"I'm me!"

This quote resonates with me during a week where I've been reminded I'm not quite the me that others wish I was (if you know what I mean). It's been getting me down a bit, hence the blog posts that are done last minute, as opposed to done in advance and posted in the morning. I feel a little like I'm losing myself. Finding this quote again, from a book I love (Wee Free Men), shouted by a character I love (Tiffany Aching) is a wonderful reminder that, no matter what others think, I am who I am. There cannot be a different me. I can be tweaked, I can improve aspects of myself, but fundamentally, deep down, I am who I am and this cannot be changed. 

Yes, I know, all very cryptic :P Right now, though, I feel as if I need to stick this on a piece of paper, attach it to some string and hang above my head so that I can read it wherever I go. 

I am me. I am who I am. There's nothing wrong with me. If I change it will because I want to change, not because someone else thinks I should (although, of course, constructive criticism is welcome and will be listened to. I reserve the right not to follow it. No, I don't know what I'm going on about tonight, either.)

There's another quote from the book that's resonated with me this evening. It's this: 

"If you trust in yourself...and believe in your dreams...and follow your star...you'll still get beaten by people who spent their time working hard and learning things and weren't so lazy" 

The Wee Free Men by Terry Pratchett

Since the start of the year, when I leapt into the new year with energy and enthusiasm, I've found myself drifting. I've become lazy and stopped working hard. When is the last time I told you about something I'd made? When is the last time I labled a post, or linked to it on the correct page? I'm all ideas and dreams and no action right now. So here I shall make a list. A list I hope to cross off, and add to as the year goes by.

Right, here we go:

1. Get regular exercise. This can be step ups or going out for a proper run. I don't care as long as I do half an hour of it every day.
2. Sort out this blog. It's a mess, woman! Link posts to the correct pages, lable the unlabled and when you're doing a blog challenge/swap, put the relevant button on the side. I mean, honestly.
3. Keep the flat relatively clean and tidy.
4. Sort out all (yes, I mean all) photo's on various hard drives and laptops. Delete the rubbish. Keep the good ones/memory inducing ones. Print some. Put them on the walls.
5. Oh, yeah...sort out your various hard drives. 
6. Basically, try and be more organised.
7. Complete two projects a month.
8. Cook/bake/make something different food wise twice a month. 
9. Go outside and photograph stuff twice a month. At least.
10. Get off the electronic gadgets once a week and start turning things off by a certain time every night. I'm thinking 8-9pm. I'll give myself that leeway, that way if I'm busy with something, I have time to finish it. Oh, I also realise I'm currently typing this up at 11.13 pm...
11. Read more. Lots more. Books are wonderful. They are your friends. You've been neglecting your friends for a while. Stop that.
12. Oh, ha, yeah...talk to your real life people friends more often. Make sure to Skype them at least once a fortnight (I'm talking to you here, Beth). Write actual letters to other people and post them using an actual post box.

That's all I can think of for now. I think it's time for some camomile tea and bed.

Night night!

Five Lines...probably closer to 500..

I've been utterly terrible and not given this blog as much attention as I'd like these past few months. So I've decided to take up the challenge, started by Elizabeth at Rosalilium:  to blog once a day, every day, for a month, and to help out she's given us a topic to write about every day. I have so much to write about, but I've had a massive bout of writers block. I barely comment on other people's blogs at the moment, it's gotten that bad!

So, without further ado, I'm going to start by writing a bit about myself. I've kind of put what I wanted to say in my About Me page, so I'm going to, instead, answer the questions posed by Sarah, that I've been meaning to answer for a while.

Oh, and I'm not quite following the rules of the meme correctly...I'm considering them to be more guidelines than rules

11 facts about myself

1: I have an irritatingly freakish memory. I won't necessarily be able to remember names or dates or any other important information. But I will be able to remember a conversation that two people had in front of me, word for word, even though neither of those people remembers themselves. 

2: I love bright colours. This may shock anyone who knew me 10 years ago, when my favourite line while shopping was "It's nice, but it would be better in blue". I still love blue, but also love bright pinks and reds, too.

3: I love travelling. I wish I could do more of it, and one day hope to go on a grand exploring adventure. 

4: I have two younger brothers and grew up in a small house, filled to the brim with animals and people. It was loud. It was chaotic. I wouldn't have had it any other way. 

5: I am bossy. I can't help it. I try not to be, but when that happens, it just explodes out of me as if I have no control over it. I've been told by some (Joe) that I'm just like Carla from Scrubs.

6: I wanted to be a fairy princess when I was little. This was while I was a tomboy, climbing trees, in a dress. I blame the story of Thumbelina.

7: I used to believe I could fly. This belief lasted a lot longer than it should have.

8: I can't drive. This is odd for a 27 year old, I know, but I've never been able to justify the financial cost. 

9: I love to walk. I can walk for miles at a time. This is useful because, well, see 8

10: Before we were taught to read, we were handed a book titled "Books are your friends" and in it it listed things you should never do to a book (like throw it down etc). Many of my best friends have been books. Books have taught me so much, and taken me to such wonderful places. 

11: I don't like sad endings. I don't mind them too much if they're well written, or if it's a true story. I somehow feel cheated, though, if a film or book doesn't uplift me in some way. This doesn't mean the story has to be happy, or that the characters have to live happily ever after, but, I guess, like Pandora's box, I like to be left with a little bit of hope. 

11 Questions for me

  1. Have you ever been pulled over by the traffic police? Nope, because I can't drive. 
 

2. If you could live anywhere in the world, where would it be and why? Somewhere with the mountains, the sea and a Mediterranean climate. I was born in Cape Town and lived there for the first 9 years of my life. I long to live somewhere similar, although not necessarily there.

