Lesyeuxouverts

Dear 2015 me ...

Dear younger, tender, unripe, still-baking, deeply-unhappy-but-doesn't-know-why, almost-10-years-ago me,

"It's been a tough week, Dan has tried to stop me fidgetting constantly and I have tried in vain to focus on anything that doesn't keep my hands busy. I have so much energy, and ideas of home improvement projects keep popping into my head, but I lack the focus to see anything through. I feel brittle, and disconnected from my body, but I also feel like I am winning small victories: clearing out my wardrobe, hitting deadlines at work despite it all. I just wish I didn't feel so fragile, or rather that I understood, recognised at least, what the faultlines are so that I knew how to look after myself."

You have ADHD.

You'll figure it out in 2022. It gets so much better, I promise. It's not all bad until you get there, by any means, but getting prescribed Lisdexamfetamine will Change. Your. Fucking. Life.


I try not to think about what everything might have been, if I'd been diagnosed 5 years earlier, 10 years earlier, before I peaked-and-troughed my way through a bunch of chartered accountancy exams, before I (happily) took antidepressants for 20 years, or while I was uncontrollably falling asleep at school. That is what is was, and I am where I am now. I can't change it, I'm not sure I would if I could, and I don't see what I would gain from making myself angry or upset by revisiting it.
I don't generally read back my old journals, and this is why. Stumbling on this entry, where I am describing textbook ADHD symptoms in the plainest terms, but not one doctor picked up on even the possibility of anything but Generalised Anxiety, is why.


Dear 2015 me,
Dear 2005 me,
Dear 1995 me,
It gets better, and you are the one who makes it get better.
Love,
2024 me

Been reading a boingboing article about people leaving London because they can't afford it anymore, and I'm feeling positively heartsick about money (or the lack of it). I'm sick of worrying about it – I earn what I think of as an entirely decent, liveable wage (£24,000 after 7 years of working in Accounts in the arts sector) but I hit my overdraft by the end of every month, I’m paying off travel on my credit card, and I hate feeling like I can’t keep up with my friends because I don’t earn as much as they do.

It’s hard not to feel like I have failed in some way: I don’t especially want a ‘career’, so I didn’t think my job would be that important to my wellbeing, but earning enough money so I don’t have to worry about spending it all (and without dying of boredom in the process of earning it) seems beyond my reach, and that hurts.

The flip side to this argument with myself is that I spend too much, which is a kind of thinking that makes it really easy to beat yourself up. Rationally, I track my spending using YouNeedABudget and I know where I stand and what I spend, and it’s not that bad. And yet even if I buy something cheap, then there is an additional cost in blood and sweatshops and tears and airmiles and the guilt of this weighs me down with sorrow. It is exhausting, and it does worry me. I don’t want to keep up this chasing after survival in a commodified world (See: The City that privatised itself about the loss of public spaces in London/UK). Everything seems to be about cost, and cost, and more cost. Every decision of mine seems to come down to what will cost less – time, energy, money, grief. Every decision by the public/government seems to be able what will earn them more.

I would love to be more self-sufficient, and maybe that would give me satisfaction and heal my soul. I remain convinced that the answer to my mal-etre is more engagement in the physical reality of the world, returning to an authenticity of lifestyle. Getting closer to the production of my food, my clothes, my sustenance. But any attempt to do so here and now, where I can barely afford to live and every bit of information is sold, seems hopeless.


I know my low mood is shaping my view - it's been a low month. Over the past week, I've upped my antidepressants and started exercising, so I guess this is just a worse day on the way back up, but oh my god it's a hard one.

Places I go to eat and drink in Paris, by arrondissement :

Rue St Anne, 75001 Paris - generally, for Japanese restaurants.

Sushi-Gan, 41 rue des Petits Champs, 75002 Paris. Amazing fried prawn rolls. Need to see if they're still good !

Delyan Salon de Thé, 8 rue Saint-Martin, 75004 Paris. Tea room rather than restaurant, good for brunch or afternoon break.

El Sol Y La Luna, 31 rue Saint-Jacques, 75005 Paris. South american yum.

Le St-Amour, 4 rue de Rome, 75008 Paris. An excellent café, on the expensive side of cafés, with a speciality of St Amour wine, meats in Bordelaise wine sauces, and a cheese board which is, I am told, excellent. I can't stand the stuff, but it's a pleasure to listen to the owner tell you about each cheese.

Capriccio, 39 Rue du Rocher, 75008 Paris. Another of my dad's locals. Italian pasta restaurant, usually crowded but they'll always squeeze you in. Pastas are daily specials that change according to the chef's whim. The owners are proper characters, with lots of heavy duty flirting and excellent food.

Le Select, 3 rue La Boëtie, 75008 Paris. My dad's local café for 15 years, now. Reliable café fare.

L'Ecluse, 15 place de la Madeleine, 75008 Paris. Nice little wine bar with tasty snacks.

