Life Lessons - From a Cat

The neighbours next door have a new kitten. It’s about nine or ten weeks old at the moment, an adorable little black thing. It’s the cutest little kitten I've ever seen; when I’m in my room I can hear it meow. 

And honestly, it’s the sweetest little sound I've ever heard. I've never had pets myself, so to hear, to pat, to look at it…I can’t properly describe how it feels.

I can say it makes me wish I had a kitten myself. I’m one of those weird people who will probably end up with three of them instead of getting married. For me, there’s the cuteness factor (some of those videos and pictures – ahh!) And then there’s the fact that I’d have company, a companion.

That may happen in years to come, but it really has no relevance to the point I’m making today. A few weeks ago, I saw a friend who lives down the street from me out for a walk. 

I went over to talk to her and the kitten was out at that moment – the owners let it out when they’re at home – and it was being an adventurous little thing. It was roaming all over the place and after a while, my friend and I stopped talking just to watch.

What would happen was it – no, not it, she – would go to jump up onto the low lying brick wall. At one stage, she slipped and fell to the ground. And what did the kitten do? 

She jumped up and tried again. The second time was successful, or course, and she continued to be adventurous. But as I watched I saw her exhibit more of the same behaviours.

It got me thinking. This little tiny kitten, she just…she didn't give up. If she failed, she’d just try again. But the more I thought, the more I realised…we tend not to do the same.

When we, humans, fail at something in life, we’ll tend to think, no, that’s it, I’m done. I know this for sure because I've done it. I've experienced something, I've had failures and i've just given up. 

A few years ago I tried to get a book published. And when I contacted all the Literary Agents in Australia, I gave up. I gave up writing, I gave up on my dream. And I never really got over that. I mean, I've written a few more novels since then and I have published online but I have not considered contacting a Literary Agent once more. And I don't really want to because last time, it was a fail.

When I was at school and I failed a class, I didn't try again. I went to the office and changed the subject to something I wouldn't fail. When I fell off my bike a few years ago, I didn't get back on. When my father tried to teach me how to drive and I almost crashed into a tree...I got out of the car. And I have not tried to drive again.

I'm not saying everyone lives life like this. In fact, for all I know, it's just me. But I have found that in general, we tend to...give up after a while. If something doesn't go our way, we'll just give up and decide on something else. This can happen with anything, meals we make, hobbies, jobs, it can happen anywhere in our lives.

But this kitten didn't give up. It failed, it fell, but it jumped up again, trusting herself that she'll make the leap once more. And she did.

So I guess...all we need in life is a little faith in ourselves, and the courage to try again, and again, until we get what we want. I don't know about you all, but I've decided to live my life like a cat.

Scoop's Life - Holiday Edition

Hey people! So I decided that maybe I should start writing more about my life, as in, what I do at certain points in time. This is something I always aimed to do when I first started a blog, because I’ve found a lot of other bloggers to almost seem...robotic. As in, they will talk about issues and reference themselves, but give no indication about their lives. I mean, come on. I’d want you guys to actually believe the personal things I say, not to think that I’ve add them in for effect and nothing else.

Originally I had thought of doing something like this on YouTube...but my confidence isn’t quite there yet. One day, perhaps, if I thought people would be interested in what I had to say.

Anyway, here comes a new line of posts: Scoop’s life. There will be absolutely no schedule for these; I’ll type them up when something noteworthy happens, or just when I want to give a little insight into my world that DOESN’T involve great personal truths and realisations. And is there really a better time to start it off than today, right now?

I should let you all know, I’m typing this at five past twelve on Saturday morning, but it won’t be posted until Saturday night at the earliest. Why? That would be because I am not at home right now. Where am I, I hear you ask? Well, my friends, I am currently in a hotel room, across the road from the beach.

Why am I in a hotel room across the road from the beach, I hear you ask? That would be because my extended family, who live a state away, came here for a holiday. We don’t live near the beach at all, so my parents decided to come down for the night. I decided to join, after much deliberation. I was nervous, see, very nervous, because the last time I came down here...I had a panic attack. A rather large one at that, probably the worst I’ve ever had.

