Tag: youngpeople

Peace to Ukraine

Peace to Ukraine

by elizabethmdouglas ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

Every day, devastating things happen across the globe; some make the news for a few days, whilst others go completely unspoken of because public news stories only ever last as long as people’s attention spans – which, if you need clarification, isn’t very long. But at the minute, if you’re in Europe, then pretty much the only thing being shown by news channels is the Ukrainian-Russian War, and because I know that there’s no way of telling how long Ukraine will keep the attention of the continent, it only felt right that I say something on a platform where I know that some people will listen.

Right now, I’m being reminded of the extent of my privilege as a white, English, young woman because I’ve never known what it is to have friends or family in a country suffering persecution and war. But this time is different. I worked in Ukraine for 2 months in 2019, and for 3 weeks in the summer just gone, so whilst I may only know this country on a very small scale, it’s frightening to be texting friends who’re hearing bombs and hiding in metro stations when just 6 months ago we were sitting and laughing together, as they taught me Ukrainian and teased me about my accent.

The concept of invasion by a foreign power is not something many Brits have any understanding of, given that for centuries this nation was the threat and not the other way around; conveniently protected by oceans. This has largely meant that we can’t fathom what it would be like to live in a country where you’re never safe from invasion. We don’t really have the cultural capacity to imagine what it’s like to be told that you’re not what you thought you were, that the language you speak is no longer allowed, or that your home is now not the safest place to be. Hence, I can’t truly be an empath for my Ukrainian friends right now – no matter how much I might want to – but what I can do is draw as much attention to their voices as possible.

This isn’t a time to be passively ‘upset’ about what you’re seeing on the news, because as much as feeling sad or frightened is totally valid right now, my friends need more than that: they need something tangible.

So, listen to what the Ukrainian people are asking for and donate to their armed forces, go to a protest where you live, and keep talking about how blatantly wrong it is that these imperialist actions are still able to happen in the 21st century. Even if I couldn’t put faces and personalities to this crisis, what’s happening in Ukraine right now is an unforgivable violation of human rights, which should never have been allowed to go as far as it already has. This historical event isn’t unprecedented, and it isn’t something unique to Ukraine. But surely, this happening so close to home should emphasise how people need to actually learn from history, rather than ignore it and then hopelessly repeat it until we all kill each other.

My words don’t feel sufficient right now, but they’re the best I can give to help my friends. Thus, I hope for them, that the rest of the world pulls through and that this insanity can end soon so that they’re not robbed of anything else.

All my love to you, and peace to Ukraine.

Be my Valentine

Be my Valentine

by elizabethmdouglas ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

It’s Valentine’s Day, and I’ve thought long and hard about how I want to address that. Earlier in the week, I’d toyed with not mentioning it at all and just posting something else I’d written; I thought about how I don’t want the only two themes of my posts to be relationships or my disability, even though I know that those are the topics my readers gravitate towards. But Valentine’s Day is a big deal for lots of people (whether they want it to be or not), since everyone is so aggressively brainwashed to believe that we each need a romantic relationship to experience true happiness or success and that this is the time when we get to show off that happiness and success. Or, we get to not, and then have it implied that we should be sad about that.

I remember when I was about 18, talking to my mum about boyzz, and saying that I thought the reason I’d had disappointing experiences was because I trust people too easily. She scoffed at that, asked what I meant, and said ‘you don’t trust anyone’. That makes her sound really brutal – she’s not brutal, but she is honest, and she made me realise that I like to tell myself that just because I’m extroverted and kind, that that equates to me being super trusting of others. Except, what she said to me when I was 18 remains true as I type this as a 22-year-old: romantically, I don’t trust lads as far as I could throw them.

This lack of trust isn’t founded in some intense trauma; I might have had some bad luck in romance so far, but I’m fortunate to have never suffered that badly from it. Honestly, the worst thing that’s happened to me in that arena is that the very few lads I was really interested in have hidden me. The first boy I ever really liked actively kept me a secret, by asking me to do things like turn my Snapchat maps off if I went to his house so nobody knew I was there, he’d never post me on his story like he would when he was seeing other girls, and he’d only be out in public with me if it suited him. Then there were the other couple of crushes who preferred a kiss behind closed doors and us to never mention it again.

