Periods periods periods periods periods. Bloooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooood.
OK, the squeamish people should have left us now.
I’m super impressed that Mad Men showed us Sally Draper’s first period, but mine was nothing like that. Instead of the bright red stain I was expecting, I got a small brown smear. I was 11, and I had no idea what it was. After worrying for a while, I told my mum that I had something weird going on in the knicker department, and she gently broke it to me that this was my period. Continue reading This is about my period, full stop
Well, people are shitheads.
The Guardian ran a blog post by a white man about why a photo of a white woman sitting on a chair made to look like a bound, near-naked black woman wasn’t racist, not even a little bit. Continue reading I’m mad as hell and I’m probably going to take it a bit more, if I’m honest
*I’m using this as a judgement-free descriptor like “brunette”, not as an insult.
Diets don’t work. I know this. But I still went on one a few years ago. It wasn’t to lose weight, which allowed me to feel superior — it was to detox from sugar in an attempt to improve my health. (I failed, which allowed me to feel inferior again.)
Continue reading This is why I’m fat*
When I was three or four, my mum had a minor operation and had to stay in hospital overnight. I was fuzzy on the details, scared she wouldn’t come back, and afraid to tell my dad how much I missed her in case it hurt his feelings. So I ran upstairs and squeezed myself into the space underneath my chest of drawers so I could cry without him knowing.
Continue reading The avoider’s guide to life (wouldn’t be worth reading, but the caterpillar’s would)
Years ago, when my doctor thought the only thing wrong with me was a light dusting of depression, I was referred to a service provided by… the council? I’m not sure, but it was in a room above the local library, which was all the enticement I needed. So once a month, on a Monday morning, I met with an increasingly pregnant dungarees-wearing woman who tried to entice me from my cocoon of illness back into the world.
The trouble was, everything she suggested sounded too scary.
Continue reading I want to want to feel better (but I’m too scared to actually want to)
In so much of what I see and read — from the newspaper giving advice on working two jobs to the blogger saying absolutely anyone can take up running — it’s assumed that I’m one of the “normal” people, too: able-bodied, independent, mentally and emotionally stable.
But my life stopped being “normal” when I was 19, and since then I’ve become less and less connected to the outside world and to what real life is like. I was shunted into this parallel universe where I’ve forgotten how it feels to have the stamina to walk to the nearest bus stop, or to not have a head full of cotton wool.
Continue reading Your life is science fiction to me (and vice versa)