Same Same

Alarm. Didn’t I just get to sleep? Hit snooze. Just drift back to sleep… Alarm again. Snooze? One more time. Alarm. Oh for f… Bleary eyed, stretch, cuddle whichever cat is closest. Mirror. Contemplate the features that make up my face. Sigh. Tie up my hair. Wash my face. Moisturise. Toilet. Feed the cats… give them both some of the gravy straight from the packet, their favourite. Change out of pyjamas. Kettle on. Toast on. Let cats outside. Coffee. Toast, avocado and egg. Cats inside. Youtube. 20 minutes left. Brush teeth. Makeup. That’s as good as it’s going to get. Get dressed, check cats food and water. Check keys, grab book and coat. Goodbye. Get stuck in traffic, find a park. Time? 8:00 train in 7 minutes. Walk faster.

—Train. Overheard conversations. Too loud music. Try to concentrate on book—

Computer on, open blind, turn on fan. Coffee. Check emails, prioritise work. Is it lunch time yet? Not yet, more coffee. I’ll just finish this. Why am I so hungry? Oh, it’s 2:30 pm. I’m hungry with no idea what to eat, go to one of the regulars. Coffee. Prioritise work.

—5 minutes till the train. Got a seat. Red eyes can’t focus on book. Social media. Book—

I’m not hungry but should probably eat. Find something. Eat. YouTube. 8:30 pm. I should go to bed soon, busy day tomorrow. One more video. 9:25 pm. I haven’t worked on anything for myself, what about my projects? Browse online shopping or similar. 9:55 pm. Surge of inspirational energy to work on own projects. I’ll just do a bit, it’s better than nothing. 10:50 pm. I’m going to be so tired tomorrow. Bed… Can’t sleep.


and repeat.

The Storm

“And once the storm is over, you won’t remember how you made it through, how you managed to survive. You won’t even be sure, whether the storm is really over. But one thing is certain. When you come out of the storm, you won’t be the same person who walked in. That’s what this storm’s all about.”
— Haruki Murakami, Kafka On The Shore

It’s Not Okay

This happened a few days ago now and I posted it on Twitter but I wanted to write about it here too.

———————

I was walking down the street on a very wide footpath that was not crowded at all. I’m minding my own business, focused on what I have to do next.

A man is walking in the opposite direction minding his own business and not looking at the shops or anything. When we’re about to pass each other he veers towards me and in an accidental manner brushes his hand on my arm.

It took me a second to realise that it was in no way an accident, he was on the shopfront side of the footpath and I was on the road side of the footpath. Feeling angry now I turned around to look at him and he was looking over his shoulder watching me and when he saw me look, he smiled at me. I felt disgusted.

You might this this is a minor thing but when it happens time and time again it makes you feel dirty and used. Yes, even such an insignificant action, he touched me when I did not ask for it or consent and that’s not okay.

———————

When I posted it on Twitter I felt like I was overreacting and being dramatic, afterall he only touched my arm right? But I didn’t ask for it, it wasn’t an accident and it wasn’t okay. It upset me. I got some lovely responses that reminded me it wasn’t okay and it’s never okay.

I don’t think I need to mention that I’m not an overly touchy-feely person, I’m a sensory person and I like textures and textiles but I’ve grown up not being a cuddly person. I’m including it because while that is a personal trait of me as a being, it’s a preference, but that goes for people I know, family and friends even acquaintances. This man did not know me and even if he knew my preference he would not have taken it into consideration because he was thinking about him and that it would be okay to just touch me. It’s not okay.

Notice how I didn’t mention what I was wearing or how I was feeling? This is because it doesn’t matter. Regardless of what you are wearing it shouldn’t illicit anyone to touch you if you don’t ask for it. Regardless of how you are feeling it doesn’t excuse them from touching you nor does it mean that you are overreacting when you get upset about it.

It’s not okay.

I wanted to get that off my chest and out of my mind, to elaborate on it a bit more now that some time has passed.

There are situations where touching without consent are much more severe and to those people I’m so sorry. I’ve still taken the time to write this one out because I’m not sure where or how or when or why people decide it’s okay to touch a strangers arm on the street let alone where they get the idea that it’s okay to take it further. It’s not okay.

Lizzie X

What Wasn’t There…

I just pulled out 15-20 eyelashes from my right eyelid.

I have a bald patch where they used to be. It looks really ugly. I don’t know how I’m going to cover it up or make it look “nice” tomorrow. And the day after that or the one after that. Thankfully eyelashes grow back but it takes a while, so this is something I’ll have to deal with until that happens.

This isn’t really a blog post like usual where I discuss something but it’s rather one where I’m writing it down because I can’t sleep now and it’s really started to panic me, which seems so stupid, surely it’s just an aesthetic thing?! But it looks horrible.

I couldn’t stop pulling them out and before I knew it there was a small pile of eyelashes in front of me and several in my fingertips. I felt horrified.

I think I’m just being dramatic, I can’t imagine that anyone will notice but I still feel like they will and I’m going to be self conscious about it all day, and the one after that etc.