Now, I know what you’re thinking: all of that’s awful and I don’t seem like someone to stand for that ridiculously toxic behaviour with the things I say in these blogs. You’re right about both of those things. I tolerated all of that sh*t when I was younger because it was subtle, I was desperate to be a part of the romantic relationship world, and we don’t always practice what we preach when we’re in the situation.

If I were to describe how I’d feel about being in a relationship now though, I honestly think that my main feeling would be terror. (I laughed when I typed that though, so don’t read this as if I’m crying about it.) I guess I’m scared of being with someone because I have absolutely no idea what that’d look like in my life: I’ve seen others do it, but I don’t know who I’d be in that context. So, the prospect of that degree of new experiences and emotions is ridiculously exciting, yet I can’t help but be scared of it as well.

I think that Valentine’s Day is a funny one because it’s nauseatingly commercialised, and it’s one day of the year when people seem to be obnoxiously happy or obnoxiously bitter or ambivalent about the whole thing. We all know that in the grand scheme of things it matters very little if you get a bit of cardboard through the door saying ‘be my Valentine’ or not, but at the same time, many of us can end up feeling pretty low when the 14th February is like any other day. That’s just because we’re human, and we want to experience love.

So, even though we know Valentine’s Day is pretty pointless, be as obnoxiously happy or sad or anything in between as you want. Plus, it’s Pancake Day soon!

Wait, but I thought that I was supposed to hide this?

Wait, but I thought that I was supposed to hide this?

by elizabethmdouglas ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

If there’s one thing that I always hate hearing from people as a young, disabled woman, it’s ‘oh you do so well’. I’ve heard it whilst sitting on buses, walking down streets, in the waiting areas of the doctors or in airports, from the mouths of my parents’ colleagues and those of my teachers, and plenty of times from strangers when they simply don’t know what else to say. And I know that the intention is often pure; people want to show some level of appreciation for the fact that my physical existence may not be as simple as their own. Only, most of the time it just comes across as a bit bloody patronising.

The flip side of this, however, is that I spend so much time coping with my disability whilst doing whatever I want to do, that I’ve been guilty of disassociating myself from the fact that I’m physically disabled and that these things I’m doing are impressive. I am also English, though – Northern at that – so I suffer from an acute inability to talk about my successes without the embarrassment setting in.

But when I really think about why I don’t acknowledge ‘how well I do’, it’s because ableist aspects of our western society make it such that I’m supposed to blend in. Therefore, if I make any reference to how it might be really bloody impressive that I’ve done things like travel to, and live in the middle of the Nepali jungle without any access to medical care for 3 weeks on my own when I was 19 even though 3 weeks before that I couldn’t even go into work because I had an infected foot, then doing that doesn’t make me blend in. It brings my disability to the forefront, and I stick out in precisely the way society has told me that I shouldn’t.

So this is the part where you, my lovely reader, (hopefully) think ‘yes, of course, that’s impressive! You shouldn’t want to hide who you are’. And just like I’ve said to every person who has had genuine kindness in their eyes when they’ve told me ‘you do so well’, I want to thank you for saying that.

But drawing attention to my physical weakness is hard.

Last summer whilst I was in Ukraine, I found myself in a situation where I knew I had to mention my disability in a very public way, in order to avoid awkward run-ins later on. As always, when arriving at a place full of strangers, I chose to wear an outfit which covered my shoes to avoid any judgements before people heard me speak, but then I remembered that summer camp counsellor is a pretty active job and when the kids arrive tomorrow, if people see me sitting down every now and then, then they might think that I’m lazy or slacking off. So, to save face, I sat next to my friend from the first year I’d worked there and I announced my disability to a group of around 35 people. I’d never done anything like that before, and it was awful; my voice shook with every word I said, and I was very close to tears. But people were lovely about it, as they often are, and my announcement actually created the space for individuals to feel comfortable and slightly obliged, to ask me specifically how my legs were doing during our intense working days – something no one except my parents had ever asked me.

However, every single time someone asks about my disability, or I have to explain how it limits me, it’s emotionally draining in a way that I can’t effectively explain. That’s not to say that people should stop asking – definitely don’t stop doing that. I just want to communicate to you that back to back disability explanations don’t come free: it’s new for me to meet people and my disability to be one of the first things we talk about, and it’s new for me to have to talk about it this much.

