Advice to my Teenage Self.

I wouldn’t go as far as to call myself an adult, but I definitely know a lot more about life than I did when I was a teenager.  If time travel was a thing, and I had access to it, and it wasn’t dangerous, and going back in time didn’t mess up the future, I would have some solid advice to give my teenage self.

Molly – Stop being so mad at your parents.  You are their second child, their first daughter.  They have no idea what they’re doing.  They might seem like they do, but they don’t.  They’re trying to do their best to raise you better than their parents raised them, and it’s only natural that they fuck up from time to time.  They push you so hard because they want what’s best for you – They want you to have the things they never did.  At the same time, don’t let them make you feel guilty.  You are your own person and you DO NOT have to agree with everything they say.  You can have your own opinions, but for God’s sake, respect theirs too.

Secondly – Be kind.  The people you think are ‘uncool’ or ‘weird’ are just different.  You don’t have to be their best friend, you just need to understand that they have their own shit going on, and you being dismissive or ignorant towards them is not going to help that. Smile, say hello, ask how they are and listen to their answer – You could have more in common than you think.

Third – Be yourself.  Sometimes it’s necessary to change how you act around people (eg. I know you think swearing is natural but people are offended by it.  Reign it in from time to time) but don’t ever pretend to be something you’re not.  Don’t pretend to like a band because some boy you fancy does.  Don’t lie about your age on the internet.

Fourth – Listen in class.  Education is the most important thing you can have.  It will broaden your horizons and make you more acceptant of people.  If you have all the facts, you see both sides of an argument and will stress a lot less over feeling like you need to pick a side.

Fifth – Fuckboys are a thing.  If a particular guy only wants to be with you when you’re at a party and he’s drunk, but won’t answer your texts during the week – He’s a fuckboy.  Respect yourself.  If a guy talks to another girl and admits later it was to make you jealous – He’s a fuckboy.  If a guy makes you feel insecure, instead of helping you attain a positive image of yourself- He’s a fuckboy and only cares about himself.  If a guy pulls you out of bed and drags you down the stairs because he’s mad – Not only is he a fuckboy, but he’s also an abusive cunt.  You do not have to waste your time and energy on boys who treat you like an object.  And if your heart hurts because of a break up – I can 100% guarantee you will feel better about it in six months (providing you draw a line under the relationship)

Sixth – How you look does not define you.  How you act and what you do is what people will remember.  Sure it’s OK to be proud of your appearance, but don’t let it be the centre of your universe.  Stop counting calories.  This will lead not only to issues that you will spend the rest of your life dealing with, but also decisions which will be the biggest regrets of your life.

Seventh – For the love of God, I know you don’t have much money, but please, please, if you’re going to wear leggings, invest in a pair that you can’t see your pants through.

Eighth – Everything’s gonna be OK.

Mental Health, Why I Blog and John Cena.

Thanks to everyone who got in touch on last weeks post.  I expected to get more than three questions, but I guess I was being pretty big headed thinking more people would be interested in my life.  Awh well. There you are confidence – take another punch in the gut.

 If you could change one thing about yourself, what would it be?

If you asked me this when I was aged anywhere between 15 and 20, I would have had a never ending list of physical things I wanted to change.  I wouldn’t be as tall, I’d be thinner, my hair would be longer, my boobs would be bigger, I would have a six pack.  And why?  I wanted to make girls jealous and boys horny.  Although I’m not yet completely at one with accepting my appearance, I realise, it doesn’t matter.  There will always be someone on this earth who finds you ugly.  But also someone who finds you beautiful.

What I would change is my mind.  I’d get rid of the crushing anxiety.  I wish I could be more positive and outgoing.  I wish I didn’t have an eating disorder and body dysmorphia.  I wish my mental health was better, I know then that without trying my physical health would improve too. I wish I was 100% happy and confident all the time – That way, I wouldn’t make bad choices or have this often overwhelming negative image of myself.

What led you to start a blog?

