I’m trying to flat hunt, buy everything I need for a flat (kitchen appliances, furniture, decorative shit, you name it), sort a flatmate out, sort my finances out for next year, sort my finances for THIS year, choose my modules, apply for a blue badge, take driving lessons, book both my tests, go to weekly counselling, go to weekly art therapy, pack up my house (my stuff, mum’s stuff, brother’s stuff), sell stuff that’s worth selling for extra dosh (car boots and ebay), help my dad through chemo from 200 miles away, keep in touch with my dad, keep in touch with my siblings, keep in touch with the rest of my family (who are constantly moaning that I no longer have facebook so they can spy on my every move), keep in touch with my friends (most of which are crap at keeping in touch with me), see all of them in between going into hospital and when there, go into hospital every month or less, do home feeding every night at home, do home medication multiple times a day, clear out medication storage, generally keep on top of keeping the house tidy/doing the washing/cooking/cleaning etc, look after myself (you know, washing, dressing, pruning, etc), look after everybody else (tired mum mid divorce, perpetually worrying brother, friends, other family, etc), have some sort of social life, plan out a list of things I want to do before I die (because y’know, who knows with me at the moment) and do other things that normal people can and want (or sometimes don’t want) to do on a day to day basis. Oh and I’m waiting around for a fucking lung transplant while trying to gain 10% of my body weight, while trying not to throw up the entire contents of my body, also on a daily basis.

I’m also trying to fathom what the fuck is going on with this guy who I’ve been seeing for ages because getting straight answers out of him when I have A MILLION AND ONE OTHER FUCKING THINGS TO WORRY ABOUT is like GETTING BLOOD OUT OF A STONE. Plus he has a million worries which I’m inevitably worrying about, because I’m a worrier and I worry about everyone else’s fucking worries because that’s just what I do.

And I’m trying to do all of this without money from a job (because I don’t have the health capacity to stay on my feet for more than 20 minutes/I’m in hospital all the fucking time) and the lingering stench of death and depression hanging over my head, telling me not to bother getting up in the morning.

The least you could do is give me a fucking hand or give me some peace of mind by being straight with me JUST ONE TIME. And my mum could do the same. And so could many other people but FUCK ME IT’S JUST TOO MUCH TO ASK. I’m sorry, I’m really angry because that thing with my mum and that thing with date guy and my dad just called nagging me about something else and I just. I just want it to stop now.

I hate people that feel sorry for themselves and that today includes me. It’s just all bubbling up and over and ARGH. I’m not even supposed to get stressed because I’m also still recovering from my heart operation. But who cares about that either, right?

I don’t actively encourage myself to compare myself to anyone else at any point. I am me and this is what you get and I’m not sorry for our differing opinions if we have any and I do what I do because I want to and will not become a performing conforming monkey for anyone. Sure I see girls (or people in general) and think they’re gorgeous/think ‘Oh shit wouldn’t it be cool to be as cool/attractive/funny/intelligent/breasty as them’ (amongst other things) but it doesn’t haunt me at all. Like I’m over it already.

But then you see someone, at a glance, that you know (maybe you’ve only known them for a while or for always, makes no odds) and you realise that you are not them. That’s fine, you don’t really want to be them anyway. You may like them, or not at all, that is irrelevant - you’ve never professed to wanting to be them or even slightly like them regardless. And then you realise that they are exactly what someone you like or once liked is looking for and you feel a little bit shit about yourself for a sec.

This person could be a complete dick, but the fact that they are probably more desirable than you are to someone whose opinion you care/once cared for is heartbreaking. And it’s heartbreaking even if this person you like or once liked doesn’t and won’t ever know them. Because then you feel bad that you may be depriving someone of what they truly desire, just by knowing someone. Y’know?

What’s worse than that feeling in itself is realising that this person is probably one or more person*’s type. And by person* I mean someone that you once liked/like/are involved with or were. More than one. That is terrible luck right there. Even if you don’t care at all for these said people now it’s still a kick in the vagina. Like it might not hurt your heart in the same way it would do if the person you currently like/are involved with was one of these people, but it’s still a massive fuck you from this ‘holy grail’.