One of the most heartwarming things I experienced after my announcement in Ukraine was towards the end of the summer. I was walking back from running an activity for some of the kids when 2 girls asked me if I could please explain to them why I wear my shoes. For the first time ever, I turned to someone who’d asked me to spontaneously offload personal details, and I said ‘do you mind if I tell you tomorrow? Because it’s 11am and 25 people have already asked me today.’. 25 isn’t an exaggeration by the way, I’d counted. And at that moment I realised that I’d always answered people’s questions straight away because I’d never wanted anyone to get embarrassed or feel upset about asking me. I also realised that subconsciously, when people see something as physically obvious as a disability, they think that on some level they’re entitled to an explanation. This, of course, is problematic.

I did explain it to these girls though since they asked so nicely, but they had to wait a day.

So, I’m in a weird spot now because I’m seeing myself doing things I never would’ve done two years ago, like walk around my university library with my callipers on full show and mentioning how I’m physically disabled in the first few moments of speaking to people. Meanwhile, the stubborn part of me which never wants to be defined – positively or negatively – by my Spina Bifida persists, and it occasionally dismisses my physical successes as just what everybody does.

And I know that my writing style leans towards a nice, neat conclusion that pulls all of this together, but not today my friends. My relationship with my body is complicated, and that’s just it.

She loves me, she loves me not

She loves me, she loves me not

by elizabethmdouglas ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

Recently, I’ve noticed a change in myself when it comes to how I approach friendships with other young women. As some of you may know, I grew up alongside three older brothers, and have always had a close relationship with my dad. This isn’t to say that my mum and I aren’t close, because she’s undoubtedly one of my best friends, still, I’ve always felt more comfortable in the company of men.

All four of us were raised as feminists and were encouraged to show appreciation and love for the successes of individuals regardless of their gender. Yet, my parents could only do so much when it came to raising children in a society built on thousands of years’ worth of patriarchal ideas. So the fact is, that when I went to school and I socialised with kids outside of my home environment, I found myself experiencing way more grief when it came to my friendships with girls compared to those I experienced with boys. For instance, I could type page after page of stories of when I’d been friends with a girl for a long time then all of a sudden she had decided she didn’t like me for some reason or another, and boom: the bitching starts, everyone’s crying, friendship over.

Hence, I find myself walking into rooms full of all types of people, and the ones I feel the most intimidated by – without a shadow of a doubt – are the cis heterosexual women. Especially ones in a big group. But a lot of the time, I’m not intimidated because I don’t think that I would like them, it’s because I figure that the second I open my mouth and show myself as confident, self-assured, articulate, or (god forbid) comfortable around cis heterosexual men, these women won’t like me. I just can’t be arsed with the judgemental stares.

Only, I fucking LOVE women. I am one ffs. But society and its patriarchy are so unbelievably divisive that the second we’re away from those we love, and even occasionally whilst we’re with those we love, women are taught to rip each other to absolute shreds. We’re taught to judge, and distrust, and hate each other so much that sometimes we can’t help but subconsciously give in to the misogyny. As much as we raise our friends up for being confident and loving themselves, it’s not always easy to carry that approach into every situation. Plus, women can and are really awful to each other sometimes, so it’s not always easy to like every one.

However, the main point I want to make in this week’s blog, is that all women should stop being so distrusting of one another just because of the fact that we’re female; doing so doesn’t help anyone. My friendships with the women in my life now are some of the closest, most colourful, joyful relationships I will ever have, and I think it a shame that sometimes I might have accidentally stopped others from developing because I’ve assumed things before I’ve asked any questions.

So, the moral of this story is: you’re not going to like everyone, but don’t let the reason you don’t like someone be because of their gender.

Netflix and..?

Netflix and..?

by elizabethmdouglas ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

So guess what I tried out last week then.

*guesses*

Tinder. I tried Tinder. lol.

Now, there will be quite a few people who know me very well who’ll be thinking ‘what is she on about, she’s had that app plenty of times before’. And yes, I downloaded it at points when I was a bored teenager, looking for some validation from strangers, as well as something which felt slightly risky to do. I know, I was a wild child: hold me back. Then when I started at university, the pulling scene was tragically dire because nobody here seems to be able to do anything without a drama ensuing, or, it turning out that that random person you got with the other night knows every person in your friendship group. (You might think that I’m overexaggerating, but I’m deadly serious: everyone’s connected in Durham in some way or another).

