Into The Depths of Depression

I have often wondered what it would be like to have guest writers on my blog. And now, low and behold, it is happening. The following paragraphs are personal responses from six individuals who shall not be named for the purpose of this post. Responses to what, I hear you ask. Well, I asked each of them ‘What does depression feel like?’ and gave them a week to ponder their statement. After a long week of fidgeting and impatience, I have finally gathered all of their responses. This is an intense insight into the minds of those who have been broken, and who have survived to tell their tales. You have all heard my story in previous posts. Now, this is their story…

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The first word that comes into my head is darkness. It’s like a sky full of black clouds that build up over a few days, complete blackness, no light whatsoever, no glimmer of hope - just negativity. It’s a darkness that creeps over you, leaving you feeling sad, anxious, helpless, worthless, miserable, angry and empty. You get an awful, numb pain in your chest, a lump in the back of your throat and all of a sudden the tears start to flow. They seem to flow endlessly until you can’t breathe.

 Eventually the tears stop, but that’s when you feel nothing; nothing at all. It drains all of your emotions. It takes everything from you and leaves you numb, lifeless and hollow. You experience loss of appetite and insomnia. You feel like you're in a massive pool stuck in the middle and sinking. You feel tied down - both physically and mentally .It’s almost like silent screams, longing to escape the darkness but no-one notices, no one hears. You're completely on your own, struggling with all the bullshit life throws at you.

 It’s a never ending emptiness. It’s horrific.

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There are definitely a number of words I could use to describe my feelings during my depression - jealousy, anger, hatred, paranoia, devastation, loneliness, insecurity… The list goes on. I'm lucky to have survived it… many don't. But thanks to my good friends and family, counselling and a bit of an epiphany, I'm still here.

I guess for me it all started the first time I lost someone close to me, and ever since then feelings of depression have just become a part of who I am. The main trait of my depression that I will describe was being a cutter. I guess being a cutter was a beautiful secret for me, but little did I know that it would become an endless cycle. I was always lost and lonely, feeling like I had no-one to turn to. I didn't care about the world outside of my own head, just as long as I could cut myself into a bloody mess and listen to the same song over and over again. I didn't care about who I hurt. I pushed all of my friends away and I became a compulsive liar. I hated the world and everyone in it, but I had no idea why I was so angry. I used to have horrific dreams about brutal murders every night… I barely ever slept. So I started taking valium to help me sleep and things only got worse from there.

By this stage it had been three years since I had started to have feelings of depression and cutting had become part of who I was. Eventually I couldn't sleep without bleeding at least once. Everything about me changed in the space of three years.

It wasn't for a long time after that, that I became happy again. My parents sent me to counselling which I attended for almost a year, and slowly but surely I began to get better. I still have my bad days but now I wear bracelets on my left arm - each one representing someone I love, reminding me that every time I hurt myself I'm hurting them too. Depression is a disease. It took over my life and changed who I was. Even now as I sit here writing this, I see the scars and I can't help but think about how different my life is now, and how much I have lost because of my depression. I'm not asking for anyone to feel sorry for me or empathise with me. This is just me telling my story. A story about depression.



"I'll never keep it bottled up, and left to the hands of the coroner. Be a true heart not a follower, we're not done yet… "

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Depression. For such an insignificant word, it holds so much power over so many people. It consumes their lives. Between the advancements in personal and social technologies, as well as the increased awareness surrounding this sensitive issue, it seems more people than ever are suffering from depression.

I myself have had my own experiences with depression and it is something I'm not proud of. For me there is almost an element of shame attached to what I just admitted. Just talking about it is one of a handful of things that can send me into a pyrotechnic rage. That's because, in my mind, I had no obvious reason to be depressed. From the outside looking in I had everything… i.e. I was talented as fuck! However, this was not clear to me at this particular juncture. I had, what some might call, a group of 'toxic' friends. Even though I liked these guys I did not fit in with them… at all! I ended up losing sight of who I was.

On top of all that, I had a fucked up ending to an extremely intense and strange relationship. These were two significant occurrences in my life. They led me to seclude myself in my room, where I would immerse myself in the alternate realities of my favourite TV shows. Those hours spent glued to the screen allowed me a brief respite from the feelings of loneliness, inadequacy and angst that churned constantly deep in my gut.

Some months later, it became apparent to me that I had become touchier than a septic bum boil, excuse my crudeness. It took only the slightest thing to send me into an explosive tirade; my coping mechanism was to rage at whatever annoyed me! I had serious anger issues. It was only after a particularly bad fight with my father that I realised I had a problem. I had been bottling up my emotions, ignoring the fact I was depressed and I had become consumed by anger in the process.

