Kinda like flushing a condom isn't it.

YAWN.
It's the Easter holidays, I've finally turned 18. And I'm still a bit ill. Which is a bit gay. As I want to go out and play.
But probably won't get better if I keep pouring ethanol down my drink hole.

I really don't know what I've been doing with myself recently. Maybe because I haven't done much, maybe because I've wasted a good few days with a male counter part. This is highly unusual for me.
I like to go out and pull and never talk to you again. It's easier, and neither side will get hurt in theory. I am not one of those 'OMFG I'M SINGLE AND HAAATING IT!!' girls.
So what will come of this is no one knows.

So sorry if you want the world, I don't really have a soul to give you.
But take my body, men seem to like that.

And along with that comes tangled trysts of teenagers. I went to greet my mum with my shirt inside out. Smooth. Kinda like flushing a condom isn't it. One of the oldest mistakes in the book.

Anyway, I'm semi content, so have been eating well recently, until I woke up this morning and realised this lump in my mouth has decided to hurt again, so I cheered myself up with chocolate. Yuuuuum for void fulling.

Hope I've enlightened some one in some way.

Signin owwt.

No sane guy would try it with barely conscious girl with sick dribbling down her chin.

Today is Tuesday?
The Lad is feeling thoughtful and reflective. Having since written her first blog and jumped into life feet first, she is now home bound with tonsillitis.
Which is leading her to contemplate, and consider whether her live fast young attempt was a bit, somewhat, misjudged?
Not that I don't love living, but when does living become pushing it, and crossing the borders of self destruction?
I do know that I do not want to die. And I have recently made some decisions that could have ended that way, (I attempted to drive on the friday that I am about to discuss, but I had a lovely friend who saved my big backside).

A while back I drank myself into a drunken stupor and lost my purse, I was gutted and so disappointed in myself, as I truly see myself as responsible and am usually so good with my things.
To my absolute joy I got my purse back, a lovely stranger found it and dropped it round mine having looked at the address on my provisional. It felt like the Gods were giving me a second chance!
I then swore to watch what I drank and to never get that bad again.

So, guess what I did last friday? I drank to the point of being sick in the shower, my garden and the sink, among other places. (The last two locations I only know from what I have been told)

I am now 4 days away from my 18th birthday with a big party planned, on a 10 day antibiotic course for the tonsilitus, (that we are trying to work out how I can drink around), and cannot go back to college until this wonderful rash subsides, and yeah you could say bad luck tonsilitus is just a bit of a bummer. But I can't help but feel that since I have been living like a man my health has been biting me a bit, the smoking that I don't remember is giving me niggling coughs, I seem to have persistant colds (yeah go on call me a pussy). I am normally never sick, like ever, which is why when ye Ole' doctor goes "yeah you got tonsilitus", I was a bit like you what?!!:(

And I'm getting a bit sick of "Ahahaha you were so wasted then you did this" or "fackin ell you were mental last night"

I am going to admit I am still trying to work out what life is about. I am really not good at balance, I'm pretty all or nothing, which seems to be why I can't seem to find many balances in my life. So I now know that the answer does not lie in getting drunk in the weekend, or alcohol in general, my drunk mother could have told me that.
So, I think I will cross that off my list of living.

Kids, please, drink responsibly. I am just lucky that I have amazing friends who put me to bed, watch my breathing, and guys that you can actually trust if you pass out around them. (To be honest you would hope no sane guy would try it with barely conscious girl with sick dribbling down her chin, but apparently not...) You know what I'm chatting.

Signing owwwt.

The voices in my head are telling me to eat.

I recently read an interesting article on The Mail. And it struck a cord with me as it is very close to home. Not just because I am also 17, doing A levels and yadayada, but because I feel I have come a long way from this kid. But she could equally tell me to stick it, because, ultimately, she's thin.
http://www.dailymail.co.uk/femail/article-1253857/The-cigarettes-crisps-creme-egg-diet-know-YOUR-teenagers-eating.html

It might be a sad reminder that the body image demon is still embedded in the heads of the nations teens - or may just be trying to scaremonger parents into thinking "Oh Gosh, What if little *insert name here* is eating like this and sneaking cigarettes out the window!?"
The latter I did not quite understand.
"I always carry perfume and mints so my parents can't smell smoke on my clothes or breath"
You can still smell smoke you Doofus. It sticks like nothing you'll ever know.
I personally do not smoke, I don't have a problem with it, and the occasional one slips into a drunk evening out, but I hate the idea of it becoming a vice.
Tragically as I read this, that little voice did sneak in and say "Hey! That's quite a good idea, you should take up smoking and see if you can drop a dress size". If this voice was a person I would have been done for GBH by now.
She dropped in when I last skipped breakfast saying "That's good! Now skip breakfast tomorrow and the day after and you'll be in!" I told her where to go.

I will personally hold my hands up and admit that I have a horrendous relationship with food, and a fragile but improving relationship with my body. I wasted over a year trying to make it what it was never going to be, and only just recently realised it was year wasted.
All I achieved was a very distorted view of food, and made my chest drop a good couple of centimetres. (Boobs HATE weight loss. Especially the frantic kind)

Ahah anyway back to that article.

Lily Elford is a 17-year-old said, "Being thin is really important to me - if I ever went up to a size 10 (I'm a 10, it really doesn't look that bad from here) I'd be depressed. My mum is a size 14, which she says is average but to me she looks fat. (Ouch!)

When I see overweight girls, especially when they're my age, I think that they don't have any pride in their appearance and must be lazy.