3. What is your favourite flavour of crisps? I guess salt and vinegar. Although I love Texas BBQ Pringles

4. What's the last movie you watched? The Princess Bride

5. What is your favourite thing to wear? Pyjamas. The most comfortable item of clothing of all.

6. What does your last text message say? "Ok. Well, I was planning on getting some during our round shopping trip"

7. What were you doing at 12 noon yesterday? I was at work

8. What is your most treasured memory? Meeting my youngest brother for the first time, or when Corey first kissed me.

9. What do you think is the single best decision you've made in your life so far? To go to university. I may not currently be doing what I thought I would be doing 10 years ago, but the people I met, and the things I learnt were worth it.

10. Do you have a pet? Unless you include the mice we can't get rid of, unfortunately not. My family has two cats, a dog and a fish tank full of fish. I go to visit my parents for my pet fix!

11. What is on your bedside table? Five books, a notebook, a bottle of water, blue nail varnish, a  a jug that was holding flowers, but is now empty, two cards (one from Anna K and the other from Bex) and vanilla air freshener spray. 

This is where I'm supposed to ask 11 questions of my own, and tag 11 other bloggers, but I'm unable to think of anything to ask! So I shall leave you with a picture I'm proud of:

I'm not great at taking pictures of people, which is why I love this recent one I took of Corey. It's not perfect, but I managed to catch him unaware and relaxed.

 

Christmas!

I thought I'd do a quick round-up of what I got up to over Christmas, before it's too late! 

I went down to Cambridge to spend it with my parents. Corey headed off to his family. In all our 7 years together we haven't spent a Christmas day together. I can't wait for the time that we do, but right now it makes sense to go our separate ways for the day. 

Getting up on Christmas day my youngest brother had a ridiculous amount of presents to open up. I forgot to get him a present for his birthday, so I went a little overboard. After we exchanged gifts and had a lazy morning, my aunt came around with my cousins and we exchanged gifts with them. Instead of cooking a Christmas meal for a group that includes some (very) fussy eaters, we headed to Milton Keynes to go to Red Hot World. It's an all you can eat. A little weird for Christmas, yes, but their meals aren't the usual dry, badly cooked, tasteless all you can eat food. Plus, did I mention we have some very fussy eaters? Everyone was happy, everyone could have what they want, including turkey with the trimmings if they want.

Boxing day was spent finishing one of the DVD box sets I'd got, knitting my jumper and heading off to Hobbycraft with my mother to spend my voucher she got me. I headed up to Leicester on the 27th where Corey and I opened out gifts, even though it was 10 pm and we were pretty tired. 

New Years eve was a quiet one, as Corey had to work the next day. We were unable to spend it with friends, as they live too far away for him to get back up, and we have nowhere for them to stay. But it was a lovely evening. We watched Zoolander and tried out the game I got Corey for Christmas. We still haven't managed to figure out all the rules of the game...it's rather complicated. 

In case you're wondering what I got, here's a collage (thank you Anna for suggesting PicMonkey to Elsie!)

Top left hand corner: presents from my family. I watched Jane Eyre late into the night on Christmas Eve. North and South is lurking in the corner next to it. I absolutely love the book Jane Eyre and found the series on Netflix. I fell for the story all over again. As for North and South, another Netflix find. I love the book, and I love the series. I've watched it twice in two months...I may have to make it three in three...As for the socks, the foot cream and body butter: they were recycled presents! I told my mother how much I'd been wanting a pair of socks like that. She laughed and told me she got them and the foot cream as gifts, so wrapped them up for me as she doesn't like creams etc. I love that!

Top right: presents from Corey. That's not all of them. He also gave me a mug, chocolates, a facemask and a snowman tree ornament for me to sew. Why are there two bears, I hear you ask? Well, Corey's birthday was while we were on holiday this year. We went into a supermarket and I saw those bears. I remarked how cute they were and asked if he wanted one. He said no. As he had nothing to open on his birthday, I bought him one. Not knowing he'd gone back to the shop and bought me one, too...

Middle right: presents from Corey's family. They also got me a box of buttons, a Thornton's Snowman and a tshirt. The game (street cleaner simulator) was Corey's suggestion. He made a Christmas list on behalf of me, and told his Dad to get that on the cheap if he could, as a joke. I've not yet opened the packaging. I'm very worried that I may enjoy the game, and am uncertain about what that would say about me...

In the bottom left hand corner, I got a sewing kit from Kaylie, one of my best friends girlfriends. It's awesome, particularly since there's a separate pin cushion I can use on the sofa. I currently stick pins into the sofa/cushions and Corey often sits on them. There's also colours of thread in there that I don't own, and that would be incredibly useful. The card was from Joe, Kaylie's boyfriend. 

The bottom middle is what I got from Joe. Three months worth of stationary! I can't wait to see what arrives!

In the bottom corner is the picture I made from something my mother gave me for Christmas. As part of my Christmas presents, she gave me a Christmas Activity to do. She also gave me a scratch picture to do when it rained on holiday "So that you don't get bored". I love her. 

The gifts I got other people will be talked about in posts of their own. Unfortunately I forgot to take a picture of Joe's present, but I have another version of that to write about anyway. 

Oh, and in case you were wondering about the Alice in Wonderland stuff above, here's why I got it

Two years ago I got two cups and a teapot. I joked I'll need the rest of the set someday. And so I got the tray and milk jar this year. I just need the sugar bowl and a antique style tea trolly to keep it all on and I'm sorted!

All of this shows me that a) I'm never going to grow up and b) a very lucky girl to have people who know me this well, and who spoil me. I'm happy enough just being able to spend time with them all over the festive season. The presents are a bonus!