So yes, I’ve HAD Tinder on my phone before. But have I kept it for more than 3 days? No, I have not. And have I expended much energy texting anyone before? No, I have not. So this time, with the New Years’ Resolution of no drama in mind, I took to the internet and I committed to having Tinder on my phone for a week. Which doesn’t sound like very long, but it was quite substantial for me.

The reason I’ve always been so quick to delete Tinder is simply because I don’t like how soulless the whole thing is. I’m not on board with the fact that you’re judging people in a matter of milliseconds based on the photos they’ve chosen to represent them; it takes away all of the fun of being surprised by someone having good chat, or being really funny, or clever, or charming, or any other aspect of what actually makes a person a person. Also, the pressure of writing a bio to describe exactly what I’m like is far too much. I can’t be funny on command. Plus there’s the whole thing of, do I explain my disability straight away, or do I wait until we meet, do I want to have those conversations on Tinder with a stranger? blah blah blah

More than anything though, I’ve always had a level of anxiety around the idea that I’d spend time texting a stranger and then have to actually MEET UP with them. And I know that that sounds stupid, since I’m not shy in social situations, but maybe the fact that I’ve never been on a ‘first date’ before makes me freak out at the idea of what it would actually be like, so then the concept of seeing someone I’ve met from TINDER (!) goes against every instinct I have. Nevertheless, a few of my friends have had successes when it comes to the app, so I thought in this romantically hectic university environment, I’d give it a go.

I’m not going to go into crazy details about my experience but long story short, I texted someone for a few days, he was nice, I was feeling spontaneous and I went round to his to watch a film. (Before you start, we did actually watch the film, that wasn’t a euphemism.) As nice as the evening was however, it did solidify that the Tinder life is just not the one for me. It’s too orchestrated. I know that it depends on what you want from it, and I definitely wouldn’t want a relationship from Tinder, but even the prospect of just wanting sex out of it, I don’t know, I think I like the build-up too much.

As far as I’ve seen, the pandemic has made it so we’ve kind of forgotten how to flirt with each other. We’re so not used to being able to be in rooms with people we know, that we don’t always remember how much fun it can be to interact with total strangers. To me, flirting isn’t something you only do with a person you’re attracted to and I know that that approach has gotten me into trouble a bit sometimes because people have misinterpreted my intentions towards them. But speaking to someone in a flirtatious way can be subtle and nuanced, and merely a method for having a bit of a laugh: it really doesn’t have to be that deep.

So, there we go, the second week of January 2022 showed me that I like the dance of working someone out when I first meet them, and Tinder just sucks all of the fun out of human interactions for me. If it doesn’t do that for you then power to you – everyone’s different. But, I don’t think that that app will be making an appearance on my phone again any time soon and if you do spot me on there, then ask me if I’m okay please.

Why’d you text him again?

Why’d you text him again?

by elizabethmdouglas ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

Why’d you do it then, eh? Why bother texting him again when you know he’s a dick? When you know he’ll leave it a few hours (even though he’s always on his phone, and definitely knows that it’s there). When you know he’s not that interested – YOU’RE not even that interested. So if you don’t really like him that much then why bother with putting yourself through the annoyance of it? Why’d you text him, if all you’re going to do is avoid your social media, waiting for his name to disappear from your notifications screen? What’s the point? Just ignore him, and forget about it. Yes, good idea. Delete the message thread, forget about it, move it along. Until the next one that is…

Hands up if you felt personally attacked by that first paragraph!

Well, if it’s any consolation, I just read myself to absolute filth and those were all questions my friends have asked me plenty of times, though I’ve undoubtedly asked myself them more. So, why do we text him – or her ! – over and over, when we’re the first ones to admit how tedious it all is? Where’s the logic?

For me, I think it’s a combination of lots of things. For example, the being constantly exposed to media and culture where romantic relationships seem to be necessary for overall happiness, the desperately wanting to feel known by someone (and to know them), the hormones, and the heavy, heavy boredom. I think it’s defo the hormones and the boredom which override the logic on a consistent basis, though. Which is fun.

On a less personal note, however, I think that what’s keeping us shushing the logical parts of ourselves is that romantic relationships are all we ever seem to talk about. Whether it’s a discussion of someone you just walked past and found attractive, your favourite celebrity, someone you had sex with last week, someone you might ask out on a date, or even the more abstract discussion of ‘who, out of our mates, would you date if you HAD to?’, sex and relationships are just constantly on the mind. In fact, the only people I know who don’t discuss these topics as regularly, are the ones in relationships – but even they get excited by their single friends’ tales of romance.

