Archives for category: thoughts

Sometimes I wonder what I’m doing.
I just stop, and look at the mess around me, and the way that emotions make me feel, and I wonder why I keep on doing it.
Sometimes I wish that you actually could burn out the emotions that happen when something good doesn’t work out. Sometimes I’d like to not feel, to not have that grip around my heart, that empty feeling in the pit of my stomach.
I’d really like to be able to eat something without wanting to immediately throw it right back up. I’d really like to feel that I want to eat at all.
And yet, in the moment, oh my god, in the moment, that sense, that rush, that swell of emotion that engulfs me when I drop my guard, and let myself feel. How could I give that up?
It’s like a drug, and I know I’m addicted.

The sense of belonging, even for just a while, is something I need. Walking along the seafront at five in the morning, your arm round my waist, mine around yours, the smell of your hair as it occasionally blows into my face, how could I want to forget that?
And yet now, when I see that’s likely the only time I’ll know that moment with you, there’s a part of me that almost wishes it wasn’t real. The sadness of knowing that’s all there ever will be is crushing, and that pain, that’s something I wish I didn’t have. That’s something that never changes.
My problem is that I feel. All of our problems are that we feel. Feelings are the worst, and yet, I keep on doing them. We keep on doing them.
When we kissed you said you don’t do feelings. You told me that I make you feel, and I told you that maybe just for now, right at this moment, feelings are okay. They needn’t last forever, they can just be about the moment.
I was right, but I was also wrong. Feelings start in the moment, but they don’t always stop there. Sometimes they carry on, and they follow you around, like a shadow you can’t see, always a little behind you, but there none the less.
Fucking feelings. They eat me up, and stop me from being okay.
And I don’t know what to do with them. I don’t know where to put them when they become memories. I don’t know how to feel about how to feel.
Friends tell me that I need to protect myself better, to develop a tougher exterior, but I don’t want to harden up. I don’t want to build a shell to protect myself, even though it would be the sensible thing to do. I’m afraid that if I do, it’ll make me cold. I’m afraid that I’ll no longer be able to feel anything at all. And yet I know the stark truth in this, as if I didn’t feel then I wouldn’t have to spend days, weeks, months getting over people, and I wouldn’t feel that sadness that walks alongside me in those times.
But I’m afraid of losing the ability to feel just the same. Like I said before, it’s a drug.

I leaned in close to your ear, and asked if I could kiss you. You leaned in as well, and as our lips touched I felt the rushing of blood through my body, the tingling of nerve endings, the softness of your mouth, and the gentle warmth of your tongue as it discovered mine. It felt like everything else dissolved away, even though we were surrounded by a hundred other people, and the music was so loud.
Your hand touches my face, and as we kiss you slowly stroke my cheek. My skin prickles with goosebumps, but it’s not from the sharpness of the winter night.
My god, those feelings. They run rampant through my soul, and make me realise that this is what life is about. Connections and emotions. Links between people, delicate and strong, like spider silk, weaving lives together, sometimes fleetingly, sometimes forever.
Those glorious, burning, heart ripping feelings.
And we can never win. It’s like a glacier, a huge unrelenting emotional glacier. We chip away at its vast hulk, trying to get a foothold whilst all the while it keeps on coming.
We can climb to the top, only to look around and realise it’s so vast, so uncharted, that we were foolish to even think we could ever claim it as ours alone.
I need to feel, even when I don’t want to feel. I need to know what it is to keep the glacier at bay. I need the warmth from another, I need the warmth from you.
I know given time I’ll forget what this feels like. I know this because when I do feel like this I remember the times it’s happened before. I remember the feelings, the magnificent, all consuming intense and beautiful feelings. I remember all the feelings, even the gut wrenching, all engulfing, salty sharp feelings.
The happiness, the sadness, and everything that lives in the gaps between.
Sometimes I wonder what I’m doing.
Then I remember, and I realise why even if I could, I’d never give this up. How could I ever let go of those glorious, burning, heart fucking feelings?
How could I even think that was an option?


The best thing I ever did was get Therapy.

