(I just wrote a long post & it deleted itself. Not in Drafts. Unhappy Blooger. Yes.)
Weddings + Me = Bad Idea.
That is what I always thought.
I was never the sort of child who daydreamed about a fairy-tale wedding. I drew pictures of fairys, yes, but I was more concered about lauching my career as a Full Time Fairy who would promote Green Peace (which confused with World Peace for years) than thinking about yucky Boys or a big poofy dress.
As I grew up I pretty much denounced anything girly. I was a Goth (or a Goff judging by many numerous clothing mistakes) I was also mad. As a child anxiety follwed me around like a hated imaginary enemy. It got worse. By 12 I was depressed and worried. By 14 I was in intensive therapy for my Eating Disorder, my self harming, depression & anxiety. I rattled with medication. I was sad, bad, mad.
I thought that –
Mad plus fat plus scarred = never ever married. Ever.
I did not consider it a possibility. During my teenage years, and, to be honest, even very recently, the idea of any future at all was a shady ideal and overshadowed by my numerous suicide attempts.
What has changed? I am still mad, bad, sad. I am still scarred. I still self harm. I still have a rampant eating disorder that rules my life. My anxiety is isolating. My OCD rocks even my strongest relationships. The Great Depression II just ruins everything. My psychosis puts me in hospital.
But I have The Boy. We got engaged to cement the fact we were solid in our relationship that we know will last forever. We got engaged because December and the months before it were hard and horrible, the engagement was the light at the end of a very, very dark and scary tunnel. We were not expecting to plan a wedding until maybe five years into the future….
Then The Boy’s Army ambitions really kicked off…and we talked, and talked, and talked.
We decided (well, maybe I decided) there was no way I was letting him go to a war zone without him being my Husband. We wanted something for me to work towards and in both situations a Wedding seemed like a brilliant soloution. The obvious choice.
I thought it would all take a while to get off the ground..I thought we’d both go off the idea, be put off by the money and the planning.
Like with so many other things, I was so very wrong.
We have both jumped into wedding planning feet first. We love it. I love it. It is making me excited & happy, I wake up with a smile, feeling like Chrsitmas is coming as I count the days until we can go view the first two possible venues. We both have made lists, and counted pennies and started savings.
I am mad – but contray to what I always thought this does not means I can not get married.
I really, really did not think I’d ever cathch Wedding Fever, it is so un-me…but so is the fact I have a First Class degree and am going to start a Masters..but so is my newfound love of pink, my striving to get better, my shakey communication skills that are improving every-time me and Boy sit down with a cup of tea and talk into the night, I am trying in therapy. All of these things one felt like things i’d never ever do.
I would not care, really, if Boy and I had to be wed in a in-use cow barn while wearing bin bags. I’d just want us to be Husband and Wife. But, because we are able to plan a wedding, we are.
It is going to be a pinky, vintage, crafty themed wedding. Boy will be wearing Army Gear. It will be very ‘us’ Controversial and a little bit mad. I am so happy.
I think my fable-esque message at the heart of this post is:
I am mentally ill and physically disabled. I may well be that way forever. But that does not have to stop be persuing my career (as an author not a fairy, sadly) and my life (marrying the Boy and sobbing as he leaves for War). It does not have to stop anything. I can weave it into the fabric of my days….
and If I can do that I really think anyone can.
Do you remeber that Polo-high? From school, when you’d eat a packet or two of polos and spend the afternoon in graphics flicking rubbers off a non-shatterable ruler, which does actually shatter – and later, the polo come down..and the reminder that is has a laxative effect?
Well. It seems that there is a polo-to-age ratio.
It only seems to take half a packet to cause that effect in me..and the come down is faster and worse.
And why, oh why did they take lovely minty treats and make them into nasty fruits O’s? Ick.
I think polo’s are a product of the vending-machine generation. In fact, maybe they caused the vending machine generation. They were the only sweets cheap enough to afford after you had searched your blazer pockets and rooted out the rubbers, the leaky pens and the notes that you had been writing to a friend when you should have been learning algebraic equations.
I wish the spearmint polo’s were still as easily available as the orginal…now, those were just epic. They deserved a cape and a wand. Give me a packet of sperming polo’s and I could turn any boring, depressing Monday lunch time into fun with a capital F.
Wow. I can’t believe I actually wrote that sentence, that is lame.
I need a sign: ‘under influence of polo’s’…
After all the fear, and interview angst, and my ‘errr, I can’t actually remember what I did in my undergrad’ answer to the ‘tell us about your previous modules question’ and my mad twitching and my shaking and the anxiety…and even though I said I have a morbid fear of submitted my work for aplication and even though I am pretty sure they though I was raving mad…
I got a letter.
A letter accepting me for my full time Creative Writing Masters commencing in September!!
This is turning about to be a Fabulous Saturday. Knitting, drinking tea and basking in my own glory. Fantastic.
One of the things I am most excited about is getting a library card with my face on that says ‘Post Graduate student’ then..when I get mistaken for a 12 I can whip it out and say ‘Do you know any 12 yr olds doing a postgrad, eh, eh,eh?!!’ …well, I’d never have the balls to do that, I am far too much of a wuss but it is nice to dream.
There is one good thing about suffering from an utter lack of any form of self esteem, confidence and self belief: good things are even more fucking good as they are just so surprising.
Will now count down the days to September…
6 months 6 days
Not that long, eh?
Here is a very badly drawn MsPaint jobby I did in an attempt to explain mental illness.