So I was worried the same thing would happen. In fact, I had a panic attack while worrying about a panic attack (panic-ception!) and it got to the point of me having to beg my friend to talk to me to help calm me down, which I really hate doing (and if said friend is reading this - I really hate do it, trust me on that).

I’m panic free so far, but I did have a moment of rage that was very powerful. Let’s just say my family doesn’t cope well in large strange cities when we’re lost.

So I’m in this hotel room. I thought I’d be sharing with my parents, because we booked online as three adults. Well, imagine my surprise when they gave us the key to not one, but two rooms! Yes, I am in hotel room all on my lonesome. And I have to admit...it’s odd. I mean I’m typing this in the dark right now, because there’s no points to having lights on (and I’m hoping to make my eyes tired so I can sleep) and it’s just...odd. I mean, it’s a self-contained little room. I’ve got a fridge, bathroom, tv, my laptop...I have a balcony, air con...everything I would need to live a life, really. And it’s just odd, because for the first time, I see what it would be like if I moved out of home.

Now, I’m turning 22 this year, and by this stage in life, most are getting on with their lives. And by that I mean, they work and they're thinking of moving out of home...if they haven't already. I am not one of those people. I don't work, and I spent much of my time within my bedroom. 

I’ve now been in this hotel room alone for three hours now and its weirding me out. I mean, there are sounds from the street (they do NOT go to bed early here) and there’s a hum from the tv and fridge, but...I’m alone. This is what it would be like to live in an apartment alone. I don’t like it. One bit. In fact, even though it always annoyed me, I’m missing my father’s snoring!

Clearly, I’d be far better off with a roommate if I ever moved out. So, because the chances of me getting married are zilch, I’m going to live at home until I’m 40 like my uncle, or I’ve got to find a friend who would let me move in with them.

Someone just screamed something out in the night. It’s kind of creepy here. Me and strange new places just do not mix. See, I’m quite the paranoid person. That just makes thing so much more fun…when you’re in a new place…without your nice soft blanket…or your stuffed penguin to snuggle into.

Yes, I’m 22 and I have a huge stuffed penguin who I cuddle to sleep. Is that weird? I don’t think so, personally. Other people have animals and boyfriends/spouses, I have a penguin, which my dad has tried to name “Percy,” and then “Pin,” for some unknown reason.

I had Starbucks for the first time tonight. It was nice, but so much hotter than any place where I come from. The tip of my tongue is still tender. It was good though; nice and creamy. I now see why people like it so much. And I’m glad I did have that coffee because I very stupidly decided to have Rum and Coke with my dinner. I got carded, of course, before I was allowed to get it and I swear, there would have been like 70% Rum and 30% Coke in that thing, it was so unbelievably strong.

Ordering alcohol when you’re on medication isn’t exactly the best idea in the world, but where I come from its Coke with only a dash of Rum, not half a bottle. Plus, I needed something to take the edge off after getting lost and fighting with the family. The damn thing went straight to my head and I almost puked right then and there. My head still feels weird but it’s not as bad. Lesson learned here: stay away from the alcohol! I must have a low tolerance.

Tomorrow (or later today) we plan to go to the beach. I’m looking forward to that. I can’t swim, I’ve never been able to, but I love taking photos. I’ve already taken a few, but you can never have too many. Honestly, I could spend all my money and I would hold my photos to a higher esteem. Especially after my SD card went corrupt a few months ago, and my External hard drive not long after that, making me lose pretty much all photos from mid-2012 to now. To everyone reading: BACK UP YOUR PHOTOS!

Before I attempt to wrap this up, I just want to say something. I mentioned earlier about having panic attacks over whether or not I would have panic attacks down here. Last time I was here, last year, I did have a massive one. It was huge, it lasted for hours and I never, ever want to repeat it. The thing is with me, I fear what I can’t control. Anything to do with the future, I fear...and I also base current actions on previous ones. The thoughts went something like this: it rained the last time we went to the coast and I had a panic attack, it’s predicted rain this time and we’re going to the same place, therefore I will get another panic attack.

