Tomorrow’s my birthday. Hold off on the confetti and party poppers, I’m not really one for celebrating the day of my birth. In fact I usually find the whole day a bit of a shitter on my mental health.
I never used to be like this. I was fully in the ‘BIRTHDAY MONTH’ team. Throughout September my Facebook memories are an embarrassing reminder of how much I used to demand attention, presents, and multiple celebrations. Now I’d rather people just ignore it (which many will because I haven’t told them it’s coming up and it’s too late to send cards now suckers!).
Talk about it. The responsibility is on you.
Talk about it. So we can shift the blame.
Talk about it. An easy retweet that helps my guilt.
Talk about it. But only if you fit the ‘right’ image.
Talk about it. But only if it won’t make people uncomfortable.
Talk about it. But only if you’re willing to show you’re trying.
Talk about it. Once you’re recovering.
Talk about it. Make sure there’s a catchy hashtag.
Talk about it. As long as you’re white, straight, and middle class.
Talk about it. But not too much, you’re just attention seeking.
Being a fallow year for a certain, fairly well-known festival, a lot of us have all but forgotten the urge to hang out in a field, hair crusty with dry shampoo, sipping on a 8am cider. But instead of taking a year off, we should be using this summer as the perfect excuse to discover what other great festivals are out there.
For me there’s only one festival I would spend my time encouraging you to go to; whether you’re after a weekend of drinking warm Jäger in a tent with your mates, want somewhere you can take your kids and know they won’t be bored for a second, or are after something somewhere in between I can guarantee Leopallooza is the festival you’re after.
(In case you can’t be bothered to read the whole thing, there’s a competition at the end of this… it’s a good one.)
I find blog reviews something really difficult to write, I’m not sure my style lends perfectly to QVC style pitches. But when I have been gifted something I do like I want to try and talk about it, it’s only fair right?!
I have only ever sleeping bags on both my kids, they’re both fidgets in their sleep and if I was to try blankets on them as babies I would wake up to tiny little ice pops through the winter. So when ErgoPouch got in touch and wanted to send me one of their Sleep Suit Bags obviously I said yes! (We have this one)
The past couple of months I’ve been in a deep depression. My body and mind have felt completely numb and while I’ve spent hours each day crying it’s been out of frustration, not sadness.
Reality is blurred at the best of times when you’re depressed.
I shut myself away and convince myself that’s for the best anyway, because nobody would want to see me or talk to me. I’m a waste of space. But add to that a forum full of strangers discussing you, debating your relationship, discussing your children, questioning your morals… that’s a reality that a depressed brain doesn’t know what to do with. That it can’t let go of.
All I want to do is write.
Writing is my outlet, my medicine, my coping mechanism.
Writing is how I make sense of my own head, understand what’s wrong and what I can change.
But I can’t write at the moment.
I’m too scared to.