Looks Can Be Deceiving

How many people does each of us walk past every day, do you think? I certainly don’t know. Let’s be more specific so, how many people does each of us walk past every day in our respective workplaces? In my case, I walk past hundreds of girls in blue uniforms, unfamiliar faces that mean nothing to me, nor should they. It’s not my business to know their business; in fact it would be rather intrusive of me if I did. Sometimes though, these faces reveal a lot more to me than they probably intend to. I see faces trying to hide secrets by blending in with the crowd, and for the most part they succeed in doing so.

How many of us have walked past someone and immediately thought “She’s not okay” or “There’s something wrong with him.” It’s very easy to look at someone we don’t know and identify their problems because we know we won’t actually have to confront them about it. Yet when it comes to those closest to us, we are prone to handing their problems an invisibility cloak and looking the other way.

“Sure give it a few days and they’ll be fine.” Oh how I loathe this expression. It’s almost as if we give people the benefit of the doubt, as if we could most definitely be a source of support if it was necessary. As if our care is too sacred to be wasted on someone that doesn’t hold the required credentials. We like to imagine that people with issues magically resolve them by being left on their own to pick up the pieces of their shattered world. “A bit of space is what they need, that’s all.” Sound familiar? Is it perhaps something you may have whispered in the past? Now I’m not trying to pin everything on us that make little effort to involve ourselves in the lives of others, oh no. I mean, it’s obvious that this is just a matter of confidence. We feel inadequate as foundations of insight and support, and we firmly believe that we will in no way, shape or form be able to assist this person in their recovery. What most of us don’t realise, however, is that any form of support can make the greatest of impacts.

Take my story, for example. During my darkest hours I had but two friends that never once treated me any differently to before I started losing control of my life. One of those girls helped me by only ever allowing me to briefly discuss my worries with her before quickly changing the subject to something she knew would make me smile (HSM songs). The other friend aided me in my recovery by never once questioning my actions, she just listened. It was rare for either of those girls to ever respond with prodigious words of wisdom, but they were there for me every day when I was invisible to everyone else.

Neither of those girls gave me lifelong advice that have stuck with me to this day and that I can recite to you now, in fact they didn’t even know how to reply to some of the things I told them. What those girls did for me though was far greater than any of that. They made me feel safe. They reminded me that I wasn’t going through it alone. They may not have said it upfront to me (they weren’t the kind) but I knew they cared. Knowing that alone gave me the strength not to give up on myself. They may not have given me the help I had been longing and hoping for, but they ensured I never gave up searching for it. And that’s more than I could’ve ever asked of them.

I don’t think we realise just how much of an impact we each can make by simply asking someone how they are. As a matter of fact, it is so rare for someone to ask us how we are that we should not be so foolish as to answer “I’m fine” if we’re clearly not fine. What does “I’m fine” even mean these days? Does it mean “I appreciate the effort you have made but I shan’t put you under any further stress by enlightening you as to how I really feel.” Ah yes, and then the concerned friend (that’s us) responds with “Are you sure?” translating as “Am I really off the hook?” with the straightforward answer being “Yes.” Why all the pretence? I wish someone had asked me how I was three years ago… “Actually I fell asleep crying last night and I think I’m suffering from depression.” Respond to that one, bitch.

I’ve sworn to myself that if any person ever comes to me with a problem I will do my utmost to be there for them. I made this decision because I know first-hand what it’s like to sit at home wishing that the phone would vibrate or the doorbell would ring. I have spent hours sitting on the floor of my bedroom looking into the mirror, enjoying imaginary conversations I hoped would someday take place, which in reality never did. I used to pretend to host a sort of talk show where I was interviewing myself, allowing myself the opportunity I was never given to tell my side of the story. At that age I assumed this was how every person dealt with their problems – on their own. I was too young to know that I deserved support. My peers were also too young and too blissfully unaware to even consider being that support. And so I tried my level best to put on a brave face and get on with things. To a certain extend I succeeded in doing so as many may not have fully understood my story until I set up this blog. I became a face in the crowd trying to hide my secrets by blending in, and it worked.