Thank you. I love you all. I only hope the gifts I gave them made them half as happy as these have made me.

P.S. Anyone want to come around for a cup of tea? I have spare cup!

Living in the land of low self esteem

As the title would suggest, this isn't going to be a particularly happy post, nor is it going to be about crochet or cooking. But after reading some incredible stories where people have talked about depression and self-esteem issues, I've decided to "come clean" and finally tell my story. To talk about things I've not really talked about before. Any kind of mental health issue has such a stigma attached to it, and the only way to get rid of that stigma is to talk about it. To show that it's not because a person is weak, or unable to cope with the realities of life, but because sometimes people get sick. Sometimes the illness is physical, sometimes the illness is mental. They should both be treated with the same sympathy and support.

At the age of 9, my family moved from South Africa to England. Within the space of a year I’d moved school twice. From a situation where I’d never seen bullying, let alone experienced it, I was bullied at the two primary schools I went to. Both of those times it was by people who pretended to be my friends first. My parents started arguing a lot, quite often I was the catalyst as my father would see my mother shouting at me and intervene. After one of these times, my mother informed me that if my parents ever divorced, it would be my fault. Until I was 14 years old, I didn’t have a true friend, one I could confide in and trust.

My self esteem at this time amounted to nothing. I hated myself and I wanted to die. I truly believed that my mother was right; I was the bad egg in my family, the person who caused all the problems and didn’t belong. This, it seems, was confirmed by the bullying. It must be my fault that the other children are treating me that way, some defect in my personality. I used to sob myself to sleep, praying to God to let me die. I fantasised about the best way to kill myself. Throwing myself down the stairs would more than likely just lead to serious injuries, all the other ways would have been too messy, unlikely to succeed and traumatise others. I felt like there was this constant weight on my chest, pushing down on me, this constant lump I couldn’t shift.

For four years I was like this. No one knew, because I didn’t tell them. They thought I was going through what all teenagers go through. I was very good at hiding it. My father told me I was teased, not bullied, and when I told my aunt I think I was depressed at 9, she retorted that 9 year olds don’t get depressed. I’ve been told I was just sad. But I know now I was. Not seriously depressed, but mild to moderately.

I still have moments where I feel the weight coming back. It happens when change occurs, or when something isn’t quite right in my life and I’m too scared to change it because I’m worried I’ll fail. I still have times when I feel worthless, undeserving of love and friendship. I’m terrified of failure. And I’m still very, very good at hiding my internal struggle so that others around me don’t know what’s happening. I shut the world away, stop talking to friends as much, stop going online as much. I try my best to disappear.

But now I realise what’s happening. I realise the internal voice is lying: that I’m not worthless and undeserving. I remember that the weight, the feeling that I need to shut the world away will go away. Depression lies. It says you deserve the pain. It tells you that you are worthless and you will never be happy. I am trying to let other’s know when I’m feeling this way, although it is difficult as I hate feeling like a burden. I try not to shut people out. And eventually the feelings lift and I am happy again. I realise I don’t deserve the pain, that it’s ok to love and be loved. Unfortunately I still have the self esteem issues, but I’m trying to work them through. I want so desperately to succeed, and I’m the only person holding me back.

Only one friend has heard the full story of the internal struggle I had. I screamed at them, when I was 6,000 miles away and they told me they’d thought of driving into a brick wall on the way back from work, I screamed at them to please get help. This person did not understand that I knew the pain they were going through. When I told them it will get better, they didn’t believe me until I told them why I knew it would get better. I’m an optimist and so often people think I have an irrationally rosy view of the world. I am a “sun will come out tomorrow” kind of person (although not that sickly sweet…). Not because I’ve never been in that dark tunnel full of mental pain. But because I’ve been there, I got to the other side. I know that no matter how long that tunnel is, all tunnels have to end eventually.

Change

As I mentioned briefly in a previous post, I've been trying to make some changes in my life. About 6 months ago, in the midst of our moving house and Internet problems, I was feeling pretty low. Usually when I get like that, I start shutting myself away from the world. And so I did that. I kept in contact with the very few (but wonderful) friends I have, but online I stopped following blogs, I stopped reading ones I regularly read and I stopped commenting. I felt like I was intruding and didn't belong. I didn't bother trying to socialise outside of work with colleagues. While I chatted, laughed and joked with them at work, I kept myself to myself outside of work. I started feeling as I did a lot while I was at school and during sixth form: that people only put up with me because they have to. If they had a choice they would rather be somewhere else, with someone else. I realise now that I was more than likely mildly depressed, caused by stress, tiredness and the fact that I have a predisposition once in a while to get like that. Even when I'm not moving house every couple of months. Even when I don't have a leaky ceiling that collapses. Even when I'm not worrying about whether I'll have a job in the next few months.

But about a month ago I realised I'm actually incredibly lonely. And the reason for my loneliness is myself. It's the fact that I shut myself out, locked myself away from people. So the first change I'm trying to make is to stop doing that. I've reconnected online, I'm also trying to socialise more with people outside of work. I'm doing something that scares me, but hopefully it'll be worth it.

The second change is this: at the age of 16 I had a 10 year plan. The plan was a little ridiculous and very rigid, but my heart was in the right place. I realised then that you can't get what you want immediately. It's a thought process I'd lost recently. I've been unsatisfied with my lot because I want certain things now, right this minute. I want lots of savings, I want to be married, with a family, live in a decent house and have a good job, preferably one where I could work at home some of the time. Thing is...these things take time. So I need to give them time. I need to work towards some of them, and just let other things take their course naturally. While in many respects my 16 year old self was rather naive, she was also a lot wiser. She was also very driven, and that's definitely an aspect of myself I'd like to regain.

