Let’s let ourselves go under, someday we will all be ghosts

Yes, it has been forever since I posted anything. Honestly I have been struggling to find my inner voice so I thought I would try a few small writing exercises, super short stories. Publishing them makes me more accountable and hopefully feel more confident in putting more of myself back into this blog.
Enjoy…

She could feel the stars running through her veins but she knew that they weren’t shining anymore, her glitter had dulled.
Her reflection in the moonlit puddle was not one she recognised anymore, a stranger stood before her, gazing back. A wave of numbness passed over the girl, “I do not know who I am” she sighed.
Her shadow followed alongside her  but she could not be certain it was hers any longer. She considered asking Peter Pan about the complexities of ones shadow. Was it necessary to have your own fairy in order to find and capture the escaped silhouette of self? Did it hurt to sew them back on?
Upon returning home she removed her make up and took her time taking off her clothes. Slowly unbuttoning her jeans and undoing the fly before stepping out of them and allowing her glare to meet the stranger’s eyes. Standing before the bathroom mirror, searching for the girl she had lost; the one that sparkled and magnetised those around her. Instead the insecurities she had been carrying and battling daily for as long as she could remember took a fatal blow and the goblins emerged.
With their malicious whispers and sharp scraping fingers grabbing at her flesh, billowing grey smoke began to rise around her, filling her lungs. Suffocating. The darkness growing thicker still until she could no longer see the stranger staring back at her. Only the words in her head crackled around her and illuminated the overwhelming dark – “you will never be good enough”.
The girl took a deep breath and with all her anxiety rattled strength she sucked all of the damage back into the seeping box that lived deep inside of her. A few tendrils of self loathing left squirming in the closures, trying to gain purchase on anything around them. The smell of smoke hung in the air as she brushed her teeth and avoided the pinpoint of the onlookers stare.
Climbing into bed, heaving her burdensome body onto the uncomfortable mattress, a sigh and a tear escaped her, sleep enveloping her shell.
The following morning fire danced inside of her, ignited and determined not to allow the box to open again, not today at least.

Staring at the clouds looking for a silver line

I have been away for a while now and I’m not going to apologise for it. Sometimes life and hormones get in the way of me waffling on the internet to no one in particular.
Since having my contraceptive implant fitted I have felt like I am losing my damn mind. There are ghosts that swirl and float around me, touching moments and sucking away all the colour and I cannot stop them. These goblins make me feel sad, prodding me until I am unable to do anything but cry. People staring at me on the train as mascara stained tears streak my face, I think someone is going to ask if I’m alright; instead I get asked directions. I don’t want these peoples pity, I don’t want to be crying at all, but the goblins clap with glee.
I have spent the last five weeks feeling insane. I shouldn’t feel like this. Exciting things are happening, I am loved and I am in love. After the chasm of losing my mother last year, the ladder has given me more rungs to climb and I am making progress. Due to this sudden surge of hormones skittering around my body like an intense game of Air Hockey though, a couple of the rungs have broken, and I slipped.
I have been doing my best to try and be my normal. To try not to keep from burdening the man I love with my insane reasonings for why I’m crying for the fourth time that day. This isn’t me. I suffer with mental health issues and I am not afraid to speak about them, but this isn’t my wheel house of anxiety, this is pure misery.
I had no idea that this small piece of plastic tubing in my arm would turn my even keeled lunacy into this woman I don’t recognise but cries a lot. Once the floodgates open I have little control to close them again. I have always tried to conduct my tears behind closed doors, so it’s becoming very embarrassing when I’m on the train and even when I have finished crying and want to eat my cheese, people are still staring at me.
I feel a tonne of guilt for often making Christopher feel helpless in the moments when I can’t catch my breath because I am crying so hard but I don’t know why. I just know that I feel overwhelmingly sad. My foibles are a lot to deal with at the best of times, but currently I know I must be a nightmare. I’m trying to hold it together.
When surrounded by those that support and love me, that want to spend time in my company I am held together tighter. It’s easier to hold it together, they stop my organs from leaking out of the big slit down my side. When I’m alone again I find it much harder to bandage, and often I am swayed to the grey and consumed by the colourless.
I have been told that my hormones will settle, and I know that they will at some point, but oh my am I exhausted. Grief and anxiety are grueling and demanding in their own ways, but this feels self inflicted and layered with guilt.
Trying my best to repair the broken rungs so I can see and feel the warmth of the sunshine again is a long process, but by writing again I have made a start.
My mum knew I was in a rough place when I would stop singing, but I am finding my voice again every now and then. I hope that means an establishment of cordial relations will soon be underway. That this tiresome rapprochement will soon be done with and I will be back to my normal.