I thought this question would be the easiest to answer, but I’ve been sitting here staring at it for the past 15 minutes wondering where to start.  I began writing a year ago because I wanted to be a vlogger.  If you’re unfamiliar with this term, it’s basically filming your life and sharing it online.  However, I wasn’t ready to face the impending criticism that comes along with vlogging, so I started writing instead.

I wanted to write to vent, to share my story, to appeal to others, to inspire and to entertain.  I wanted people to tell me that everything was going to be OK, because sometimes, I am really not OK.  In turn, I wanted people to feel that their struggle is not their own.  No one’s life is perfect – Sometimes it’s not even good – But fuck it, we can float on together.

I have always adored writing, and honestly – It’s the one thing I think I’m good at.

If you could have a billboard anywhere, what would it say and where would it be?

Thanks to John Cena for sending in this question last week.  I guess the only thing I have to promote is this blog, so it’d probably be a pretty simplistic design advertising MollysBook.  And it would be in an episode of Family Guy or The Simpsons, because that’s the only place where I ever read billboards.

I Need You!

Well butter me up and call me a biscuit, it’s been a whole freaking year since I started old bloggy here.

Seeing as I’ve been providing you all with such hilarious and thought provoking content once a week(ish) for a full 12 months, I wanted to know – Is there anything you’d like to ask me?

So the comment section on this post (and all other posts) is anonymous. You don’t have to be a member of WordPress to comment, so please feel free to ask whatever your heart desires.  If you don’t mind letting me know your name, you can also get in touch via various social media platforms (Facebook, Instagram, Twitter).

This could be a complete flop and/or total nightmare, but I mean it when I say; Ask me anything.  Dirty, clean, embarrassing, controversial, political, ethical, stupid, intellectual… Other various adjectives – I will answer them.

Next week’s blog is up to you.

Why I Don’t Exercise.

Reasons I don’t/can’t/won’t exercise:

• I am lazy as fuck.  There are brief moments in my life where I get all Shia LeBeouf (“JUST DO IT UGHHH”) but mostly, I would really just not “do it” at all.  The more I tell myself to get outside and do something, the less I want to.

• Exercise is hard.  I’ve been to the gym a fair amount of times.  Mostly I just go on the bike or the treadmill, because I know how to work those.  Once, however, my friend dragged me to a Spin class.  It was literally the worst 40 minutes of my life.  If you’ve never been to a Spin class the premise is this – There’s an instructor at the top of the room who has wayyyy too much endorphins floating around their body.  They are pumped.  Veins are popping out everywhere.  He/she is cycling their stationary bike at an inhumane rate, instructing you at the same time.  How are they even breathing, nevermind talking?  After 20 minutes I was busted.  I mean, I couldn’t stand up to do the hilly parts.  Everything in my body was screaming “Jesus Christ Molly, just stop” but I didn’t want to lose face in front of everyone else in the class.  So I endured this torture for another 20 minutes.  I wobbled off the bike pretending to laugh like it was all great fun, but I was seriously struggling to put one foot in front of the other.  Everything hurt.  My lungs, my legs, my face and what was particularly excruciating was my vagina because the seat was made of fucking knives.

• I hate sweating.  I’m not a germ freak and I have good personal hygiene (when I have to leave the house) but I just really hate the feeling of having sticky underarms, underboobs, ass crack and feet.  I put on anti-perspirant deodorant twice a week because I don’t often sweat, but when I forget to use it and I get too hot – It’s monsoon season in pit land.

• I think I look stupid.  There is not one person on this earth who doesn’t care about how they look.  I try to tell myself this every hour of every day, but STILL I can’t step away from the fact that when I run, I look like Phoebe from friends. This has been confirmed when, after getting caught in a rain shower and having to run to the car, Fiancé said; “You run like Phoebe.”

• Gyms are scary. There’s just too many options.  Too many settings.  A lot of people who frequent gyms have said “Just ask for help!  Everyone is really friendly.”  Well I’m sorry, I don’t want to disturb that man staring at himself lifting weights in the mirror and I don’t like talking to strangers.