That’s what I focused on…the negative that happened. The fact that it would have been caused by the amount of people, the lights and heat from the shops...I should have been focusing on what happened the day after that panic attack. I woke up the next morning (I was with a group, we stayed over at someone’s house) feeling perfectly normal. I should have focused on the fact that no matter what, the bad feelings go. No matter what, resolution and relief will come. And I want you all to remember that if you’re going through some rough times.

If anyone would like to see the photos from my trip, I will be posting them on my tumblr, from tomorrow for the next week, which you can access by clicking here along with the tag “Scoops Coast Getaway” tag.

2013 - My View

I don't know if this is a thing that people do, nor do I know if anyone is even going to read this because, well, there is no great enlightening truths to this post; there is no amazing story for your eyes to ravish. Instead, this is where I discuss 2013...my 2013. My year, my views, my...my life, I guess.

So the year started not too well for me; I ended up having a fight with a friend of mine because he lied to his other friends about hanging out with me. I felt like he was ashamed to be around me and, in the end, I found out that pretty much was the case. Apparently no one liked me much and he wanted to avoid people saying 'ew, why are you hanging around her?'

Not the best start in the world, but I figured it was salvageable. I decided that it was high time to prove my old high school wrong about me, and enrolled into University. I got in, too, and I started to study a Diploma in Science, where I would focus on Information Technology. I survived for all of a term before the stress of exam time got to me and I quit. I felt like a terrible, useless failure and when that happened, which was the middle of the year, I was pretty much at my worst.

Between January and July, though, I had a lot of other stuff going on. Mach marked my first real mental 'break,' in which I ended up at the doctors. The result of that was me going on pills and being diagnosed with Anxiety and Depression. That month also marked me coming to the realisation that someone I thought was a friend didn't care for me at all, because when I tried to tell said person about my problems, I was brushed aside like I didn't matter. It was also when I decided that I should just screw the world and should do what I want to do with my body, and got a nose and tragus piercing.

April marked me ending up in the hospital for the second time due to acute abdominal pain. Like the first time I went to the hospital, back in 2011, I was told there wasn't anything medically wrong with me apart from having Tachycardia, which means my heart rate was high, and they contributed that to stress and pain. It also marked me going to the doctor with it and having an ultrasound, which, once again, failed to shed any light on what was causing the pain. I still have no idea what it is, and I still get it. My body is a fun one.

In May, I turned 21 and got my first tattoo.

June and July meant stress, lots and lots of it, thanks to study. I had several panic attacks and returned to my old coping method of punching the walls for the pain and self harm. Near the end, though, the first good thing to happen in a while happened: I got a phone call from a study service, offering me a place in a Dual Diploma of Business and Management.

The next few months were focused on me studying and attempting to try and turn my life around. All I can say, it was hard. Over the years I had come to view the world in my mindset: that life was horrible, I was undeserving of nice things and good luck, that no one would ever love me in a million years...and trying to break free of that has been bloody murder. 

The first half of the year was when my mental condition was bad, but the second half was when I tried to turn it around, which was hard. Instead of just feeling like crap all the time, I would have my good days and my bad days. I couldn't break free of self harm, either, which just made things that much more harder. I still got panic attacks, and even worse, I felt bone crushingly lonely, but I was determined to work through it.

In September I decided that it was time I did what I've wanted to do for a long time, and I published a novel of mine online. You can buy it from the Kindle store, by the way; its called The Thorn Method by S Cooper. Check it out if you wish. I haven't had many sales at all and I haven't made any money from it, but I don't care. I finally did something I've always wanted to do, but was always too scared to attempt.

In November, I was also determined to work through something else. I had quit study at Uni, but I had an outstanding exam...and I was going to sit it. The weeks leading up to it produced much stress for me, along with fear of failure and my old problem, having difficulty swallowing food (stress related condition, NOT an eating disorder) and I very nearly decided to skip it.

