World Poetry Day: Palm Sunday

Palm Sunday

For my friends and loved ones, the Year 11 girl whose grandma passed away this weekend, and for anyone else this may comfort.

Here, have these blessed things,
carry them with you as you journey home.
This knowledge will make you feel safe,
though you don’t really have that kind of faith.
It is spring now, and though you are alone,
soon you’ll be a pair of birds spreading wings.

Sometimes life leaves you standing in the wings,
and you can’t think of your lines, amongst the many things
going on around you – so many people, yet so alone,
and you’re sure what to call “home”
and all these months you’ve had faith,
but they were the one who made you feel safe

and you’re old as slang saying good is “safe”,
ending nights out with chips, fried chicken wings,
garlic bread, the echo of dance tracks from Faith-
less, swimming through the airwaves, thinking things
would always be this way, that home
would always be there, with family, not alone.

Never has the word held more weight: alone
like scissors to the nets that kept you safe
and in the truest sense of the word, you’re not home-
less, but it’s like being forced to fly with clipped wings.
Trying to remember how you dreamt of so many things
and you know you have to embrace fear, have faith

that this life is possible with enough self-belief and faith,
that you will have to build walls of arms, so you’re not alone
and force yourself to remember all the things
that seem so painful now, that you will be safe
because there are angels spreading wings
to guide you, and where you land will be your home.

Follow your heart home, and you won’t be alone.
Papier-mâché your faith, and you will be safe
as you spread your wings, you’ll see so many things.

Wellbeing: Learning to Listen to Myself

When you’re a planner and your life is made of calendar dates and Excel spreadsheets, it can be hard to relax. Even a fun poetry night or a social occasion can be in danger of becoming another item to tick off. Trying to listen to what I actually want to do with myself? Almost impossible.

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So, I am trying to do less, to give myself more time to reprioritise, because sometimes part of this comes down to being unable to know what’s important. During my last CBT session, I admitted that even I – known to many as being hyper-productive – can procrastinate.

At the moment I want to continue a currently unfinished novel I started two years ago during NaNoWriMo. Whilst at times I had reasonable excuses to avoid completing it, since the beginning of this year I have purposely been staying in more, so I can write more. And I have written a lot of poems, and that has made me happy. I’m taking part in an online writing group where we are writing a sonnet a day for 40 days to coincide with lent (just let me not to give up, but to take on).

So, working out things at the top of my priorities, with an impending deadline being that I am leaving the country in less than two months. So, I want to finish my novel, and I want to edit and consolidate my existing poetry. Instead of tackling these after I’ve written the poem of the day (not to mention the past few months before I started doing that). I will complete easier tasks, like emails, researching travel, doing applications for things, and I will even put things off by playing games (like a normal person).

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However, even as I write this, I’m thinking… actually, I wanted to blog more regularly, and I’m doing okay at that at the moment. But other things pop into my head – I want to learn Spanish, or at least go on DuoLingo regularly enough to keep my topics golden. I want to write creatively everyday, which I’m doing and would like to keep up. I want to keep on top of my diary. And I want to read more! I just read Margaret Atwood’s The Handmaid’s Tale in less than a week because I set myself that as a goal, and it helped that it was an incredible book – a captivating storyline, but also rich in its language, very poetic.

Apparently, I could also do with some “unstructured time” and have been trying that with my CBT. Maybe it’s because it’s connected to building tolerance to uncertainty (I hate uncertainty), and that I feel guilty when I spontaneously play a game, but I feel like I would benefit more from structuring this time loosely… having a reading goal not only helped me achieve something in a sense, but I was able to enjoy it because the activity itself is a form of relaxation, as well as being mentally and creatively stimulating.

One of the best things about having creative ambitions means I never run the risk of becoming bored. Even when I thought I would be bored re-reading this terrible “novel” of mine, it was actually interesting and giving myself a time-goal really helped with that. I’m nearing 27 years of age, and whilst that’s a terrifying prospect having quit my job and moving (temporarily) out of my parents’ house to go abroad, there are some cool things that maybe some people can only experience at such an age.