There is sunshine and balloons. I feel horrible I should be happt. There are good thing but all I am feel is the chains of this..this whatever it is, bad feeling. Chained to the good things too but I can’t appreciate them for the worry, the sadness and the sheer terror I experience sometimes. I know I am not alone. In case you were wondering, this is a bit like what mental illness can be like.
Well, Valentines day has been and gone, but I failed to make the obligatory ‘He loves me’ Blog post…so I thought I’d givee you a break down of the day in photos…
The Wonderful Fiance did his shopping with Interflora. I was putting war-paint on my face when the door bell went (by door bell I of course mean BigDog barking…) and I looked out the upstairs window to see an unknown yellow car in our driveway.
The following things went through my head –
The Bad Robbers have a yellow car?!
A man with a yellow car has come to kill us with a knife?!
Bananas in Pajamas are making a guest appearance?!!!
Bad Robbers, Bad Robbers, Bad Robbers, Bad Robbers?!!!
So due to my mental ineffectiveness which causes me to constantly jump to the totally wrong conclusion is every situation it took me a while to answer the door.
When I did get to it the interfloara man was shivering slighly and I can only sepculate that this is what caused him to look at my lumps-of-foundation-not-yet-smooshed-in on my face and contort his feautures into an expression that could only have meant:
‘Someone is giving YOU flowers?!!..and a Balloon..and Chocolates??!!!’
But he passed them over nonetheless and I proceed to dance around the front froom in joy. Not only was I not being attacked by Bad Robbers I also had a balloon!!! (oh, and really lovely flowers and chocolates..)
I gave The Finace a new coat a few weeks before Valentines…his old one was akin to him wearing a tiny square of my knitting to try and keep warm..so he was happy & surprised when I gave him some stupidly cheap Army toys to keep him entertined while I chased a balloon around the room…
That was a good day..and I am happy to report the flowers are still alive and in a vase. The balloon is hidden behind a curtian where it will not terrifying BigDog every time he comes into the room (Wuss) and the army men toys are blancing on the top of the TV Boy uses for his Xbox so they can join in when he kills stuff with pretend guns…My mum did tell me she walked in on him talking to them t’other day though, double bless.
Yesterday was a good day too, whivh is why I have cohsen to replicate it here.
Some uninformed and discriminatory people think that those who are on long term sick and unemployed just spend all day doing exactly as they please….
and i’d like to say we do…
although here is the point where I feel obliged to point out that both Helen and Boy have jobs, they just also have days off..and anyone who gets me to sew and also puts up with my exhausting mood-swings, upsets, moaning, isolating, clinging, fighting, and manicness deserves some kid of award. A picture tells 1,000 words..but the situation calls for 10,000..or something..
But lovely days, lovely photos.
It makes me laugh that when I was an angst ridden 14yr old teenager I’d have hated the idea of sewing and knitting..and being proud of engaging in such activities would have made me seethe. The teapot, however, has always been a source of my affections..
That’s it for this post, unless I can think of a witty and entertaining ending…
No, I can’t.
When I started this I promised myself (crossed my fingers, toes, arms, ankles and eyes) that I would not just neglect this Blog when my mood took a dip and I became obsessive about something that was not Blogging..
For days I have been like,
‘What Blog? I have no Blog!’
and then I saw my friends new amusing post with amazing illsutration and was overcome with Bloggers Jealously.
It may now just happen that I rely on above friend for any inspiration to Blog but I promise I shall try harder. (Story of my life, my school reports always said ‘Alexishereidrawlikenick has potential but Must Try Harder)
So, here I am admitting to being an Inspiration Thieving Copy Cat..
(Part of me did write the above as I previously viewed the copycat image and needed an excuse to post it. Thanks Char -toothy smile-)
M’kay – onto the actual content of this post.
I have an interview on Wednesday *insert dooms-day muzic*
It is for my much-talked about Masters, it is for Creative Writing. I write stories, I write poems, I write a terrible Blog with coupious grammatical mistakes. I do not do interviews. The boyfriend kindly tells me that my ‘creative personality’ means that I am not good in those one-on-one situations. But he means people. And that I am a loonely.
It is a tad like the clip below, only I may well get out a guitar and use offensive language…
A List Of Things I do During Interviews
1) I twitch. Endlessly. A bit like a Durcell Bunny that is on it’s last three seconds of life. I can’t control the twitch, it is a nervous disorder but it looks a lot as if I am just very cold. It maes people twiddle with the heating until we re all sweating profussely and I am still damn twitching and shivering…uncomfortable for all and I may as well wear a sign proclaiming my lack of mental health.
2) I am the sort of person who cannot get my fringe straight. I worry about it making me look stupid, so I fiddle…and fiddle and fiddle. I do not even know I am doing with it but it does not convey an air of confidence…it also makes me look like I am apperance obsessed, when really I’d happily leave the house in a big ban if only my hair would be straight.
I have many iteams with the Edward Monkton design on as testament to my fringe-woes..
3) When I get nervous I speak really fast. Reallyfastsononoecanunderstand. For someone who is enthused by language this is not a Masters-winning skill…
4) The more important the person is, the higher the authority the less I am able to listen and the more easily distracte……LOOK A RABBIT!
The Boyfriend grabs my hand when we cross roads – and not because he loves me so much he always wants to ber romantic and hold on to me…
5) I am likely to forget my name, age and any interests and, if pushed on this topics I may cry and/or burst into flames…
In summary – I am very glad they wanted a portfolio of words what I wroted as well as seeing me in actual person. I am hoping the will have already decided my writing skill is oh so amazing that it does not matter than I am totoally unable to sit still and reply to any interview questions..