They probably aren’t even close to being as good a person as you (if you feel you are a good person in the first place). They may not have as desirable values or as much love to give but something about them screams ‘I AM MORE FANCIABLE THAN YOU SO HA’ and you just want to pie yourself in the face.

Does anyone else ever get that or is it just me? If I’m alone in this then I’ll feel like a complete freak. Not that there’s any real change there…

I’ve been meaning to write about this for a while, because I’ve realised half the world is terrified of this one word. And now I have even more reason to. (Got to milk every bad, sad or awkward situation for the good buried underneath, right?)

What is commitment? ‘Until death do us part’? I don’t think so.

When people form relationships with other people without trying they don’t seem scared. So the bonds you make with your best friends are never under this commitment threat - there’s no pressure to keep this alive because a good friend is a friend for life, as society often tells us. Yeah sure we make special efforts for the closest around us, that’s the kindness that comes with human nature right? But people seem to forget that we drift away from friends and break up with friends as much as we probably do partners, if not more so.

When it comes to family we don’t have much of a choice growing up - your family are there (or perhaps not) and that’s the way it is. You don’t necessarily have a say on who you get to know and obviously there’s no debate on what’s in the blood. Relationships with family aren’t even based on mutual interest or the ease with which you get along, they are the most forced. And yet we still manage to commit to them. Sure some families break down but most don’t, the threat is there but not always acted upon… So why are partners more terrifying?

Some people find the thought of being with only one other person for the rest of their lives terrifying. I mean what about all the one night stands and shags you’d be missing out on? What about all the awkward first dates and the break ups? What about your freedom as a human being? What about all the money you could save? What about all these silly excuses for not being with someone you love forever? Wouldn’t you agree that reading them as they are in that list, that they sound petty and moronic?

The funny thing about that last paragraph though is that it has nothing strictly to do with commitment. Yes, being with someone forever is a fucking crazy commitment, but it’s not the only commitment. Committing yourself to someone doesn’t have to mean the end of the exploration of your life, it can mean whatever you want it to mean. It can mean making sure you see someone on a regular basis, it can mean being loyal to a person, it can mean a promise to yourself and to someone else that you’ll be there for them when they need you the most. It can mean exclusivity, it can mean being faithful, it can mean staying on track with something or someone. To me ‘commitment’ means working at something, supporting it, seeing where your creativity, passion and experience takes you and (if relevant) seeing something through until it’s rightful end - when I commit myself to a project, a piece of work, a friend, that’s what I commit to.

I don’t think relationships are necessarily meant to last forever, or even for a long time, but I think that you can and should commit yourself to them in your own way, until you reach a rightful end. When you reach a sad but not bitter or lost end, you know what you’re doing has run it’s course - eventually some things do and I don’t understand why people are so scared of that. It’s a natural progression and it doesn’t happen every time but it’s something we all have to face at some point in life. You’ve got to get it while it’s hot, experience all the good it has to offer - you may not get the chance again, so why get cold when the fire’s still burning, right?

Just because books end, it doesn’t mean we shouldn’t read them. Same goes for every experience that’s doomed to fail in life - if you don’t take that chance, read that book, you’ll regret never knowing the start, the middle and the rightful ending. If there’s no risk involved you’re not passionate enough about it, so risk it. Risk all of it. You could reap huge rewards from doing so.

Do you ever have those days where you can’t think of anything other than how alone you are? Like it follows you around all day?

For example, today I was supposed to get up early and sort through some of my stuff so it can be moved out of my room ready for painting. Instead I forgot to set my alarm last night, woke up at a ridiculous half one, couldn’t drag myself up (because my dream was more exciting than reality) until 2 and then… had some cereal. After mooching and eating I ran a bath and had a leisurely one, singing along to my shuffle really loudly and doing dance moves, standing in the bath, in the mirror. I should point out that during this time there was no one in my house.

Then my brother and his dad came in, grabbed his stuff and left for his dad’s. They said hello but didn’t even say goodbye. It was fine, I was busy exfoliating my legs anyway…

Then mum came home with food for the weekend (because she’s at her fella’s) - all servings for one. Oh how nice to see you again over priced solo portions, how I have missed you…. NATTT. She then asked what I had planned for the weekend. I said essays. She said what about your friends? I said what friends? Then she left and told me not to have too much fun being a loner. Thanks mum, really.