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Although it’s not specifically related to being 27, I feel like I’m really focused on different goals, and actually being able to begin to prioritise a bit more successfully. Except maybe for the rare urge to drink lots and dance, I now take great pleasure in meals out and quiet pubs. Like, can we go somewhere we can actually hear each other? And did I mention ‘Things the Grandchildren Should Know’ by Mark Oliver Everett? Not the book format, but the audio version. For a while I got really excited about audio books, but didn’t manage to find another one like it. The storytelling was on point, but it also utilized the form by playing music (Everett is in the band Eels) throughout it. If anyone can recommend me any more of those, please do. I tried to listen to one on Patti Smith, but felt frustrated by the lack of music.

I also used to hate sleep, and being cyclothymic I sometimes want to stay up late/all night, but for the most part, I enjoy that feeling now of getting into PJs fresh from a hot bath and cuddling up in bed. I’m lucky if I get 7 hours, but I actually appreciate sleep so much more than I used to. It’s a habit I’ve not quite ingrained in my psyche, but I also enjoy a bit of meditation (Head Space, standard) and mostly use it to settle before bed (okay, on a good night, I’ll fall asleep during it). It’s still difficult to pull away from activity, and nowadays to even look at just one screen at a time, to relax in ways not involving screens.

So, what I’m trying to do more is to be flexible, to be kind to myself and not punish myself for not finishing my to-do lists when they’ve been overly ambitious, or when getting expensive travel vaccinations have delayed going home. I’m learning to listen to myself more, in terms of what I’m doing with my time. The other week, I had an argument that resulted in me being intensely emotional, and I felt a strong need to write in my diary. I couldn’t do anything else until I had got my feelings out, feelings I had been avoiding expressing, without even realising I needed to, because I couldn’t form the words until that point.

Life even at its most comfortable, isn’t always easy to figure out how to do. So, turning 27 soon is just about continuing the journey, trying to listen to what you need and want to do day-to-day.

Myers-Briggs Personality Types: INFJ

People always misunderstand me, because I’ve got such a rare personality type.

This is kind of a joke, but I’m also deadly serious.

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Sometimes even my humour hits a brick wall with people who don’t know me well. I’m quite a serious and reserved person, but that doesn’t mean I can’t let my hair down and have a laugh too.

Less than 1% of the population are INFJs. After feeling misunderstood so much as a teenager, the fact that it hasn’t stopped there has meant finding out my personality type has offered some explanation as to why that might be. If not a lot of people are like me, then how can they totally understand me?

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Some people don’t like labels, and sometimes I even resist depending on who is saying it. I’ve often felt sensitive about being called an introvert, or shy, or quiet. So much so that I’m wanting to write something about these things. The idea got long-listed and high commended for the Sky Arts Scholarship once, so it’s something I definitely want to pursue. So as much as I identify as an introvert or whatever, any comment from people I don’t know that well having noticed something, and because of our society’s often negative depiction of those who are this way inclined, I can get a bit defensive.

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Sometimes being an INFJ feels like being a mass of contradictions. Although I don’t like conflict, I do get angry about things and vocalise that anger when I feel I’m able to do so. This means the people I’m closest too don’t see that anger as a surprise, but why I once had a colleague who found it very funny when I would go on my little rants about someone who’d irritated me, or something that had irked the feminist part of me. When I was younger, I maybe tended to be more agreeable, but I’m now very opinionated and decisive about things, so as much as I might agree with certain things, sometimes it can be “my way or the highway”. Reading through the description, which can often seem very complimentary, and the notion that it’s a “rare” personality type can mislead you into thinking there’s something elevated about being an INFJ. But we have flaws like anyone else, and as much as being altruistic, caring and supportive is important to us, getting riled up and fixating on particular expectations can mean upset for both parties when there’s a conflict.

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One of the things that got me interested in exploring my affiliation with this personality type, was a Burn After Reading workshop on projected identities. Because at different points I may project different things, and people will make assumptions based on that. Because I’m able to communicate well the more I know people, and have learnt to adapt to situations where I’m with strangers, I find the acquaintance-friend gap really hard to get my head around and sometimes I worry about coming across rude, simply because I find certain situations hard to navigate. If I don’t expect to see someone in the street, I may pretend not to see them, or if someone calls but I’m focused on something else and unprepared to talk, I might screen the call and get back to them. Not because I intend to be rude, but I just find it very difficult to handle.

