Time to talk about everybody’s favourite ‘A-word’

I don’t hate anybody or any things really (rarely), but this, woah he’s a real b*tch or see you next Tuesday. I hate it.

Anxiety is absolute bullsh*t.

It is physically draining and can hit you like a tonne of bricks or can smash into you quicker than dropping your iphone on your face lying down. It affects everyone differently too. Of course being the loving bugger it is, it doesn’t discriminate. EVERYONE and ANYONE can have anxiety, or be anxious at some stage. Seriously, everyone. The only difference is it is more than often not spoken about. You can be the happiest and most outgoing person in the room but the split-second anxiety rears its ugly head you can be sent into a downward spiral.

Let me break it down for you in more layman’s terms. It’s like when you wake up and you’re really hungover or groggy and you go down to Coles looking less than fresh and it is GUARANTEED that you are going to run into someone looking like a hot mess. You. Cannot. Avoid. It. Then boom, of course, it happens. You know it’ll happen even when you are on a glowing post-orgasm high, you know it’ll rear it’s big ol’ ugly head whenever and wherever it feels like it.

So here’s lil old me minding my own business, attempting as best as I can to keep on top of things – obviously failing miserably but still singing Yonce’s ballad ‘Survivor’. Yes, I know that was Destiny’s Child, but I can’t think of the others’ names; so therefore invalid? Then NEKMINIT it appears. It constantly maintains eye contact with you and tries to hold you in conversation when all you want to do is retreat to your bed (with your McDonald’s) and hide from the world. It isn’t to be confused with being similar to when a woman gets her aunty flow once a month (lucky bastards), there isn’t a set date or time or even an event that triggers it. It can legit be the smallest most insignificant thing that can trigger it. So that’s been me for the last three months on an anxiety bender. Hasn’t been as fun as any other bender I’ve been on before but boy oh boy has the crashing and burning been just as horrific.

The worse thing is it doesn’t discriminate – age, gender, profession, religion – you name it, you can be affected. I have friends, good friends, almost other limbs that have anxiety issues yet until they told me, I had NO idea.  I know of children who have anxiety issues and it truly breaks my heart. To have a child tell you, they are feeling so short of breath whilst being unable to explain why, to not want to participate in sports or hang out with their friends and just want to sit in their rooms and cry, that, well that is truly gut-wrenching. Anxiety works in mysterious ways. It affects everyone differently. Some people cry. Some people have panic attacks. Some people can’t talk and practically turn mute. Some people get anxiety diarrhoea which can decide to show up whenever. Anxiety is pretty right? But it’s time that people, women, men, old, young, whether they are chronically stressed from work or stupendously stressed from being at home with their kids, dogs, or ferrets, etc. to talk about it. Don’t hide it. Don’t hide from it and definitely don’t suffer from it. I’m saying wear an ‘A’ on your shirt as a tell-tale signifier because one it would be confusing and two, well, we all know the story of the Scarlet A, or ‘Easy A’ for the kids in the room. #awkward

Whether it’s talking to a friend over a wine, cuddling your dog and divulging everything or simply speaking to a counsellor, you are not alone. You never will be alone. You aren’t pathetic. You’re strong and being told how to feel when you don’t even know how you feel yourself, is a joke and they can eat one. It’s 2017, not 1817. People need to be able to talk about their feelings. It doesn’t make you any less of a person nor does it diminish you. Nor does it make you any less of yourself. Being anxious, having anxiety, having an attack doesn’t define you. It f*cking sucks but you come out on top. You come out as a better person. You don’t let it break you. You kick it’s arse.

I am pleased, and almost relieved to see how much is being done for mental illness, mental health awareness and overall general health and wellbeing for people. These days people do talk about mental health, however the hardest thing that still remains is to admit it to yourself, and then to share this new-found truth with others. You need to know you are safe and loved and you can talk about things, your life, your stresses and your daily issues that are encountered. It is definitely okay to vent every now and then. It’s more than okay to need to let everything out so you don’t rage unexpectedly one day out of the blue. Every single person is human and isn’t expected to be a robot all of the time.

