Long time no update

In all seriousness I’m actually surprised to see the last post on here was back in july or something… Whoops!

I have had a couple of new people subscribing to this and its like, cool… um… maybe I should actually post things?

I’ve been fighting depression again and… maybe I’m out of it enough to be productive?

I hate just rolling over to sleep and giving up. But combine a lazy person with lethargy and it doesn’t end well.

This is a decent example of the difference in wellness creates

I’m not including images of my own home because, frankly I’m ashamed that I have let it get bad enough that I don’t have a clean plate to eat off of anymore… From someone that owns three large plates and a variety of dinner plates.

Why not clean them after I use them?

Good question.

I ask myself that after every intensive round of dishes. Where EVERYTHING needs to be washed. It gets so bad that it gets put off. Over and over till there’s a breaking point.

The rest of the time I can pop on a video on youtube on my phone and just let it play while I do the bowl from that day and the day prior (especially if I worked a double shift the day before). Instead, because I have enough plates and so on and so forth, its a case of, fuck it.

I’ll just use another one, till it gets that bad, all you can do is just collect ALL of them and watch the stack grow more and more. Till a point of either sheer defeat, or determination.

I live on my own, pots should be easy.

They are.

When I have the motivation to even look after myself. Which, frankly I don’t.

I hate having more bad days than good, but I also don’t want to go on medication because of it. It’s that stubbonness that’s not doing me any favours… but, been there done that.

And by the time I realise something’s bad, it’s already been too long.

Putting this into perspective. The last time I cleaned my flat in its entirety (and I mean REALLY cleaned it, not just sweeping the floor cause it looks bad) was November. Since then I’ve kept the toilet clean, and the kitchen hob somewhat clean. (When its not under a bunch of plates or just random stuff that doesn’t belong in the kitchen).

I took my trash out the other day… After going around my living room, and kitchen… I had enough for FOUR WEEKS. I have multiple bins and I’d just let them get full, and had a binbag on the side (with the intent to take it out after I filled it… it remained half full and gradually being topped up, while the kitchen bin sat next to it full). And that’s before I even touched my bedroom bin.

What makes it worse, I’d taken a bag or two out the prior week to try and clear it, but there was just so much.

You CAN see the floor now, before, well, a LOT of stuff wasn’t in its place.

I’ve had to shove my floordrobe into separate large shopping bags for now to just try and break it up. At this point I only know that half of it is clean laundry I’ve not put away, and the rest… I don’t actually know if it needs to be cleaned or not.

This is AFTER I spent a week like widow twanky with the indoor washing line up in the hall again… Sucks not having a dryer when towels need doing. It just gets worse and worse… and… some of the worst of it all is. I shoved clutter into random storage boxes and shoved them under my bed to give the illusion of a person on top of things… they’re STILL THERE… from November.

Looking at my almost clean living room and I just… one half of the room is a mess, the other fared quite well, I kept my desk clear for the most part, the table next to it on the otherhand…

Another trip to the charity shops is likely due. Anything I don’t use anymore (clearly i don’t if I’ve not used it in months) is going to get ditched, the rest… I’m constantly changing the layout of certain things, my desks… my books… Every time I think ive managed to get a productive work environment going … It all goes to shit in a matter of weeks.

Not making excuses, just saying it as it is.

I promised I’d update my writing blog more and its like, the backlog now is so huge part of me doesn’t know where to start. I’ll try and finish any draft chapters I have and see where that gets me, but… it’s taken THIS long to even want to come onto here and just type away, I’ve been doing anything but…

It also sucks being a wash n wearer, because after a while it turns out you need to wear other things, for other occasions, instead of say… a work uniform, or that same couple of shirts you’ve been wearing. Everything else is floordrobed and rarely put back where it needs to be, cause… fuck it. Even when there’s plenty of space for EVERYTHING.

I also gained a significant amount of weight again recently… I had lost a decent amount and kept on track, then gained it all back… and then some. Diet and lack of exercise for the fail there. Sucks going up a shirt size… because all of the stuff you bought when your weight wasn’t great looks even WORSE.