This is why I can easily pick out those people that I pass each day that have a thousand things flowing through their mind. It shows, it really does. Cracks begin to appear and before long your deepest thoughts are smeared across your smile for everyone to see. To be fair, the majority of people utilising this coping method get away with it. But this is not because of how they have mastered the art of deceiving, it’s because we, the onlookers, only see the person. We see them, we don’t look at them.

If we were all just that bit more aware of those around us maybe we could be the difference between giving up and getting up. Maybe, just maybe we could save someone. When we start to ignore a person’s problem, they follow suit and before we have time to reconsider it, the problem has escalated to heights it should never have reached.

If we could step outside our comfort zone for a brief moment we could make a difference we never imagined possible. But are we still too afraid of the unknown depths of a person’s mind to take that step? I believe we are. In fact, I don’t think we’ll ever willingly be so selfless as to offer up our support knowing we are not benefitting from it. Or are we? I know the answer to that, yet I’m positive some of you never will. So go on, now is your chance to shut me up. Take that step. Prove me wrong, I dare you.

Wrapping Up 2013 With a Splash of Gratitude

With 2013 wrapping up nicely in just a few short hours I have dragged myself away from the food and festivities for a moment to reflect on the year. And what a year it has been. From extreme highs to not-so-low lows, 2013 has been one massive steamroller of successes for me. I came within touching distance of my idols, realised the career I wish to pursue, made a decision to give up on a goal that was no longer sought after and most of all, I made thousands of precious memories.

Because that’s what it’s all really about, isn’t it? The memories. Funnily enough,  it’s not the things I did this year that come to mind upon reflection, more so the people that were by my side through it all. So this one is for them. A sort of thank you, if you like. A token of my appreciation. You made my year fabulous, now sit back and gloat to your hearts’ content as I show you why.

To my family ~

Now, there are quite a lot of you so I won’t be naming any names here. This is to all of you. Firstly, the Dawson side. I’d like to thank those of you that were so kind to have hosted parties this year which I was invited to; they were very enjoyable. Seeing the whole family together is an extremely rare happening and one which I cherish dearly. Nothing tops a family reunion to celebrate the birth of a loved one (or in our family’s case, the free alcohol). I wish to apologise if my beautiful face has been missed in Westport, as I have not been able to pay as many visits this year as I would’ve liked. Summer was hectic, with work taking up the majority of my time and the need for a social life a close second. I wish to see more of you wonderful people in the coming months.

As for the local fam, quite frankly I see you all too often and this will have to cease. Of course I’m joking; it’s rather lovely having you lot three minutes down the road. Christmas Day wouldn’t have been the same had I not been in your presence. Two brief specific mentions: Conor, I have missed you. Eoin, congrats on the new blog, welcome to the clan. I shall now promote it here à http://braidedineoin.blogspot.ie/

To my friends ~

In case anyone feels they have the right to include themselves in this restricted category let me make it clear – this is to the Lissivigeeners. Yes, we have named ourselves and yes it feels a bit odd sharing it publically but no I am not ashamed. There are around eight or nine of you that have filled this year with laughter and life. I am very appreciative of all of you and I want to take this opportunity to thank you for accepting me for who I am – a townie. I may have been born in Woodlawn but I was bred here amongst you wild culchies and that has shaped who I am today. I would be lost without all of you. Especially on a night out when we hit the town in numbers and I can always rely on one of you being somewhere in Mustangs. I love that our friendships were sown at the river and have blossomed this summer as we made our way slowly but surely into K-Town. I am blessed to be a part of such a welcoming, accepting bunch of alcohol… amigos. I look forward to many more memories being made with you all this year.

To my girl ~

What can I say? Another year comes to an end with you by my side. Who would’ve thought it, eh? We’ve come through so much this year and we’re stronger than ever. You’re my rock but you already know that. I just want all of these other people to know that too. Other people, I wouldn’t have a blog if it wasn’t for this girl! You’ve made this year perfect for me. When I think back, all of the best days I’ve had were with you. We have so many incredible memories to take from 2013 and I’m not going to attempt to list them all because I couldn’t. There are far too many. You know and I know, that’s the most important thing. I’m so happy you’re going to be here with me to ring in the New Year. A year ago we promised we’d be together for it and we’ve kept that promise.

