I lied.

bitterness  noun
anger and disappointment at being treated unfairly; resentment.

I’m a liar sometimes. I think that’s one of the many reasons I gave up my identity as a blogger at the start of the year. I felt like I wasn’t always being truthful, like there was an image to uphold, motivational quotes to live by, reminiscences of positivity and recovery to inspire others with. I always tried to look like I was happy when I wasn’t. I even wrote a post entitled ‘I’m not bitter any more’ when I knew full well that I was. I guess I thought if I pretended enough then it would come true.

Spoiler: it didn’t.

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I’m afraid.

mhI am often very open about my ongoing struggle with my mental health. In particular, my main problem is with health anxiety, or hypochondriasis – whatever you want to call it. It is often likened to OCD due to its obsessive tendencies, but of course, mental disorders affect different people in different ways.

It is the fear of getting severely unwell, convincing yourself you have a serious illness to the point where you can’t live your every day life, the constant “what ifs”, even imagining symptoms that aren’t really there. It has consumed me and everything that I’ve done for the past year and still continues to do so. I see a doctor almost every week, I get to a point where I will plan out how to tell my family that there’s something wrong with me, I will imagine myself in hospital and prepare myself for things I don’t even know will happen yet, I will stop doing the things I love and I will stop making plans because I think “what’s the point? I’m going to be unwell anyway” and, as much as I hate to say it, I often genuinely believe that I’m going to die and that, for whatever reason, it’ll be sooner rather than later.

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the leaves will fall regardless


now playing: john mayer – changing

There really is something about autumn rolling around that gets right under my skin. And I mean that in the best way possible, of course. I’m not sure how or even why, but this is just that time of the year where I seem to feel the most driven and inspired and as though I’m really working towards being my best self. I can’t explain it, really. It’s just the way it is. Something about it just works for me.

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Poetry is whatever the hell you want it to be

poetryBy definition, poetry is “literary work in which the expression of feelings and ideas is given intensity by the use of distinctive style and rhythm.”  I tend to describe poems as being similar to songs but, then again, I think that they are even more fluid than that, especially as time has gone on. Poetry has become more diverse than ever, especially as of late, and this has undoubtedly had both positive and negative repercussions.

There’s a kind of fad going around at the moment, commonly referred to as the “Instagram poetry craze” where people write poems, usually quite short in length, and post them in a little square picture on their Instagram accounts. That’s basically the gist of it, anyway. After Rupi Kaur’s masterpiece Milk and Honey took the world by storm, it seems that many young people have found inspiration in her style of work. Typically poems that, although usually quite short and simple, hold a great deal of meaning and emotion and seem to hit you right “in the feels” as the kids would say. Oh yeah, by the way, I’m an 80 year old in a 22 year old’s body. But let’s move on from that.

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One hundred and forty-one days

February, 1995

When I was a child, I used to wonder whether you had even been real or not. I’d sit and I’d think about you as if you were a fictional character; never really a living, breathing human being, but rather just the smiling face in a picture frame above my bed who we only ever spoke of through cracked voices and quiet sobs. It was perplexing for me back then. I was always told that if I looked out of my window at night, the brightest star would always be you telling me that everything was going to be ok. It’s funny actually, because that’s something that has stayed with me my entire life. Even now, at the age of twenty-two, if the sky is unclear it unnerves me. It’s silly, really, isn’t it?

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The Birth of a Poem

poetryWhen I write a poem, there aren’t typically any rules or restrictions. For the most part, if I get an idea, the rest will all spill out at once no matter where I am or what I’m doing and I’ll have to write it down immediately. I mean, if I’m lucky. I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve had to jot stuff down on a blank receipt at work because I just couldn’t risk forgetting it. If it wants to come out, it just will. However, I’d be lying if I said that it was always as simple as that. It is certainly possible for a great idea to fizzle out if I don’t give it the right attention, or if I leave it alone for too long and lose momentum. I also do naturally find it a little harder to divulge into my *writer head space* when in certain situations or around certain people, and that definitely makes the process a little longer and more challenging. This, in turn, brings me onto four main parts of my creative process that I’d like to share with you. I’m by no means an expert, but I just do what feels right for me, and I hope that this will help you find what feels right for you!

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