I’ve no clue why all of us are so hung up on this aspect of life, and I’m well aware that I’m as bad as anyone for it. But it’s the New Year, and I hAvE a rEsOLuTion people !! I’d sincerely like to stop wasting my time just for the sake of it.

I love people, I love a flirt, and I love a bit of drama, so I’ve had my fair share of situations with boys since the age of about fifteen. Still, I could honestly only count on one hand the lads that I was genuinely interested in; everyone else, I either fancied but knew it’d never work, or didn’t even fancy them that much, I just liked the attention. Oh god that sounds awful, doesn’t it? But we’ve all done it! In fact, I’m 100% sure that there have been plenty of occasions when boys have been thinking this way about me; it’s not a reflection on you (though it can certainly feel like that sometimes), it’s just how it is.

A few months ago, I was sitting on my friend’s bed, having a bit of a it’s-winter-I’m-tired-I-don’t-want-to-write-any-more-essays-can-it-be-Christmas-now sob, and in the middle of it I said the words ‘I’m just so tired of feeling this lonely’. I know, tragic. And I’ve written many blogs about how I’ve not wanted to be single for years; how I’ve felt left out because the only romantic experiences I’ve had so far have been a headache. Though, other reasons have also exacerbated these thoughts, like how much easier dealing with shit like my feet would be if I just had someone there who’s interested enough to care. Or even the fact that doing things would be nicer if there was someone there to do them with. But as bored as I am of being lonely, I’m more bored of saying how bored and lonely I am. So I’m not going to do it anymore.

Famous last words…

I’m seriously going to give it a go this time though!! I know I’ll probably stumble, because it’s surprisingly difficult to avoid all drama at a university where that seems to be all anyone talks about; not to mention the fact that I’m a total sucker for the will-they-won’t-they first stages. But I’m unbelievably picky, and stuff doesn’t work out; I end up getting upset, feeling like a failure, and we’re back to square one. SO, I’m going to start asking myself if I really will benefit from texting him again, when I know that we wouldn’t work and I don’t like him as much as I like the attention. I’m going to wait and see if he’s got the balls to show me that he likes me, before I try to control everything. And last on the list of New Years’ Resolutions: I’m going to acknowledge that there’s no time for pointless drama when there’s a degree to get, and a life after university to figure out. No more drunk-texting: only fun, easy, stress-free situations.

Come on 2022, you can give me that, can’t you?

A day in the disabled life

A day in the disabled life

by elizabethmdouglas ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

The other week someone asked me what a normal day with my disability is like, and I laughed.

Like many, this person was looking for me to recount a complicated series of events that measure up to the stereotype of an arduous, pitiful day of living with Spina Bifida. Only, life isn’t like that, and my answer to this strangely-worded question will always be the same: it depends on the day. I will say however, that by having my first blister in 3 years a couple of weeks ago, and living more on my own than I ever have before, I’ve started to think about and recognise the number of things I do, and things I know how to do, which simply don’t go through the minds of many of my peers.

I look at my feet religiously every morning and every night: I check for tiny little differences from what it looked like the last time I looked, and I press on my scar tissue to feel if it’s weakening because god knows it can decide to weaken at any given time, for absolutely no reason. With my blister – which I thought had healed, but it hasn’t completely – I have to constantly apply this gel my doctor gave me which dehydrates the wound to constrict the blood vessels and hopefully heal the blister more quickly. Just a few days ago some old blood from when the blister had been active came out whilst I had my shoe on, and as always, I only noticed this once I took my shoe off and saw the blood on my sock. I was at my friend’s house at the time and asked her for some antiseptic, she said she didn’t have any, I made her laugh by saying ‘that’s privilege’, and then I asked her to boil some water and put some salt in it because I know that that’s the next best thing to sanitise a wound. Then amongst all of the practical things I do, at the minute I’m having to weigh up which social events I can go to, whilst also factoring in the amount of walking I’ll need to do for lectures, whilst also wanting to continue to have fun with my friends like I was before my foot decided to be a dick.

And regardless of whether I have a problem or not, there are always days when I put my shoes on and my legs feel weak: I’m tired, I trip more often, I’m self-conscious of the possibly exacerbated limp to my walk. If the pair of shoes I’m wearing are new, I can tell that all of the structure is in the right place because as I walk my feet try their very best to revert back to their naturally deformed position, but the hard leather pushes them to where they should be, making walking both easier and stiffer than before.