With this realisation, I decided to do something… anything... to change my life. I became active once again and found ways of channelling my anger (smashing things!!!). I then proceeded to spill my guts, metaphorically, to a few close friends and that really helped put my demons at ease. I began to enjoy the little things in life again, such as ice-cream, long cycles and sunny days (the few that we had that is!). It took a long time and a lot of effort after that before I was truly happy again. Because let’s face it, happiness is difficult to attain - it requires effort and the ability to focus on the positives in life, which is not an easy task. Things are good for me right now… however long that lasts, I don't know. But I'm going to keep focusing on the positives in my life in the hope that I'll beat this son of a bitch they call depression.



The Big Cheese.

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It feels like something is trying to push you into a dark space. You don’t know how or why this is happening; you don’t question it. All you can focus on is the inevitability of it all. This is going to happen. And then you fall. At first, it’s just a lump in your throat or a pain in your chest. Then it’s an ocean of tears and sleepless nights. It feels like you’re screaming, but no-one can hear you, not even yourself. Something has completely taken over your mind; there is no escape. For me, the hardest part was trying to explain it. How can I explain something that I do not understand myself? The endless questions when you eventually have to come out of your room… “Why are you crying?” “What’s wrong with you?” always followed by uncertain and completely unsatisfying answers.

For the people around you it’s frustrating and unsettling. There is no calm after the storm. When you finally run out of tears you feel completely exhausted – emotionally and physically – with red eyes and a numb feeling beyond explanation. You get over it, but there is always fear of a relapse, of that darkness consuming you again. That’s the only way I can describe it really. I’ve learnt to accept that it’s a part of me. It’s dark and complicated but I always get through it. You have to learn to, because if you don’t, self-harm and suicide become options that should never be contemplated. 

It’s the blind hope that keeps you going. Because although it may be blind, it’s hope all the same. I’ve also learnt to distract myself. For example now, when it all got too much, I decided to write about how I felt instead of crying about it. So this is what it feels like, and believe it or not, when it’s all over I feel like the happiest person in the world. So for all those happy times, is it worth it? Absolutely.

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Depression is a word thrown around a lot with very little meaning. If people are bored or having a bad day they claim to be depressed. But being depressed means a lot more than that, and it does not last only a few days, it lasts weeks, months – maybe even years. Depression comes upon you so fast, yet it is so hard to rid yourself of. It’s a constant feeling of emptiness and being broken. You just feel so alone and isolated. There are no time-outs. It stays and won’t go away; it’s like a curse. When you’re depressed you tend to push away the people who love you the most, simply because you just block everything and everyone out. It’s like you’re stuck in a dark world of your own that you have no control over. Sometimes when the depression gets extremely bad, you turn to self-harm because you think it’ll get rid of the pain, maybe even suicide because the pain you feel inside you is so unbearable. Minutes feel like days, days feel like weeks, and weeks feel like years. It feels like it’s never going to go away, but it does! 

Eventually it will go away. Eventually you won’t feel so empty and alone anymore. Things will get better, you just have to be strong and stick it out. It won’t be easy. Some days you’ll just want to give up, but don’t! Nothing lasts forever, not even depression.

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Depression may be clichéd by many as an illness with the severest of outcomes but for me, it was my safe haven. I relished in the tears and sleepless nights which accompanied my diagnosis. The darkness became my reality, and reality became the unknown. Every day I would spends hours lost in my own numb world – one in which I seeped of bitterness, anger and regret. Some nights I felt I was drowning in the endless streams that flowed over my coarse cheeks. It became a physical pain to the point where I physically could not breathe. I remember pressing my shaking hands to my chest in a ferocious bid to end the suffering. And when it finally did end, I returned to my state of numbness, simply awaiting the next breakdown. No-one knew what I was going through, I don’t think even the counsellors understood. I tried to explain to close friends but their help came to nothing. I began to create conversations in my mind, in an ironic attempt to restore my sanity.

In my case, sleeping was not my biggest fear. It was the hours leading up to it that were the most distressing. Isolated and emotionally frustrated, I spent this time reliving the pain and torment, hence causing further destruction to my mind. Writing was my only outlet. It was never enough.

In the end I don’t quite know how I recovered. Perhaps time really does heal everything, but I don’t truly believe that. My depression has disintegrated over time but the ashes still lurk beside my bed, choking my lungs from time to time as I sleep at night. I don’t think it will ever fully leave my being, and in all honesty, I hope it never does.

My Story as a Paramour of Paramore

As a topic and portion of my personality that I had always wished to discuss, I deemed tonight an appropriate night to write about my saviour. That of course would be music. But this post is not for every song that has ever helped me, no. It is for the one band I could always rely on to produce a song to match my every emotion; to calm the storm of distress that was continuously stirring within me. The band members – Hayley Williams, Jeremy Davis, Taylor York. The band – Paramore.