It was incredibly hard to reach the decision to get it though. In theory it should be as simple as picking up a phone and making an appointment, but the reality was very different for me, and for many other people I’ve spoken to about this.
There’s a stigma attached to any sort of mental health problems. If you break your leg, you go to the hospital, and they fix it. It’s so matter of fact that no one even comments on it, other than to say hope it mends soon, or how did you do that?
Tell someone you’re in therapy though, and you’ll get anything from a look of fear that you’re somehow not right to patronising comments as to how brave you are, and how difficult it must be.
You don’t get that sort of reaction for a broken leg.
Having counselling is often seem as a thing to be ashamed of, because of this stigma attached to it, as being something only really messed up people do.
I say this from a position of feeling that myself. It was one of the things that stopped me from going for years. I thought I could deal on my own, that it would be weird to talk to a stranger about such personal things, that I was somehow better than that, that it was beneath me because I wasn’t fucked up right?
I fully acknowledge that I was an asshole for thinking that, and I’m glad I had the self awareness to question my fear of getting to know myself. I’m glad because it changed everything.
This is what I know now, that helped make that change happen.

Anger can be a positive thing.
I never realised how angry I was before I had therapy. I was afraid to recognise that I was angry as well, angry at the unfair deal I got, angry at the world for making my life so much harder, angry at myself for not having the strength to do anything about it, angry at my own self pity.
Not recognising this, and instead just burying it, just made it even more poisonous and impossible to deal with.
Once I talked about it though, I found I could channel it, it became a righteous anger, a powerful, positive force, and I found I could use it to do things. It gave me strength.

That spiteful inner voice that puts me down can be challenged, and changed.
That voice is such an asshole. But it’s also all talk. Learning how to challenge it makes it quieten down enough to make other things possible.

The worst case scenario hardly ever happens.
Man do I love imagining the worst possible outcome. It’s an automatic response that kicks in if I’m confronted by any difficult situation.
Thing is, the worst case very rarely happens. Yes, things might be pretty shit sometimes, but worst case? Not so much.
At the end of the day you will survive, if you can let yourself survive. Counselling, Therapy, they’re like the key to unlocking how to survive. It won’t always stop the mess and the hurt, but, for me at least it did stop my brain running away with all this. It gave me back some control, when I didn’t have any.

(I’ve split this into a two part post, because as I started writing it became pretty clear there was a lot to say here, and definitely too much for one post, so more next time!)

I live in a reasonably expensive bit of the country. It’s my choice, and I really love where I live but, outside of London’s dizzying heights, it’s probably one the most expensive places in the UK to live.
I also work a pretty low paid job, and money is pretty hand to mouth most of time. Again, to a degree, this is my choice. My main job isn’t the best pay in the world by any stretch of the imagination, but it is flexible, safe and something I (mostly) enjoy.
What this does mean though is that when it comes to having a home, I live with other people. Looking back in fact, there’s never been a time in the forty odd years I’ve been knocking around, that I haven’t lived with other people.
I have never lived alone. Not even for a little bit. Even at university, I still shared a dorm when I lived on site.
I’m not alone in this, and I’m not alone in living with other people. Mostly everyone I know flat shares in some shape or form, and that’s pretty universal across all ages and identities.
A lot of it is because of renting prices, and bad pay, and that certainly plays a part in my situation, but also, there’s something about living with other people that’s pretty comforting.

Maybe it’s some throwback to when we lived in smaller groups, and had closer tribal packs. The security and community that brought would of been pretty essential to life, and I guess now we live in groups of thousands, hell, sometimes millions, having the security of a smaller ‘tribe’ can help with feelings of isolation and loss of individuality amongst all the hundreds of thousands of people we share our cities with.
I suppose that’s who our friends, family and people we live with are, our own personal tribes, the only difference being that now our modern tribes are more interlinked. We belong to a often huge variety of social groups, with different standing in each, and thanks to technology, the tribes we belong to aren’t even limited by geography. The vast oceans that limited our ancestors are no match for the Internet, which allows tribal membership to finally become global, rather than local.

I’ve been considering living on my own, because I never have, but the thing that stops me is the potential for losing a tribe. No, that’s not right, it’s the fear of the potential to lose a tribe.
I’m fairly certain that if I did live on my own that it would be alright, and I could even gain something from it.
Fear of losing something is a powerful thing, but I guess we shouldn’t let that stop us from doing something new. After all it’s not so much that the tribe is being disbanded, it’s more that there’s just been a reshuffle of roles and places held, which you could even say is an essential, and nessesary part of life in a tribe, modern or otherwise.