I could fit into mediums around August, November of last year… Now, now I need XL or generous Large. I’ve always been overweight, but this is irritating the hell out of me. Though, not enough to actually do anything about it…

 

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Films so good they’re bad?

If you’re someone that loves to talk about your favorite films… praising them for elements you like, while at the same time absolutely fucking slaughtering it?

This actually could be a reason why.

The reason why there are boom mics allowed in final edits, everything that reminds us a movie is indeed a movie. A piece of entertainment.

Here’s a video.

A friend of mine also said it’s likely the reason behind CinemaSins.

If I like a film I can talk about it for hours, the good, the bad, the idiotic.
If I don’t like a film, I’ll write it off. I’ll talk about it, then simply forget it.
Films that grab my passion, they’re the keepers.

It’s like with Pacific Rim… For example I get annoyed with the blink and you miss the exposition that explains EVERYTHING that people bitch about – the relevance of the drift etc… BECAUSE people miss it and are too stupid to figure out the reasons behind it work in universe.

However, quite simply there’s too much Artistic License with physics. — The weight of a Jager compared to the machines that carry them from A to B. You’d need a motherfucking SWARM of them, not just the awesome looking two or so.

Or hell, the freighter being used as a sword, that damn thing would snap! But, who gives a shit as it’s an awesome moment, right?

Screen junkies say it all

While CinemaSins do their thing to it –

And Hishe-

I mean, Hishe, well, that solution wouldn’t actually work. I mean, hivemind n all that. But it’s still fun to see someone go HEY why didn’t that get done xD

I can’t honestly think of any films off the top of my head that I thought were done to a point of perfection. I can just think of the films I love and the many flaws they tend to have.

But it does kinda explain the issues with the Oscars vs the Everyman. Why people hate the mainstream favorites. The discrepancies between critic and audience scores.

Well done Nostalgia Critic crew, you’ve actually managed to explain more elloquently why people like myself get passionate and dump on movies they have just seen – Because we like them.

I mean come on, in one of the Resident Evil films it’s like… HOW IN THE HELL DID SHE SURVIVE THAT! Because, you know, you just created a motherfucking plot hole the size of the sun between films damnit! (I’ll not elaborate, I still think they’re good films, anyone that watches will likely get the exact point I mean [damn Wesker])

Alternatives to nail biting.

If you’re like me you bite your nails for… reasons, half of them you don’t know yourself.

Well, chances are it’s something you’re stuck with and it bothers you sometimes… but, not enough to stop.

I started picking them as a child and evolved into biting later.

My nails have always been strong, despite the abuse…

Chemicals while cleaning at work significantly weakened them. I got used to having no nails (at what some would consider to be dangerous levels), and the hangnails became a way of life…

I invested in some decent hand and nail cream while I was out of work for a month and they have done a world of good to my nails and my hands.

I also bought some CHEAP clear nail varnish. I wear it to help my nails keep stronger and prevent damage to the top layer etc… I soon discovered that the cheap stuff doesn’t just chip… it PEELS OFF. Yup, oddly, that’s the thing I do when I’m about to bite my nails now.

 

The stuff that you’re supposed to dip your fingers in didn’t work, bribery didn’t work… all the tricks of the trade have never worked.

If anyone gives you stick about looking after your nails. Fuckem. I started pushing my cuticles back recently too, as they were taking up HALF of my nails. Some hand cream later I’ve been able to keep them back (I’m not one for soaking my hands in anything but they are kept clean).

The reason I went for clear varnish is that it can be worn at all times, barring occupations that involve food. If your dress code is against coloured varnishes because of presentation… use clear. If anyone has acrylic nails (even if they look natural) and someone says something to you, point out the discrepancy.

I’m not a fan of coloured nails on myself, I don’t have the patience to do them evenly… maybe I’ll go with a nice rich colour set one day and use them on my days off from work for kicks… but, hell, I would have to take it off for work because I deal with food and for health reasons it would have to be removed regardless.