I was introduced to the music of Paramore towards the end of my first year in secondary school. At this point, Paramore had two albums released, ‘All We Know Is Falling’ and ‘Riot’. Not that this meant anything to me back then. They were just another band that the emo girls in my class listened to. That all changed drastically when I was obliged to open my narrow mind to the world of guitar riffs and heavy drums. All preconceived perceptions I had disintegrated on hearing the melodic, circus-like opening of “Misery Business” on the Riot album. I was dumbstruck. The strength and power of the voice of this woman was impermeable and captivating. I found myself needing to hear more. I bought Riot that night.

A few months later came the release of the first single from the album Brand New Eyes. The intro of “Ignorance” is one that gives me goose bumps to this day. Within hours I was a recluse, spending every waking hour with my newfound idols blaring through my being. Earphones became a permanent resident in my earlobes, maximising my ability to process each note that played so beautifully, over and over. There is no other way to describe it – I was hooked. I had to witness these lyrical masterpieces live. And so I bought tickets to their Brand New Eyes tour date in Dublin, on the 6^th November 2010. I was ecstatic. That was until I found out the morning of the show that I would not be able to attend. I was at a soccer tournament that weekend and although we were staying a mere hour away from Dublin, my managers refused to allow me to leave. I was inconsolable. How could they be so heartless and ignorant to my childhood dreams of seeing my heroes?

I was in 3^rd year of school at the time and had been going through a rather tough period, with bullying and isolation taking centre stage. In a bid to prevent any further anguish, my mom promised she would take me to Manchester a few weeks later to see them. MANCHESTER?! Did she really just say that? I continued to cry hysterically as I was unable to control so many emotions at the one time.

My poster. Why did I photograph one side?  I don't know.

Before I could say “For a Pessimist I’m Pretty Optimistic” I was at the front barrier of the MEN Arena, anticipating the arrival of Paramore. Throughout the show I sang, I screamed, I cried, I gave a poster to Hayley, I cried, I got mushed up against the barrier, and I cried. Did I mention I cried? It was the best night of my life. All the worries of my life at home were non-existent for the duration of the show. It’s truly amazing the impact one band can have on a person’s life and I don’t think they even realise it. But that’s just them – completely grounded and humble, and a great example of how far perseverance, hard work and a “spark” can get you.

Paramore have changed thousands upon thousands of peoples’ lives, including my own. At times when not even hope could prevail, Paramore pulled through and saved me. They are my inspiration, my heroes, and the reason I survived the ordeals I went through. Behind closed doors you are alone. No-one can help you but yourself. But I was never alone because the music of this band never failed to impact me. Whether their lyrics made me smile or cry is irrelevant; they always made me feel something, and that is so crucial in times of complete despair. I owe these people so much, perhaps even my life, and they may never know that. Would I still be here without their music? It’s debatable, but I wouldn’t ever take that chance.

In just over four months I will be attending my second Paramore gig, this time in Dublin. Not only that, I will be attending it with my girlfriend who has also been impacted greatly by the music and presence of Paramore in our lives. I have never anticipated September so much in my life.

If I ever got the opportunity to meet Taylor, Hayley or Jeremy I would use that time (provided I didn’t pass out) to let them know how thankful I am for producing such awe-inspiring songs and for staying strong during their toughest hours as a group.

Paramore is not just a name of a band to me anymore. It represents a group of people who have saved my sanity and changed my life completely. For that, I am ever grateful.

To the First Years of '08

I can still remember the words of a teacher in my first year of secondary school – “Girls, the next five years are going to fly. Just ask the current Leaving Certs”. Wow, they really have. With that memory still fresh on my mind, it’s hard to look around this room knowing that in a few weeks the people I have grown up with will also be a memory. My nightmare of a year are the present Leaving Certs. Yes, we were a nightmare. From throwing shoes into the lake at Ross Castle to making student teachers cry, and even pouring boiling hot Pot Noodles over each other. Oh, the memories. Unfortunately my decision to part ways with these wonderful beings at the end of 3^rd year has left a rigid wall between my year and I. In fact, I’m not even in the position to call them “my year” anymore, which is quite a punch in the chest I must admit. Nevertheless I am writing this for the majority of you whom I will at least miss walking past in the corridors.

Actually, it’s possibly more accurate to say that this is predominantly for those of you who have impacted my life in some way, shape or form. Seeing as I cannot name anyone directly, I will leave it up to you to decipher which paragraph is about whom, and so on. For the purpose of this post (and my own sadistic enjoyment) I will write paragraphs per person for those of you have impacted me the most, for good or for bad reasons. Let the guessing game begin.

Your laughter can brighten up anyone’s day, while deafening them at the same time. Your personality is like gold and your strength is beyond me. We grew apart for unfortunate reasons but I will always smile when I see photos of the good times we had.

