I’m peeved it’s New Years Eve

How many times can one person make a come back? I’m currently on my third (I think) and have no plan of stopping because lets be honest… I can’t keep this up regularly for shit; my mind is too temperamental. Respect to bloggers and influencers etc who can, but by the time I get home from work I cba to do anything, and spend my weekends moping and watching netflix. Productivity is at an all time low. Well, not quite all time low at all really, just not super high. See what I did there?! I EXAGGERATED THE NEGATIVES. First time I’ve ever done that… weird…

Anyway, I’m writing this post because with all the 2018 highlights going up on social media I think today is one of the most important days to be mindful if your brain is slightly creative in the more negative veins, like mine.

This morning I’ve been a bit/very mopey. Waking up seemed like I was trying to climb everest in my (new) pjs (they’re blue and red leopard print for anyone who cares – sounds ghastly but are surprisingly chic). I would however like to highlight that previously I’d be beating myself up for lying there unable to face the day, however now, weirdly, there is a kind, encouraging voice in my head. It’s very rare for me to be able to hand on heart say that I have noticed a positive change in my inner voice but this is one (perhaps the only one) so I’m sharing it with you to show that it IS possible, even if it takes a fucking life time to achieve. By the time I get to sorting it all I’ll be 95 (jokes as if I’ll make it to 95) and not give a fuck anymore anyway.

For the past few days I’ve been thinking ‘hmm my brain doesn’t seem very healthy at the moment’ and then I’ve panicked as to why. I’m never going to be one of those people who doesn’t have to constantly (and I mean literally every second) check in with their mental and health and put every effort into improving it, so I don’t know why whenever I have a slump I panic about what needs to change in my life to make me happy (lol if only it was that easy). Also, I’ve decided to ignore the fact that I’ve drunk copious amount of gin the past couple of weeks… I was staying at my mums and she has the fancy glasses and ice and paper metallic straws and raspberries and citrus fruits and boodles gin and an array of tonics and I’m JUST like a kid in a sweet shop. As much as we don’t want to hear it, alcohol is a depressant guys. THE CLUE IS IN THE NAME. I also decided it had nothing to do with eating a shit ton of food, making myself bloated and feeling bad about myself and feeling grim like my body is a sack of potatoes. I decided that I do look rank, but the break outs and dark circles have nothing to do with the aforementioned; it must just be because I’m a total ugly minger. I also decided it had nothing to do with not taking my anti depressants for a week (why would I do that, literally why? I have a reminder on my phone, and they’re always in my handbag which is always with me, and I know what happens when I don’t, I literally can’t even bullshit an excuse but it’s not a conscious decision, I just ‘forget’… suspicious…)

Then this morning I started scrolling through Instagram (because that’s a healthy thing to do when you first wake up), and saw the highlights of 2018 posts. Fuck that.

Literally fuck that.

A few weeks ago I was thinking how this is the first year I could do a highlights of 2018 post because I actually have things that excite me (then realised why would I do that.. like what would I actually get out of that?) For example, the mother fucking trip of a life time where I met so many legends and faced a huge fear (and many other anxieties on a daily basis) and had an absolute blast. My bf lets me be me and doesn’t demand anything else. My family have recently got a new puppy and a very kind friend of ours hand made us a light up bauble for the tree to remember our other doggo who died earlier this year. Thank you very kind friend. Oh yeah, my family are alright too. My growing family should I say as my brother married his lovely lady this year which was a fantastic day. And I’ve got hilarious, legendary friends who I love so much I wish I saw more of to have more of the super fun times that we ALWAYS have together because we live in London and we’re living the life of riley and with some of them we do singing gigs and are living the dream and get treated like royalty and it’s all really fun AND STOP… see what’s happening here? You’re reading all of my highlights and comparing them to your own (that sounds arrogant and if you’re not then go you!! that wasn’t sarcastic, it was wholly genuine). But why are you comparing them to your own? Because you don’t know what I’m thinking other than what I’m writing down.

Let’s use the puppy as an example as it is simple… she is sooooooooo cute I want to squeeze her till her eye balls bulge out but I don’t because I obviously don’t want to cause her harm. I love her so much and I’m soo excited whenever I see her and whenever she falls asleep on me I just melt because I genuinely can’t deal with the cuteness. But I also feel incredibly sad about my other doggy not being with us. I think of all the times he was there with me while I cried growing up and licked my tears off my face with his stinky breath. And how I didn’t say goodbye because it was better for him to be let go at that moment. And how I moved to London so the last few years I didn’t see him that much and that was my choice. And how for the third doggo who was his sister, I think about how she feels that her brother (and humping partner) died and now there’s this hyper weird thing in the house that annoys her and she doesn’t understand. I don’t mean to trivialise, but I hope this shows, at least whenever you read my social media, that there is so much more going on behind the scenes than the perfect sentence posted.

And as for the pressure of today and… TONIGHT *audible gasps*, fuck that too. What you doing NYE? AAHHHHHH the pressure. I DONT KNOW. I DONT KNOW BUT I HOPE ITS GOOD BECAUSE ITS NEW YEARS EVE OH MY GGGGGOOOOOOOODDDDDDD. I’m one those. I panic because I love a good party and don’t want to miss the opportunity for one, frankly. However, it is just another night. And tomorrow is just another day. This will be my 23rd NYE and my track record of survival of them so far is pretty good. Of course it would be nice to be with all of your nearest of dearest at midnight tonight, as a poignant moment. But if you’re not, because some are busy doing other things, or some are in a different country, or some don’t want to do what you’re doing, or some literally couldn’t give a crap and want to save the money, then that’s not a reflection on your relationship with any of them. It is one night of the year. One night of your life. If you miss one hair when you’re shaving your legs does it matter? Nah. It’s just one of many.

And this is the mindfulness I’m trying to employ today; I’m reminding myself that not every single relationship in my life, aspect of my life, dreams, career goals, colour of my underwear, dinner choice, success in 2019, happiness in 2019, how much my nails will grow in 2019 depends on tonight. I’m trying to avoid social media, but if I do catch myself on it I’m going to remind myself that it is a facade, it is what people want you to see and in no way is it comparable to what’s going on in your world. That’s like throwing the inside of an orange (your mind) and a bouncy ball (others’ social media posts) against a wall and trying to compare the results. No wonder one if more fragile than the other! It’s squishy and real and natural rather than man made, robust and dare I say it… fake. Yikes. How profound.

I wish you all peaceful brains on this day that for some is one of the hardest of the year ❤





What the fuck

Can I ask you a question? … Is this really happening? Is Carrie Bradshaw resurrected in the form of thecocorose.2? I’m writing again… holy shit balls.

Why oh why, I hear you say? A few weeks ago I was reminded about this older part of myself. A lovely person told me they had read my blog (because obvo it’s in my insta bio) and that it had hit a note with them. And being a singer, I’m all about that! I suddenly remembered this part of myself, something I felt proud of and something I am totally humbled by when people firstly even bother to read it, and secondly say it has resonated with them. So lovely person, if you are reading this I must say thank you for you have re-sparked this part of myself which I, for no reason (that’s what I’m going to tell myself), lost sight of.

