Day 224 – Stepping into the shoes of my saviour
Speaking to a friend today we got to talking about how life can be for the partner of a person who suffers from head poorly. Though the boy and I have more good times than bad sometimes I find it hard to understand how he sticks it out to see me through the sadness. It takes a pretty strong man to hold himself together while his girl has done nothing for three days but cry and yet he so rarely lets the strain show. There are times when I am poorly and even when I am well when I tell him that he should escape and get out while he still can. He is a sweetheart though and says it is no real trouble and that besides, regardless of whether there are rings on our fingers, the in sickness and in health part still applies.
I was out with the girls most of the day and so I arrived home to find him a little fed up. Though I assumed at first it was the result of being on his lonesome most of the day I couldn’t bring him up and in the end I cancelled our plans to go out on the town. Though he came round in the end him being this way if only for a few hours left me feeling so sad for him and what he has to go through every time I fall. It is a difficult thing to see from the other side and I wonder at a world which has blessed me with a man who has the strength and patience to pull me through time and time again. When I think of all the nights that he has had to cancel over the years, the planned outings which I couldn’t face I am in awe of all that he is and all he does for me.
I feel a lucky girl to have him and being in his shoes for just a few hours makes me more determined than ever to get well. I don’t want him to have to keep bringing me back from the darkness as he has to keep stepping into the shadows to do so. It is heart breaking to watch the one you love suffer and I don’t want to keep hurting him by letting this control me. I need to be better, I need to be better for him, for me and for us.
- The dress from today is another beauty with a zipped up back which is always a little bit naughty. It is a little strange as it looks like it is inside out and took me three attempts to put it on right. This is another dress from the Swap Shop and there will be more news soon to come of an upcoming swap shop event with a more homely feel.
Day 223 – The even more sinister side of show business
There is an awful lot of ill-informed debate circulating within the media, upon the walls of social networking sites and around the water cooler about the case of Shirlena Johnson. What makes me frustrated about the situation is the attempt of the team behind The X Factor to assume a paternal role where they tell a grown woman what is in her best interests. They assume this insincere role however after this woman, of who they care so much for, has performed on stage in front of thousands.
As I understand it the process of the auditions is that before the poor souls are given up to be sacrificed on the altar of the ITV ratings, they are vetted to see whether they are good enough for the stage or indeed bad enough to pull in the viewers and guarantee a You Tube sensation. This woman was vetted then before she then appeared in front of judges who appeared to behave as though she was a jester pulled from a hat for their amusement. What makes me a little cynical is that the bosses behind the show only decided what was best for Miss Johnson after pulling her name through the media for all to judge, boosting their ratings and guaranteeing the show was once again the most talked about.
What I find most confusing about the situation is exactly who it is that has deemed Miss Johnson unfit to go through to the next stage. Articles I have read in the red tops cite psychological experts who say they do not believe she is fit to compete. They sully her name and question her ability to be a good mother to her daughter and yet these experts do not deem it necessary to put their name to these opinions or even tell us what it is exactly that they are an expert in.
Just a few weeks ago I was talking to the boy and later some friends about how I felt mental health seemed to be losing its stigma. Perhaps in some parts this may be the case but the treatment of Miss Johnson by the media, the panel and many others show there is still a long way to go.
As I am not an expert in the field I thought I would include an article from a charity who make it their business to be the experts and they are not ashamed to put a name to their opinion and what they write. The below comes from Mind’s website – the same charity to which all money raised from 365 Dresses: The Mind Project will go. If you want to join the discussion on this matter you can either go to their Facebook page or even just add a comment below.
Whatever people’s opinions I feel it is best they are aired rather than hidden away and allowed to exist without questions being asked and information being shared by people with experience of mental health issues, carers, medical professionals and experts who are not afraid to put their name and title where their mouth is.
The news is splashed over the front pages of The Sun, Daily Mirror and the Metro; The X Factor production team have taken the decision that Shirlena cannot continue. After seeking the opinion of health professionals, it was decided that her experiences of mental distress may lead her to struggle with the huge pressures that are placed on contestants in The X Factor, and that this may in turn affect her role as a mother to her young daughter, Mariah.
Regardless of whether X Factor contestant Shirlena Johnson hid her alleged mental health issues, having a history of mental illness does not mean that somebody is incapable of taking part in The X Factor or, more importantly, caring for a child.