Trust me, I know how lucky I am to have you in my life and to be quite honest, it still puzzles me as to why you came so willingly into it. I wish I could say “the day I first met you” but that wouldn’t be entirely true as I probably didn’t even know your name that day, so I’ll stick to the truth. The day I got your BBM pin was the day I really started to live. I wanted to live. I had been given a reason to live. Since then you’ve changed my life completely and given me something no-one else ever has – great fashion advice. I’m kidding, you’ve given me your heart and I swear to God I’ll owe you forever for that. I’ve tried to keep this soft side of me hush hush from everyone for quite some time now but with this clear admission of emotions, I have caved. I love you; always have, always will. Let’s start 2014 as we hope to end it – together.

 So that’s it, my final post of 2013 has come to an end. I asked of myself this time last year would I still be writing in a year’s time and the answer is of course yes. I have plenty more words of wisdom I would like to share with you all, though they will certainly be dispersed throughout the year (Leaving Cert and all that jazz). For now though, I’d like to say farewell to this year of blogging and wish you all a very happy and healthy New Year.

See you tonight, alcos. 

My Greatest Fear

For those of you that have been so kind as to read this, you may be expecting a typically clichéd fear. You know spiders, insects, height, et cetera. It would seem fitting to write about such topics with the 2013 series of ‘I’m a Celebrity’ having just drawn to a close. However, my fear is not something you can see, as such. It’s far greater than a dread of flying or being terrorised by crocodiles. This fear of mine is not one that I will ever be able to conquer in my lifetime I should assume, nor do I ever wish to have that opportunity. So here it is, my deepest secret revealed. What’s my greatest fear? Cancer.

It has occurred to me in recent weeks that this disease has claimed the lives of three of the four relatives whose funerals I have attended. The first of which was my grandfather who died when I was eight years old. My ambiguous recollection of him leaves but one clear image in my mind: him and his pipe. I guess you could assume it caught up on him. In the past six months I have lost another two relatives at the hands of cancer. They say it can be hereditary and that worries me. The thought of dying old gracefully does not scare me, but one mention of chemotherapy or finding a lump and I freak.

Cancer is so commercialised these days that it’s almost become the norm. Any successful soap will at some stage have incorporated cancer into its storyline and chosen a character to deal with the incurring predicament they are faced with. But how can any actor, no matter how talented, portray realistically the emotions of a cancer victim? Unless they have previously battled the disease and know first-hand what it entails I find it hard to see any such performance as plausible. Plus, what person in their right mind would agree to pretend to have cancer after going through that traumatic ordeal already? I would imagine once is more than enough.

It frustrates me that there is yet to be a certain, verified, official cure for cancer. I accept that there are different treatments available and that not all cancers are terminal but what I can’t accept is this seemingly worldwide belief that this disease will forever be irrepressible. How is it possible that we have sent people to the moon and yet we have not made a definite discovery in the area of carcinogens?  People are employed globally to work full-time towards finding this long-awaited cure yet they never prevail. To say I am angry would be an understatement and to suggest that I am afraid of becoming ill makes little of my turmoil. I need there to be some finding, some revelation that will ease my worries. In reality I will never awake to such news. What I can guarantee, though, is that I will attend many more funerals of fatalities of this disease and it could one day even be the foundation of my own.

I am not so much afraid of being diagnosed myself as I am of others nearest to me receiving such news. To even consider any of my loved ones being diagnosed brings about an overwhelming sensation of numbness. How would I cope with such news? No words could describe it. I would break in that moment, my whole world would shatter into a thousand jagged fragments and that would be it. No more would become of me. I see programmes on TV where people have been told they have three months to live and they step outside, guns a blazing, ready to make the most of what time they have left. The strength that must take is beyond my comprehension. I know personally that I could never show such courage. But, dare I say it, perhaps that is one positive which can be taken from such a life-altering experience. You learn to appreciate life for what it is, not what it might be or what it could’ve been. Cancer does not have time for “what ifs”. Cancer does not wait around until you feel you are ready to say goodbye. You can rely solely on what the doctor said but at the end of the day, unless this doctor can see into the future or is in fact God Himself, I would strongly advise against predictions. Doctors told my family that my uncle, who died Thursday last, had but a few weeks to live. That was five years ago.