I know how to make a perfectly flat bandage for any tricky angle or curve on my feet, and how to spot it when an infection is tracking towards my ankle. I could tell you exactly the type of medication I need if I get an infection, and I could tell you a million tales of when I’ve had to take it. In recent years, I’ve learnt that Spina Bifida also means that I can occasionally experience bladder retention when I’ve had too much to drink, meaning that I temporarily lose the ability to empty my bladder on my own and I have to catheterise myself before the pain starts and I have to go to A&E. It’s not a nice thing to have to do, and it hurts the next day.

Knowing all of these things (and more) is second nature to me because I have to know them, and I’ve always been taught to acknowledge that it could be so much worse. But by just getting on with it, I’m not sure that I ever take the time to consider how tiring it can be to have all of this in my head and nobody to acknowledge that I’m having to think about it.

When I was a little girl, I didn’t know what was going on. I didn’t know or care that I walked funny or that my feet were different to everyone else’s. I started to clock it when I was having operations; when there were times that nurses came to the house every day to dress my foot, and I missed out on things my friends could do because I was in a wheelchair. Then I became a teenager, and I got angry about it, or I ignored it, and I didn’t look after my feet the way I could’ve. Now we’re here, I’m an adult, and I know how to do it better than anyone else. But the one thing – my biggest crutch – that I don’t have as much as I did when I was younger, is the ability to just look at my parents when I’m weary from it all and see that they know. So I miss that look sometimes.

I had an extremely happy childhood, a wonderful adolescence, and so far so good when it comes to adulthood. But every now and then I step away from the monotony of everything I know I have to do, to realise that Jesus Christ it’s a lot. It could be worse, and everyone has things they cope with in life, however, that doesn’t mean that I won’t have moments when I’m a little tired by it.

Thus, I’m afraid that I don’t have a neat or interesting ‘day in the life’ for you because that’s not how this disability thing works. Or how anyone’s life works for that matter. And let me clarify that I didn’t type this searching for pity, or for a little moan. In my head, I think that by writing this down and publishing it I’m trying to give myself that look of acknowledgement that I can only get from my parents because no matter how they try, my friends here can’t do it yet. They’ve simply not known me long enough. And away from all of the clumsy self-psychoanalysis, this blog is another attempt to show you as much of my disability as I can communicate through words.

So there you go, now you know that if you’ve ever got a nasty cut or blister that needs nursing then I’m your girl. I’ve got the personal first aid kit of your dreams mate.

The stress of the sesh

The stress of the sesh

by elizabethmdouglas ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

If we’re going to be honest about it, then realistically, most university students do not have a very healthy relationship with alcohol.

Or do we? Because, what do we mean when we say ‘a healthy relationship’? And does whatever definition we’ve concocted to answer that question change according to context? These questions can be rhetorical, or not, depending on your opinion and your own situation but for me, life as a university student is its own unique beast, and going back to a ‘proper’ university experience after quarantine has made me reassess my own relationship with drink.

Every student will know that one of the best parts of the university experience is the partying: the thrill of meeting new people and deciding whether you’re going to sacrifice tomorrow’s seminar for the sesh. Whether it’s the middle of the night conversations, the drunken silliness, the dancing, or the escape, alcohol and nights out afford university students freedom and liberation from not knowing who they are or what they want to do yet. (They also offer us an obscene amount of fun.) But our youth and our energy can cloud our judgement so much that sometimes we don’t realise that we’re regularly ingesting a really harmful drug. Saying that, I’m not about to bitch about drinking culture nor am I here to announce a ‘new, sober me’ because my love for the sesh and a vodka lemonade are too much to allow me to commit to that. However, after going out more this year and seeing familiar faces I’ve become a little paranoid about people’s perception of me after they’ve seen me drunk.

Unfortunately, we’ve all embarrassed ourselves when under the influence: we’ve said something we shouldn’t have, we’ve tumbled on the dance floor (although for me, that’s not particularly embarrassing lol), we’ve flirted with someone we shouldn’t have, and we’ve puked on someone’s floor. But what makes these things okay, is that most of us do our best to get drunk with and around our friends: with people we can trust. Having that security blanket of no judgement can mean that whatever mistake you make after that second tequila doesn’t have to define you for longer than you’d like it to. Although, if it was ridiculous and funny enough then you can count on someone having filmed it or made a mental note to never forget it and periodically remind you of it. Oh, the delights of friendship.