One in four of us will have a mental health problem at some point in our lives and last year alone nearly 40 million antidepressant prescriptions were issued in the UK. The vast majority of these people are more than capable of leading normal lives and of being perfectly good, loving parents.
Reality TV shows can make people a household name overnight and programme makers have a duty of care to ensure all contestants are appropriately supported to deal with the glare of the media spotlight. People should not automatically be barred from entering talent competitions because they have experienced a mental health problem.
We don’t know the full facts about Shirlena’s condition, but based on how the media have responded to the news so far, it is no surprise that she decided not to disclose her experiences of mental distress.
- Today’s dress was a bit of a last-minute choice with which no shoes matched and therefore the boots came out again. It is another donation from my Fairy God Mother whose dresses have dominated the week as they are all rather lovely and I couldn’t wait to wear them all. The dog in the pictures is Ruby who is a sweetie and lightened our day today by being extremely cute and very cuddly. The photos were taken by the lovely Linda Bosworth who had to take Ruby home shortly after the pictures as the poor thing was stung by a wasp.
Day 222 – How to save a life
There are some things that are a part of this illness which I have buried as much as I can. Some things I have not wanted to address because although I want these posts to be as open and honest as I can about my own experience of mental illness there are some issues which even for me are too personal or too raw. Among them, the S word is one of those issues that I have sidestepped whenever possible. The truth is that though I have got to this stage more times than I would like to admit it is still too tough to really talk about. Part of the problem is fear of how people will react. It is a bit of a conversation killer to admit to feeling this way and few people know what to say or whether they even should. When I have felt this way in the past it has been so hard to tell people about it because if they do react in a way which is uncaring or insensitive they leave you even more vulnerable than before you stepped up the courage to beg for help. Even now as I am writing this I am having to pull back my finger from the backspace. I use the S word because it is too scary and too frightening to wonder at people’s reaction if I did not.
The sad fact is that unless you have ever got to the stage where you feel this way you cannot understand it. It’s sad because there is nothing people need more when they are in this situation other than understanding, compassion and unconditional love. Though I am not yet ready in this post and maybe never will be in this blog to discuss the three attempts I have taken on my own life, I still need to talk about the S word today as there are lives at stake.
In the paper this week there are two terrible tales of people who were loved who are now dead because of the s word. Though I shall not share specifics of the stories what chilled me and left me sobbing in the toilets as I was proofing them was the fact that these people did not have to die. The trouble with getting to the stage where you think the only option is suicide is that you think all hope is gone. The thoughts bombard one’s head and there is no belief left that life will ever be bright again. Depression is so terrible because it makes you feel that you will be miserable for the rest of your life.
What can save people from falling and succumbing to these thoughts is the ones that come should you let out the cry. The problem with doctors and psychiatrists is they become involved once you ask for their help. They are brilliant and once they know you feel this way there is so much they can do , but the problem is that you need to feel up to making the call, for walking down to the surgery and saying those words. ”I feel…
The great thing about friends and family is that you do not always need to say these words or tell them how bad it has got, many of them will just know by the sound of your voice or the fact you’ve been out of touch. The difficult thing with depression and the S word is that it is so often darn near impossible to admit to it or to make that call to ask for help.
I guess the reason I am raising this today, as garbled as this post may be and as hard as I have found it to write, is that I want you to know that there is something you can do if you know someone is feeling this way. Though they may not answer the phone, if you know where they live you can call round. If they don’t reply to your email try sending them a letter by hand. They may not seem pleased to see you, they may even be so stuck in their thoughts that they find it hard to focus on anything but that doesn’t mean that they don’t need you. Having someone there for even an hour will mean even if they still feel it they wont be alone.
If you are concerned about them, call the doctor or another friend who can help out. If they are struggling with the house, clean the dishes do the washing offer to look after kids or mow the lawn. Do not trouble them with too many questions and whatever you do don’t let the words, “pull yourself together” or “get a grip” escape your lips.
They may say there is nothing you can do but if you can keep them company, take away one stress or just make sure they are getting support from the services you will have helped. You will have saved them from those unbearable thoughts of the s word even for just a short while.
- Today’s dress is from the swap shop. I think from Danielle Star again though I may be mistaken. My sister who is a sweetheart and just one of the many people who have done the above and in doing so saved my life time after time again took the photos. This dress has already had three confirmed bidders so if you like it and want it prepare for a fight.
