Being a Night Owl

You may notice some of my posts go up past midnight occasionally. This is because I rarely sleep before midnight, in fact if I do, I usually end up waking up at like 5 a.m. which isn't particularly practical. I prefer the night time- it feels like I have far fewer responsibilities at night for some reason. You don't have to talk to anyone and everything's quiet. You can do pretty much what you like.

If you look outside, the world is different, calmer. The few cars that pass outside seem more purposeful in their travels. You notice more of the nature around you; the foxes come out and you can watch silently from your window as they bring their cubs to explore your front garden. There's more space to think, to think about the day that's passed and try to plan out what you want for the next day or for years to come.

It's at night that I decided I needed to move university. In fact, I've made most of the important decisions of my life when I should have been a couple of hours into a deep slumber. But night time isn't just for thinking, it's mostly for relaxing. You can spend far longer watching programmes on the internet during the night without feeling guilty than during the day. During the night, it's fine if you don't make the effort to make a meal and just snack.

You don't have the anxiety that you might bump into someone and have to make conversation. You don't feel like you have to do work (unless you have intentionally pulled an all-nighter for that purpose) because night time doesn't count. You don't have to continue that difficult conversation because they've gone to sleep.

The only guilt you feel is when the birds start to chirp outside, and the darkness fades to sunrise. For night owls, the sunrise isn't such a beautiful sight as others might consider it to be. It's the sign that you've stayed up too late, that now you have to be a responsible adult during the day on 2 hours of sleep, if that. Fingers crossed you've got your de-zombifying technique down (drink plenty of water, eat breakfast, try to imagine you didn't spend all night staring at a laptop screen) roll out of bed and into the daytime.

Mother's Day Blues

Mother's Day today has made me especially nostalgic and homesick. These last two years, I have realised just how much my parents do for me and how much I rely on their support. When you're little, your parents are the worst people in the world because they make you eat broccoli and don't let you do the things your friend's parents let them do. You argue over such stupid things. You neglect the little moments you spend together, where you've taken a day trip out together, or have done something in the small hours between finishing school and bedtime.

I remember as a small child seeing a teenager out with their parent and they seemed to get along, whereas I percieved that all teenagers hated their parents. I vowed that I would always get along with my mum, idealizing being a teenager who walked about holding her mum's hand. Obviously that was a somewhat ridiculous notion, and of course I went through the stage where I didn't want to be seen outside with my parents. I just hope I didn't upset them too much when I scoffed at their mentionings of spending time together; I hope I never made them feel neglected by me.

Not being able to go home on mother's day is breaking my heart because I'm unable to participate in the yearly tradition of buying my mum daffodils (only great big yellow ones, none of the white or orange cop-outs) and going out to Chartwell House. My mum's told me they're not going to Chartwell this year because it's raining, they're going to Costco instead, to pick up ten tonnes of food shopping. Not exactly how she would choose to spend mother's day. My sister is still in the stage where she somewhat hates her parents, so I wonder if my mum will even get a present this year.

It's funny how distant from your parents being a teenager makes you, and then being in your 20s springboards you back closer to them. Even though I was only home last week, I can't wait until I get to go home next weekend and see my family. I've been trying not to get homesick as it is, but seeing everyone posting pictures with their mum on mother's day has definitely made me count the seconds until I can get in my car and drive home.

On Writing

When I was younger, the dream was to become an author. This was the age where I was into Jacqueline Wilson; I even went to see her to get some books signed and told her I wanted to be an author. I think this thought stemmed from when I was really young, when I took it upon myself to copy out half of a Cinderella book into a notebook. I soon grew bored of just copying, so I made up my own ending. Reading it back, it's so terrible, but at least it made me use my imagination at a young age.

From here, I began to write my own stories, and went through numerous notebooks in the process. I enjoyed imagining myself in these worlds I had created, and especially liked giving the stories to my family and getting a response to them. In primary school, we had specific times dedicated to creative writing, and I would just write solidly for an hour and a half, or however long those times were, filling up pages upon pages of my exercise books. My teacher would encourage me by letting me read my stories out to the class at the end of the session, which I enjoyed, except from the time I had reached a particularly gory stage in my imagination and became embarrassed when I had to read out my story about a man ripping his own heart from his chest.