 

Due to a combination of factors I’ve not really bitten my nails in the better part of two months. This time, I’ll see how long it lasts. The record is two weeks for me and I’ve already beaten it.

I’ve taken the odd corner off or bitten off a broken section before it’s split further, but, so far I’ve not sat and taken half the white parts off all within a couple of minutes… so, if nothing else works… cheap clear nail varnish.

Also! Nobody’s going to notice if half your nails are painted if it’s clear, if you’re picking/peeling it off and there’s colour, well… it’s going to look a mess. If you’re alright with that, fine! xD

I know the picking isn’t the healthiest thing, but hell, with it being cheap it isn’t going to cling to your nails the way the top brand will. Nailvarnish for children is in the same vain, it’s not designed for longevity.

 

A sidenote to binding.

This is rather a short entry, something that happened to amuse me the other day.

Mother had mentioned not wearing binders again… but I knew I’d want to wear one of the easier to get on and off ones just to see the difference.

And… When I tried one on, it was STILL TIGHT. I have had this batch of binders for months now… and I thought they were knackered.

 

Thing is, I was just used to my chest being flattened. My breasts were long used to being pulled and compressed they were penduluming. That, and hormones had done their thing a little too.

The moment I tried it on I realised, my binders for now still do have a use. If I feel my chest is moving around too freely I can restrict it during recovery… or, I can of course let things be and get used to things.

 

The model I used is T-Kingdom’s 801 People shit on them being lightweight all of the time… but I love them, they’re easy to adjust to and good in summer. Easy to look after, and surprisingly, more than I had ever known before, they keep their elasticity.

The second model I use/d is T-Kingdom’s M1500, an older model of the design that didn’t have the logo on the chest (and the model before that with different tags)

It’s interesting to see that they also have a new model out I can’t find reference to the old edition but I will say now that I originally DID have one of this style, the new back design looks like it would be much more comfortable.

I also started out with this model, but the fit didn’t agree with me and the velcro was problematic.

Since I started buying the two types I know work for me they seem to have developed a few more Tshirt style binders. The best way to look at which design would work for you is to consider the information on This page (scroll up it also has information for first time wearers).

I went for the XL size in the end as I was a 38″back at one point, and due to the penduluming it was just better overall. When I first bought at least one set of my binders I had them in both Large and Extra Large and found the XL had more fabric coverage in general and was better for me.

NEVER wear one that is too small for any period of time. (The binder that was large did have give in it as the size difference wasn’t too major. The worst side effect of the sizing was the fat poking out because of the squeeze xD).

 

Surgery

Sorry for the less than stellar updates lately, there has been a lot on my mind.

Now I have plenty of time to work things out, as, I’m recovering from chest surgery.

More specifically a double mastectomy with a dermal flap chest wall reconstruction. I had my operation done on the National Health Service (NHS), meaning, I had no choice with surgeon or hospital. Going private is something that a lot of people in my position find that they have to do, I was one of the lucky ones.

My surgical team was headed by Miss Grit Dabritz and for what I know she is based in Manchester, Lancashire. One of the other surgeons I met on the day has worked closely with a hospital far closer to my home and is (if I remember right) based in Bolton.

I was the second of two people in for the same procedure, I was admitted and marked up and had to wait a fair few hours to be seen… all the while the threat of being turned away as in the back of my mind. Emergency patients that come in do get priority with beds on a ward, there were at least five admitted to beds the same day the day patients department opened up.

I found it hilarious that I managed to sweat away almost half of the permanent marker markups while waiting in a very stuffy waiting area. It’s a good thing they do a standing and lying markup.

Having never been put under anaesthetic before I became more and more anxious about it. The people I had met had wonderful senses of humour and were all lovely. I remember panicking when I was being put to sleep, beginning to panic… and then, struggling to move as I was waking up again.

Apparently I was in pain as I don’t really remember a lot from that night. I know I was taken to the ward later than I had expected and managed to send out a text to my parents to say I had landed… and that’s about it.

