There’s a certain kind of turmoil that only jealousy can bring.

The initial sting a pinprick needle sharpness; a bumblebee’s venom pickling through the skin.

A sharp cold and colliding heat. A vague sickness that grows to a turbulent storm.

The blazing heat of betrayal. The cold darkness of loneliness.

The hairs that stand on end in disgust; soldiers protesting against the violence of the crumbling inside.

The sweet nothingness. Empty.




It was never about being pretty.

I always felt the need to be functional. I didn’t need the highest grades, the nicest face or hair. I just wanted to be left in peace.

I had friends. Some were good. Some were bad. Some took advantage of the weakness I was fighting. Many people didn’t know who I was. They had a one note character sheet on the weird quiet girl, with average grades.

I didn’t play sports in teams. I wasn’t invited. I wasn’t wanted. They had their cliques. I tried to fit into mine. I played solo. I danced.

I never wore the makeup my mum encouraged me to wear. I never wore the skirts and dresses that connected my skin with the air. I saved those venerable moments, the quiet pretty times for when I was alone. Sealed within my room, darkened by the curtains I’d had for many moons. I played dress up and pretend to be anyone but me. But that isn’t true. There’s someone I wanted to be.

She was tall and dark and strong. She was powerful but quiet. Who had people listen when she talked. She was impactful, memorable, more than just a face. But she was that too: a simple but pretty face.

She was someone I didn’t believe I could be. Dark and lovely, sweeping mystery. I longed for her with all my heart and yet it never came to be. Because she wasn’t who I thought she was, who I would grow to see. She was closed off, unemotional, though enigmatic it’s true. She was an outershell, the inside of which nobody truly knew. She was withdrawn and quiet, like the girl I was then. She didn’t share her thoughts either, which made her attractive to men.

I grew older and taller and slowly it all changed. I never altered my figure, but my expectations weren’t the same. I would learn to talk with honesty, and fudge the details less. I embraced the femininity and finally embraced the dress. The hair I had longed for, dark, long and lovely, is gone now, replaced with short, bright and funny.

I still have my problem, the wishes I still want to be true. But the woman I am now is more than that little girl knew.

Furry Baby

Being home over Easter Break has me surrounded by furry friends. My parents have two dogs, Scrappy and Rocky, Jack Russell and Staffie crosses who both ended up in the local rescue centres before who got them. They also have a pond full of fish, a ton of plants, and also full time babysit my cat. A noisy Christmas present I’m sure my mother regrets buying. Tiggie, the cat, was named so as I was a very uncreative thirteen year old who had fallen in love with a kitten in Greece we has named Tiger. Of course, being a girl, I had to feminise the name for her.

She is my little baby girl, I do spoil her rotten. I’m very strict with treating the boys (the dogs) but the cat is a different story. I keep her treats in a drawer in my nightstand so I can treat her when I feel like it or, more often, so I can bribe her for cuddles. If I ever need to find her, I shake her treat box. She comes running (and yowling).

It’s quite sweet that when I come home, she will follow me around meowing until I go up to my room and sit down so she can sit on my knee and be fussed. It’s quite charming that she is also apparently very noisy when I leave home to go back to university, as if protesting the absence. I see her as my precious little one to protect. Hopefully, she sees me as somewhat of a loving guardian.

Extrovert Exhaustion

Alliteration aside, extrovert exhaustion is annoying. I have Chronic Fatigue, I am lucky mine improves every year, but Christmas 2016 marked my six year anniversary with the illness and I was not a happy bunny. Before I fell ill I was a fairly active person: I had dance class once a week, attempted to attend badminton just as often (with mixed results), I started rock climbing, that sort of thing. I did, like a majority of teenagers, also spend an unhealthy amount of time on the internet, but that’s beside the point. Point being I enjoyed being active, no matter how much I complained to the contrary.

These days, having a healthy social life and trying to keep on top of my uni work is enough to drain me of a standard week. I do attempt to get out of the house but more often than not it’s a once-every-three-days deal. Until this week: Easter break. I’m visiting my boyfriend, who has a full-time job, in Doncaster. I have never been before, and am not familiar with. I am also taking a break after my exam. This is leading to a very bored extrovert. I know no one in the area and my anxiety and CFS have been limiting how willing I am to go outside. Thus, I am suffered from Extrovert Exhaustion. This is a burnout state many extroverts experience if they do not get enough social time. It is similar to the more commonly know introvert exhaustion: low moods, lethargy, a want/need for change from the environment the person is currently in.

Normally, I don’t suffer from this too much. During term-time, I with with a very chatty nursing student. Over breaks I visit my parents. My mother is often around and only works part-time. Failing absolutely everything, I can usually track down one of my parent’s dogs, my cat, or a bored acquaintance to hassle. Not so currently. And it’s driving me out of my tree. I may need to screw up the courage to see what Doncaster has in store for me today; I ran out of webcomic to read.