I didn't, though, and in December I found out I passed it. And then I submitted an application for a whole new course next year, and what do you know? I got accepted. 

That pretty much brings us to Christmas, and nothing much happened after then at all. In fact, the last month, nothing has happened at all, except for me finishing my Diploma (okay, maybe that is a big thing) and me choosing my classes for Uni, so it's all nice and official now.

Before I wrap this up, though, there's one major element of this year that I can't just leave out. There has been someone at my side this whole year, someone who has been pulling me along when I need it, someone who gives me a nice kick up the backside when I'm being a stupid idiot. I'm not mentioning her name, but she has been a major help to me this year. And when I say major, I mean major. She is the one I turned to when things got bad and, despite my fears, has stuck around this whole time.

I'm not the easiest person to be around, nor am I the sanest. In fact, I've had a lot of anxiety, panic attacks and freak outs over the thought of being abandoned and such, or worrying that she doesn't care. It wasn't so bad the first half of the year, but it got a hell of a lot worse during the second half, when I was trying to better myself. I wonder if it's because I fully trust her with the crap that goes on in my mind. I trust her, there's something I also learned to do properly this year.

I'm not sure why it worked out like that, but I'm grateful to her. She helped me through all of it. And for that, I thank her. I know not everyone out there has a person like that, but I never thought I would get someone like her either, and yet, she walked into my life and has stuck around. Even now, months on, I still get anxious when she doesn't message me for a week, but I'm trying to work on that. Progress is slow, but I think now that the friendship is not new and I feel like there have been 'rules' established...well, I think It's going to be easier. At least, I hope it's going to be easier!

And on that note, I'm going to end on something that she once said to me, the best thing ever that I have never forgotten: 

There is always hope.

Online IQ tests are...wrong?

First point of order: happy new years, my dear readers! May this year be a year of dreams coming true!

Right, now I’ve got that out of the way, I can talk about something that I’ve come to realise. Now, I was talking in a forum earlier tonight, and the conversation got turned around to, somehow, not too sure how it happened because I’m that weird one who just sits there without saying anything, the ratio of IQ to introvert-ness. And I’m sure that’s not a word, but I didn’t know how else to phrase it, so that’s what I’m going with.

Now, as I said, I wasn’t paying a great deal of attention, but I noticed that someone said that those who are introverts are more likely to have a higher IQ. Why, I’m not sure; perhaps because they prefer to sit inside and study rather than party. Me, being the smartass that I am, said, “no, that’s wrong, I’m an introvert and I’m stupid.”

Well, that of course sparked questions such as, “who said that?” The answer to that was simple: my school. I was told, when I was a wee child (okay, not so wee, I was 15) that I was not smart and I would never be smart enough to go to University.

Have I lived most of my life by that statement? Yes. Is that the smart thing to do? No. Most definitely not. For one, what school tells it’s students something like that? Well, mine, apparently; I was also told I have no talent in Art but I was good for the class because I ‘liked’ it. And that my brother was ten times better than me.

I loved most of my teachers from school but right now I’m thinking that they’re probably half the reason for my self-hate I feel so often…

Anyway, I’m getting off topic. So we were talking about IQs and I got the brilliant idea to do an online IQ test.

I got 90.

I felt discouraged and immediately I thought, “yep, see, I’m an idiot,” without even considering the fact that 90 is average. And when I mentioned so to someone on the forum, they told me that internet tests weren’t all too reliable. I decided to test that. If I was to get two scores of the same number from two different tests, then clearly I was an idiot. If it was different, then clearly the tests were just a little messed up.

I took four tests. The results were:

Test one – 90

Test two – 127

Test three – 100

Test four 77

So…quite different across the board there, aren’t they? Of course, being me, my first thought was, “OMG the rest were wrong and I’m 70, I’m below average, I’m an idiot, ahh!”

But then the rational part of my brain started working once more. Maybe I was told by the school that I was not smart enough, but I did Uni for one semester and was told I was one of the smartest. I did an online course as well, and not only was I apparently the smartest there as well, but I finished it four months early.