I had been warned that as soon as I was coming round I would feel as if I had been hit by a bus, I was lucky enough not to be aware when that was the case.

It was (and still is) unnerving to think about the chest drains, well, I think anyone would be unnerved to see and feel tubes coming out of themselves with bags of blood attached to the ends. One of the nurses gave me a plastic bag to put the two drain bags in so it was a little less unnerving moving around, specially when I had visitors seeing me.

Don’t ever be ashamed of not having people visit you, but if you can… Make sure you see at least one person on at least one of your full days of admission. It will help break up your stay and give you something other than discharge to look forward to. If you can’t, I’m sorry try making the most of your stay on the ward by communicating to the bed either side of you.

Thing is, the anaesthetic was still working its way through my system and I was drowsy most of the time. Coupled with a bad first night’s sleep and the painkillers I was sleeping most of the time, or at least barely able to stay fully alert.

I had taken a book with me (only a small one, Phantom of the Opera), I had my phone, I had my 3DS. I managed to read the same passage four times before giving up with my book, I played through maybe one small thing on my 3DS… My attention span didn’t want to work at all during my stay and I was more than happy watching the world go by.

Two days after discharge was when I could finally poop. Sounds stupid, but Dad had warned me that his missus was plugged up for days… low and behold that was indeed the case. On the ward and at home I was constantly drinking water and peeing more frequently than I thought I was drinking.

Three days after discharge I had my follow up appointment with my practice nurse – my surgery was on the Thursday before a bank holiday weekend and I had to wait till the Tuesday to be able to see any medical professional post discharge.

Mum helped me to wash my hair for the first time in a week, knelt over the shower as she helped me get that sorted. At one point she recommended that I take my shirt off to make it easier – and quickly said ‘oh wait I don’t wanna see’ and turned so I could get knelt over the bath. She felt awful after about saying it, thinking it nasty… but… to be honest I get it.

At first I couldn’t stand seeing the dressings as they were, they freaked me the fuck out. Even after the drains were removed. After the visit to the nurse when the dressings were changed, that, that was when I started to calm down about them.

A week after Surgery and I still can’t lie on my side… which is irritating, but I knew that would be the case. I sleep on my side normally and having to sleep on my back is just plain annoying, I can’t lie flat either but hey ho that’s the way it is.

 

I can’t really think of anything really negative about things so far… just…

If you do happen to have your surgeries away from home, be prepared to travel the long distance a minimum of four times. No, really. Unless you wish to spend at least a fortnight at the surgery site you will have to back and forth it a lot.

First will be the pre-op, then the surgery (and post operative appointment soon after discharge), then a two week later-ish checkup, six months later.

When being discharged from the hospital I was told none of this, not even the type of stitches I had or anything. So, to find out four days after discharge that I still have another trip down to Manchester ahead of me I was rather pissed off.

I am not in receipt of benefits so I get absolutely none of my expenses for travel covered. Which, in itself is fine. I mean, if you’re worse off than me financially then I say see what you can and can’t get back. When I say I earn too much to claim, I mean that lightly, there’s plenty of months where I’m barely getting by, and I have to somehow find the money to go back to Manchester after the prior two trips practically wiped me out financially.

 

I knew I’d have to save up, but by the christ this is just too much. Without ANY warning. I mean, if I can have my followup from surgery at my doctors practice, why can’t I also have the two weeks later one done close to home too.

 

Oh well, at least no more binders. When I get back at home I will try one of the easier to get on and off ones on to see the difference. It’d be hilarious to see, that’s for sure. Even mum knows I think of them as a pain in the arse and mentioned them too.

 

I can’t honestly think of anything else to say on the issue, but hell if you have questions please do ask and I’ll do what I can to answer them.

Anger and Acceptance.

I happened on this video on youtube. The thumbnails are clickbait, but hell I was bored and curious. It’s actually quite a well thought out video as it covers positive female role models.