Following on from the above, as some of the things I want require money, I've trying to tighten my belt in certain respects. On holiday I discovered that spending cash is so much more difficult than spending via card. So each month I'll have a set amount for groceries, and a set amount for personal spending, and that's it. Right now, with Christmas around the corner, and things to buy for the house, I will be spending in addition to the personal spending. But in a couple of months, hopefully my savings will go up even more.

So, changes I need to stick with:
a) Stop shutting people out
b) Start planning, stop wanting things to happen right this minute
c) Keep a closer eye on my spending habits.

P.S. You know I mentioned buying wool yesterday? Well...I should have my first project done and ready to be shown off in a couple of days.

I am a hypocrite

First off, hypocrite is a pretty awesome word. I always imagine some sort of hippopotamus critic, looking at the world disapprovingly. With glasses and a robe on, and a glass of claret at his side.

A little like this.

Back to my point. I am a hypocrite. For the past month I have been telling Corey how intelligent and brilliant he is. How he will make something of himself, even though it might take some time. He's been feeling a bit low some days, particularly since he's done is dissertation, about the fact he is currently working at Sainsbury's two days a week, will probably never leave and is likely to have no money very soon. He's also not overly confident about his dissertation results.

How does this make me a hypocrite? Well, I truly believe I have a brilliant, intelligent boyfriend who has a lot to offer the world. I also believe he will go far and achieve wonderful things in life.

I just don't believe that of myself, particularly at the moment. I handed my dissertation in on the 2nd of September, and I felt utter relief. At the same time I dreaded my results, believing, wholeheartedly, that the best I can hope for is a low merit. I truly looked at the work I handed in and wanted to sob because to me it was imperfect, it was terrible, it could have been so much better. I got my results two weeks ago and I'd gotten a distinction. I was please, so unbelievably pleased. For about five minutes. Then a voice in my head whispered that it really wasn't distinction material. Perhaps they got the marks wrong.

I'm currently interning, as most of you will know. I was pleased as punch to get the job. Not only did I manage to get a job so many others applied for, but I will be learning new skills, getting some amazing opportunities, things I wouldn't be doing in many other jobs. But a part of me still wonders if perhaps they picked the wrong person. Occasionally I look at my colleagues, at the people who interviewed me and wonder if they think they made a mistake. They are so lovely and welcoming. Nothing they have ever said or done would make me think they were having such thoughts. But my brain, the part of me that tells me I'm worthless once in a while, that bit says that they wish they picked someone else.

I am intelligent. I am articulate (although often I am not and I make very little sense, but the people around me seen to find it amusing). I am funny, witty, sarcastic. I am a good friend, listener and advice giver. I am sensible, yet also (as described by someone yesterday) charmingly eccentric. I am definitely not boring to be around, once you get to know me and I let my crazy side emerge. I am hardworking, organised, cheerful and fun to work with. I wouldn't call myself beautiful, but I'm not unattractive. Yes, I have my bad points too. But all in all I think I'm an ok person.

So why do I feel so worthless at the moment? I feel like such a terrible girlfriend right now. I'm tired all the time at the moment, a lot to do with the stresses of starting a new job amidst some pretty crappy accommodation problems. And I know that Corey understands, but I don't understand how he can want to be around me at the moment. I'm grumpy, moody, snappy and more argumentative than usual.

Why do I feel like I have nothing to offer the world? Beyond wondering if my colleagues regret picking me over everyone else they interviewed, I just generally feel like an interloper. I read blogs, as you all know by now, and I often comment on them. Then we had no internet for two weeks, and I was unable to find the time to read the blogs I usually read. I came very close to deleting them from my blog list. For one thing, I'm beginning to feel like an idiot. The blogs I often comment on are wedding related and here I am, unengaged. What right do I have to read these sites, let alone comment on them? And the women on them, they are brilliant, intelligent, oh so cool and sophisticated. What right do I have to even read their words? I feel like a heffalump. A clumsy, oafish creature that stumbles into other people's conversations. I feel so young, so immature, so inexperienced. No, these women have never done anything but welcome me into their conversations. But I nearly stopped reading, subscribing, contributing because I feel like I really have no place in their world. The thing that stopped me was reading a post written on Anyotherwedding yesterday morning, a post vaguely inspired by a stupid email I sent a while back. An email I regretted soon after sending and have wished to draw back ever since. But there my name was, on one of my favourite blogs. But instead of feeling joy, I broke out into a cold sweat. My name seemed wrong there, at the top of the page. What right does my name have to be there?

Why do I feel like this sometimes? I keep wondering, and I think, beyond my utter exhaustion/illness (a minor cold, but it still didn't help my tiredness), it goes back to a conversation I never should have had with someone on facebook.

I was in Cambridge, at my parents, a couple of weekends ago, and was woken up at some stupid hour in the morning. To help me get back to sleep, I went on facebook on my new, swanky phone. I commented on something a friend had said, about rugby, which yes, I, a girl, enjoy watching. I may have misconstrued the tone of one of his other friends posts, but I said nothing offensive or rude, I wasn't even confrontational. The next morning, a gentleman had commented, and in his comment he questioned my intelligence in a particularly sexist and misogynistic manner. I responded, although not to his tone, as I felt that taking on some stranger on a friends facebook wall was not appropriate behaviour. His response was, yet again, to belittle and patronise me, undeservedly. I know it was because I was a woman intruding onto a "male" conversation and I expected the backlash I got. This isn't a post on how utterly wrong his reaction was, and how crap it is that the world often treats women in this way. But this is about how he made me feel. He made me feel the same way a patient made me feel in the hospital I worked at when, after telling him my plans for after my gap year, he responded "Oh, really? I didn't think you looked clever enough to do a masters".

