Archive for the ‘Me’ Category


Tuesday, March 6th, 2018

I don’t know if I’ve told about this before or not (probably not, because i’ve been busy and shit) but at the start of this year I decided to make some changes into my daily life. At first I thought about making a gradual change, but we all know I’m not about that shit. I need to change everything to succeed in any one thing.

So that’s what I did.

I started to watch more carefully what I eat (ok, let’s be real here, i started to actually give a shit about my eating) and I dropped (as per challenge) sweets, biscuits, cakes and the likes as well as any junk food totally off, for 100 days. It’s now day 65, and I had to check that from my calendar. It has mostly been quite effortless, even tho when the kid discovered my stash of Quality Streets from the Cupboard of Plenty and demanded one, I had a bit of a struggle with myself to not just snag one up. Because if there’s a type of sweet I love, it’s Quality Street. But I’ve had it quite easy to say no to other things on the Verboten List. Exepct yesterday my mother-in-law had a birthday and the cake looked and smelled absolutely delicious. But I said no and thanked myself later. Junk food has been of a zero effort to say no to, but that was expected as it hasn’t really been a thing to regularly get any. I’m missing biscuits something terrible tho, like if I could have just one hobnob, that would be grand. But alas.

But so far I’ve liked the fact that I actually seem to be shifting my view on snackage with tea. I don’t feel like I’ve needed anything to go with my cuppa for the vast majority of times. I mean, when I’m at home, I’ve no need to take a biccie or anything with my cuppa, but I’ve sort of felt obligated to do so when visiting people. Not anymore. I feel like I can say no thank you today and take a bite the next time around. Idk, I like feeling like this.

Included in my habit changes was to up the amount of excercise I get. For the final five months of 2017 the most exercise I got was basically when I walked to and fro from my locker at work. Now I’m doing a variety of things to keep me moving. I’ve changed from one gym to another and found myself in the arms of LesMills again. And I love it. My current gym offers both live instructed and virtual combats and that gives me so much freedom to choose when I go in. And the range of virtual exercises they have is staggering. So it’s no wonder I’m finding myself there five times a week. (ok i’ve tried zumba after three? five? years of absence and it seemed like a good idea at first, but now, after just five weeks i find myself cringing at the music 87% of the time and i honestly don’t think it’s worth the suffering. i get my groove on with much harder music and it has come to this: i’m more of a sweat-til-you-drown -type of mover, who’da thunk)

I’ve also started to keep a record of daily weather on my calendar and I’ve sort of gotten a more structured view on my daily life in there as well. I’ve set up a cleaning list so I can stop being overwhelmed by cleaning the whole fucking house at once, like before. I’ve chopped the tasks in bits and spread them (moderately) evenly around a week. I can’t believe I haven’t thought about this before. I’m keeping track of my eating and also my finances quite meticulously, and as a result I’ve paid my credit card off, am close to paying off my last bit of student loan and have lost roughly 30 pounds since January 1st.

So how’s that for a fucking change.

Year in review, 2017 edition

Sunday, December 31st, 2017

A year ago I was adamant on taking 2017 by the throat and curb-stomping it, if it tried to fuck with me. It probably hasn’t, at least as much as 2016 did, but I still can’t say I’d be too sad to see this year die.

I’ve had a lot of good moments this year. I went to my darling London with my husband, met Adam who is an awesome guy, I’ve made a few friends over Instagram and cut some poisonous people out of my life. I’ve been mostly in love with Fassbend(me ov)er, but I still haven’t forgot to squee over Kinnaman (come on, the trailers for Altered Carbon are something else, man). Being in the Fassy fandom has brought me so many laughs because people are complete dorks and it’s brought me so many happy moments, because people have been incredibly kind to eachother. I’ve managed to land myself a job that I like and I’m capable of doing, despite my crippled mind. And I’ve started taking new medication for my illness, which has brought me some much needed mental stability, at least for now. I have been writing a lot, mostly working on one of my most ambitious fiction works to this day, but I’ve also exercised in smaller pieces, some lost ideas and I’ve tried new ways of writing. I’ve also laid ground work for my secret business dream and I have sort of high hopes for it for this year.

On the other hand, I set myself a bunch of goals, all well within my limitations, but I haven’t met single one of those. I can partly blame my unmedicated mind for it, but I can’t completely relieve myself from responsibility. I’ve been a terrible slag the whole year, when it comes to blogging, staying healthy and exercising. I mean I’m not in the worst of shapes, I did run 5k runs throughout most of the summer, but I could’ve done way better than that.