I’e said before that I don’t have Trichotillomania in Eye Lashes but I don’t know why I did it. A nervous habit? Boredom? Subconsciously? Anxiety? I don’t know.

It’s such a superficial thing but when I looked at myself in the mirror after I’d somehow managed to snap myself out of it, all I saw was what wasn’t there.

Being An Adult…

What even is an adult?

(typed the 27 year old)

I can barely manage to look after my own hair so I don’t know why I thought I’d be good at adulting. Not adultery, I’d be rubbish at that, I also wouldn’t want a part of or in it.

I left work late yesterday and when I got home I drank a gin and tonic in the shower. Then I decided I wasn’t too hungry but should probably eat something so I had a bowl of Milo cereal followed by an oat and raisin cookie and a cup of tea.

I went to bed early and I guess I’m pretty tired, in general, because I usually get up at 6:30 am for work but this morning I woke up to bright daylight streaming through the window… it’s winter now, which means no daylight at 6:30 am, looked at the time: 8:03 am! I raced out of the house but of course by the time I’m trying to get a car park to catch the train it’s school time [cars everywhere] and I have to park three blocks away.

When I was little I couldn’t wait to be an adult and now I can’t remember why. I don’t enjoy it very much to be honest,maybe it’s because I always thought I’d live alone, which I currently do not, maybe because I thought I’d know more about the world? myself? other people? but every day reminds me that I really don’t know much at all and I don’t know many people who do either.

I do know that I need to make time for things I enjoy like writing for this blog that I was so excited about creating.

Responsibilities and juggling them, maybe that’s what being an adult is about? I can only successfully juggle two things, I think the other eight are on the ground.

Lizzie X

Eye Lashes

I have this horrible habit of pulling out my eyelashes.

I’m quite sensitive about it, I’ve never had wonderful lashes to begin with. I feel uncommonly proud when my eyelashes look full and I can wear mascara and feel like it’s actually being applied to something rather than stubbly little lashes.

I know it must stem from stress, all the best things do, and sometimes I can pull out three at a time. However, I also pull them out because the root of the problem is that they hurt, literally. It can just be one eyelash that is giving me grief but it. must. come. out.

It doesn’t always stop there though.

I’m not saying that I have trichotillomania because I don’t think I do and I’m not trying to take anything away from people who suffer from it either. This is why I’ve referred to it as a bad habit, which it is, it’s also one I can’t stop doing.

I get stressed and overtired easily, I get sore and dry eyes easily, I have an oily skin type and as I’ve preciously mentioned I suffer from anxiety and panic attacks. I’m listing all of these things because I feel like they all contribute. I don’t get eye infections, I remove my makeup thoroughly every night, I use eyedrops regularly, I wash my face day and night and I change my pillowcases.

I don’t know why I decided to share this in a post today. It’s not something nice but it might be relatable and it’s a thing that flares up, which is I guess what prompted this. I used to do this when I was younger too and I don’t remember them hurting then, it was more of oh, I can pull these eyelashes out, weird satisfaction.

Destructive behaviour is one of my specialties.

Lizzie X

Blink

I suffer from anxiety and panic attacks. Lately I haven’t had as many panic attacks, which has been really great (understatement of the year).

I was out on Sunday afternoon, with my mum, it was nearing the end of the day and we were headed home. She had driven all the way there so I offered to drive back.

I used to love driving at night time, it felt peaceful and with my music on and the window down, no matter the weather, looking out over all the lights. I felt free.

On this particular drive though all I felt was a panic attack a second before it hit.

It came out of nowhere. It happened so quickly. Blink.

It felt like an electric shock but it wasn’t electric. This shock wave passed through me, every inch of skin, every vein, every blood cell, in an instant. One minute I was driving the next I had my eyes tightly shut, my body was rigid and I could’t breathe. A wave of coldness washed through me and then my heart rate sped up.

I realised I was still driving.

I forced my eyes open and realised I was doing 20kms less than before. Cars were right near me and I don’t remember them being there before, everyone trying to get home, just like me. My hands were hurting from gripping the wheel so tightly. “Are you okay?” I couldn’t answer I just focused on breathing and keeping my eyes open.

In through the nose, out through the mouth, relax my hands, blink.

I picked up the conversation where it had ended abruptly before the panic attack and hit me and tried to continue as normal. Normal driving, normal talking, normal breathing.

It hadn’t passed, just subsided. Perhaps it was only five minutes later, maybe more, I’d gotten myself to breathe again, drive at the speed limit and I was feeling safer. Slightly. Cars were all around me, in front of me, beside me overtaking and breathing down my neck behind me. I was crouching in my seat to avoid the headlight reflections in my rear view mirror, I know I can flick it but I find that to be very disorientating because I can’t determine the distance of the cars behind me. Before I knew it I’d slowed right down. My hands were gripped so tightly around the steering wheel, my breathing was laboured and the second wave of cold anxiety and panic was washing through me.

I somehow managed to shake my shoulders, or maybe it was more of a shudder, sending movement through my body that was my own. I must have made some kind of strangled noise because I was asked if I was okay, again. Blink. I flexed my fingers and I focused on putting my foot down a little bit to get back to reasonable speed but I stayed slow so the cars would overtake me.

