Someone knows too

There is a notable difference between being alone and being lonely that is too often overlooked in our fast-paced, well-connected, western world.

Infatuation of learning something new

It's articles like this why I love love love Thought Catalog. Times like this, being now (why would you waste it?), get off your arse and go, do it, run around...

Here's a quote from one of my favourite films, Almost Famous:

'Who needs a "crowd?"  You're unique.  You're two years ahead of everybody.  Take those extra years and do what you want.  Go to Europe for a year!  Take a look around, see what you like!  Follow your dream! You'll still be the youngest lawyer in the country.  Your own great grandfather practiced law until he was 93. Your dad was so proud of you.  He knew you were a pronominally accelerated child.'

It's your adventure.

These words probably describe best where I am with mine right now. I wish I could should be writing like this:

'I think it’s why we love cities. Living in a town just big enough to be cripplingly small, I thought it would be impossible to be in one for more than five minutes without falling in love with something. And we do, for a moment. We fall in love with our strange new neighbors who make more noise as two people than your entire neighborhood did before, with the smell of cigarette smoke, with the way crusty bread feels when you tear it off at a new restaurant — all things that eventually slip into the grating or the prohibitively expensive but which are, for a few moments at a time, wonderfully infatuating.

And we see things in our cities that we hate, almost as many as we love. We keep a tally of all the ups and downs of being in this big new place, wait until the negatives spill over into every part of our life, and then we leave again. We get sucked into a lovely little daydream, standing in front of beautiful architecture and breathing in the smell of rich, warm food, where we feel that this is everything we were looking for. And then a group of obnoxious teenagers walk by, spitting and throwing their cigarettes on the ground. There is only so much a city can provide, and we can either keep moving from location to location, or we can find something new in ourselves to enjoy. A book, a hobby, a new group of friends in a brand-new bar.

We are constantly running, looking for the perfect combination of being alone and being together to make things always feel good. We might need to be in love to see things the way they’re meant to be seen, but not necessarily with a person — just as our city can’t save us, neither can being with someone simply to fill the silence. Sure, to fall in love with a person would be nice, but when you are actively searching for romantic love you’re almost destined not to find it. You can’t waste your time, your youth, your beautiful surroundings waiting for someone to validate it. I would be happy with just being in love with a good book, an opera, a philosophy I overheard in another conversation and turn around in my head until it settles like a fine dust over everything I believe.

It’s hard not to feel sometimes like you’re running around in circles, trying to distract yourself with a new partner or a trip to somewhere fresh and exciting, like you can’t ever stand still. I want the infatuation of learning something new, of discovering something about myself, the thrill of the small joys that don’t cost anything and don’t require anyone else’s presence. I want to be infatuated with myself, to feel like I am enough, and I so rarely do.

I want that falling feeling, that obsessive interest with all that’s around me, with all that I’m capable of. And most importantly, I want that infatuation to come from not where I’m standing, not from who I’m standing with, but from just how beautiful my life is on its own, from how wonderful it is to be alive, how much I am worth just by myself.'

Addictions and self control

The things we do to 'get back on track'...

Addictions form a paper-thin protective layer between you and the world around you. They enable you, however briefly, to cope, to feel normal, to just freaking deal the way everyone else around you manages to do without chemical or edible assistance. “It is the thing you believe is keeping you safe, alive, contained,” writes Hornbacher of her eating disorder. “And in the end of course, you find it is doing quite the opposite.” Never do I feel more paradoxically invincible than when I am demolishing the entire contents of my refrigerator (the Great Uncooked-Brownie-Batter-Pickles-and-Kidney-Beans binge of 2007 was particularly memorable) and washing it down with a bottle of Bacardi. The blackouts on the bathroom floor, the half-remembered ambulance rides, the shaking hands of a palsied eighty-year-old, the muscles crying out in anguish at years of abuse, the brain set loose upon itself in a devouring fit of madness — all these seem inconsequential, for in the moment the combined effects of solid and liquid courage (in a caged match, I could probably triumph over the Bacardi but not the brownie batter) seems your own personal Armor of Achilles: impenetrable. You are Okay. You are untouchable. You can almost hear the “Super Mario Brothers” invincibility-star theme song playing in your head as you rip up the back of your throat with your fingernails.