There’s been a lot of horror in the news recently, and there’s a thing that happens pretty much every time something terrible happens.
We try and sum it up in a hashtag.
I understand why we do this, we want to show solidarity with the victims of the tragedy, and we want to get the word out, let others know that this is not something we can support.
And sometimes it’s a really effective tool, as is the case with the deaths of Eric Garner and Mike Brown at the hands of police officers. This article on the Huff Post clearly shows how fast and how global the outrage was, as the hashtags #ICantBreathe, #BlackLivesMatter and #HandsUpDontShoot spread across the globe.
The hastags got people talking, they helped with spreading the word about racism, and how prevalent and institutionalised it is in our society. People wrote about it, people read about it, and people got educated about something they previously may of been unaware of.
Sometimes a few words can help galvanise and strengthen a movement to global levels, and if not make things better, can at least let everyone know that things are not okay.
Using hashtags in this instance was an effective tool that furthered a cause and enabled complex and important discussion to take place, and continue to take place, in order that change might happen. Basically, having key words that people could rally behind helped further a just cause.

Sometimes though the hashtag is used without thought or understanding to the bigger picture. Sometimes the hashtag erases other issues, just as important, but continually ignored.
Take for instance the hashtag being used at the moment, in the wake of the attack in Paris on the offices of Charlie Hebdo.
#JeSuisCharlie, I am Charlie. It’s been used to show solidarity with the victims of the shootings, to show that we stand united against the threat of terrorism, that we will not stand for this sort of attack on our civil and human rights.
Does it tell us though that Charlie Hebdo also printed cartoons that were racist? Does it tell us that some of the work published was considered anti-Semitic, or that they depicted a black woman as a monkey?
Does it mention about the strong anti Islamic stance a lot of the work published shows?
The murder of these journalists was wrong. Freedom of speech is a right that everyone should have, and people should not have to die for it, but freedom of speech doesn’t mean that everything you say under that banner is right.
In fact, saying that its okay to mock and generalise Muslim people, or people of colour, or Jews, because free speech, probably isn’t actually okay.

I think we muddle up things like this sometimes. We think we can say anything we want, and then when people call us out on it we start shouting about freedom of speech and being oppressed because someone disagrees with what we’ve said. It’s easy to think free speech only applies to us, or that it somehow protects us from any criticism when we say something wrong, but actually it should do the very opposite.
It should expose us to criticism, it should help us to challenge our views and open our minds. We should all become better people through the medium of free speech, rather than just banging heads together like angry goats.
Of course it’s easy to say that, and I know if I’m challenged on my views I sometimes find it hard to accept.
I think, and this is my own personal opinion here, that, in general, we have a really hard time accepting that we might have got something wrong, especially when we see ourselves as good people.
Good people can be wrong people, no question about it, and that’s hard to accept.

Let me give you an example. I found it hard to accept that some things might be seen as cultural appropriation*. I didn’t understand it, and as a white, middle class person, who also sees themselves as a good person, I just assumed it wasn’t something I needed to be aware of because everyone should have the right to freedom of expression.
That sounds a lot like what I was saying earlier about how some people view freedom of speech doesn’t it?
Thing is, freedom of expression is all good and fine when, as the dominant culture, you can do whatever the fuck you like. It’s not so great when you’re the oppressed culture though.
As a member of the dominant culture it’s sometimes hard to take it when someone else tells you, “Hey y’know what? I’m not that keen on you using Sugar Skulls as a window display to sell your stuff.” say.
As you read that, some of you maybe thinking but…but… it looks cool, it’s only a bit of fun for Halloween, what’s so wrong about using Sugar Skulls?
Well, this article sums it up pretty well.
(tl;dr – Modern Halloween is a hedonistic holiday about the self, Día de los Muertos is a holiday honouring deceased relatives and friends. Using Sugar Skulls is appropriation because it’s using something from another culture outside of it’s intended context. Seriously though, read the article.)

This is an example of something I did, and then was told was not actually that cool a thing to do. I wanted to disagree, because I couldn’t think of myself as wrong in that situation, because the cultural significance of the thing I was appropriating wasn’t relevant to my life.
That’s the real clincher here sometimes, it didn’t matter to me. My arrogance as the appropriating culture wouldn’t allow me to realise why this might be wrong, and it was only after finding out more (a lot more) about it that I realised why I actually was very wrong.