There is so much more to say about the INFJ, as with all personality types, but I just wanted to highlight a bit about the type and why we can often feel misunderstood.

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I’ve just discovered all these amazing memes.

Acts of Kindness

After writing this post, I redrafted a poem from a couple of years ago (something I’m meaning to do with a lot of poems). The act of kindness described in this post made me think of a workshop with Deanna Rodger, where the prompt “what’s the kindest thing you’ve done?” inspired an earlier draft of the poem below. Let me know what you think.

The last kind thing I did was spending
money on something I had no interest in.
I did that for someone else.

Thinking about kindness now,
it’s tied up to money somehow:
an exchange. A smart black suit,

food and bills. After a month
I wanted to raise money for charity,
wanted to run further than I’d been before.

Lately, I’ve felt tension in my back;
weekends and 9-5s do not line up.
Because we all need money, don’t we?

And so it seems, I want my own
gratification more than I want
to help move things forward from this pain.

What would you do if this happened to you?

Today has been a good day. I reflected on how I’d appreciate my job more if I wasn’t so focused on things outside it (making it in the poetry biz). In this moment, I realised that I can enjoy my job a lot more by adjusting how I’m looking at it. Sometimes I see it as something preventing me from doing things I want to do. I’m sure we all do from time to time. Actually, there’s room to be quite creative in my role as an Academic Mentor for English, and it’s given me a lot of experience that is sure to benefit me in my future career.

Today I also took the opportunity to read some of my poetry on the theme of adventure to some visiting primary school students as part of World Book Day/Week. They were in Year 6 and were adorable, and so hardworking and talented. It was a real pleasure to work with them to produce their own adventure poems! I saw only a handful, but I was really impressed by the imagination and creativity of their work, and how enthusiastically they scribbled away.

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I left work having read an Irish myth with some Year 11s, and having written some sonnets with my Creative Writing Club. I was feeling pretty chuffed, and looking forward to writing a different blog post and hoping to revive the novel I started a couple of years ago now. I then passed a man who, mid-crossover, held out his hand to me. There was a wad of cash and a piece of paper, and he was gesturing to me to take it. He told me, “you’ve had a good day, you deserve it.”

I was really taken aback, and for some reason, I said “that’s alright” and refused the money. It was about £20-60. I didn’t look at it long, and soon enough the moment was over. But it got me thinking. I was so curious as to why someone would do that. And why me? Pure chance, luck of the draw? It also made me think about my reaction – why did I reject it?

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Well, my first thought after rejecting it was that I could have given it to someone who needed it more than me; if this was a random act of kindness, I could have accepted it and passed it on. Remember the film, Pay it Forward? I thought of the woman who is regularly on the streets outside Bethnal Green tube station, about the poets coming to perform at my place of work for very little money, and the friends and loved ones who are struggling to earn who I could treat with it.

If my first reaction was that I’m not deserving of it, why was this? I’m on relatively low pay for the job I’m in, for my qualifications, and still live with my parents due to this. Plus, with my artistic ambitions, saving every penny should be important. Maybe because it was near payday, and maybe because I had been reflecting on how lucky I was already that day, I felt like I should reject it, that I didn’t deserve it.

This idea of what one deserves is interesting, especially as I tend to make a lot of assumptions about what I deserve. However, as I’m writing now I realise that these assumptions are  bound up in exchanges. Perhaps it felt bad for me to accept the money because I’d feel guilty: no exchange took place. However, by rejecting it, I may be denying him the good feeling of this random act of kindness, if that was his intention. There are two strands of thought to which this is then tied. Firstly, this idea of exchange, I’m guessing, must stem from living in a capitalist society. I hadn’t done anything to earn that money, so why should I have it?

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Secondly, my mind jumped from thinking about what I could have possibly done to earn the money. That maybe I didn’t do anything, maybe I just was. I began to wonder of the intention in a way that may not make sense, but I wondered about the gendered aspect of this situation. Would he have offered the money to a man? I questioned this, and when I told my dad, he not only said that he would have taken the money, but that he imagined if he was a woman he would be wondering about the intention of this.