I guess my reasoning behind this post is that I want to get people to be more appreciative of what they have and what they don’t have. Cancer is not restricted to any one age group or type of person. Just because you smoke doesn’t mean you’re going to get cancer. But at the same time, just because you eat well and look after yourself doesn’t make you immune either. My uncle was what you could consider a grade A human being. He ate well, kept extremely fit, didn’t smoke, didn’t drink, and went for regular check-ups… Cancer spread all over his body and all he could put it down to was chance. What was the chance he’d be diagnosed with cancer? What was the chance he’d fight the battle for over five years? And what was the chance that after five years of waiting his death would still cause so much heartache?

Like I’ve said, cancer is unpredictable. It’s a disease which will loom over each of our existences for as long as we will live. The only time we will truly have defied cancer is when we die; how ironic. Don’t wait until the news gets in that you have been affected by this disease. Do something about it now. Visit a relative, say a prayer, for God’s sake even write a blog post. Just don’t let it creep up on you like it has done to me. I can assure you that none of us will escape the wrath of cancer. No-one is that lucky, regardless of what the doctor says.

Confronting the Fears and Speculations of Counselling

With Mental Health Awareness Day just around the corner (10^th October) I thought now the appropriate time to write about what some may consider a taboo subject – counselling.

I completely understand the awkwardness surrounding the topic. Counselling is an extremely intimate, personal experience that not many people would be happy to openly discuss, especially on the internet. I, however, am not afraid to delve deep into the mystery and stigma associated with an unquestionably beneficial service.

In an attempt to loosen the grip on those ropes of tension by which counselling is grasped by you lot, I wish to speak to you about my own bout of therapy. As many of you may already know, and as I have already shared with you in previous posts, I have experienced my fair share of trauma these past few years. Although I am proud to say I faced a large amount on my own and pushed through, I would’ve fallen more than a few feet short had I not made the decision to speak to the school counsellor. I will never forget that day because it was the best decision I’ve ever made. I was the definition of an absolute wreck and I felt less than worthless. Going into her pokey room that afternoon with nowhere to hide, I firmly believed no amount of professional help could save me – I was already dead inside.

I spent over nine months battling through each little war I faced into. During that time I was asked to leave the school, which I undoubtedly refused to do. I was appalled that an institution who supposedly had a care team watching my every move could even suggest I run away from my problems. As part of an “agreement” which would allow me to remain a student in the school, I was obliged to attend counselling with an alternative counsellor outside the school walls.

By the end of the nine gruesome months I had attended sessions with three different counsellors, only one of which I actually benefitted from. Despite my unsuccessful encounters with the other two, I would not be here writing this today were it not for that one counsellor that stood by me through my darkest hours. You won’t be surprised to hear that the one counsellor I hold all the gratitude towards is the first one. The counsellor I chose to speak to without any outside influence.

From my own experience I can tell you first-hand that counselling really did save me. I had other outlets I relied on too, obviously, such as writing, music and speaking to friends, but nothing helped me more than the realisation that I needed professional interference. Counselling is useless and a complete waste of time if you don’t believe you need to be there. Anyone can be pushed into an hour a week of some stranger reminding you in polite terms how fucked up you are. The only time that is beneficial is when you agree with them from the bottom of your heart and you’re not kidding yourself. For one particular counselling service I was placed on a six week waiting list, just for one session. If you’re not committed to the help you’re receiving don’t waste your time, or theirs. There are plenty of people out there dying (quite literally) for the opportunity you are being granted and ironically taking for granted.

What I’m trying to say is that when you open up to the idea of counselling, the rewards at the end of your final session are priceless. One thing I learned from my time there was communication. I always struggled to express my feelings in the correct manner, leading to a massive build-up of frustration within me. Even a few weeks into the sessions and I could feel an improvement – both mentally and emotionally. I felt the knots inside of me begin to untangle themselves. Another lesson I learnt was how to trust in someone. I don’t mean the ‘I trust you with my secret’ kind of trust; I mean the ‘I trust you will save my life’ kind. I finally found someone I knew would remain loyal to me no matter what I told them, no matter how I spoke to them, and no matter how awfully I treated them on occasion. I realised that regardless of how problematic I was, this person would never stop believing in me. In my case, this person was a female. But having worked with both male and female counsellors I believe it’s simply down to whoever you connect with first. For me, it was a woman named Grace. A complete stranger when I initially spoke to her who became my saviour overnight.