I can remember to this day the disappointment I felt in myself after writing the most terrible story in the creative writing section of my 11+. The exam paper gave an introduction to a story, and you had to finish it whilst showing off creative skills, as well as good grammar and spelling. My nerves got to me, and I just wrote without really thinking it through, scared I would run out of time with nothing written on the paper. I remember I wrote about a weird pixie creature (from the planet Eixip, no less) visiting this girl in the middle of the night. I even cringed at it myself after I wrote it, and I was 11. After the exam, I asked the girl sitting next to me, of whom I had made friends with, what she had written, and it was some detailed detective story. I thought for sure I had failed the exam, but surprisingly passed.

Even into secondary school, I would make the most of creative writing assignments (thin on the ground as they were, and usually a small part of a larger, assessed module). My mum would often ask for copies of my stories and hand them out to the family (we're THAT kind of family). At this stage though, I hated being graded on my stories-I put too much of myself into them and could immerse myself too much in their world to care about what some teacher had defaced them with. It was at this point that I stopped writing. I had too much time devoted to revising subjects I didn't care about, like maths and religious studies, but it was important that I got a GCSE grade for them, so that I could forget about them for the rest of my life.

I feel that the latter part of secondary school stunted my creativity. That's probably harsh to say, but that's how I feel. Everything seemed guided towards getting the perfect grade, not exploring the parts of a subject that you enjoyed. I understand that's what school is like now and whether that's a good or bad thing is another discussion. Even in my favourite subject, English, which I enjoyed, I felt limited. Essay structures prevented you from steering away from the question at hand, meaning you didn't really explore away from set topics. I had stopped reading and writing in my spare time completely.

It's only now at university where I've been able to feel creative in my writing again. Yes, I am still restricted within structures and guidelines, but have more time to explore topics that interest me, because I'm not devoting that time to studying subjects that have no relevance to me (like MATHS!). This blog especially has helped me explore things that interest me, and helped me to find out my opinions on things that didn't even cross my mind before. While I am restricted in the way I set it out (so it's readable etc), I can write about whatever. And that's great.

Being a Baby

Apologies for the lack of posting recently, everything's been a bit manic.

I quite enjoy being short, it allows me to blend into the crowd and hide easily. I don't know why, but it also makes me feel more feminine; if I am wearing heels and am taller than the majority of the guys I am with, I feel like an ogre. However, being short also emphasises how ridiculously young I look-my sister is way taller than me and she is three years younger than I am. One time, we got asked if we were twins, which was awful for us both because we both aspire to be nothing like each other! As well as being short, I have a round face, which further makes me look like a child. No matter what amount of compensating I do with my fringe, I have yet to overcome it.

Older people don't understand why it is such a burden to look young. "When you're older, you'll wish you looked younger", they patronisingly say. They don't understand the difficulties of having to carry around ID EVERYWHERE you go, in case you end up in a pub or need to buy a lighter. I attended a party the other week and some guys who were sitting next to me really loudly whispered to each other that people starting uni were getting younger and younger, clearly talking about me, even though due to starting this university a year late, I was actually older than half the people in the room.

At least I share this trait with a number of celebrities, and at least I am not yet a thirty year old who still looks underage. My favourite example of a celebrity who looks half their age is Lauren Mayberry, lead singer in the band Chvrches, who is twenty-seven. I love her band and feel like I can relate to her on some level because of the age thing.

Choosing clothes is difficult. I had to avoid the dungaree trend a few years ago in order not to look like a toddler. On the other end of the scale, if you want to dress up to go out, you wonder whether you can get away with more risqué clothes, or if you will look like a try-hard. Despite having to carry round ID to prove you are in fact the age that you are, if you try to get away with child tickets on public transport, suddenly it's ridiculous that you would be considered underage. I haven't tried to get away with that for a number of years, after barely getting away with it due to my hotter friend flirting with the bus driver.