That’s a time I got it wrong, despite being a good person. Even if it feels like it though, getting it wrong doesn’t make us bad people. What makes us bad people is when we don’t educate ourselves, when we refuse to listen when we’re called out, when we generalise a whole culture, or simplify a situation because the bigger picture doesn’t sit comfortably with our viewpoint. Put simply, it’s when we refuse to accept that sometimes we do get it wrong.

Its hard to see sometimes, especially when something terrible happens, and all we want to do is shout, or cry, but we owe it to ourselves to really look, and to look not just at what we’re being told, but also to look at what we’re not.

*wiki has a page on what Cultural Appropriation is here and this is a pretty useful article on Everyday Feminism as well, should you want to know more.

I touched on relationships in the previous post, but I’m going to go into more detail here, mainly because of this….

It is so tiring sometimes, and yet it’s also exhilarating, which is where the problem arises. I am used to it, but I also sort of like it. I want to stay somewhere for longer than six, ten, twelve months, but I’m afraid if I do I’ll just get restless, and want to move on, see what else is out there, keep the movement going, not stagnate.

As I was writing that it really struck me that I was also writing about my relationship issues.

(I say issues, but if I’m honest I don’t like that word. It’s used a lot, in relation to mental health, relationships and sexuality amongst other things, and the negative and often dismissive associations aren’t always a good thing. It doesn’t allow for any understanding, it’s always just ‘issues’, unexplained, but easily used so we don’t have to look any further.)

When I get into relationships I tend to throw myself at them, it’s all intense and full on, mainly because I’m trying to fight against the restless urge.
My slightly haphazard thinking being what it is, I’m all like if I get involved hard at the start it will make it harder for me to disentangle myself, and thus less likely that I’ll want to as well.
I’m sure you’ll all agree this is the best plan ever.

I’ve done this quite a bit. I did it this year, along with the classic

this is my last chance at a relationship so I must throw myself into it at all costs

and that golden oldie

You’re looking like I’m being too intense so I’m going to play it cool and then be even more intense every time I do see you, to make up for all the times I’ve not seen you.

Yeah, I’m a real keeper, I know.
Thing is, I know I do this. Like I’ve said before, you do something enough, it becomes a pattern, a pathway. Your brain knows it, and will happily retread that route every single time, even when you know it’s not helping.
So, what can you do?
If I was all down with my inner wise guru I’d probably say something about change being hard but worth it, and how through self retrospection we can discover hitherto untold truths about how our minds work. This would all be true I guess, along with obvious, and a little patronising.
Instead, I think I’m just going to be a little more aware. More aware of how I come across and more aware of what I do.
Maybe I’ll stop every now and again, and just enjoy the moment.
I’m guessing my inner guru would be saying something about little steps making big changes. There’d probably be something about butterflies making hurricanes as well, because that’s solid gold happening right here when it comes to wise words.
Of course, despite being obvious, and meaninglessly profound, there is a truth in this all. Small changes do often start something.
Sometimes that’s all it takes.

As the year ends I often get kind of retrospective. I know I’m not the only one, and that this isn’t uncommon.
It’s one of those things we do when faced with a perceived ending I guess.

As years go it’s been a funny one, I’ve moved home quite a lot, three times to be precise, which is quite a lot, even by my standards. That’s four different places this year, and another one to come early next year.
I’ve moved home quite a few times. In fact I’ve sort of lost count. I know it’s in the thirties, but after the thirtieth time I just stopped counting, and accepted that from now on the number was just going to be known as “a lot”.
I’ve got a feeling that all this moving about isn’t great for my sense of stability and security, which can on occasion, be a little rocky.
Also though, there’s a bit of me that’s just thinking I’m getting too old for all this now. Increasingly there’s an inner voice that’s saying “Kid, you need to take it easy more, you need a place to live that’s more permanent than six months, you need to sort your shit out.”
This is the same voice that also, from time to time will be like “You definitely need to drink more of that wine and stay out all night because what if something happens and you’re not there and it’s awesome!” but every now and then it does talk sense.
I’m talking about the place to live thing here, just in case that’s not clear.

I don’t know, trouble is, after a while of doing something, it almost becomes part of life. I accept that I have to move all the time because that’s what I do. People are like “moving again eh? Bet you’re used to it now eh?” and that’s it exactly.
I am used to it. I’m a pro at loading and driving a van, I can pack like a boss, and when I’m between houses, I can live out of a suitcase for as long as it takes, even if we’re talking months.
When I go away I can fit everything I need into a tote bag, and this comes from all times I’ve had to move. My life is transitory, every moment is temporary, and I am always on the move.