If it was up to me, every faculty of education would provide a counselling service for students all year round. You can’t predict when someone will need help. Feelings aren’t timetabled; you can’t expect someone to avail of the services simply because they are only on offer this week and it’s either now or pay for it privately outside of school. Counsellors should be employed in every school and by this I am not referring to career guidance teachers who claim to be a “guidance counsellor” on the side. No, I mean an official counsellor whose only concern is the mental wellbeing of the students wearing that particular uniform. In my school we are currently being assigned slots in which we must decide our careers with the guidance counsellor. These slots are fifteen minutes long. If my school can only afford to designate fifteen minutes per student for the entirety of the school year to career advice, how can anyone expect a student to approach this teacher to discuss personal issues which may take longer than the assigned time to resolve?

One day when all schools have a full-time counsellor in place, I hope students are less afraid to speak out than we all seem to be right now. It’s great to see the progress being made in promoting suicide awareness, but could we not take it a step further and do something which could possibly prevent it from happening in the first place? Maybe if counselling wasn’t seen as such a shameful service more people would be brave enough to make that one decision that could save their life. Young people in particular need to stop being so scared of asking for help. I’m not alone in saying that you will not regret it. I think one of the best feelings of my whole experience was knowing that if I ever did relapse, I had a safety net there to pick me up again.

If there is anyone reading this and considering getting professional help, I would encourage you that the sooner you speak up, the better. It can be a long road to recovery but the journey you are taken on is so worthwhile. I learnt more about myself in those nine months than I ever could have in my seventeen years. I can promise that you will too. The only regret you’ll have is that it took a seventeen year old ex-counselee to persuade you to seek the happiness everyone in this world deserves, including you.

A Rumour a Day Keeps the Gossipers at Bay

I have found that in the past few months there have been a few people relentlessly conjuring up rumours about me in an attempt to destroy my relationships. These people, who I have fantasized punching on more than one occasion, mean absolutely nothing to me. Therefore I should mean nothing to them, right? It appears not to be the case. Being so fixated on my life, I would imagine they spend a good 70% of their time plotting ways to attack me and make my life miserable. Though they have fantastically failed, their games are becoming quite like a vexatious kid bouncing a ball outside your window while you try to watch Grey’s Anatomy. At first, it’s cute and laughable. But after four or five bounces you just want to take the ball, stick a knife into it, and throw it into a heap of cow shit in the field next to their house.

I find rumours a little hard to get my head around. By that I mean I don’t understand where they come from, why they are created, and who could be bored enough with their own life to take such a profound interest in someone else’s. If you’re that bored, why not make up something about yourself and spread it. It could become a new trendy hobby, or something. What fascinates me the most is the depth these stories can reach. The amount of detail included is phenomenal. The location, the individuals involved, their names, their cats’ names, their shoe size, the time of day, the TV show that is usually on at that time that they should’ve been glued to but they weren’t because they were too busy having a threesome blindfolded with a horse in a swimming pool. Literally, you people that come up with rumours should be accomplished authors by now, ‘cause your imagination is fucking flawless. If you want an outlet for your thoughts about others, make a blog – it’s great for talking shit about people and getting away with it. Don’t talk shit verbally, that’s just rude.

On a more serious note I’d like to ask why exactly people take such pleasure in spreading rumours. Is it a sadistic behavioural problem? Do you need help? So you started a rumour and it circulated the town in an enlarged game of Chinese whispers – what have you personally gained from it? Recognition? No. Respect? No. Friends? Temporarily, maybe. A reputation? Yes. A good reputation? No, you’re a shit-stirrer. All that leaves you with is the knowledge that you’ve fucked with someone’s life. Does that make you happy? If yes, you have a sadistic behavioural problem and you need help.