Once upon a time you terrified me. In fact, you still make my bones tingle with fear on occasion. But I admire that about you, oddly enough. You do and say anything you please and people respect you for that. I respect you for that. We had a few run-ins and you were out of line. But that’s you – love or hate, all or nothing. Your attitude is hilarious, as is your humour. Your presence will be missed, now and again.

Our relationship, if you could even call it that, was one that was so strange I am yet to fathom how it actually came about. I did trust you, I genuinely did. You knew a hell of a lot about me, more than most of my closest friends at the time. I was horrible to you. I really am sorry for that. You didn’t deserve to endure the treatment I gave you. I’m glad you’ve been able to forgive me and I’m so glad you’ve become the person you are today.

Personally, I’ve dreaded writing this paragraph because to keep it to just a paragraph is impossible. I could write a whole book about us. You will, in my mind and heart, always be the one person that stands out of the crowd of blurred faces when I think back on my years in secondary school. Gone but never, ever forgotten.

We’ve always gotten along very well, haven’t we? There’s something about our humour that just clicks when we’re together. You’re one of the few people I still like and have respect for from my old group of friends. You’re going to do a brilliant Leaving, I’d put money on it. I think my fondness of you has been recognised so even when you’re long gone, a relationship with one of your kind will still remain.

You disgust me. You’re whole demeanour is revolting. You try too hard and for what? Status? Boys? Popularity? In my opinion you have none of those. And you’re not the easiest on the eyes either, God love you.

Can I just say, you’re amazing. Literally you are one of the nicest, most genuine people I know. I love your personality. I love spending time with you. I love that you are one of the few people that understand and can handle my sarcastic nature. I really believe you are a diamond in the rough and you don’t even know it. I’m going to miss you more than almost everyone else, please believe it. I love you.

I dislike you so much that I refuse to give you a full paragraph, though I most certainly could. You miserable bitch.

I have known you for so long that I have become immune to your annoyingness.  That’s a lie. Your personality can penetrate any material. Yes I just referenced your personality to a penis and a condom. But hey, that’s our relationship. Serious conversations don’t exist with you 97% of the time and when they do, you go all crazy-ass on me, which is quite an enjoyable experience. I love you and I hate you. I’ll miss you, perhaps.

You were never a friend. I disliked you from the moment I laid eyes on you. I never could have imagined the amount of anguish you would end up causing me, especially in such an indirect manner. I got my revenge. Very immature revenge but revenge nonetheless. You have always reminded me of a Warner Bros. character actually. I greatly anticipate your departure from my life.

You are one strange girl. I fear there is something about you that I have never understood, nor will I ever get the chance to try to understand again. At one time you were everything to me. Then you were nothing but a reminder of regrets. Now, finally, you are someone I can have a normal conversation with, without getting nervous or trying too hard. You are the foundation on which my writing has grown and for that I am ever grateful. I never imagined saying goodbye to you would have become this easy but I can only see it as a positive that it has. You deserve happiness and I hope that smile of yours continues to light up peoples’ lives just as it did to mine.

You have been the dark horse this year in terms of who I have grown close to. You never fail to make me laugh. The atmosphere your presence creates is one that no-one else could ever compete with. I am going to miss you very much but I know there’ll be no getting rid of you over summer. Something I look forward to very much.

Oh my days, where do I begin with you. The memories I have of us are insane. Who does that stuff in school?! It’s a pity we grew apart. When I think back on all the stupid shit I did as a teenager I’m sure the majority of them will involve you. You were a good friend at times. The distance between us has probably been for the best.

There’s no easy way of saying this so I might as well get straight to it. I hate you. When I see you my stomach turns and I have to look away. I treated you like one of the Royals and I am deeply ashamed of that. You deserved no apology that day. What you said to me I will never forget. I have forgiven you, yes, though I cease to understand why or how. I shan’t waste anymore ink on you.

So that’s it. Job done. Finito. I have little else to say about you all. In total honesty, I dislike a lot more of you than I have included but if I was to write a paragraph on each of you, I would be repeating myself. Thank you all for contributing unknowingly and unwillingly to the creation of this post. Five years has finally been worth something, eh?

We Are All a Wreck

The inspiration for this post was ignited quite some time ago. However, tiny sparks have been catching and holding my attention lately and I have been unsuccessful in brushing them aside. A movement, a conversation, an uneasy look – that’s all it took to provoke this writing session. Something that may be deemed small to others has become the nucleus of my thoughts these days.