If you’re so Okay, then why are you crying?

I said in the moment. These are important words to the addict. All we know is the moment. All we operate in is the moment. Addiction can practically be defined as short-term satisfaction with long-term consequences. The idea that one can act opposite to one’s emotions is utterly foreign to the eating-disordered/alcoholic/addict brain. So on this, my second full day without purging or drinking, I have discovered that half the battle is conquering the moment. We — not just addicts, but people in general — are creatures of many and fickle emotions. The jeans that fit me perfectly well yesterday, even when I know damn well they fit me perfectly well yesterday, absolutely categorically do not fit me today because fat is oozing out of my every pore and oh my god I am beginning to bear a striking resemblance to the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man AND NO ONE WILL EVER LOVE ME AGAIN AND I AM GOING TO DIE ALONE WITH CATS LISTENING TO MY NEXT TO NORMAL SOUNDTRACK.

This is all probably not true. In fact, I will go out on a limb here and say it is almost definitely not true. The empirical evidence would suggest otherwise. I am (a) probably not going to die alone — people won’t even leave me the hell alone even when I want them to — and (b) am five-feet-seven-and-three-quarters-inches and 108 pounds, so probably do not markedly resemble the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man, the Pillsbury Doughboy, the Jolly Green Giant, or any other brand representative of legendarily mammoth (or green) proportions. I have in fact gained weight the last several weeks (up from 100), but I still have a BMI of 16-point-something (well below underweight), and on my trip to New York a week ago I zipped into a size 00 at the Gap with room to spare. (In other words, the smallest adult size they make for human people.) So from a rational standpoint, it’s not only an egregious overstatement to say I’ve gotten fat, it’s beyond f-cking absurd. I know that. I do. I KNOW that. I am smart and self-aware enough to recognize that after I eat 450 calories (my entire breakfast, including a Mountain Dew Amp, this morning), I feel sick as hell and am going to be pacing in a frenetic panic for the next several hours. But once those several hours have passed and I’ve digested and forgotten about (okay, not forgotten about — never forgotten about) the Greek yogurt or whatever the hell it was that was causing me such existential angst, I WILL BE OKAY.

I just can’t trust the workings of my own head in the moment, or operate on my own feelings. And when you’ve grown up heeding Polonius’s bullsh-t advice of “to thine own self be true”, what do you do when the one person you can’t trust is — yourself?

My kind of writing

I love thought catalog.

Sap.

Trying

Because ironically, depression is not a solipsistic disease; it is not a self-inflicted gunshot but, rather, a bomb detonated in the middle of a family function or, in my case, a very quiet explosion as I read my second set of vows, as I wondered if it was happening again, as I knew everyone in the room was about to be wiped out by my disease — they just didn’t know it at the time...

Post-major-depression trauma resulting in chronic a-holery. I’m certain I’ve discovered a new wrinkle to the treatment of depression. Because after the storm subsides, after the wolves slink away sated and ready for sleep, after the antidepressants circulate in my blood, blunting the blows, it’s a challenge to look outward again, to remember that it isn’t all about you, to again understand the connection between all people. But I try. I try.

They should grow in jars

and jars only.

urghh

Breakfast time!

Perfect article to read on a morning when I especially woke early to get some breakfast chill time.

Plus I LOVE breakfast, I even have a song...

"Breakfast time, breakfast time. Won't you have some breakfast of mine!"

At least it's original...

Either way, happy morning coffee and PB seeded bagel everyone. You're lucky I didn't have cereal, then I'd have to sing my cereal song as well...