• It’s fucking expensive.  I know I don’t need all the fancy Nike equipment like clothes and shoes, but I have 100% been sucked into the commercialisation of fitness.  I want the best shoes, the coolest leggings, the most comfortable bra.  It doesn’t matter if I look like old mashed potato when I wear it.  I want it.  Similarly, I would LOVE to hire a personal trainer but I cannot afford to pay someone to cause me physical pain when that money could be spent on groceries and beer.

Having said this.  Exercise does make you feel amazing afterwards and is really good for you.  All it takes is some structure and routine next thing I know I’ll be Tyson.  Someone help me remember this when I’m lying in bed with nothing to do and decide to watch another episode of Masterchef.

 

 

Barney’s Story Time: Mumi’s Adventur

Lst week mumi came home frm work nice and early nd I said hello hello hello plz pet me hello hello hello oh god hello.  then I was rely rely bored so i decided to bark nd bark and bark and wine nd wine and wine till she let me come in bed nd get under the big fluffy sleepy warm thing and I had a snooze nd it was nice.

Heres me bein cute bfor walk

Mumi made food for her face hole and but none for mine.  she says I’m greddy but she is. she always eatin eatin eatin food and gives none to me evn thouh i know she not evn hungry, she just a piggy.  I see it go in her face hole, where does it go?  smells so gud, i’m hungry.  So after tht I wasn’t gonna snooze for her no more and be a good boy cuz why not, i wanna go outside.

Mumi always takes years to leav the human kennel  she has skin but puts on other layers like coat, hat, sock, shoes that I’m not allowed to eat so i just bite them and chew them and ok i do eat them sometimes sorri.

i got too excited when mumi got the lead because then i knew we were definately going to the magical place wer i can run run run and pee pee pee and poo.  i ran away frm her and she shouted so i decided to let her put the lead on my necklace evn though it choke me i dont care WE’RE GOIN TO THE PARK.

we got to the park and hooray I’M FREE so i run away and smell all the things i can see and I make sure those other dogs know this is my park.  the trick is to pee on everything.  even if you have no pee left in your willy, just lift ur leg and pretend, the other animals will think youve done a pee and will know the park is urs.

mumi was talkin into that little black thing that her and daddi have nd always look at, so i decided to run away and hide.  i could hear mumi shouting my name but i didn’t mind because there was still plenty of things to smell and pee on.  when mumi found me after 1 whole hour, she smacked my bum then picked me up and squished me and kissed me on the head and called me a bold boy but then said i was a good boy, so i was happi and she was too maybe.

we walked back to the human kennel when mumi said, oh fuck where are my keys, and we had to go around to the back where the adventur is.   there’s loads and loads of rubish at the back because the men who make banging noise at 8am always throw tiles and bricks and pallets and stuff over the wall becuz they r too lazy to hire a skip.  mumi tried to kick in the red door to our house and she looked sososososo mad.  then she tied my rope to a big hunk of wood and stacked up some rubish and wowwowwow climed up the wall and disapeared over into our yard where i poo!!!

the red door opened and i went into my house, but then i did a little sneak wen mumi was washin the blood off her cut hand, so i ran back outside and more adventur for me, see ya later mumi byeee!

more hrs later after mumi was shoutin shoutin shoutin i decided to come home and mumi was sad but she quished me and kissed me again and we watched tv and i ate a bone and humped a cushon and it was a nice day.

Things That Need to Leave.

Avocados need to leave.  Stop being pretentious, creamy, disgusting mush.  You’re not a substitute for butter, you’re not good with eggs, you feel weird in my mouth, you’re only ever over or under ripe, and you have to go.

Zoos need to leave.  Ever went to a zoo as an adult and felt happy?  Maybe it’s because I’ve been researching veganism (and they’re all pretty mental), but lately, I can’t ever imagine why I ever enjoyed a zoo.  If people think animals don’t have emotions, go to a zoo.  These are creatures in environments that they were never supposed to be in.  And for those who say – ‘They don’t know any better’ – Maybe they don’t, but why does that matter? Zoos need to leave.

