I hear a lot of people telling their tiny humans to “say thank you to the bus driver!” and they normally do. Whether it’s a quick thanks, a shy thanks or a bold, almost shouting thanks I always appreciate it.
We could all say thank you more.
Here are my current thank yous:
- Thank you to everyone who has stood by me recently. Notable thanks to close friends (that drunkenly ring me to tell me they love me), my mum, a couple of colleagues and my therapist.
- Thank you to every single person who works in any emergency service. Paramedics. PCSOs. Fire fighters. Coast guards. Mountain rescuers. Police officers. Don’t listen to what “The Sun” says. Have your cup of coffee in a public place; you deserve it. Every single day you leave your house not knowing what the day will bring or whether you’ll even return home.
- Thank you to doctors and nurses and physiotherapists and porters and cleaners and receptionists in hospitals all over the world. The world simply would not exist without you.
- Thank you to my goddaughter who reminds me that happiness can be found at the top deck of a bus or at the bottom of a tub of poster paint.
- Thank you to the musicians who have managed to say all the things I can’t say and better.
- Thank you to my favourite poet who has changed my life beyond comprehension.
Say thank you more.
Last night, I had a foreshadowing mindfuck dream.
In it, I confronted one of my biggest fears about one of my favourite people.
It was a mixture of painful truth and awful potential.
I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, I think dreams are our way of safely exploring things that we cannot process while we are awake. And my theory has never been more prevalent than now.
I don’t struggle with difficult conversations but I struggle to figure out the emotion surrounding them. I can get how I feel out there but then I can’t handle what happens next.
My therapist has told me that sometimes when the fantasy becomes a reality a terrible realisation sets in. All of a sudden, you have what you want and, even if it’s exactly how you had imagined it would be, it’s a shock.
I am in shock and last night I dealt with that in dream form and today I’m dealing with the idea that I might finally have the opportunity to be happy.
Happiness is scary.
Here’s the thing.
I want to hold you.
Maybe not even in a sexual way.
I want to hold you so much right now.
I want to take away that fear that I hear in your voice. I want to stomp back in time like Godzilla and right the fucking awful wrongdoings in your life.
I want to hit her so fucking hard that her teeth fall out. I want her to feel the fear and pain and shame that you’ve felt most of your life.
I want to make you smile. That water spilling out of the corner of your mouth kinda smile. I want to take a picture of it and frame it and look at it every time I doubt myself.
I want to be the person you message at 5:18am bleary-eyed. I want to be the person you message at 11:32pm drunk. I want to be the person you message when you’re happy and when you’re sad and when you’re inbetween.
I want to be the one who changes your mind and softens you. Don’t put up such a wall. I don’t want you to be Trump, I want you to be anything but.
I want to be the person you’re proud of. I will find ways to make you proud.
I want you to want to hold me. To love me. That’s the thing.
I, a 24 year old, love fanfiction.
There’s something about the crude details and the even cruder sentence structures that lures me back to fanfiction.
I have a couple of specifications that a piece of fanfiction must adhere to however:
- It must be filthy. I don’t want to read a five chapter piece about a vanilla friendship. I want graphic descriptions of outlandish sex acts.
- It has to be set on this planet. I haven’t got the mental capacity to imagine that it takes place on Mars. I can’t relate to Mars.
- It has to be similar to the actual tv series/film. I don’t want it to be about two people that vaguely resemble their tv namesakes.
Basically, I crave an x-rated version of events and I can happily say that the internet provides!
I’ve tried writing fanfiction myself but my fiction is appalling and seems to revolve around unrealistic relationship expectations.
I went through a stage when I read fanfiction at least once a day and recently I’ve been looking at it at least once a week.
Tell me this is acceptable.
This week I’ve felt that sting a lot. (Not that water infection kinda sting, thank goodness!) I’ve felt that sting of hurt when someone has said something that I find offensive.
A colleague told me that the only way I could have kids would be adoption (not true) and a friend undermined a situation which, for me, was very real and very serious but for her was little more than a passing phase.
And so I feel stung.
How does one deal with feeling stung?
A year ago I would have been bitter and angry but, as anger is a secondary emotion, I want to allow myself to feel hurt.
And boy do I hurt.
I’m not very good at being hurt. I hate being vulnerable and I associated being hurt with being vulnerable. I struggle to, rationally, admit that something has upset me.
Right now, I’d take a wasp sting over this emotional sting that is happening inside me.
Last week, I saw a video of people running away from the area where the terrorist act took place.
One of those people running was a woman wearing a hijab.
She was running for her life.
She was running for her life yet some people will say that last week’s terror attack was an act carried out in her religion’s name.
I am fed up of hearing such things.
Every day millions of Muslims go to work and school and live their normal lives. They forget to get petrol on the way home and they help their kids with their homework and they fall asleep midway through a programme and have to watch it all over again. They tread on an upturned plug, have to untangle their headphones and they get crumbs in the butter. They miss work deadlines, get caught out in the rain not wearing a coat and they take their unwell pets to the vets.
They lead normal fucking lives.
Muslims are not terrorists. Muslims are people who believe in Islam.
Terrorists are morons who do not represent a religion.
No more intolerance. No more easy scapegoats. No more fear.
More love, support and unity.