Skinny Emmie did one of these posts the other day and it was so interesting to read, my musings will be no where near as interesting but I thought I would go ahead and do it anyway.
SO here I go…
For the first time in my 29 years of life I truly believe in myself. I believe that I will lose this weight. I believe that I’m a good person being who I am. I believe that my body can do things it hasn’t done in many years. I am happy. Don’t get me wrong, doubts creep in at times and then I set myself straight. I will do this, it’s just a matter of time.
I always thought I knew what I needed to do to lose weight but couldn’t do it, but I’ve learnt a massive amount so far.
I’ve always felt clumsy even though I’m actually very careful and rarely break anything, I always feel in the way and huge. I hate small spaces with other people as I feel I take up more than my fair share.
I love nothing more than snapping and then editing images. It calms me and reinforces all things beautiful. Photography is my therapy. I love that the world is interesting and beautiful and sometimes pretty ugly and I love that we developed something to capture moments. One of my favorite quotes is from Winston Churchill, during the Second World War, Winston Churchill’s finance minister said Britain should cut arts funding to support the war effort. Churchill’s response: “Then what are we fighting for?”
I’ve never felt beautiful, pretty even.
I still cringe when I see pictures of myself, I am not sure when I’ll be happy with pictures of myself but being a photographer is a good cover story.
I’ve always been competitive, I was a competitor when I was younger and it seems to naturally go through me. I always really hated that part of me, felt it wasn’t nice or ladylike but pushing it down made me miserable. Now I’ve found a positive outlet for it (competing against myself in the gym, in the pool) I embrace it, it drives me forward and it has helped me win numerous games of Monopoly.
At some of the hardest points in my depression I wondered if I would ever feel normal. I wondered if I could carry on living feeling like I did. I’m glad I did even when it felt impossible because it opened my eyes to where my life, my attitude, and what wondrous people I did have in my life.
The kindness of others has, on numerous occasions, reduced me to tears. People who are open with their feelings for one another amaze and delight me.
I believe that a lot of the hateful things that were said about me, by a mindless few people I considered good friends, were true. They were horrific things to hear, they were said in the worst and most disgusting of ways, they are said with no good intentions, they were said to hurt, to unnerve and to mess with my head. They were true though, of the old me. What makes them so awful to say is that they didn’t care what a dark place I was in, they didn’t care that THEY contributed to my mental unwellness and they didn’t think about how their words reflected on them and their character. I don’t think that this statement will ever be read by them but they know who they are, they know what they did and I’m sure they still think that they, as supposed alpha females, still feel well within their rights. That’s ok though. I don’t think about them other than when I reflect on how much my life has changed, and I smile to myself about what they are missing in themselves to make them behave in such a way. Batshit crazy and full of deflection.
I will always think that one child is enough. I don’t believe it makes me odd, unmaternal, selfish or that I will change my mind. My child, in his singleness, is enough. That doesn’t mean I will never have a child, just that it doesn’t matter if I don’t. I love him more than I thought was ever possible. I think it’s 90% certain he will be an only child for so many reasons, several health reasons, and it makes me a little bit sad inside when people ask when the next one will be along when I know it may not even be physically possible.
When I watch a movie with good characters I totally get in to what they are going through, I really feel everything with them and I will cry big heavy sobs if its sad, feel elated with them and feel part of their journey. Films I have to avoid when I’m hormonal include Steel Magnolias, Armageddon and Philadelphia. I am like this in real life as well, I have to rein myself in when it comes to the internet but I am very sensitive on the inside and I am very empathetic with people.
I’ve dyed my hair every colour from it’s natural boring brown, from blonde, to pink, to red, to blue, pillar-box red, black, purple, and dark brown! I seem to get away with most colours as I have typical pale British skin, freckles, green eyes, and light brown eyebrows and lashes.
I love being British as much as you can love something that is an accident of birth, European even, but I don’t like living here.
When I stopped trying to figure out why my mother doesn’t love me, I started to let go of a lot of the pain I carried with me for a very long time. I started to realise it wasn’t about me at all, that it was all about her. I have two half sisters who appear to be awesome people, I wish they lived closer.
I still listen to Radio One even though I’m probably reaching the age where I’m officially too old too.
My dad sent me 36 postcards from his last 10 day holiday. Every single one of them made me laugh out loud.
I wear the same pair of sandals every summer, all summer long, I’ve owned them since I was 17 and they are the most comfy ever. I have tan stripes on my feet currently and I’ve been wearing them since March.
I could probably think of more but that is probably more than enough!