Some autumn goals

 

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Like Summer, I’m writing some goals for Autumn – not to stick rigidly to but to inspire me to not be lazy like my inner self really wants. I really just want to lay in bed, drink hot chocolate and watch films.

Just a brief run down of each goal – go swimming every week. I love swimming, even though I’m awful at it and I just end up making my own swimming strokes, but James and I started going more often recently and I felt great after. During I feel like my limbs are on fire, but after wards I’m on top of the world.

Also good for depression.

Fly a kite – if you’ve been reading my blog you understand this one. I’m not giving up yet.

Print of little brother for St Lucian charity – I drew a photo of my adopted brother months ago and I saw it the other day and it hit me that I should try and sell it to raise money for a St Lucian charity (where he’s originally from) with the sales. I haven’t looked into the idea at all, so I have many steps under this goal. I have a charity in mind though, because he and Mum do Christmas shoe boxes each year for this charity, filled with toys for children.

Do something special with James – since my partner, James, has a new job we see each other less. We see each other briefly each day still but it’s never doing much other than shopping or chores. So it’ll be lovely to set a day just for us two, with no chores, no work and just fun.

 


 

That’s all for now. Less outdoors things this season but hopefully having these goals up will motivate me to do more – and more meaning a good scooting session soon. Scooting session soon. Say that three times fast.

Thanks! Bye!

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Summer came and went..

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..and all I wanted to achieve before Saturday the 23rd of September was to fly a kite.

It was part of my summer goals, and although I made a recap of how I didn’t achieve all of them and how that was okay, I did hold onto this one.

Turns out we just didn’t get enough wind this summer time, more specifically, we didn’t get enough wind when I was free to fly a kite. The 21st of September was the chosen day and low and behold, it was so windy! All I can say is that I assume someone is watching over me and just didn’t want me to fly it. Would I have gotten blown away or struck by lightening? Possibly. On the 21st we were 5 minutes from flying the kite, then a series of unfortunate events happened and it wasn’t meant to be.

So yesterday I had to fly it.

Well, tried.

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I really tried. And really failed. The wind was all over the place but just not strong enough. Beautiful day though. We’ve had a lovely summer actually.

But that’s gone now, summer is over and I’m so mentally prepared for autumn – even though I got really sad just then thinking of wearing boots rather than sandals. James promised me an autumn visit to the beach to fly a kite again, and properly, so I suppose I’ll pop that onto my autumn goals list.

Goodbye summer, you’ve been the best.

The trick that makes you drink water

I’ve been meaning to write this post for a while now and for once it was never laziness that stopped me – I postponed it for more scientific research.

Okay, maybe, slightly, not a scientist. At all. Nor much research has gone into this, just a self discovery, then self reflection and then finally self acceptance. Which takes time, and who I am to rush what was going on???

So let’s start; the cup that makes me drink water. 

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This happened by pure accident. Pure, accidental, magic. I needed a drink: I used this cup. That was it. It’s a special cup because one of my best friends bought it for me, but it’s not one I always reach for, except if I’m having an alcoholic beverage – I think that’s the trick here, but just hold on a second.

I’ve always wanted to drink more, I think most people says this. I don’t know why It’s difficult, I can’t think of a reason other than we just don’t want to. So there was no intention when I reached for this cup, over choosing a glass one but before I knew it I had drunk it all. Filled it up once more, I carried on with my day, and my cup was empty again.

I kept weeing, and kept filling the cup back up. Ew, not with my wee. I should have worded that differently.

I still wasn’t paying much attention to what was happening, assuming I must have eaten a lot of salt recently (I feel like that’s a thing) so I don’t know how many cups I was going through. BUT when it happened the next day, and the next etc I noticed it could have been up to 20 cups a day.

I was feeling better all round. Weeing a lot, obviously, sometimes felt like I had a huge stomach, but I did feel better in myself and my skin was looking a lot clearer but then again I don’t think I’ve paid too much attention to that part.

