Back on the treadmill.

Yesterday, I finally forced myself to go back to the gym, after what must've been a few months off, while I was stressing over the end of uni, deadlines and wandering into the real world. 

Nobody told me thag I would be at a disadvantage if I had a degree. Not one person. Admittedly the job hunt wasn't as pro-active as it should've been to begin with, but now it's in full swing. At the age of almost 22, I am unemployed with a degree in English Literature and Creative Writing. I want to break into that discipline, but living in the north east of England, it seems relatively impossible. I can see people trying to conceal their eyes rolling into the back of their heads as I announce 'I want to write.' Frankly, if I had a £1 for every time someone had said to me, 'so are you just going to teach?' I wouldn't even need a job. Credit goes out to those who see that as a life they want, but I'm not one of those people. I lack the patience, the desire or the determination to teach. My passion lies with writing. Picking up a pen, or in this case, my iPhone, to blog. It's soothing writing down my thoughts, even if I'm editing them all as I do so. 

I've been pretty down about the job hunt, as well as some other things lately, but yesterday I powered through. I set my alarm, got up, had breakfast, put my gym attire on, grabbed my keys, a water bottle and some headphones, and I was off. Although I struggled through the hour I was there, I felt better for forcing myself to get out of bed and exercise. It was a step forward. It was something pro-active, and until then, I don't think I'd considered it so. Whether I used to like to hear it or not, my P.E. teacher used to tell me that, 'exercise relieves all your stress, Eleanor' and yet, despite her prevailing, I hated it. I walked into my physical education lessons, entering via the changing room back doors, and while all the other girls were chatting away, I didn't say much. 

I passionately hated PE. 'I can't do it,' was my favourite excuse. In case you hadn't noticed, I have a strong, stubborn negativity about me at times. Even at the height, I was a 16 year old who was very self conscious, and didn't believe she was sporty whatsoever. I'm still not. I still have that attitude. I will probably never run a marathon. I will never be on a sports team. But I figured out early on, that was because I didn't want to be, rather than any capabilities I did or didn't lack.

My point being, the exercise that once scared me half to death, actually does make me feel better. It's a stress reliever definitely, for me anyway. When discussing this with my boyfriend via text the other day, I just happened to drop in a relevant Legally Blonde quote, and he had no idea what I was saying, having never seen such a brilliant film. I'll leave you with the quote, that is seriously relevant, very daft and almost always puts a smile on people's faces. Even after what can be described as a really shit few weeks, or even months, I know that getting back on the treadmill makes things fade away for a bit. 

'Exercise gives you endorphins, endorphins make you happy, and happy people just don't shoot their husbands, they just DON'T.'

-Elle Woods, Legally Blonde.

Breaking Point.

It's 13:55, and my room is the setting of a hellish, brutal battle. I'm in the midst of the worst case of writer's block, ever. Worst thing is, this is essay writing time, not creative writing time. My essay is due Monday, 4pm. I need 1500 words, a bibliography and painfully accurate citations. My topic: Neo-Victorianism. It hurts, believe me.

So, I'm sitting cross-legged, and have assumed a somewhat no-nonsense attitude to today. No strops, no tears, no Facebook procrastinating for five consecutive hours until stress really kicks in and I sob through the last seven hundred words (don't laugh, this happens to me, A LOT.) Well, this is kinda procrastinating anyway, but at least this is supposed to constructively clear out my head of all that extra rubbish floating around aimlessly.

Two cups of black coffee, three slices of toast and a Drifter (yes, why?) later, and I'm struggling. Seriously struggling, at that. I've made a plan for god sakes, (I NEVER PLAN ANYTHING) and now I've resumed the worst outlook of all: not giving a shit. Resignation is a dangerous prospect at any time, but in final year with assignment deadlines just over the weekend-filled horizon, it is excruciatingly risky. Either I have to somehow conjure up the energy and enthusiasm to believe everything I write to be gold dust, or, more likely, have some sort of lazy courage in my convictions (and my writing) and see what happens.