Occasionally however, in this university bubble you may find yourself with a group of people who have only ever seen you whilst drunk. And whilst that might not bother others, it doesn’t sit right with me because my next-day boozer anxiety makes me feel like I gave too much of myself to strangers. I don’t like the idea that there are people who only know me as whatever slurred words I said one night because I don’t know them enough to trust that there won’t be any judgement. I’ve never said anything that bad, or that deep, but still, I don’t know, I prefer to know people properly before we see each other drunk.

I think it’s also important to mention here that another layer of trust needed when drinking with people, is that you’re physically safe. Unless you’ve been living under a rock for the past few weeks then you’ve seen that there’s been a huge and frightening problem with university students – mostly young women – being spiked whilst on nights out. Thankfully, it’s not something that has ever happened to me (touch wood), but if it did then the first thing that I would need in that moment is the support and help of those I’d gone on the night-out with. My friends and I aren’t always perfect when it comes to watching out for everyone on a night out because we’re young, we can get silly, and sometimes we can definitely get distracted by the fact that we’re horny, but I’m happy in the knowledge that if I were ever in trouble or if I ever felt like something was wrong then they’d sort me out in a matter of minutes. It might take a few minutes if they’ve been on the VKs, but it’d happen nonetheless.

So this week I mostly just want to encourage you to be aware of who you’re allowing yourself to be vulnerable around; drinking is fun, but only if you’re safe whilst you’re doing it. Watch how much of yourself you give to people – both physically and emotionally – and look out for your friends. Obviously, this would be the perfect time for me to say ‘drink responsibly’ but I don’t think many of us adhere to what the government describes as ‘responsible’ at this age…so I’ll leave you instead with this request: be careful.

I don’t wanna hear it anymore

I don’t wanna hear it anymore

by elizabethmdouglas ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

Sometimes when I’m at a house party, people come up to me and ask me about my blog, often interested in how I decide what to write about. The only way I can describe the process is that a topic will pop into my head, and I’ll feel a compulsion to type something about it: I guess it’s like a diary in that sense. Unlike a diary though, I know that these words will be read by others so I edit them and I rationalise them in an attempt to not sound like a prat. I can’t promise that I manage it every time, but we do our best. Although today, I’m not going to edit and I’m not going to rationalise: we’re just gunna go with it.

To make an extremely long, and tumultuous story short, in the past couple of weeks I’ve come to realise that I’ve never really been in a romantic situation with a lad where he’s tried as hard to get to know and understand me as much as I have him. I’ve consistently been the one who’s been actively interested in a bigger way than the physical sense; asking all of the questions, noticing the small things, and making an effort to work out what’s important to the person I’m interested in. And this realisation came to me when I was cleaning my room, sorting my shoes out, listening to music. I was feeling so relaxed and so honestly myself, and it made me think that there are so many parts of who I am that I’ve never shared with someone because I’ve been too busy trying to get to know them, and they’ve never asked.

That feeling was of course, kind of sad, but at the same time, it made me realise just how stressful ‘dating’ can be. How people have spent so much time and energy messing with my head, telling me yes then telling me no then telling me they would if they could but they can’t so they won’t; making it seem like I’m involved in the situation when really it’s just about them. I’m involved by name, but I’m never particularly relevant. Yawn.

So I went upstairs to my housemate the other day when I was feeling a little low, and I mentioned all of these feelings to her, and after listening to me she thought over all of the romantic relationships she’s had with boys and she completely empathised with me. Then without even bringing up how I’ve been feeling, multiple girls just this week have told me how they’re tired of being wanted physically; being told they’re hot by a drooling drunken boy at 2am, but never being given the time of day once the sun comes up.

Fortunately, I’m pretty emotionally robust so I can deal with the rejection. However, just because a person’s self-esteem is in decent condition, that doesn’t make it indestructible. And being told by someone that they’re really into you, or they really fancy you, is lovely for 2 seconds but it very quickly becomes hurtful if all it is is words. What I mean by that, is that the words become less believable if you don’t do anything about them. I’m flattered in the moment, but I’ve been in so many situations like this where boys have put my hopes up so far, then at best ignored me, that at this point I don’t trust words.