We hear so often of people whose personalities are overshadowed by their brash egos and their audacious arrogance. We find them intolerable. Out of sight does not always mean out of mind for these painstakingly infectious louts. My knowledge of physics is not the most in-depth, but is there not some law along the lines of “Every action has an equal and opposite reaction”? Don’t quote me on that, it is based on unreliable Transition Year recollection. But couldn’t that law also be said about us humans? If there are people who are simply submerged in this impudence surely there are those who are equally as submerged in insecurity and self-consciousness. So when are these individuals ever the topic of discussion?

Unfortunately, many of us experience these feelings of low self-esteem and self-worth due to our own personal ordeals which we may not be comfortable discussing or sharing with others. I’m not suggesting all case of low self-esteem arise from a past experience; many people feel this way for a number of reasons, some of which may not be possible to explain. One thing I’m positive of is that each of us, no matter who we are, has been in situations where we have felt doubtful and unsure of ourselves. Not even Cristiano Ronaldo is perfect all the time. Most of the time, but not all of the time.

The effects that those personal insecurities have on us can be devastating and extremely degrading. The worst part, though, may be that the majority of people closest to you may not even be aware of your fragile state. Sadly, people with low self-regard are both vulnerable and isolated in the most drastic of ways. For example, they may feel reluctant to engage in conversation if there is even one dominant voice to be heard. Similarly, they may find it difficult or even impossible to express themselves in the manner in which they had hoped to if they feel they may not be accepted for who they are.

Confidence is vital, especially during teenage years. However, real confidence is a rarity for most. By ‘real’ I mean the kind of confidence where a person’s opinion would be easily disregarded, even if it was that of Mr Simon Cowell.

My own encounters with these feelings were never too severe, though my memory may possibly be jaded. Yes I have been in situations where I was lacking in confidence. Yes I have felt isolated beyond what I imagined possible. But these brief encounters have been, as the adjective suggested, brief. By that I mean none have ever lasted longer than two years, give or take a few months. This may seem like a long time, but it is nothing compared to those who have battled those demons for the entirety of their lives.

It is a never-ending struggle between what one knows and what one believes. A person knows their own strengths. They know their talents. They know better than anyone the potential they have to be successful in life, whatever that may incorporate. And therein lies the problem. Society has us all brainwashed into believing that only a certain type of person can be successful in life. Those that play the piano and aspire to be surgeons, they are the people that will succeed in life. What utter bullshit.

Now that may be easy for me to say, but what about those whose confidence may not be as disposable as mine. They have no reason to believe any form of praise or commendation they receive because in their eyes, they are never worthy of it. Is it really okay for these people to live their lives in the shadow of who they could have been? Of course it’s not. But is there even a way of combatting this issue? I believe so. I may not have the answers but at least I am aware that there is a problem and that there should be help available for those that need it.

Can I just put it out there, a meeting twice a year with the guidance counsellor in school is by no means sufficient personal support within an institution. Firstly, no-one wants to pour their heart out to someone one day and then have to discuss career options with that same person the next. That’s not right and students shouldn’t be expected to do that. In my opinion, it should be made compulsory for schools to employ a personal counsellor in addition to having a guidance counsellor. Young people, especially in today’s society, need that option available to them at all times. I was blessed in that the one year that I needed professional help my school had a full-time counsellor. That should not be a blessing, it should be a standard.

This post has taken over a month to put together. Not because of its contents or how deeply I thought about what to say, no. Simply because I found it so hard to write about something I hadn’t fully experienced myself. This is mostly based on my observations of the people around me. This was for the people whose voices are permanently on mute. So if you haven’t been affected by this and have read it with ease, be grateful. Others aren’t that lucky.

A Teen's Perspective of The Debs

Ah, the debs. Such a prestigious event for all things teenage. A date marked in many a girl’s calendar a year in advance. A date looked forward to also by many a mother, considering it almost a pre-marriage preparation. An opportunity to spend quality time shopping with their daughter, perhaps for the last time. Well, at least the last time their understanding of the word ‘appropriate’ may be taken into consideration.

Am I jumping to conclusions here when I assume all of you know exactly what a “debs” is, and what it entails? Forgive me if I am. The debs is an abbreviation of the term ‘debutante ball’. This ball is basically an attempt made by the Irish (and Australians) to re-enact an American prom. From an onlooker’s perspective the debs may appear quite a respectable rite of passage for teens who have just sat their Leaving Cert exams. We hear of the hours spent worrying over the make-up which gets reapplied at least three times, the days of panicking spent deliberating over which dress fits best, the weeks spent relentlessly trying to cope with the agony of those six-inch heels that match the dress, and the months spent stressing and growing grey hairs over the most important aspect of the night: the plus-one.

As a girl in an all-girls school, surrounded by a group of girls every lunch as the debs is fast-approaching it is needless to say that very conversation (or therapy session, it’s a close call) has been had many, many times. And it’s only March. “Who am I going to go with?” “What if no-one asks me?” “I DON’T KNOW ANY BOYS”.

