Me and You.

I'm 21 years old, 5 foot 2 inches high and weigh around 9 stone. I have never broken a bone, spent a considerable amount of time in hospital or suffered from a debilitating illness. I do no take medication daily, rely on something to get me out of bed or have any sort of symptoms that stunt me in every day life. This isn't a norm, I'm suddenly becoming aware of this. I'm very lucky. I am surrounded by people who do. And credit to them. Waking up every day and swallowing a tablet that will correct their hormones, make them feel 'normal' or less anxious, stabilise their blood pressure, suppress their pain. I couldn't imagine it, and yet I experience it vicariously on a daily basis practically. I thank my lucky stars I have such wonderful people around me. I don't care what it takes for you to get out of bed, I don't care you're miserable if you don't take your medication regularly, all I care is that you're mine. It makes you no less of a person. It doesn't make you any different. Whether it's an insulin injection or some really strong painkillers, or something totally different, so what. Everyone has a crutch. Something they rely on. Something they need. And maybe I don't understand, because I've never had to do it. Maybe that's how it feels to all of you who wake up and reach for the silvery white packet of pills and swallow hard as they coat your throat. But this is why. You're all my crutches. My reasons to wake up. My reasons to live, love and laugh. My people. I love you so desperately, wonderfully, brilliantly, and I'm so happy that you're all mine. Don't think anything like that makes a difference to me. 

Getting Noticed.

okay, I've fell into the habit of neglecting my blog again. Shit. For a few reasons I won't go into at the moment, but I have, and that's pretty rubbish. So basically, I'm calling out to any bloggers, no matter who you are, what kind of blog (if you even categorise it at all) you write, or whatever your interests are, to help me. I'm totally dense when it comes to technology, and I'm not sure where to start. I've been blogging for a while now, and I still don't understand all these different forums and blogging sites.

Translation: which is/are good blogging sites, or connecting sites, that can get my blog read by a wider audience? If anyone can recommend some, or just one or two, and a bit of a demo as to how to use it, that would be great. I feel like I'm missing out on so much blogging, and on different blogging communities, because of this.

Any help would be widely appreciated.
Either comment, or tweet me; @Eleanorward_ :)
big thanks.
x

Under my skin.

I've never written about this before. For most of my friends and the people closest to me, this is probably the first time you've ever heard me broach the subject. For as long as I can remember, I've suffered from a bad skin condition. Actually, more accurately, two varied skin conditions. Ecezma and psoriasis. While most people nowadays are quite familiar with the former, as it is talked about quite a bit now. 

In my younger years, I suffered with ecezma really badly, on my arms and legs, particularly around my joints; (elbows and knees.) It varied. I had flare ups where it became increasingly worse. It came to a really ugly head when I was about fourteen/fifteen, and after many, MANY angry, frustrated trips to my local GPs and hundreds of prescriptions, I got a hospital referral to dermatology. Eventually. Thank god. 

Finally, once I got my initial appointment, things started to progress quicker. I was always ridiculously self conscious about my skin. I hated wearing things that were sleeveless or anything that would show my legs off in case people commented on my skin. And to make it all worse, I was fifteen. I was growing up and beginning to resent the lot I'd been born with because my condition was visible. Vain as it is, but I hate having a skin condition, as opposed to something people can't spot with their naked eye. It's invasive. It's not private. Not even if you try to hide it. 

Anyway, I was prescribed different treatments and hurrah, they found something that worked. Ish. I went through light therapy sessions (for anyone who doesn't know what this is, it's basically UV lamps adapted to treat dermatology patients, kinda different to the typical sunbeds people are used to hearing about or visiting.) The sessions massively improved my skin and actually for a while, the skin condition I had disappeared. 

Until BAM. It was different. My skin was totally different to what I'd experienced before. Cue another trip back to a specialist or two. It wasn't ecezma,- people tend to grow out of that, this was psoriasis. It's kind of the same but a bit different. And the thing almost no one knows about it is this:

The main cause of psoriasis is stress and anxiety. 

Anyone who knows me realises how stressy I can be, my anxious streak and my obsessive compulsiveness when it comes to certain aspects of my life. I'm a worrier. Not only that, I'm basically a worrier who has inadvertently caused a pre-existing skin consition to develop and worsten overtime. It's kinda rubbish when you look at it like that. But it's not the end of the world.