The worst is when you realise how old you are in relation to those around you. In my first year of university now, I am constantly surprised that the people I am talking to are younger than me. Similarly, I used to work with a load of sixteen/seventeen year olds, and they couldn't believe I was twenty and not their age. It becomes really difficult to judge people's age when you first meet them. It is so depressing to be told you look really young, because of the amount you feel you have changed since that age. Since I was fifteen, I worked out how to use eyeliner and NOT look like a goth (even though that was probably the aim back then). I dress better (I hope), I speak differently and many of my opinions have changed. Plus I can handle my alcohol way better!

I don't know what to do! -But watch me look back on this post in ten years and wish I'd made the most of it, unless I'm Jennifer Aniston?

Bikers

Bikers have an unfortunate reputation. They are often compared to criminals, with the "Hell's Angel" image being intimidating and downright scary. While massive tattooed men with beards riding Harley Davidsons are one aspect of biker culture, there is another aspect that is widely overlooked.

The culture of sports bikers is one of which I have only recently been introduced to, but is one not to be overlooked. Riders in this category in my experience are usually thrill seekers but at the same time are extremely controlled and dedicated. Sports bikes (possibly motorbikes in general) take a lot of maintenance, so sports bikers have to be dedicated to their bikes and seek pride from them. Bikers often fix their own bikes, finding it cheaper and easier than relying on mechanics, and therefore you can sometimes walk in on a bit of a mess if you visit a biker's home. Some seek to have the best looking bike or the fastest bike and they can become quite competitive.

Like Harley riders, these riders often meet up to compare bikes or just to mingle with fellow bike lovers. They will discuss bikes. A lot. As a biker's girlfriend who knows nothing about bikes, this can seem a bit alien-you wonder why a conversation about exhausts could possibly be interesting. But they are truly passionate about every aspect, and I suppose talking to people who share your interests is extremely exciting. These meets can cause lifelong friendships to form; the types of friendships where you don't need to talk everyday, but if you randomly bumped into them in the middle of the street, you wouldn't avoid conversation.

My favourite part of being partially involved in this culture is the group rides. These can be organised rides, or can randomly spring from meet ups. The best I have been on is the May-Day Run, in which bikers from all over the country ride in groups towards the Hastings coast. This is great because you're all riding together and it creates a real sense of unity, plus because you are pretty much contained away from other traffic, you can have fun with the bikers around you. Rides like these show the diversity of bikers and its also interesting to look at all the different types of bikes, even as someone who knows literally nothing about motorbikes.

I always ride pillion on my boyfriend's bike because I can't actually ride a motorbike (although many have tried to persuade me to learn) and this in itself is a mastered skill. You have to learn to position yourself in a way that won't restrict the person in front of you; they need to be able to move their hips and arms. You also need to learn to lean with the bike, it makes it much easier on the person in front of you if you are not sitting bolt upright. I have found that if my boyfriend wears a rucksack, I can hold onto the back of the handles to stabilise myself. This way, I have something keeping me on the bike, but I'm not clinging on to my boyfriend.

Every single biker I have met so far has been extremely friendly and helpful. If a biker is seen broken down on the hard shoulder, another biker (as long as they have nowhere urgent to be) will stop to help. How often do you see car drivers pull over to the hard shoulder to help another car driver who seems to be unable to help themselves? I remember travelling from my boyfriend's house to somewhere else by bus, but I had to wait at the bus stop wearing all my bike clothes. A biker saw me and approached me asking if I was okay. He obviously had presumed I was having bike troubles and was asking if I needed any help. Me, about 18 at the time (but forever looking 14), him in his early thirties: what was it to him if I had broken down? Another thing I like is what I have dubbed the "biker nod". Whenever two bikes pass each other (as long as they are "good" bikes) each biker will exchange a nod. Just a friendly "hello", but I think it is refreshing. Bikers can often rally together for a good cause, like the Red Ring for Remembrance day, where bikers aim to make the biggest poppy in the world by wearing red and riding around the M25 in a cirlce. This helped to raise money for various remebrance charities.

While bikers can be competitive and sometimes ride at dangerous speeds, there is nothing like the exhilaration of riding a motorbike. I am a driver of a comfortable Ford Focus, a lover of creature comforts such as radio and air con and appreciator of not-getting-wet-when-it's-raining. But even I miss being on the back of a bike. Never mind the fact you can bypass traffic with ease, being on a bike means being part of an exclusive, positive, friendly culture.