Some of the great things I've read today

And now I'm ready to start the day and also meet up with a life long friend :)


Have a good bank holiday weekend everyone! BREAKFAST TIME!!!

3. Make your bed — it makes the entire room look cleaner.

4. Write out a list by hand. Google may have invented every list-making tool on the planet, but writing it down commits it to memory — and, contrary to popular belief, not every place has internet.

8. Don’t feel the need to fill gaps of silence with blathering comments. That makes you sound like an idiot.

9. Visit one random blog (or five) a day that makes you happy and gives you the motivation to get through the day. If you like food, go check out photos on Tastespotting. If you like to transport yourself into other people’s heads, visit Pinterest. If you like doing fun activities, visit Soul Pancake. There’s something for everyone.

10. Realize when it’s not working out and move on — apply that to whatever situation you wish.

11. If you feel it, do it. The only thing you will lose is the what-if’s because you didn’t try.

12. Sometimes you need to cry. While crying alone is fine, the best cries seem to come when someone else coaxes them out of you by telling you the truth about a circumstance in your life. The tears come, the weight lifts, and then you can fix it.

13. If you can’t make it to something, be honest and say why. I’d rather hear someone be honest and say “I hate that place,” or “I have no money,” than “Can’t — sorry!”(May be we should work on saying 'actually, I just don't fancy doing that')


15. Get your stuff together the night before. Make sure your clothes are clean, your keys are in your bag, and you have your lunch. More mistakes can be made and items forgotten (and repercussions felt) in the 15-minute rush it takes to get out of the door than in an entire day.

16. One day a week, walk to your destination instead of ride. Guess who just got their exercise in?


17. Curb impulse buying and go grocery shopping once a week. Knowing you have at least a loaf of bread, a box of cereal, a frozen dinner, a dozen eggs, pasta, and a can of soup in your fridge can save you from thinking “What’s for dinner?” and ordering $25 takeout.

23. Slow down. The minute you realize — as clichéd as it is — that life really is a journey and not a marathon, the better off you’ll be.

26. Ask for help. Knowing that someone you trust has your back and is looking out for your best interest creates calm for your brain.

27. Whatever it is, just do it.

Ouch

'Elizabeth Wurtzel, a writer from our generation, used a metaphor that she borrowed from Hemingway. Being insane, she said, was like Hemingway’s description of going bankrupt. In Hemingway’s novel The Sun Also Rises, a man is asked how he lost all his money. “…Two ways,” the man replies, “Gradually, and then suddenly.” That’s how it happened for me. I lost everything all at once, but it had taken years to get there.'

'After all, it’s just touch.'

'Something happens. Maybe you graduated college and lost your strong network of friends. Finding a relationship is harder now. You actually have to work at it whereas before it usually just fell into your lap. You’re no longer guaranteed to meet new people. Your life isn’t as open as it used to be. Working to be social. What a strange concept.

Float through the days. Watch yourself become more and more locked up. Flinch when someone brushes your shoulder on the street and marvel at what you’ve been reduced to. You’re someone who once had amazing sex and been in love and now you’re getting your breath taken away by a passing stranger. How does one get to this point? Is it possible to find your way back? Is it possible to have a healthy amount of sex again and not give a crap if someone brushes your body at a bar. After all, it’s just touch.

Yes, you can. You can meet the love of your life. You can meet them in a bookstore, in a coffee shop, at a party, at a bar, through friends of friends, on the Internet, whatever. The trick to finding this person though is to never resign yourself. Never let the lonely days swallow you up, never accept that you’ll just be one of those people who doesn’t get to be loved. Because the second you start believing it, it can become true. That’s the scary part. How quickly days can turn into years. Just like that. I’ve always said that the whole “love comes to those who aren’t expecting it” is BS. Who ISN’T expecting love? I didn’t expect love for two solid years and guess where it got me? Celibacy. You should always expect to be loved, you should always expect to find somebody to love because if you don’t, you do get your worst fears confirmed and then you’re a goner. Then you’re denying yourself what you deserve. What you can certainly have.'

