Posted in Blog

Post-holiday Blues

There are times when you want people to fuck off and leave you alone, and then there are times when you actually want people to take the time out to give a shit.

My mother sent me a birthday card, regardless of my asking her not to contact me because of the stress it causes me. The stress of receiving the card and deciding what to do with it caused the most intense seizure I’ve had in a while and I’ve just spent the whole of my Saturday (a sunny one, I hasten to add) in bed with a post-seizure migraine.

The mother you wish would leave you alone and stop fucking you up more that she has for the past thirty years.

My housemate’s girlfriend thinks that I’m a bitch (her boyfriend actually told me this), due to the way I handled things post-breakup with the ex.

These are the kinds of people you want to fuck off and leave you alone.

The Bends -alt cover art.png

 

Then there are the people who you want to give a shit.

It was my birthday two weeks ago, and my housemates made no effort for it, even though I had gone to the effort to do something for their birthdays earlier in the year.

The friends who either didn’t bother to tell you that they weren’t even coming to your birthday party, or waited for you to remember to ask, only to be told that they had made other plans.

There are the friends who you only have contact with when you contact them first – who know that you’ve been having a shit time and could do with a text every now and then. This includes the ex boyfriend.

These are the kinds of people you actually want to give a shit.

Anthrax

So these are the things that have been consuming my mind space since I returned from Budapest. Having promised myself while away, that upon my return I would no longer give a shit about others and focus on myself, and ONLY myself, my resolve has weakened. In my moments of emo-ness, I wonder if I was built for sadness only: why can’t I stop crying? Why can’t I stop freaking out? Why can’t I be happy for longer than a few hours? In a way, I was built for sadness: I’m a fucked up product of my fucked up parents. Thoughts like these make me wonder why such people would be so cruel to have children of their own in the first place?

Am I Really Sinking This Low

God knows I won’t.

Author:

I’m Cece Alexandra and I have Epilepsy. Since being diagnosed, my life has changed significantly. After studying and teaching Humanities and Literature for all of my adult life, I was bullied and lost my job a month before qualifying to become an English Teacher. Once you fail the Teacher Training course in England, you cannot ever retrain; I then became too sick to work because of my Epilepsy. I am now currently studying an MSc in Mental Health Psychology with the University of Liverpool. My disability provokes me into raising awareness for invisible disabilities, which I also actively partake in with Epilepsy Action. Part of that awareness is to help fight against invisible disability discrimination - I believe that this behaviour is not cognitively unconscious; modern society is actively partaking in a hierarchy of disabilities and I believe that there is not enough psychological research to prove this. I am also clinically interested in Cultural Psychology - particularly Collectivist Culture, and wish to pursue this further in my academic career.

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