Storm in a teacup

Happy (almost) New Year folks. So, recently I've been struggling to write. I've not known how to translate all my little thoughts on to one, coherent post without coming across as too 'bluesy,' truth being I've been pretty fucking good recently and I get a nonsensical stab of guilt for writing about depression when I'm not in a depressive period. Crackers, I know. Any whoooooo, here we go.. Today was a good day. I woke with a clear head. I had a plan for the day ahead. I had my books next to me in case I needed inspiration. Granted, I got a little kick of anxiety upon discovering my friend (whom I had planned to meet in the afternoon, so I could get round to the house and get cracking) had actually been knocking around in the pub for two hours before I had even woke. My plans got readjusted, and with them, so did I. See, Abigail has not had it easy with me, I have blown her off and put her in the backseat many, many times for alcohol and the new flav...

This is not a love letter, this is a bleeding heart. In this post (composed in the coldest bedroom in the north of England) I will be opening up about my obsession with toxic relationships and how they develop. My first serious, sexual boyfriend cheated, repeatedly. He was, in my eyes the greatest man alive, the girls messaging me to inform me what he was doing, and where he was doing it to them were the issue. I was so scared of releasing him that we made a deal. He could do whatever he wanted so long as I, nor my friends heard of it and he never brought anything back to me. I know now, looking back how insane that was. Back then though, I convinced myself it was better to sit at home wondering who he was with, was a better option than leaving. I even had a fight with a girl simply because she had spoke about it on work experience with one of my friends. I was ashamed quite simply, I wasn't enough for him. I couldn't leave him, I think I was in love with the dramatics...

I'm going to delve into why I both love, and fucking hate my mind. I've been a little bit broken pretty much as far back as I can remember. Something inside is always a little off kilter. The people I work with think I'm completely off my rocker when I'm bouncing about the floor, forcing smiles upon people who probably (definitely) do not want to be on the receiving end of them. You'll catch me disclosing my full history to a stranger from Tinder, or speaking to punters in the pub like I've known them from birth. I can't help it, I buzz off my surroundings. I'm struggling to think of a sensible way to format this post, sort of a one pro, one con list, but I don't think I'll stick to that so I'll just ramble on and hope someone, somewhere knows what I'm talking about, sort of? Off we go then, kids. So, I feel pain, deeply and disastrously. It has nearly broke me completely numerous times. The way I co-depend on, well anyone who s...

'We're looking for an evolution, not a revolution.'  Disclaimer, this is a fucking awful post to be writing and I'm struggling to get out the words to convey the pain felt this week.  These are the words my dad gave me, when I erupted through the doors Tuesday night. A tornado of tears and anguish. These are the words that broke me at the time. The realisation that there is no quick fix, not one that will mend my faulty brain for the long run. I'm not going to be better any time soon. It's a case of taking baby steps, crafting a solid foundation to build upon. What initially killed me, has now brought me peace. No one expects the fucking world of me. If I can have one good day a week, then we're all laughing. I'll begin at the main point of the post, my big declaration: I'm going sober, T-total, completely dry, for a year at least. Until I feel like I can have a beer and stop at the one. My relationship with alcohol (and drugs) has become...

Caffeinated, and raring to go, I'm back. This is a post on self image, and my battle to become accepting of my own.. I have never felt entirely comfortably with the way I look. I have never looked in a mirror and not seen a single flaw. It's something I doubt anyone ever has if I'm honest. I don't like the little pouch of tub around my abdomen, even though I understand it is natural. My nose has always been a little too round, a focal point on my face that I cannot disguise with the highest of contouring expertise. (not mine, I don't have a fucking clue when it comes to makeup) A boy in secondary school made a passing comment about my 'buggy' eyes and ever since I have hated the way they are larger than anything else. My hair is always a little too full bodied, making me feel like it is too loud. My thighs do a strange thing where they separate then collide together again, and my hands are the strangest, podgey cocktail sausage appendages, decorated ...