So right now, it’s a Tuesday afternoon and I’m watching Netflix and having a cider. You know why? Because it’s been a sh*t week. Yeah it’s only Tuesday, I know; but I deserve it. Did I set myself a ‘no drinking during the week’ ban? Yeah I did. Am I going to listen to it tonight? No way. Because I deserve this god damn drink. And I will definitely deserve the second and third too.

So the big ‘A word’ hey? Bet you dirty buggers thought I was going to say something else; what, like abstinence…? You filthy animals. 


For the love of all things guacamole, If you or anyone you know needs to talk about anything, do it. And do it often. You’ll never know how much even a brief conversation can help someone.

 

NUDES… now that I have your attention. No really, let’s talk nudes.

I’m just going to come out and say it. Technology – sometimes – can be a REAL b*tch. Yeah it’s all well and good and keeps people together, improves businesses, economy blah blah blah. But when it’s used incorrectly or a simple slip of the finger or button occurs you can really be up shit creek without a paddle. I for example, recently sent a snapchat of myself (ahem, on the toilet) to someone that really I didn’t want anyone to see other than the person it was intended for. So yeah I get it. Probably more so than other people when it comes to the ol’ sent to the wrong person but sheesh full blown frontal p0rno nudes. No thanks.IMG_2184

 

 

But I have had acquaintances whose girlfriend has the same name as me (lucky buggers; she sounds great!) and they’ve send me nudes meant for their ‘Erin’ and that sh*t is mortifying. Especially when you get a text from a random number “DO NOT OPEN YOUR SNAPCHAT FROM ME!!!!!”. Well sorry for you buddy, but jokes on you. Um imma open it. So afterwards I naturally  responded with a cute winky face on snapchat. Safe to say they won’t be doing that again.

PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT – As a general rule of thumb and just a head’s up fellas ya D’s ain’t pretty. We don’t want a photo of it. Ever. I don’t know if I am speaking for everyone or just myself and my girlfriends but; ever. Not even once. Don’t do it. Don’t need it. It’s nasty.

http://gph.is/1OS9N2X

Another prime example of BS technology traps; recently I was at uni and unsuspectedly plugged my phone into my laptop to charge it. Seems pretty normal. But boy oh boy, it was far from that. Let me set the scene. I was late to my tute, because naturally, of course I have classes at BOTH university campuses and have to ferry between the two. (Yeah my life is awesome). If you know Brisbane traffic you can only imagine how ecstatic I am to drive between both campuses in peak hour traffic. Hence why I am always going to be late to my tute. Since I am an anal retentive OCD individual it is something I am just going to have to get used to being ‘late’. Any-who back to my story. I was late. As everyone avoids the front row like the plague I had a seat front and centre. LUCKY ME!! I plugged in my phone. My photos popped up. Being an assertive and listening student (sometimes) I paid little to no attention on what was on my laptop screen but more so to what my tutor was attempting to teach me at the front of the class. Even though it would have felt like it was hours it was probably thirty seconds but my laptop had ‘interesting’ pictures showing on it. Not of me which of course is less horrifying or mortifying but still, horrifying and mortifying. Now how did I happen to have nudes on my phone that weren’t me? Well let’s just say, I am not too sure why guys find it attractive to send people D.P’s please don’t send it via iMessage so that person can keep it forever to have it pop up on their laptop in front of a group of people that they don’t really know. Send it via snapchat.

All in all, kids, if you wanna send nudes please for the LOVE of whoever you pray to, watch who you are sending them to. Double check before you hit send. Don’t send them by mistake to your old boss or a random guy that you used to work with who you haven’t spoken to in nearly a year.

PLEASE NOTE – I don’t rate sending or receiving nudes. I think it’s reaaaaaaaaaaaally sick. But you do you boo. I ain’t one to judge.

http://gph.is/1NKLPuG

Peace.

Why is it so hard to take your own advice that you give out so freely to others?