In essence, spreading rumours is like taking drugs. Once is never enough and the pleasure is never satisfactory. So you do it again and again, and eventually it becomes second nature to you. But after a while it looks like you’ve sniffed too much powder and society notices the bullshit beginning to shoot up your nose at the same rate that it’s flying out of your mouth. People begin to wonder where you obtained all of the information you’re sharing and question how much of their own information you may have already twisted into a finger-lickin’ good story. When these people realise that what you’ve been telling them are in fact lies, where do you go from there? No credibility, no dignity, no trust, and no respect – you’re undeniably pathetic. And what do you have to show for it? A career in children’s fiction, perhaps.

 As I sit here writing this, I can feel the frustration bubbling inside me at these dynasties that enjoy tampering with peoples’ lives. Then I start to think of the other folk who keep the rumours alive. The gossipers as I like to call them. Are they partially to blame? Of course they are. They’re the oxygen that fuels the fire and keeps it burning lives. Now I’m not claiming executive powers here and suggesting I have never gossiped. I could not claim to be a woman if I hadn’t. Gossiping is healthy to a certain extent. But when you hear a rumour that you know isn’t true and you decide not to confront the people discussing it, you may as well have started it. You may not have produced this rumour, but you’ve bloody well endorsed it.

Rumours are most definitely an issue amidst our young generation. We seem to have mastered spreading stories as if it is some sort of art. Especially if you dislike the person whom it is referring to. God, I could write a whole other blog post on potential rumours about people I dislike / borderline hate. If these persons I dislike continue to aggravate me further I might just consider it. NAMES INCLUDED. I just love being cruel, it's far too much fun. (I have a sadistic behavioural problem and I am getting help).

The Lyrics That Define My Life

It has become quite apparent to me that when I am lacking the inspiration to write, I turn to music as an alternative source of expression. Then with a little encouragement, I decided I would dedicate a blog post solely to lyrics. By this I mean I’m going to share with you my all-time favourite lines from songs on my iPod, and explain to you why it is that I love them so very much. If you fear my musical interests are not to your liking, fear not – this is entirely focused on the words, not the thundering drums or screaming, hell-bent vocalists.

“Tears stream down your face, when you lose something you cannot replace” – Fix You, Coldplay

I’m sure you’re familiar with these lyrics taken from one of the most iconic songs of the’ noughties’. Pretty self-explanatory this one – if I listen to it with enough concentration on the words, they make me cry. Shocker I know, I never cry. I think I actually cry even more when I play it on guitar. I get way too into it.

“Is this what it feels like, finding out that I’ve got the guts to say anything” – Guts, All Time Low

As one of my favourite songs by this band, this line fills me with self-belief and the strength to keep doing whatever it is that I’m doing. Be it helping a friend, sharing my opinion or even writing these blogs, all it takes to get me really pumped is a listen to this song; that line in particular.

“Bid my blood to run, before I come undone, save me from the nothing I’ve become” – Bring Me to Life, Evanescence

All that comes to mind when I hear those lines is sitting in the car park in Tesco late one evening over the Christmas holidays a few years ago, hating life. It was the year I woke up Christmas morning and spent over two hours crying in bed. How depressing, right? It also reminds me of my younger cousin once ripping my sleeves open in front of my whole family so he could “check me”. How thoughtful of him. Little shit.

“You shoot me down but I won’t fall, I am titanium” – Titanium, David Guetta feat. Sia

Ah, Titanium. A song that continues to plague me to this day. Not that I mind, though. Ever since I played it for a girl’s Leaving Cert music practical, it has literally haunted me. I hear it everywhere. But like I said, I don’t really mind. It reminds me of some good memories and even begins to make me regret the bad ones. And besides all the personal shizz, it’s still a tune.

“Life’s too short to even care at all” – Cough Syrup, Young the Giant

Most people, myself included, probably wouldn’t know this song if it wasn’t for Glee, which is why I have linked the Glee version, and also as that is the version on my iPod. I like to think that I live by the message of this lyric but as always, life happens and not giving a shit becomes less of an option. I suppose it’s a good thing that I’m usually forced to care because when I don’t care, I’m very much a bitch.

“When everything feels like the movies, yeah you bleed just to know you’re alive” – Iris, The Goo Goo Dolls

Has my life ever felt like a movie? Yes. Have I ever bled just to feel alive? Yes.