Day 221- Surviving the stresses
There are things that can be done to try to maintain a healthy mind. As well as the basics that are eating and sleeping the right amount there are other factors we have some element of control over such as stress. Work can be a minefield and though it has been suggested to me in the past that perhaps I should just do a job which does not end up coming home with me I have never been able to let go of the dream. There is no doubt that the job I do can be stressful but I love it and imagine I would suffer far more from not having it in my life.
One stress which I guess I was keen to relieve was the one that I had some degree of control over, my home environment. As with every parent and child that has left the nest, a return often results in conflict which can be an added stress for all. By moving out I was hoping to relieve this tension for all of us and regain a little control over my moods which can so easily be swung by the slightest stress or conflict. When I moved out I said to the boy and several others that the great thing about living with strangers is that though there is nobody to commandeer a cuddle with there is also no great need to become involved in anything.
Sadly though this house which was meant to be a haven has turned in the last few days into a living hell. There perhaps should have been warning signs about my more youthful house-mate. Although he seemed perfectly pleasant when I suggested setting my desktop downstairs I was sure he responded by saying: “Wicked, we can hook it up to my decks.” It was early days and though the boy disagreed I decided it would be best to assume he had said desk and leave the lead in a box for the time being.
There were a few other warning signs but I chose to be blinkered as I so wanted this to work and knowing my move had been hasty I didn’t want to worry about having made another wrong decision. When I arrived back on Sunday however, stressed from the drive and ready for a fast pasta dish and some catch up TV I was shocked but not entirely surprised to find the house in a state.
The carpets had been wrecked, the bathrooms were a mess and special smoking stuff lay all over the coffee table. My organic sugar was all but gone as was my butter and my pretty glasses were nowhere to be seen. Where there had previously been tomato puree, there was now the remains of a class B drug in my Tupperware. Though this was rather worrying the real sin was the use of my tomato ketchup. There are just some things that are sacred and sauce is one of them.
I was so upset because the whole point of doubling my outgoings was to avoid these kind of stresses. I went upstairs to my room after making dinner, too tired and angry to cope with the conflict and asked the boy to bring the plates up when he was ready. Though the house-mate in question promised he would sort things out he soon came back with a bunch of friends, two of them were still sleeping and smelling on the sofa in the light of the late morning. The pattern continued the next night. I came home at 10pm to find both sofas filled with people who clearly had no other place to perhaps because the bus shelters were filled with other floozys. Wanting nothing else but to collapse on the couch and read The Sunday Times at last, stressed from work and sad from seeing the giant I was pretty close to losing it.
Thankfully the landlady lost it before I had to and by the time I came home yesterday lunchtime the lad was being moved along. I am relieved as the last thing I need at the moment is another battle and it being fought before I even had a chance to knight up is just so nice. It is a horrid situation but apparently these teen sleepovers have become a regular thing and the last straw was probably a letter of complaint from the district council about noise pollution. Though it is sad I am just thankful one more stress has gone and that once more I may cook in a kitchen with herbs like basil, rosemary and marjoram rather than the potent yet perfectly illegal marijuana.
- Today’s dress is really lovely but unfortunately was a little more see-through than I’d realised. I would advise wearing it with a slip especially if you have to go speak to the police in the pouring rain. My Fairy god mother donated it to the project and it is one of my favourites of the last 221 days.
Day 220 – Great expectations
Today was a bit of a difficult day for me as I feel so stressed at work that I thought I would implode any minute. We are short of staff but the stories keep coming at an unnecessarily rapid rate and my head is spinning. To spare you the stresses then I shall focus on one part of my day which was actually good fun. Today the country’s sweet sixteen school leavers are biting their nails and waiting to open envelopes which their teachers and indeed the educational system itself has led them to believe will determine the course of their future. Though I do not dispute the importance of getting decent grades ten years later I can safely say that in no interview ever has the subject of what I got in these exams been raised. I can say this now but ten years ago when I opened my own envelope it felt as though my whole fate was contained within.
I am covering the results for the paper and though it is those who have done well who are most willing to talk there are so many whose faces fall a little when they see what’s inside. A lovely girl who joined us this week for work experience is helping me out and speaks to one poor soul who is ever hopeful until he sees his grades and becomes too depressed to say any more.
It amazes me when people say that the exams are getting easier every year as I remember when I took them they were really hard. Many of the teenagers I meet today, even the ones who seem dissatisfied with their results come across as confident, articulate and informed. One girl speaks to three media outlets in ten minutes and keeps her cool throughout. When I was 16 though I enjoyed speaking out I imagine a microphone would have freaked me out and left me in a fit of giggles.