I won’t write much tonight as I don’t want to scare myself out of this (and it’ll probably be shit) so I’m trying to keep the pressure to the minimum – although saying that  when I used to sit down and write there was no pressure as shit just started spurting out of my finger tips and I struggled to make it stop and not get you guys (lol assuming anyone is reading this) caught up in a nonsensical hell hole. *Oh btw side note – the Ministry of Sound ‘throw back reggae dance hall’ advert has just came on and I really want that CD old skool because why not (even better on vinyl) so if anyone wants to gift me, thanks in advance.* ANYWAY, let me tell you a bit about going travelling and finding myself and then I’ll bugger off.

So.. I went travelling. I was away for three and a half months and visited Australia, New Zealand and Fiji and let me tell you something… it wasn’t what everyone said it would be. JOKES kind of. I honestly had the most incredible time. I met some true legends who became friends very quickly, had the MOST fun in the entire world, did things I never thought would be possible for me, saw things that made me not believe my own eyes (I’ve been to specsavers since I’ve been back) and had once in a life time experiences (there it is.. that word.. experience). I think the word experience is key because it is rounded, there are highs, there are lows and there are averages. But definitely perspective. For example, in New Zealand (my fave) I had very early starts to do crazy things like white water rafting at 6am or to throw myself out of a plane attached to a stranger. At the time these were the most fun and in hindsight these are incredible memories which I treasure. But at the time, setting my alarm for 5am for the third day in a row was annoying. I was terrified and convinced I was going to die. I missed my soul humans at home and sometimes struggled with social situations there, not feeling like I fit in. And suddenly, it wasn’t all perfect. In Australia I had so much fun. Just pure fucking fun. But I was hungover all the time and having to move hostels and deal with the alcohol emotions and spiders and the weather not being banging for my ‘once in a lifetime’ picture of Sydney Opera house and really it was a six week bender. The cynic in me says I could’ve done that at home, but it was sick to experience that with new people. It would’ve also been incredible to experience that with my friends that I love dearly. In Fiji, I was sometimes lonely because it was a very family/couple orientated place and I didn’t meet as many lone travellers. But I also made friendships and families with people within 2 days because ‘all’ there was to do in the day was see the most beautiful sights, enjoy nature and chat to find out about each other and play music together. However, when I was sat alone when all other couples and families were out together and it was just me and my head space sometimes that was a god send, sometimes I’d wander around until I bumped into someone or found something to do to share with others. That was a very average feeling.

I wouldn’t change my EXPERIENCE for the world, and would never swap it in for anything else, but it definitely gave me PERSPECTIVE that even when I’m doing everything I’ve ever wanted to on the other side of the world, the are down moments and low days, and average-ness. Also the perspective that I felt so much pressure before I went to “go travelling” and since I’ve been back yes I’ve got banging memories and had probably the best 3 months of my life (deff go back in a heartbeat like right now RIGHT NOW), but I’m still the same person with the same worries. So I guess what I’m trying to say is, whatever situation you’re in there are ALWAYS pros and cons, even if it is supposed to be the most incredible situation in the world (even if everyone messages you saying they’re jealous of your Instagram). If you are carrying cons don’t be disheartened because this is all relative, this is all interchangeable and you will probably feel differently when you look back opposed to how you feel now… it may be with a more positive outlook, it may be more negative. If you’re carrying pros… simply enjoy them (lol easier said than done ey). But just try and not get bogged down because you’re not a toilet. (get it.. bog) Bog off. lol Tracey Beaker. The Dare Game. Idol.

I know that’s vague, and all sounds a bit shallow but just roll with it (or don’t, up to you). Watch Love Island and don’t feel guilty about it. Talk about Love Island in your group chat (shut up you definitely have one). ENJOY LOVE ISLAND even if you look back over the past eight weeks and realise you’ve just spent 56 hours watching other people talk. Literally.

Just so you know I’ve just switched over to Jools Holland #cultured.

I wish you all peaceful brains


Should’ve Known Better

Hey y’all! Check my new domain name – fancy huh? thecocorose.blog. That’s right.

This post is all about being a deep thinker. I’m now off of anti depressants for the first time in years (weird) and I’ve been taken aback by the intensity of emotions I have been feeling . At one stage anti depressants were the help that I desperately needed and they made my mind bearable, but now I no longer need that help I’m noticing how emotionally limited I had been whilst on them. It makes me sad to think about all of the times I missed out on the emotional richness of experiences. Now though, whenever I have a minute to myself (especially when I listen to music) the emotional flood gates open and I find myself lost in a maze of deep, scary thoughts that I’d managed to partially numb with pills.

I had a very powerful moment in my musical career (a while ago now) when I got to sing ‘Should’ve Known Better’ by Sufjan Stevens with my LCV choir family at the Union Chapel. It’s a beautiful, intricately crafted song with the subject matter of suicide. It was a very emotional song for me to perform – not because I’ve ever been suicidal or feel that now, but I can relate to that feeling of rock bottom, not knowing where is left to go. And I find that being a deep thinker is often why I end up at this place. If I put on some music that is emotional for me and have nothing else to focus on, I go on a journey with my thoughts. It even got to a point where I was avoiding music purely because of the emotional outpouring  I knew listening to it would result in (and I just couldn’t be arsed for that). I’ve even stopped playing my guitar and piano, and stopped writing music in the past 5 years and convinced myself it’s because I don’t have the time (my pants should be on fire the size of that lie to myself ) Avoid all feeling, I repeat, avoid all feeling.

Put the music on and I build myself ten different careers in my mind. Think about friends, old and new, lost and gained. Think about my family and my loved ones. But the most emotional feeling always comes from thinking about myself. How much I’ve achieved, how much I’ve not, how much I’ve got left to do, how lucky I feel to be able to stare at the moon and wonder what’s up there, how grounding that is, how much I don’t know myself, how much I’ve put myself aside for other people and how much I mourn the years I could’ve spent in the company of who I know is truly me, not the stranger in my mind that the mental illness causes. That is where it normally gets dark.

But does deep thinking have to be a dark thing? Perhaps it’s liberating. Because after thinking of all these things – I’m still here thinking about them. And that means that no matter what my perception on stuff is, it still goes on – I’ll still look back on it in weeks, months, years and it won’t matter quite as much as it did at one point. And how liberating is it to know that so far, all of the ‘worst’ things haven’t been the worst because I’m still staring up at the moon and wondering what’s really up there, I’m still singing ‘should’ve known better’ and remembering that weird music power thing I experienced (which is definitely a thing people – music is real life magic), I’m still getting to know myself and I’ve still got the opportunity to look forward to making up for lost time with myself taken by the intruder of mental disorder. And this means that no matter where my deep thinking takes me, I’m still as free as I ever was no matter what my mind is mulling over.

Being a deep thinker is hard when it’s at its easiest. It’s hard turning against yourself when you find yourself spiralling in your thoughts; to feel so betrayed by your own mind for putting you through this. But instead of hating your brain for not being quiet, maybe let it tick, let it say what it has to say and then let it pass – feel the emotion and be thankful you can. Feel liberated that no matter how hard it’s got for you, it’s actually okay. Just because it passes through you doesn’t mean it will settle in and harm you, it’s just a reassurance that you’re still here, and thank fuck for that.


