about the memories and laughter those days brought.
Those memories, however, have nothing on what you have brought me, internet.
I remember our early days together. The dial-up days. Look, I know you’re embarrassed now but don’t be – we worked through those times and I knew you’d be worth the wait. I mean, yes, okay, it was much quicker to call my friend to arrange plans than rely on not-so-instant messenger but I just loved the sweet satisfaction of pinging messages and awaiting responses.
I remember making websites that weren’t actually too different to this very one but they didn’t cost an annual fee and were almost always covered in tacky glittery gifs.
I remember Blueyonder emails. REMEMBER how important that email address felt?
Our early days were frustrating and I did go for days, weeks at a time without seeing you but once we recovered, we never looked back, did we internet?
From meeting my first crush on Habbo Hotel (I wonder who actually still goes on that bizarre site?!) to explaining my feelings at any given time via my MSN messenger screenname, you were there. Of course, I paired these screennames with “emoticons” that tended to be broken hearts and wilted flowers, bless my emo heart.
I poured my heart out to you from day one, internet. My various Livejournal accounts, my MySpace blog posts, my bulletins and of course, the music I listened to meticulously referenced on Last.Fm. I showed you every little part of me and for every part I showed, there was a new website waiting to embrace it.
When I was 13, I was a shy girl who moved to a different country and I wasn’t really welcomed with open arms by my fellow peers. My weird accent, consistent scowl and aversion to small talk led to me being pretty unpopular. But you always loved me. I found my fellow weirdos thanks to you, internet. My mum was worried for me but I wasn’t. I was relieved. Being a freak is one thing but being the only one is isolating. Thanks to AOL, band forums, MySpace and of course, MSN messenger itself, I never felt alone.
My first love, even before you, was music. Fortunately, thanks to Limewire, I had all the music in the world right at my fingertips ready to go onto my MP3 player. 30 songs in one tiny player! How lucky! Limewire did give our computer viruses, some dodgy versions of songs that didn’t quite sound like the versions I’d heard on Kerrang and never-ending frustration when I downloaded a full album but I loved Limewire. I tried others but like a lover that you know is bad for you, I always went back to Limewire. I couldn’t resist.
Even now, I don’t regret my time with Limewire. I can’t listen to Good Riddance without hearing the glitch that came with the Limewire version but that is a small price to pay, really.
Then there were the friendships I did start in person but curated online. The friendships that were built through late-night talks and bearing our souls in a way that just didn’t seem possible offline. We all struggled with our hormones and chaotic emotions but you, internet, you gave us a safe outlet that was very much “what is said on the internet stays on the internet”. Thank you for that.
In my later teen years, you were a solace to me when I moved to Glasgow alone. I spent my evenings finding new music, writing down relatable lyrics in my notepads and attempting to maintain the friendships I’d built.
I finally did start a real blog where I wrote about music. The first thing I wrote was about Jack Johnson’s new album. Then I wrote about my ex-boyfriend’s band’s new album. Then, through the magic of the internet and my Tumblr account, I met with three other girls who wanted to write about music. We started a music blog together called Let the Music Do the Talking, after an Aerosmith song. We ignited one another’s passion for writing and became a lovely wee team for a while.
Then, we got an email from somebody called Chris who was starting a monthly metal night in Glasgow called Mayhem Underground – would any of us like to cover it? I jumped at the chance. Mayhem Underground was run by a team of volunteers. The manager, his partner, two photographers, a radio dj, a weekly podcast host, a comedian and myself. We met so many bands, and I made friends with so many people from the bands. It was wild, incredible, terrible and short-lived. But I met some of my closest, dearest friends through it that I still cherish to this day. All from one silly email. Thank you for that.
All the while, I had a Tumblr account. I know, I know. Tumblr has a bad name but for me, it was an easy way to speak to people from my city without, you know, talking to them in person. On my 26th birthday, I was surrounded by around 10 of my friends and my sister asked me where I’d even met so many people who liked me (thanks Georgia!) the answer was Tumblr. For better or worse, Tumblr. Thanks for that, too.
My music writing slightly took off and I eventually started writing for a local youth magazine called The Banter Magazine. I interviewed so many incredible artists and had so many wonderful gigs experiences thanks to The Banter Magazine. It all started with Amy Lee from Evanescence and the last artist I interviewed for the magazine was Scott from Frightened Rabbit. Unbelievable. And all thanks to you, internet!