I feel for them because there will no doubt be those that thought they would be taking one path and now after a stray D or E are no longer so sure. One of the girls I speak to today is already considering a career in medicine and I am shocked by the use of the word career by a 16-year-old. I wish I could sit for a few moments with those who look fed up and let them know that this is not as big a deal as it feels but this is their moment and they do not want the “wisdom” of an old woman.
I know though that they will all be fine and in ten years time when they read the paper and see it is results day they will think of this time and wonder at the way they felt today. Hopefully happy in themselves and in their work or whatever they do they will recall the tears or the beers of celebration or commiseration and smile at how much things have changed and how they really didn’t need those 13 As after all.
The day is rather alien to me as I was away on holiday with the lovely Katharine Ryland when our results came through. We made calls home a couple of times that holiday, one for Katharine’s results and one to find out the result of the first ever Big Brother. We were in Lanzarote when we made the call to the school in a crowded little box with a cardboard credit phone voucher, no mobiles remember. As we were away with her parents I decided to wait till we were home but we went together to get hers while her folks waited nearby.
Kat’s results were pretty near flawless, a string of As, the occasional B and a lovely few stars to set the sheet alight. We danced around like kids and celebrated that night with a fancy meal and some orange fanta before being given a liberal curfew which we took full advantage of. I still have a picture of Kat sipping on a cocktail in a bar above the sea. She looks so young and is grinning away as intoxicated on the buzz of the grades as much as the Sex on the Beach which we ordered while sniggering. How we were served I do not know.
Afterwards we went on to have Sangria and sat looking out to sea speaking seriously about what the future held. We had so many dreams and so many hopes and it was the same night she asked me to be her maid of honour a promise a duty I took up eight years after.
When we got home her parents drove me back to my house. It was late in the night but Kat came along to say goodbye and support me as I opened my own. As we got closer to the hill, sensing my nerves she reached out for my hand and gave it a little squeeze reminding me she was there. I was so scared when we arrived that my father and I went upstairs away from them all to open the results.
It was hard for us both as my sister who sat her exams two years before had opened them after being diagnosed. It was bitter-sweet as we both knew there was someone missing and opening them away from everyone felt like a little acknowledgement that though it was an important day there was something so big missing that a celebration seemed too much to hope for. I was pleased with my results, getting the As in the things I cared about most and even scraping a C where there should have been a D.
We went downstairs and told them all and there was champagne and toasts and as I drank from the glass our darling Catherine had made I held back the tears and tried to be happy and think to the future.
The past was with us all that night and though everyone made an effort to be excited and merry the hole was so big that sleep came easily to me that night. My body and my mind did not want to think of the future but to dream of the day two years before when a girl who sat through her exams in pain because of an illness we did not know she had, opened her results to find she could pick and choose between the Ox and the Bridge.
I wanted to dream of that day when we had no need to understand clinical terms or the side effects of chemotherapy. A day when we all thought the cancer was just a blip and the thought that we would lose her to it had not even crossed our minds. It’s been 12 years now and I still dream of that day and would swap everything to have that hope and to have her back in our lives.
- Today’s dress was a gift to the cause from my Fairy godmother who I believe was also there that night ten years ago. We went for lunch yesterday and she was as confused as no doubt you were that the posts being uploaded while I was away were not about the beauty of Cornwall but of weekday woes. The dress is very pretty and was chosen as I wanted to get the balance right between work and a little bit “down with the kids”. I failed miserably as many of them were wearing Uggs or jeans or leggings and the kind of dresses and tops one can only wear at an age when a fast metabolism still allows one to eat three breakfasts and endless candy. I miss those days but I prefer working for pay rather than studying for good grades.
Day 219 – Letting go
It has been weeks since I have properly seen both my parents and driving back yesterday I realised how much I missed seeing them. No matter what has happened in the past and more recent present I love them of course and feel lacking without them. Part of the reason I have been avoiding them is the conflict. Things are still raw and my mind is a mess and too fragile to get into another argument about who hurt whom.
As I was walking to work though I got a text from the giant asking me if I wanted to come over for dinner. It broke me, and even now nearly a week later writing this post I am weeping, because though I wanted to say no and stay away as its easier I feel dreadful about things being this way and I just want everything to be okay. What was worse is that though I know he does not realise why I was hurt he is trying to patch things up and it makes me feel awful and like a dreadful daughter for being this way.