So this year, I’ll set pretty much the same goals, but instead of just diving in head first, I’ll do what has helped me before: plan it all out. What will be different this time is the fact that I’m (reasonably) sane at this moment, and I know in what I failed this past year. So it’s all a process of learning. I know how not to approach reaching my goals, but can try a different method. I need to set my sights on smaller steps and not try to manage the big picture in my everyday life, that shit didn’t fly. So instead of thinking what will be in three months time, or in six months, I’ll focus every morning to the next 24 hours ahead of me and only compare myself to the person I was the day before.

I have also picked a mantra for 2018. It’s a simple thing, but it’s effective:

Want it? Work fucking harder.


Friday, November 17th, 2017

Hi hello.

I have been poorly lately, but I’m on the mend.
I have started at a new job, which I love and I’m on new medication for my bipolar.
I will be back for more on a later date.


Saturday, September 2nd, 2017

When you have an anxiety disorder, every stressing situation goes to eleven and when you combine that with bipolar disorder, you get a brain that goes not only to eleven, but everything just happens to the power of twelve.

I’ve never thought I was claustrophobic. Turns out I apparently haven’t been in a tight enough space before. Put me in a tiny closet and close the door, no problem. Lifts, fine. Crowded places, no problem (except that i start hating people, but that’s not claustrophobia, it’s misantrophy). But this past Friday, I was supposed to be having a head MRI (nothing too dangerous that they’re looking for, worry not) and I was fine as fiddlesticks up until the point that they loaded me about halfway into the fucking donut. I told them to let me out and I took a moment and said ok, no worries, I’ll be fine, I’m just feeling a bit, you know, packed in. So I got to put my arms in a different position and in I went again. I closed my eyes and thought about nice things and then one of the nurses said this isn’t going to work, we need to pack you in a little tighter still. Apparently so I wouldn’t be able to move.

That’s when I started to feel really panicky, like there was still a bit of room to move and I was already being pulled out of the donut, but I felt my legs starting to twitch because the fucking loader wasn’t moving quick enough. Merely the thought of being packed even tighter made me panic. So I got out and said this isn’t gonna work. They didn’t even suggest booking another time and knocking me out with a sedative, they just ushered me away with ‘ok, this is not going to work then, go see the neurologist who booked you in’.

And out the door I was, in the dressing room, where I started to cry, because I was in hysterics and panicking because the claustrophobia and anxious because I immediately felt like I was a) a fucking snowflake and b) just wasting everyone’s precious time. Yes, sure, it’s a hospital, they have booked times and they’re not responsible for comforting me, I get that, but like they could’ve said something. Maybe say it’s ok, you’re not the only one who chickens out, it happens, and just maybe ask if I was fine. That would’ve taken them exactly zero extra time, since all that could’ve been said in the span of silence that went on for the half a minute it took me to get off the bed and walk to the dressing room door.

So I got dressed, went out to the hallway and had to sit down on the nearest bench on the main corridor of the hospital and cry for fifteen minutes, until I felt un-shaken enough to actually figure out what I had to do to get to the neurological department. In there, the service was infinitely better, the nice lady at the reception told me to take a seat and said it’s fine, it’s terrible for everyone and only most people can go through with it, not all. And she went to see the doctor to ask if it was necessary to take any kind of imaging of my brain (i told you, it’s nothing serious (at least that’s what they’ve told me haa-haa watch me crash and burn at this)) and she came back with a yes, but a CT-scan would suffice, even if it wasn’t as good. And she booked me in for that and booked a lab appointment for me as well, so wouldn’t have to do it on me own, as she clearly could see I was pretty shaken.

So I made it out, but in a shitty state. I couldn’t shake off the cloustrophobic feeling for hours, not for the whole day. I went home and made me an atomic strength cuppa, sat out on the porch, listening to the rain and just breathing in, but it still lingered. Up until the time I was going to sleep, where I couldn’t get to sleep for a good while.

I don’t know. It just feels so unfair that whenever something even slightly stressful happens, it wipes me out for a ridiculous amount of time and leaves me feeling invalid and inadequate and a waste of space.

Anxiety is truly a bitch.


Monday, July 17th, 2017

I can’t believe it’s been two weeks since I left London. I know it was just a quick pop-by, but it was the most happiest three days I’ve had in months.

I met Adam, a bloke I knew only through Facebook and he turned out to be every bit as wonderful and awesome and everything as I expected. And beyond. Mate, you’re truly a treasure, I am so fucking hyped to have met you in person.

I had such a great time with my husband, just walking around, having a picnic in the park and slouching in our hotel room at late night.

I’ve not travelled much, but none of the places I’ve been to have made me so passionately fall in love with it than London has. It’s ridiculous.

I miss it. I miss London. I started missing it the moment I stepped in the plane on Heathrow (can you imagine our flight left from gate 1?)