Going for a Walk

I went outside today. No, no, no, I'm fine, I haven't gone crazy. And yes, this is Katherine writing this. I just felt compelled to leave the house, is all. Tired of procrastinating writing an essay through watching videos of baby goats on the internet, I decided to procrastinate by taking a walk. I brought along with me the book I was meant to be writing the essay on, in a small bid of hope that I was contributing to my essay in some way. 

Buckingham is in the heart of green-belt country, with not much to do in terms of shopping and entertainment facilities like cinemas etc. What it lacks in suburbancy (yes, I did make up that word), it makes up for in breathe-in-the-fresh-air countryside. I didn't even have to walk far; the river that runs alongside my university is perfect for walks. Now, I am from the near-London suburbs, where we walk fast and with purpose with our heads down, not talking to anyone. There are fields there, but they are brown and ploughed, and not particularly inspiring to walk in on a winter's day. Therefore, sometimes the very idea of "going for a walk in the fields" can seem a bit obsolete, a bit Wuthering Heights.

I found a bench right by the riverside, tucked slightly away from the squealing children in the playground and the competitive tennis players on the tennis courts, wearing shorts I shudder to imagine wearing in such conditions, and opened my book. Charles Dickens' Ghost Stories, in particular, A Christmas Carol. Not really the setting for such a book; a sunny midday in February, but I enjoyed reading outside all the same. The occasional dog would sniff at my feet as it pattered by and a few parents with children walked past: parents attempting to teach their sprogs the ways of the world, the child more interested in a slug they had stepped on. I was at the centre of the world but disconnected from it at the same time.

Being a novice at "going outside", I made the fatal error of not putting on enough layers (because two jumpers and a coat are not enough apparently), and I had to retire from my little spot after about an hour. It had been nice to look up every now and again and catch the sun reflecting on the water, to notice how fast the river was flowing and how at some points it could be completely silent.

Don't get me wrong, I'm from Kent, "The Garden of England", I've seen my fair share of countryside. I've been to numerous National Trust Gardens and grew up with a garden that backed onto a woodland. Today was different though. It was unplanned, you didn't need an entry ticket. It really did feel like something someone did "in the old days", to just go for a walk and sit and read outside. I think that's sad. That our generation is imagined as the people who see "outside" as just the place in between home and work. We adorn indoors with plants in pots as a way to make us feel closer to the natural world, when all we have to do is step outside.

Not wanting to sound preachy, it's just that I am annoyed at myself for neglecting outside. While the downside is that it isn't temperature controlled, I think the benefits are enormous. From just an hour of being outside, sitting with no real purpose, I feel momentously healthier. I think, next time, I will donn as many layers as I can without looking like the Michelin Man, so I can sit outside for as long as I like. Plus, I got to stroke a cat on my way home, which was nice.

(same cat a few weeks earlier)

Anxiety and Depression

As you can see by the title, this blog post is obviously going to be super upbeat! Well I'll try and make it as light-hearted as I can. I can honestly say that I have suffered from both anxiety and depression, particularly anxiety, since I was about 14. Now it seems like everyone these days, particularly girls because they're more open to admit it, suffers from either or both of these conditions, so a lot of people understand what it is like to have or know someone who has them. However, some people have no idea why these pansies are complaining all the time, so I thought I'd draw on my experience of the conditions.

 

*Disclaimer: I have been clinically diagnosed with anxiety, but not depression although I know from experience that I have symptoms of it. I do not take medication towards either of these and have deliberately sought no counselling* 

Anxiety and depression often go hand in hand (perhaps not as joyfully as the image that evokes), so after having anxiety for pretty much all of my teenage years, I found that I was suffering from depression from about the age of 19. This coincided with me starting university and I still suffer from bouts of it almost 2 years later. In the beginning, I didn't recognise it as depression, I just thought of myself as lazy and homesick, but it definitely stemmed from there. I had moved to a new town and everyone seemed to be having fun and making friends, except me. I was sharing a house with people I didn't know (and ended up hating) who held loud house parties without inviting me. I wasn't coping.

Every day of my life?!

