justaoifethings

I'm going to be very forward with this one. What is with all this #imwithjohnny and #imwithamber bullshit? Domestic violence is a very serious matter, so why is social media acting like it's a sports match? Why are there teams, why are people arguing with what happened? I'm rather infuriated, people are acting as if this is a soap. I have no clue what happened behind closed doors. I'm not going to say that domestic violence did or didn't take place, because how could I possibly know ? I'm scrolling through social media watching incredulously as people debate over these peoples lives, as if they know them or if they were there. People calling her a gold digger and a liar that's trying to bring down Depps career (though unfortunately, as I saw tweeted today, abuse on women doesn't always damage a career beyond repair. Chris Brown, anyone?) Others are convinced he did it. I don't usually discuss celebrities and media because I think there'...

I assure you that this is not an infamous click bait title. We are indeed going to discuss boobs. Am I making you uncomfortable? Why? Is it because society makes us view breasts in two different ways? We either love their sex appeal or shame them just because they exist. As a woman, I'm shamed for having boobs. They're not big enough, so I'm not attractive, if they show at all, I'm a slut, if I never show them, I'm a prude. Society is funny, isn't it? Yes, isn't it wonderful to have a photoshopped model on magazines, billboards and the internet, boobs big and beautiful. But God forbid women use them what they're for. Women forced into bathrooms to breast feed, yelled at for nourishing a child, for their boobs acting out their primary function. When I ask people why they don't agree with #freethenipple, they say they don't want their kids to see "that sort of thing". Don't they know that boobs aren't a sex organ? They have ...

Having anxiety, I regularly tend to feel anxious. I've been asked if it's excessive or extreme worry or stress, but no, it's not. It's anxiety, it's very different. Right now, I'm feeling particularly anxious. When I say this to a person without anxiety, they assume I'm feeling worried or stressed, which isn't the case. I feel like there's something massive weighing my chest down. I'm making a conscious effort to breathe, because if I don't, I will forget to do so. I feel as if a snake is making its way up my throat, trying to twist my oesophagus while its head rests on the back of my tongue. My head is spinning. It goes from one thought to the next and back again in a couple of seconds. My mind is transfixed on one thing that I'm anxious on, and I know that anxiety is making me think it's worse than it is. (Or is it? I don't know.) My senses are heightened. Every noise is irratating, and I can feel things through just a bru...

I never thought I'd make it to 18. No, I was going to die. I thought I was going to kill myself because my internal world was unbareable. Thankfully, as seen in my last post, I was able to overcome, and here I am. No thanks to the Irish government or health system. The first psychologist I saw had a disgusting bedside manner. He seemed to judge me for the areas I had wanted to choose to cut. He made no attempt to make me comfortable, to help me articulate my feelings. He acted as if I wasn't human, as if I was a test subject from one of his books, not even looking at me to tell me I have depression. The second psychologist I saw was in the same facility. I walked into his office, and he barely even knew my name. Flustered, he was skimming through my file, asking me questions he should have known, making the situation highly uncomfortable for me. The counsellor I saw in that facility was not qualified for my situation. I was sixteen years old at the time, and she constantly ...

Cycle against suicide is an organisation to break the cycle of suicide. Note the very clever name. I've written about this awesome organisation before here . A group of cyclists led by Jim Breen cycle around Ireland, brining a message that it's ok not to be ok, and it's ok to ask for help. I have always been very vocal about mental health in my school, so when teachers approached me to write this speech, and cycle against suicide kindly allowed it, I was delighted to do so. ~ I, like one in three of you, if not even more, suffer from mental illness. I have a severe form of anxiety called GAD and have had depression so bad, that I was on the brink of suicide. And I know that sounds scary, but the point is that I'm still here. My mental health really started to go down the drain when I was in third year. As I'm sure the present third years know, the junior cert can be daunting. That, mixed with personal problems outside of school, triggered a mental breakdown....

I will stand up and admit that I used to be a toxic person. I was surrounded by toxicity for so long, I unknowingly adopted the techniques, thinking they were normal. This doesn't mean that I was a bad person, but a person with bad experiences and bad behaviours. To stop hurting the people you care about, it's important to recognise toxic behaviours, so you can stop them. 1: Being Passive Agressive "Fine, whatever." "K." You don't express your feelings, but you say things that you know will make the other uncomfortable, or feel guilty. You 'keep score' with someone. If someone is annoyed at you, you reflect it with, "Well, at least I didn't do (insert grudge here)". 2: Never Apologising A toxic person often feels like a wounded animal. They do everything they can, and feel wrongly attacked if someone questions their actions. It's easy to forget that other people have feelings too, and even if trying your best, you are no...

I couldn't breathe. My chest jumped with forced half heaves, the air trying to scramble into my lungs, my lungs refusing. I just couldn't goddamn breathe. The tears flowed, I wasn't conscious of them for a while, until the fragile skin under my eyes started to sting with the sudden overdose of salt. I couldn't breathe, but I could stand and wring my fingers through my hair, trying to explain why I was panicking to a concerned teacher through chaotic breathes, barely able to speak. I couldn't breathe as I tried to smile at my newly found friends who looked at me both concerned and confused, unsure of what to do or say, whether to stay or go. I couldn't breathe as I was so utterly dissapointed at the fact that I hadn't had a panic attack in school all year, but I was having the worst panic attack I'd ever had at that moment. I couldn't fucking breathe because a teacher, a male over six foot, decided to completely lose the plot at me, telling me ...