Coco Campbell

Ok so this blog post is a little different. I’ve had a shit few days (trying to ween myself off of the anti depressants – never fun) but I’m not going to dwell on that because I feel like the worst thing to do right now would be to indulge in my irrational thoughts. When I come off of anti depressants (I say it like it’s a regular thing haha – usually it’s just been because I forget and only remember I haven’t been taking them when I’ma blubbering mess on the floor and can’t function – this time it’s a controlled decision) my anxiety usually sky rockets. It has done this again. I become paranoid and think that all of my friends and family and boyfriend and pets and basically anyone and everyone hates me and is out to get me. Obviously this isn’t true (part of me still questions this but I’m gonna trust people who care about me that it’s not true) so there is absolutely no value in spending time thinking about these thoughts, when I spend the rest of my time tying to distract myself from them.





Images from asos.com

This is my personal thank you to Jeffrey Campbell for being such a fucking legend. (Jeffrey Campbell is the designer of these boots for anyone not in the know, please get in the know for future reference *sassy finger emoji* – jks don’t let anyone tell you what to do) I would like to own both these pairs of boots – I feel they reflect my soul in boot-form, and I will tell you why.

Leather is the ultimate soul-mirror because at times, I am a cow. NOT INTENTIONALLY, but let’s face it, living with someone who has a mental health condition can be challenging for the best of ’em. Including myself!! It’s hard to deal with my own conditions, and also I’m not gonna pretend I’m a saint, I find it hard to deal with it when people close to me are suffering a low. That doesn’t make you not understanding or not caring, or a bad person, or selfish – it makes you human and it is hard to know what to do and to feel like all your effort isn’t making a difference. You’ve just got to remember that it is, even if you can’t see the difference being made. Even if the person who is struggling can’t notice the difference being made – it would be much much worse if your efforts weren’t there. Think about it like this – when you have a headache and you’ve taken some paracetamol and you think omg this stupid tablet hasn’t even touched my  brain ache but then you realise ‘holy shit if it feels this painful AFTER taking paracetamol, imagine how unbearable it would be if I didn’t take any!!’ You, my friend, are the paracetamol.

Secondly, the metal chainage makes the shoe look BADASS, but we all know that underneath are some cute, little, soft, podgy toes. Unless the wear-er hasn’t had a pedi in a while and they have dried skin, in which case, the toes would be cute, little and podgy, but not necessarily soft. Everyone has their tough armour on the exterior but you never truly know a person until you’ve seen their toes. I mean this in both the literal and metaphoric sense. If you haven’t seen someone’s toes then you don’t bloody know ’em well enough. You’ve not worn flip flops together, you’ve not hung out sockless – you just don’t know them. And metaphorically, you’ve not seen their vulnerable side that they carry under their armour. Some have thicker armour than others, and some hide more under their armour, but everyone does it to an extent. No on is as badass as they make out (except for me).

And thirdly, the holes. I’ve got loads of holes (lol I’ll let you make of that what you will). Holes/gaps/space – places that need to be filled! (this is getting worse and worse I love it). Spaces in my personality, soul, whatever you want to call it that I haven’t yet decided what should be there. It takes time to work out who you are and that sounds so lame but it’s only lame if you’re a lame, narrow minded person. How on earth at 21, with the limited life experience I have, am I meant to know exactly who I am, what I like, what I dislike, who I want to be etc?! It’s utterly ridiculous (Omg that just reminded me of a book we read in school called ‘utterly me, clarice b’ or something – if you remember this book please let me know so we can fangirl(or boy) over it together). And it’s ok – after some stern talking to myself I have decided that I don’t expect myself to have it all worked out ( I still take persuasion to believe this because I WANT EVERYTHING TO BE PERFECT NOW), so if anyone else does think that at 21 people should have it all worked out they can have a big slice of fuck-off-cake – I don’t need that shit. JUST DO YOU BABE, JUST DO YOU. *disclaimer – this is not an excuse to be a lazy waste of space* **disclaimer 2 – humans are never a waste of space – everyone has worth and value**


Ok, that’s me done.

Thank you chickadeelovelykins for reading my ramblings and big love to you all. Get in touch!!!!! comment, share, let’s chat!!! It feels weird writing to a virtual audience without picturing your lovely faces and personalities. Please be my friends, I’m lonely this side of the computer screen (wow that sounds unintentionally deep)


xxxxxxxxx have a good week xxxxxxxxx

The lost limbo lunacy

I know the question that’s been on all of your minds since February… ‘Where the hell has my weekly dose of The CocoRose gone?’ And I’m sorry that you have all had to go through such a traumatic experience, a loss, a grieving process but not to worry – I’m back (ish).

Now, this may sound like an invigorating come back to the blogging world after my short blogging career however, it’s not. I positively feel like I have lost the knack for this and lost all confidence in my writing. I feel like I’m either gonna offend someone or just write the most mundane boring shit ever – neither of which I want to do. I wrote a longggggggggg blog post in august but didn’t publish it because I just hated it, no matter what I tweaked or tried to improve (which isn’t even my style – normally I just write shit and post it and hope that my ramblings make sense.) Maybe one day I’ll post it cos I reckon I had some relatable points in there but it feels a bit riskyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy as it opens a massive discussion on the education system and I’m not sure if, at the moment, I am in a place where I won’t get flustered and paranoid/ can be arsed with that, so maybe not.

So, where have I been? Throughout Feb/March I went through a highly depressive stage which was crap. It was my 21st birthday, and I thought I should be enjoying myself and felt so much pressure to not be low that I ended up lower than I normally am. It’s just meant to be such a big life event (btw why is this?)  that it all got too much and I totally tapped out of the whole ‘coping’ thing.  My mum organised a fabulous party and I can’t thank her enough for the effort she put in to make it special for me, and because of her it was as special as it could be considering where I was mentally. Then my degree started taking over my life and I didn’t do anything but uni work, or worry about uni work. And then we move into summer and I got lost. I had loads of amazing opportunities performing at festivals and holidays with my boyfriend and one of my best friends but there was always the time looming where all of that was over and for the first time in my life I didn’t have school to go back to when September came around. I still am lost, but I’ve found my way back to here so surely that’s good for something?!

The lost limbo is what I’m gonna call where I’m at at the moment. I’ve graduated (which is insane – I swear I’m not even old enough to start uni let alone be finished with it?) and I don’t know what’s next. I’m working in a pub which is great because 1) MONEY (lol i mean hardly loads of money but enough to enjoy eyyyyy am I right? am I right? *hay bale*) and 2) self worth; there is a reason to put some make up on and get dressed  (ok, I know I shouldn’t depend on make up for confidence etc but I do and whatever – btw how amazing does Alicia Keys look without make up? If I looked like that then I wouldn’t wear make up… hehe… and the award for monumentally missing the point goes to… yours truly). ANYWAY I’m currently trying to sort out some voluntary work at a school with teenagers who have complex needs, and also with adults who have dementia – both using music as a medium to improve wellbeing. I’m also in the final stages of working on my CV with a fabulous recruitment specialist and will start applying for jobs. That sounds vague because it is – applying for which jobs is an answer I do not know yet. So yeah, that’s basically where I’m at. How boring for you to read about. Sorry. Ok it’s official, I’ve lost the knack.