The stupid part of my brain, the one that's still battered and bruised from being bullied and rejected by my peers, that part of my brain tells me that they react to me like this because, well, I have nothing to offer the world. There must be a reason they think I'm an idiot. That stupid part of my brain that tells me I'm not intelligent, I'm not funny, and people only talk to me because they feel sorry for me, that part of my brain has been getting a little too loud for my liking recently. It's only a small part, and it gets smaller every year. But sometimes it manages to seep into my conscious. And I would quite like it to go away now, please.

Because, while I am not practically perfect in every way, I do have something to offer the world. I am relatively intelligent, and a nice person to be around. It's not my problem that other people believe otherwise. It's their problem.

If only I could get that stupid voice to shut up now...

My actual 20's

A few weeks ago, I wrote a post about my teens and said I'd write about my 20's some day. I should be doing many other things: cleaning the house, dissertating, proof reading for a friend...but I'm bored, so I'll do something I enjoy doing.

First things first: I'm 25, so this is about my first 5 years of my 20's, not the whole decade. I cannot see into the future, much as I wish I could...

My 20's have been slow going. I haven't had too much happen in them, but like I said before I had so many emotional upheavals prior to them that I'm enjoying the slowness! But they have been wonderful in so many ways.

I've spent 4 years of them at university. University is where I emerged from my shell and allowed myself to be who I truly am: a slightly crazy, very bubbly, happy (I'd never really been that before), optimistic young woman. It certainly helped that I met some pretty wonderful people along the way, who enabled me to be all I ever wanted to be.

 

That's five people in one hula hoop, by the way. Sarah and Maria, who became like sisters to me. We'd spent countless evenings before going out rushing into each others rooms,  borrowing jewelry and makeup, singing into hairbrushes and dancing the can-can in the corridor between our rooms. Often getting ready for a night out was better than a night out. Joe, who's become my brother/child-I-never-gave-birth-to, who's one of the sweetest guys I know. And has lost over 4 stone in weight (as his adopted sister/mother, I'm incredibly proud of him). He bears the brunt of my bossiness, taking it very well, and often following my orders advice. Then there's me, with the funny expression on my face...Don't ask me why...And next to me, my first every, and hopefully last ever, boyfriend. Looking a little strained. Probably the hula hoop cutting off his circulation or something.

I experienced night clubbing and ordering alcohol from bars. I'd never done such things before, I'd never had friends living close enough for me to do that, and I never had the desire to go out in my younger days. I learnt that I can have an awesome night out, spending only £1 (for my coat to be looked after). I discovered that the best nights out start off with a hot chocolate and apple pie in the pub. The first time I did this, everyone laughed at me, them with their pints and alcopops. Until the hot chocolate with whipped cream came out. And the apple pie with the TWO scoops (I'm a rebel, me) of ice cream was eaten in front of them. Their mocking glances became envious. I discovered I don't need to get drunk to have a good time, that remembering everything the next day is pretty awesome. Since you can tell people what THEY did that night :P And I did it beside the most wonderful and amazing people in the world. Oh, I can't actually get drunk, it turns out. Because too much alcohol is too rich for my stomach. And, well...even though I'm not even particularly tipsy...It will come up. On the plus side, I've always managed to get to the bathroom in time, and been so discrete that people have been known to ask "has she actually thrown up?".

I also fell in love, but I've already written a post on that!

Then I went abroad for an exchange year. Which was both wonderful and terrifying. I went to South Africa so that I could spend time with the family I never get to see. But it also meant being away from Corey. Which is a whole other post on its own. I met some amazing people, did some pretty awesome things. For one thing, I got to stroke these: 

I got bit on the backside by this: 

No, it wasn't painful. It was like a dog biting you. Everyone around panicked a little, but all I could think of is THIS IS GOING TO BE SUCH A COOL STORY! And hope someone took photo's of the tiger latched on. They didn't :(

And, I also got to see a sight such as this:

  

We were walking past the hippo enclosure when this little guy popped his head up. It was so funny I still laugh when I see that photo!

I may write a longer post on my year abroad...I may not...Depends on what I feel like writing later on, I guess.

I came back to England for my final year (of undergrad). Unfortunately, most of my friends had graduated, and since then they've never been quite the same. But with my new found confidence I managed to make a few more friends. I graduated, took another gap year working in a hospital as a health care assistant. It was an amazing job. So amazing that I nearly cancelled my masters course application and became a nurse. But one day, I was researching some stuff for my aunt, land law stuff, and I got this tingle of excitement as I looked at the legal documents. And I hated land law...

So, this past year I've been doing a masters. And...well...right now...I should be writing my dissertation so that I can graduate from said masters...

Hmmm...I apologise for the standard of this post...I've suddenly gone pretty tired and all my inspiration has gone away. I guess that's a sign I should go to the shops and buy the roast I'm making for Corey.

I promise to come back and edit this...some day soon.

Getting older

Still dissertating away (I realise that dissertating isn't a word, but I reckon that the more I use it, the more likely it is to be added to the OED. It describes perfectly the act of writing a dissertation.). Its painfully slow, I now have four weeks to finish researching and writing. I'm sure all will be well that ends well. But this is why the posts have stopped, why my friends have barely heard from me and why the dark circles under my eyes are becoming more prominent.

Anyway, the above title is from a BBC article I read today. Its from a few days back, but I only thought to read it now. Its about how more of us will live until we're 100, and why so many of us young 'uns don't think about growing old. Apparently its because people don't want to get frail and helpless. Apparently they don't look forward to it.