Everything between us always seems to play out on an ever more emotive stage which is too high and too easy to fall from. Though it would have been easy to just put it off I am tired of the whole thing and I was worried about what would happen if I did but I said yes nevertheless. I miss my family and I feel so lost and alone. The house is proving to be more hassle than I could have imagined with me returning last night and waking this morning to find it a wreck and two random people asleep on the couch. These are things that I wish I could tell the giant but I do not want to admit that I am struggling as it seems to be a recurring theme and I feel like such a screw up.
Though I am freaking out about how the evening will play out luckily I have a session scheduled with the counsel. I am sad but more than anything I am tired of the drama and ready to just let it all lie for the sake of some quiet. It may not be healthy not to address the issues but there seems to be no point in being angry and upset it does me no good and gets us nowhere. I go over and it is hard but it is fine as we chat only about holidays, work and the rest of the family. I do not feel annoyed though just so sad that things became like this and when I go to my room to pick up my stuff I sit on the edge of the bed and cry like a child who has lost her teddy.
I have to stop writing now or I’ll never stop crying.
- The dress from today was a donation from Danielle Star. I am missing her as our yoga class has finished for the summer but she swapped me this at the first event. It is originally from Pradamark and has a simple but classic cut which is flattering to all bumps and lumps. The boy loves it but I think this is because it is short and worn with knee-high boots. This choice of footwear is because I cannot find the plug for my depilatory device. I think though that it is far better for him to believe I wear them because he likes them.
Day 218 – The naturist inspired fashion shoot
I have been struggling with the blog of late as I have nobody to ask to take the photos. Though I am still wearing a dress a day, I promise you this, several weeks in a row now I have been having to carry out photo shoots only when the boy is about. It would be possible to ask colleagues, friends or even house mates but it seems a little inappropriate and incredibly self obsessed to do so.
Today then as I finally just about caught up with last week’s blogs, the photos which had to be done while in our hotel on the first night, we were finally ready to get this weeks shoot done. I am sorry that the blog has slipped behind so much. The last few weeks have been if I am honest a bit of a struggle to keep my head above water and as selfish as it is sometimes I’ve had to let some things sink a little just so I can survive.
If anyone should ever want to do a guest post on the subject of your own experiences of mental health, personal or general, do get in touch. It would help me out on the days when I struggle but also I hope that these other styles of writing and experiences would add a bit of colour and hopefully aid understanding of illnesses less specific to depression and bipolar.
As I am a little bit crazy and far too keen on to do lists when we came away I noted down all the things we wanted to do here. Thankfully the boy intervened and thanks to his easy-going nature we ended up having a lovely mix of surf, scenery, beach, sleep and places one simply must see. The one thing that I was determined to see however was Port Isaac and on the last day before setting off we decided to head there rather than dive straight in to a gridlocked M5. Though we had been putting the visit off all week due to the weather, the day turned out to be perfect for it and the sunscreen was brought out the bag for the first time.
We strolled around the town listening to their jazz and brass bands who were playing as part of a fete in aid of the RNLI. Wearing a cowboy hat and for once some sensible shoes we climbed up a ladder to the sea wall to eat our picnic sat overlooking the harbour. The port is famous for its scenery, a reputation enhanced by its appearance in the TV series Doc Martin as well as the scene of the British film, Saving Grace. We went on a walk around the port, conscious of time but enjoying ourselves and the last hours of the holiday too much to hurry. There were dresses from this week, worn on days when I got too low towards the end to have the photos done so we found a secluded spot and had a quick snap of four of the frocks. There were some rather close moments where I had to lie low when a rambler came waltzing past but we managed to get them all done while retaining some small degree of modestly. Sadly the boy got one beautiful shot of the scene but it had to be left out as afterwards he noticed I was between changes and had two different dresses on.
We head to the car and set off for Harborough but I feel sad at the thought that we are not headed for home. Though independence is all good and well there is something rather lonely about returning to a house shared with strangers where nobody is waiting.
- Today’s dress is another vintage frock from the 70s perhaps. I am glad it got a good airing at the port as it was stuffy and close in the car and such a pretty dress needs to be seen. It is another donation from a secret location but it is extremely pretty and again I believe it is hand-made. It makes me sad that I can not craft my own clothes but I am determined to learn to knit from my grandma in time to make Christmas scarves for all. After this holiday, as beautiful though it was the present budget has shrunk somewhat.
