I know what he smells like. I know how soft and thick his hair is. I know how smooth his skin feels on his face, and how rough when I run my fingers in the other direction. I know how fast his stubble grows, and where his bald patches are. I know how long his eye lashes are and how his deep brown eyes look when he’s excited. 

But I don’t know where he is. I don’t know who he’s with. I don’t know what he’s been doing or what’s been on his mind. I don’t know if he ever thinks of me. I don’t know if he’s aware of how I hurt, as if my chest has been hollowed out. Empty, yet heavy. I don’t know if he’s happy. I don’t know if I want him to be…

I’d give anything just to run my hands through his hair tonight; breathe him in; wrap my arms around him and slowly plant kisses across his big shoulders and down his back. I’d hold on so tight.

Why can’t he just feel the same?

I wonder if he knows I still think he’s magic. I wonder if one day I won’t.


I’m not very good at this make up stuff. I mean, I thought I looked bomb the other week but when I took a photo it looked like I’d spent 0.3 seconds putting my face on. I don’t know how these girls on Instagram create a bloody work of art on themselves every day¬†and make it look so damn easy too. I’ve pretty much accepted defeat… I’m over the make up trend. I’m far too low maintenance to even suit it and I’m definitely not glamorous. So I kinda figured that if I can’t have the dramatic glamour that comes along with a perfect cat eye and blinding highlight, I should¬†strive for the french girl, natural, model-off-duty kind of beauty, which suits my lazy lifestyle down to a tee. I’ve stopped wearing makeup 90% of the time BUT only ONE problem – I look like shit. Kinda like I’m sick, or maybe a junkie,¬†but also kinda like I’m tired of everybody’s shit and ready to choke someone at any moment. Alors,¬†I have started to obsess over skincare! This lazy bitch has got herself a bona-fide skincare routine, morning AND night. I mean, it’s pretty minimal… but it’s a start! And since I have no work to do in my excuse for a job, I’m constantly researching and making wishlists of what I can buy next – on a quest for the miracle product that will finally rid me of my insanely dark circles (that give me the ‘may have murdered before’ look) or plump my lips ‘naturally’. Next on my list is a derma roller, with which I will puncture my skin repeatedly with tiny needles ūüėÄ Fun, eh? I guess not¬†exactly what I’d call¬†natural…

Even still, I can’t keep up with everything I’m meant to be doing…¬†body brushing, derma rolling, taking a million supplements, oils, serums, masks, Egyptian cotton sheets, don’t look down at my phone too much (gives you a double chin), don’t squint, regular facials, Korean products, SPF – always, sunglasses – always, ‘miracle’ products vs all natural??? Diet, water, face massages………..

I guess if you’re a model this level of maintenance is just part of your job. But, this face def ain’t no money maker sooooo… just remembering to cleanse, tone and moisturise (like fuck) is enough for me right now.

Another thing that I am literally LOSING SLEEP over is my body. I still work out a lot but I’ve changed the way I train and it shows. I’m not as toned or as muscly as I used to be. I’m staying up at night thinking ‘I must start doing these exercises, and I have to buy some weights, and I can’t eat any more of this, and I have to start drinking more of that’. I KNOW¬†it’s stupid and yet I still genuinely think I’d be a happier person¬†if I had thighs strong enough to crush a man and a 6pack.¬†I’d say I’m pathetic but I know I’m not the only one…

I can’t remember when I started to obsess over my looks this way… When did I become so aware of myself? Thinking back to childhood, I remember playing at the park with some girl friends when one of them showed me how to tie my top into a bra/crop top thing, when some older boys appeared to play football. We were children. Wtf. I remember that same girl teaching me both how to and that I should¬†roll my skirt up, in the toilets before school started.¬†I wonder where she learned that… I think that was when I started to worry about my thighs. I think I probably only ever saw them with relaxed muscle all splayed out below me on my little school chair. I didn’t look at myself in mirrors at that age (who does?) so this was likely the only perspective I had. And even then, I was only looking¬†at them because I was under the impression that boys were looking too! Looking back I realise they were more likely to have been playing with their Pokemon cards than comparing 9 year olds’ legs. Still, I was only in primary school and I was worried I wasn’t ‘sexy’ enough :/ So¬†not¬†cool.