Le Merle Moqueur, 11 rue de la Butte aux Cailles, 75013 Paris. Bar with cheesy music, no decor to speak of and no seats, but great cocktails, home-flavoured rums and vodkas and amazing ambiance.

My posthumous advice for my daughter
WRITTEN BY Caitlin Moran
Published at 12:11PM, July 13 2013
The Times
‘Nine times out of ten, you probably aren’t having a full-on nervous breakdown – you just need a cup of tea and a biscuit’

My daughter is about to turn 13 and I’ve been smoking a lot recently, and so – in the wee small hours, when my lungs feel like there’s a small mouse inside them, scratching to get out – I’ve thought about writing her one of those “Now I’m Dead, Here’s My Letter Of Advice For You To Consult As You Continue Your Now Motherless Life” letters. Here’s the first draft. Might tweak it a bit later. When I’ve had another fag.

“Dear Lizzie. Hello, it’s Mummy. I’m dead. Sorry about that. I hope the funeral was good – did Daddy play Don’t Stop Me Now by Queen when my coffin went into the cremator? I hope everyone sang along and did air guitar, as I stipulated. And wore the stick-on Freddie Mercury moustaches, as I ordered in the ‘My Funeral Plan’ document that’s been pinned on the fridge since 2008, when I had that extremely self-pitying cold.

“Look – here are a couple of things I’ve learnt on the way that you might find useful in the coming years. It’s not an exhaustive list, but it’s a good start. Also, I’ve left you loads of life-insurance money – so go hog wild on eBay on those second-hand vintage dresses you like. You have always looked beautiful in them. You have always looked beautiful.

“The main thing is just to try to be nice. You already are – so lovely I burst, darling – and so I want you to hang on to that and never let it go. Keep slowly turning it up, like a dimmer switch, whenever you can. Just resolve to shine, constantly and steadily, like a warm lamp in the corner, and people will want to move towards you in order to feel happy, and to read things more clearly. You will be bright and constant in a world of dark and flux, and this will save you the anxiety of other, ultimately less satisfying things like ‘being cool’, ‘being more successful than everyone else’ and ‘being very thin’.

“Second, always remember that, nine times out of ten, you probably aren’t having a full-on nervous breakdown – you just need a cup of tea and a biscuit. You’d be amazed how easily and repeatedly you can confuse the two. Get a big biscuit tin.

“Three – always pick up worms off the pavement and put them on the grass. They’re having a bad day, and they’re good for… the earth or something (ask Daddy more about this; am a bit sketchy).

“Four: choose your friends because you feel most like yourself around them, because the jokes are easy and you feel like you’re in your best outfit when you’re with them, even though you’re just in a T-shirt. Never love someone whom you think you need to mend – or who makes you feel like you should be mended. There are boys out there who look for shining girls; they will stand next to you and say quiet things in your ear that only you can hear and that will slowly drain the joy out of your heart. The books about vampires are true, baby. Drive a stake through their hearts and run away.

“Stay at peace with your body. While it’s healthy, never think of it as a problem or a failure. Pat your legs occasionally and thank them for being able to run. Put your hands on your belly and enjoy how soft and warm you are – marvel over the world turning over within, the brilliant meat clockwork, as I did when you were inside me and I dreamt of you every night.

“Whenever you can’t think of something to say in a conversation, ask people questions instead. Even if you’re next to a man who collects pre-Seventies screws and bolts, you will probably never have another opportunity to find out so much about pre-Seventies screws and bolts, and you never know when it will be useful.

“This segues into the next tip: life divides into AMAZING ENJOYABLE TIMES and APPALLING EXPERIENCES THAT WILL MAKE FUTURE AMAZING ANECDOTES. However awful, you can get through any experience if you imagine yourself, in the future, telling your friends about it as they scream, with increasing disbelief, ‘NO! NO!’ Even when Jesus was on the cross, I bet He was thinking, ‘When I rise in three days, the disciples aren’t going to believe this when I tell them about it.’

“Babyiest, see as many sunrises and sunsets as you can. Run across roads to smell fat roses. Always believe you can change the world – even if it’s only a tiny bit, because every tiny bit needed someone who changed it. Think of yourself as a silver rocket – use loud music as your fuel; books like maps and co-ordinates for how to get there. Host extravagantly, love constantly, dance in comfortable shoes, talk to Daddy and Nancy about me every day and never, ever start smoking. It’s like buying a fun baby dragon that will grow and eventually burn down your f***ing house.