However, there are some issues with their first mention who is male. Rather, a female that is a Man. It made news quite some time ago and all of that shite… and, well, to be honest…

I can’t find fault in either sides argument. Just that he is far more selfless and brave than I am. The thought of giving birth truly horrifies me. I’m not saving my eggs. I’m having my womb out asap (for medical reasons as well as the obvious one). So, to me personally I can’t even imagine the thought of carrying a child. There’s no way he’d be able to breast feed as he appears to be post chest surgery… but saying that, how much would biology alter those results.

How much damage will have been done to the child due to the unnatural concentration of testosterone? Or not, simply because they would have taken in the aid and advice of the medical professionals around them to ensure as safe a pregnancy as possible.

Though, all of that shite isn’t the reason I’m writing this.

Take a look at this comment chain.

There is a comment that has spouted a LOT of responses. While on my mobile I had to press read more quite a few times to reveal that people are FAR too quick to attack those that make honest comments.

The original post has since been edited, for now it reads as this –

Biologically he still a woman inside. A man never can give birth.

I believe originally it was all caps and didn’t have the word Biologically. The fact that the post has been edited shows that the poster is willing to listen to those that actually speak with them as a person.

This is the first post I have submitted to the shitstorm

sorry you endured all of the hate and anger dear… perhaps the op needs an edit or two. Subsequent replies by yourself explain what you meant in a far more eloquent way. I dispise tumblr white knights… always on the attack. Where, I’m trans and… hell I know where you’re coming from and as far as I’m concerned you’re right. shrug

NOTE- A very dear friend of mine still has a tumblr. I had a tumblr (before the Yahoo buyout but that’s another story). I enjoy posts I see on tumblr. However, it has become a very irritating place to observe. This youtube video says all I need to about the site.

Their response to myself (darn near buried)

+Nolascana​ THANK YOÜ.. Your comment brought tears to my eyes..You touched my heart.. 😘GOD BLESS YOU

This is the second response I have left on the matter. At this point it might not even be the last… it all depends on who replies to me.

You’re welcome.

It surprised me how people were completely on the attack. Instead of trying to talk about things rationally, people that (in my opinion) have little buisiness getting as invested and involved in something of such a nature. My biological sex will never change. I know I’m only altering my appearance and chemical balances and so on.

So… yes, as you said. He is still a woman inside. As I always will be. A man cannot give birth.

Even the seahorse argument is moot. We are humans.

I think a lot of people went on the attack perhaps because of the initial phrasing and all of that.

There’s no sense in getting angry, if anything that makes people stick to their points even harder – whether they are right or wrong.

I have met people that have categorically said that I shouldn’t get any of my operations on the NHS. I’ve had others arguing back – with such anger- that they were wrong.
Thing is, I know where they’re coming from. But, likewise I said to them ‘fine, but I don’t want to pay for people that go to A&E for accidents involving alcohol consumption that could have been avoided if they were sober’.
My saying that, was, and always will be more effective than people fighting those battles for me.
I hope this ebbs down for you soon. Be well!

And to be honest… This is mostly how I feel in general about my situation.

Accepting. I know that this in many ways is a pointless journey I am on… but on the other hand. It is not.

I just hate how other people jump in to defend me on such issues. It’s as if I am incapable of talking to people that don’t agree with the way I chose to live. Transitioning is a choice I have made. A series of many. Because the alternative was not worth the pain.

I often find myself defending those that would probably spit on me on sight… purely because punching them is only going to anger them more than sitting them down with a coffee and telling them we will have to agree to disagree.

 

I am far luckier than your average transgender person. I hear so many stories about them being made homeless and being beaten for being who they are.

Thing is, I’ve managed to slip under the radar. I’ve lived in a homophobic area and not once drawn their attention. I’ve worked a poorly paid job and… well, managed to keep a poorly paid job I suppose.

I have moved country, and found the move has done me a world of good. I’ve had people ask SO many questions that none of them are original anymore.

I’ve managed to find a decently paying job, after only three weeks of unemployment, and managed to keep it. I now live in a city. On my own.