These regular traumatic fits are merely a scratch on the surface of the can of emotions a girl contains in regards to the debs. But at the end of the day, who actually gives a fuck? The only part of the night where a date would be needed is the photographs, and even that is optional. Perhaps at the start of the night people may notice who you have brought but that fascination takes all of 0.7 seconds to disintegrate. Like I said, no-one really cares. Fretting about a date for one night should be the least of your worries. If all comes to all you could just go with a group of friends; I’m sure it’s just as enjoyable. It’s not like you’re going to be thrown out at the door simply because you’re not accompanied by someone of the opposite sex, right?

*“Ah, now I see why she’s writing this. It’s one of her ranting sessions again.”* Yes, yes it is. But bear with me, it could be interesting.

Why should a date be of any concern to me? I will have been in a relationship for over a year by the time the debs rolls around. Surely the date aspect of my night is well and truly covered. Unfortunately this may not be the case. Apparently some people have a rigid problem with same-sex couples attending the debs together. It’s not “traditional”. Hold up… what? Since when is anything done according to traditions anymore? ‘Abstain from alcohol until the legal age’ ‘Abstain from sex until after marriage’. Well, as these traditions have already been fucked over (literally) why should this so-called tradition of male-female dates be enforced for one night? It bewilders me. Especially as most people are already used to seeing me with my girlfriend. And with same-sex marriage having been legalised merely a few months ago in Britain and it to be voted upon relatively soon in Ireland (with 79% of the population already having pledged to vote “yes”), how can any same-sex relationship possibly be rebuked on this one night?

To be quite frank, it’s nobody’s business who I choose as my plus-one. In fact it’s nobody’s business who anyone brings as their plus-one. People have a tendency to make it their business to interfere and cause problems on the one night when everyone is supposed to get along; at least for the sake of others.

On the other hand, maybe I am the one causing the problems here. Why don’t I just conform to society and take a guy? As I already emphasised many times it’s only one night. So surely I can abide by society’s rules for one measly night? I will in my fuck. This should not be an issue. This should not be something I must fight for. Most of all this should not be something I have to write a blog about just to garner some attention and support. Whose decision is it anyway? Who makes that call? I’d love to meet them. Because to deprive me of my girlfriend on such an anticipated night, they’d want to have a serious amount of reasons prepared.

I cannot speak for anyone else here but, for me, being able to be with my girlfriend on such a memorable night is definitely what I am looking forward to most. And who wouldn’t feel that way if they were in a relationship when the debs were taking place? It’s the ideal situation, yet is only a reality for a small amount of people. Why should I or any other person in a same-sex relationship have to sacrifice this luck for a failing society? Because that’s all it is. A society failing to treat everyone equally. A society failing to protect some of the most vulnerable of its community from exclusion and abuse. But more importantly than anything else, it is a society seeping in a form of discrimination that is so common it has almost become acceptable.

The debs may seem like a miniscule dilemma in comparison to the national or even worldwide treatment of homosexuals or bisexuals, but for me it is everything. It was (and still can be) hard enough to handle the various responses I have received and will continue to receive due to my sexual orientation. For some of you, you may never again be a part of a society where one person (I refer to myself here) is so outspoken about being bisexual. You may never experience homosexuality of any kind ever again. So would you not experience even the tiniest of feelings of warmth and goodness within you knowing that you made a huge difference to such an important night? Not just for my benefit, but for the hundreds of other teens in the same boat as me in this very society. For the thousands in this country. Not to mention the thousands upon thousands of the generations that are to succeed us.

I’m all for independence but I need your support now. Help me to bury the bones of this homophobic society.

The Truth Is...

The truth is… I am a complicated person. I have many flaws. I have many peeves. I have many insecurities. But I quite like that about myself. I have been blessed with the daily challenge of figuring out and understanding why I am the way I am. What made me who I am? Mistakes. Tears. Regrets. Great joys and great failures. The list could go on but I’m sure mine is quite similar to yours. The nature of life itself brought me to where I am today. Though in my opinion, it could’ve written my fate on a nicer path.

The truth is… I definitely have O.C.D. Maybe not the most extreme form of it, but it is certainly present in my system. Needing to know precisely what I’m doing and at what time for the coming week, putting items on in a certain order e.g. necklace first, then rings, bracelets, etc. , eating my food in a particular order. Okay you get my point. Is it something of my concern? Not in the slightest. I also keep a list of everyone who has read my blog and each time I get another view from someone, I put a smiley face sticker next to their name. I keep it under my pillow.

I’m joking, obviously. I can’t even see who actually reads my blog. So calm down, I’m not a fucking stalker.