Thanks to my writing being readily available online, I managed to get some paid SEO freelance work which added to an accidentally growing portfolio. I didn’t even think of where my portfolio would take me, I was just excited to be writing and to be paid to do so!
In 2014, I landed what I thought was my “dream job” thanks to my writing. Thanks to you, really, since you gave me a platform. That job ended, and so did others following it but now I write for a living. It’s my entire job! This really is the dream. I am a content writer for a fantastic wee company and if it weren’t for you, internet, my job wouldn’t even exist.
In fact, I don’t know what my life would be without you, internet. Friends, jobs, unforgettable experiences, and all thanks to you. So happy birthday, internet and thank you so bloody much for the memories. And the endless information at my fingertips. And the opportunities. And Netflix.
I am willing to forget the utter horror that was Faceparty. We’ll call that a bad patch and leave it at that.
It’s been 15 years that I’ve loved you, internet, and although our relationship is sometimes unhealthy and I did use you as a crutch for a long time, I think our relationship is beautiful now. It has taken me to places I never could have been to if it weren’t for you.
I’m sure Tim-Berners Lee had bigger dreams for you than terrible memes and Llamas in Hats but I’m grateful for it all.
It started with losing a boyfriend and ended with losing a flat (well, my landlord is looking into selling it and was actually very lovely about it all but allow me some dramatics, I’m sad). In between that, I was told I might lose an ovary. Holy. Hell.
This little flat is my home. It is tiny, there are no radiators on the walls – just expensive portable ones, the neighbourhood leaves a lot to be desired and yes, fair enough, I have complained quite a lot about my little corner of the world over the past five years but it is home. In fact, I have lived in this flat for longer than I’ve ever lived in any home before it. I love it.
The walls are purple, the doors are cheap and the buzzer is ridiculous. I live on a lane. The end of my address is “street lane” and nobody can ever find it. I didn’t even really want this flat when we got it, it just seemed like the best of a bad bunch. It was so much worse back then but you really do make homes your own and now the thin walls that surround me also define me. Every essence of this feels like home.
I can’t say I’m quite as attached to my ovary. The cyst that currently lives on it has given me so much grief. I’ve always been somebody who cries easily, and a lot, but the pain this has given me has left me sobbing on the bus, in doorways and into my cardigan at work. I probably won’t miss this ovary or the residing cyst but I wish the option to have it hadn’t been taken away from me.
I think that’s where I am, actually. There’s a lot happening to me that I didn’t get consulted on prior. The feeling of helplessness and loss of control has taken a huge toll on me.
I need to move. I need to move on. I need to probably have an ovary removed and the very least, surgery. 2/3 of those are definitely happening soon. They’re happening whether I like it or not, whether I’m ready or not. I’m still quite overwhelmed and although I think everything that’s happened has been right, and fair, and for the best, I’m craving the life I had 5 weeks ago. I wish I’d made the most of my life not being such a hurricane.
I have no idea where I’ll be in 4 months time. I have no idea what my life will be like. And I guess…. that’s pretty exciting? I have absolutely no idea what the future holds for me. And in my lighter moments, that are becoming more frequent, I realise I’m about to embark on a new adventure. Whatever that may mean for me.
If there’s anything I’m good at, it’s resilience. And oversharing on the internet, clearly.
As David Bowie said: “I don’t know where I’m going but I promise it won’t be boring”.
It’s difficult to navigate the ending of a relationship when you still like and love each other. When you’re so intertwined in each other’s lives that you sometimes forget that their family, isn’t actually yours. When you have so many in-jokes and such a complete world between just the two of you that only being together feels like home. It’s so incredibly difficult. But it is possible.
Our final months together were a disservice to what was always a loving relationship, if not always an easy one. I probably put Gavin, and our relationship on a pedestal now and then but we really were great. Everybody thought so. So many friends have said to me if you guys can’t make it, what chance does anybody else have?
Which is nice. If a little bit of a punch to the gut. I don’t really know how to answer it, either. We were just as surprised as anybody else that we didn’t work out.
It’s been 3 weeks now, 3 weeks today actually and I have felt myself change, and grow in such a short space of time. There have been so many emotions to work through and so much of our relationship, our first weeks, our final months, that I’ve dissected in my mind.