I went with it, considered writing about it on my blog, but held it off to see where it was going and what impact it could have on my life. I began bringing it to work with me and while I worked on the computer from 6.30am to 1.30pm I would constantly sip away. I would take it out and about with me. It’s been there in photos I’ve posted online in someway or another; been there in a cosy shot of my bed at night, been there in an item I listed on ebay and it’s even been there in accidental shots before the real photo. I bought another one because I loved it so much, and suddenly I realised it was there, lodged into my routine. It’s been well over 28 days – I’m sure that’s how long it takes to make something a routine.

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In the past I’ve bought other cups and bottles before in hopes this would happen. I’ve made resolutions, I’ve made plans, I’ve made to do lists hoping I would drink more. And yet the most impractical cup – it can leak from the top and it’s not dishwasher safe – has done what I’ve wanted for years. It begged the questions..

What the fuck was happening?!

Of course when I questioned it my health anxiety went to ‘you’re probably drying, you know. It’s about time.’ – but that’s just every day life of an anxious brain. I then wondered if it was because it’s quite childish and fun and how many adults do you really see using plastic sipping cups? I’m not sure though, I think that’s just an added benefit. I worked it out anyway: I think I’m drinking alcohol. Well, subconsciously. (I personally am smart enough to know the difference. May not be a scientist but I know my alcohol and have been known to drink my boyfriend under the table.) (Also known for not being able to but giving it a good try.)

I associate straws and this cup with drinking alcohol, and I don’t know many people that drink alcohol slowly. You could easily knock back at least three in an hour without realising. You talk and sip, you dance and sip, you do everything and sip. And my brain is like yesssss, it’s party time, and drink on like I would with alcohol. It naturally links up with something in my brain, that’s wired this way from being a teen – like remember student nights when you could get spirits ridiculously cheap so you kept them coming? (I never went to uni, only the student nights).

Even as I’m typing this I’m having to go refill – I don’t even realise.

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I’ve tried to share this trick with a few people around me, but I don’t think they’re understanding that the cup, that actual cup is important. They went and bought other bottles (and *cough cough* haven’t kept to it). It’s the plastic, you don’t mind taking it with you everywhere and knocking it about, and also the handle which just makes it easy to carry. And the straw. The ‘can I have a southern comfort and lemonade please? ‘Do you want a straw?’ straw.

I’ve thought before that maybe I couldn’t drink a lot of water because my body just doesn’t want it, forgetting how much I could easily drink if there was a spirit involved.

And now I sound like an alcoholic, which oh, well, I do sound like an alcoholic. But not me, anxiety and depression, yes, but not alcoholic.

So this post has gone to something healthy to alcohol. Literal opposites. I came to a point though, after the shock, of being like fuck it. It sounds like an awful reason for my brain to easily drink water, but it makes sense that psychologically I’m tricking myself, and if that’s what it takes I’m not going to stop it. For one reason – it works. The ace of hearts is on the wall and Darren Brown has explained how, but even so, placebos can still work even when you know they’re a placebo. Point is:

This trick works.

(I’m assuming it may not if you’ve never been a drinker) (let me know?)

So rather me writing a post about the benefits drinking lots of water has had on me, you can Google that, I wanted to tell you my little secret to getting started and this journey I went on.

Now, is this all just a sign that I drink too much alcohol? Nah. Also, good to add, drinking this much water every day means hangovers have gotten a lot better! Result!

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Cosy nights

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In desperation, my partner bought me Sleepy from Lush in hopes I’ll settle better of an evening. I’m in an awful routine – which has spanned my 26 years – of getting anxious at night, getting what I call ‘restless leg’ (like growing pains in my legs) and being just a pain in the arse. Then, what makes it worse for my partner, the next morning I wake up and forget all about it and get on with my day.

‘What a lovely/horrible day I’ve had,’ I ignorantly say to myself, ‘it’s been very productive/lazy, oh look nights creeping in..’

and BAMB!

Hello friend, remember me now?!

Yes I do! Why didn’t I do anything to stop this?!

It’s a bit like 50 First Dates, or, a bit darker, like that Black Mirror episode where the lady lives the real life nightmare each day because she committed a crime.. I don’t remember committing a crime.. but neither did she……

So, inspired by my new product, which rather excites me more than I should admit, I had a day of tidying my bedroom and making it all relaxing and lovely. ‘How can it take all day to tidy?’ I hear you cry, well it was in a pretty bad state, with it also becoming a somewhat office/studio recently. So it’s not even finished now but I’m okay with that.