I don’t know why but previously, during my early (single) years I was always the go-to for all advice on relationships. No idea why as it didn’t make any sense. Still doesn’t really. But everything from babies to fights to in-law problems, I knew it all. I could dish out advice quicker than they could tell me about their problems. I was the Buddha of relationships. Did my advice ever work? Probably not. Did they ever listen to me? Again, probably not. But my friends entrusted me with their problems and the goings-on and I was happy to oblige. Fast forward to now. Everything in my relationship turned to sh*t. And if it was a girlfriend going through this I would know exactly what to do, what to say, how to treat their ex-partner. I would be able to fix me. But when it’s your own advice, and you say it to yourself, you’re bloody Helen Keller 2.0. Blind and deaf to the entire thing.

Now, a little bit, ahem, older, maybe wiser, definitely more experienced and definitely more attune to the world around me, I am asked for opinion and advice on things regularly. The one thing that I wish I could solemnly do however, is give myself advice. And listen to it.

The best thing to do with pain, is wait. Sounds cliché AF but time really does heal all wounds. Whether it takes days, weeks, months or even years, it takes time. So you distract yourself. You might get a new hobby, or start reading again, or masturbate. You distract yourself so you don’t think about the pain that you’re feeling. You don’t want to spend time dwelling on the past, what happened or worse; what could’ve happened.

The weekends are the worst. Because even if you are trying to take a ‘break’ from alcohol aka becoming a drunk mess and crying in public; other people do not. Other people like to tell you their drunken feelings and opinions. A lot, and I mean A LOT of people will tell you that they never liked them, they always knew something was off about them or that they knew they weren’t right for you. Of course, unless these people are malicious a-holes, they are trying to be sincere and cheer you up. And of course, it doesn’t work, but I’m sure it helps them feel better to get it off their chest and to ‘help’ you.

satc-quote

Until now, I hadn’t realised how much of a hard bitch I was when it came to other people. I was so quick and found it so easy to say, “dump him”, “move on, you aren’t happy”, “he doesn’t deserve you. He is so batting,” or my old favourite, “you deserve and can do so much better.” Who the F am I to say what someone else deserves? My other favourite was always something along the lines of reminding them to be the bigger person and to ensure that they stay the ‘mature one’. Safe to say, today I have failed my biggest advice BS spiel.

I have been petty. I have deleted every trace of that person from my life – the photos on my laptop, reset my phone to factory settings, deleted every trace of them and their friends off every facet of social media I could find. And of course after this, I decided to go investigating, ahem, stalking. Stalking for any skerrick of hope that they are hurting as much as I am, for answers, for opinions, for information on what he was doing. Why? Absolutely no idea. Did it help? No. Did it make me cry? Of course it did. It was inevitable, it had to be done for peace of mind, and in some weird twisted way it was therapeutic. I knew it was wrong because I would NEVER admit to anyone I was doing it. But this is all part of fixing myself. Since alcohol doesn’t work – found that out the hard way – I found this to be quite soothing, comforting almost.

So now I’m helping myself. I am literally doing everything opposite of what I would tell someone else to do. I am not going to kick myself over what has happened though. The actions that took place sucked and definitely kicked me in the hypothetical gonads but I sure as sh*t can’t change anything and I am beginning to see that I wouldn’t want to. I wasn’t, and he definitely wasn’t happy and we hadn’t been for a very long time. So it’s both a blessing and a curse.  I am going to jump on the hobbies bandwagon, take up tinder full-time, maybe dabble in knitting, smash through another three different seasons of some mindless TV shows and who knows, maybe take up bikram yoga? I’m not too sure yet. Maybe ask me next week what I end up doing.

Peace out, love recently retired advice girl x

 

“It’s not you. It’s me.”

Break ups suck. Period. No matter who’s in the wrong (IF anyone is). And there’s nothing, literally nothing, that anyone can say or do to change it. You go from sharing everything – no matter how disgusting, insignificant or hilarious, to nothing. Zilch. Zip. Na-da. You realise quickly how unpopular you are when the only person you text isn’t messaging you anymore and it also reiterates how boring your home life is without that person to lounge on or with. And theres no-one to binge watch the latest season of Game of Thrones with you. I haven’t finished it yet; don’t ruin it.