I missed September’s monthly photo blog (sneak peek above), so I’ll combine those with Octobers and have a double feature. Hopefully now I have dipped my toe back into the water I will be writing more.

I’m ready to hope, swing me out of the low; wide awake in the glow, can’t do it alone

Like everyone, sometimes my thoughts consume me; they whoosh and whip past me, dragging me down with the inertia. It is then that I know I need to be still and quiet, to numb my mind and everything else and wait it out in the dimmest light. If I cannot still the ghosts and demons inside of my mind then the tsunami of anxiety begins to swell inside of me, giving off small adrenaline ripples before the surf of the main waves hits. At one given time I can be happy, sad, excited and numb. The monsters in my head are waging a full blown war with me, and the worst part is that I am both sides of this fight. These maleficent creatures that stroll around my thoughts whether I’m awake or dreaming are all me. Hateful and wicked, vicious and destructive – my own mind attacking itself.
It’ll be a year next month since my mother passed and the gaping hole inside of me, torn by the cataclysmic event, is just as empty eleven months later. Other parts of me have sparkled and danced and sung in the wake of losing her, but I always wonder if they would shine a little brighter still if she were here. My mum would have been the person I would have discussed and confided in about the new and exciting or scary and overwhelming moments, navigating them on my own is harder than I ever thought. My canary sings no more.
There have been some big moments in my life in the last eleven months and not having my initial port of call to tell about these things can often crush me. This new year is going to be hard. There are lots of facets that need to be attended to in my life, but by far the biggest hurdle is being genetically tested for the same cancer gene that killed both my mother and my grandma. I have so many wonderful people in my life that love me and will support me through everything and I am so grateful for this. Grief would be much harder without love. As hard as they all band together and try to patch up the chasm, there are still chinks and cracks where the darkness is still visible. And the sadness is always lurking.
February is going to be a hard month, my birthday, my dad’s birthday, my mum’s birthday combined with  the anniversary of her death. So bear with me over the next few weeks; the tone may be dark but some days I can almost taste the spring. I just need to hunker down, and push forward flanked by my forever encouraging support system.
A thank you is owed to those that help me remember my mum and how fabulous she was by enveloping me into the circle of friends she created. To the one that listens to me cry, doesn’t judge me and softly tells me awful jokes. And the others that just drop me a line with everything else going on in their lives to make sure that I’m alright.
I can almost hear my mum encouraging me with a “you can do it Duffy Moon”.

you’re the kind of person I wanna be with when I want to be alone

And I’m back again. It feels good and the sky is blue with bursts of sunshine, winters wink to remind us Spring isn’t far now. As part of my self appointed blogging goals, I have five posts to write this month and this is my second. Something I haven’t done in a while is share with you the “cultural” things I am loving at current. So allow me to take you on a mystical, mostly crime related journey.
Let us begin with Podcasts:

Serial: I have written about Serial before, the true crime podcast to come from This American Life. The first story was completely immersive and gripping and the second installment proves to be nothing short of that that came before. This time we follow Bowe Bergdahl – a US Army soldier held captive by the Taliban for five years. Bergdahl’s legal case is being tried by ‘general court-martial on charges of desertion and misbehavior before the enemy’. As well as following the case, Serial is giving us someback ground from both Bowe and members of the Taliban.
Undisclosed: This podcast is almost a continuation from Serial’s first season when we learned about Adnan Syed’s case. A more in-depth look at the legal side of Syed’s case and updates on his upcoming hearing. Not quite as narrator fed as its precursor but fascinating to listen to if you, like I, am hooked by this forever contradictory story.
Welcome to Night Vale: I’m not going to lie, this podcast is all kinds of strange, but that’s the charm of it. Reminiscent of War of the Worlds with a whole bunch more satire thrown in for good measure. I am only a couple of episodes into this podcast which is presented like a radio show. Offering you all kinds of weird and wonderful announcements and advertisements as well as news for a deserted desert town. Joseph Fink said that he “came up with this idea of a town in that desert where all conspiracy theories were real, and we would just go from there with that understood.”
The Gilmore Guys: Hilarious podcast hosted by two guys in their early twenties. They have taken it upon themselves to watch all the Gilmore Girls episodes and review them through a podcast. Kevin Porter is a long time fan of the show whilst Demi Adejuyigbe is watching them all for the first time. This podcast largely consists of wild tangents, pop-culture references and Emily Gilmore appreciation. I often find myself laughing out loud when listening. For those of you with a deep love of the Gilmore Girls and for those that have never even watched an episode. If you want to be amused and entertained I cannot recommend this podcast enough. I am currently listening to them work through season three of the show and not once have I been disappointed by the Gilmore Guys.