I’m not saying there is anything gendered in terms of taking the money or not (yet) as my mum also said she would take it. But I have to admit that these years of walking as a woman have made me defensive when it comes to men talking to me in the street due to the amount of negative, intimidating situations I’ve encountered. A random act of kindness did provoke some suspicion. I felt the same way when a man offered me a seat on the train once: do I look pregnant? I panicked.

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I wondered what was written on the note, probably a nice message about having a nice day and doing something nice with the money. The guy that approached me was just a normal guy, nothing stood out to me as unusual. And he did seem genuine and nice. Perhaps it links back to experiences as a teenager with what strangers were to me. They threw water balloons at you. They slapped you in parks. They called you to their van to ask directions. They kissed you at drunken parties. They called you and threatened to “shank” you. What is sad is that I’ve internalised these experiences, so that when a stranger does something we can probably safely assume was kind, I question these motives – and my deservingness – so automatically that it is simply a reflex to reject the money.

I’m really interested to know what others would do, so please comment below to let me know how you think you might react to this situation. I’m also really curious to find out why this man offered me this money, so if he ends up reading this, please let me know! I wish I had stopped to ask why. For now, I’ll override my initial concerns and put it down to a random act of kindness. And maybe next time I’ll be more aware of it happening.

 

Wellbeing: Feeling Good – The New Mood Therapy

Before this turns into a rant about the state of mental health care in the UK, I’m going to give a brief overview of my experiences and where I am at the moment, as well as looking at one of the books that started my journey into looking seriously at my wellbeing.

I see my mental health issues as being quite situational, so most of my problems stem from how I react to things rather than feelings that come out of nowhere. I don’t feel like I’ve had any formal diagnosis and a lot of the help I’ve been offered seems to be more to do with what is fashionable and cheap. At the moment that has meant a recent movement from CBT to Mindfulness. In terms of managing my mental health, both of these seem like good options for me.

I went to my first counselling appointment as a teenager, in reaction to a difficult period where I felt there was something wrong with me, but left with the therapist telling me that I was “okay” and didn’t need to come. This was at a point where I actually was a lot better, but looking back, my teenage years at secondary school are probably the most likely time I would label as having suffered from clinical depression, though I never got that label.

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The next time I looked for counselling was at university. They offered person-centred therapy and I finished it, but didn’t find it any more helpful than talking to a friend. I realised that it was the constant going out and binge drinking that is accepted as such a normal rites of passage at university, which was causing me problems. Again, this was a situational thing, but also chemical. Alcohol is obviously a depressant. But more than that, as an introvert, going out so much was exhausting and unnatural for me, and it resulted in a physical illness so bad it could have developed into what the doctor termed “leukaemia and other nasties”. For me, my mental and physical health are intrinsically linked.

Anyway, I don’t think the way we drink in the UK is normal, and although my behaviour was much like any other university student, I wanted to reach a position where I felt I didn’t need to binge drink. Lying in bed all day was something I should do (and still should do more), but without the horrible feelings that come with being hungover. I decided to go to alcohol counselling. The sessions were helpful and interesting, but it is still something I struggle with if given the chance to drink into the early hours. More helpful has been getting a job and focusing more on my career. I do like the odd night of dancing, but generally I prefer pubs and restaurants.

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It was this focus on my career though, that has meant for the last three-four years since graduating from my MA I have been working so hard that I’m risking burn-out again. People have different tolerance levels, but for me working 35 hours a week, travelling 3 hours a day to and from work (often standing in rush hour), and on top of that trying to work a second job that encompasses many roles within it – writer, performer, event organiser, workshop facilitator, editor – is impossible to keep up for much longer. For the last couple of years I have been trying to find a way to make this work better, and although I feel I’ve have anxiety from a very early age, I’m now at a stage where assessments have shown that I have GAD (Generalised Anxiety Disorder). It feels slightly more official than a doctor at university saying it sounds like I have cyclothymia, but in both cases I’m highly functional with it, so the only problem is how I feel inside rather than anything else.