For the first 3 days after it, I didn’t eat. Drinking a cup of tea felt like climbing a mountain and I am pretty unfit. I couldn’t bring myself to really do anything. It was as if I existed in a heartbreak realm where the only thing anybody could do is cry. I didn’t know how to open up to my friends. I wanted my life back. Or to be able to eat.
They passed, though and I ate again. I drank again. I got drunk and only cried once. Recovery started before we even ended, I think. I wasn’t overly surprised that Gavin left me. Just sad. We both were.
It’s hard to believe that what was such a happy relationship for such a long time could end and I am still getting my head around us being over, him not living in this home anymore, we’ve had our last kiss. We’ve had our last trip. We’ve had our last night out. We’ve finished. And I’m not going to lie, I am scared. I don’t want to put myself out there and end up floating in the heartbreak realm again. Friends of mine have said it’s given them a bit of a shock, too.
I don’t want anything, not for a long time but what I can say, even right now, only 3 weeks later is I would do it all again, even knowing it ended like this.
Love isn’t a destination, it’s a journey. And some journeys, even the best ones, even the ones you feel won’t ever end, do. And that’s okay. It doesn’t mean failure, it doesn’t have to result in regret.
Do it anyway. Fall in love anyway. Kiss them anyway. Put yourself out there anyway. Emotions shouldn’t be safeguarded and hands shouldn’t be tentatively held. Throwing yourself in, and absorbing all of it, the love, the passion, the heartache… it’s worth it. And I’d do it all over again.
Our love changed me, for better and worse. It’s odd to look back at who I was when I first got with Gavin compared to who I am today. It’s odd looking at who he was. It’s also really lovely. We’re better, stronger, kinder people than we once were.
And I’m glad we had such an adventure.
I’ll love whatever you become Forget the reckless things we’ve done, I think our lives have just begun Muse – Falling Away With You
The fun thing about Motörhead fans is we can always spot one another. You can just feel it. For such a huge band, they still have a very cult feeling about them. They’re not for everyone, they’re not radio friendly but if you get it, you really fucking get it.
I owe so much of who I am to Motörhead and in turn, Lemmy.
I’m really struggling to find the words.
From my boyfriend who has ‘Born to Lose, Live to Win’ tattooed on his arm, to my best friend who I built a relationship with through mutual love of Motörhead – one of the first things we ever did together was watch the Lemmy documentary-, to the guy I’ve only ever seen in Cathouse, and only ever talk to about Motörhead, to people who I’ve loved and lost that continue to associate me with the band, to the other fans who also religiously went to every Glasgow show to the friends that associate me with, if nothing else, Motörhead and finally, to the time Mikkey Dee gave me free tickets to their show on my birthday… They’re a huge part of who I am. And who I love. They’re not just a band to me, they’re in my DNA, they’ve shaped me.
For a very long time I always knew that there would be a show in November. If nothing else, I was seeing my favourite band in November and if I could just get through the preceding months, it’d all be worth it. For half of my life, they were consistently there. And I can’t imagine who I’d be without them.
Lemmy wasn’t a flashy rockstar really. He had a ‘look’ and he had such an incredible presence but he still lived in a tiny condo. And that was enough. It’s weird seeing people say ‘Lemmy is God’, or I suppose was God because he wasn’t. He didn’t have a godlike presence, he didn’t think himself superior to anyone. He was just a musician. He played rock and roll and treated everybody fairly.
For all the stories that are coming out, there still haven’t been tales of rifts. In fact, Ozzy has said he was everybody’s friend. That’s some feat for a guy that was in the industry for his entire adult life. That’s why I loved him. He was himself, and that was enough. He’s achieved ultimate rockstar status by not giving a fuck about what it is to be a rockstar.
Motörhead were a band for misfits. Lemmy was a misfit, albeit a celebrated one. Motörhead is for the weirdos, the uglies, and even the obnoxious (he actually said that part himself). After 40 years, they were still the ultimate underdog band and for a weirdo like me, they were a salvation.
Motörhead gave me the strength and the confidence to embrace being a weirdo and more than that, they helped me embrace my demons. My anger, my bitterness, my resentfulness didn’t go to waste and that’s because their music, Lemmy, all of it, taught me that these things can drive you to becoming a better person. A shameless person with an appetite for success despite all previous obstacles and baggage. A freak, but a proud freak.
Does that make sense?
I don’t care really.