TV:

Making a Murderer: Netflix’s new true crime ten part documentary is thrilling. I loved every second of it and couldn’t bear for it to end, the ups and downs coupled with the crippling injustice of America’s legal service had me hooked. It is the most compelling true crime series I have watched in a while, and even though I really enjoyed the UK’s offering of The Murder Detectives, nothing has had me glued like this did. It follows the story of Steven Avery after he is released from an eighteen year prison sentence for a rape he never committed. Steven takes the Manitowoc County police to court to sue them for the time he spent in prison for something he never did. The police’s many damning failures become more and more obvious and then all of a sudden Steven is arrested for murder. The story becomes so much more outrageous, desperate and ultimately sad that you won’t want to look away either. I urge everyone to watch this show (especially if you’re a fan of Serial).
And Then There Were None: If you know me/have ever read this blog before, you will probably know what a huge Poirot fan I am. In general I am a sucker for anything Agatha Christie – murders, mystery and set in the 1930s, I want in! So along came the BBC with their three part adaptation of this Christie novel; dark and gripping from beginning to end. An amazing cast with Charles Dance and the ever beautiful Aidan Turner and Douglas Booth. Gorgeous backdrop and set dressing and all of the familiar Agatha Christie masterminded mystery and intrigue.
Scorpion: I have always loved a fluffy ‘consultant for the FBI’ type show. You know the ones, where the consultant is smarter and pithier than their FBI counterpart. When the protagonists have all the access and benefits of being in the FBI without having to stick to all the strict rules of the law. Scorpion follows and rag-tag team of geniuses, a pretty single mother who is not herself a genius, and her exceptionally gifted child. They all band together to help catch criminal masterminds and people in need of rescuing. Action packed, funny and an all round easy watch.

Shadowhunters, The Mortal Instruments: I read this series of books a while back. They follow a tiny flame haired girl named Clarey, who up until one day thought she was mortal. Oh how she was wrong. The books and subsequent film join Clarey whilst she tries to navigate her way through a world of warlocks, werewolves and demons. High fantasy meets contemporary, I am so excited for the TV series to come to Netflix this month. However, I would definitely recommend reading the books too.
Pretty Little Liars: The impeccably dressed crime fighting, mystery busting ladies are back on Netflix for the second part of series six next week. The new chapter of the show is set 5 years into the future from where we last left off and A was finally revealed (much to the disappointment of many, including myself). I am looking forward to see where the story is taking us next and where all of the girls are now that A is out of their lives.

Films:

Dear White People: I haven’t watched that many films lately, what with all the podcasts and documentaries, but I did watch this one and I really enjoyed it. A satirical drama, which is beautifully filmed and heavily influenced by Wes Anderson in style. This film follows the building racial tensions at an Ivy League university in America and the reaction once main protagonist Sam White is elected Head of House for Armstrong/Parker – the all black house on campus. The story also follows three other black students and their individual struggles with being black at largely white dominated university. When the son of the schools president and his house come up with a ‘black face’ themed party, tensions boil over and confrontations lead to a fight. Whilst tackling modern day racism this film is also amusing and so beautifully shot. Definitely worth a watch.