It is so tiring sometimes, and yet it’s also exhilarating, which is where the problem arises. I am used to it, but I also sort of like it. I want to stay somewhere for longer than six, ten, twelve months, but I’m afraid if I do I’ll just get restless, and want to move on, see what else is out there, keep the movement going, not stagnate.

And yes, I think I’m talking about relationships there as well.

Like I said at the beginning, endings make me retrospective. Every now and then though, an ending can give you clarity on a way you do things, and enable you to start something new.

I’ve got to say, right now, I’m not feeling it.
Maybe it’s the winter. I don’t especially like this season, it’s cold and damp and dark. It makes me cough a lot. I’m not even kidding, in the winter I have a cough for about 4 months. It gets tiresome pretty quick.

Maybe it’s Christmas. I haven’t got any presents organised, I just wander aimlessly around the shops surrounded by so many people, all doing the same.

Maybe it’s being single. This time of year is pretty dark, and at the moment, I don’t know, the world seems pretty dark as well. Sometimes you need someone to help with that. Sometimes you need someone’s hand to help, and to hold. That doesn’t happen so much when it’s just you.

I don’t know, I mean I know I’ve got it okay, I have a home, I have people. That’s more than some, and looking at the surface, I’m just moaning because I’m cold, and a bit lonely.
That seems small in comparison to the terrible things that happen daily in the world, it seems inconsequential and trivial. I don’t even know why I’m not feeling it in comparison to everything else.
Thing is though, what I feel is still there. The emptiness, the lack of direction, the loneliness. It is there, and it is real to me.
I know it’ll pass, and I know I’ll feel better, and I know that there will be someone, and I know that it won’t be cold forever. I know this, and tomorrow I’ll feel this and think this, and then it’ll be alright again.
This feeling is only for now, it’s just right now, that feels like a long time.

So, it’s been a while since I’ve been with someone. It’s been a while since I’ve even been on a date. Thing is, I’m not sure why exactly.
I’m still using dating sites, I’m still going out and meeting people, I’m still not being a dick, and yet, nothing is happening.
I’m being proactive as well, I’m messaging people I get matches with, but nothing, not even a reply. I really don’t get it.

Something else is happening as well. The longer I go without dating, the less important it starts to be. What I mean by that is that it isn’t always on my mind, it isn’t something I immediately think about when I meet new people.
I’m not sure how I feel about that to be honest. On the one hand, it’s nice not to constantly feel the pressure to pair up with someone, but on the other hand, I quite like the feeling you get when you do get with someone. I say quite, but I really mean totally love.
I’m guessing that exposure to a feeling numbs that feeling after a period of time, and in many instances that can be a good thing. it’s just in this case, I’m not sure I want to become numb.
Numb, in my mind means giving up, accepting that this is your lot, that every negative thing you thought, might actually be true.
That’s not what I want, and I don’t want time to do that to me, even though it’s happening right now.

There’s a narrative that goes something along the lines of Trans people have always known they’re Trans.
It’s nearly always one of the first things people ask me about when we talk about Trans stuff. I’ve been asked the question “When did you know?” more times than I can count, and when I answer that question, and tell people that I didn’t really know till I was a teenager, and that I didn’t fully form exactly what my identity was till I got to my thirties, there’s often an element of surprise in people’s eyes.
Sometimes there’s an element of judgement there as well. I can see them thinking, but if she didn’t know till then, how can she be sure now? Surely all Trans people just know?

Thing is, there are Trans people who haven’t always known, but that doesn’t make their identities any less Trans than someone who’s always known.
I sometimes think that maybe, if you have to ask, then asking “How did you know” is a more important question than “When did you know?”

