On the worst day of the year...

Today is the worst day of the year. Did you know that?

Saying that though, you might have your own worst day. Mine was created on September 2nd 2003 at 6.59pm (ish). Most people have their own date and their own time and their own person.

There is the before and the after.

The knowing what death is and the actual experience of it.

There is losing people and the knowledge a full stop can be applied to a person.

There is no meaning to it. No great lesson to be learned. It just is. I get through today, endure the sadness and pointlessness and bigness, and then, I go back to my after life. Even writing this, there is no reason. The words wanted out and so I let them out. Even though I rarely talk about it. Even though the thought of sharing this makes me feel sick.

Thirteen years. Am I working that out right? I used to keep track so precisely, and then, the time didn't seem as important as the loss. There are so many things she is missing. So many things we are missing. And like scar tissue that won't quite heal, like a phantom limb that won't stop itching, like a heart that won't fully go back together, she is always there. Always with us.

Not that I wouldn't want her to be. Not that I ever want her to fade. But shock passes. Pain eases. Horrible things become reality become life become the way things are. Sometimes I wish I could go back to being that much in pain, to really feel the loss, not as this dull ache, but as the crystalised cut ratcheting through my chest and family and life. Just to know it was real. I'm sorry there is no meaning here, no grand life lesson about appreciating what you have because in a phone call, a bad turn, a wasted second, it could all be destroyed (it can) but sometimes people aren't lessons.
Sometimes they are just missed.
And today I miss my sister.
And today I miss all the things she didn't get to do.
And today I miss all the things she never saw me do.
Today is a day for missing.
Tomorrow, well, who knows what tomorrow is going to give?

Something more...

There is a possibility I'm slightly lost. A possibility I take the long way around in everything I do. A possibility I haven't a clue what I'm doing . Ever look at your friends and think hey, they've clearly got it all sorted? Ever look at your life and feel like it's burning to the ground? Okay, dramatic maybe, but I know we all feel that way sometimes. I know I do at the moment. No income. No job. No finished book. Still living at home. Still living in Dublin. Adventures feel few and far between. 

I'm a smiley, happy person. Positive and optimist and so sure I'm doing the right thing. Except I'm not sure any more. Searching for the answer, for the something more is, exhausting. But... Is this it? Is there not something more? Does this happen to others? This biting, hollowing need to be somewhere else? The need for something else? The fear you'll never get to where you want to be?

I live with the longing for the away-ness. I live with the want for something I may never have. 

It's the normal bits, see? The every days parts that I find challenging. I live for the highs, for the moments where you are so truly alive and so immersed in life that the rest of it fades away.
I'm a writer.
I collect stories and those are the best places for them.
I'm a dreamer.
I collect moments and use them to remind myself of how good life is.

Because it is so amazing, so awesome, so much better than they let you believe with their mortgages and permanent jobs and gaps in your C.V.  With early mornings and never enough sleep and no magic and broken hearts. With bills and rent and tax and crappy shoes.

It's the stories that last.
The moments.
The perfect ones and the painful ones. 

Right there, crystallising your life into one solid second. Their are ones that changed me radically and irrevocably. Took who I was and twisted it into something different. Sometimes with sharp edges that people cut themselves off. Other times I was softened into something warm, attracting people to me so they could bask in the safety, the calm. Life isn't down in the day to day stuff, the bits you forget. Life is the night that doesn't leave you, or that train stop that allowed you to breathe again, or the kiss that broke your heart. It is the friends that put it back together and the man of steel and the comic book lover and the festivals and the laughing. 

It is when you pause, take a breath and think, that was it.
That was something important. 

At least for me it is. 

These moments happen when you least expect them but you need to pay attention to them and collect them, add them to who you are and let them change you. Change, grow, hope, wish, live, be and do. Do something, do everything. Never stop trying and finding and learning. Because they are so easy to lose in the screech of alarms and the traffic jams and work and coffee and co-workers and arguments and TV and housework and bad nights sleep and repeat, repeat, repeat. 

Try not to lose them. Try to cherish it all. Because it's worth it when you get one. A perfect second of living.

Right now, I'm lost, unsure, that biting anxiety is sitting in my chest. I've no idea what I'm doing. I may be burnt out. I may just be having a bad week. I may just have to accept when you want something more, life is alway is a little bit harder. I may have to compromise. I may need to bend to the whole life thing. Give up. Make myself normal for a while. Accept the experiment failed. I am not more. I am just me. Little. Small. No one important. 

But then I think fuck it. Might as well keep fighting to find something that makes these tiny few seconds on the planet worth it. Because I'll be dead long enough and who wants to be normal anyway? 

Men, you need to ask...

“I am over the passivity of good men. Where the hell are you? You live with us, make love with us, father us, befriend us, brother us, get nurtured and mothered and eternally supported by us, so why aren’t you standing with us? Why aren’t you driven to the point of madness and action by the humiliation of us?” Eve Ensler (stolen from Louise O'Neill's article in the irish examiner, link below) 

My blog on Tuesday night was in reaction to anger and exhaustion and frustration and pain. It was my experiences. And as I said to a friend on Wednesday morning, I consider myself one of the lucky ones. The stories I remember can be counted on two hands. I'm sure there are way more instances that I've chosen not to hold on to. But so many women have so many more that are so much worse. I've heard too many stories about street harassment, bar harassment, workplace harassment, general mind numbing, heart stopping, fear mongering harassment. Times where friends laughed off late night, drunk night, forgotten night experiences because they knew in their gut something was wrong and they didn't want to look too closely. Because examining it is scary. Especially when you know there will be no help, no support, just the look that says, well, it's kinda your fault, isn't it?