And this was the beginning of a looooong conflict between my legs and I. I kept those chubby bastards completely hidden from the world FOR YEARS. I never wore a dress. I never wore shorts. I never wore a swimming costume. I wore tights every single day with my school uniform, no matter how hot it was on that damn sweaty school bus in the Summer. You wanna wobble¬†and spread out to the size of a continent EVERY time I sit down? Fine, YOU’LL NEVER SEE THE LIGHT OF DAY AGAIN! This continued right up until I left school. Always worried that my legs were too fat, untoned, too pale… just not ‘right’. And certainly not sexy. It wasn’t very nice to feel that way all the time. I also began to worry about my small boobs and I hated my smile. Actually, I’m still not a fan of showing my teeth. BUT, I don’t shy away from photographs the way I used to. I love a good selfie, I like getting my legs out and I now embrace my B-cups and the fact that they allow me to freeboob* like, all the time.

However, this may be only a small victory over body image, as these days I’m worried about the following:

Abs, Belly rolls, thigh gap, chubby knees, cankles, teeth, eyebrows,¬†bad posture, thick waist, no shape, thin lips, small bum, unsymmetrical face, love handles, wrinkles, anything that wobbles, arms/legs being too skinny, hamstrings, bingo wings…

It’s insane. How the hell do I find the time and/or energy to think about all this shit? How did I get so VAIN!? It’s exhausting! And it’s doubtful that I’ll ever be 100% happy with how I look, or even close to it, but surely I can’t go through my whole life this way? It’s gotta stop someday, right? Or maybe I gotta wait til I’m an OAP before I stop caring about being ‘sexy’ enough.

I know this post is all ME ME ME but I don’t mean it to be that way… I¬†mean it to be about all of us,¬†because I know most girls have gone through/are going through the exact same thing. And plenty of guys too, I’m sure. So many of us are all in competition with each other. Spending FAR too much of our time envying other peoples’ bodies. Spending FAR too much money on the gym, protein bars, fat burners, fitness classes. Spending too much energy on getting the perfect lighting for a selfie that simultaneously makes us feel sexy and empowered and vulnerable and stressed out… Even when I try my hardest to embrace and promote the body positivity movement and self love, for me, those things are STILL about feeling sexy. The end goal for me in accepting my body as it is and learning to love it, is not ‘inner peace’ – it’s finally feeling sexy! Sex is at the heart of 90% of the things I think and the things I want. I know it and I can’t even fight it, it’s so deeply ingrained. Maybe that part doesn’t apply to the majority… or maybe it does, and we’re all just too brainwashed to step back and see it? IDK, I’m rambling now.. I don’t really know what this post is about anymore, I think I’m just saying stuff.

CLOSING THOUGHTS: Are we ever gonna¬†stop considering ‘sexy’ as one of the most valuable things a person can be?¬†Will we ever¬†stop exposing kids to this damaging shit? Will we ever stop saturating the media with sex?

And, more importantly, will I ever get abs?!!

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*Fuck underwiring.



So it’s actually past my bed time but I’m wide awake thanks of polishing off half a tub of Ben & Jerry’s (karamel sutra), which is crazy for me. Usually that stuff is totally off limits until Friday – Sunday. Sugar rush on a Wednesday night… am I wild or what.

Anyway I’ve been suffering with tooth/head/face ache for 2 days so curling up on the sofa all alone with my ice cream and the last couple episodes of Girls to catch up on (I can’t believe the next season will be the last, I’m not ready to say goodbye) was a treat for being such a trooper while my stupid body sabotages itself.

So I’m using my wide-awake-too-much-sugar time to get some more complicated feelings off my chest… This is something I typed up a few days ago…

I had a cry. In the toilets in work… Not for long, but when I left my eyes and nose were all red. Hopefully I just looked as though I’d been sneezing? Nobody mentioned it.
I had a cry because… well, actually, I’m not sure why I cried.