You know when you just feel lame? It doesn’t matter what you do or say you’re just like… you’re a loser. That’s how I feel. For example, I’m having my room painted (fun fact of the day. Guess what colour it is! …. white. Just literally plain white… sorry, boring) and so last night I had to get my clothes out of my room for this morning because all the walls would be wet and if I so much as stuck a toe in that room disaster would strike. So, I got out my comfy baseball jersey and my black jeans. Some would say chav (hmm if we’re being pc, a problematic term), some would say cool (as in trendy, not temperature.. haha sorry I’m being a dick), some would say wannabe (yooooo I’ll tell you what I want what I really really want… ). This is something I have worn multiple times in the past because I’m not VB and I don’t throw away clothes after one wear. But I put it on today and looked in the mirror and thought ‘holy fuck, who do I think I am?’ I was literally so embarrassed to even think that that would look good on me and not like some mum trying to be down with the kids. So I quickly got changed and applied my green colour corrector to disguise the embarrassment shown in my face by my tomato tinge.

Now, something we need to recognise here is not that the outfit suddenly looked different to how it ever had, but that my view on myself has changed. SHOCK HORROR and gasps from the audience. To be honest with you, I don’t really know what to say about this other than it’s annoying and shit. Yes, I feel more insecure about who I am at the moment because I don’t know where this whole graduate thing will take me, which probably (definitely) effects how I feel about my appearance and being comfortable enough in my own skin to wear what I want. Veering off subject briefly but imagine if your own skin wasn’t actually comfortable?! Like you know when you’ve been in the sun for ages and your face feels all tight and annoying… imagine if your whole body felt like that?! How shit would that be?! Like, if you put your arm up your armpit would split from front to back like a tight vagine giving birth. Too much?  Back to the matter at hand… my whole lost limbo lifestyle is having an effect on everything. The way I dress, how I feel in my body, even how I write my blog posts (okay so that’s not everything my life consists of but you get the point). I promise you as I’m writing this I’m thinking ‘Chloe this  is so bad you can’t embarrass yourself by publishing it – it doesn’t even make sense’ but then I’m thinking ‘well if I don’t publish this I’ll never get back into it so you gotta do it some time and just take the embarrassment of this post being crap’. This inner war is intense.

IN THE RED CORNER WE HAVE SELF DOUBT VERSUS OPPONENT IN THE BLUE CORNER, SELF WORTH. So what do we do about this inner war? Heaven (does heaven exist?) only knows (totes had the beginning of John Legend’s ‘heaven’ in my head then). I’m gonna focus on the example of my personal experience with my body – the whole ‘I literally look disgusting’ vs ‘stop being ridiculous, you look great!’ I suppose there is value in the stuff like telling ourselves we are worth while, and what we see in magazines isn’t real life so pay no attention to it, and anyway our looks don’t define who we are – and I believe we should do this but only to an extent. I understand this sounds like I am poo-pooing (lol great term) the idea that someone should feel confident within themselves no matter what and this is not my aim at all. When someone doesn’t do this thing of hating themselves then I truly admire them and any advice they have on achieving this level of self belief is gold dust to me because I’m finding it HARD. The thing I struggle with is that we are functioning (or in my case attempting to function) in a society, or a mindset, that makes us truly believe that we are not good enough in how we look, so why would we believe ourselves when we tell ourselves ‘we are beautiful’ etc?  I know that I shouldn’t generalise and every situation is different, but I think it is important to not invalidate someone’s, or our own, insecurities by saying ‘oh don’t be silly you look amazing.’ I know this is meant as a supportive compliment but in my experience it has a negative effect because it sends messages to the sub conscious that you are stupid for letting the ideas that you are confronted with every day infiltrate your mind, which only lowers self esteem. Instead we shouldn’t feel ashamed to admit that we don’t like the way we look, no matter what we look like to others, because then we can begin to support each other without being accused of being ‘one of those girls’ who supports or gives into the pressure of the ‘bikini body’ idea, and in turn everyone’s insecurities are validated and can then be addressed. (NB: I’m speaking from a female point of view because that’s what I experience but just wanna raise the flag that this is important for everyone despite gender or sex, who experience the pressure of looking ‘right’).  I personally find it hard to not let it overtake my brain and imagine all the tweaks I would make for a perfect ‘bikini body’ (problematic term alert) as I look in the mirror. For me it’s that my bum merges into my thighs and I have cellulite and everything is just a bit too.. hmm what’s the word… fat. Now, before onslaught ensues, I’m not proud to admit that but I’m also not ashamed. It’s human to not manage to have a barrier against all the body bullshit we are fed by photoshop, but that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t try to overcome it. I look at other women, some smaller than me, some bigger than me, some a completely different shape, some similar to my shape, and think oh hot damn I wish I could look like that and sometimes am strong enough to have the reality check of ‘Chloe, maybe that’s what you look like to people who don’t only see your insecurities, and chances are they have the same thoughts as you… ever think about that, punk?’ to which I answer ‘yes because I’m thinking about it now, punk.’ (I talk to myself, lame).  Personally, I want to get fit and look after my body by exercising (hello endorphins) and consciously trying to eat fresh foods that don’t make my insides clog up with yellow play dough which is no bad thing. However, I wish to do this with a focus on health, not an instagram pic screen shotted and put as a screensaver for motivation with a tally of how many pounds I loose this week. I know this can be responded to as ‘Chloe you’re just getting caught up in the new fitness craze and you’ll start living off protein shakes’ but like anything, there is a range that sits within the balance of a healthy medium, enabling your body to function in the best way possible, which I believe is the optimum place to be.  It takes a long time and many different possible techniques to truly put these self-loathing thoughts to bed – and I reckon I’m almost half way there on a good day (other days I’m in 12th position before even leaving the start line).

So to conclude, I’m really sorry if this has been the most boring, typical, try hard read of your life and if scientists ever develop a way to time travel, I promise to give you back the five minutes you have spent reading it (would that even be time travel? i dunno). If you’re in the same boat as me and are feeling a bit lost after uni and have ended up hating yourself for it, or maybe you’ve changed jobs or something that’s made you feel part of the lost limbo lunacy then I just want you to know that I feel ya, you are not alone, I am here with you, thought we’re far apart, you’re always in my heart (if you haven’t yet realised these are MJ lyrics then I love that you think I’m spiritual enough to say things like that and get away with it, thank you).

Please comment to let me know what you think I should blog about next because my brain is like the most boring grey you can imagine at the moment… like school jumper grey and I need some inspo. There, I said it.

Peace and penguins




ps I’ve missed you guys


pps sorry this blog was crap


The other woman

My long lost friends hello, how are you? I know I said my next post would be about the taboo surrounding therapists (which I still think is utter crap and everyone should have a therapist who they rant and rave about to make this world a better place – lol nothing like a bit of crassness to cause offense and insincerity) however, something much more pressing has come to light. I will talk about therapist taboo at some point but for now I am going to focus on ‘the other woman.’ Now, I hope this post goes out to my fellow twenty somethings and they receive it with nods of agreement, and I hope that to the slightly more mature amongst us it is almost amusing. I hope this because I am counting on the fact that we grow out of this mind set! Maybe that’s totally ageist. Apologies. Maybe I am naive.  Maybe it is because of the introduction of social media in recent times and therefore the exposure to every detail of someone’s life. All will become more clear as I explain my issue with the other woman.