Books:

Fangirl: I was in a reading slump for months and I just could not get into any books, and then I picked up a Rainbow Rowell book and everything changed. Fangirl is the second contemporary YA book that I read by Rowell and I loved it. Following the trials and tribulations of being a bookish introvert, Cath, when first starting university – whilst your identical twin seems to be navigating the new world just perfectly. Then along comes the forever smiling Levi and an unlikely friendship in her gruff roommate and things start change a little for Cather. A fanfic writing wiz, Cath is often stuck in her own head in the world of Simon Snow and Baz. Until the people around her slowly start to expand her world to include Simon, Baz and everyone else. A really lovely read with a follow on book: Carry On, which is the completed work of fanfic that Cath is writing throughout the book.
Eleanor & Park: One of the best books I have ever read. The story follows curvy flame-haired Eleanor and her friendship-turned-romance with a boy called Park. Eleanor’s home life is miserable and her new school is proving hard to fit in at. She doesn’t know how not to stand out as much as she would like to. With her mass of hair and patched jeans, Park would really like her to sit anywhere else on the bus that day. However, the seat next to him and his comic books is the only place left. Eventually the pair become friends and then something more. This book is a beautiful story of a damaged girl finding deep and desperate love with a boy she sits next to on the bus and makes her mix-tapes of The Smiths. Sad and a little haunting, I cannot tell you how much I need everyone to read this book. I cried when I finished it, not because it was sad but because it was over and I related to those characters so much, it was grief I felt when it was over.
Walking on Sunshine, 52 small steps to happiness: This book was a very kind and thoughtful gift from someone who knows I suffer from both anxiety and depression. Filled with short anecdotes/essays from a lady who has also tried to overcome these mental health issues. It’s a book I have dipped in to here and there (the book is split into seasons and then chapters within the seasons) and always found something helpful or at least relatable. I have acquired another breathing technique which has already proved to be helpful. Only a small book it is very manageable and not preachy at all, a gift idea for anyone you know that may suffer with the ‘black dog’ and/or anxiety.
All the Bright Places: I haven’t actually read this book yet, it only turned up on my doorstep this morning and I have been to busy blogging to even open it yet but I am excited to read it. The Guardian pegs it as the next The Fault In Our Stars, and that’s a pretty good hook. The front cover says “The story of a girl who learns to live from a boy who wants to die”. The story and friendship of Violet and Finch begins on the ledge of the school bell tower.

These are books that I want to read, so I thought I would include a small synopsis of them all.
This is Where it Ends: a contemporary YA novel about a school shooting. This book follows four students throughout the fifty four minutes of a school shooting. I don’t know a whole lot more about it currently but I have an interest in school shootings and the chance to understand them better, even if only fictional, intrigues me. The concept of different characters telling the story of a shooting is similar to one of my favourite books by Jodi Picoult: 19 Minutes.
Maximum Ride Forever: I was very pleasantly surprised when this book was released as I thought the last book was the finale in the story of Max and her gang of human/bird hybrids. The ninth book in the popular YA series sees Max and the flock seeking answers to the post-apocalyptic world they now inhabit. I think I was around fifteen when I started this journey with Max, Fang and the others and I am very excited to read the (hopefully not last) encore to this story.
Dumplin’: A book that is described as “a book for fans of John Green and Rainbow Rowell” instantly has my attention, pair that with the fact the protagonist is a fat girl and I am definitely needing this book. “With starry Texas nights, red candy suckers, Dolly Parton songs, and a wildly unforgettable heroine”. I love the fact that Willodean Dickson is at home in her fat body and knows that all it takes to get a bikini body is to put one on your body. It doesn’t sound like a whiny “I’m fat so I’ll lose weight and then the boys will like me” book. This sounds like an unapologetic self appreciation book and I need it now!

Music:

Mikky Ekko – Time
Placebo – Every me, Every You
Justin Bieber – Sorry
All very different from one another, so take a listen and let your ears be rewarded with joy.

Wow, that was a rather mammoth post, well done for getting to the end. I hope some inspiration in one or all of these categories was obtained. If anyone else has watched Making a Murderer, please tell me your thoughts, I need to know what other people think. Have you signed the petition?