Ghosts need to leave.  They need to leave reality.  Ghosts don’t exist.  They exist in movies, but in real life, ghosts are born from over active imaginations and tricks of the eye.  A ghost is not going to visit me and tell me I’m wrong about this.  Buildings are not haunted, the dead don’t leave their spirit behind, a Physic can’t tell your future and angels aren’t watching you.

Donald Trump needs to leave.  That blonde-haired, racist, homophobic, chauvinistic, idiotic, money grabbing, small minded pig of a man not only needs to leave, he needs to get the fuck out.  I’m not interested in his politics or policies, or his self-absorbed idea to “make America great again”, he is a backwards thinking piece of shit that needs to pack up his things and leave.

Money needs to leave.  Money is like the person who comes into your house and doesn’t take off their coat or sit down because they don’t wanna stay too long.  I’ve had enough of it.  I either have loads of it for a second, or none of it for a year, and either way I’m not happy.  The past year I have spent struggling to make it to the end of the month, constantly having to borrow off my fiancé (hehehe that’s the first time I’ve referred to him as fiancé) or my parents, and it makes me feel really scummy.  Yes, I could be better at spending but I really love make-up, drinking and food. Money needs to come in and sit down and leave when I tell  it to.

Decisions need to leave.  I am officially the worst person ever at making a decision.  How am I going to go about planning a wedding?  I’m so afraid of offending someone or someone disagreeing with me, that I’d rather just not try at all.  The one decision I’ve made about the wedding so far?  I’m definitely marrying Gareth.  And there will be no avocados served, no animals exploited, no ghosts, no Donald Trump and no money spent.

 

Just kidding, there is going to be so much money spent.

 

 

Relationship Problems.

Whether or not you read my blogs regularly, if you know me, you’ll know I love my Boyfriend a lot.  It’s no secret that I  think he’s The One  (I definitely do not ask him once a month when he’s going to pop the question) because he’s my best friend and buys me crisps in the shop.

This being said, sometimes, I want to take a pointy knife and just stab him right in the gut over and over until he’s lying motionless on the floor in a pool of his own blood.

Honestly, these times are few and far between but some of the shit he does just drives me up the fucking wall.

For the purposes of research, I asked him to write something about me which annoyed him, but he didn’t get round to it so you snooze you lose, G.

I’m slightly embarrassed about this one, but it drives me mental when he goes out with his mates and doesn’t text me.  We have had so many arguments about this.  I never thought I would be the girlfriend who was obsessed about her partner’s whereabouts, but why can’t he just say; ‘Yo babe, heading to another pub.’  Or; ‘It’s gonna be a late one!  I’ll text when I’m home!’ Or even; ‘dsngrwiu94 hdrunknkk iloveuzxccc.’ But no.  Nothing.  This is especially worse when I’m in work and have nothing to do.  I know he’s not doing anything sinister – But he’s not thinking of me and that pisses me off.

Another thing which annoys the crap clean out of me is when he does housework.  It’s not him actually cleaning the house, but the way he does it.  I like the house being clean and I appreciate everything he does, but when he’s cleaning, he turns into Grumpy Cunt McGee.  He’ll say he isn’t, but his face says it all.  He’ll do the dishes really loudly, he’ll bang cupboards and doors.  He’ll whack the hoover or mop off the skir
ting.  It doesn’t make me want to help you Gareth, you’re clearly not having fun.

He can never remember where anything is.  Like.  Nothing.  He’ll swear till he’s blue in the face that I had something last, until I find it and he’s like “Oh yeah I did put it there…”

He farts and they SMELL SO BAD.  I know this is natural, and it shouldn’t make me mad, but I get so angry when he farts in bed.  Then wafts the blanket.  Normally in the morning I’ve just got off work so I’m having breakfast/dinner in bed beside him, and it ruins my food experience.