“I kissed a girl and I liked it” – I Kissed a Girl, Katy Perry

Catapulting Ms Perry onto the music scene, this song was released in 2008 when I was in 1^st year of secondary school. I guess when I used to sprint upstairs to listen to this song every day after school we should’ve all put two and two together.

“We started out; I’d forget your name. The more you smiled at me, the more I lost my way” – Roses in the Summertime, Keywest

A girl. Small bit shorter than me. Quiet. Dark hair. Funny run. Observing her. I like her. What’s her name? Where’s she from? Nice smile. Good teeth. Does she have a boyfriend? I want her. Could she ever want a girlfriend? Could she ever want me? Hmm. Challenge accepted.

“I promise I’m always there, when your heart is full of sadness and despair” – Footprints in the Sand, Leona Lewis

Friendships are more important to me now than ever before. Especially since a few have shipped out and started college. The thought of losing them is terrifying. Which is why I felt a surge of relief and emotion come over me when my best friend played this song and told me she thought of me when she listened to it. I’m blessed, I know I am.

“And I know I may end up failing too, but I know you were just like me with someone disappointed in you” – Numb, Linkin Park

I have failed people many times in my life. More than the average person, I would imagine. People had expectations of me and I disappointed. But I’m not the first person to let someone down, nor will I be the last. Don’t set the bar so high for someone if you can’t reach it yourself first.

“A certificate on paper isn’t gonna solve it all, but it’s a damn good place to start” – Same Love, Macklemore & Ryan Lewis feat. Mary Lambert

I remember being told about this song by a friend way before it had been released. I didn’t think much of it – too political for my liking. But then it hit me just how significant that song could end up being and how much support it could garner for the cause. For same-sex marriage. Now when I hear this song it makes me feel all warm and gooey inside. I’m a small part of a massive community. And I couldn’t be any more proud.

“The truth never set me free so I did it myself” – Careful, Paramore

This line reflects and sums up my whole experience of bullying in my school. I spoke the truth; I had no reason to lie. I was supposed to be the victim. I was supposed to be forever grateful to my principal for making the pain stop. I wasn’t believed. I wasn’t helped. I will never be grateful for anything that person does for me. She could’ve saved me and she didn’t. I saved myself. I got myself through it, no-one else did. I guess that explains why I still hold so much anger towards that individual.

“Explain to me how it came to this, take it back to the night we kissed” – Before the Worst, The Script

This somehow became my heartbreak song a few years ago and subsequently I tend not to listen to it anymore. Too many emotional scars formed during these three and a bit minutes.

“I know I’m finding it hard to breathe, and I’ve been drowning in my own sleep” – Rescue Me, You Me At Six feat. Chiddy

Sitting in the middle of one of my Junior Cert pre-exams, head down on the desk listening to this song. Not caring about the task at hand. Too focused on the pain of being alone and misunderstood in a room full of people that claimed to know me. Then being asked to remove my Paramore hoodie thinking to myself, is that really all you teachers are concerned about? Not the tears streaming down my face, no?

“All the times that we shared, every place everywhere, you touched my life” – I’ll Always Remember You, Hannah Montana

Yes, this is Hannah Montana. No, I’m not ashamed to say I was a fan. This is a song about parting ways with high school friends after ‘graduation’, so I never imagined I’d be listening to it at the end of 2^nd year knowing that was goodbye to my best friend of eleven years. I knew I shouldn’t have missed her, but I did.

“Still I fight with my pen in my hand held tight, writing protests songs tonight, ‘cause I’m still here” – Learn My Lesson, Young Guns

Kind of reflects my story, doesn’t it? Except I’m writing blog posts, not songs. Close enough.

“Let ‘em wonder how we got this far, ‘cause I don’t really need to wonder at all” – Still Into You, Paramore

Where to start with this song? God, I think this could be our song. So first of all we have proved the whole county wrong by still being together now. Fifty-nine kilometres apart, an hour and a half bus journey away, and 14 months in the bag? I think it’s safe to say we’ve silenced the sceptics. It’s surely understandable so to tell you I cried hysterically when Paramore played this as their final song at their Dublin show two weeks ago. It’s our song, though. I had a right to be totes emosh. Isn’t that what happens when you’re in love?