So, how did I know?
There were two essential things that let me know what it meant to feel what I felt.
Language and knowledge.
Seems obvious right, if we can communicate how we feel, then we can understand what it is, and find out what we need to do.
Today it’s pretty easy to find out what it means to feel things, the Internet changed everything when it comes to freedom of knowledge, and with that change came greater visibility, and with greater visibility it became easier to find others that feel how you feel. Yeah Internet!
Thing is though, it wasn’t always like that. I grew up in the seventies and eighties, in the last century. (Sounds dramatic when it’s put like that doesn’t it?)
There was no internet then, there was virtually zero visibility for Trans people, and so I had no reference point as to how I felt. As a teenager I genuinely believed I was the only person alive who felt like this. Imagine my absolute fucking surprise when I found out I wasn’t.
That’s when I really started to form my identity as a Trans woman, once I had the knowledge and language, once I discovered I wasn’t alone.
Even then it took a long time. It’s only really now, thanks to a ton of reading, a reasonably large amount of therapy, and the support of truly amazing friends and family that I’ve really got it pinned down.
This is why asking a Trans person when they knew isn’t helpful, or in any way insightful to understanding what it means to be Trans. Knowing that I started understanding that I was Trans when I was a teenager doesn’t give any context to that fact. All that most people get from this is that it doesn’t fit with the narrative of always knowing.
Ask me how I knew though and suddenly things have context. There are reasons, emotions, and ultimately understanding.

The preconception, that all Trans people have always known, is ultimately damaging. It doesn’t help anyone, and that should be reason enough to stop doing it.
Maybe though that isn’t enough, maybe you need more reasons?

How about the fact that it also devalues the identity of those who haven’t always known, and it stigmatises an already stigmatised identity even more.
Or that it creates a hierarchy of validity, which is incredibly destructive, and hurtful to many, many Trans people.
Oh, and yeah it can also divide communities, and damage personal identities, both of which are fundamental to our existence in this world.

Yeah, that’s probably enough reasons.

I’ve never really thought of myself as a quitter, I like to think, once I go for something, I’m there for the long haul, like a dog with a log, never letting go, all focus channelled into the task at hand.
Thing is, over the last year, I’ve realised this is sort of true, but not always in a good way.

Yeah, I’m tenacious, but often it’s only in relation to hopeless situations.

That no quit attitude? Only there when it comes to putting myself down and chipping away at my own self esteem.

And being overwhelmingly focused on the task at hand? Well, yes, if the task at hand is taking on everything negative that happens to me as being a fault with me.
Yeah, I’m very good at not quitting when it comes to things I hate.

I think, if many of us were honest with ourselves, we’d probably have similar experiences.
If you break up with someone say, it’s hard not to see fault in yourself. In fact, quite often the other person in the relationship will help you with that as well, and by help I obviously mean brutal character assassination.

I know my self esteem can be a fragile thing. It’s like its made of ice, any heat will melt it pretty fast, and god help us all if you go for it with a hammer. I try and build it up as best I can, but after a while it starts to become the norm that it will melt away, and once that happens it becomes much harder to sort it out.
I think that’s because there’s comfort in repetition, even if it’s negative repetition. Doing the same thing, having the same response is safe because it’s familiar. It almost doesn’t matter that it hurts you more, that it’s ultimately incredibly self destructive, because at least you know this feeling. There is security and safety because it’s what you know.
Look at it like a rollercoaster. The first time you go on it its frankly fucking terrifying. You’re all I’m gonna be sick, what’s happening, I CAN NOT DEAL. But then you go on it again, and again, and again, and after a while you know all the twists, you remember the bit where you go upside down where you feel sick, and you get used to it. The more you do it,the easier it becomes to keep on doing it, even if it keeps on making you feel sick.
As with many analogies, if you look too hard it will fall apart, (maybe don’t analyse that last bit about feeling sick and still riding the coaster too hard) but the gist of it is true. The familiarity of thinking negatively about myself is often an easier route to take then stopping and thinking about whether its actually true or not.

I’ve started doing things to change my way of thinking. I don’t want to feel shit about myself every time something bad happens, so now I stop and think about it a little.
I think about if it is really something to do with me, or if it’s actually something to do with someone else, and I’m just being a sponge for their emotions.
Sometimes it is me, but a lot of the time it isn’t.
When I get upset because someone on Tinder can’t deal with me being trans, I try not to take that as a reflection on me anymore. I try not to do that because the truth of it is that it’s not me that has the problem. It’s not for me to take on that, it doesn’t make me a bad person. There is no need to put myself down, because I have done nothing that is deserving of that.
It is of course easier to write this than do it, but remember when I said I never thought of myself as a quitter?
Well apparently that’s true with thinking good things about yourself as well…..

Freiya Benson

Writer & Photographer.

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