Thankfully not long after that my turn off came up and I slowed right down to a complete stop at the stop sign before turning onto a much quieter road and continuing into town. When I pulled over into a park I handed the keys over and got into the left-hand side of the car. Mum drove the rest of the way. Sitting in the passenger seat I was able to breathe again and try to get the feeling back in my extremities.

Blink. Blink. Blink.

Lizzie X

 

P.S I wrote most of this on Sunday night as soon as I got home, I didn’t know if I would post it but I’ve decided I would share it. I’m so sick and tired or being scared of my anxiety. So here it is in my somewhere and nowhere place for others to read and use.

Never Been Kissed

I have never been kissed.

Now before I continue, in the spirit of full disclosure, I will elaborate: I do not mean in the Drew Barrymore/Josie Geller 1999 drama way, I have never been kissed in a way that makes my heart stop and the whole world dissolves away, leaving the two of you intwined together until you come up for air and you’re left feeling light and hazy but also full and like nothing has seemed more clear.

I’m not talking about a Hollywood movie kiss, traditional or contemporary, because I know that they’re staged, they’re too perfect and they can’t be trusted. But with the help of the right music and if the actors have the right chemistry and the proper build up, you can definitely get swept up in the moment and it can feel believable.

When I read about these types of kisses (which I do because they crop up every now and then in various books I read) it feels like something that isn’t exactly 100% foreign. This is obviously because I have partaken in kisses, I have been the kisser and the kissee, so I have been in the same region but not quite there. I’ve played the game but haven’t quite reached that level. Others have regaled me with their tales however.

I believe these types of kisses can be purely lust filled but the best ones are when you connect with someone on a whole other playing field, miles from the region I’ve been in, on a secret level I haven’t managed to figure out. Because you need a teammate, an ally who’ll help you navigate your way there and for one reason (or many) I haven’t.

I can’t help but wonder if I’m being foolish and such kisses even exist or if maybe I’m better off having never been kissed but I’m still optimistic about this. After all, there are so many different types of kisses why would this be the one that everyone lies about? That would just be too cruel.

It’s almost midnight on a Wednesday night and I’ve written over 300 words about kisses because they’ve been on my mind lately. I could probably write more too, go on and list the varying types of kisses, (although being completely honest I’m not your best resource for the comprehensive list) but instead I’m going to keep and it somewhat short and sweet, like one of the types of kisses I have had, now that I’m approaching the 400 mark.

If you’ve had one of these otherworldly kisses know that I’m happy for you and please put me in touch with your intergalactic connection.

Lizzie X

Moments of the Blurry Seasons

I think there’s something kind of magical about the changing of the seasons. There’s quite literally something in the air, the air you’re breathing is changing. I like to think of them as the moments of the blurry seasons. When one season hasn’t quite finished and the other hasn’t quite started so they’re not really one or other but somehow both. It’s not really a consecutive period of time, like a week or even a few days, which is why I think of them as moments within what I’ve called the blurry seasons.

Things feel different: the wind, the air pressure, people’s moods, the temperature, people’s attitudes. Things look different: the sky, the clouds, colours. But they’re not entirely different, not yet.

I think this is a bit of an obvious thing because it’s like pointing out the difference between hot and cold but what I’m referring to are the moments between the change. Not the time when someone says, “Oh my gosh, what happened? It feels like only yesterday it was below 10°C and I was grabbing my umbrella but today it’s 38°C and I’m checking the UV rays!”, which is something I’d actually say because I burn easily and I’m constantly checking and reapplying sunscreen, and also time moves very quickly.

But I love the times in between. Or the moments.

The times when it doesn’t matter if you’ve checked the weather three times that morning and left your umbrella at home only for some sudden downpour to completely saturate you on your short afternoon outing to grab a coffee. You cannot predict what will actually happen over the duration of the day. This is even more evident during the blurry seasons. If you had grabbed your umbrella that morning the wind may likely have blown it inside out rendering it useless anyway but by the afternoon the air will be eerily still.

There’s something about these times, these moments, when you’re caught in that downpour and you just have to laugh at how absurd the weather is. You might feel annoyed at being soaking wet but if you stop to think about it, it’s just hilarious. These moments are made even better when you make eye contact with a stranger and laugh about it together, neither of you knowing who the other is or what their life is like but in that moment the two of you know exactly how hilarious the situation you’ve both found yourself in actually is and you’re able to overlook the fact that you don’t know each other and just laugh.

Sure for the rest of the afternoon you might be damp and uncomfortable (which is why I’ve now brought a spare pair of socks and a spare shirt into the office, just in case) but for the rest of the day, sometimes even longer, you have that little moment.

I like to collect those moments of the blurry seasons because I think they’re nice little moments, ones worth holding onto. Most of them involve the rain or wind to be honest but they all occur during the same unknown season, as if the seasons have blurred together and pushed one into the next month so they’re all a little bit later than usual. Or maybe they’re slightly confused too.

Lizzie X