Getting There Slowly

It’s weird not to feel the constant pressure of anxiety-fulled stress. If you give me a moment, I’ll expand on that: I am an anxious person by default. Nurture mostly as opposed to nature. I was bullied pretty badly for a large chunk of my childhood and my mother suffered with chronic depression. Watching her have panic attacks and never knowing when you’ll next be made the butt of a joke tend to put a person on edge.

Being in my current relationship has mellowed me out a lot. He’s very dependable and his way of thinking is so straightforward that even if I do manage to misunderstand, it’s easily resolvable. He’s so simple too. Not intellectually, he has a degree in something I will never fully comprehend, but in his view of the world. It doesn’t occur to him to lust after other people because he’s in a relationship for example. It was a change of pace to say the least when I started seeing him. In my old relationships I always felt like I had to prove myself, due to the anxiety although I’m sure the bruised ego had a hand in that.

One of the other things that has me quite calm currently is that my mother is attending counselling. I am a great believer in talking therapy. As a result I often become people’s personal counsellors. True fact: I once considered taking a course on it so I could make some cash on the side. Anyway, my mother talking to a professional has taken some weight off of my shoulders. She’s always been very open with me but I know there are certain things she’d rather not talk to her daughter about, and counsellors are trained to help people alter their thinking around an issue. I’m just a chatty berk with lots of opinions.

Feeling like I’m making progress on my course finally is also helping lower the anxiety levels. Despite the knowledge that I have almost definitely failed my most recent exam. At least I took it, right? If I’m really lucky I’ll get a pass and be very surprised.

This post was inspired by a gentleman I was introduced to through a mutual friend. He thanked me for discussing my issues so openly and candidly. He mentioned he does not feel comfortable discussing his issues with anyone bar a close few. Said it was refreshing. Which is a little sad if you think about it; because we are so afraid of imposing on others an acquaintance, not much more than a stranger to be honest, felt the need to thank me for discussing a common issue. I want to change that. If people want to discuss their issues and would like support, I want to be able to encourage them to do so without them fearing that they are imposing or ‘dragging down the mood’. We all have our own little problems. After all, misery loves company, and people like to feel a sense comradery. Even with strangers.

Starfish And Coffee

I have a habit I find both soothing and highly irritating. If I get a song or vignette stuck in my head I will go back to it over and over again, and return to it multiple times during the day. Quite a common affliction. Where it becomes interesting is the influence of Youtube. I spend rather a lot of time on the site as it’s were I watch most of my entertainment and listen to a wide variety of music. If I see the thumbnail of the track I’m stuck on or the title of the item in my search box, I HAVE to watch it. It’s a compulsion I struggle to control.

My current item of choice is Prince’s performance of Starfish and Coffee on the Muppets after a drunken crying listening binge-spree. As I have always known him primarily for his music and his notoriously tight control of his image and copyright suits, I never really went looking for live performances or tv appearances. It’s been refreshing and comforting to see that video of him. Of course, my reaction to that clip sent me off down the rabbit hole of interview clips and performance videos. He was amazing. I am truly saddened by the fact I will never get to see him live, to experience that magical environment he created when he sang. The connection he made with the audience members was tangible. I still miss him dearly. He will always be my Mother’s favourite artist to me, even though her tastes have now changed. I was raised on his music, his energy, his charisma, and creativity. He is and always will be both inspiring and imposing with what he created and achieved. Rock on, my purple one.

So Very Tired

I am so very tired. Drained of the energy to do the most basic of acts. All because I wanted to see my friends. Friends I haven’t seen in over six months, despite them living less than half an hour’s walk from my house. Low maintenance friends who are happy to just sit and talk about how are lives and projects are progressing with some bad tv playing in the background. Friends who were happy to cook me dinner and give me a ride to and from their house so I didn’t have to worry about spending that energy.

I am so very tired. Exhausted from the chemical imbalances in my body. Hormones increased by stress throwing extra aches and pains into the tornado that exists behind the protective wall of my furrowed brow. The building pressure in my chest of a day wasted, unproductive during a moment where time is of the essence, and a headache effectively emulating a pneumatic drill. The constant feeling of being slightly disconnected from this body, pushed away by the nervousness of anxiety.

I am so very tired. Weary from the mounting pressure to succeed. Conscious of the time I have spent following my passion, though it no longer leads to the same safe end-goal as it once did.  Struggling to justify the choices I have made with the knowledge of a more difficult future that awaits outside of these doors. Scared of what the future will hold, how I will ever get there, and how I will survive in regards to both my health and earning.

I am so very tired. Spent from the numbness and contrasting acute emotions of the past several months. From the massive fluctuations in mood and outlook in such short spaces of time. On feeling I have imposed upon others and feeling as though no one truly understands enough.

I am so very tired. So very very tired.