What did I do to help me chill?

Self care and doing things I love. Rule number one. (Well rule number one is always that you don’t talk about Sleep Club, even though I am right now) but taking time for yourself is so important that I felt like I needed a Fight Club reference to get it across. Did it work?

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Lit my new candle. I just can’t resist not smelling candles in shops. Same with trying on hats. Instantly Christmas hit me in the nostrils and it’s not even a Christmas candle, which is even more perfect really because it meant it was on sale. And oh, feeling Christmasy is the best feeling! I can just lay there and let that feeling consume me. But then again that’s not going to help me sleep – think relaxing, Emily, rellaaxxx

If you’re as obsessed and excited by autumn, winter and Christmas as I am, give it a smell and see if you agree. And also I now have relax, don’t do it.. stuck in my head. Oh, and there’s Zoolander in there too. Yep.

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Had my Sleepy lotion. I think I need to have a box of night time lotions and sprays next to my bed at all times. It’s actually getting ridiculous how much I struggle. I’ll start my collection now, Sleepy is the first one.

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Fairy lights. Atmosphere, it’s important. Not to my boyfriend. Nor probably a lot of people, but I think it’s another rule. Let’s recap;

Rule 1: Do not talk about Sleep Club
Rule 2: DO NOT TALK ABOUT SLEEP CLUB
Rule 3: Take good care of yourself and do things that bring you joy
Rule 4: Create a nice atmosphere

And other than clean bedding – besides detracting me from the smell of the sleepy lotion, everyone loves clean bedding – and as many comforting films as I could manage, and a read of Harry Potter, that was pretty much my evening.

BUT to top it all off, the next morning when I left for work at 6am, whilst still feeling all cosy and happy, these were the sights presented to me which sent my heart aflutter for the coming season…

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What depression is to me – because sometimes, when you’re depressed, you can only talk about depression. Then laugh at it.

Every bout of depression surprises me like I’m 14 and it’s my first period all over again. Yes, I was a late bloomer and I wish I could feel the jealously of millions of women around the world, if only this thick layer of depression didn’t do exactly as the word says it does. Surely that rich jealously from women would cure any depression? I’ll add it to the list of Reasons I Shouldn’t Be Depressed pinned up in some ignorant fuckers minds. But sadly (the irony) there will be no pinning as I am channelling Ringo Star today and therefore take back any snarky word I’ve said – peace and love, peace and love.

It’s like a ghost tapping on my shoulder when I’m really engrossed in an activity. I’m mindlessly scooting or painting a tree branch and BOO. Except there’s no BOO, there’s nothing to see, just empty space, no proof for others of what just happened in my brain. I’m still looking over my shoulder though, there has to be a culprit. I’m looking over my shoulder just to prove to you that something is going on and I’m not just crazy. I’m looking over my shoulder to see if others are also looking over their shoulders. I must be surrounded by people that also feel like Nearly Headless Nick just passed through them. These Dementors are real, I swear. J.K. wasn’t lying. You understand, right? You have to understand. What do you mean we are all different? You don’t like Harry Potter? Oh, wow, that just tops it all off. Well, I’m in Hufflepuff, I’ll have you know. YOU DON’T KNOW WHAT A HUFFLEPUFF IS? Depression gone, replaced with rage. That cured it. Peace and love, peace and love.

I moved my entire room around yesterday. It’s unimportant to what I’m writing other than the hilarity that I was breaking down in tears every 10 minutes. Why, you ask? Are you due to bleed from your vagina, or do you have a little human growing in said vagina? Nah. Apparently moving heavy furniture by yourself does this to you. You don’t know, maybe every person who has ever moved furniture by themselves has just cried the entire time, and I’m the first person brave enough to admit it. Or, and a much more reasonable answer, my body decided to not sweat from my armpits, but rather from my eyes. I have no memory of smelling so it probably is true. I mean, The Flight Of The Conchords didn’t write the song I’m Not Crying for no reason. Needless to say, this time round the depression seems to be a bit more random and spontaneous. Oh, how exciting! A spontaneous depression.

