Monday, 18 July 2016

The woman who jumped

(*photo credit to Negativexposive*)

I thought about her for most of that day. I imagined her walking slowly, purposefully, towards the platform. Knowing. I wondered if she'd left anybody at home: if she'd left anybody. I assumed she probably had.

I thought about whether she'd had breakfast that morning: whether she might have chopped fresh strawberries onto her porridge or had poached eggs on brown toast, yolks perfectly runny, because they had always been her favourites. And perhaps, if you had a choice, you'd choose your favourite as your last. Perhaps.
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Sunday, 10 July 2016

Book review - 'Ctrl Alt Delete: How I grew up online' by Emma Gannon


There are many things I'd forgotten about before reading Emma's book. Like how my best friends and I would snigger mischievously as we huddled around my first ever grey, clunky laptop, circa 2003, stealing an unsuspecting neighbour's Internet to google things like, 'how to give good blow jobs', practicing the listed techniques on four month old cans of 'Charlie' body spray. Or about Elliot, the cute, sun-kissed stranger with the disheveled blonde hair who, for two short weeks, became my MSN boyfriend, putting 'Kathy' between blazing hearts in his screen name. Of course, I wouldn't actually go near an actual, real-life boy, for many painful, hormonal-house-party years, but I was curious, just like Emma. The Internet allowed me to be.
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Monday, 4 July 2016

About anxiety


'I just feel, sometimes,' I said quietly, sadly: each word thick with exhaustion, 'that I'll only ever live half a life.' It had been a bad day, that day.

That night, just like so many others, I stirred: cold, clammy, and numb beneath my sheets, wondering how to make it go away: wondering if it will ever fully go away. I knew the answer. I knew the answer for a long time before I dared realise it.

It won't.

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Monday, 20 June 2016

How to love yourself

(*photo credit to Thomas Shahan*)

Accept that life, humanness, will always be messy. Imperfect. That the routine of living is good days and bad days and mediocre days and days where you wade through the shit, and days where you bask in the sunlight. You are entitled to live and feel and experience all of these days. Be honest with yourself. Be honest with the people around you. Know where you're at.

Permit yourself to be. To show up. To fuck up. To grow up. 

Know that you are allowed to take up space. Allow yourself to take up space. Ask the question. Send the email. Walk into that event wearing your jazziest, sparkliest shoes and talk to the people you feel you're not good enough for. You'll soon find that you are. Book the flight. Say yes. Do all of the things that weave knots of giddy apprehension into your stomach. 

DO ALL OF THE THINGS. Life's too short for anything else.

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Monday, 13 June 2016

About the only person worth being with

(*photo credit to You Me*)

They're not perfect. Far from it. But somehow, their imperfections embellish them. Stars of the night. They're wonderful to you, so wonderful, because of all of their things. All of those annoying, bizarre, infuriatingly endearing things.

The air around you will feel lighter when they're part of it, as if this person: skin, bones, cells, a smile, that smile, can inadvertently lift the weight of the entire world for a moment. And they so often are part of it, the air around you. Because they want to be. You've not laid awake inventing intricate, romantic plot-lines to excuse their absence. You don't know what their absence feels like; they're there beside you, even when they're not. 

They've always been there, from the very first moment your eyes locked

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