Stages of a break up:

  1. Numbness; irrespective of if you are dumpee or dumper it sucks. You can’t process it.  You block it. No sleep, food or Netflix can fix it because you are most definitely not hungry OR sleepy (stays for about a week give or take).
  2. Anger; again, even if you say Bye Felicia or if you were Bye Felicia’d you still are angry. You rethink every part of your relationship and stew on stupid insignificant sh*t. Sidenote: I just thought of when he didn’t tell me he liked my hair the 3cm shorter than I usually got it cut AND then proceeded to tell me he couldn’t notice – WTF?!
  3. Denial; you start questioning if it’s fixable. If it’s you. If you sought help on things if it’d work out. Could you talk more? Open lines of communication; surely that’d save everything?
  4. Sadnessdoesn’t need an explanation?
  5. Alcohol*, kidding, or am I. *no more than a bottle. Otherwise it’d be messy. Big n-o.
  6. More sadness; usually alcohol induced sadness. Cue crying into new bed sheets in fresh fake tan and ruining them. Cue further crying from said incident. Then lying on un-made bed which brings on more crying.
  7. Attention craving – Constantly. From friends, family, family pets or neighbours animals that you blatantly wish you could cuddle/steal 24/7 and lock them in your bedroom without access to sad songs or movies, cue The Notebook, Dirty Dancing etc or ANY 90’s love songs.

If you’re a lucky S.O.B, you’ve got the love and support (and sometimes anger) of your family and friends. These are the ones who you can type those ill-faired messages that you wish you could send to who they are really intended for. The ones who drag you out of your funk and make you go and have dinner with them and leave with a stitch from the laughter they provide. Or the friends who hug you so tight that you feel like your body is going to break under their weight of love. They are the ones who need to tolerate the sad spotify playlists you’ve collated and who have to listen to the CONSTANT “I just think it’s funny….” or the “looking back, you know what ….”. Your friends are honestly the greatest things you’ll ever find on this earth. Yeah your family is sick – don’t get me wrong. But your friends CHOOSE you. So you’re safe to act like yourself, be yourself. Be happy or sad or a crazy stage five clinger cryer (preferably not the latter). You are the real MVP/s.

Ofcourse, people will say ‘time heals all wounds’, ‘you’re a strong person. you’ll be fine’, please zip it. Your wisdom isn’t appreciated, needed and will not be acknowledged right now. No, I don’t want to talk about it. Yes I am aware that I am going to be okay at some stage. Yes I AM aware that there is plenty more fish in the sea (you are quite right about that one; all I have to do is google how many people there is the world). And I most certainly don’t want to know your opinion on it. UNLESS your opinion includes option five*, then I most definitely will take a bottle – or two – of sauv, house delivered to Brisbane’s Northside STAT.

There is no fool proof cheat sheet to make yourself feel better. You may drink, smoke (tsk tsk), dance, party, cry, party some more, cry some more and then come to the realisation it doesn’t fix it. The only way that you will move past it and to ‘move on with your life’ (so cliche and lame), is to take little steps everyday. You don’t wake up on a Monday after a heavy weekend of crying and eating and crying and eating (purely hypothetical) and be all “yeah woo let’s jump up on tinder. I don’t feel a thing.” Like the regretful tattoo on my sisters back says, ‘this too shall pass’. You will hurt and then one day the hurt stops. Then and only then, you can just think about them with a fond memory.

You do what you gotta do to feel better EXCEPT go through your camera roll. That’s not a good idea. Ever. Best to throw your phone in the river (possibly of your own tears) and then get a brand new one. Hell even treat yourself to an upgraded phone.

In the meantime I’m off to buy this pillow – http://www.martaussie.com/Boyfriend-Arm-Funny-Soft-Cushion-Bedroom-Washable-Huge-Body-Throw-Pillow-OK