Next month, I turn 21. I am currently discharged from the dermatology department at my local hospital, although I do still have regular repeat prescriptions.  I start uni again for my third year in two weeks, and my skin has flared up again. Stress. Damn you. It's a vicious cycle. It feels so strange to be writing about this. My skin condition isn't glaringly obvious as it once was, but at times, it can be. Sometimes, my unconscious stress causes my skin to break out, and I haven't even realised I'd been stressing at all. I don't ever draw attention to my skin if I can help it. I don't ever recall mentioning it in front of any of my friends or my boyfriend in a way that would cause them to see me in a different way. My skin has always made me feel self-conscious and wary, and yet, lucky for me, I've never really experienced any negative comments. Or not that many anyway.

I probably won't ever grow out of psoriasis. It will probably always bother me every time I have a deadline looming, or when I'm especially cold, or when I'm ill and rundown, but generally, I can keep it under control now. I've pretty much come to terms with that now. To most people, you probably read this and shrug off my 'minor' skin condition. I can understand that to a point, but for me, I've struggled with this most of my life, and to me, it has been a big deal. I don't let it bother me as much now. Most of the time I have bigger problems. Occasionally, I get a bit weepy about it, maybe I'll cancel a plan if my skin flares up really badly, and I'm feeling like I don't want to see anyone, but that's quite rare. And now, I guess, I can breathe properly about this getting published online. 

This is a bit of a step for me. How minute it may feel in other's perspectives, I don't care. I've felt like hiding myself from this for so long, and now, somehow, I have the confidence and the drive to post this. I empathise deeply with anyone suffering with skin conditions like mine. They're unpredictable, rubbish and garish at times. But they don't make you any less you. I think that's my point. Big smiles everyone, it's not worth being teary over.

x

Meeting deadlines.

Its as one of my best Friends would say, (yes. Phoebe Buffay does count) "merry Christmas Eve eve!" Tomorrow is the day that every child waits eagerly for, stockings out, a drink for Santa and lots of presents wrapped cosily under the tree. Songs constantly playing, traditions in full-swing. Excitement is brewing. It's only a matter of hours until December 25th, and everyone is getting frantic. Whether you're one of these overly organised people, with all of their gifts bought, wrapped and hidden, or, instead, you're burying your head in the sand and trying not to think about how many presents you still need to panic-buy. I'm somewhere in the middle of this. I have one or two things I still could potentially need, or could buy. My bank account is gasping in shock every time I charge another item it's way, after months of attempting and failing to pace myself with regards to my lovely student loan. (What can I say..) 

So as I started thinking of the limited time until Christmas, and then caught sight of my blog view count. There's around 8300 views since March this year, when I started blogging for real. I'm shocked and chuffed that I've got anywhere near a figure like that. It baffles me that anyone would like to read the stuff I write, I mean, it's not like it's overly literary or profound. It's just truth. Mostly anyway. None of what I write is dishonest, it's just I don't tell full truths in certain situations. So, this is my dreamed up target. I hope to, and I am determined to, keep my blogging up next year, and hopefully get somewhere with my personal writing. I'd perhaps, quite naively like to reach a huge, 10,000 blog views to see the new year in. I know that's ambitious, but I am. Let's give it a go. Get reading. Pass my link on if you're feeling nice. Let me know if there's something you particularly enjoyed reading. I want to know! Gimme some help if you can :) 

Misery loves company.

"Rock bottom became the solid foundation on which I rebuilt my life."

-J.K Rowling.

Have you ever just wanted to disappear for a while? Get up and vanish? Imagine your life without you, or perhaps, with someone else living your life? I have. A series of low days caused me to fall into this negative way of thinking. I'm a pessimistic person anyway, but I sunk pretty low recently, and ended up mulling over stuff like this. The feeling of being away from it all. A break from the life you're living to just relax, chill, forget, de-stress, some necessary R&R. 

I've had all the cliches fired my way, including "it's their loss" and "everything happens for a reason" and eventually, I just wanted to scream. It was right, I did want to escape. I strived for more of an escape than music, or television, or film, or literature, or friends or even alcohol could give me. I wanted the solace, the solidarity, the absence of something more than just a sitcom or a song blurring in the background of my mind. However, I found, that during a hard time, the more I tried to isolate myself, the more company I found myself in. I shut my bedroom door and hid beneath the covers. I turned my phone off, and was absence from any social networking I'm usually such a big part of. I ignored texts and phonecalls. I missed the escape of television. I lost interest in the outside world. I fell behind on my Uni work and reading. I didn't pick up a book, or my ipod, or anything. I sat in such a deafening silence that just made me want to cry and never stop. It was awful.

