Tag: think

Sundays

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Sunday evenings always seem to make me sit and reflect a lot. Last year I wrote a really long and kind of trying to understand my own mind (if you missed it here is the link). Sometimes I use this blog to manage how I’m feeling or what I’m thinking about, because I just need to get it out there.

When I was a little girl Sundays were exciting, I got to go to work with Mum and Nanna, unless my Aunt could look after me for the day, which she did a lot. I got to go help out on the stall and serve customers or sit in the car with the bag of colouring, notepads and books that I had bought to keep me entertained. The older I got I could go and explore what other people were selling. Or failing that me, Mum, Nanna and Sums would be up and in the car for 7.30 and would go and look at the car boot sales, where I would find things to sell on and make a profit. That is until it got to a point where I’d fallen in love with sleep, I’d stay at home with the dog and we’d share breakfast.

When I was a teenager I hated Sundays, I’d cry, have a terrible low, fight with my sister and look at the numbers on my wall to see how many days that I absolutely had to be in school I had left (holidays, INSET days, weekends, anything that meant I didn’t have to be there wasn’t counted because I was free). It was terrible I’d usually have to listen to my iPod while falling asleep, cry some more and that was that. I’d almost always try on Mondays. I’d try to go to school like a good girl and hope that this day, this week would be different and I wouldn’t be so crushingly sad any more. Needless to say it rarely changed.

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Taken when I was about 16, a cuddle day with the dog was normal

Through the week Mum and I would make bargains with depressed me to make her go to school. It mostly consisted of when I’d get to see Ali and sometimes it worked. It got better though, after I’d hit bad lows I’d have to work from home, meaning I got better. Then I’d go back to school and it would all happen again, I’d get chipped away piece by piece until I was physically ill again. Now I know it was the depression but I just thought I had a super low immune system. Sundays were always the days where I would try so desperately hard again.

Now I kind of like them, I usually have a day where I just do things for myself, lie ins with Ali after he’s been working late or it’s post gig day. I get my reading finished for the week ahead and look forward to seeing my friends and whatever I’ve planned that week. It’s a far cry from the anxiety ridden days of school.

I know this post is super reflective, but I’ve been thinking about the old me a lot this afternoon while reading ‘The Time In Between’ by Nancy Tucker about her battle with eating disorders. I will be reviewing it because it’s incredible. I read a lot of books like this about overcoming and wonder if, one day, I should write everything down, even if it’s just for me. I wonder if anyone would even be interested in reading that? If by telling my story of when I was younger up until now I would be helping anybody? Am I ready to share everything? It’s a crazy thought and I’m really not sure whether it’s just a silly thing or whether it would be cathartic to get everything out.I don’t know but, there we go my exploring my life Sunday brain is in force. I don’t mind it as much now though, because I don’t dread the week ahead like I used to 🙂

Tomorrow will be interesting, my wheelchair is arriving, another doctors appointment (I hope she’s ready for my super anxious mind) and I have to say goodbye to Alissa before she goes back to the US *sniff, sniff*. Hopefully speak to you guys tomorrow.Oh! Before I forget. You guys have been awesome this past week, likes commenting, I love it, thank you! If you have any ideas on the ‘should I write out my life’ thing then let me know belooooooow. As always I love chatting with you all.

Music is my cure

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This week has been a funny old week. It’s been full of ups and downs and being pulled all over the place and I’m just tired. Ok not just tired, I feel a bit drained. It’s been really busy, not necessarily in a bad way just loads of different things. I have been feeling really up and down over the last few days.

Tonight I just sort of caved. I’ve had a good day, working hard, seeing Eleanor and Wales even won the Rugby today (although England better tomorrow. I just felt sad when I got home, my thoughts caught up with me. Even snuggled up in my new onesie, thanks to Ali, I just couldn’t shake it. Yesterday I got like this too, right before a show and ended up having an anxiety attack before hand, which doesn’t happen anymore. So, yes, a little shook up over these sudden waves of horrible anxiety.

Music does something though, it is the release I need. It’s better than any negative coping strategy I’ve ever had, better than therapy, plans or medication. I don’t know but something about it just lifts me. When I lived alone I needed music filling my room because the silence was too much. So I resorted to YouTube tonight and found George Ezra. Of course I’d heard some of his other songs but I couldn’t stop and I’m more than a little bit in love with his music. It’s incredible.

So while last night was full of No People Club and other great musicians performing live, tonight was all about my headphones. Some Ed Sheeran and George Ezra to be precise because I just needed that kind of music tonight. Also the video to the above song? Could it GET any better?!?!

Why have I picked this song to share? Apart from the awesome video, the lyrics are pretty amazing too. It’s just what Ali’s been saying to me this week when I’ve been having an ‘oh my god, I don’t know what I’m going to do with my life, what is life, ARGH’ moment. They’re becoming a little bit more frequent but as the song says I need to listen to the man who’s loving me, because this time he’s got it right on. He’s just there, always.