The truth is… I’m a self-confessed stalker. On Facebook only though, anywhere else would be creepy. Oh, and Twitter. And sometimes Bebo, if the mood is right. This requires extreme cuteness and concentration. No-one should know about the uncanny amount of time I spend looking through peoples’ old photos. I repeat no-one.

The truth is… I’m a good liar. This, my friends, is a talent. Not an admirable one but a talent nonetheless. It requires credibility and muscular control – one twitch and you’re out. I try to be as honest as possible, for the most part. Unfortunately it is not always easy to resist a little white lie here and there. By the way, calling it a ‘white lie’ does not justify anything. It does not clear my name. It just makes me a chancing little lying fuck.

The truth is… I want to run away. Anywhere would do me. I’m not a fussy person. But preferably somewhere with Starbucks and Americans. I feel that this growing urgency has arisen from the knowledge that, had I not spent an extra year in school, I would be starting my life in just over six months. By that I am referring to college life. I am an impatient person. It is an undeniable flaw of mine. If I had it my way, I would be living somewhere abroad now, getting paid to write this shit.

The truth is… I am a romantic. Yes it may seem unlikely and surprising for those of you that don’t know me, but I am weak for all things lovey-dovey. Well, most. But come on, I write poetry. You should have seen this coming. I shan’t go into details as it is rather hard to explain. Let’s just say I can be quite sentimental and the finest of details are majorly important to me. See? O.C.Freakin.D.

The truth is… I still battle depression. Not as often as before, thank God. But it is still prominent enough to be seen as a characteristic of mine. It doesn’t hit on a regular basis but when it does, it hits like the Titanic hit the iceberg. I sink into an unknown darkness and there is no escaping the resulting effects. Loss of the ability to speak, hysterically crying and/or screaming, isolation – these are just a few. Luckily it doesn’t last very long – a week at most.

The truth is… I live for the weekends. As do most socialising teens my age. Not for the nights out and heavy drinking sessions, however. That’s not my scene. Simply for the freedom to do as I please (within reason) and go as I please (also within reason). I don’t think I have had a stay-at-home weekend at all this year, which is incredible. Thanks to my O.C.D tendencies I always have plans at the ready.

The truth is… I prefer girls. Don’t question it, just accept it as all of you did on hearing that I was bisexual. It doesn’t change anything. Just that I am more likely to have a girlfriend than a boyfriend. That does not give you the right to call me a lesbian. That statement was for all you lazy-ass motherfuckers that can’t/couldn’t be bothered to recollect any other term besides ‘gay’. Yeah, fuck you all. I don’t have a problem with lesbians or being a lesbian. But if I was a lesbian I would’ve said it. So it pisses me off that some people decide to alter my sexuality simply because it rolls off their tongue easier. Also, just because I am attracted to girls does not mean I am attracted to all girls. “I don’t feel comfortable getting changed in front of you”. Oh please, don’t flatter yourself. Funny story actually, I once found out that all of a group of my friends had shifted each other. All of them. The so-called straight ones. Anyway, one of them actually said to me “We didn’t ask you because you might’ve liked it”. All I could do was laugh. For those of you that were a part of that group activity, I would never touch off one of you, even if it was only “for the laugh”. Just saying.

The truth is… Music is my life. I could not last a day without it. I wake up to music, get dressed to it, drive to school with it playing, and then when I get home my iPod is permanently on in my bedroom. It’s on right now. “Just Give Me a Reason” by Pink, for those of you that were wondering. Music helps me to find ways of expressing myself. Though it may not seem it, writing is very closely linked to music. And I don’t just mean because you write lyrics, obviously. Music helps me to decide on my emotions; writing allows me to express them. I listen to a wide variety of artists, ranging from My Chemical Romance to One Direction. I do not associate by who they are, but rather what they write about. Lyrics are the most important aspect of a song for me. The song “A Year from Now” by Across Five Aprils involves no actual singing. The lyrics are spoken, accompanied by acoustic guitars. The words are so powerful that no melody is needed. If you are suffering from a broken heart and are longing to find someone that understands, I would suggest you look it up.

The truth is… I have self- harmed. As you all know, I have had this blog since the beginning of September. Since then I have wondered would I ever speak about this. But it’s the truth. It’s a part of me. When I speak about being “scarred for life” I mean it literally. At the time I felt it helped me. A few weeks after I started regretting it. Now I look back and don’t regret it at all. If you lose respect for me because of that, so be it. When I look at my scars I don’t see failure or pain. I see the battles that I have been through and the war I have won.

The truth is… I have amazing friends. Most of them will probably give out to me for writing that. But yes, I love them. They are the only group of friends that I have ever had that fully accept me for who I am. And one of the best parts is I know they’ll be reading this because they support what I do. Guys, I freakin’ love you. Mwah.