Word count: 741. Want: more coffee, more chocolate, and probably, a hug. Need: encouragement and/or no distractions. (Well done, successful with that one.)

I'm taking a very deep breath, flicking the kettle back on, and somehow giving this horrendous essay a go. Wish me luck.
I have a feeling, I'm going to need it.

Bear with me.

I'm exhausted, stressed and close to tears. It's finally happened, my belated January blues, the winter depression everyone talks about. That's what I feel like now. The bags under my eyes get darker every day, I'm irritable and getting lazier as the mornings get darker and colder. Uni is just causing me a lot of unnecessary stress, and I hate that. Assignments are flooding in, deadlines are looming and decisions have to be made, fast. I feel like I'm losing my friends, to uni, to other people, to everything. I can count on one hand how many times anyone has attempted to contact me in the last couple of weeks, and it scares me. It seems like everyone knows what they want, what their end goal is, what they're aiming for. While I sit, twirling a pen between my thumb and forefinger, absent-mindedly daydreaming about one day writing some fabulous bestselling novel or something. I want to scream (into a void, perhaps) or just disappear for a few days, hibernate and pull myself together. Sort out my work, and my immune system, and boost my mood. I'm a nightmare lately, I'm moody and stressy and I'm intolerable when it comes to anyone else. I feel like I might just eat everyone alive that comes into close proximity with me. I'm constantly checking my watch, counting down the days, until my week off. I need some down-time. Some rest. Some peace. It's hard, I feel like I push people away sometimes, I know I do, but that's only because it's for their own good. I'm just saying, if I want to be on my own, it's because I need to be. I really need to stop stressing and start smiling again.

Breathe easy.

Well that's it. My poetry assignment has been handed in, a dreaded eighty lines that took me much longer than it should have. Eighty sodding lines that caused me a lot of aggro, stress and headaches, but now, I can breathe, if only temporarily. The real tester will be Friday. The dreaded unlucky 13th has, for some sick reason, been the day that our Early Modern Cultures exam has been assigned to. The joys, ey? I'm not at all prepared, and a little bit too tired to put in the right amount of effort. The sooner 11.30 on Friday morning arrives, the better, in my opinion. 

I keep saying it, but the tequila will be got in at the bar. I'm deadly serious. Even if it is before 12pm, I think it's someone's duty to have a little tipple waiting for me as a congratulations it's all over kinda thing. Yeah, we've established I do not hold up well under pressure, so you probably know, uni is making me a lb even more miserable version of myself. On the upside, I'm starting to get into the Christmas spirit. I've just purchased a few gifts to begin with, and still have quite a few more to go. The decorations are up, the fairy lights are shining and even the pubs have started playing Christmas songs at 2am amidst broken glass and dirty pints. I'm smiling and getting excited to spend time with my family and friends, and of course, the very amazing Christmas dinner prepared by one of my fave peoples on the planet, (MASSIVE SHOUTOUT TO THE LEGEND THAT IS MY GRANDMA JUNEY!) so, happy times are coming in full-force. Plus, I kinda think I'm about to be very happy indeed. Surrounded by people I really need and want in my life. I'm so lucky. I can breathe. 

Indescribable.

Half nine on a Friday night in December and I'm in bed, tipsy and teary eyed. Yes, there's something wrong with this image. I never really blog properly after a drink, but tonight it seems necessary. I'm in a bad mood, because of countless things. Oh, and by the looks of things, wine makes me depressed. Which, obviously, isn't great. 