I must be a freak, then. I can't wait to get old! I don't smoke, I am not a regular drinker. I'm relatively active (I could definitely improve the amount I exercise.) and my diet is good. In theory, touch wood, turn around three times and spit, I should end up healthy come old age. To me getting old isn't about frailty and illness. Its about having lived your life, having had children, gotten married, experienced joys and suffering. Its about gaining wisdom, worrying less, realising there's no point in stressing. I am a worrier. I can't sleep sometimes when I think about the future. When I look around and see people my age unemployed, unable to find a job after months, sometimes years of looking I worry that will be me. I see people getting married, buying houses, having children. I worry that won't be me. I don't worry all the time, I'd be a wreck if I did. But I certainly worry too much for my own good. I have, however, found that this has decreased over time, the more I learn that you can't control everything. The more I learn that things will happen eventually. But still, I long for the days when I can just sit back and see that I did (eventually) get a career. That I did have a family, even if it consists of animals instead of children, even if it means adopting because I can't carry a child of my own. I'm looking forward to just being able to spend time in the garden of the house I will eventually own and make my own, to have time to sit and watch the insects and birds enjoying my space.

I also look forward to living without the fear of the future. To be able to just spend what I've saved on holidays abroad. I plan on being one of those "Woman, 75, climbs Kilimanjaro for the 4th time" old people. I want to camper van it around Europe every summer, go on holiday to India in the winter. I don't plan on stopping and just sitting in my house, knitting. I can take my knitting to Cambodia! I plan on traveling while I'm young, but alongside all that traveling, I also have to save money for said house, said animals and possible children, for food, and bills, and that "rainy day" that will inevitably come. When I'm 80, I don't plan on spending all my money in one go, but I also have no plans on leaving a fortune to my children. I'll try and make sure they get something from a trust fund at the age of 21, but the rest of it: well, dammit, I worked for it, I saved it, I'm going to damn well spend it! And they aren't bloody well sponging off me anymore!

I love the poem When I get old, I'll wear purple. I WANT to buy clothing that looks wrong on a woman my age, eat cream cakes for breakfast and misbehave in a way I never could when I was young. Old age may come with aches and pains. I don't know for certain that I'll be healthy and strong (I do have some pretty good genes going, though). But I don't know if my youth will be pain free and healthy, so there's no point in dwelling on the negatives. I like to see being old as enjoying the freedom that you cannot while you're younger. To know that you have lived, and to be determined to live even more until you die. It is a beginning of its own, not an end. It is the autumnal years. And autumn brings with it the beauty of colours not seen during other seasons. It brings with it wonderful memories of spring and summer. The freedom of knowing winter shall soon arrive, so you better make the most of the sunlight and pleasant weather before the frosts and cold hit.

I leave you with some words that constantly get sent to me in various emails. But that I truly believe with all my heart:

Life should NOT be a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in an attractive and well preserved body, but rather to skid in sideways, chocolate in one hand, wine in the other, body thoroughly used up, totally worn out and screaming "Wow! What a ride!"

Don't fear old age. Embrace it.

P.S. soon I shall add some pretty photo's again!

I am not a sadist

I discovered this today. Hurting someone, even if its for their own good, makes me feel like throwing up.

I've been to hospital twice this week. The first time was to support the boyfriend (Corey, as he shall now be called) through having his wisdom tooth out. I had a molar taken out when I was about 14, and the anesthetic didn't work. I think I went into shock, because, instead of telling him I hurt, I grabbed the dentists hand and held on tight. To be fair, all I could think was, if I talk, he might cut my tongue, if I pull his hand away, it'll hurt even more. So, basically, Corey having his tooth removed worried me a little. What happened was the anesthetic didn't work for him. But instead of going ahead with the operation, they checked to see if it hurt. He said it did. They gave him some more. It still hurt. So they scheduled him in for a general. Half way home, I looked at his face as he talked...the anesthetic had kicked in by then, making his face incredibly numb. It was incredibly amusing. I took a video and put it on facebook. This was not the time when I had my above epiphany...

Corey works in Sainsbury's, as a pharmacy assistant. Its about 5 miles away, so he cycles there and back. Until today all I've had to deal with is him getting a flat tyre, with a foot of snow on the ground, his phone going flat and him turning up home 2 hours after he was due back. Which was worrying for me, but all was well that ended well. Today, however, he comes into the house, and the first thing he asks, before coming upstairs, is whether we have antiseptic wipes. I ask him what he's done. Silly boy fell off his bike. He comes upstairs, blood dripping from his knee, shoulder and ankle. His left thumb looks swollen. He insists its just a sprain, I think otherwise and tell him we're going to A & E. I'm not at all queasy when it comes to blood. I've worked as a health care assistant and seen a lot. I also injure myself a lot. So I know how to deal with minor wounds. I cleaned him up, and he went to have a shower. Only for me to hear him call out "Is this what it feels like before fainting? I can't really see anything, its all gone white. And the sounds become muffled". He remains standing in the shower. I have to rush in, turn off the water and order him out of there. Luckily we have no locks on the door. Left to his own devices he would have collapsed then and there. Once I got him lying down, and after the faintness had passed, he had something to eat and drink. I had another fight on my hands: he insists he can walk. I inform him he nearly fainted not that long ago, we are taking a taxi. My logic prevailed.

Three hours later, and one plaster cast (he had, it turns out, broken his wrist.) we're out of A & E. We decided to go and eat at a pub, since we were both shattered and neither of us wanted to cook. It was a lovely meal, but throughout it all, I was psyching myself up for what I would have to do when I got home...The nurse said Corey needed to scrub his wounds properly. As he had a broken wrist, I knew I would have to scrub his deepest wound on his arm. Scrub it good and proper. I was not looking forward to it at all.