We've all recieved those looks. 

We need to dismantle this culture, this horrible fog hanging over our society. Because, you know what, when you live in a fog and you can't see the damage it's doing, why in hell's name would you leave? It's safe there. I've asked male friends if they have to think of their safety all the time; do they worry about walking home alone, do they use their keys as weapons, held between fingers just in case (of course, by the time someone gets that closed, it's already too late), is their music turned low so they can hear creeping footsteps (if they are willing to listen to music at all. Were you wearing earphones when you were attacked? What did you expect then?), do they worry about drinking too much and being taken advantage of (Well, it's your fault, you were drinking. Where is your sense of personal safety?), do they get that moment of panic when they wake and realise their friend didn't txt to say they got home safe?

Think about it for a second, oh male readers, do you?

Do you worry about your safety at least once a day?

Most of the answers I've recieved are no. Along with a looks of confusion and you're obviously joking/exaggerating/crazy/safety obsessed.... etc.... Because no one actually lives that way.

Except this, and much more, is the life that most of my female friends live.

Every damn day. 

Many articles have been written this week articulating this brilliantly. Here are some links I would love you to take the time and read. Some make me so angry, I feel like it's burning a hole through my stomach. The rest make me proud or scared or glad people are better at saying what I can't seem to: 

The Letter The Stanford Survivor Read Aloud To Her Attacker
‘20 minutes of action’: father defends Stanford student son convicted of sexual assault
Men See Themselves In Brock Turner—That’s Why They Don’t Condemn Him

Brock Turner's statement blames sexual assault on Stanford ‘party culture’
Ambient Fear, Feminism & Bruce Banner

Schrödinger’s Rapist: or a guy’s guide to approaching strange women without being maced
Verbal abuse of women in public
I hope it's helpful, even if it's a bit clunky
Why must we get angry and sad just so Brock Turner will understand rape?

To Brock Turner’s Father, From Another Father
It’s incredibly disturbing how we have learned to internalise sexist behaviour and blame ourselves
Let’s Talk About Rape, Man to Man

Brock Turner case shows how men are not listening to women

Men, have a conversation with the women in your life.

We're already talking. We're swapping stories but they're tales we already know. We need you to know them. We need you to listen. And then, when you understand how we live, we need you to tell your male friends. Let's get a conversation going. Ask questions. Disagree with us. Question us. But stay open-minded. Accept we are telling the truth. We are not exaggerating. Trust us. I am surrounded by so many amazing, open minded, wonderful men. But even they were shocked. Even they didn't know.
                                             
Let's all talk.

Let's lift the fog and light the way. 

                                                     ***********

If you want to know what caused this, my original post is here. 

                                                                                                        

Anxiety to Adventures...

"It's such a dangerous thing happiness. You'll do anything to keep it. Sometimes that means doing nothing. But I only earned it by accepting the possibilities, being daring, doing things." -11/05/15

It's been just over a year since I wrote those words, and boy, was I right. Happiness is like sand through your fingers; no matter how hard you try to hold on to it tiny grains will slip away. And if you're not careful, if you don't refill the sand every few days, weeks, months, it'll all just disappear. I did take my own advice. I went out. I lived. The only problem was I forgot to refill the sand and now it's gone. I gave it away to others I thought needed it more, I fought too hard for things that were never mine to begin with and I broke myself again and again and again for, at the end of it all, absolutely nothing. Nothing. Not a damn thing.

The last year has not been easy.

But, fuck it. I am here now and I am never one to wallow for long. The anxiety has faded, the pain is easing and the counselling is a godsend. Seriously, why did I hold out on that for so long? It is freaking awesome. Hello, trained professional, please help figure out why I'm caught in a never ending pattern of terrible decisions, worse men and self fulfilling prophecies. Oh, because of my inability to form boundaries...

*Starts building a wall Donald Trump would be proud of*

Last year, I set myself a six week challenge of no alcohol. This year it's a little bit different. This year, I just want to be happy again. I want to remember why I love being alive so much. Because, holy goddess, I love the adventures and the excitement and people and music and books and EVERYTHING. It is so ridiculously wonderful the unlimited possibility of joy around us and I want it back. So I have set myself a challenge, and with a challenge, comes accountability.... And with great power comes great responsibility... Sorry couldn't help myself...

This blog, yet again, is my accountability. The name of the game is adventure. It is saying yes.

(Press play now) 

Right now, I finally feel like I'm ready to start over again with all the nice things life has to offer. Fun and sun and pretty things. I want smiles and laughter and hugs and sweets. Comic books and movies and sunbathing and beaches. Trips to the zoo and city breaks and seeing friends and eating good food. Dancing and gigs and terrible puns and drinking in the sunshine.

So my list so far:
Trim Castle
Acapella Group
Forbidden Fruit
Amsterdam- Best Kept Secret Festival
Edinburgh (Harry Potter tour and other touristy things.)
IMMA Summer Party
Edinburgh (for a literary festival this time)
Galway
Kerry
Newcastle
(also get a tan but that is an ongoing struggle)

Feel free to send me some ideas. Join me. You're all invited. Invite me places. I'll say yes.

If you want live updates follow me on Instagram where I put up pictures way more than is healthy. Also I have a twitter but I'm not great at the whole updating of that. I'll try harder though, I promise.