Caramel bear & Brown girl

I remember queueing up for a theme park ride as a kid, and the boy in front of me said I should 'go back to my own country, go back to China'.

He was so wrong.

It's interesting how people have thought my brother had a different Dad to me- because his skin tone is so much lighter than mine.

I grew up being the more 'tanned' one, and not seeing it any different to my friends. I think it took for me to move to London a year ago, somewhere so multi-cultural (if you like that phrase), for background and skin tone to be a subject of interest and where it was pointed out in a positive way.

And even then, we still experience racial bias from our peers. I do my best to point out the ignorant assumptions- most of the time, they link with safety.

This article hits home a little, specifying in the representation of race in video media.

I don't watch enough television to comment, yet I think it shows enough impact our 'colour' plays into representing who we really are.

Things to do before you are 30...

As I'm receive constant reminders that I'm 'so younggg', here a tribute to all of this age talk:

1. Blame everything on bad luck, poor timing, and a rotten economy. It’s currently your generation which means you have complete license to talk about how screwed you are and how nothing is ever your fault! (guilty. I'm sure I've blamed my defaults on society instead of getting off my ass and doing something about it) Act fast now because by the time you turn 30, the tides will have shifted and you’ll no longer have the luxury to blame all your problems on being in a post grad funk or lack of job opportunities. You’ve had eight years, dammit! (I like this, and it's true.)
   
2. Date someone who most likely hates you. Dating someone who might actually hate you is super chic when you’re just starting to figure things/ yourself out. (Just make sure they have a big dick and occasionally buy you dinner.)
   
3. Cry in Whole Foods. Because life is hard! Life is a $7.00 organic grass-fed glass of Kombucha.
   
4. Read The Secret. And believe it because you are very fragile right now.
   
5. See a shrink (done) and put it on your credit card (Haven't done. Thank you nice work establishment). And tell your therapist things like this: “This one time my mom wouldn’t drive me to Target to buy the new Strokes CD and I think that’s why I have intimacy issues, to be honest. I’ve never told her but I think we both know.”
   
6. Bump your elbow and take three Vicodin in the middle of the afternoon. Because it just hurts so bad honey….
   
7. Scream at someone In Da Club! Point fingers, throw drinks and scream “YOU KNOW WHAT YOU DID!” to a stranger who has done nothing wrong. (Talk to strangers and having some jesty inside joke that lasts the whole night through eye contact, does that count?!)
   
8. Go to places that have a long line, intimidating bouncers, and a list you most definitely aren’t on. Being in your 20s means going to a douchey hip club at least once and doing coke with that chick from The Ring. Trust me.
   
9. Go to Europe (Berlin woo!!). And tell everyone for the next eight years about how it changed your life and how you’re definitely going to move there someday. (So that's why I always feel more chilled when I'm abroad)
   
10. Do something sexually that totally shocks you. So you can have a story to tell at brunch for the next 5 years. (Depends what you view as shocking)
    
11. Deal with an asshole boss. Who is approximately four months younger than you.
    
12. Tell people that you’re in a really good place. (Done)
13. Tell people that you’re in a really bad place. (Done)
14. Tell people that you’re confused as to what place you’re in. (Done)
15. Try to die before you turn 30. Fail miserably. (I don't know whether walking in front of motorbikes or buses counts...)

'this is my “not my real job” job, and I’m the only one who can talk shit about it. '

For those who have been, or are in this position now:

One customer came through my line and told me about her nephew who applied for a job at Trader Joe’s in Spokane. Apparently there were over 1,000 applicants for jobs when the store first opened. They could only take about 75 of those people. People wanted that job. They wanted my “not my real job” job to be their real job. And more than wanting, they actually needed it — something I hadn’t imagined possible That’s when I started to count myself lucky for even having a job at all. I started appreciating my co-workers and my managers. I started saying hello to the regulars and asking for their names.

