I’ve always wanted to be a writer. I love the feeling when a story flows from my fingertips on to a screen for others to read, providing a little bit of escapism like when you go to the cinema. Even when I’m writing a blog post about my life and experiences and not for fame or likes but to provide someone in a similar situation with some solidarity gives me a warm fuzzy feeling. Yes, it is nice to know that I have fans who eagerly await my pears of wisdom but for me writing is cathartic when I’ve written about an incident positive or negatively or even finishing a short story on a pressing issue that has arisen in the media or society I feel valued and as though my opinion or outlook may make someone else consider a new perspective. Writing for me isn’t about presenting what I think should be right but nudging people’s curiosity and make them see that there’s a bigger picture.
My best self is when probably am content with my life and whilst I have ambition, I don’t yearn for something that I know I can’t have. I love it when I’m engrossed in a book, tv programme or particularly actor that it’s all it can think about because it distracts me from my own issues and it spurs me on to focus on the positives and not the negatives and dwell on things I can’t actually change.
However, I can’t say that I am uber positive all the time and I use some of my down moments to recharge and to inspire my most honest work particularly in poetry.
My dream would be it have a book deal where I can be on everyone’s bookshelves and perhaps make them see a different point of view, but on a smaller level I just want to be at peace with myself, accept the things that I’ve gone through and move on.
When someone tells me I can’t do something, I don’t bother telling them, I would rather to show them and I revel in their reaction when they tell me they initially underestimated me, this is happening again again in education and my disability.
I want the fairytale romance and the nice holidays and clothes but that doesn’t define me either. I’m quite content to have days in with pyjamas and good book rather than go out partying. I’m very much a lark and can’t often relate to young people in my age group who go out every weekend and party because I don’t see that as a good use of time, yet wanting to stay in and read in my pjs doesn’t make me unambitious – everyone has a different way of enjoying life. There’s no point in me saying that I believe in the platitudes along the lines of oh well we’re not alive for long so we might as well leave till the fullest because that’s just a load of Tosh. I think as long as you’re happy and content when you look back on your life then that’s all that matters.
To summarise I am not my disability, I am a women with something to say.
I want to travel but I also love to stay in and read, I want loads of friends but crave solitude. To quote my favourite singer and mental health advocate. I am ‘Simply complicated.’ I cannot be defined by an one aspect of my personality, idiosyncrasy or ambition.