The point of this blog wasn’t to do an ‘I love Ali’ fest. It was to talk about the power of music and how it’s always been there for me, I expect it always will and it’s the best depression beater ever. This song put such a smile on my face and I’m just in love with George’s voice, to the point I need tickets for when he’s next playing in the UK.

My Big Mouth: If it’s not your body, it’s not your decision.

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After watching the BBC3 Documentary on abortion in Ireland this week I decided that it was right to write this post. Despite abortion becoming legal in the 1960s in Britain, Northern Ireland decided that they did not want to partake in this. Getting an abortion in Northern Ireland is illegal, meaning many women resort to either trying to induce an abortion themselves or paying out to travel to England for the procedure.

When I was younger I didn’t understand why anyone would get an abortion, who didn’t want a baby? The older I got, however, I realised that the issue wasn’t as black and white as it seemed. For any woman getting pregnant brings anxieties, for someone who was desperately trying not to get pregnant it can be heart breaking because no matter how careful people are there is always a chance, which some people seem to forget. More often than not there is a stigma of an accidental pregnancy even though we’re all aware that condoms split, pills fail and there can be defective implants and yet women are still judged and in some parts of the world treated like criminals.

I’ve never had an abortion, I hope that I never have to. I do, however, have friends who have gone through a lot I’ve had friends who felt the only option they had was to have an abortion: I have friends who have had miscarriages and have to deal with that heart break, I have friends who continued with the pregnancy and others who can’t get pregnant at all. My point is that each woman is individual, they have their own thoughts, plans and having a child should not be forced upon them. I did research into the idea that it is ‘killing’ a child, apart from the foetus cannot feel pain at this point.

Do I think the limit should be lowered? Yes. I think that 20 weeks is too late for an abortion in my personal opinion, just because of the rate in which we can premature babies alive, this is one of the grey areas. That said, the majority of abortions happen way before this point when there is no change a foetus could have life as for a long time it is not a ‘baby’ as we see it, but cells. As harsh as I know that sounds it is the image of this perfect baby from conception which can lead women to reacting in a way they otherwise wouldn’t. This needs to be handled from a medical perspective, not one of emotions.

Which is why when I see protestors outside of abortion clinics or standing in the street yelling abuse and holding horrific pictures to women ,who frankly have enough going on without it, I get angry. Who are THEY to impose their beliefs on another persons body? I doubt there are any women who are happy to go through an abortion, it’s not pleasant and it’s nothing someone sets out to do. I don’t care what your religion says, it is that woman’s choice and often they are thinking of the implications of the sort of life a child would have at that time.

So yes, I am pro choice. I don’t think it’s anyone else’s business quite frankly and we do not need to shame a woman but let her live her life without shame, embarrassment and stigma.

The Pier.

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From time to time I write stories, I wanted to share this one with you.

Walking along the pier she could almost imagine that nothing had changed. She could still feel the sand under her toes, the sun prickling on her skin and through her t-shirt, although by now she’d stopped pretending she was a princess. Of course things had changed, she’d swapped a bucket and spade for a camera and notebook, her fathers hand for a pair of dark sunglasses. The Ocean was something that caught her in the middle, of course it changed but it stayed the same.

She listened to the waves before looking up towards the sky, throwing her head back she listened. The seagulls circled, calling to eat other about the nearest bit of food. The children screamed and ran while the water chased them, destroying their castles, it didn’t matter they’d soon make another. The plink of the amusement park and the whirr of the candy floss spinning. She followed the sounds she used to squeal over, being silent now.

Her feet took off up the banks and closer. She pushed the glasses up her nose and pulled her hat down a little more. The boards creaked beneath her and she let herself look below, to the waves gently lapping it was almost inviting. There was a time when she would scream, not wanting her feet to touch the ground, she was certain she was going to fall. As soon as the thought ambushed her, her fingers found the pole and gripped almost involuntarily. They used to carry her, taking it in turns, so she could just bury her head and listen without being scared.

She wasn’t scared as much now, not that she would admit it anyway. Of course most things were how she always wanted them now, more than she could ever imagine but with that came a tightness in her chest. She wanted to come here whenever her body threatened to out her, but it would be months before she came again. She picked up the camera and began clicking again at anything, everything, until she found it.

It wasn’t significant to anyone else, just one of the many benches along the Pier. Even on this busy day it was free, call it destiny or whatever you want, she didn’t really care. She lowered herself, lifting her face so that the sun caught her freckles.  This is where her fortune was told, not by someone magical, well not to you or I. They told her about the future while she craned her neck to see the sea, they held her hand and told her just what was to come because no one but her could do it.

A tear escaped and she doesn’t wipe it away. The notebook opened and her hands craft what they were meant to. The Pier, the same, different and a part of her all at the same time.