On the other side of the coin, imagine living with someone like me. I rarely do housework. I feel like I deserve a medal if I hoover.  In the two years of living with Gareth, I’ve mopped the floor twice.  I get home from work and throw my clothes on the floor.  I leave shoes wherever the fuck I desire. My makeup is all over the floor despite Gareth putting it in boxes. There’s bobby pins everywhere.  I stick my hair on the wall when I shower. I leave dishes everywhere – Even IN bed.  I don’t fold my clothes.  I don’t make the bed.  I don’t wipe the counters.  I don’t pick up dog shit outside.  I need constant attention.  I talk shit about myself. I don’t know how to put on the electric and always leave the heating on.

Despite all these things – and this overrides all the stuff that makes me angry – He’s the best person I’ve ever met and I know he loves me, even if I forget it sometimes.  I know he’s reading this so; Gar, I love you too.

 

 

 

 

 

Oh, and he doesn’t let me squeeze his spots.

I’m Not a Feminist But…

In the wake of International Women’s Day which was on the 8th of March, I do realise I’m a little late to the party, but on the back of last week’s blog I wanted to enlighten you all about how I feel being a woman in 2016.

So if you read last week’s post you’ll know I had an altercation with a bit of a scumbag who abused his position of work to contact me with inappropriate messages. I recently read a post from a FB friend who went through a load of legal shit because some asshole thought it would be funny to show her his penis.  I’m not going to go on about how all men are pigs (because they’re not) however, my old Sociology teacher will be happy to know that I’ve embraced my inner feminist for this post. There are some differences between men and women that I am no longer OK with.

I don’t think it’s OK to make sexist jokes.  I do need to explain this one, because I’m not calling for an outright ban on jokes that poke fun at women.  I have openly laughed at all the ‘Kitchen Sink’ and ‘Why do women have boobs?’ jokes, but this depends on who delivers them and how.  I know my Boyfriend well enough to know he’s not being serious if he makes a sexist joke.  Mum will know I’ll laugh if she makes a joke about inequality.  However, if I met you for the first time five minutes ago and you ask me; “Why do women make better soldiers?” I will have to restrain myself from punching you in the face, because I know the punch-line is; “Because they can bleed for a week and not die.” 

This brings me onto my next point.  (WARNING: GRAPHIC CONTENT) I don’t think it’s OK that men will never feel period pain. I’ve talked about this with my Boyfriend and he’s replied with something along the lines of, “Well you’ve never got hit in the balls.” But I just don’t see how these things can be compared.  I don’t know if every woman goes through what I do each month (because it’s a weird taboo subject to discuss), but for the first few days leading up to the actual show, I’m incredibly irrational.  I feel fat, ugly, angry, excited, suicidal, horny, magical, sick, bloated, happy, thrilled, depressed.  I feel emotions that don’t have labels.  Then when my actual period arrives, I feel like my uterus has been sawed apart, stitched back together with barbed wire, by an unlicensed doctor in an alleyway with a rusty needle. And I’m uncontrollably leaking blood. And I have to be embarrassed in tescos buying ‘lady products’. And my back hurts.  And I have to get up in the middle of the night.  And it smells weird.  And for some reason, I’m not supposed to talk about it. For 5 days.  All this so we can squeeze a person’s head out of our vage?  And yeah, it is fucking gross but this is once a fucking month for 30 odd years, so honestly, I think I would rather be kicked in the balls.

I don’t think it’s OK that women are expected to smell good all the time.  I’ve never been one for perfume, and the only reason I wear deodorant is so that I don’t sweat.  I’m not dissing nice smelling things, but when did smell get sexist?  Why is there a man’s fragrance and a women’s fragrance?  Surely if you think it smells nice, you should wear it. So what if it’s blue? This applies to men too.  You like the smell of strawberries?  Who doesn’t! No one is going to call you out for smelling like a fucking dream.  And if they do, that’s OK too because that’s their opinion and they’re entitled to have it.  You’re entitled to disagree.  That’s how life works.