In this post I am going to explore my relationship with alcohol and drugs.. It has been my most consistent relationship throughout my adolescence, that journeyed with me to my twenties. It has been my best friend, comfort blanket, release, downfall and demon all at once. I cannot picture my life without it in all honesty. Not physically needed, but mentally and socially. I have toyed with the idea of a year of sobriety for a while but do not believe I ever will, my friend has recently begun his, and I wholeheartedly wish him the best of luck with it. Honestly, I would be bored out of my mind without it. I've drunk alcohol since I was about twelve, sneaking off to the park to down a bottle of Lambrini to go home, throw up, and promptly claim I'd had a dodgy kebab. My parents have never, ever condoned underage drinking, and would always punish me where they could (not like, locked in the cellar for five days with bread for supper, think like, taking away my laptop, DS, b...

I'll address it right off the bat, Yes! I am using a Jamiroquai song title as the post name. (Please dont come after me for copy right stuff, I have no money) This one is a little lighter on the palette, I'm going to talk about my happiness. We are all guilty of forgetting that what makes us happy one day may not remain the same the next. Much in the way you can buy a skirt and wear it for a week straight feeling like you are a deity, then get ready to go disco dancin' (or for the younger generation, shake ya batty/get wavey) Saturday night and feel like absolute trash in it. I take pleasure in many various activities and have spent the past year trying to find 'my thing' Now I'm all for finding yourself but I think we focus too much on becoming established in being one sole identity. Personally, I have discovered I am many Soph's. One day I may jump on the bus and go for a 4 hours walk with the companionship of a pair of headphones and a cosy scarf, ...

Morning champs, Following the heart warming messages of support from friends last night and their bravery to share their own journeys with me, (U da bomb guys) I woke feeling refreshed. Liberated in the knowledge that I am still accepted and welcomed into their lives. With this in mind I feel it is time to share the side of depression often not spoke about, the paranoia and violent outbursts. Now if you've ever met me you will see I am on the small side and generally I am babbling about nonsense or harassing colleagues to give me a fun fact. You would never, ever have pegged me as the angry little troll that has been restrained by my parents numerous times, or the one who has wrapped a mug around my brother in laws head - sorry Billy lad . The candid truth, it only takes one too many for me to descend into 4am screaming. I am somewhat of a juxtaposition in that I do whole hardheartedly trust, or at least try to, everyone. I will invest time and love in to anyone who smile...

A risky topic to publish online I know, but let's ruffle a few feathers! My close friends are probably thinking 'Fuck! She's actually doing a Carrie Bradshaw' (I am indeed sat with a glass of wine by the windowsill so..) but here we go, (Sorry mum if you see this) All to often I am seeing women (and males) being defined by their promiscuity as though it is something dirty, to be ashamed of. It is the topic often joked about by myself and my friends after 1 gin (or 10) too many where we will count partners or discuss encounters as though they were mistakes. I am at a comfortable stage in my life where I am happy to declare that I do not regret one of my drunken fumbles.  We are built to procreate but that isn't what sex is about. It is about enjoying the moment, loving ourselves, allowing ourselves to free us from our current stresses and losing ourselves in the throes of passion. It isn't an activity solely for people in committed relationships, it i...

So far my journey through the murky depths of mental health have been a confusing roller coaster ride (I am avoiding cliche terms but..) that without support and reassurance I doubt I would have had the courage to explore. This blog is a therapeutic remedy for myself, and hopefully for others who often doubt their diagnosis or struggle to understand.  So quickly, an introduction to who I am,  I'm Soph. Known as the messy, quite loud, Calamity Jane. I tend to bumble through my days getting busy, doing nothing. I make things for fun, whether it be cakes that say fuck you, to embroidery, to dressing tables. I send boys weird messages on Tinder simply to entertain myself. I drink a lot of Guinness & Gin. I love all kinds of music and I am at my happiest when in a small social gathering with a couple of friends singing, and playing. I'm a lost 20 something usually seeking social acceptance. So, an introduction to my own mental health: 10 years now I have had de...