Lemmy’s health steadily declined over the past couple of years and as a fan, it was hard to see people placing bets on when he’d die, how many shows they’d cancel. What was a running joke for so many people was a sadness in the pit of my stomach. Lemmy couldn’t have given up. His shows kept him going, I completely believe that. And I’m proud of his stubborn approach to performing – he may have lost weight and be slowly dying, but he wouldn’t be going without a fight. Good.
Now that he’s gone, I’m lost. I don’t know if I ought to feel as sad as I do – I didn’t know him personally. I feel sad all the same. I feel like a part of me has gone. My hero has gone and so have Motörhead. No more shows, I’ve seen them play for the last time. And I wasn’t ready to say goodbye, I never would have been.
I had a few drinks with my best friend last night, and came home to notifications from groups that I’m in that are dedicated to the band. My best friend and I mourned, and toasted together and then in my tipsy state, I emotionally spoke to my online Motörhead family who understood my distress.
I’ll miss the gigs, I’ll miss the ears ringing for days at a time, I’ll miss seeing the band together on stage – best friends with beautiful chemistry. I’ll miss the new album releases, I’ll miss Lemmy’s sarcastic responses to interviews. I’ll miss Novembers.
Most of all, I’ll miss Lemmy. I already do. This is a huge loss to fans and the industry.
I have so much more I could say but this was difficult enough.
I’m heartbroken and a little bit lost.
Goodnight Lemmy, and thank you for everything.
(More on me and Motörhead here. Written a few years ago with a clearer mind x)
Okay so we left my Livejournal with me being drunk and stupid at the end of Summer in 2005. I was ungrounded once my Standard Grades came through, I had started an oddly complicated relationship with P who openly had a crush on myself and my friend K. I can’t obviously use real names because I’m only here to embarrass myself.
I ended things with P once I realised how stupidly complicated everything was and from October, I was dating M.
I left school around 3 months into the school year and had been accepted onto a computing course that started the following January.
Here we go…
Wednesday, December 7th, 2005
Today’s rant is about……
It’s driving me crazy! I mean, fair enough, people get depressed and stuff but why oh why is EVERYTHING suddenly emo?! I say I like a sad song and Im “emo” I like writinbg poetry, again, “emo” i MEAN WTF?! this is just my personality ffs
Yes, Sarah, your personality was emo. Bravo.
I think I got really angry the other day when a good friend of mine said that blink 182 were emo *raised eyebrow* Oh and my converse are also apparently emo! HELL NO! Converse are my rock and roll shoes =D I love them more than life itself and Im not having them labelled
Can’t carry on ranting about that,,….Im getting adgitated
The emo doth protest too much, methinks.
I will say, in my defence, I truly did love those Converse and felt at least 70% cooler whilst wearing them. So this is cringy but I forgive it because God bless my little emo heart.
Monday, February 6th, 2006
I won’t post this whole blog post because honestly, I was being a pretty horrible about a girl I’d fallen out with and while it’s funny, it’s also unnecessarily cruel and I’m still ashamed.
I will say, I thought this was really cutting:
Shes a wannabe goth somedays and other days a wannabe emo- its fricken pathetic !!!
Her hair is stupid- shes put this dumb excuse for a fringe in and describes it as emo- LMFAO !!!!!
… Wow. “LMFAO!!!!!” Really? Fucking hell. This was actually pretty vicious for me and I do remember the person in question was just as fiery as me (and probably still is, I hope she is) but really what an absolute goose I was. I used to read over posts before publishing them and I genuinely thought this was acceptable.
Now remember, from around October, I was dating M. He was my first proper boyfriend really and he really adored me, it was lovely. We had a cute romance and I still think back on it quite fondly. After the seemingly endless series of idiots I dated, M was a breath of fresh air and even my mum liked him.
We broke up after 6 months of being together. I can’t really remember why- we both just seemed to agree that our relationship had run it’s course. This is one of the most sincere posts I wrote on that godforsaken blog and it’s strange to read such brutal honesty without ‘text’ talk or acronyms. I think I was genuinely upset!
Wednesday March 8th, 2006
Thats it people. Me and M have split up and it fucking sucks. He was pretty much everything to me. I didn’t deserve him though. I didn’t do the dumping it was pretty much coming though. We both knew it. This’ll sound strange, but even picturing yourself without someone after just 6 months feels horrible.I love him.