Suddenly everything seems to have caused my shoulders to collapse. The pressure seems too much to take right now. With I'm a celebrity blurring in the background, I'm all too aware how alone I'm feeling. I can count on one hand how many people have attempted to contact me today, or even the rest of this week, and it's making me miserable. As someone who is very centred around friends and social goings on, when my social life shatters around my ankles, I feel very glum indeed. No texts, phonecalls, tweets, Facebook messages, snapchats or physical interactions. Seems like the people I'm not even closest to are the ones ready to cheer me up, while the people who are physically (and chronologically) closer to me are AWOL. it's making me unnecessarily sad. Disagreements and arguments I just don't want to get involved in. Stress I just don't need right now, with my first real second year exam looming in just a week's time. I feel like there are certain people I need and want in my life and they are nowhere to be seen. There's someone I really need right now, and you just don't even seem to acknowledge this. I'm sick of negativity, and misery and stressful situations. 

I'm too young to feel so upset. Fast forward to Friday 13th at 11.30 and that's when my cares go completely out of the window. Happy times will be welcomed and the festive season will be truly out in full force. Yes. That's what I need. 

What doesn't kill you.

We all have bad days. Days where we want to just scream, and spend every waking moment just wishing and longing for the time when we can finally crawl lovingly back into bed and hide under the covers, away from the world. Yesterday was one of those days. I wanted to scream into a pillow, throw a tantrum, jump up and down like a raving lunatic, and when all of that failed, I wanted to cry. Not a sly, private few tears, but something messy. Needed. I felt like I was on the edge of a breakdown all day long. I had to bite back tears or bitter words during my 90-min poetry seminar for the good of my degree, and my mental health. I can't even explain it. It was just a day I wasn't ready for, wasn't prepared for, wasn't happy to take part in at all. Reason: I have absolutely no idea. I tried eating healthily, and when that failed, I turned to comfort food. Coffee, and lots of it. Chocolate, no. Didn't work. A calming, steaming shower. No. My family, friends, everyone trying to make me feel better, and to no avail. Unfortunately. Like I knew, the only thing j needed/wanted/craved was my bed. The only time I felt relaxed at all yesterday was when I crawled into my bed and burried myself under a winter-weight duvet. A sigh of relief escaped me. A weight felt like it had been lifted off my shoulders. I was me again. The ticking time bomb of Monday daytime was gone, in seconds. I can't explain it. Sometimes, you just need a break, from life. Those days, are most definitely meant to be spent in bed. 

Today has been better. Actually, today has been relatively good. Sunny, carefree, lucky almost, except one glitch. I'm having (or was having) a fat day. An ugly day. As a girl who has never really been aware of her own "prettiness" or whatever you want to call it, I find it hard to think that anyone could ever look at me and see, I dunno, someone attractive. Even when I have my best dress on, and skyscraper heels and a tonne of make up (although this is when I do feel at my most confident) I don't picture myself in that way. And it's all because of days like this. Bad skin days, hair days, general feeling fat and ugly and bleugh days. Of course they make me question what other people see when they look at me. I don't think I fit the bill or whatever. Funny thing is, there's someone who thinks I do. And then eveything; the doubts, the fat days, the hiding under duvets, well, that all fades away when I hear his name. Having good people in your life makes bad days tolerable and good days wonderful. 

I can't help it, I'm a worrier.

Even when I deny it, and perhaps, inwardly conceal it, I still worry. Constantly. Sometimes it's just a little niggling in the back of my mind, other times, I'm almost quietly sick to my stomach mulling over a situation I can't control or predict the outcome of. This time, I don't even know. At the minute, I feel like I've got no one to talk to about something I need to speak about. Despite my lovely, wonderful support system of friends and family, I don't have anyone I can or want to talk about this with. Is that strange? I don't know. Does anyone else feel like this? Maybe so. I feel like I'm questioning my own judgement, even though I trust myself when it comes to decisions that will have a big impact on my life. It's complicated. Oh, the cliché. I know. I don't need advice, I need someone to confirm my own feelings, my own impulses, my own wants and needs. I want someone else to tell me I'm doing the right thing. Scratch that, I want everyone around me to back the decision I'm going to make even if they don't agree with it, because my happiness should be more important to them. I think I may be on to something good here, and I won't let anyone spoil it. Worrier or not, I trust my instincts, and the bottom line is, despite all the comments, the looks, the words of warning, I trust you.