Lastly, because this is becoming a bit too ranty for my liking, I don’t think it’s OK that women’s eyebrows are so important.  I love doing and wearing make-up, but what is with this recent obsession with eyebrows?  Why have I become so obsessed with them? Why do I look at other girls and feel JEALOUS of the hair above their eyes?  That hair is there to stop sweat from dripping off your forehead and clouding your vision! And yet I feel like Picasso if I manage to do them well.  Why do I have to have works of art when men can just have natural sweat-defenders?

Being a woman is pretty uncool.

Story Time: Creep Encounters

I’ve come across a lot of creeps in my time.  To me, a creep is a person who makes you feel uneasy, a person you would go out of your way to avoid or a person you would actively warn your friends against.

I once had a boy tell me (via email) he would shoot me if I didn’t go on a date with him.  Once, on the bus home from school, I had a man throw me a hand-written note, apologising he was old, but wanting to get to know me. There was one who followed my friend and I around Sainsbury’s and made us cry.  About a month ago, a man outside my work was walking past (around 3am) and asked if I’d like to go home with him.  Not long before that a man tried to get in my car because I didn’t want to go to a club with him.

My most recent Creep Encounter was last Friday/ Saturday morning.

Last Friday I had one of the best nights out I’ve had in ages.  It was payday, I bought new Primer, I had had a great sleep and I was generally feeling pumped.  It was our friends birthday and she had planned a pretty messy night out for it. You know sometimes you just need a really messy night out? Where you mix your drinks and say ‘Fuck the hangover!’ because you’re going to drink everything in sight?  This was one of those nights.

We went to the Parlour Bar.  My Boyfriend gets really generous when he’s drunk, so he bought me two bottles of wine, and yeah, I drank them.  After an undetermined number of hours, Boyfriend had had enough and needed to crash.  I, on the other hand, had been sleeping all day and was going to be up for a while.  I ended up with my friend at house party at the other side of Belfast, playing with a puppy, alongside a few tattooed bearded men I did not know.  They were great guys though, so if you were thinking that one of them was The Creep, then shame on you! Stop judging people!

After a few more hours of sitting around, I was beginning to feel slightly less drunk.  Sensible Molly said  ‘It’s time to go home now, dear’ so I booked a taxi and was on my merry way at around 3.30am. The taxi man was nice too, it’s really easy not to be a Creep.

When I got home, I was still feeling pretty alive.  I let Barney out of his crate, we had a dance then a snuggle and watched Family Guy on TV. Then The Munchies arrived.  You know when you’re drunk and all you can think about is food?  I wanted anything with cheese.  Toast just would not do.  So I decided to get a take away.

One of my favourite things about Belfast is that you can get food at any time of the day or night.  Literally, that’s probably my favourite thing. I was on the JustEat app when I found the perfect pizza combination.  I didn’t over-think it, or cross compare with other take-aways, I just trusted my instincts and ordered the first one I wanted.  With extra cheese.

It came relatively quickly, though I think I fell asleep on the sofa, so who knows.  I had written a note on the order for the guy not to ring the bell, because it drives Barney mad and I didn’t want to wake up Boyfriend.  So I went to the door, and actually apologised to the delivery guy because HE rang the bell.  I said ‘Sorry, could you not ring the bell? I don’t want to wake up my Boyfriend, sorry’. He apologised and I took the pizza, thanked the man and went back inside.

I was halfway through my pizza when my phone started to ring.  Now, I’m not a popular person and this was at 4.30am, so I was more than a little freaked out at seeing an unknown number on the screen.  I answered it, thinking that the delivery guy must have forgotten to give me a free bottle of Coke, or wanted to ask if I could review the food.  It did happen to be the delivery guy but this is how the conversation went;

Creep: ‘Hey Molly, what’s up?’

Me: “What?”

Creep: ‘Are you enjoying your food, heh heh?’

Me: ‘What?’

Creep: ‘What are you doing? Heh heh..’