So I got to thinking that maybe I wasn’t a complete write off after all (just as a FYI, that’s a thought I never would have considered, which means there’s progress in the self-hate! Yay!) I started to think about what I have done, that maybe would require at least an average IQ. I’ve done a diploma in Business, a certificate in IT, I’ve written several novels, I can draw (though, I’m still doubtful of my talent in the last two areas) so surely that must mean I’m not a dunce, right?

And then I remembered I once took a vocabulary test. Average score for a 20 year old was 2200, and I scored 3200. So clearly I’m above average there.

And yet…my IQ test scores weren’t overly high. Why could that be?

And this is what I really wanted to talk about. See, the thing is, it’s almost impossible to judge something like that. If someone took a test that was primarily maths, and they couldn’t understand math at all, they would get a low score, correct? Whereas if the test was more, say, English, they would get a higher score. So how can one judge, based on that?

Some might say that it would even it out by having an equal number of questions of both disciplines on the one test…but no, how does that work? There is still a possibility of getting at least half of them wrong which would impact your score.

The only sure-fire way, in my opinion, to measure IQ is by doing a test tailored exactly to your personality, strengths and weaknesses…but how would that work, exactly? The amount of variables are just too damn high to even consider making a test as complex as that.

Also, another thing that could impact your score is how long it takes. Many of these tests are timed, much to my displeasure. If you’re like me, you need to take a few minutes to really understand what the question says. If you don’t have that, you’re clearly not going to get to correct answer because you don’t even know what the question is! It’s okay to take a little time; some of the great minds sit and ponder the mysteries of the universe for years. Years. And there’s no doubt that they are smart, that they have high IQs.

Taking a while is okay. Doesn’t mean you’re not smart. Some tests, however, do think that, or they seem to. Why else would they make it timed? You should be allowed to have all the time in the world to think about things!

A few months ago I was telling my friend how I didn’t think I was smart at all, and she said something I will never forget: that there’s book smart and street smart, they’re not the same and what you might be good at, someone else could be terrible at. Now that, that’s so  true. For example, she’s a nurse. She can fix people medically. Can I do that? Well, I could try, but I’d probably kill you. On the other hand, I’ve done IT and can open and pull apart a computer. Can she do that? As far as I know, no, she can’t. So who is smarter? Me, or her?

The self-hating part of me says her, but the rational part (which I listen to more) says that neither is smarter than the other. We have different levels of smart. What I am good at, she isn’t. What she is, I’m not. I don’t think a single human being in the world is brilliant at everything, not even Sheldon Cooper. He can’t drive a car. But he’s still a genius, correct?

He is in his field. That’s the point I’m getting at here, people. You’re not going to be good at everything in life, but there’s always going to be something that you  can do and others cannot. Find that thing, and focus on it, and that’s where your talent lies. It doesn’t mean you’re stupid if you can’t do what someone else can do, it just means you can do something different.

So don’t listen to what some damn online test says. It means nothing. No, what it means is that there are some things we are strong at, and some things we aren’t, and that can impact our score. But that doesn’t mean we’re all idiots. It just means our strengths are different. Think about that, not whether or not your IQ is as high as Sheldon’s.

Being Grateful

I really should have written this days ago, but I didn't quite think of it then, so I'm writing it now. First point of order, though, is to say this: I hope everyone out there in the internet world had a brilliant Christmas!

Christmas is actually the theme of this post, but it could apply with any event all around the world: birthdays, Valentines Day, etc. See, my family, we're not the closest in the world, and we always knew what we were getting for Christmas. Which is why I never quite noticed what the rest of the world can be like. 

This started off for me when I was a child. I would go to school in the final few weeks before summer holidays (different time zone, people) and I would hear people talking about how they had no idea what they were getting for Christmas. Now me, I always knew exactly what I was getting for Christmas, because my brother and I always picked our presents out and were there when my mum but them on lay-by.