I started overachieving.

I want my managers to like me. I want customers to remember me. I read the information about new products. I know the difference between a Gala and a Pink Lady. (They’re apples, okay!) I don’t check the codes for produce anymore. Bananas. 4011. Sweet Onions. 4166. Beefsteak Tomatoes. 4799. I comment to a co-worker that I never imagined knowing all this when I was sitting in a cap and gown at graduation 7 months ago.

He says to me: “It’s okay. This isn’t your real job.”

But it is my real job. For now. When people look at me and tell me I have to be patient about the job hunt, I understand. The job market is different now. College degrees will get you a great job at a grocery store. Maybe if I’m lucky, this internship will take me somewhere. Maybe it will get me that higher paying, career-oriented dream job I have been searching for, but then again, maybe it won’t. I didn’t imagine working at a grocery store right out of college, after all.

Maybe when I get that dream job, it will be boring. Maybe it will be what I’ve always hoped for. Maybe it won’t be hard, and I won’t have to struggle like I am now. I will be complacent and earn a decent salary, a decent amount of respect. Maybe I’ll think to myself, as I stare out the window of my dream office, “This isn’t a real job. I used to have a real job.”

20 Feelings And Situations That Everybody Hates (I love thought catalogue)

1. Seeing a bug, then losing track of it and becoming a paranoid prisoner in your own home. - Currently, there is a wasp floating around my nice Brixton flat window.
   
2. Hearing loud slams and bumps while you’re in the shower and imagining it being some type of killer who you’ll have to fight off, soaking wet and butt naked. - Shower has made a slight shrill sound now that I have the temperature cooler, and I keep thinking it is a fire alarm.
   
3. Thinking that you’ve found a parking space, but as you turn in you discover that a motorcycle, a Volkswagen Bug, or some other vehicle the size of a Hot Wheels car has already occupied the spot. - happened in Tesco, Swansea last weekend, I failed to pick up milk.
   
4. When a sneeze refuses to come out, causing you to look like a fool with a scrunched up face. - This doesn't bother me, I'll pull weird expressions regardless (as proved yesterday in the National Gallery).
   
5. Waiting to hear from somebody specific and being bombarded by texts & calls from everyone who isn’t that person. - nah.
   
6. When the week feels like: Moooooooooooooonday, Tuuuuuuuuuuueeeesday, Weeeeeeeeeeeednesday, Thuuuuuuuuuursday, FriSatSun. - I wouldn't want to wish time away, but the weekend part is true.
   
7. You scan your surroundings. Nobody is near you. You fart. Within three seconds, somebody comes right into the stinky perimeter that you’ve created.- NAUGHTY! But humanely realistic.
   
8. Checking your bank account after a night of intoxicated drink purchases. - more so a night of Itunes purchases and restaurant dinners.
   
9. When you microwave frozen food and it’s scorching hot everywhere but the ice cold middle.- Don't own a microwave
   
10. When Michael Bay acquires the rights to make a film about a franchise that you previously enjoyed.- he's just too 'epic' for me.
    
11. When somebody makes up lies about you, and defending yourself makes you seem guilty – but not defending yourself seems suspicious as well.- Yawn
12. Getting paid but knowing in advance that your check will be consumed by bills.- Tadaa!!
13. Entering a parked car on a scorching hot summer day. - My equivalent is the London underground.
    
14. When gas prices are higher than your GPA.- plehhh, driving around last weekend, I noticed the prices are shocking.
    
15. When someone 20+ feet away holds the door open for you, forcing you to jog toward them.- Happens ALL THE TIME at work, and I run like a awkward giraffe anyways (imagine Phoebe run)
    
16. The humbling moment when you realize you’re wrong during an argument.- ... for me, currently being wrong is a good thing.
17. Waking up and only having a few minutes left until the alarm will sound.- Sometimes I like this though, feels like some kind of aha! I beat you, thing.
    
