This is my team. This was my home town on Monday- it was fucking glorious.
I was painting when I was angry, then I became even angrier that my paint wasn’t going right, then I ripped it by mistake, now it’s all fucked up. I think it’s one of my best.
I’m going to see The Specials next Wednesday at the Apollo in Manchester. It’s a birthday treat, I’m 23 next Tuesday! :O My 17 year old brother and my parents are coming too, it’s going to be excellent.
See, not all bad!
I don’t really *do* anything on here any more. I find it pretty pointless, like a stage occupied by really bad actors and actresses. Whatever, that’s my personal opinion and it’s probably a pretty stupid one.
So I’m not sure what’s compelling me to write tonight. It might be because I can hear someone using a chainsaw at 1am (on the dot) for the second time this week and it’s creepy.
It might be because I’m in pain. I had an operation today. I had an operation on my sinus. People have been joking all week about how I am having a nose job, and my nose is being turned inside out, and how I’m going to have black eyes. I have held a panic disorder since I was diagnosed at 14, and people often trivialise the things I worry about because, quite frankly, I worry about everything, so that’s okay. I have a commendable sense of humour and can laugh at my own mental health issues, also I’m not a special snowflake and don’t want people pandering to my worry.
I had lymphoid tissue removed. It showed up on an MRI scan I was having because my jaw wouldn’t open properly. It showed up as a shadow. It’s been sent to a lab for a biopsy. I’ll know by next week whether it’s cancerous or not. It could just be something I’ve had since I was born. Doesn’t that sound awfully dramatic? I feel as though I’m making it up for attention. I mentioned the “C” word once in front of my parents and I felt that they had gotten worried and mad at me for saying it so I stopped. Anyone else I have dared mention it to has said “yeah, but it will be fine”.
The only other person who mentioned cancer was Andi. Andi is my boyfriend of 7 years, and the only person who looked me in the eye and said the word.
I still don’t know if I’m allowed to legitimately worry yet. I’ve gone this past month pretending not to worry. I used to do this every day on my way to school. I was popular at school because everyone thought I was happy and relaxed.
I wish I could find the energy to pretend I’m not frightened. I did surgery all on my own today, but now I’m sat trembling and I feel like a shitty human being for it. I’ve associated worry with panic attacks, and having them in public and being ashamed.
But I’m actually just really quite frightened.
But I’m sure it will be fine.
Then I can delete this post and pretend this particularly shitty chapter of worry never happened.
Depression Part 2 by Hyperbole and a Half is the most important thing you’ll read all day.