Show me your broken heart and all your scars, I’ll take you as you are

Scrolling through Instagram, admiring all the beautiful people and their enviable lives, I came across an account that had posted a screen shot of an article written for Vice. The title grabbed my eye “How to come to terms with your attraction to fat girls“, if you, like I, are a fat girl I urge you to read this article. It is honest and insightful, in fact I urge you to read it no matter your gender or dress size.
This well written, no woe-is-me post had me interested immediately. As a plus size woman I have often felt marginalised and fetishised. When I was a teenager and even into my early twenties, no one wanted to admit to fancying the fat girl. We are perceived as taboo. Something you wouldn’t tell you mates you searched for on the internet let alone be someone you willingly wanted to have a relationship with. We are sexualised into a category of BBW (Big Beautiful Women), rather than taken on our own merits of just being a beautiful woman, why is the “big” necessary? Reading further into the article I came across a quote that I have felt so many times over the past ten or so years –

“I’m ashamed that you might be ashamed of my body.”

Whilst I am beginning to come to terms with who I am and what my body looks like, that sentence is something that plagues me. I have always been worried that other people will be embarassed of my body. I have spent far too long worrying that my size will make others feel uncomfortable. Society says there is something wrong with the way I look, it tells others to feel shame if they find someone that looks like me, attractive. Larger women were celebrated and desired until the diet industries dug their money grabbing claws in and ripped away women’s self worth. We allowed this to happen and it amazes me that we still haven’t seen the light over a century later.
The media tells us that if we as women, are to find love and be adored by others, we must at first conform to a certain body type. This is sad, misguided and dangerous. We are cultivating generation after generation of self loathing and eating disorders. Striving to look like the women in the magazines who don’t even look like those women is unattainable and yet we keep falling for the same ploy.
I am trying to be less judgemental and more accepting of my body. I am worthy of love and the fact that I am fat should make no difference. The western world needs to stop shaming women who don’t fit into one ‘ideal’ category, because the majority of us do not fit this label. I have been body-shaming myself. Myself. The one person who is meant to love me unconditionally is me but I have been cruel and dismissive. We need to teach empowerment and acceptance at an early age instead of fear and prejudice. Teaching girls and boys from the beginning that their body type does not define them as a person could help in reducing anxiety, depression, self harm and eating disorders.
The way we look has overtaken the way we act as the gold standard of being a human, and that terrifies me. We all need to learn to be a little kinder than we have to be. It would stop me being publicly shamed for the way I look, and this has happened far too many times in my life. I have been made to feel bad about myself due to the fact that someone else feels uncomfortable with my appearance.
However, I feel like we are beginning to turn a corner and accept people as people and not as a dress size. With incredible women like Tess Holliday and the #effyourbeautystandards movement, tides are changing.
Here are 5 women who inspire body confidence:

Tess Holliday

Courtney Mina

Cailey Darling

Mellisa

Natalie

These are just a few of the gorgeous humans that remind me each day that it is possible to be fat and beautiful, intelligent and loved, sexy and a good role model. People shouldn’t be shamed by their attraction to larger bodies in the same way that people with larger bodies shouldn’t be shamed because they aren’t slim. When it comes down to it, the old adage of “If you have nothing nice to say, don’t say anything at all” comes into play. A little more positive reassurance and compassion for one another would go a long way to changing peoples attitudes.

I’ll always be there for you, girl I have no shame.

(I do not own these images).

We carry these things inside us, that no one else can see. They hold us down like anchors, they drown us out at sea

Fear. I am brimming over with the stuff. It’s this sharp coil that starts in my chest, dark and wispy, the beginnings of a hurricane. It swirls and burrows into any gap it can find and then all of a sudden constricts, squeezing my lungs and making them vibrate. My breath is ragged and the reassuring sound I look for is too hard to be found right now. My body’s defenses try to solve this by flooding my system with adrenaline. I can feel this army of anxiety rush through my veins, making my extremities tingle and ache. The surge could result in fight, flight, freeze or fall. My defective system is partial to being paralyzed by terror; freeze it is. My vision narrows and my peripheral darkens, the panic is taking over and usurping my rational brain. Now comes the lump in my throat and the prickling of tears and my inner dialogue shouting “DO NOT CRY IN PUBLIC, ACT NORMAL, ARE THESE PEOPLE STARING? OH GOD, EVERYTHING IS POUNDING I CAN’T BREATHE HELP HELP TRY TO BREATH HELP ACT NORMAL DON’T LET THESE PEOPLE KNOW WHATS GOING ON.” I can feel every single boom of my heart beat as it slams against my chest. My vision syncs up with the beating and zooms in and out on each count. And then after what feels like an eternity – but is more likely two or three minutes, I can feel it start to lessen the tiniest bit amidst the sheer fearfulness. I can find my breathing and remember to relax my tongue, my shoulders and try to focus on a single body part rather than the whole. Slowly ebbing, my fingers still consumed by the adrenaline and now I’m exhausted. The tornado that just swept through my body, controlling it’s responses have wiped me out. We are not in Kansas as we knew it, and for a brief moment after it ends, we are over the rainbow. Everything is back in full Technicolor and I am yawning. Cruelly, like a crushing wave, this isn’t always the end of the storm, but rather the eye, before throwing you back in again and again.