Then I spend the evening cooking and watching shit tv, curled up on the floor in a blanket, in front of the fire. I then decide to watch a film but everything I fancy watching I can’t watch by myself, because you shouldn’t watch horrors or emotional films alone, it’s dangerous. And then I decided it’d be a good idea to wrap Christmas presents (only had a couple so far don’t worry, I’m not THAT prepared) for my family, because they’re the only people I’ve bought for. And then I decided to read through all my favourite blogs on tumblr and various other online pursuits to kill some time. And now I’m here and I just feel like I have nothing left to do - not exactly going to start an essay at this time.

I just feel like since I started uni, I’ve felt more alone. Even when in Leeds I was lonely half of the time - I missed my at-the-time boyfriend a hell of a lot, I didn’t realllllllly get on with my flatmates, my friends lived (mainly) across town and had their own friends… it was only towards the end of the year that I really felt part of something. And that was the most I’ve felt part of something over my entire lifetime. And then I went into hospital and was told about lung transplant and then told I couldn’t go back to Leeds and should move home in order to survive. So I got off my arse and enrolled in second year at DMU, bought myself new furniture for my room, sorted my health out (well, what I could do for it) and then… I’ve run out of ideas of what to do. 

I love my new course. I don’t love getting to uni everyday from where I live but I do love it. I also don’t love being the newbie - I’ve made some acquaintances and nearly a friend but it’s so hard when everyone’s so cliquey. I love being home in a way, because I know where everything is and my family are near when I’m ill. I don’t love the constant hospital visits though, nor do I love being a million miles away from all my friends. I don’t mind living with my mum because I like the company - it’s the only company I really have sadly, excluding the odd meeting with old friends or bumping into people on public transport.

I’m quite good at pushing these thoughts of emptiness and loneliness and whatever else you want to add to it to the back of my mind. But even now I’m struggling. I really am going through all this shit alone at the moment, and although my best friend’s on the other end of the phone she has a life too. I’m terrified that this is going to become a more permanent fixture… and I think that’s why I really would like to be with someone on a serious basis. Everyone else can pick me up and put me down whenever they want something, that’s how it’s always been. But I really would love someone to want to see me and spend time with me, as a friend and something else. I’m kinda sick of being the gooseberry, or the lone wolf, or the potential real life Bridget Jones - I love her, but not THAT much.

Why on earth would you join a ‘birthmark support group’ for your 6 year old child?

Let me break it down for you. My dad and stepmum have just been at a birthmark support group charity fun day at Elstree Studios. My sister, Jess, had a birthmark across her eye which is absolutely beautiful. A few kids have asked Jess what her birthmark is and suddenly this requires an intervention and the need to join a SUPPORT GROUP? What the actual fuck is this fuckery? Seriously?!

Jess should be brought up to love her birthmark, embrace it as part of the beautiful little girl she is, and when she’s old enough she can choose what to do about it. It isn’t harmful to her, so surgery isn’t recommended for medical reasons - there is nothing in the way of her just getting on with life. But apparently because a few kids simply asked her about it, she has to have ‘support’.

Just the term ‘support group’ makes me wince. She’s got a bit of brown skin on her face, she’s not dying of cancer like fucking helllllll. If she needed that help then she could ask mummy and daddy for it. Being taken to a support group for birthmarks and told repeatedly that her birthmark ‘isn’t a bad thing’ instantly makes her think it IS a bad thing, and therefore the support group will do nothing but hinder her and her level of confidence, in my personal opinion.

Why can’t she just be brought up like a normal kid? She is one after all…

I’m really sorry to burst that old bubble of niceness, but I find it really difficult to not resent those CF sufferers that have it relatively easy. The ones that are able to still do everything they could as a child, the ones who are on barely any medication and the ones rarely admitted to hospital almost piss me off - and yes, it is totally a jealousy thing. If it isn’t bad enough that I drew the short straw in the womb when I was given CF in the first place, I seem to have picked yet another short straw with how mine affects me. 