It turns out I'm pretty damn good at dealing with emergency situations (as I had to in hospital). I'm just as good at dealing with first aid, bleeding etc etc. But when it comes to scrubbing someones wound and hurting them, I can't handle it. It took me a minute or two to be able to actually lift the sponge I was using to do it with. I felt sick as I tried to get all the dirt out. I felt dizzy. Corey had to look away so that I couldn't see him flinch. Because every time he flinched, I flinched harder. Apparently it looked like it was tougher on me than it was on him.

And now I know...I am not a sadist.

My 20's

I read a blog post this morning on one of my favourite blogs, about living in your 20's. The post talks about how she lived "the sh*t out of my 20's". And it got me thinking: I haven't. I've ambled through them. Its been a slow process of learning, and not an awful lot of excitement. Beyond getting bit on the backside by a tiger cub. Which was awesome. I'm weird like that.

The previous decade, however, was exhausting. I came into it, a 10 year old who's entire life had been turned around. Who didn't know what the hell was happening to her, who was confused, lonely, and very hurt and didn't know who to turn to. Who tried to go through it pretending she was neither of these things. I remember the first day I went to school in this country. My mother walked me there and asked me at the entrance if I wanted her to walk me to the classroom. Inside I was screaming YES! Inside I was in tears, wanting my mother to be there, to sit next to me the whole day, to never leave my side. I told her no, realizing I had to do this on my own, I had to be in control. I stood there, watching her walk away, never feeling more lonely in my entire life, fighting the urge to run to her and beg her to never leave me. That first day at school was an indicator for what school was going to feel like for the next 6 years. I had my hair pulled in the dinner line, as I tried to ignore the stares. I was the girl with the funny accent, who didn't write the same way, said things wrong and didn't know what every day things were. My tutor group accepted me. The year above did not, and the bullying started. By a girl who pretended to be my friend at first. I was told if I informed my parents, I would be beaten up. I told my parents. They came into the school, spoke to the headteacher and it stopped. Then we had to move. And at the next school, again, my "friends" were the ones who started the name calling. Again, I told my parents, but I told them there's no point doing anything about it. I'd seen this group of children bullying others, in front of the teachers, who turned a blind eye. One girl was completely shut out by our year group. I ached for her, but in my 10 year old social inadequacy, I didn't know how to help her. Once I stood up for myself, I got scratched in the face by one of my bullies and she then proceeded to take a swing at me. I pushed her away. I can't explain the satisfaction of watching her fly across the classroom, shock across her face (she didn't get hurt, she didn't expect me to stand up for myself and so lost her balance easily). We were sent to the deputy heads office, who gave her a long lecture about not hitting people etc etc. She then looked at me, after the girl had left, with such understanding in her eyes and told me to come to a teacher next time.

If anyone reading this is being bullied, no matter how old you are, tell someone. If you're at school, tell a teacher, your parents. If you're at work, tell your supervisor, human resources. Tell someone! Bullies are bullies because they think you are weak and won't do anything. I always told, even when threatened with physical violence. Because, no matter what emotional damage they inflicted on me, I was never actually scared of them.

Secondary school began. By this time I was convinced that there was something wrong with me. My parents had been fighting a lot, and it always seemed to be my fault. I had been bullied. Maybe that was my fault too? So I decided to pretend to be something I was not. I became closed off, emotionally isolated from my peers. I believed that by not letting anyone get close to me, I could never be hurt. All it lead to was me feeling even more lonely and hurt. With my self esteem dropping even further than it had been. I was a little girl who believed the world was mine for the taking. I became a teenager who thought she was ugly, that all she had going for her was her intelligence, that thought she had no personality, no reason at all to be liked. Luckily, near the end of school, I met two girls who didn't think I was worthless. Who were actual friends, who didn't call me names, or laugh at the way I talked. They liked me for who I really was. And so the healing process began.

Sixth form was wonderful. It wasn't attached to my school, it was separate. And only people who did well at their GCSE's could get in. Therefore, only people who wanted to do their A levels were there. No one cared about the clothes you wore, or that you lived in an ex-council house, or that you didn't go to the rights schools. No, we were all there to study and go to university. We were all different, we were all allowed to be different. But the healing hadn't fully happened. I still believed, some days, that I was worthless. That all these people talking to me were just being nice, pretending to like me. I would slip away from the group when these feelings became too intense, testing to see how long before they realized I was gone. It never took very long, and I would have to come up with some excuse for why I was on the opposite side of the building. I craved recognition, more than attention. I needed to know that I was noticed, sometimes. And then I discovered that my academic brilliance, too, was not infallible. After A levels I was meant to go straight into uni. I couldn't afford a gap year, traveling around the world, even though that was my dream. I applied to  universities that were in the top 20 in the country. And then I got my results. They weren't good enough, and I failed to get into university. I chose to take a gap year, but I had to work through it, stacking shelves in Tesco's while retaking in order to get into one of the universities I originally chose. This hit me incredibly hard. I could barely look my father in the eye for fear of seeing his disappointment at me. I felt like a complete failure of a human being, and much of the healing that had happened in the past was reversed. But then I got into university, second time round.

University was wonderful, it continued the job that sixth form did in enabling me to heal. It was difficult enough, previously, to let people get close enough for friendship. Having a boyfriend was completely out of the question. I had so many failed friendships that I don't know what damage failed relationships would have done. But, somehow, university life broke down that last barrier. I finally had the confidence to let someone get that emotionally close to me.

I suppose the title is a misnomer, as this wasn't so much about my 20's. But I'll keep it that way. I'll write on my actual 20's some time later.

Who am I and where do I come from?