Not neccessarily where I hoped to live, but still, I’m making a go of it. My building neighbors mostly call me male, there’s one neighbor that calls me she.

People at work mess up the pronouns. I don’t always notice, or, should I say visibly notice. Sometimes I’ll ask my department workers if I heard what I think I heard… and move on.

At first, people messing up the pronouns used to piss me off. Didn’t matter who it was it’d annoy me. Now it’s water off a ducks back, because I know it won’t happen forever.

At work, I recently had one of the newer blokes confused as HELL as I was discussing one of a friend’s relatives. He has a niece that wishes to transition. And we were discussing perhaps the nephew meeting me, or perhaps having my details if he wishes to speak to me. I even mentioned his mother being there too if she wished. Everything would be done in the city centre n all that…

And the coworker looked at us both. I simply laughed and told him I’m a transman. I was honestly surprised to learn he didn’t already know. He had thought I was a gay man… though the odd thing I’d say, or others would say, didn’t seem to add up.

I’ve learned to be open about my situation. Colleagues have to have my back (thank you equality in the workplace legislation), or at the least tolerate me for me. I’ve had one of my department workmates simply shrug and say he sees me as a dude with tits… as, there’s been an occasion where one of my binders has malfunctioned to the point of restricting my breathing. I had to explain to him that an ambulance wasn’t necessary, I’d be able to resolve the reason of me being close to passing out if I went to the nearest restroom asap.

He’s not really seen me out of work, but he knows the situation, and he knows I’m pre op.

 

Hell, nearly I’m not.

I ALMOST already had my upper op… but, well, medical complications being what they are, I now have to wait till the end of the month.

I was too hurt to say anything about the cancellation at the time. Too scared to say anything about the impending operation prior to the events.

So… yes, milestones.

To me it’s just another thing… it’s… part of the process to me.

 

At least work is accepting that I will have a considerable amount of time off. There are regulations in place to protect me when I’m trying to get back into work.

 

I feel there’s an incredible amount of postcode lottery going on where some of the legislation is, however, I did move 300 miles away from where I was born. That move, if I hadn’t made it, I feel that I wouldn’t even be having my operation this year at all.

 

I guess, a lot of what makes this easier. A LOT easier, is that I have accepted a lot about myself, and the way people are.

I don’t get angry about as many small things, things that are petty and all that… I don’t make as many mountains out of molehills anymore. If I were on my soap box going ‘look at me, I’m a special snowflake and demand different treatment.’ everyone would turn on me within moments. Causing more trouble for myself, than just living my life…

I dunno.

Just, calm yo tits people… or, if you find that you are amongst more educated people. Contain the calamity that is your mammaries.

Is your switch on?

This is something that is largely from personal experience, and, from hearing people talk about others.

Now, personal hygiene is as much a social demand as it is a personal one. It becomes more obvious if you happen to live in a city that has a healthy migrant population.

Often, I hear complaints about one colleagues personal hygiene. It annoys me to hear them complaining about it… rather than going to the colleague himself, however, he has been spoken to on numerous occasions about it. What I found interesting was, it wasn’t just because he has bad habits… It’s because of the country he is originally from.

Another worker from the same country was with us a while, before she moved home it was observed that after every shift she’d just put her uniform in her locker. Every. Shift. When confronted about it she more or less explained that she did wash it, only every few months or so.

Now, understandably this horrified a few people, as hell I’ve resorted to running a washing line through my kitchen to make sure it has somewhere to dry, cause, you know, winter washing means it’s going to have to sit on the airers a while longer than normal and cause a backlog.

The reason behind her choice was simple, it’s the way things are done in her home country. The country she was working in happened to have far stricter ideals on personal hygiene and presentation.

Now, with all of that said, time to get down to the point of this post.

I have encountered three stages of looking after ones self. That does happen to include housework, social interactions, all those fun things alongside cleanliness.

As someone that struggles with clinical depression it’s not much of a surprise to know that there are periods of time when I just don’t give a shit about things.