I had my first panic attack at ten. It was the scariest moment I had ever experienced and I thought I was dying. I was entirely paralyzed by fear, so much so I couldn’t even call out for my parents. I honestly thought I was dying. I didn’t really experience many more over the years, the odd one here and there, until I was around nineteen. Various stresses would set them off, but I had never, until last year, had a panic attack in public. All of mine previously had been contained to my home, often before/during/as I woke from sleep. Last year was the hardest year of my entire life. I was on edge constantly and dealing with a lot being the main carer for my mum. I wasn’t sleeping much and always on high alert in case I had to spring into action. It took it’s toll and whilst I thought I was coping just fine, my panic attacks would indicate just the opposite.
The thing lots of people often don’t realise is that these anxiety attacks aren’t always an immediate response to something that person finds stressful. I often (unhealthily) shove things down to deal with at another time, resulting in an episode the next day or when I’m asleep and my brain is attempting to fix itself. Unfortunately, mental health still has a massive stigma which leads to misinformation and narrow minded thinking. A lot of people who don’t suffer from such attacks cannot understand why trivial things to them can cause such a reaction in us, the worriers. Everyday tasks can cause me to be saturated by anxiety. Things most people wouldn’t have to even think about – talking to the cashier, phoning the bank or the doctors, even the mere thought at having to do these things and my hands fill with adrenaline. In general I am a rational person, but when the terror takes control I can no longer find the sense to talk myself down for a while.
Anxiety is not just something the teenagers of today throw about and people who get nervous when taking exams or riding a roller coaster use, it is a very real and prevalent presence in my everyday life. “There is no point in worrying”, I can, rationally and logically understand this sentence, however, if you live with anxiety you will know that it isn’t rational. You cannot reason with fear. Panic consumes everything like a rampaging fire.
I don’t have an issue admitting that I suffer with anxiety. If I can help one person feel less alone in their struggle, that would be great. Being someone that has anxiety also doesn’t mean that I cannot handle hearing your issues or worries. I am not fragile, my brain just works on double time and misinterprets the danger analysis it carries out on various situations.
I have seen a lot of negative press recently about those that suffer with anxiety and depression. I thought I would wade in and throw my twopence worth into the ring. I hope this helps those that aren’t dealing with anxiety daily to better understand, even if it’s a little, what happens internally for me at least.
Should you have any questions, you can leave them anonymously, if you wish, in the comments section.

(I do not own the anxiety text post image).

we’ll take a cup of kindness yet, for auld lang syne

I have always hated New Years Eve. There is something so monumentally depressing about the whole thing. As usual, this year I shall be spending my evening in my pajamas in front of Jules Holland and pretending the whole thing isn’t happening. I am not sure why I feel this way really, perhaps its the forced festivities and reverent reflection upon the past year. I know that it is partly to do with the pressure of having the most wonderful night you can ever possibly have ever. Plus the paying to get into a normal pub you would normally frequent, for it to be exactly the same and no wonderland as the price of the ticket you’ve paid for suggests it should be.
When I was little we used to go to my Grandma and Grumpy’s (that’s what I call my Grandad) and they would throw huge parties. At midnight my grandma would grab a silver tray and serving spoons and we would all pile out into the street, form a circle holding hands and sing Auld Lang Syne. Whilst my grandma banged the tray with her spoons, full of life and love and gin. I miss her everyday, more on special occasions and New Year is no exception. The image of her in the street is the first that comes to mind whenever someone mentions this time of year.
If, however, you love New Years Eve, please have a fantastic night! Ignore my baa humbug attitude and paint the town red. Make memories and meet lovely people. Here’s to 2014!

TO ABSENT FRIENDS AND FAMILIES.