The truth is… Writing is my passion. My name seems to have been far too associated with sport growing up. Perhaps because my writing habits have only really surfaced the past year. But honestly, forget sport. Writing is everything to me. I physically need writing to survive. I love the feeling at the end of writing something, especially is you feel it’s something special. Basically what I’m saying is I’m a writer. Not a soccer player or a footballer, not a musician – a writer. Anyone that says otherwise doesn’t understand me. But I have faith that most of you reading this do. After all, it’s because of you that I have so much inspiration.

How Not To Get Over Your Ex

As we are fast-approaching the big V-day, most of us are probably wishing we could indulge in a day of romance with that one person we long for. Luckily I am awaiting my first ever Valentine’s Day as a girlfriend. But for those of you who aren’t quite so fortunate, this post is dedicated to you. To ensure that complete isolation is achieved, I have devised a simple set of guidelines I would recommend you follow. You’re welcome.

1.     Whip out the Adele album

Or any other record that can convince you just as easily that your life is as good as over without your beloved. Tracks like “Don’t You Remember” and “Someone Like You” are sure to keep you in touch with your feelings of dejection and melancholy, leading inevitably to a longing for the gentle caress of your ex-lover. With thousands of love songs at your disposal thanks to good ol’ YouTube, you can experience hours and hours of agony with the click of a button. Heck, if you’re feeling lazy you can even Google ‘heartbreak songs’, or something of similar meaning. Sorted.

2.     Movie nights in.

If the tunes aren’t doing enough for you, why not re-enact a night when you and your ex cuddled up on the sofa for a romantic movie marathon? It’s just as fun on your own, if not better. Duvet to yourself, double the amount of popcorn, and no time-consuming kisses which divert your attention from the screen.

Okay I’m lying here, you’re going to be feeling pretty crap if you do that. But hey, this is how not to get over your ex. I’m meant to be making you feel like crap.

Thinking-out-loud session over, moving swiftly on.

3.     Call them, maybe?

Make it a daily occurrence. Set a reminder on your phone or write it on your hand if necessary. When they stop answering, put your number on private. The curiosity will force them to pick up. When they block your number do not despair, they have only blocked one number. You have access to many numbers. Do not hesitate to avail of them. Hesitation is an admission of defeat.

4.     Socialising also admits defeat

The night you decide to join your friends on a fun night out is the night you have lost the battle. These ‘friends’ are not trying to “help you” they are attempting to ruin your life. If your ex sees you out having a good time (which you obviously won’t have anyway, because you’re miserable) they will immediately assume you are over them. And you don’t want that, oh no. As the wise words of Adele told us, your life is over without love. Basically what I’m saying is this:

Friends = life ruiners.

Fun = death-trap.

Adele = lyrical Goddess.

Do the right thing – stay at home. Preferably alone.

5.     Major stalking sessions are vital

Once again, this should be a daily occurrence. If not, you’re giving up. Want to be known as a quitter? No? Then get your ass onto Facebook, Twitter or whatever social networks they are a part of. Their name should be prominent in your search bar. ‘Like’ all their oldest pictures - it shows your level of interest in a most positive manner. Send them long messages – they will appreciate the amount of thought you spent on them. In fact, leave a short message on their profile every time they cross your mind. “I’m thinking of you” is always a nice one. Make sure it’s public so as that everyone can see your thoughtfulness. It’s a no-brainer.

6.     Keep everything

By this I mean all the things you have gathered during the relationship such as love letters, pictures, or even the teddy they won you at the funfair (when does that ever actually happen?). Buy the perfume/after-shave they use or even the fabric conditioner they wash their clothes with. This will satisfy all cravings for their scent long after it is gone. Keep buying their favourite brand of chocolate in case they ever call over – you don’t want to be caught empty handed when you should’ve been anticipating their knock, or they’ll never return. Also, it’s been proven that 87% of relationships are mended over a bar of chocolate.

That last sentence wasn’t true. Sorry, I got carried away.

7.     Leave them notes

This involves a tad more sneakiness on your behalf. If you’re in school with them, drop a note on their desk or in their bag. Do it at a time that would be seemingly impossible, like when both of you are not in the vicinity of the school. Or so it seemed, wink wink. If school is not an option you may have to go with the more obvious approach and write your message in chalk outside their house. Or bedroom window. Or if their window is open why not seize the opportunity and jump right in? A few loving words under a pillowcase is no crime, is it?

8.     Analyse everything they say

If they make statuses or tweets, they are most likely targeted at you. If they share song videos or even mention them, yep it’s probably because the song reminds them of you. If their status reads “Loving the single life” that is most definitely a challenge set for you. They want you back. They thought they were happy being single before they met you, now they want you to woo them all over again. They’re so in love with you, it’s quite cringy how obvious they’re making it. Go get them back, tiger.