The concept of surprise did not happen in our house. Why, I'm not sure. Neither me or my brother like surprises. Things are so much better predictable and even now I hold myself to that concept. The unknown, such as the future, is something I cannot think about. 

But that's a whole other story, so I'm not going to talk about that anymore. Point is, my brother and I always knew what we were getting, which obviously meant there was no chance of disappointment.

Now, I didn't quite...realise what some people could be like until recently, and today, I've decided to say something. This morning I woke up and, like normal, I went onto 9gag on my Tablet in an attempt to keep my eyes open. Someone had posted a list of tweets that people had written talking about how disappointed and how much they hated their family...because of things such as "I got a Macbook Air instead of Pro, my stupid f*cking family" and "my iPhone is in the wrong colour, this is the worst Christmas ever."

I'm sorry...but WHAT?!

Okay. Maybe you didn't get exactly what you asked for. But you got something, and that is so much better than some people in the world. Not only that, you got something that cost your parents a hell of a lot of money. Macbooks, no matter what type, are not cheap. Why not just be happy with what you did get?

Now, before you say how I probably have no idea because I always knew exactly what I was going to get...I do know. The thing is, my parents have never had a great deal of money. And while I did know what I was going to be getting, I still had disappointments. Because I would go to school and hear about how people got the brand new gaming consoles and such, and what did I get? 

Well honestly, I don't remember what I'd get. I do remember the money limit, however - $60. None of my presents have ever exceeded that, while my friends got new laptops.

Its the same now. When I turned 21, I got $100. That was my present. That's it. I didn't even had a party. My then friend, on the other hand, he got $1000. Quite the difference there, do you not think? 

Could I be bitter? Could I hate my parents because they could never provide the sort of...fun that my friends parents could? Of course I could be bitter. But I'm not. Because I'm grateful.

I'm grateful that I got what I did. Things could be so much worse. My parents could have gotten me nothing. But they didn't. A gift is a gift. Whether it's the perfect type or model or object or whatever, it doesn't matter. It's something they have bought you, and no matter what, you should be grateful, because it really is the thought that counts.

I'm saying this because I think far too many people don't understand the concept. I mean, come on. If you wanted said object and didn't want any disappointments, then you buy it yourself. That is the only way you will guarantee that you will get exactly what you want. Expecting someone else to fulfill your expectations isn't right.

This Christmas, my parents gave me a watch, a wallet and earrings. The watch stopped working twenty minutes after I put it on. Could I be mad about that? Sure, but I'm not because it is still the thought that counts. They bought me something that they knew I would like and I did like it, and whether I can wear it now is irrelevant because its the thought that counts. I am grateful that they cared enough to buy anything at all. 

And I know this may be coming out a little harsher than what I perhaps intended but I feel it just has to be said. It is so unfair to say you hate your family because they didn't get you the right colour expensive phone because they didn't have to get you the expensive phone. And whether its the right colour or not, you should still be grateful for what you did receive. Children of poor parents on the street may have only received a new jacket or something. But they would be grateful because its something. 

It is something. And whether you like it or not, you should be grateful that someone cared enough to spend some of their money in an attempt to make you happy - never throw that back in someone's face. 

Just...be grateful.

Dangers of Dermatillomania

Dermatillomania – is it a real word, or something that I just made up?

It’s a real word…it’s a real condition. For those of you that haven’t ever heard of it before (and I’m guessing there are a few out there) it’s a condition where you obsessively compulsively pick at your skin. Don’t get me wrong. If you have a pimple and you squeeze it, you don’t have Dermatillomania.

However, you do have it if you do it obsessively, if you do it to the extent of it starting to physically affect your life. Some people use their fingernails, some bite, some use tweezers, some scissors…and often it’s done on otherwise healthy skin.

I have Dermatillomania.

It’s hard for me to admit that. I hide it a lot; I’m ashamed of what I’ve done to my body. Like many people with this, I have my target areas, and my main one is my shoulders and back. Now, I can never wear sleeveless t-shirts because of the extent of scarring. Right now, I have about 14 lots of picking that are all red and raised and sore. The scarring is far more extensive than that. It’s horribly noticeable.