Then it hit me, in a conversation with my mother -about housework no less- she said at least it wasn’t like when she was depressed (she has reactionary depression, often triggered by death.) she often looked at our home, and herself, and thought What’s the point? and proceeded to not give a rats arse.

Even when I had to physically drag her to the bathroom to shower, as she is a woman that is very ‘you must wash properly at LEAST once a day’ orientated. Even when I had to bring food to her, sometimes I didn’t know if she ate for days on end. The list goes on, and I’ll spare the complete rundown.

Stage one of giving a shit, when the Switch is on everything is hunky dory. One looks after ones self, the home is clean, they maintain what they deem healthy relationships with people around them. They can, and will make the effort, to be happy.

Stage two of giving a shit, when the Switch is half toggled, everything is kinda in limbo. One can look at a mess and go meh. And keep ignoring the fact it needs doing to the point where even procrastinators will likely shake their heads at you. Hygiene begins to not be a priority and gradually becomes a chore.

It begins to become troublesome to find excuses to actually go out and have fun, see a film at the cinema and so on. One is still capable of going to work, but continually asks ones self why bother… and, the same can be said for most things.

In the half toggled state there are more downs than ups, but sometimes a room will be deep cleaned out of obligation and knowing you’re nearing a visit from Kim and Aggie if you keep it up.

Leaving one’s bed when not obligated to go anywhere becomes a chore… only to leave for bathroom and food breaks is a bit much.

Only hindsight makes one realise that the Switch needs to be on.

Stage three of giving a shit, or, not giving one… is when the Switch is off. All bets are off and boy howdy is it a struggle to get the people who are incapable of looking after themselves to do so.

Having been in that state you go on autopilot, you go to the places you are supposed to go to. Only if you have to, likely only when there’s money on the line – to further one’s consumption of comfort food or means to escape the reality you find yourself in.

It’s all hindsight and you only spot it, when the Switch is on. Seriously, it takes just a moment, of a day, like any other day. When someone will turn around and go – Oh shit, what the HELL am I doing to myself.

Then, the routine will begin and maybe be kept up for the better.

But I do know it can be a chore. My switch is more of a toggle, probably because I’m just Lazy. I know I am. The flat keeps tidy for a while, then it’s a mess, then I tidy it again and so forth.

When it comes to looking after myself, well… that’s a bit hit and miss. Always has been.

Thing is, if you know someone that you think has suddenly developed a personal hygiene problem, and I’m not just talking about showing up to work with bad bedhair (I do it regularily, purely because my uniform requires a hat, so… I don’t look at a mirror while I’m getting ready.) I’m talking about uniform, smell…

Don’t be aggressive about it, but please do say something. I’ve said plenty of times to people I work with. It will hurt, but I’d rather be taken to the side if I let things slip than have everyone talking about it behind my back. Much like the colleague I spoke of earlier.

Believe it or not, for many people with mental issues it can be comforting to just have someone ask ‘are you okay?’. As someone who’s rather over talkative and chipper, it becomes obvious there’s a problem when I suddenly become distant with people I work with.

I do have a lot on my mind recently. People are noticing. People are asking if I’m okay.

I tell them I have a lot on my mind and for at least one colleague who knows the full story, she lets it go, or just smiles at me in a way that says it’s okay she’s trying to understand.

That.

That understanding, knowing that someone cares enough to ask how you are, and in my case she’s the one person I work with that would be brutally honest if I was doing something wrong, or whatever.

You’d be surprised how much a difference having people you can trust in your life is.

If you don’t work, or you’re housebound and so on. There are means to get in communication with other humans, with the internet being what it is these days there’s little excuse.

One of my dearest friends and I share mostly written communication. We have been speaking for long enough to sense when something’s not quite right. Our typing patterns change, or what we’re saying isn’t quite the same as usual.

Every so often, I make sure (if I haven’t started the conversation with it that is) to ask if he’s okay. Sometimes it’s just with a simple ‘How’s you?’

As, even the strongest people, those that we think are always okay. Might need that extra bit of help keeping that switch turned on.

So, reader.

How are you?