Hello, old friend.

It's been a while, and lots has been accomplished in the last few months.

Firstly, flights to and from Barcelona with my boyfriend (with a holiday sandwiched in between) has perpetuated my desire for travel and doused the flames of my flying fears!

Secondly, a move to university to study my passions of English Literature and History has done wonders in introducing me back to my academia, and is helping me re-discover myself in the solitude of my little cell on campus accommodation. In many ways it's been a flight of myself.

Thirdly, and not so warmly, there has been a sharp increase in my anxiety symptoms; one in particular breakdown a few weeks ago left me in complete agony, although thankfully with medication I'm climbing back up the ladder. I used to see mental illness as a flaw to myself. In many ways I probably still do. However, I look at some people and wonder if they've ever had to suffer the torments of their own mind. To be tortured by your own mind, your own thoughts, your own reflection of reality, is single handedly one of the worst things you can be subjected to. You are the perpetrator and the victim. But trying to work out which is which can contort you into such feelings of misery. And, I suppose, many of my upsets are brought on by my sensitivity and my empathy for others. To imagine myself without these tenancies would be like imagining a factory without workers. I need this ability to be able to sort myself out, and to function. I couldn't bear being without vulnerability, as it is what makes me human. I would rather have this vulnerability on show for people I care about to highlight my fallibility and my human nature, than to appear like a robot who cares for no-one.

However, I digress. One needs an outlet for emotions like a crab needs specially made shoes to aid its side-ways walking. So, I have ambitiously invested a vast amount of money (£2.40) in a sketch pad, to work on sketches and drawings for some comic ideas I have in mind. This may turn out diabolical, with lashings of violence and misery, but rather on a page than in my mind?

On another note, I was contemplating with my friend why people don't just die. People who cause such pain in your life and care only for themselves. I leave you with a helpful quote from said friend (ironically, one of the prettiest and daintiest creatures you could find) designed to help quell your violent intentions:

"My sister and I used to imagine ex-boyfriends, friends, people in a blood bath of agony. This was some time ago. The people we put in are probably all dissolved by now, so there's still room for your misery. It makes you feel all warm and fuzzy inside."

Alone.

I don't know what to do right now. I feel alone. I feel pathetic. I don't know what to do. Why do I get like this? I just really need someone to cuddle. My Grandad, right now. I just want a bit cuddle and to smell his comforting scent and to sob uncontrollably into his shoulder rather than just thin air. I want him to tell me everything's going to be OK. I want him to be there for me, and I want to be there for him.

I feel so stagnant and down and lost. I just want to hide away from life. My brain feels it's locked in cement and can't permeate the walls. I don't even know who to turn to...I feel so frustrated and angry at no-one in particular. I feel insane and not with it. It feels like I've just been folded up and swallowed. I feel sick. And the person I want is no longer here for me physically.

Part of me wants more pills. Part of me wants to just forget about this world. Part of me wants to just wants to go crazy. I just sob and sob until it's all out.

It's all I can do. For now.

Wasp Stings and Pretty Things.

Today's unknown was slightly forced upon me, but still...that counts, eh?

I was stung by a wasp on my left hand.

I've never been stung by a wasp or a bee (at least not that I remember) and it rather hurts! It's almost like being stabbed repeatedly by a sharp object. I'm not one to react well to bites (my thigh is still recovering from a gnat bite a few months ago) and it seems wasp stings are not an exception. It may have caused the room to spin for a few hours, but on the plus side, it's a cheap alternative to botox, since my hand is now swollen and bone-free! I could make a bomb.

I've been feeling incredibly tedious and monotonous recently. Partly this is due to me working flat out to raise funds for travelling next year, and also as I'm moving so things have been hectic.

This picture from lookbook.nu has inspired me to get back into my more creative roots;

Stay tuned for more information!

Muesli Terror

Sitting down to devour my morning muesli meal, I picked up my spoon and paused.

"Raisins aren't supposed to move," I thought.

I stared.

I stopped breathing.

"Raisins aren't supposed to have legs," I mused.

I dropped my spoon.

It wasn't a raisin. It was an insect.

An INSECT. In my muesli. (For maximum shock value, I have been dropping into conversations that it was a cockroach, but the post mortem still needs to be carried out to establish exactly what breed it was.)

Needless to say, I went hungry this morning.

My mission now is to spread the word of the dangers of raisins. They're not as harmless as they look.

I know muesli is supposed to be natural, but using insects instead of raisins? That's taking things a bit too far.

To push oneself.

Today, I actually logged into my blog account in order to try and give myself the incentive to stay on track. Things are very stressful recently, regarding university, moving house, work, money etc, that I just feel run ragged. My care co-ordinator said it's important to devote a certain chunk of my day to look after myself. So this is my attempt to relax.

The other day, I rode a bike.

I haven't rode a book in years. I've found I almost forgot how to (Although not quite, adding flames of truth to the old saying.)

With trepidation and slight panic I eased myself onto the seat and pedalled around my area for an hour or two. I was elated! I looked something like this:

(Give or take a few differences; gender being one of them.)

I even managed to ride on the road, despite my fear that I hadn't taken a cycling proficiency course when I was 11 years old and, therefore, had no valid claim to cycling on the road. ("It's all common sense!" my boyfriend remarked. Too bad

this is one thing I have a severe lack of.)

The conclusion of this day was positive - I now want a bicycle. At the top of my list of positive qualities is realism. I expect to look something like this when I have my bicycle:

Moral of the day: Don't let past fears hold you back, no matter how small they are! We get stuck in ruts and our way of thinking becomes part of us, but they don't have to be. They are just thoughts and ideas, not a tangible obstacle.

Mind

Today, I just sit and daydream and ponder.

The Public

Today, I spoke to customers at work as if I knew them. Sometimes I'm all a fluster when it comes to talking to people, but despite any of my stuttering, or crazy, demonic laughter, or pure old fashioned rambling, I stuck to my guns in order to make a customer or two smile.

I spoke to an old man who used to be a pilot - we spoke about my fear of flying and how safe it actually is.

I spoke to a lady who asked me to take off the cover of Charlaine Harris' new book as it had a python on the front cover as she's terrified of them.

I spoke to small children who were buying last minute gifts for their Dads for Fathers Day.

When I got home, I was exhausted. My cheeks stung from smiling so much. But inside I felt a little better. Working should be a pleasant experience - after all, most of us do it, and it's a better environment for both staff and customers when there's an oh so peachy and warm atmosphere.

One unknown I think I'll persevere with!