Awkward things.

Time for Change…


I’m flailing around a bit right now, looking for something, anything, to hold onto. And all the while, like the contrary girl I am, I’m pushing everything away, my sanity, my health, my career, everything. So I’ve decided to write a list of things that I’m screwing up on, and how I intend to fix them, if only to wave a flag of good intentions and win a few Brownie points to cash in. Here we go…


How I am right now:

This is the biggie. I am generally an annoyingly cheerful person. I’m talking bouncy, bouncy, bouncy, bouncy, fun, fun, fun, fun- Please stop it now, before I change my stance on pacifism. I am an expert on upsides, the sort of person who will drop an anvil on her big toe and cheerily trill ‘oh sugar’, when anyone owning a single bone marked ‘normal’ would make full use of every swear word they’ve ever been taught, even the French ones. But when I fall in the misery swamp, I fall right down to the bottom, and everything is a problem. I hate everything and everyone, everything is pointless, nothing is right, and I just want to lie in bed and complain about things.

What I’m doing about it:

I am challenging myself to think of five positives for every negative. For example, if the anvil were to decide that it hadn’t done enough damage, and go for my other toe, I might complain about the fact that my toe f%$*&@g hurts, but then, being forced to find the upsides, I would realise that the anvil missed my skull twice, (which is lucky!) I hadn’t painted my toenails, so there was no chipping involved, I now have a lawsuit on my hands with the anvil-carrying company, which could lead to a swimming pool and better anvil-transportation laws, it could have been something worse than an anvil, for example, a poisonous, radioactive, laser shark, and the anvil is a lovely shade of grey, which is nice. I feel awesome already, and I didn’t even have to have an anvil incident!


How I am right now:

Ugh. When I am sad, I decide that buying everything in the world is the answer. I am especially drawn to fluffy things, sparkly things, things intended for children under the age of five, things that will never fit me, things that I would never wear, even if I was a hooker with the self-esteem of Charlie Sheen, notebooks, (I have approximately two hundred already) books, (this is reasonable – there is no such thing as enough books) and anything that costs my entire pay cheque becomes ridonculously tempting. Basically this is me:

shut up

And that’s bad and it needs to stop. Mainly because I’m spending all my book money on lucky cats and bread machines.

What I’m doing about it:

Not spending money basically, which is harder than it sounds. Like way harder. It’s like that thing when heroin addicts can avoid heroin, alcoholics can avoid alcohol, and fat people and spenders are screwed. I’m screwed. I still have to buy food, (more on this later) and I still have to buy essential things, (like batteries and an ancient, battered collection of Shakespeare. Illustrated. Like I said, essential) and I still have to browse Etsy for a few hours a day, just in case I see something that I fall in love with, so I can cry into my pillow and complain about the world shortage of rich, eligible bachelors. But it’s getting easier. I just have to remember the difference between want and need, and essential and non-essential. For example, I WANT a cushion with Benedict Cumberbatch’s face on it, so I can stare lovingly into his eyes before I fall asleep and- Nope, bad example. I kind of do actually need that…


How I am right now:

Ah food, you delicious, delicious bastard. How you taunt me with your seeping sauces and your gooey middles and your melt on the mouth-ness. But I know what you’re doing. Oh yes, I’m onto you. I see the pounds creeping on, like blubbery ninjas, sneaking in through my nostrils while I sleep and hanging out on my hips, especially my right one for some reason. I notice my jeans getting tighter and the mirror being meaner and everything going blurry every time I try on clothes in a changing room. But the joke’s on you, food, because I am embarking on another diet, and I will lose weight, (only to put it all back on again) so ha. That’ll teach you.

What I’m doing about it:

It’s getting boring now. Losing weight, gaining weight, and losing weight again. It’s like a never ending merry-go-round of compliments and odd looks and new clothes and old clothes, of fat days and skirt days and taking photos and taking down anyone in a thirty mile radius with a camera. It’s tedious and it’s tiring and it sucks. Eating right and exercising is like the Holy Grail to someone like me, but where the hell is it? And how and why and all the questions. You exercise and it transforms you into a ravenous eating machine. You eat healthily and can barely move, such is the energy licked from carrot sticks and lettuce wraps. I’m being facetious, I know. I’m being pig-headed and awkward and wilfully ignorant and basically doing everything I can to eat cake and shrug and say that diets don’t work for me. Well they do, and it starts, like always, tomorrow.


