Hello lovelies,

In case you didn't know, I've been working at an out of school hours childcare centre for just over a year now. I started in late October last year, just before I finished my final school exams. I took the job because I needed one, desperately, and probably would have taken anything. Although really, I did take just about anything as, upon hearing about my new job, my mother's reaction was 'But you don't even like kids!'

Harsh words mother, harsh words.

But, very true.

Very, very true.

But, I really needed a job and everywhere a tried they wanted experience, experience, experience. And this was something that I didn't have. I'd never had a job - my busy school schedule just didn't allow it. But I was rapidly approaching turning 18 without ever having a job and when you get to that age and have never been employed at all - people start thinking that there's something wrong with you.

So, when this offer came through, I didn't hesitate. I really wanted a job and I wasn't going to pass the offer up simply because I disliked children.

It is no secret to anyone that knows me that I don’t like children or babies. Why would you? They stare at you. They are smelly, they can’t look after themselves, you can’t understand them and so far, I'm not really seeing any pros to them. I have told my mother in no uncertain terms that I do not have plans to have kids. She will not be getting grand children from me. Pregnancy sounds like a bitch and don’t even talk to me about giving birth… Not my kettle of fish…

My worst nightmare...

Lost and Found

Hi lovelies,

Today's post is a long one and quite personal. I debated a lot over whether to post this or not because I felt, after writing it, that I was making a bit of a mountain out of a mole hill. Maybe I am. But it's my blog and I want to share this with you, even if it's not the best or most interesting thing I've written. But, on with the show....

It’s been hard for me to pin down my identity. Who am I? I know who I was. A couple of years ago I was sure – my identity was solid. Irrefutable. A done deal. But, identities change, they flow, they transition. One day you wake up and realise that you are not the same person you were 5 years ago. And that’s okay. It’s okay because you know who you are now. You’ve been changing so slowly into this new person that you didn’t realise that you had changed. It’s not until you realise what you are not, that you realise who you actually are.

My very first school picture. I was 6 at the time.

Everyone changes all throughout their lives. You change more so at some points than others. Through primary school and high school and university you go through major changes. You become a child, then a pre-teen, then a teenager and then an adult. Some changes are physical but the majority are non-quantitative. You mature emotionally. The structure of your relationships change. Your understanding of things in the world changes and your interests change. They fluctuate, they come and go. Some come and stay – like my love for the colour purple. Some come with a passion and leave with disgust – like my obsession with calling everything ‘random’ and having every second word being ‘like’. Some wax and wane, being really important at some times and not so at others – like my passion for really bad teenager-y supernatural TV shows (such as The Vampire Diaries and Teen Wolf). And some you lose along the way and never quite realise why you left them behind – like my love for always wearing the biggest, flashiest earrings I could find. For me, it’s those bits, the changing of interests and likes, that is the scariest bits about change. It’s when you wake up one morning and realise that the person that you were, that you loved and that you knew inside out, they are gone and the person that is now staring back at you from the mirror is a very different person entirely.

Thin

About 2 months ago, I was just beginning my recovery. I had finally acknowledged that I had problems with eating and that if I didn’t do something, really bad things would happen. I was at my lowest.

I was at about 45.8kgs. Way too thin. And yet, one morning, in homeroom, one of my friends said to me ‘Lissa, I have to say – you are looking really thin and fabulous’.

This floored me. It really did. I didn’t know how to respond. I didn’t even know what she meant. I had just come to believe that how I looked then was terrible – I knew this. I hadn’t washed my hair in about 2 weeks, it was falling out and was dull and lifeless, I had permanent black shadows under my eyes from never getting enough sleep, my lips were chapped and chalky and I had this terrible yellow complexion. But I was thin. Really thin. And I looked fabulous? Were the two connected? Did I look fabulous because I was thin? Was she saying that I was thin, and therefore fabulous? Was she simply stating that I obvious – that I was thin – and then also commenting that I was fabulous. Did she have to use it as justification – a way to prove that her claim (of me being fabulous) was real? That if she said that I was thin, a hard core fact and indisputable, then she is also qualified to say that I am fabulous, a subjective judgement? I honestly don’t know. I still don’t know what she meant by this comment.

I don’t think I’ll ever know. But I do know she was wrong. Well, half wrong. I was thin. Deathly thin. That was indisputable. But I was not fabulous. I was emaciated. I was wasting away. I was barely even alive. That’s not fabulous. That’s scary, painful and sad. That was me, when I was thin.

Don’t get caught up in what society says is good. At 45.8kgs, I was thin. That’s good, according to society. But that’s bad, according to my body. Thin is not for everyone. Thin is subjective. For me, thin is scary. It's bony limbs, bruises everywhere and it being too painful to sit on the floor because of having no butt. It's sunken eyes, bad breath and a constant empty feeling in my stomach. It's restricting at every meal, counting and compensating for every single calorie and never being able to eat what I want.

Thin is something I am never, ever going back to.

xxLissa

Communication with Ducks

Hi little lovelies.

How are you? I hope I find you all in good health and that you all had a lovely weekend. I went olive-picking with Freckles and Midget (my two youngest sisters), which was nice, although I am now very behind on my homework... :/

Other than that, I'm feeling a little flat, but my latest little creation (this picture) is helping me feel a little better. Both the rabbit and the duck were Easter presents and adorn my bed - well, when not participating in photo shoots or reading. :) Also, the Muppets... Nothing more to say. The Muppets soundtrack makes me feel better - that's what the quote is from, 'Life's a Happy Song' by the Muppets.

It's true - everything seems easier after it's been shared. Human beings are social creatures, we need the interaction. I just wish it was as easy for us (me especially) to put this theory into practice. I have an incredibly tough time talking to anyone because I'm so afraid I'm going to 'burden them' or that I 'm forcing myself on them and that they really couldn't care less about my problems and issues. Which is incredibly unreasonable, as I have been told many times, but the feeling persists...

Anyway, I guess that is something that I have to work on. Also, this post had nothing really whatsoever to do with communication with ducks, only that a duck was mentioned and the post was actually about communication and co-operation. I suppose I just liked the idea of communicating with ducks. :)

Bonus Question; Do you have trouble talking to people? Do you hold your emotions as close to yourself as I do? Or are you able just expand and let it all out? If you are one of those people, I admire you greatly... :)

xxLissa