I don’t really understand why this is a thing, and I don’t know why I seem to attract it, but god almighty it’s a headache. Not least does messing with someone’s head like this fuck with their feelings, but it made me feel completely objectified at points. After the excitement of the moment had faded, I’d wake up and wonder if what’d actually happened there was a young lad only saying what he’d thought I wanted to hear because he wanted to sleep with me. Making that dramatic confession untrue, and all the emotional turmoil completely unnecessary.

All of this isn’t to say that I hate every lad I’ve had a situationship with; I’m still quite fond of a few of them, but I have to say my piece because I’m tired. Not to mention the fact that a healthy level of self-esteem doesn’t just happen; it’s incredibly fragile and takes a lot of work to maintain. So I refuse to allow the yeah-but-no-but treatment I’ve had from lads this year, to morph into self-criticism and thus take a toll on my self-esteem. Naturally, this is always easier said than done but once again, we do our best.

Thus, I want to finish with a request for all my readers (no matter your gender): please think before you speak. Decide whether what you’re about to tell a person is beneficial to them, or do you just want to say it to help yourself? Go into things with the correct intentions, and try not to fuck with someone’s head in the process. You might not always manage it, but it’s always worth a try. Because personally, I don’t need or want to hear it anymore, if you’re not going to do anything about it.

It gets a little too loud

It gets a little too loud

by elizabethmdouglas ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

A few days ago, I lay down to go to sleep but couldn’t because all I could hear was talking. I tossed and turned and I tossed and turned, but the whole time I felt like I was trying to go to sleep in a crowded room full of people talking, laughing, and arguing with each other. Then I realised that all of that noise was in my head. So I breathed, and I calmed it, and I went to sleep.

Now before anyone refers me onto a psychiatrist, I don’t suffer from any mental health problems which would mean that I hear voices; the only thing I suffer from is trying to constantly keep myself busy. I fill my days with activities to avoid being bored or feeling like I’m squandering my time (or that I’m alone), then in my head I plan, organise, and evaluate everything. Once I’ve thought about all the things I’ve done, or need to do, the next brainwave is all of the internal conversations about my friendships or boy tediums, and if I’ve exhausted all of that (and am nearing the days of my period), some cheeky insecurities will pop up to say hello.

It gets pretty noisy.

All of this isn’t to say that I’m unhappy, though; coming back to a more normal version of a university life this year has been something that so many of us really needed, and I’m glad to say that I’m pretty content at the minute. I no longer need to worry about the stress of a year abroad, or the fact that my degree makes me feel stupid. I’m able to get out of the house, go to lectures I enjoy, and socialise with people without breaking the law or having to cover half of my face. I’ve had insanely exciting news which has made me feel like I’m actually going to be able to have a career doing something I love – and I’m not going to go into details about it in case I jinx it. I get to see and laugh with my friends all of the time, and I feel like I’m getting pretty good at this whole adult-ing thing. But even the good times are mentally trying, and it pays to recognise this before something happens and your brain goes bang and you end up crying on the floor eating ice cream.

As is the case with many things, I’m not an expert in how to help yourself calm down and relax because I’m constantly trying to find something to fill my time. However, yesterday when I was doing my eye make up, I realised that I’d forgotten to breathe because I was trying to make my eyeliner perfect, whilst also thinking about an argument I wanted to (but never would) have with a lad. Needless to say, (once I’d remembered to exhale), it was clear that I need to work out how to slow down a little.

When I was younger, my granddad used to take me and my brother camping in the Yorkshire Dales a lot. I think of those times with an immense amount of fondness, but possibly the most influential part of those trips was the fact that when I get overwhelmed, I feel an intense need to go to those hills because of the silence. It’s so quiet up there that it kind of hurts your ears. But as much as I want to, I can’t be driving an hour to the middle of nowhere every time I feel a little claustrophobic: I’ve got a dissertation to write. Thus, I drive half an hour to the beach to look at the sea, I go home to sit with my parents and watch TV, or I read a book I want to read (not one that’s been assigned to me); I play guitar, I listen to music, or sometimes I just sit and stare at the wall for a bit. Although, that last one does sound like something out of One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest…again, I don’t need a psychiatrist, I promise.

Whatever it is, and whatever age you are, all I can say is that you should probably find something that gives you a moment of respite not just from other people, but from yourself too. Otherwise eventually, as everyone’s mum used to say: it’ll all end in tears.