Now I didn’t think it would ever really be much of a problem. Yeah, it affected my life to a severe extent – I have literally lost hours standing in front of the mirror picking at things. I’ve spent hours inspecting my skin and doing nothing but that. I’ve had to hurry to do assignments because I got too involved in picking.

But I didn’t think it would affect my health in any other way but causing a lot of scars. As it turned out, I was very wrong.

A few months ago, I got a pimple like thing on my leg. I pick at my upper legs a lot, and I have to admit, it made me very happy to find something that would let out some actual pus. So I squeezed it, of course, and it did what any pus filled thing would do. I didn’t think about it for a little while because I started to return to picking my shoulder.

And then one day I realised my leg hurt. I ignored it, thinking I had just knocked it against something. I didn’t think about it. I told myself it was nothing.

And then it turned from being sore to feeling like something had stabbed my leg. It hurt when I sat down, it hurt when I walked, and it hurt no matter what I did. So, feeling a little worried, I rolled the leg of my jean up – it was the middle of the day, on a Saturday – and found myself looking at a massive, bright red…thing.

It emitted heat. Anyone will tell you that it’s a bad sign when something starts to hurt like hell, is the size of a fifty cent coin in diameter, is bright red and emits heat. So I called the hospital – it was a Saturday and my doctor wasn’t open – and they put me through to a medical service that would answer my questions. After describing my symptoms, they told me to go to the emergency clinic. That would set me back $80 dollars, but it was either that or wait for several hours at the hospital. So I went to the clinic.

Long story short, I got an infection called Cellulitis.

I didn’t think of anything to ask the guy when I went there, but a few days later I found myself with many unanswered questions. I didn’t know who to talk to, so I decided to email a doctor that I knew…sort of. I followed his blog and asked medical advice before, anyway. This blog, by the way, is Doc Bastard – if you haven’t ever read him, GO AND READ RIGHT NOW BECAUSE HE IS AWESOME. Click here if you haven’t. Seriously. It was the only thing that got me through the rough times.

Anyway, I asked the questions I should have asked when I went to the clinic: why did I get this huge red thing growing off my leg? How in the world can I prevent it? Also, what would have happened if I left it? How serious can these things be? And the thing I was most worried about…could my obsessive skin picking be the cause?

Now, Cellulitis is a bacterial infection. It’s treated with antibiotics, which is what I had, or it would have to get drained. Luckily I didn’t let it get that bad, but it could have spread if I had left it. The Dermatillomania was most likely the cause. So it got me thinking, and I asked what else it could cause.

The answer was skin infections…and necrotising fasciitis, which is a truly horrible disease, a flesh eating bacteria. If you don’t know what it is, click here, but be warned – the pictures are not pretty so don’t look at it if you’re squeamish! There’s also a risk of septicaemia.

So I was wrong. Dermatillomania could cause so much worse than what I thought. What happens – and Doc Bastard confirmed this for me – is that you touch something dirty, bacteria gets under your fingernails, you wash your hands but it doesn't truly go unless you scrape them clean with some sterile instrument...and then while squeezing and picking the life out of your shoulder so it’s all bumpy and red and sore, the bacteria gets into the open wounds...

I then asked how bad it could have gotten if I ignored it. Doc Bastard said there is no real way to tell. And to be honest, I don’t think I ever want to know how bad it could get.

So I decided to write this blog. Because, honestly, getting some infection that could be so very easily be prevented is not enjoyable at all. I didn’t know it could cause such serious effects and I think everyone needs to be aware of what can happen. Infections don’t just come from being dirty, they can come from picking your pimples and whatever else a little too much.

There’s another reason I’m writing this, though. As of now, for the next month, I’m not going to pick AT ALL. I’m going to do whatever I can to prevent myself from doing it. What’ll I’ll be doing is keep a diary of each day, and maybe even a video blog, to document the time. I know it doesn’t sound like much or very interesting for some people, but I want people to know that it’s possible to stop it, and I want to be successful in stopping it also. The more people that know, the less likely I’ll slip up.