Day 217 – Those who surf together, stay together
The boy is a big fan of the surf. So much so that though we spend the morning meandering around Padstow snacking on chocolate éclairs from Rick Stein’s place we return to the sea before our tummies have time to settle from the feast. The first few times we went out together did not go well-being as the boy took on the task of trying to teach me to surf. Fresh out of his first lesson he suggested I get on to my knees rather than pop straight up and revert to a foamie (a beginners board). In the theme of the task at hand I told him to go swallow. Shortly after this salted exchange a wave wiped him out simultaneously wiping the smug and the smirk from his face.
Though he did annoy me slightly by being able to stand up on his first lesson, I didn’t manage till my second time, I am delighted he loves it so dearly. I bought my first wet suit yesterday and I had to wrestle his card off him to stop him buying one himself and blowing the rest of our meagre budget. My wet suit is wonderful, fits perfectly and was a brilliant bargain. Being as I surf in t’North it is a middle suit so can be worn with a thermal in winter as well as summer. As I have surfed in December and March this is a good thing as last time I surfed in Scarborough I got so cold I couldn’t speak a blessing for my friends but worrying nevertheless.
A wetsuit is one of those things that is such a very personal choice and though I have been surfing for six years it has taken me three to find the right one for me. The only issue is that I am still on the slight side in spite of numerous cream teas and chips so I had to go with the eight which on the plus side is one up from the six I’d dropped to a couple of weeks ago. It would seem unless I can find another £100 or so I will be having to stay this size for eternity or at least as long as I carry on loving it.
Unfortunately while slipping in the suit for the first time I made the mistake of mentioning in front of the boy: “Hurrah! I will never have to swim in something other people have weed in.” Having convinced the boy yesterday that the suit he hired which looked like it was from the ’90s (more people to pee in) that this was a myth he looked none too pleased at my deception.
In spite of our initial tiffs on the tide today we had so much fun. We caught waves at the same time, crashed into one another, tried diving under the waves, played sand wars on the beach and basked in the shallow like surfer sharks. He cannot get enough of it and is loving me as I introduced him to this thing that he loves. While taking a rest before returning to be bashed and battered by the sea we got talking to a man heading back up the beach. He gave the boy some advice and while we were shooting the breeze he mentioned that he adored to surf and that it had kept him young. The boy asked him the naughty question and he replied that he was 75.
We both smiled as we headed back into the sea and as we caught our last waves of the holiday I got the feeling that whatever happens between me and the boy this is something we’ll love together for the rest of whatever time we have together.
- Today’s dress is from HP and was worn as we walked round Padstow and St Mawgan. I have included the picture of the boy and I as sadly this is the only one we have of the two of us taken by a kind stranger passing by who said he understood the trouble of photography when it’s just the two of you. The cakes were delicious and came from Stein’s Patisserie as well as a banoffee pie which we shared in bed after a post surf nap on our last night.
Day 216 – Don’t need no money when I got you hunny
Perhaps I should explain the shortness and the lateness of today’s post and the holiday blogs general postings. Though I am sure many of my regular readers will no doubt appreciate some much needed brevity in the blog. As the lovely Sian Tu of Blogadesh told me when I interviewed her the other day: “There’s no point bumbling on for bumbling on sake.” And on that note I shall come to the point.
I have been trying to keep them more picture based this week as though love to write this is a much needed holiday and to get bogged down with blogging would be counter productive. The other reason is that though I am a selfish cow and needed the break myself the boy I feel could do with a break from my blogging. As all writers, workers and beings will know our time quickly gets taken up with the things we have to do and though we might enjoy them it is sometimes important to spend a bit of time focusing on what we want to do.
The boy is supportive of the project and this is a great help but it is not easy for him to have a girlfriend who devotes at least an hour a day to a charitable hobby. After his blogging debut he kindly admitted this evening that he has a bit more of an appreciation for what I do and why I become so consumed with the task. In the beginning I was dreadful and I would often spend far too much of the short time we have together catching up on blogs or adding tags and links and proofing over. I know that these days the blog is less polished and I still have not got round to adding tags and links for nearly 100 days it was a necessary step.
If I had carried on devoting that much time to the cause I might well have lost him as nobody wants a girlfriend who spends half her time on the internet staring at a screen. This surely is a behaviour more fitting of the less fair and the more female nudity focused sex.