I was recommended the book ‘Feeling Good: The New Mood Therapy’ by David D. Burns. What I found most eye-opening and helpful about this book was the list of cognitive distortions. I was guilty of so many. There are many different techniques and suggestions that are in-line with CBT. I’m not always very good at actively doing these things, but I do find it useful to have these exercises at hand. Burns also makes the point that having therapy alongside medication is much better than just using medication alone. Its guide to anti-depressants made me feel lucky that my problems are mostly mild-moderate, as there are so many side-effects and so many different types, the trial-and-error you have to go through to get the right medication is a battle in itself.

During the time of reading this, I also got some CBT phone-calls, because the journey to my “local” psychological service was too difficult and stressful to get to. Sometimes with CBT it feels like you understand the logic of what you’re doing, but it has very little impact on the very real feelings associated with these thoughts. Maybe this is because the cognitive distortions are so embedded, but at times I felt like I was lying to myself and the therapist when the percentage I gave linked to a particular thought. Initially they had offered me to join a group Mindfulness session, which provoked lots of negative emotions, feeling like I wasn’t getting what I asked for, and just being offered it because it was cheap and fashionable. That said, I have come to see how Mindfulness is what I need, but it’s actually setting aside the time to do it that I find difficult.

My partner is a visual artist, so over Christmas, and beyond, I’ve been able to take some time to colour-in, which I’ve found to be a good exercise. I’m into all that return-to-childhood type stuff, so though I know it’s become a bit of a cliché, I think it’s good for people like me who like to be constantly doing things, as it’s an activity that keeps you occupied, but means you can relax your mind and zone-out a bit too. Meanwhile, I’ve also started some CBT sessions as part of a research project comparing CBT to a particular drug. I’ve found this quite interesting, and more useful than the phone calls. This isn’t just because it’s face-to-face, but because there is more of the B (behavioural). I’ve been set small steps to try to deal with uncertainties better – a massive problem for me, being quite the control-freak! Some of the stuff that has come out of it has been really eye-opening and I feel like I’m discovering things about myself, like how I actually have a lot of positive associations with worrying, such as it being a sign for care (inherited that one from my parents).

One of my tasks for this weekend is to leave some time for “unstructured activities”. I always set myself too many things to do, so even when I intend to do this, or to do more relaxing activities, the time gets eaten up and I always end up sacrificing it. As it’s homework, it should hopefully push me to actually do it. I’m also doing something extreme to help with the pattern I’ve got into with over-stretching myself with work etc. I’ve handed in my notice at work! But this post is quite long enough, so I’ll save that for another time…

The Norwich Radical: My One Year Anniversary

The other week I wanted to show Bande de Filles aka Girlhood, to 6th Form students in order to get them to come along to the Feminist Club. They had been keen after having Feminista UK coming in to run a workshop with them. Sadly, my efforts at putting colour-posters up, guying popcorn and even buying the DVD specifically to show the film were wasted at this time. It was rather depressing to hear the music at the start repeat in an empty classroom. I guess they’re overworked. And as an English Mentor, I keep giving them extra reading to do as it is!

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I’ve been writing for The Norwich Radical for a year now, where I look at the arts through a feminist lens. Girlhood was a film I highlighted for its Feminist credentials. So, I thought this would be an opportune time to highlight the articles I’ve written thus far. You can get a whole list by clicking here.

In order of appearance:

I’m Sorry You’re Offended

Sirens at Soho Theatre

Soho Comedy: Women, ‘It’s Like They’re Real People’

Emmy the Great: Oslo, Hackney

The Bechdel Test Fest

Women of the World Festival 2015: Part 1 and Part 2

Three Women Poets

Women Fashion Power: Not a Multiple Choice Question

Woman Verses World

The Place for Poetry: Fragment and Process, Visual Culture and Performance

The Last Word

Soon Every House Will Have One

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To Kill a Mockingbird – Is it Just Me?

In Defence of Telling Girls They Can

Let’s Talk About Sex: The Institute of Sexology and Sex in the Afternoon

Feminist Picks: Edinburgh Fringe Festival

Homework: Molly Naylor and Katie Bonna

Arts Funding: Young People, Women and Intersectionality

Suffragette: The Fight is Not Over

The Hollow of The Hand

Hannah Silva’s ‘Shlock!’