18. When you wear a good outfit but don’t run into anybody noteworthy all day.- Damn, this happens too often, I should probably make more effort to leave the flat though...
    
19. When you have to be a douche and shuffle through the bag to confirm that Taco Bell (or any other fast food joint) got your order correct.- Nah
20. The feeling of heartburn, self-hate and bubble guts that comes about 5-10 minutes after consuming Taco Bell (or any other fast food joint). - This happens to me after consuming white bread (usually baguette) or any other pleasurable white carb infest food (like pasta) which isn't the size of my scrunched fist. Stupid stomach (at least I have no problem with cake!).

Social 'rules'

1. Talking openly about therapy and anti-depressants.

Because of movies and TV and Woody Allen and my inherent assumption that everyone is as miserable as I am, for a long time I didn’t even know that therapy had a stigma. Most of America is on pills and it’s my belief that even the sanest person could benefit from a check-in with a shrink.

I don’t understand the big deal in admitting that you’re a little groggy because you’re switching up your psych meds. I don’t understand the big deal in quoting something your therapist said — and citing her — if it’s relevant to the conversation. It took me six months to catch on that the eye-blinking, stilted reactions I got from people when I casually referred to therapy as though it were a nail appointment was because it is a thing that other people think is an intimate and momentous admission. To me, dealing with head sickness is not so different from dealing with body sickness. We’re all a little scewed up in our own ways, just like we all have our own little ailments of poor circulation or back pain. So why don’t we talk about it the way we talk about Zicam and Advil? To me, chill openness about being in therapy or on meds reveals not craziness, but a mature interest in self-improvement, and even better, a bold declaration of a lack of shame. At least, that’s what my therapist told me.

I see these so often (and probably guilty of some of them myself)

“I should not eat that sandwich. That sandwich has bread. Bread has carbs. Carbs are the Judas of the food world; They will surely betray me.

EAT THAT GOD DAMN SANDWICH. I totally acknowledge that we all want to feel good about ourselves, but listen: find an exercise you like, do it, then eat ALL OF THE PIZZA at 3 in the morning. There is something so pathetically sad about living life in fear of food. (You end up spending more time fussing and thinking about food, instead of getting out there and enjoying other things!)

“I shouldn’t text him first, right? No way, I’m not gonna text him first. I mean, if he wants to see me, he should text me. Right?”

Sometimes right, but often wrong. Instances in which this is correct: you’ve texted him three times in the past two days and have gotten no response. You don’t remember his face and have him logged into your phone as “Guy mEt at PiananOs bar.” You don’t actually give a crap about him but are in need of something to do.

If none of these are true, grab the man-bull by the dating-horns and TEXT HIM. I see so many girls remain single because neither them nor the guy they want to date is willing to make the first (miniscule, harmless, “hey what are you doing tonight?”) move. (and it is SO painful to watch!!! and wasteful!!!) Take heed: you may have accidentally found yourselves on another direct path to pets and yogurt. 

It seems to be girls night, in the flat upstairs

I love how, in those moments you find the time to doubt yourself- there's always something to stumble across online, encouraging all of those empty thoughts to float away.

What interests me is that for most women, getting to know one another in person isn't always as easy- we seem to be patient with women online, and less patient in person. I think this needs to flip.

When we see ourselves in Zooey Deschanel or Lena Dunham, it’s an affirmation that the world at large is picking up on the fact that girls like us exist at all — and that our existence is meaningful, even if it doesn’t always make sense or come with clear instructions. We want to know who we are now as much as we want to know who we have the potential to become in the future, and other women who fundamentally remind us of ourselves are powerful barometers of everything that is possible. Especially when they blog daily and create popular television shows.