What was quite good about the boys blog is that though he began a little cautiously to type up his day he very quickly became lost in the project. I was feeling a little down after surfing today and though I encouraged him to go and explore the town or find himself a beer while I read crap and tried to come out of it he said it was okay as he wanted to be with me but more urgently, he wanted to work on his blog.
My laptop has been commandeered for a few hours too many as the boy attempts to perfect his art and as I understand it he wishes his post to receive the highest hits ever. As one post has already hit the big g mark I think he ight have a little while coming though I appreciate and encourage his enthusiasm and for you dear reader to sample his story.
After our epic meal at The Headlands we both checked our funds and found that due to his lack of work and my moving house, doubled up therapy sessions and several other unexpected outgoings we are both frightfully impoverished. It has been a long time since I have been in my overdraft and I was hoping to never enter the red again until I join all the other grown ups on the property ladder. Due to shoe addiction, love of off the counter make up and Moleskin stationary I fear it will be some time before I join the home owner crew.
Since this time we have both been getting by on a stringent holiday budget which has focused our fallen funds on surfing and survival. The bill is paid which means that anything remaining will be spent on the minimum petrol, surf hire and if we can cut back on candy and cream a postcard for our grandparents. Though it is a bit tough and I have never eaten so many chips in my life I am secretly loving it. We went for a meal at a tiny tucked away little pizza place today. The total bill was a quarter of The Headlands but if I’m honest the whole thing was about four times as romantic. We squished on a sofa together in a little booth in a restaurant where we were the only people there. We shared a garlic bread which was on a board and pizzas without a plate. There was no cutlery on the table and it was only offered as an afterthought but the food was good, the waiter a blonde surfer with a faultless and friendly manor where everything was no bother or no worries and our table was lit by candle rather than chandelier. It is much more fun making things special on a budget as though you have to be more inventive – a cola rather than champagne, an 18p Freddo rather than a bunch of roses – if you can have a good time and still feel the love of your partner its surely a good sign.
By the way for a post that was meant to be short and explaining why the posts have been short noticing it is already 1000 words let me round up the day to say: Though the afternoon was a bit of a tear stained bitch of a time I feel better, filled up and totally love drunk.
- Today’s dress was a donation from HP and her sister Clare. I am very keen and though I was totally overdressed for Newquay and the pizza night I felt today should be no different than any other. I wore it with a jumper as I saw a great look on the catwalks which combines really beautiful dress skirts with a comfy jumper. I like it because it escapes the idea that we have to save all the good stuff for special occasions. We are alive and we are well what more reason do we need to dress in a way which makes us feel good. So go forth dear reader and litter the streets with ladies and gentlemen dressed in whatever you darn well please but should you wish add that special skirt, dress, earring or purse which makes you feel like a million dollars, pounds or though it does not have quite the same ring or bling a million Euro.
Day 215 – The pictures you will never see
Sometimes I feel a little over exposed, not so much what I write about all the mental health issues or even the every day dramas of my world but more the photos, the endless images of myself in cyberspace.
I am sick of the sight of my face, of uploading pictures with me trying to not look like a total eejot. As you can imagine this is no easy feat and a lot of the times the photos you see are retakes or a select few from a memory stick filled with far more flawed photos.
Perhaps then this is why I bought us two disposable cameras on the first day of the holiday. If we take them on the digital they will probably somewhere along the line be uploaded to facebook for all to see. Like the blog photos they will be there for all to see rather than for us to show and explain. I read an article about old photos and what they show of the world which has changed so much. A software has been put together which is able to show you photos from the past when you take a picture in the past. In this way you could be walking through Coventry and see on a street corner the remains of a house no longer there destroyed in the blitz.
I want our holiday snaps to be special but to also be authentic. I want to receive them back in a paper coloured sleeve with negatives slipped inside kept in plastic so they can be treasured and stored away. I love the idea of having a set of pictures, some of which are imperfect and expressions which may be hideous or eyes which squint or gleam with red.
These will be the pictures that we will store in an album, an album which can be taken out by either of us over the years. It will be testament to this holiday, to the fact that we were young and in love and at this time, in this week that we were having a bloody good life. You will never see these pictures, unless you are in my home and I choose to share them or show them to you. These will be the pictures that you cannot see unless you see me, not in an image on a screen but in life where I am imperfect but real and wonderfully unexposed.
- Today’s dress was a donation from HP. I am not sure what the label is but we wore it on a coastal walk through Newquay where the photos are taken towards the edge of a cliff.