Now, I am not talking about the other woman being someone my boyfriend is cheating on me with. Or someone that he is constantly on his phone to. Or someone who he has been with before. Or someone who he has never encountered in any situation other than friendship in his entire life. Oh no *evil, mysterious chuckle* the other woman is that bitch he took a picture with in 2014. I came across it whilst scrolling through the Facebook archives and my blood began to boil. Who is she? Why doesn’t he have a t shirt on (ignores the fact it’s on the beach in summer)? Why is her hand there on his BARE SKIN?  Why is it just the two of them? Oh my god his arm is right round her waist. HE’S TOUCHING HER FUCKING WAIST. So they were probably all over each other that night. Yeah they definitely slept together. Oh my god he probably still has feelings for her now. Fuck. Okay I hate her. What a bitch. And how fucking dare he treat me like this? I hate him too. Maybe they’re made for each other. You know what? Fuck them. Fuck. Them. Both.

So as we can see, the brain goes awol. And we script write. How, from one picture, can I gage their relationship? And how can I deduce (definition being ‘draw as a LOGICAL conclusion’…lol logic, that funny old thing) that they slept together, or were in fact an item? And the answer to these questions is: very easily. It just comes naturally. Maybe I should be a playwright because the fucking drama that I manage to think up off of one picture is bloody incredible. But why do we do it to ourselves? *Cue people saying that this only occurs in an unhealthy, insecure relationship* … Thanks for your input. Shut up. This is just something that people say that makes the people who are hating on the other woman feel even worse. I trust my boyfriend more than I ever thought I could trust anyone, and more than I ever have trusted anyone. But I still hate the other fucking woman whore. It may be fair to say that this hating the other woman only occurs in an insecure person, but who isn’t insecure? I don’t know one person who isn’t insecure about something, even if it’s tiny (lol as I wrote that I thought it was funny cos it sounds like I’m talking about someone being insecure because of their small willy).  So using this theory then, everyone experiences this feeling of the other woman to some extent, despite the ‘health’ of their relationship. Also, I hate it when people slam other peoples relationships. You can never know a relationship unless you’re in it and then there really would be another woman in that three way shit so for now babes, your input is void. I am actually having a go at a no existent person but it’s making me feel good. Represent.

The next emotion we find ourselves experiencing is jealousy. It goes a little something like this… Right well I dyed my hair purple and blue but she has her hair funky colours too and she probably pulls it off better than me and SHE CAN PULL OFF SHORT FRANKIE FROM THE SATURDAYS HAIR AND I DONT EVEN HAVE THE BALLS TO TRY THAT if we were both in a room and my boyfriend was there then I would look like the try-hard one and she would look like the cool one. Hmm and do you know why that is? Because she has tattoos. I look like a plain, non-rebellious piece of skin compared to this walking piece of art. What a bitch. Irrelevant is the fact of whether I even want tattoos. Oh my god and her eye liner flicks are actually so much better than mine. I’ve got an NVQ in make up for fuck sake and my flicks are still fucking awful. Yep and her nose is the perfect shape not like my massive pointy honker. If her and I were standing either side of my boyfriend she would look so much more attractive from profile. And from straight-on, obviously. Her body is fucking incredible and she’s older than me so that’s just embarrassing cos even with youth on my side I am still a walking advert for how much I love chicken nuggets and chips. I bet she doesn’t even have one speckle of cellulite. Oh my god maybe he thinks that he’d rather I had her body when he sees mine. Ok now I feel physically sick. I hate myself so much. …. and so on and so fourth. Utterly torturous. The most effective torture would be to lock someone in a room with a picture of their other half with some bitch and leave them with nothing but their own brain. Unless I am the only person who does this and by writing this sound like a totally mental girlfriend… of course this is always a possibility. But my defence however is that it doesn’t happen all the time. If I’m feeling good I won’t give the other woman picture a second glance. If I’m feeling bad/low, the picture with the other woman becomes engraved on my brain, along with the abuse it results in me firing at myself.

Then comes the guilt/embarrassment. I don’t want to come across as this insecure. I hate that I am letting this get to me. I am causing a situation over nothing. And I KNOW that it’s nothing so why am I still doing it? I am such an idiot. For gods sake Chloe get a grip.

So how do we overcome this? We focus on the most important woman. Ourselves. (or the most important man cos guys you are just as important – lol jks, you’re not, you’re losers). The other woman hasn’t done anything wrong (other than existing – stupid whore). It is us who need to give our thinking patterns a little sort out, a little bit of a shift in the positive direction. This is my checklist on how I get through the tough ordeals of the other woman:

  1. be totally honest with my boyfriend – I ask him if they have a history, I explain to him that I feel weird about it, I explain that I am now hating myself, I explain that I know this isn’t a fair/rational feeling but I can’t click my fingers and switch it off, I explain that I am working on fixing it – and we laugh about how stupid it is and how much I sound like the ‘typical girl’ that everyone goes on about. P.s why do people say that women are crazy when men are the ones who would be happy to not change their bedsheets and therefore sleep with inhuman creatures that thrive off of dirt. WOW I LOVE SEXISM AND STEREOTYPING – but bitches if you gon’ throw it at me because I have a vagina I’m gon’ throw it right back at ya (disclaimer: everyone is an individual which is just like rainbows)
  2. have a reality check – this never works. Even if I can talk myself through the rational ways of thinking I still have that weird feeling in my neck/throat/pit of my stomach but I just blame this on something else like hmm maybe my hangover is only just kicking in or maybe I’m coming down with something and I’ll wake up with flu tomorrow, just to try and take away the power the irrational thoughts have had by making me feel physically unsettled. Take away the power and they no longer exist. Isn’t it weird though that I am conscious that I am doing this but it still works. The power of the mind people. Sometimes though the mind is like a limp soggy sack of shit and I can’t take control of my arms, let alone my feelings.
  3. I admire the other woman for being so badass. You go girl. (I still hate you a bit but I am working on squeezing out that last little drop of hatred from my soul and sparkling with the radiance of a mermaid)
  4. I accept myself. I have got cellulite which is such a bait thing to be upset about but whatever, but I have such fun eating chicken nuggets and chips, and my hobby is not the gym. My hobby is singing. That is a string to my bow that some may be jealous of. (Okay whatever get over it it’s not big headed, loads of people say ‘ohh i wish i could sing.’ You are entitled to your opinion as to whether I can or not. Bye).

I know this all sounds so obvious and annoying but you just gotta get yourself in the mindset that you are a badass bitch and no one can stop you from being so. It’s not a competition (but if it was you’d be fucking winning because you’re so badass). Be kind to yourself. You’re not as awful as you make out. I, for one, think you’re great. Unless you’re a dick. I’m aware I do not know who you are reading this but there must be at least one good thing about you. In fact, let’s play a fun game. Because I don’t know you, please tell me what your great thing is. Then I can love it too. yay.