Which is why if there was ever a time to start a blog or a YouTube channel about your clothes, your apartment, the things that piss you off, the career you are pursuing, or what acne treatment you are using and how you are 27 and love Justin Beiber, that time is now. So many of us consider ourselves writers (and/or bloggers) because we have a need to tell our stories that goes beyond what can easily be assumed of us. We may not be snowflakes, but we are all very different. The one thing we certainly have in common is how much we enjoy learning about each other. We’re teaching each other the truth about real women, and that education is helping to eliminate a lot of the crap we learned growing up. Regardless of what you might have heard, it’s actually a really great time to be a girl.

The 20-something urban-dwelling woman is not a new experiment, but it does look and feel different than it did ten or 20 years ago. Part of that has to do with the fact that we are now telling our own stories, and can take ownership over what is being said, written, and produced about us. As much as we might feel attacked for not being the ideal upwardly-mobile young person, or for not being what the majority of society considers physically or morally acceptable for our demographic, or for blogging about our personal lives to begin with, we must remember that with every confession and truth we share about what it is like to be us, we are doing something great for girls in general. And for that, we should all be very proud.

Just remember, it may not interest the mainstream forever, and trust me — people will always make fun of you for it. But really, who cares?  They can write about us all they want, just as long as we write about ourselves more.

Busy and bullshit

'The fact that you could spend over two days running around with your friends acting foolish, only coming home to change and maybe catch five hours of sleep, is proof that you’re still young. We forget that there will be a point when that will end, when we will have someone else to answer to. Don’t take these kinds of weekends for granted.

On Saturday morning, wake up to a text inviting you to brunch with many of the friends you spent Friday night with. Even though you only got five hours of sleep and feel like hell, you’re running on adrenaline so you go. You leave your apartment and meet them for food and conversation and maybe drinks I guess, who knows, do whatever you feel like. The meal lasts for hours and when you step outside to leave, the sun makes you wince and you realize it’s already almost 4 o’clock. You vaguely recall having stuff to do but you’re not ready to ruin the buzz of the weekend, so you split off with a best friend and go to the park. Lay in the sun, feel your bones become jelly, eat a popsicle. Define leisure. Listen to music and creep on all the babes. Then feel the sun start to go down and begin to pack up.

Make your way to your friend’s apartment to cook dinner. Put your feet out the window and lay in their bed. Contemplate going home after you eat because you need sleep but ultimately decide against it. You know the second you get to your apartment, which will somehow already feel foreign to you, you’ll just start to feel lonely and wish you were still riding the wave of the weekend. Stay out...

the weekend is more about celebrating your friendships and yourself. They’re about detaching yourself from your anxieties and feeling a sense of togetherness. They’re about letting go and being the lovely mess you deserve to be.' (I love that part!)

Aww. So true and funny and queasy American hype.

But it's lovely to read over. Possibly my new favourite writer and website.

"Everything turns to dust"

'They make changes. They stop taking those pills, clutching those drinks, and start deleting those numbers in their phone that might as well be daggers. They take responsibility for themselves.

We can’t blame something on a lack of self-awareness. We’re all aware, which makes it that much harder when we see ourselves making the same mistakes. We often wonder why we do the things we do. But we already know why. Knowing and doing are two different things though...

in the end, I just don’t care enough to make changes. You can’t force yourself to care. You need to reach a point where you DO care which can take a long time.

Being a broken mess is a blast at 19 but once you’re old enough to know better and start to make those necessary changes, returning to that state will feel awful. That’s something to actually mourn. There’s a certain kind of beauty with being reckless with your body and mind. Closing the chapter on that and actively becoming the person you’re going to be feels great but it’s also a tad bittersweet. Sometimes you want to go back to being the person you were before all the bad stuff happened, but you know that’s impossible. So you just bid adieu to that time and look towards your future. (FYI, it looks super bright.)'

Slug

I love this, and am completely guilty of it too.