Friday, July 11, 2014

exercises in loving thyself, lady.

Yesterday I did things to make me feel good:

  • Went for a little walk
  • Had a nice shower (shaved my underarms, scrubbed my hair with a shampoo/baking soda mix, exfoliated, and used lovely new deodorant)
  • Did my hair in cute milkmaid braids
  • Wore real people clothes as opposed to the tracksuit/hoodie combo I've been rocking almost exclusively for the past two months
  • Read some Harry Potter
  • Rejoined Weight Watchers(!) and discovered that instead of gaining back all the weight I'd lost, which I fully anticipated, I actually lost a pound, meaning I don't have to start all over again. I'm looking forward to getting back on track now. And only three more pounds to lose before I hit my next milestone!

Today I nursed a slight hangover and finally started watching the first series of Orange is the New Black (so far so good!). Tomorrow I plan on exercising and writing and reading and doing other fun stuff for me. I’m starting to feel a little more control of my feelings. Hooray!

(Transformers is on telly now. I am nostalgic for the days when Shia LaBeouf seemed relatively normal.)

(The coat I’m wearing in the photo above makes me feel like a trainspotter.)

Tuesday, July 08, 2014

sad gurrls w/ perfect brows + zero megapixels.

Today I met with my new psychologist/counsellor for the first time. She seems really lovely and I'm really happy and excited about getting to share my madness with her(!). When I sat down in her office I started crying instantly. I think I had been so psyched(!) all morning at the opportunity to talk about my feelings and stuff that they were just bubbling beneath the surface and erupted when the pressure became too much. I bawled my eyes out for an hour but I think I feel good. I mean, my psychologist was so lovely and so encouraging and so hopeful. And she's made me hopeful. But I'm sad that I'll only get to see her a couple of times before I move away (13th August, holla!). She gave me some homework to do before I see her again next week: I have to do a little of something that makes me feel good, like reading or going for a walk, and I have to fill in a mood/activity chart that attempts to identify how my mood correlates to my level of activity (which probably seems obvious because endorphins but it also includes activities like talking to friends or writing or whatever). I'm nervous and excited and happy at the thoughts of finally addressing the thoughts and behaviours that have been making me miserable for so fucking long. I'm a work in progress.

Today I also took my mother to her eye test appointment, ate Subway, ate two chocolate ├ęclairs(!), finished season 8 of The Office and started re-watching The Mindy Project. (Words cannot express how much I love Mindy Kaling.) As well as all those fun activities, I put on make-up for no reason at all (a first for me) and managed to achieve a perfect eye liner flick (another miraculous first). I'm now drinking Diet Coke (full blown addiction) and ogling my one tru luv (MK).

Bad writing is my best friend.

(I want to start wearing more black.)

Monday, July 07, 2014


For a long time I've felt as though being attracted to someone or wanting to be in a relationship with someone is a sign of weakness. I guess there are probably a couple of different reasons for that warped view of love. Maybe it's the failed adolescent- and college-relationships. Maybe it's a defence/offence mechanism: stay away from me and neither of us will get hurt. Maybe it's the fact that more than one boy, after reading my blog, has accused me, in a tone of slight revulsion, of needing a boyfriend. 

I cried in the psychiatrist's office a couple of weeks ago and among my many confessions was the fact that I am embarrassed about wanting a relationship, wanting to be liked, wanting to be loved. I'm a feminist and I want to be a self-sufficient, modern woman. And it's not as though the offers are rolling in these days. So it helps to pretend that I don't want love anyway. Except lately, amid all my other anxieties, I've developed a strong conviction that I will never find anyone to spend (at least part of) my life with. I'll be alone forever. And I hate myself for worrying about that kind of thing. If that's my biggest fear in life, what does that say about me? I'm defined by my relationships with boys? I'm validated by these relationships? I want to accept myself for who I am. I want to not need another person to do that for me. But I love love. And I love sharing my bed and my thoughts and my life with another person. And I'm so ashamed of that. (All these conflicting feelings!) But the psychiatrist said, “It's okay to want those things, Emma.” And that really fucking helped.

I've been pretty depressed for the past couple of months and my self-esteem is at an all time low. I'm moving to a different country (and time zone and climate) in five weeks. A relationship will not blossom this week or next week or any time soon. And I don't need it to. What I need is self-love. But I don't love anyone right now, least of all myself. I don't even fancy anyone. (And I think that's a first.) In fact, lately I hate the whole wide world. There's very few people who have escaped my criticism in the past few weeks. I suspect that all my self-hatred is leaking out into the atmosphere and attaching itself, parasitic, to the closest organism (i.e. my friends and family). So now my life is void of love. (And yet love is a shout into the void?)

I have my first appointment appointment with a new psychologist tomorrow and while I don't expect to achieve much in the hour-long session, I hope it helps to talk. I think it will. Lately I feel like no one listens when I talk. Maybe it's mostly my imagination but, regardless, it feels awful. I am irrelevant, unimportant, worthless. Cool. I guess blogging is good and cathartic because it's uninterrupted. Flow.

I recently finished the 100 Happy Days challenge on Instagram. It was a challenge. I started a couple of weeks before I finished college when my stress levels were at an all time high. I continued into the summer when my depression was at an all time high. How do you find happiness among all that misery? My photo feed consisted mainly of my two year old nephew, tasty food, painted nails, and one or two pictures of my friends. Usually the happy moments were fleeting – just long enough to make it to Instagram. I guess it's easy to construct a good life. Maybe my < 200 followers thought I was happy. Truly happy. (Is there such a thing?) Truthfully, spending time with my nephew, painting my nails and eating healthy meals does make me happy, but underneath it all I still actively dislike myself. And that's the clincher, right?

I spend my days watching The (US) Office and hating myself. Tomorrow will be different.  Maybe I won't watch The Office