So, that's when I thought, what if there are people out there that don't want me to go AWOL for a while? What if there's someone out there depending on me, needing me, or just trying to get in touch with me? I gradually reappeared. I left my bedroom. Turned my phone back on. Tweeted, logged into Facebook, Blogged, emailed, Snapchatted even. I put some make up on, and got dressed up. I turned the television on and the radio up and did all I possibly could to drown out the silence I was now stuck in. And apparently, that was all I needed to do. My support system leaked through my walls, and every social networking site you can think of. Friends text me, arranged meetings and made plans to see if I was in fact as 'fine' as I'd told them all. Nights out were arranged, smiles slapped on faces, drinks poured and heavily drank, laughter was even heard. Turns out, misery does love company, but not in that sense.

I gave myself some space to cope. Some silence to appreciate the noise I was trying to drown out in the first place. Now, I thrive in the shouts, the constant whir of contact I have. While at my lowest, I questioned everything and everyone in my life, as a personal matter of insecurity, when I needed them the most, they forced themselves into my life (and me out of bed) and refused to take "no" for an answer. I got hugs and happy messages thrown my way. Positivity was practically drowning me, and yet, I had the wonderful support system around me to keep my head above water. As it happens, lonesome misery is exhausting but sometimes, it's necessary. I didn't want to sit and vent to loved ones about something I felt so strongly about. It was, in a sense, private. I didn't know who to tell or speak to. But after coming out of a temporary hiding, they were all there for me. Eagerly awaiting my company, and being ready, if I needed it, to be the shoulder to cry on. For this, I am undeniably grateful.

So, this is for everyone who helped me through something that hit me really hard. Something that left tears in my eyes and a suffocating feeling in my chest. To my family, who were there and didn't ask too many questions, and my endless string of friends who gave me time to sulk, cry and get back on my feet. For all the hugs and positive words, the venting, the coffee (and alcohol) supplied, the comfort food, never saying "I told you so" even when you know you did, the silly laughs, the reminder of what I'm worth. I won't name you all, because you know who you are, and that's what I like about it. I just really need you all to know that I'm very thankful for you being there for me, and not walking away even when I pushed you.


...If I stopped lying, I'd just disappoint you.

I don't like today much.

It's Saturday, and I've done it again. Spent the night before pouring alcohol down my neck like I was getting paid to, and yet coming home with 25p. Yes. And managed to upset someone I really didn't want to. Arguments, tears and tantrums. Last night's themes. I've got a post-Friday night hangover and such an awful cough I sound like I'm a 40-a-day smoker, and I've never touched a cigarette. I'm feeling so guilty, so bitchy, so...nasty. I don't feel like me today. I feel like someone else. Sitting in my room, blasting party-ish music as some sort of motivational attempt to convince myself, and my liver, that I can actually hack hitting Sunderland tonight for Betty's birthday celebrations. I drink too much. I feel hideous. I don't look much better. This is all stupid and disjointed, because I'm half-hungover, half genuinely ill, although no one in my house seems to fathom the 'genuine' part. I wonder why.
 
I'm drowning out the bad stuff. Or attempting it anyway. Life, I guess, goes on, whether you're happy or unhappy, upset or angry. I guess the bad times make the good times even better. I wish I was an optimist. I wish I was a glass-half-full kind of person, but I'm really not. I don't even get the concept. I love everyone in my life right now. Why is it that the nice people get screwed over and I end up trusting the ones I shouldn't?

My head is well-and-truly battered. I smell like a brewery and I feel like I'm still slurring my words. I've only had like three and a half hours sleep and I don't know how much longer I can last before I drift into a deep, deep sleep mid-sentence. I'm feeling the 'horrible person' vibe today. I don't know what to do with it. Advice is being thrown at me left, right and centre, but I guess I have to, and do make my own decisions. Whether they're good or bad, will remain to be seen. I'm forgetting everything for now. I'm going to slap some make up on, to make myself look less like an extra from a zombie film and more like a human being, albeit a very unwell one. Things get better in time. Apologies wear thin, but they don't lose their sentiment. Well, mine don't anyway. I'm just saying.

I'm going for a Nando's. I need comfort food.
#bingeeaterandbingedrinker