You know when you get a text message you can like see the first couple lines of it without actually reading it? Well, while I was working a text from him came in. He was asking if I wanted to go to New York in Nov. Flights were ‘only’ ¬£340, we could go see the first UFC event to be held in Madison Square Gardens. I ignored it, ’cause I had to pretend to be working. Another text came in:”???” And another: “It’ll be all lit up for xmas and it’ll be so romantic and we can go ice skating and then watch people punch each other”.

I definitely didn’t cry because my boyfriend invited me to New York – Ice skating and UFC sounds perfect (except that I’m not dying to go back to NYC, I went as a teen and wasn’t enamored. Shock horror am I allowed to say that? A 20-something white girl blogger who doesn’t love NYC?! I’ll be excommunicated…)

But, regardless, the answer was no. I couldn’t even consider it. How the fuck was I supposed to pull ¬£340 out of my arse on an hours notice? Yeah – he wanted to book it RIGHT AWAY. I’m currently paying off my credit card, trying to save money to pay him for the air bnb he booked for Paris at the end of August, trying to save spending money for Paris and money to buy him a 30th bday present (he wants dinner at a restaurant that’s like ¬£300 PER PERSON). I mistakenly bought flights to London for a weekend to visit a friend, thinking I could do it on the cheap since flights are only ¬£25, little did I realise it would cost ¬£100 for a half decent hotel. His answer? ‘Just stick it on your credit card’ (he’s not the best at managing his finances). If I’m already saving for all of that other stuff how am I supposed to just stick another ¬£340 on my credit card? Knowing full well that I won’t be able to pay it off for months and months, that I’d be gaining interest on it AND worrying about it every fucking day? No. The answer was just no – can’t be done. Plain and simple.

But making sensible financial decisions is FUCKING BORING. And maybe I am too, because I am good with my money (I have so little of it I have no choice but to be!). I’ve very little on my credit card and to be honest my savings can cover it if needs be (but they’re my rainy day fund atm). The only loan I have to repay is my student loan, which, let’s face it, doesn’t really count… I’ve never had bad credit, I’ve never been in debt or owed anybody money. But I’m also constantly saying ‘I can’t, I’m skint’, which really translates as ‘I could, but there’s far more sensible things I need to spend my money on.’

Was that why I cried? Because I had to say no AGAIN to something I wanted to do? I mean, I’ve wanted to visit my pal in London for like 2 years but never had the money. Now I finally can (although I wish I’d put more planning into it and organised accommodation first…). But there’s so many other things I have to say no to – a deal for a night in a fancy hotel with a hot tub and a bottle of champers with my girlfriend cause I can’t stump up ¬£75 for one night. A few nights away with my mum, because I’m saving for Paris instead and can only afford one holiday. A night at a hotel and spa with him, just because. Lunch at a nice restaurant, just to try it. And the countless other holidays he’s tried to get me to book on a whim. Is it always saying no that made me cry?

Or is it the pressure of trying to keep up with everybody else? With my boyfriend who is inexplicably flush ALL. THE. TIME. With my girlfriend who has the same expensive taste as me but actually has the means to fund it. With all my other girlfriends with their mortgages or fancy hotel-looking apartments (if you’re reading this, you know who you are ūüėČ ). The friends who pay more bills than me and still manage to go clothes shopping and plan holidays.*

These seem like valid enough reasons to get emotional in the middle of the day at text messages I haven’t actually read yet. But that’s not why I cried.

I cried because he’s going anyway. Without me.

He’s gonna go and he’s gonna have a great time without me and he won’t miss me or wish I was there and he won’t need me and he doesn’t need me and that’s perfectly normal because a person shouldn’t need their partner but for some reason I can’t apply that rule to him and I want him to need me or want me and not go live his life without me.

I mean, I’m not even part of the decision making. I have no control whatsoever over what he does or doesn’t do, who he does it with or where he goes… We’re living two separate lives and he’s cool with that. And I’m powerless to change any of it. And that’s why I cried.

I can control how much money I spend or save. I can control how much sugar I eat throughout the week. But I can’t control my feelings, or his.

…Or grinding my teeth at night. Hence the tooth/head/face ache. Ow.
*Disclaimer – Most of these friends also worked a lot harder to get a career/get their shit together than I did. I do realise that… just sayin’, cause I know how much of a little bitch I sound!

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