How I am right now:

The fact that it’s Pepsi and not Coke says a lot. For those of you in the know, I used to have a hardcore Coke problem. We’re talking the carbonated beverage, not the white powder.  I was easily glugging three litres of the stuff a day. It was bad. Then I kicked the habit, was very proud of myself, and wrote a blog about it. Everything was wonderful… Until I got sad again. Now, because I am me, and sometimes I think I’m smarter than I actually I am, in the grip of my depression I decided to poison my body from the inside, and I needed some heavy duty stuff. But because I’d kicked Coke, I couldn’t go back. Oh no. I was going to reach for something that didn’t have the power to reel me in, something that I could put down as easily as I picked it up. I went for the Daria to my Quinn, the sister that Coke wouldn’t be seen dead with. I chose Pepsi. And I got hooked. Because brown liquid chemicals are brown liquid chemicals, and labels are lies.

What I’m doing about it:

Drinking all the Pepsi in the world ever. Because maybe Pepsi and Coke aren’t that different, and this time I’m not talking about the drink. I don’t know. I will quit. I can quit. I just… Now isn’t the right time for me. I mean, I’ve got all these excuses ready, and it wouldn’t be right not to use them. Ok, ok. I will quit, and soon. Just, let me deal with the other stuff first, yeah? For now I’m going to savour the taste of aspartame and make a list of upsides.

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Pep Talk


Stop it. Stop feeling crappy right now. Do you know how awesome you are? How funny and smart and special? There isn’t a single person in the world like you. And I know that sometimes that might not feel like a blessing, when you’re getting on your own nerves again, when you’re stuffing the entire contents of your fridge between your already greasy lips and you have no idea why, but you are not that moment.

You are not the way that your jeans feel tight, or the way that you cried when he said what he said. You are not the score on that test, or that job rejection or the feeling that dragged you almost through the gutter when those guys shouted those words across the street. You aren’t the books you haven’t read, or the people you don’t know, or the places you haven’t been. You aren’t too old or too fat or too boring. You aren’t anything that anyone thinks is bad.

I know that times are tough, and I know that nothing seems to cover the hurt that won’t stop bleeding. I know that you’re reading this through narrowed eyes, thinking it’s all stupid and what do I know anyway? I don’t know you. Even if I do know you, I don’t know you, know you. I can’t imagine all the ways you stab yourself in the brain, the words you scream with every step you take, every breath you breath, every second of eye contact you don’t make, because you’re this or you’re that or whatever.

But I know what I do to myself, and I know that it has to stop. Right now.

Every second is another tick on a chart, another tick of the clock away from who you were, who you don’t want to be, who you’re running from. You’re not her. You’re not him. You’re not your past. Right now is all you can control, and as long as you’re moving, you’re doing. You should be proud. Every day that you haul yourself out of bed is another success. Every time you get dressed, you’re pushing through the sludge and out the other side. Every time you smile, you’re beating your demons with a baseball bat. You’re a hero.

So don’t feel bad for the weight that you’ve gained, or the Facebook pages you’ve stalked, or the catty comments you made when her back was turned. That’s gone. Done. Over. Unless you’ve got a time machine, you’re not going to change it, and if you have a time machine, what are you doing reading this article? Go back and stop them cancelling Clarissa Explains it All. The world needs you.

To anyone who isn’t saving society from a lack of thrift shop clothes and ladders banging against windows, to you I say just keep swimming. It’s a long road, but there’s a lot of cool stuff that you’ll find in the laybys, and down dirt tracks and in the woods when you’re searching for somewhere to pee. There will be blurred parties and autumn days hiding under the covers from the sun, sipping hot chocolate and scalding pyjama-clad legs. There will be eyelid kisses and snow angels and water fights. There will be DVD marathons and park benches and sand-covered sandwiches and not enough time in the sea. There will be life, sucked up through your nostrils and drunk down by your eyes and it’ll just keep flooding in. There is no time to give up and go home, because the world will keep spinning.

You’re still in it, so keep living, and don’t worry, because there isn’t enough time for that.

You are who you are now, and that’s good enough.

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