“Love, Mummy.”

caitlin.moran@thetimes.co.uk

(via http://brouhahadreamer.tumblr.com/post/55349059350/my-posthumous-advice-for-my-daughter)

They say I’m a beast
And feast on it
When all along I thought that’s what a woman was

They say I’m a bitch
Or witch
I’ve claimed the same and never winced

They say I’m a macha, hell on wheels,
viva-la-vulva, fire and brimstone,
man-hating, devastating,
boogey-woman lesbian
Not necessarily, but I like the compliment

The mob arrives with stones and sticks
to maim and lame and do me in
All the same, when I open my mouth
they wobble like gin

Diamonds and pearls
tumble from my tongue
Or toads and serpents
Depending on the mood I’m in

I like the itch I provoke
The rustle of rumor
like crinoline

I am the woman of myth and bullshit
(True, I authored some of it)
I built my house of ill repute
Brick by brick
Labored, loved and mason-ed it

I live like so
Heart as sail, ballast, rudder, bow
Rowdy

Indulgent to excess
My sin and success—
I think of me to gluttony

By all accounts I am
a danger to society
I’m Pancha Villa

I break laws,
upset the natural order,
anguish the Pope and make fathers cry
I am beyond the jaw of law
I’m la desperada, most-wanted public enemy
My happy picture grinning from the wall

I strike terror among the men
I can’t be bothered what they think
Que se vayan a la ching chang chong!
For this, the cross, the Calvary
In other words, I’m anarchy

I’m an aim-well,
shoot-sharp,
sharp-tongued,
sharp-thinking,
fast-speaking,
foot-loose,
loose-tongued,
let-loose,
woman-on-the-loose
loose woman
Beware, honey

I’m Bitch Beast Macha
Wachale!
Ping! Ping! Ping!
I break things

(viaashbet)

Sometimes I have a moment when I look at myself and think that yeah, younger me would be happy with how I'm using my independence.

All of today was one of those moments : I fully embraced my life choices as an adult, took a day off work and spent all day riding rollercoasters with my friends. It felt wonderful to blow the cobwebs away and just have fun. What better way to celebrate being my own whole and joyfully fierce self than by dedicating an entire day to doing nothing but things I enjoy ? I challenged myself to go on the the biggest, most extreme rides and I'm glad I did because I challenged my fear and left it behind me in a puff of acceleration and air time. Instead of screaming, I ended up giggling and laughing my way through drops and inversions. It felt like flying, and I felt reborn.

I would never have guessed that this was what I needed but oh it was. I also got to show off at karaoke, and bought two t-shirts to remind myself of the good times : one says "Ride Me" and the other says "Wanna Go Again". I also bought them because I think they're funny though as (I think) Josh said, trolling people does seem to be one of my major motivations. I don't think of it like that : I just think I'm funny. In fact I said pretty much that to janieluk and, shockingly, he didn't disagree. He actively agreed ! I was surprised and flattered.

One of the interesting things at Irreverent Dance was seeing how I played up the class clown role, partly to play down my skills because it's supposed to be a beginner's environment so I didn't want to set myself up in any kind of position of authority, but mostly just because I liked making people laugh and remember that ballet is also fun. After all, I do pride myself on only taking myself seriously when I need to.

We lay in bed in the morning, blissed out and exhausted in the best possible way, and I joked that I could imagine Ebay style reviews scrolling up over our head like thought bubbles : "A++ would fuck again", "Top quality, highly recommended" etc. This strayed into Extra Life, 1UP etc puns and Scott Pilgrim style mental images. I joked that my 'life bar' was definitely refilled - in fact it was refilled not just by sleep and good sex and chemistry and laughter, but by being told that I was beautiful. Repeatedly. Hearing that I was desirable and many other very complimentary (filthy) things besides ... did wonders for me. It was so so nice just to enjoy and be enjoyed in such a straightforward way.

Stride of pride into work this morning. I was late and I didn't even care, because I know I've been doing well at work so I've earned some (unofficial) TOIL and because I already knew today was going to be a late one anyway due to some missed deadlines and because it was so very, very worth it for passionate morning sex and a leisurely breakfast in the garden, playing with a neighbour's cat and flirting, and then to walk to the station in the morning sunshine with my hand in his and his taste in my mouth, feeling wanton and beautiful and at peace with the world, with my batteries fully recharged.

Lois Lane's writers speak far far better and more evocatively than I could about her on the 75th anniversary of her first appearance on the DC Women Kicking Ass blog. But it was this post by Greg Rucka that really enthralled me and got me thinking about just how fierce Lois is : 

Am I fierce yet ? I don't know. I am certainly fiercer than I was. I am happier, too, and lighter, like some of the weight of caring what everyone thinks is off my shoulders. Obviously I still care - I can't not, because I care for them and about them as well as about what they think, "I am human and I need to be loved" etc etc. But I am doing my best, and I know this, and this is what matters.

I don't know how much of this is owed to sunshine and love and my amazing supportive friends. A lot of it probably comes too from improved self awareness and the new habit of (trying) to blog everyday - credit to my efforts where it's due. (Recognising that and not feeling ashamed (or at least overcoming my bashfulness) to admit it is DEFINITELY fierce.)

But there is still so much I want to do. I want very much to explore the spirituality of Ferocity more, and I've not had enough time to spend on myself to do that. The time I have had has been well spent on rest and recuperation and I am glad of that. I want to light more candles, more prayers and meditation, cast more stars on my ceiling. I haven't made my icon yet, though the image is clearer than ever in my mind. I want more magic and ritual.

There are 9 days left of this month. Let's see where and how I am at the end of them.