Cystic Fibrosis is hard work for anyone, there’s no denying that. But when you see people sitting on their arses with it, begging for sympathy and seeking attention, when they don’t have to stay in hospital all the fucking time, and when they don’t need oxygen, and when they aren’t anywhere near a lung transplant? It rattles me to the core!! 

I’ve just had a port put in and to some that isn’t a big deal, but to me it’s another step towards transplant. I have a port because I’m looking at IV type antibiotics every other month for 2 week blocks, minimum. 6 weeks off, 2 weeks on, if not more frequently, because I’m waiting for an assessment for the lung transplant list, and little else seems to keep me going. I’m 19, I’m at uni away from home, I’m trying to carry on as normal but this summer has been a total farce - I’ve spent 7 weeks in the hospital and the rest of the time I might as well have been since I don’t feel all too hot. I have hemoptysis on and off all the time, so I’m a high risk infection case. I have NG tube feeds whenever I’m in hospital, not even because my diet is poor, but because my body just doesn’t seem to want me to gain weight - and yet I can drop 10kgs in 2 weeks easy. Am I begging for your sympathy? No. Hoping for some along the way, but not begging fo sho… And, am I trying to crack on with life? Do what I can? Yes.

I’ve dealt with my shit and never asked for much in my life. All I want is to be able to work, have nice things that I’ve earned for myself and have babies one day, if that’s possible. But there is one other thing I would ask for in a heartbeat, one thing that other people wouldn’t even notice… I would absolutely love it if everyone with a lung function higher than my current 30% would stop fucking moaning about it like they’re on deaths door. You’re not there yet sweetcheeks, neither am I.

I moan about the hospital sometimes because it’s boring. I moan about my lungs sometimes because they hurt. I cry sometimes because it’s hard. But that’s it. Gotta pick yourself back up and roll with the punches. Yeah some form of empathy wouldn’t go a miss sometimes, but if I don’t get it it’s not going to depress me. The little things in life don’t bother me half as much as they used to, nor as much as half of the people I follow and that’s probably why I’m starting to find this feeling-sorry-for-yourself attitude quite irritating. I’m ill, but there are people far worse off than me EVERYWHERE. And this is what y’all forget.

It’s selfish, self-indulgent, ungratefulness. Glorified pouty behaviour. Just fucks me off, you know?

Right. Before I say anything about this, someone has basically just come right out there and asked me for sex, and I’m really quite fucking annoyed about it. Is that all I’m good for then? I bet. Don’t get me wrong, I understand that sex between some people is a happy arrangement, but I don’t even like this guy, so why would he think he’s entitled at all, let alone enough to ask me? Get out, right now.

The thing with me and guys is that it’s all about sex, somehow, anyhow. Even the most promising ones ruin it y’know. I like sex. No scratch that, if it’s good and worth it, I love sex, just like most people. But that can’t seriously be the only thing that men think about? It feels like it is, in a major way right now.

With some guys, we’ve got flirty, chatting on the pretence of sex, which is partly my fault, so I should see it coming. With some, it’s a meet and greet or an old flame on a night out… that ends in pure suggestion. With some, it’s banter from them via twitter (so yeah, very publicly) and that turns into pretty much asking for it. And face to face, perfectly sober, in the middle of a nice, sweet, possibly even romantic situation? Don’t even start me on that.

It’s like every conversation I have with the opposite sex, that isn’t just a best friend, hints about it. Like the guy is in total control of the conversation and talking about what would please him and I don’t even realise it half the time. We all have needs, we all have lusts and loves and everything in between. Why do I suddenly feel like, because I openly admit to having needs sometimes, it means that that’s all I can be seen for? Why does brushing past my needs, the needs that come naturally to all us human beings, suddenly make me ‘up for it’?

It doesn’t just come up every once in a blue moon, it’s all the time. Everything hints to it. It’s like no one can have a conversation with me without it heading in that general direction. I didn’t realise how much it bothered me until just now, and now I’m pretty pissed about it, to be honest. There’s more to me than a quickie, and if you haven’t got the time to work that out then that’s totally your loss.

Even the ‘nice guys’ do it. Can’t be arsed with that faff mate, really can’t.

Buy me cats and call me Vivienne. Solo eccentricity is my calling.