When It's Finally Time To Leave Home

College years are, or so I’ve heard, the most memorable years of a person’s life. Endless late-night bashes, drunken hazes, detrimental hangovers and fuck-where-am-I mornings, all thanks to the freedom you are duly granted on registration day.

To get to this student sanctuary, though, an implausible amount of stress and strain must first be endured. They call it the Leaving Cert, but it’s widely known to us young’uns as devil spawn smeared on a page or something like that.

I can only imagine the infinite joy felt when your place in the student sanctuary of your choice is confirmed by means of The Brown Envelope. But after the champagne (or Bulmer’s) is poured and the cake is sliced, how many people are truly ready to take that step into the unknown abyss that is college? If it had been me going into the school a few weeks ago after a sleepless night full of tossing and turning, I would’ve handed that no-good, dirty-rotten, pig-stealing great great envelope back and said “We’ll try again next year, perhaps”. No way in hell could I imagine myself floating off to college now. Na-ah. No thanks. There are some things in life I’m simply not ready to part with just yet.

My bedroom would be a prime example. I would, and soon will be, lost without my Sliderobe mirrors and my king-size bed. Knowing that four years of my life are to be spent in a single bed was a hard enough pill to swallow, and then I heard the other college room rumours. Horrible, eye watering rumours. Can it possibly be true that some rooms have… no mirrors? U.L’s Student Union better watch out for me on the prowl next year if my room does not reflect myself from some angle. And I’m just assuming it would be “bad manners” to have my iPod speakers blaring at my chosen volume level while others sleep opposite and adjacent. Boo, you whores.

It gets worse than simply losing your personal space. What in the name of Matthew, Mark, Luke and John am I supposed to have for dinner every evening?! Four years on pasta and noodles will not suffice. Thus suggesting the skill of cooking must be acquired pre-leaving-home. See? These are the hidden requirements you failed to make note of in those university brochures. Probably because they were written in there’s-no-such-fucking-thing, font size 1.9.

So while you’re starving and short a few mirrors, you decide to venture over to the on campus shop (which supplies all you need for your college life – vodka and Panadol) in order to re-fill your stomach and ego. All’s well and good until you realise something: you’re shit broke. Borrowing money from the ‘rents is no longer an option unless you own shares in FedEx or something (in which case money shortages would never be a concern anyway). And for those of you with no weekend wages coming through, I bid you farewell. For we will most likely find your body tangled up in a ball beside your single bed, teeth gnawing into the leg of your dresser, eyes squeezed shut to protect from the splinters firing at you with every mouth-watering munch.

If I am yet to terrify you, think of all the dark, unfamiliar faces that undoubtedly will. I know people frequently speak of how they can’t wait to leave the town they grew up in, but think about that a second longer. In your new place of residence the days of “Y’know yur wan down the road” are long gone. You will NEVER know who your one down the road really is and if you do, you haven’t moved far enough away from home yet. What I’m trying to say is, wasn’t it sort of nice back home knowing everyone and everyone knowing you? Feeling a part of something. In college, the most you’ll ever be is a face in a club that would “get it”, or if you’re lucky, a name on a list of people in a club that already “got it”.

I guess you could label me a cynic or just someone in denial that they are not attending college this Fall. In essence, however, I’m very much a realist. I may have slightly exaggerated the points above that I have made but nonetheless they are factual and accurate. You will miss your own bedroom whilst in college – fact. You will be in a permanent state of hunger – fact. And you will need a larger mirror regardless of the depth of your vanity – double fact.

Nevertheless, I will be prepared for 3^rd level education. I will bring with me, alongside my kitchen sink, my Sliderobe mirrors and have them built in to my spacious college room. I will then proceed to hire the services of Gordon Ramsay who will reside on campus and be the cook for my house for the duration of the year (I can afford him as I own shares in FedEx, btw). Then, finally, I will remove the single bed of my blissfully plastered housemate and attach it onto my also single bed, hence creating a double bed. I think that plan suitably fits the ideology and fantasy surrounding college life, don’t you?