justaoifethings

If you've read recent blog posts, you'll know I've recently finished my Leaving Cert (hence the erratic upload schedule). During it, I was surprising calm, and only cried over two exams. History failed me, unfortunately. But, I couldn't understand why I was so calm. Why wasn't Becky rearing her ugly head? When I thought about it, I realised something strange. All the exams I had done were a blur. I felt like I hadn't even done them. When I came out of an exam and was asked a question about the paper, I blanked. I just didn't remember. I was forgetting a lot of things in day to day life, and feeling numb. That's when I realised what I was doing, I wasn't being present. Feeling as if you're not present is a major symptom of anxiety, so I suppose it has become an unintentional coping method for me. I'd look in the mirror and think, Wow, I'm actually that person. That reflection is me! It's really hard to explain what this feeli...

Have you ever listened to Lose Yourself by Eminem? I feel that it's a good example of what I want to talk about today. If you've ever read my blog before, you know that I have a chronic anxiety disorder. Typically, on a day to day basis, I feel like one of the opening lines of that song; "sweaty, knees weak, arms are heavy". I'd feel like that 9/10 days in the morning going to school, and on that 1/10, I'd feel that way by the time I've come home. That type of anxiety is tiring, but what happens when you're doing something important to you, or if there's a lot of risk. I'm one exam away from finishing my leaving cert, the Irish final exams. It's the main route into getting into university, something I've been encouraged to do since I was small and something I've wanted to do for years. These exams are corrected in an odd manner, so there's a lot of competition and pressure, which doesn't help when it's the key to your...

Yesterday, I went out in long pair of jeans and a crop top (see photo below). You can't see much, right? Just some of my abdomen, and a scar on it which I believed was most prominent. Yet a man in his 60's eyed my stomach and said that I looked lovely (and hastily added my mother into this sleazy 'compliment' as we both gave him a look). It was a warm day, so would he have noticed if I was wearing shorts, which would've showed more skin? Honestly, it's likely. For some reason, no matter what skin I show, it's sexual. Why do so many men do this? Why do they stare at women. I was told that this is "normal", but I don't blatantly stare at guys in public. I don't look at them as an object to be viewed, I see them as people. This reminds me of a play, "A Dolls House". If you're unfamiliar with it, it's set in a more 'traditional' time, and Nora is being scandalous for forging a signature and borrowing money. At one ...

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 ...