Peace and love






Sherlock vs Marple

WOAH, I haven’t posted in ages. Okay wow, so time really does fly when you’re having fun except I’ve not really been having fun because real life is rarely fun it’s stress and expensive and nuts and weird. I guess I have had a lot of fun too. OKAY CHANGE OF PLAN. I was gonna write about the taboo of the therapist and how utterly ridiculous this is, but I will save that for next post (so stay tuned you judgy lot – that was only aimed at the judgy ones – the rest of you, I salute you). But, those first two sentences have inspired me to write something much more relevant: the art of overanalysing. Now, when I say art, I mean the kind as in the new modern art form where someone draws a blue line on a canvas and calls it art; THE ART THAT’S NOT ART. Maybe it’s minimalism, maybe I’m ignorant and MAYBE IM JUDGY, or maybe I’m just an incredible artist and can recreate the work of the Gods. Either way, overanalysing life isn’t an art it’s a fucking burden. Why couldn’t that skill be replaced with an awesome skill like being able to roll my belly, or be an olympian or some shit.

Okay so, firstly let’s define overanalysing. In my mind, overanalysing is when someone thinks about aspects of a situation such as the motives, reasons, possible outcomes to an irrational level, to the point where it effects their view/feelings towards the situation or their wellbeing (they worry so much they get jelly belly/jelly brain/massive feeling of not-ok-ness). It may mean different things to different people, but I’m sure we have all done it at some stage. Some more than others. To those of you who are constant overanalysers I feel your pain. I would say this is my worst trait. If I was writing a post about anxiety I would say that that was my worst trait. But I guess they’re sort of one in the same. Well, overanalysing gives you anxiety. Anyway, the worst thing about overanalysing is that it leads to you becoming a spectator of your own life. By this I mean you can no longer live in the moment, appreciate what’s really happening, because you are analysing it AS IT HAPPENS. It’s like Sherlock shit, like the minute someone says something your brain flashes all these red lights and makes a bleeping sound as it types out in your glasses lense (if you don’t wear glasses you’re a loser and should probably get some with plastic lenses to make you look more intelligent) all the stuff you’ve noticed: BEEP BEEP BEEP he looked at his phone 30 seconds before he said this so someone else must be in on it BEEP BEEP BEEP I just laughed but did I really find it funny or am I not actually happy BEEP BEEP BEEP I feel fine but I probably am not because I’m not usually BEEP BEEP BEEP maybe she’s annoyed at me cos her sentence only contained 12 syllables when usually it’s a minimum of fifteen BEEP BEEP BEEP are they actually tired or just using the tired excuse when really they’re pissed at me BEEP BEEP BEEEP BEEEEEEEEEEEEEP. It’s enough to drive someone crazy (lol I’m already there). That just reminded my of the Westlife song ‘Already there.’ Spent many-a teenage car journey staring out the window to that. I LOVE NICKY (if you don’t know who Nicky is you need to up your Westlife trivia). It’s incredible – check it.

AAAANNNNYYWAAAYYY, being a spectator of your own life is awful. You don’t even get the nachos and oversized drink that cost as much as your rent that you usually do when you’re a spectator a la cinema, for example. Instead, you just get a greasy bun thats been used to mop the back row spunky seats and a mouthful of stale jalapeños. Or something to the same affect. One of the worst things about spectating your own life is it is a very dfficult habit to break. Once you start being Sherlock, it is hard to resort back to being a regular Marple. Your powers have grown. You are invincible. How do you stop yourself from doing something that you don’t realise you’re doing until you’ve done it.(Go on, go back and re-read that till you get your head around it.) I have no answers because I am currently very deeply in this myself. But I will share with you my technique that I have found sometimes works and gets me in a good mindset. Said technique is titled … “Fuck it,” OOO look at Chloe coming up with the least-bait wannabe badass technique ever. AGAIN, this reminded me of some socks I saw today by a brand called concrete humanity (name drop – they should probably give me some free clothes now, although I’m not sure it’s typically my style, it’s a bit gangsta) that are plain white and just say ‘fuck off’ on the ankle, lol incredible, if anyone wants to buy me those I’ll give you a shoutout in my next blog and a tenner when I’m famous. No but seriously, I have decided to say to myself that no matter how many times I analyse a situation, it will turn out how it does. I will deal with it then and I will inevitably be okay. I’ve got myself through some rank shit, I’m sure I can handle most things. That’s not to say I’ll do it with the most grace, but you get yourself through it because you have to. And I don’t have the energy to keep this anxious overanalystic shit up. So fuck all these nuts thoughts swirling in my head, and fuck answering my critical spectator voice cos that can just get fucked, and I will live each day as it comes and deal with whatever happens when it does. This sounds like the MOST annoying, over played, overly-simplistic  technique ever but I actually find it works (sometimes). When I give myself a reminder of how life works, and that nothing is guaranteed, and that I’ve been a badass bitch before and I will do it again, that layer of giving too many fucks seems to slightly dissipate. You try it too, and let me know how you get on. Cos no doubt there will be hurdles and speed bumps and mountains along the way that some good old relateability (apparently that’s not a word? definitely is) helps with. Or, if you have another technique let me know! I’m dying over here people. Well, figuratively. Maybe not even that much. Maybe that was slightly dramatic. This is a safe place, my name is Chloe and I am an overanalysing spectator of my own life.

So there we have it, a bit of a soul baring sharing session. Please don’t rip me to shreds I feel vulnerable! What would make me really happy is you sharing my blog to anyone you think may benefit from reading the words of a fellow sufferer/major fucking hero, or to anyone who has a pair of eyes. And now I’ve told you I feel vulnerable you probably should do that. It’s the right thing to do. Share for share except I’ll share my soul and you share my blog. mmmm emotional black mail.

Lots of love,


Stress mess


Welcome back you beautiful souls. I have received some really amazing support since my last post so I just wanted to thank y’all for that and let you know how important it is to me! There is nothing better than finding out people don’t think you’re talking total shit ❤

So, stress. I can’t handle it. I am the worst person at being stressed. It makes me into a dragon lady and I also get jelly brain. I hate everyone and everything and think the world is out to get me. I have comprised a list with my top tips on how to handle stress to try and share the chill vibes but also try and convince myself that I should actually do these things rather than just think about them.