This led to me having extremely low self-esteem and made me want to stay inside. This later progressed into me not wanting to even leave my bed some days. I would sleep all day and be awake all night. I'm not even sure what I did when I was awake, but I just tried to make the days pass as quickly as possible. I put minimal effort into what I did, because what's the point? The only thing that could bring me out of it was when I met up with friends or when I came home to see my family and was in familiar surroundings. This has eased now that I am studying a subject I have an interest in and have something to work towards. Unfortunately, it is very easy for me to hate myself and I need to be talked out of thinking the worst of a situation.

Anxiety is far, far easier for me to talk about because I have so many more years of experience with it. From its origins with panic attacks to the everyday freak-outs I get now, I think it's safe to say I have had every symptom under the sun. I started getting panic attacks when I was about 13 or 14, consisting of shivering, nausea, sweating, dizziness, tunnel vision and often led to throwing up. This stopped me from doing a lot of the usual things a young teenager can do; it often made me housebound. I gave up air cadets and often flaked out of meeting up with friends at the weekends because of, or in fear of a panic attack. This became a vicious cycle; if I knew I was going to do something, I would expect a panic attack, which of course brought one on.

My parents became worried about me, and took me to the doctors to see if anything could be done. Now I don't know which moron trained this doctor, but the first doctor's only advice was "just breathe". I mean, really? Breathing is the one thing keeping me alive, so I guess it's good general advice? He didn't even give me breathing techniques, "just breathe". So of course, we tried another doctor. By the way, I was sure at this point that I didn't want counselling as I thought it wouldn't be the right environment for me, it would probably bring on more panic attacks if anything. 

The next doctor was far more helpful; she had printed out a load of different calming techniques, suggested herbal smells and lotions that were meant to be calming and prescribed me IBS tablets for the symptoms. While this worked for about 3 weeks, I soon associated the herbal smells with panic attacks, which started to induce the panic attacks, and I still think to this day that the IBS tablets damaged my digestive system. The breathing techniques work now and again. I think everything I was given could have worked, just not for me.

A weird technique someone suggested to me was to write down all my worries during the day and designate a time of day to worry about all of them. I don't think this makes much sense, as when you're panicking, it's usually about really trivial things and you usually aren't deliberately panicking about them. Also, if you could stop panicking, why would you then panic later on in the day? I can't imagine going "Oh, it's seven o'clock, time to worry about that time I waved at someone and then realised they weren't who I thought they were, and are actually a complete stranger." Maybe it works for some people?

In the end, I have accepted that I will never get over my anxiety, however I have worked out a few ways to combat it on my own. If I feel an activity is going to make me nervous, I wear two particular rings on different hands, and can anxiously twist them if I feel panicked. This stops me from picking my fingers to death. A good breathing technique I made up myself, but am sure is out there somewhere, is to breathe from the base of your stomach and as you exhale, imagine the twisting knotted feeling in the base of your stomach is being pushed out through the air you breathe out. Another is to try to numb your mind to the panic alarms going off in your head; try not to think about anything (easier said than done sometimes).

 Finally, sometimes you need to just accept that you are panicking and just let yourself do so. Have a couple of minutes to yourself to let it all out and then when you are ready (you may never feel completely ready, but let's just say, when you can physically stand up and open the door) leave with a smile on your face. Alcohol is also great at easing panic, but that's not me recommending you medicate yourself with it! Just on a night out it's great to open you up to speaking to people you don't know and makes the conversation easier. 

I don't really get major panic attacks like I used to anymore. I think that stopped when I started doing things out of my comfort zone, like I entered my school production and had to sing in front of a bunch of strangers. Also, having a sense of control is good; I don't really like other people driving me places, I much prefer to drive. Knowing you can leave somewhere at any time is also good. Being around people who know about your anxiety is also good: one time at work I had to go and take 5 minutes just to lock myself in the toilet and have a panic attack, but I let a manager know I had anxiety and needed a breather, and it was fine. The disorder isn't as stigmatised as people make it out to be, it's a perfectly accepted thing.

I'm going to end this here because just talking about panic attacks is bringing on one, and also this has gone on far too long! There will probably be a few follow up posts to this one anyway.

EDIT: Click here for the most hilarious, yet true, post about depression from one of my favourite blogs