Everyone is thin on TV, in the movies and in magazines and I want to be thin, too, and every single boy that I mix with says they really prefer skinny girls to curvy ones."

Now this really does annoy me. Have we not progressed as a society enough yet? Are there still seriously teenage girls out there that are thinking like this? How many models to we have to see, clearly half dead, crawling up run ways before we think, dang, they're really not that happy are they?

I want to make Hungry by Crystal Renn, a set text in class rooms. It was completely what I needed when I needed it; I finally realised the fight for the perfect body is one of those fights that you truly win when you give up. Yes, give up. Because it is a fight that you will never win. You will destroy yourself, either in mind or body, or both.

I started binge eating in school (I hated school), not really sure why or when, I just remember coming in and the first port of call was the fridge. I'd eat everything good that was in it. Binge eating is a funny thing, I was hungry to start with but no matter what I ate I wasn't really full. Well my stomach was, but the space I my mind was not. I also have an epic sweet tooth. You know Kinder Beuno bars? Lush aren't they. Well I could polish off any 4 pack you put in front of me. I think I astounded friends with the amount of of rubbish I ate.
Friends: "How do you get away with it"
Size 6/8, Fourteen year old me: "Oh Gosh I don't, I'm huge!
I really wasn't getting away with it, maybe it was just growing and 'filling out' but over about 2 years I'd put on 2 stone.

When the weight was going on, I wasn't overly fussed, thinking "ehh I'll loose it again" and "Hey I've gone up a bra size!" (My weight does go to straight to my chest)
Even though those unsightly muffin top type hips occurred, (I'll draw you a diagram somewhen, I look like a vase,) I wasn't too worried as the body image bug wasn't very embedded then, and I had other things to worry about.

But starting college, having looked a prom and holiday photos I thought damn. I've gotten fat.

So I embarked on a successful diet (looking back, a bit more of a Hitler style regime), loosing about half a stone, through hardcore exercise, soup, disowning snacks and telling myself I was huge so that I didn't even want dinner.

Sadly, once I stopped the lifestyle that was simply impossible to adhere to, (as are all/most diets) I ate normally and the weight pinged back on. Thus starting what would be a pattern that would last me about 2 years. I never realised that I myself was just another serial crash dieter until a month or so ago.

It just clicked that after all of the abuse, binging, frantic exercising and strict calorie control, I was still the same weight I was to start with.
And so along with what I learnt from Hungry, I realised the body will sort itself out, and damn I don't even look half bad.
I just wanted to be 7 stone again. And able to fit size 6 skinny jeans. Who knows, maybe when I'm truly happy my weight will take itself down, maybe it won't.

I'm working on my relationship with food, its better, no longer do I binge uncontrollably when something hasn't gone my way, but I need to be careful of where I tread as to not hit the hidden trip-wires in my brain. I remembered this morning why I don't buy in cereal, its sweet, moreish and quick. Anything sweet in large quantities in the fridge is a nightmare; it seems to blow a fuse in my head, and I'll just keep eating it until its gone, even though I am past the point of nausea. I often have to bin it, or sneak it to the dog to stop the mini mental break down. The mind's a funny place ain't it.
The offending article:

All I know is if I had a friend that said to me the things that I said to myself when looking at my body, I would have punched her in the face. We are our harshest critic, and in a world that can tear you apart, its so much easier if you just bloody love yourself.

Roight rant over!

Thank you!

Signing owwt.

Because plans are pointless. They rarely ever "go to plan".

If the past five years have taught me anything, it is that nothing really matters except living every moment, and coming home with as many stories as possible.

After all, what's the point in revising when you get hit by a bus seconds before that exam? Wouldn't you wish you had spent your last hours off your face and hallucinating about pink elephants, surrounded by the friends that have filled whatever voids you may have?

Call me reckless, with the false feelings of invincibility that often come with the youth of today, but I really feel that if you can't accomplish what everyone wants you to in life, then you just just live it, and experience the many sensations that this world has to offer.

And so there are many! (Cheesy bit coming up)
Even at my lowest, walking home alone at night from the job I hated, the sight of the moon, the wind n my skin, and the glow of street lights made me remember why I didn't jump into the path of the next on coming car.

So its February, I am 18 in a month, and I am going to document the next couple of months of my life.
I have dreams, but no plans, and I'm keeping it that way. Because plans are pointless. They rarely ever "go to plan".

I'm awaiting a response from the "best course in the country" for what I want to do. The work load will appraently be drowning. I am intelligent, but I am lazy (and lack "work ethic" from a guy who I think wants in my pants).

So I have decided to ignore any and all responsibilities until I absolutely have to commit to someone or something.

So, for however many months I have, I solemnly swear to:

Amass as much real life experience as possible. Not the kind where you sit in an office and butt-lick whoever is looking after you.
But real life experience, the kind that saves your life, because your fight or flight mechanism is fine tuned.

Be as spontaneous as possible, and never turn down any opportunity to raise my heart rate. (Doing fairly well on the one, granted the last spontaneous decision I made was to go to the pub quiz)

Laugh until I cry as much as possible.

Get drunk whenever possible. (Done - The novelty went down the crapper, along with my dinner, lunch and breakfast and a weeks worth of vodka and whiskey)

Admire any and every amazing view.

Take as many photos as possible. (Need to start charging my camera)

Make even more friends, the ones you just want to squeeze when you think God where would I be without you?

Lets see if teenage years are reeaally as exciting as everyone seems to think, we are not really like skins. I spent about 60% of my day on facebook. Sad fact.

Signing owwtt.