  1. Cry – crying is great. To anyone who calls you a cry baby/constant cryer etc slap that bitch upside their head cos you don’t need that sort of negativity in your life. There is nothing better than having a good old cry. Afterwards you get the bunged up nose and headache and it’s a real sense of achievement. Lol jks, it just makes you feel like a fucking dick but that’s beside the point. Everyone knows that once you’re sick you stop feeling sick. So let’s just transfer this little theory right on over to our favourite activity (crying) and recognise that once you’ve cried it all out you’ve released all that negative emotion. See ya later sucker.
  2. Laugh (at yourself) – everyone says laughter relieves stress, go and have a coffee with a friend, watch your favourite comedy and all that crap which I’m sure is true but when I’m stressed I’m not in a very laugh-Y mood and OBVIOUSLY DONT HAVE TIME FOR THAT (otherwise I wouldn’t be stressed, nob). That is why it is important to laugh at yourself. For example, you are moaning to your boyfriend about how much you have to do and how worried you are about it. You’re talking/typing quicker and quicker and ahhhhh everything’s manic.  *cue laughter*. This is the point where you should laugh at yourself for being such an idiot as to expect to feel better talking about what you’ve got to do rather than doing it. This may sound harsh but it works along the same lines as the theory that it’s not the taking part that counts, it’s the winning.  We all know it’s true. Unless you’re a reception teacher trying not to crush kids’ dreams. Crush them I say! … Apologies. (I have already used the word theory twice… We can tell I’ve been writing academic essays)
  3. have a bath before bed – not because baths are relaxing etc but because when you are literally submerged in water it is much more difficult to do little jobs here and there to distract you. To elaborate… Say I am typing an essay sitting on my bed and remember I need to write something in my diary. I quickly get up, grab my diary, write it in and by that point might as well have sold my focus on eBay. Alternatively we can imagine that I am trying to write said essay and think hmm I’m hungry (I’m obviously not, just eating cos I’m bored and convince myself that’s a great idea only to moan later that I’ve got more rolls than sainsburys bakery) so I pop downstairs, whip up a feast that would make Gordon Ramsey bow down and by the time I arrive back at my laptop I am totally perplexed by the idea of actually doing work. Herein my friends, the bath trick becomes useful. When submerged in water it is much more difficult to pop into a different room/collect somethings from the other side of the room, especially if that means I will be cold and naked with a very high risk of running into my flat mates (I know they love it – not the point.) So when I’m in the bath all I can do is develop the theories and arguments I am going to feature in my essay in my head and get myself right in the zone. I know this is slightly contradictory to my previous point about not having time to meet a friend for coffee / watch tv or whatever but it’s TOTALLY different and if you’re gonna be that pedantic then whatever i don’t even need you.
  4. Eat whatever you mothertrucking want – yes eat clean think clean, eat healthy think healthy but similarly eat clean spend ages in the kitchen prepping stuff, eat healthy and be totally Unsatisfied. I KNOW healthy food can be super yummy, I don’t mean this to be an attack on healthy food. My point is, eat what you want cos you’ve got enough on your plate (you’re welcome 😉) to take on that extra layer of pressure to prepare stuff if it isn’t your forte, or go to the shops cos you don’t have the ‘right’ thing. Biscuits help me get through essays. You know those Maryland gooey ones. If my notes don’t have a suspect brown substance smeared across them then they are just totally inauthentic. Food is inspiration people, and yes you may feel worse cos you don’t like the way you look after, or the bad food isn’t exactly good brain food but then I guess it’s a matter of weighing up what’s important. For me, in mega stress everything healthy goes out the window… I then hate myself a few weeks later when my skin is rank and I get tired walking up the stairs but it is then that I deal with it.
  5. Get enough sleep – bullshit. When you’re stressed the last thing you can do is RELAX enough to sleep. That’s the dream (again, you’re welcome). However, sleep is well important but don’t let it bog you down if you only get a few hours. I always find that it I’m aware I’ve not had much sleep eg I’ve been out all night and before I go to bed I recognise that I have to be up in three hours I am MUCH more tired than if I can’t sleep so stay up reading and doing bits in my room without realising the time, only get three hours but don’t really pay attention to that and just get up the next day. Similarly, if I think oh holy crap i only got 5 hours last night I am exhausted, that is a totally different experience to if I’ve been out and only got five hours and wake up and think wow I actually feel ok. Of course sleep deprivation has many negative effects, I’m not saying it doesn’t but I believe, at least for me, I can convince myself into a greater level of exhaustion if I dwell on my lack of sleep but also, hello… Coffee and red bull. It’s the 21st century people come on.
  6. Cuddle a dog – dogs are so great. My dog is an actual psycho (oops maybe shouldn’t use this term with derogatory connotations in a blog such as mine but we can’t all get offended by everything – I’m a depressed wannabe, there I said it). Just watching her doing this freaky stare out of the corner of her eye and seeing her simple brain ticking away makes me so happy. She’s either really thick or the most intelligent dog ever. I’m not sure. I like to ponder it as a distraction to the thoughts whizzing round my head. Just imagine cute little doggy world where everyone is friends and they hump in the park and eat and sleep and that’s about it. Magical.
  7. Just chill the fuck out – it won’t be like this forever mate. On a scale of 1-10 how important really is it? (10 being death). Will it matter this time next year? Is it really as bad as you’re making out? Are there more important things? Are you just too cool for this shit? (Probably)
  8. Ignore everything I’ve just said – do what YOU want. Whatever makes you feel better and the situation easier to handle, then do it. I’m sure my tips totally counteract all scientific evidence ever, so maybe I get through easier by thinking I’m some sort of tough rebel who doesn’t need anyone’s advice. Ultimately, as long as you’re not a mega bitch you’ll be alright.

X is a stupid letter

I realise now that my blog is becoming a self help mechanism. And I’m ok with that. Scary but whatever. I have also found out that my blog is helping a few others. And I’m really ok with that. I hope people find comfort in reading my words and it makes them feel less lonely… Or alone (lonely and alone, two very different things)…. Or crazy….or a psycho… Or whatever other bullshit words people wanna throw around. Erm hello babes I think you’re crazy for wearing that dog awful jacket, at least my crazy is concealed behind perfect winged liner. Thot.

A ll consuming

n o rest

x is a stupid fucking letter anyway

i am the worst person in the world

e verythings wrong

t oo much

y es, there is no way out

When you look back on your evening and have spent the last five hours crying and completely upturned every corner of your life, will have puffy eyes for work tomorrow and carry some self hate… You realise what a non achievement this is. Just like X is a stupid fucking letter, anxiety is a stupid fucking emotion. The letter X is so unnecessary that we had to create a usage for it by making it mean a physical gesture in colloquial written language, kiss kiss. anxiety (I don’t even give it a capital letter because it is so shit to me at the moment) is such a fucking useless emotion we even sometimes create things to feel anxious about. That’s the worst part for me. How do I know if what I’m feeling is a true reflection of my thoughts, or I’ve just jumped on board the anxiety train and have had to think of a fictional problem to chat to my neighbour about? Or maybe it’s just a little niggle that all of a sudden makes the earth stop? How ridiculous. If my muscles grew in the gym (lol like I’ve gone to the gym recently) as quickly as my thoughts grow out of proportion in my head, forget Charlotte Crosbys bum blitz it would be Chloe’s caducous fat cells miracle. Exactly, ridiculous. So why, when this wave of anxiety hits and my tummy drops and I feel freezing and sick, do I not say Erm hi mate you alright fuck off because this is as ridiculous as Chloe’s caducous fat cells? The fear that washes over is immense. That’s what anxiety comes down to, worry and fear. For me at least anyway. My dad always says fear stands for fantasy events appearing real, and it’s true. Unless you’re being chased round the house by a robber/gunman. But even then you might not get shot! It is a fear of the outcome to a real life, or made up situation. Now, in films we get excited about how it’s going to end. Why not treat life in the same way? Lol how unrealistic, imagine… Oh my god I am so totally looking forward to finding out what happens when I can’t repay what I spent on my credit card, literally so exciting! Ok so that was a ridiculous suggestion but at least it’s injecting humour into such a suffocating problem. It would be amazing if we could programme our brains to work that way though. Life would be one huge film. Wow. Ok that’s my aim from now on. Ultimately though, we can’t always control the outcome of situations, just like we can’t control the outcome of films (unless we’re script writers) so all being anxious does is make the possibility of a bad outcome more likely because we’re getting ourselves so worked up and can’t handle the situation in a way that we normally would. And that’s not fair on us. I find it very hard to accept that sometimes life is shit. But what we must remember is we will get ourselves through it. Why? Because we have to. In 10 years time will it matter? 5 years? 6 months? Even a few weeks? And if we’re going to get through whatever happens, then why waste time feeling anxious? (I realise this is a stupid question because if it was as easy as that then no one would suffer and I would not have been inspired to even begin writing this – but we must ask ourselves this in order to not give in). One of my all time favourite sayings is: pain is inevitable, suffering is optional. I’m sure the word optional grates on a lot of people out there because if it was optional then why would we put ourselves through it (like oh yeah I really enjoy dedicating hours of my life to feeling really unhappy and scared) but just take it for what it is because although it’s not optional, we must keep this idea in our heads to keep anxiety in proportion; it is as fucking stupid as the letter x.