It’ll be fun…or rather, interesting…but I’ll be successful. And I’ll post here this time next month telling you about how I was successful at stopping it. Maybe you won’t be interested in it, but maybe, just maybe, it’ll help others with this condition to stop putting their lives at risk.

Labels

We come across labels just about every day in our life, right? I mean, if you went and opened your fridge right now, you'd find yourself looking at a load of labels on a range of different things. I mean, without them, you wouldn't know if you were eating a tin of salmon or a tin of cat food. And they look the same, too, so you really would be in deep trouble without them.

But I feel like that in today's world, we place labels on things that are totally unnecessary. Here's a few examples of an unnecessary label: emo, hipster, jock, goth, nerd, geek.

We like what we like, and we wear what we want to wear. Why do we put a labels on things like that? Why don't people just let others be, why not let people just wear what they want to wear without shoving a shiny little sticker on them saying what they are?

Its something I don't really understand - especially not when things like clothes and fashion styles - but it's something I've become very passionate about. Not because of the fashion, though, there's something else that we're all too willing to label.

Ourselves.

Now when I say that, I don't mean our names, or our professions, or anything along those lines. But I've come to find that, in our world, we're either one thing or another. For example, we're either male or female. We're either gay, straight or bisexual. 

And that is what this post is about, so if you're homophobic , stop reading now. Close this window and pretend that I haven't said anything. If you're not...continue reading to what I have to say.

Now, I'm a female. But the thing is, by societies standards, I'm not. I wear baggy men's jeans because I love the way they look. I wear mostly men's t-shirts and shirts because they have proper sleeves and they don't have unnecessary prints, puffs, buttons or glitter. I wear sports shoes because that's what my feet require. I also have short hair, wear no makeup whatsoever and don't wear fancy jewellery. 

On top of that, I love sport, hate the colour pink, love crime shows, hate chick flicks and love action.

I've been this way all my life. And do you know what else I've been? An outcast. I got people teasing me at school because of the way I dressed and the way I acted. When I was in my final school year, a rumour went around school that I was lesbian and got up to nasty stuff. Which wasn't true but it hurt. I'd get people asking me every day if I was a boy or a girl. I'd also get people asking me if I wanted to become a boy.

They also asked if I was anorexic and made fun of my small and skinny stature. Kids are mean.

Now, several years on, I was faced with a dilemma. It all started a few months ago when my older brother came over with a buzz cut. I wanted one so much. But I'm a girl. Girls don't get haircuts like that. For the next several weeks I had many panic attacks and went into a depressive spin because I was faced with the question I never, ever wanted to ask myself: what am I?

See, I had a similar dilemma earlier this year, when I realised I didn't look at men like the way a normal female would, and instead looked at women. Well, one in particular. And in the end I decided I was gay and that was it.

But am I gay, and am I transgender? That's what I wanted to know, and that's what I couldn't answer. Because of that, I went into such a depressive spin. Fear of not being accepted made it much worse.

And then I talked to my friend, who made me realise several things. Mainly, does what I like make me something? Maybe I just like the look and that hairstyle because I'm a no fuss type of person. It was something to think about.

A few months later and I've come to the following conclusion: it doesn't matter. 

It doesn't matter what I like, or if I'm more male or more female. I'm me, that's the main thing. I'm a unique person. Personalities and love is fluid, it changes and molds you depending on the circumstances. Yes, I found myself looking at a woman but whose to say I won't look at some man, ten years down the track, in the same way? Yes, I love men's clothes but does that make me a man? Does having a lady bits make me a woman? 

By societies standards, yes, it does. By mine, no, it doesn't. Why must be call ourselves one or another? Why can't we be in between of the two? Why can't we just be who we are, without putting a label, or a definition to it?

I am me, and you, reader, are you. Don't let society, or your family, or your friends, put a label on you and expect you to conform with that label because life doesn't work that way.

Just be yourself, and don't question it. Don't label it. You are you.