I’m not stopping doing things. My bed is my friend but tonight I’m going rock climbing. Tomorrow James and I are going for a picnic in a park that we have only briefly visited once before, but I’m a little unsure about it. It looks like a place people would go dogging, and I’m not sure that I want to be sitting there eating a scotch egg while there’s people dogging in the bushes next to me. Might put me off my food, you know? Spreading my philly as they’re spreading their… Or dipping into my houmous as they’re dipping into… It’s best if I stop that there. I just envision a sudden break down of crying on my part, still eating my cherry tomatoes between sobs as they start to taste more and more salty from my tears rolling down my face, which makes me cry more, then, softly at first, you hear moaning. Then louder and louder as my cries match the volume and pitch. One bush apart from each other – immense joy and immense pain.

Now I re-read the part about us only briefly visiting this park before, sounds like we were the ones dogging.

This is where my sad and tired brain is at. It is what it is. Peace and love.

 

Going from one bed to another

I seem to have gotten into a routine of bed hopping. Now hold on one second, that is not anything sexual before you think it! But quite frankly I’m charmed that you would think that I could pull that many guys to bed hop like that. Thank you. Sadly, I mean because of my work schedule, James’s work schedule, my depression and, lets be honest, laziness, my new routine is literally to leave one bed for the next. Like a beauty vlogger; My Morning Routine! My Daily Routine! My Nightly Routine! Bed. I’m in bloody bed. It’s always bed. I’m in bed as I write this. It’s 18:09. 

Let’s lay it out. For the last two weeks James has been getting up at 6:30am for work, and seeing as the only time we can see each other is in the week, I am there. Waking up. At 6:30am. On my days off. I get home at 7:30am and go straight to bed. I don’t sleep, I drink coffee, blog, watch YouTube. Bed.

Suddenly it’s like 10am, shit. I must do something. How about a tea this time? Well, while I’m drinking it; bed. Breakfast? Bed. What’s next? What do I want to do? I go off and do it, and then when I’m not; bed. Maybe bed is my ‘sofa’ because I live with my parents. Whatever, it’s still a bed.

I’ve said bed so many times it’s no longer a word.

Bed.

Bunk.

Chaise.

Berth.

Trundle.

Thank you Google.

Is my bed the best one in the world? No*. I feel like it hardly resembles a mattress with all the lumps, bumps and indentations, probably from me spending the whole of my existence in it. I think the real reason is because it’s in the centre of all my things. My plants I love watering, my laptop, any craft things, clothes, make up, I dunno, everything I own I suppose. But it’s a bed, it screams lay down. Chill. Browse YouTube. Have another coffee. Then before you know it, I’m going back to James’s to another bed because he’s bed is like his ‘sofa’.

It doesn’t hurt at the moment, like I’m not frustrated at how much time I’m in bed because I’ve been really low. Which, god, sounds like the worst idea. I’m still active, I went for a 3.51 mile walk today, going for a scoot with the dogs tonight, wrote a blog post (not including this one), made bruschetta, made probably about 5 cups of tea or coffee… I just rest in bed in between, I recharge. I’m looking after myself. This is dangerous territory though, I’m fully aware. I do not want to go back to the days when I lived in bed and wouldn’t leave.

Now this is the point in the post where I should make a vow that I won’t keep or put myself up for a challenge that I’m just not mentally prepared for. Nah, I’ll give that a miss for now. No Trying To Stay Out Of My Bedroom For A Week challenge. No I Promise To Only Use My Bed For Sleeping vow

Here’s what I’ll do, a compromise if you will, I’ll move my bed. To be fair, I’ve been thinking it a while. Well, like a week. I’ll start that in this post right now actually, so when I get home tomorrow I mean, because there’s going to be a lot to move, like, fucking hell, why do I have a arm chair in my room? (Surely that should be my ‘sofa’?!) (Mind blown) If I move my bed to the corner of the room, rather than the centre, I’ll have room to move, do my crafts etc. I don’t know what else, this experiment might not work.. But I’m giving it a go!! Because it’s not healthy to keep bed hopping and I really don’t want to catch an STI!

That was a joke. A poor one I know. Still a joke.