Ok, pre post warning: I have just come from a job interview, which means my brain has melted somewhat causing me to go into a slightly crazy mood. So this post will more than likely be EVEN MORE rambly than the last. With more than a slight hint of crazy.

First off: my profile picture is of my uncle and I, not my boyfriend and I, not (as someone just asked on facebook) Daryl Fitton and I. As an aside, I never knew who Daryl Fitton was until today. Learn something new every day. Not always something USEFUL, but as long as its new, that's all that counts.

I was born, 25 or so years ago, in Cape Town, South Africa, as anyone who has known me for more than 5 minutes will know. My poor mother was put through, not only 25 hours of labour with her first child, but had to deal with a doctor who refused to listen to her. They didn't have all the posh scanning equipment they have today, and could only tell the babies position from internal examinations. So when my mother, my very young mother, insisted to the doctor that my head was by her ribs, he didn't listen. I mean, obviously he knows better than the woman who's carried me for the past 8 months. He is, after all, a doctor. He told her my head is in the right place, and that my hands are, rather cutely, on my head. All she was feeling was my bottom. He also suggested that perhaps I had a large bottom, hence the confusion. (Thanks...turns out I do have rather a large bottom, its taken me nearly 25 years to come to terms with that. But thanks, so much doctor whateveryournameis for giving me a complex straight away). Needless to say, when my foot came out soon afterwards, there was a bit of a panic as they rushed to find an anesthetist. My mother is ALWAYS right, even at 21 years of age, in labour and exhausted. Took them 2 hours to find the anesthetist, during which time my foot continued to dangle out (I have an image in my head of me trying to crawl back into the womb screaming "I DON'T WANT TO COME OUT NOW!!!"). One c-section later, with a dislocated hip and legs that needed to be repositioned correctly once a day, I was born. Crysta Anne Campbell, who put her foot in it, right from the start. I have my dad to thank for the wonderful initials my parents gave me...

Table Mountain, Cape Town. A very, very pretty place to be born.

I spent the first 9 years of my life there. 9 years of tomboy in a dress, running wild and barefooted amongst my very large, slightly crazy, loving family. The summers were long and hot, the winters short (albeit cold, windy and rainy).

My love of chocolate began when I was very young. The only difference between then and now is that the mess I make isn't QUITE as bad. Oh...I also ate a live snail once at about this age. I was toddling along, sat down, picked something up...and my parents couldn't get there in time...

I loved pretty dresses, I just never knew how to keep them clean. I was climbing up trees all day, rolling down hills, running through puddles and mud, all in a dress. Often said dress would be round my ears as I hung upside down in said trees. My mother had to threaten to put me in dungarees in order to stop me flashing my knickers to all and sundry. When I was really little, I apparently used to strip off whenever the mood took me and run around naked. I'm still not too sure why my parents decided to have more children after me...

At the age of 3, my great Granddad died, I broke my arm, got chicken pox and was "gifted" with a little brother in September. I was not happy with this gift. I didn't ASK for him, I asked for a sister. I was also told that this crying little creature would be able to play with me and it would be great. Well, first off, he couldn't play with me, all he could do for a long time was cry, eat, sleep, get changed out of dirty nappies. And take my mother away from me. And all the attention I got from other people away from me. My mother used to have to tell people they should say hello to me BEFORE cooing over the baby, as I was, you know, there first and therefore used to people saying hello. I resented the hell out of him for a long time for this. Looking back at it now, I had this little brother who adored me, who I was a complete bitch to. Not something I'm proud of and I am hoping that our relationship will get better. Because he is an amazing person, who I truly do love.

He was a very pretty little boy.

At 9 I was ripped from this existence and we immigrated to the UK. An experience that requires a whole post or three in itself. It was not easy, it can't even be described as hard or difficult. It was hell for my father, my mother (my heavily pregnant mother) and myself, in different ways for each of us. The little brother was young enough to cope. He also has that personality that means he makes friends easily and bounces back from change in 5 seconds. I do not. I was (am still though I hide it very well) painfully shy, serious and do not take well to change.

At 10 years, one week, and 12 and a half hours (give or take a few minutes) after I was born, I was gifted with another little brother. Again, I'd asked for a sister, and didn't get it. Again, I sulked a little when I heard it was a brother and was in denial for the rest of the pregnancy. Looking back I think it had a lot to do with what I was going through at the time, and very little to do with the fact I wasn't getting a sister. But this time I realized that he was, truly, a gift. The day he was born, my dad came to pick up my brother and I from a friends house. The car broke down on the way to the hospital and the AA man drove us there, promising to pick us up again in an hour or so. They put this little (ugly, he was so ugly at first though my mother insists he wasn't) creature into my arms and the depth of the love I felt for him overwhelmed me. No one was going to hurt him. I was going to take care of him, make sure he grew up happy and loved.

As you can see, he didn't stay ugly for long. Unfortunately, he also didn't stay this little for long, either.

I went through the usual: secondary school, sixth form, university. University is where I first started going out at night, where I had my first kiss and where I met my first boyfriend. First kiss, coincidentally, was with my first boyfriend. Who still remains my boyfriend to this day, 5 years later.

Us in the first year of uni, the end of year summer do our residence had. Oh, Rat Bar, how we miss you.

Us last year at a friends wedding.

Oh, a picture of me and my brothers. When the littlest one was, still, the littlest one. He's now taller than me...And close to being taller than my brother

Ok, to avoid this post becoming even longer than it is, I am going to stop writing. I'll write about immigrating, school, university and the boyfriend another time. But for now I feel a bit like a child whose been running around the park all day: I'm shattered! Oh, I also have to go and pretend to do more dissertation work. I'll probably fail to do anything much, but as long as I pretend I've tried, I'll feel better.