Me: ‘What?’

Then I hung up.  I ate the rest of my pizza but the whole time I had an anxious feeling the delivery guy was outside.  Just sitting in his car.  He could even be outside the door.  What if he was waiting behind the bins for me to come out?  What if there was a window open? Did I close the front door properly?  Could he sense my fear? What if he climbed up the drainpipe into the second flat, jumped down into our yard and got in through the kitchen? I’ve never been so glad to have a dog.

Just as I was going to bed, I received two texts, the first saying ‘why don’t speak to me’ then ‘am to horny molly’. This made me mad.  I didn’t reply.  This guy.  This fucking asshole had taken my number, driven to my house, realised I was home practically alone, obviously after a night out drinking, and decided that I might have liked to converse with him? In what universe would a man think this was acceptable behaviour?

To set things straight, I don’t blame the take-away.  I had bought food from here once before and I actually thought the delivery guy was great. I have no idea why the owner decided to employ someone else.  I explained what had happened when I wrote the review, but the company didn’t post it on the JustEat app.  An apology would have been nice.  Don’t want one from The Creep though, I hope he was fired.

Lesson learned; don’t get 4am take-away from Little Caesars and don’t answer the phone to a number ending in 726.  Or starting in 07881044.  Did I just give away that guys phone number?

Sorry not sorry.

Life Update: Moving Forwards

There hasn’t been any earth shattering changes since I wrote ‘Fresh Starts‘ or ‘Friends Required‘  but it would be untrue to say that these posts haven’t slightly changed things my life.

When I wrote Fresh Starts I  was emerging from a pretty bad place. I spoke about mindfulness and being grateful for what I have.  This didn’t come easy to me, and still doesn’t, but I find myself caring a lot less about material things.  In the last few months of 2015, I became more and more obsessed with things I couldn’t have. We couldn’t afford a new apartment, I couldn’t afford nice beauty products, to paint the house or buy new clothes.  It drove me insane. Everyone around me seemed to have it all.  When I finally came to realise that that doesn’t matter, I saw everything clearer.  These material things will come eventually, and even if they don’t, I’m beginning to learn that there are better feelings than that of possession.

The feedback on both blogs was extremely positive.  I had almost given up writing in December and am so truly glad now that I endured.  It’s worth it on a night out when someone from your past says “Oh my God, I love your blog” or “I read it all the time”. Only if it’s one person, I still think; “Someone actually reads what I have to say!” I’ve never felt pride when I bought a new foundation.  I’ve never been satisfied because I bought a new dress three days ago.  I have, however, felt these things because I chose to write.

Friends Required had more of an impact.  The strangest thing is, I almost wasn’t going to
publish this because I thought it came across that I wanted to be pitied.  I want
to thank the people who got in touch because they felt the same way.  It took a lot of balls to tell someone you don’t really know that you’re not entirely happy with your life.  Again, this feeling of acceptance and shared emotion is far superior to any new lipstick.  People should reach out and be unafraid, because those that reached out to me changed my life a little bit more.

I met up with an old friend a few weeks back, and I was so nervous before I was desperately looking for an excuse to cancel. I was getting irrationally irritated at myself for making plans, saying I wished I had had a ‘bed day’ instead, because I hadn’t had one in a while.  I almost didn’t answer the door when he finally arrived. I’m pleased to say that once we hung out for about 5 minutes it was as if nothing had changed.  We talked about the past and things we used to think were funny (still hilarious), we talked about new things and how being a grown-up is surreal.  It was the same, but different. When he left, I felt as though I had achieved an award.

I’m still totally terrified when it comes to meeting new people, but at least now I’m excited about it.  I want to go out and see a movie with a friend, because I want that confidence again. There’s always going to be an initial awkward moment but after you move past it, it’s nothing more than mutual interests and shared experiences.

This being said, I haven’t transformed into this totally different person. I still have days where I feel like scum, but these are less now. I’m not the confident, forgiving, inspirational person I would like to be, but I think I’m getting there.