 

*When reading this to James he wanted me to include that although my bed isn’t the best in the world, he thinks his bed is;

“No, don’t add I think it is, say ‘his bed is the best in the world’,”

“Yeah, ‘he thinks his bed is the best in the world’,”

“No! ‘his bed is the best in the world’!”

“That’s what I said, ‘he think his bed is the best in the world’.”

People get so touchy about their beds.

“Get out of mine then if you think it’s not the best in the world.”

 

‘You believed in Santa for 8 years – try and believe in yourself for 10 seconds’

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‘It was actually 11 years,’ I didn’t want to give up that dream, but wise words from my boyfriend, James, there.

I’ve had the unpleasant experience recently of being graced with someones presence that loves to shit on other people. Not literally, that I know of, other wise this whole blog post would be about something completely different and I’m not sure I would want to go on. What I mean is bringing others down. Especially if they aren’t part of the norm. And hellooo, here I am, definitely not part of the norm. I am playful, I am young at heart, I love making stuff and I’m not afraid anymore. You hear me? I’m not afraid anymore! Name that reference.

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“The most important kind of freedom is to be what you really are. You trade in your reality for a role. You trade in your sense for an act. You give up your ability to feel, and in exchange, put on a mask.” 

“A friend is someone who gives you total freedom to be yourself.” 

Jim Morrison

I’ve always been an analyser so I’m aware if someone is insecure they like to bring others down to feel better, they feel powerless and so want to regain it. Even so, it still works, it’s not nice. Growing up I’ve always been sensitive (which isn’t a bad thing, no matter what others say) and now I suffer with anxiety and depression (which this person knew about!) but because of that I had to toughen up. I think that’s a natural byproduct of mental health problems. My whole life I’ve balanced along a line of ‘Emily, it’s cool, chill’ or ‘am I making excuses for others when really I’m not being sensitive, they were just being a prick?’ When you are younger it’s more confusing and you aren’t sure of the situation, it’s clouded in hormones, and I tended to question why they say stuff in the first place and then blame myself. I’m 26, I think I’m allowed to say when it isn’t cool.

Some people are just walking targets for those who are too self aware of what others think, and it comes to a point where you just accept it. Even take it as a compliment. ‘You’re attacking me because I’m not afraid to be myself? Cool. What does that say about you?’ I never have covered up, I’ve always been unapologetically myself and after this recent situation I’ve realised I’ve allowed myself to decide, I don’t need anyone else to guide me, whether that person was wrong or not – my life and my choices. That person was a prick.

 

“I am what I am, an’ I’m not ashamed. ‘Never be ashamed,’ my ol’ dad used ter say, ‘there’s some who’ll hold it against you, but they’re not worth botherin’ with.’

J.K. Rowling, Harry Potter and The Goblet of Fire

I’m not going to lie to you, this incident brought me really down low, like phoning James at 6:30 in the morning crying low. Sidenote: I was walking to work, I didn’t randomly wake up crying nor am I just being dramatic with the time of day. His wise words lifted me a lot, which is where this title quote was slotted among – along with a lot more graphic worded ones.

 

“Power over others is weakness disguised as strength”

Eckhart Tolle

It’s hard when someone does stamp on you after trying to help yourself for so long. You feel like you’re back at square one. Especially if they are hitting all your triggers and checking off that list of things you dislike about yourself – even without you realising at the time. What plays on my mind even more is that I was so polite back, as usual. I hated myself after for that but at the end of the day it’s because I’m nice. That’s a good thing, self reminder, it’s a good thing.

Although I don’t think I would have felt better if it wasn’t for James, I love that I have gotten to a place where I’m like fuck it. There’s no other way to explain it than fuck it. If you’re the kind of person that kicks someone down for being themselves then you have a big problem, not me. Fuck people like that. I’m chill, I love who I am. What more; I’m proud.

So you may have noticed the random photos of things I’ve made or done, cushioned in with quotes from things I love, and thought it had no relation to the text – well that’s me putting up a massive middle finger.

(Not to you reading this, that’s just rude – that’s not me.) (Has the impact of that last sentence gone now? I’m okay with it.)

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“If you don’t love yourself, how in the hell you gonna love somebody else?”

RuPaul