Brain World

Hello to you lovely people taking the time out to read this,

Thanks so much for your kind comments so far, I love knowing what you think so please get in touch!

So, last night I was lying in bed wide awake (naturally) wishing so hard that I was more sleepy at night time and less so in the morning. I just don’t understand how I find it so impossible to wake up, get out of bed and actually face real life not just drown myself in my uber soft throw  (Zara home – favourite shop ever). And before anyone says oo it’s your sleeping pattern, you should go to bed earlier yada yada yada… I’ve heard it all before and I’ve tried it all before. I just need the world to shift forwards a bit so we all go to sleep at about 2am and wake up at 10am. Anyway, I was lying there getting really frustrated and just started picturing my brain. Now, when I was younger I used to think that little mice in pastel coloured aprons worked traffic lights. They would shuffle around turning on the right light and they would slot all of the correctly coloured screen infront of the bulbs etc. After a few minutes of lying and brain visualising I realised that I saw my brain as operating in the same way (except this time it’s little monsters) which I have never consciously acknowledged before lol it was an incredible realisation. Anyway, this leads me on to a little story. I realised I had created an entire narrative for these little friends in my brain that I might as well share (just for lols – whether thats at or with me, whatever) … Enjoy.

First things first, whenever people have told you before that your brain is a pink/grey mass full of neurological crazy shit and electric buzzers carrying around your shit with lasers and shit, they were lying. They just say it so brain surgeons can justify why they spent so long drinking it up as a student (lol jk – respect). In actual fact, your brain has a hard casing which splits down the middle and opens up, just like a dolls house that is sectioned into four rooms. During the day all of the little monsters are scurrying around your brain, some in lab coats, putting stuff into filing cabinets and entering information into computers  (think Plankton from Sponge Bob and his massive computer wife – I think it’s his wife? I’m sure it is. Why am i doubting myself? You guys are intimidating.) But when you go to bed they all retire to their own rooms so they can focus on their specific activity.

Room one (top left) is the room of Yip; the room of tension. Yip is a burnt orange sort of colour with one eye and is splodge shaped. “Alright Yip, would you mind switching off your light and going to bed? All this tension is making me ache.” I said.  (I know I should enter a new line when someone starts speaking in order to make it grammatically correct or whatever the right word is but it just doesn’t work cos it looks like a new paragraph and just no, I’m just gonna put it on the line wherever it comes, ok? ok.) “Well Chloe,  I suppose I can switch off my light but you will have to consciously help me do it. Start from your head and relax everything, by the time you get to your toes, I’ll have switched it off.” Replied Yip. “Okay cool, that’s fair. Thanks mate.” Me and Yip are friends.

Onto room two. Yap. Yap is in the planning room. He is green and is the shape of a beauty blender. “Yap, please can we stop planning things now? I can do it tomorrow when I can write it in my diary and actually remember it.” Said I, being reasonable as ever. “Erm,  I’m not sure how I feel about that. You have a lot coming up and we should probably keep going through it like one hundred times JUST INCASE we forget something. And we need to plan for the best case scenario and the worst, JUST INCASE. And when are you going to fit in this bit of uni work cos looks to me like you’re pretty booked up? and oh shit you never replied to that text, when are you gonna see her? It’s been ages since you saw her hmm maybe we could fit her in Friday morning?” Little shit. After some time of my puppy dog eyes (but inwards of my head because it’s towards my brain so thinking about it the back of my eyeballs must have extremely good expressive qualities) Yap said “Look, I will reason with you. I will pack away my lever arch file with built in pocket on the inside cover and multicoloured page dividers as long as you promise me we will sit down tomorrow, with diary, and plan this all out.” “Okay Yap, let’s do that.” So he hops in bed, puts his cute little annoying feet under the cover and switches off his light. Phew.

Third room. Yop. He’s a tricky one. He’s maroon and is fatter on the bottom than the top. He looks a bit like a cartoon dog poo actually, you know the ones that look like brown coloured Mr Whippy’s, like the emoji? With little arms and legs. Anyway, he is master of the room of worry. So, here goes. “Yap, please may you switch your light off.” “I…I…I I can’t. What if something changes overnight and we don’t know about it? What if the we wake up and the world isn’t how we left it and no one else is around and we’re stranded? What if we don’t pass our degree? No but seriously Chloe, what if we don’t wake up to the alarm and are late for work and then loose our job? And then we’d have no money, and then we would get so far into our overdraft and not be able to pay off our credit card and then we would probably end up homeless and that would be cold and you know how much you hate the cold chloe omg and its getting colder and I don’t know if you have a coat thats warm enough but maybe you shouldn’t buy one just incase we don’t wake up to the alarm and loose our job, oh my god CAN IT BE SO?” he rambled. “Yap, let’s try and be calm. We can only control so much. Make yourself a horlicks (cos thats what my nan used to drink before bed) and lets go to sleep.” Yap nevously walked over to the light switch. With his finger quivering above it he says “Chloe I can’t, I just can’t. I can’t turn the light off because WHAT IF SOMETHING HAPPENS.” After twenty  minutes of too-ing and fro-ing (how the hell do you spell that? I’ve never written it down before… looks like I’m speaking owl language) Yap quietly said “I will use the dimmer switch. I will try my hardest to turn it right down and keep it there, but I just have to have my room lit enough so I can be aware of what is going on.” Brilliant. Thanks ‘pal.’ Pussy.

And the fourth room. The room of the conscious. There is something special about this light switch… it can’t be turned off by me. And there’s something special about Yoop, the monster who occupies the room… he is deaf. I cannot speak to him and kindly flatter him into switching off his light.  It’s just whenever Yoop decides he wants to. Yoop has a habit of lying in bed and almost drifting off and then having a surge of energy where he gets up and does 100 skips with his skipping rope. Or sometimes he gets up, does one star jump and then goes for a leisurely swim. His energy levels are wack. Sometimes, if he decides to go on a two hour hike I scream at him JUST GO TO FUCKING BED AND SWITCH OFF YOUR DAMN LIGHT, but as he can’t hear me he carries on, blissfully unaware. Yoop is the king of the brain; if he switches off his light it trips out Yip, Yap and Yop’s, plunging the brain into a darkness that isn’t eerie, just beautifully peaceful. Sometimes there is a thunderstorm which invokes a bad dream, but other than that… as peaceful as a beach hut on stilts in the clear sea of Bora Bora. Lush.


From my imagination to yours x