Ever feel like you don’t know what you’ve got ’til it’s gone? Voila….that’s me right now. I know us breaking up was the right thing to do. Doesn’t make it any easier though. He wont stay friends with me. He’s not the kinda person to do that. I’m not holding it against him, but I gonna miss him soooo fucking much. We started talking last June, he’s been in my life for quite a while, I’ve spoken to him pretty much every night since September.
He gave the most amazing hugs ever. He genuinely loved me. Not my body, or my friends… ME. He accepted every flaw I had and wasn’t creeped out when I told him about my dad. How often do u find someone like that? Exactly. Rarely. And I fucked it up. As always.
I don’t wanna have people say, “I told you so”, I don’t need it.
God ! I’m so stupid!!!!!
Maybe I’m just not meant to fall in love…
Ah, bless. Melodrama and excessive punctuation. But sincerity. At least I was understanding the difference between decent boys and fuckboys.
Monday, March 20th, 2006
Monday morning’s offcially suck.
Got a lift off Ross :] which was nice of him but his music is pure SHITE
Now I’m sat in college with a lecturer I wana shoot OMG she’s talking again !
SHUTUP YOU COW !
AHEM…. Weekend was okay :] Went to glasgow with Jamie on Saturday which was cool…..some banter….some alchohol….just a little :p We went the cinema…. Jamie wanted to see Chicken Little but I wanted to see Date Movie… I WON LALALALLALA
Christ. So my lecturer had the GALL to talk to me?! What a COW.
Date Movie was horrendous, I don’t know why I’m LALALALALLA’ing over this terrible victory.
Anyway, a couple of weeks later, this undeniable tragedy happened:
You know, sometimes all you need is twenty seconds of insane courage. Just literally twenty seconds of just embarrassing bravery. And I promise you, something great will come of it. – We Bought A Zoo
Today is an important anniversary for me. I don’t really want to go into the details of what it is because it’s not entirely relevant and may completely detract from my point. But it’s a big deal.
13 years ago today, I mustered all of my courage so that my future, and my family’s future could be brighter. So that other people could be safe. I was only 12 years old and although everyone told me that I was being brave, I just felt I was doing what I absolutely had to- no debate, no bravery, just getting it over and done with because there was no other option.
In retrospect, I was incredibly brave and strong. I was one amazing little kid. I’m really proud of who I was and how strong willed my 12 year old soul was.
When I did what I did, I was pretty sure that I didn’t have much of a future ahead of me. I was pretty sure I was either going to be miserable for my whole life or die young. I was very, very depressed and I had no idea. I didn’t think I could ever possibly be happy again. I’d accepted my fate and was okay with it, as long as I got this thing done. I’m sorry I’m being cryptic.
The thing is, it really did just take about an hour (I think) of bravery. I just had to sit, and talk honestly for an hour. And I knew this was the case. I knew I could always get through the next five minutes so I did it. It took crazy amounts of unfathomable bravery but once it was done, I didn’t need to be brave any more. And I was so relieved. The little mantra of ‘just the next five minutes’ is something I’ve carried since and even spoken about on here.
It’s been 13 years and in that time, I have struggled with mental health issues, I’ve cried myself to sleep a lot and I have made SO MANY bad decisions that weren’t particularly brave or intelligent and some of them were due to youth, some due to self destructing.
What I’ve also done is build a home with someone who loves me, and has always loved me for who I am. I’ve carved a life for myself in a city that I now very happily call home. I’ve carved a career for myself. I’ve got a solid, a really solid group of friends and I have two beautiful cats. I don’t go on wild excursions, I don’t travel the world. I see my friends a few times a week, I see my boyfriend at every chance I get and I work full time. I have an average life and man, I am so grateful for my little life.
I’m so grateful that I’m around to be with the kind of friends I always hoped I’d have, that I stuck around to meet Gavin, that my life didn’t get cut short as I expected and that I have, despite everything, EVERYTHING, a heart full of love. Full to the brim. I have a life full of love. And music. And art. And humour. And in-jokes.
I’m so grateful that 12 year old me took those brave steps so that I could live this wonderful life. I’m so grateful that I’ve carried the same strength through my whole life and drawn strength from such a traumatic experience.
This week, I’ve complained about my job a lot but having today highlighted to me gave me an incredible amount of perspective. Life really gets better, right before your eyes. You just have to stick around to see it happen, even if it takes a little bravery here and there.