The World Goes Pop

Warsan Shire’s Her Blue Body

Richard Yates: An Accidental Feminist?

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The Burning House

A burning house made from sound. Five voices salvage all they can from the wreckage. A navigation of all that we lose, find and construct in times when facing the loss of what we consider home and our heritage.

Over the past few months, I have been working on poetry for an Apples & Snakes’ Home Cooking podcast, produced by Post-Everything, and featuring myself and other Burn After Reading poets. It features tracks from Rachel Long, Will Tyas (read by Antosh Wojcik), Sophie Fenella, Carmina Masoliver, Antosh Wojcik. The production is beautiful, with a great balance between the sound of each poet’s voice, and the musical tones throughout it.

Click here to listen.

It also marks about a year since my own production of a Home Cooking podcast for She Grrrowls.

Published on Love You Madly

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Illustration by Lance Tooks

After writing about the film Amy, I thought I would share my publication on some poetry I wrote inspired by another iconic jazz musician: Nina Simone.

The poems were curated by Lisa Alvarado and also include a contribution from Toni Stuart, who I had the pleasure of meeting last year and who has since performed at She Grrrowls.

 

You can read the poems on the Love You Madly website.

Review: Amy

I’m in my room, listening to Amy Winehouse, having watched the documentary about her, Amy, last night. The main tragedy highlighted, aside from her obvious addiction, was the way she was treated by both her father and on-off partner, Blake. That said, relationships are not perfect, Blake was clearly vulnerable and damaged like Amy, and they cannot claim responsibility for her death. What was sickeningly apparent was that the media did have an enormous part to play in this tragedy. Amy never wanted the fame she got, even said she would give it back if she could, and before she reached such heights said that she would go mad and wouldn’t be able to handle it. Such is the fate of those who die at the hand of the paparazzi, and those who buy into sensationalist tabloid journalism, as covered in the poetry of Amber Tamblyn in Dark Sparkler.

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Other than her tragic story, what stood out was her music and talent. Seeing her at her best performing at various stages in her career, lyrics picked out on the screen, provoked a feeling that hit you straight in the gut. Although sometimes not always agreeing with some of the content, for the most part I loved her blend of sarcastic wit, sorrowful heart-wrenching pain, and empowering sentiments such as “in this blue shade, my tears dry on their own”. The songs have always had a slick rhythm to them as well, such as in favourite In My Bed. At the heart of Amy’s music was a desire for connection, and that desire to use music to heal the self and heal others was what kept her writing and recording new material despite the chaos of her personal life. That temptation to self-destruct is also relatable to those of us who have traits of hyper-achievement, for they are two sides of the same coin.

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In 2008 I was 19 years old and I wrote a poem called Blanket; as I watched the documentary, I remembered it writing it in response to Amy’s rising success since she moved from Frank to Back to Black, and the pitfalls that were well documented in the media. The poem went as follows:

I want to build myself up to the highest height,
just to look down at the fall and be filled with fright.
I want to be, the best I can be,
prove them wrong about my poetry.
Yeah, I want that pretty face, with the tear stains on show,
mascara up my eyes, just so that they all know.
I want to be perfect, to be a success,
I want to be one of the best.
I want them all to read my lips, read my mind,
then drink myself to destruction at the end of the night.

I want to fall in love again with a good boy,
just so he can break my heart,
because if I’m in a mess, feel my life is destroyed
then it at least provides more material for my art.

And I can just pick up my needle and thread,
scrub with soap, the sheets on my bed,
try stitching my life up to resemble what was,
continue the search for the Wizard of Oz,
pray for a change to a non-existent God,
click my heels together,
come home.

It was about how I could relate to the apparent dichotomy between success and failure, construction and destruction. The only thing I can do is to keep following the path to better myself, and that includes trying not to obsess about what success is and striving for it at the expense of my health. Because it’s a combination of both working and playing hard that can lead to exhaustion. I’ve come a long way since being a teenager and going to university, where getting off-your-face is standard, even on Sundays.

Nowadays, I rarely miss a roast dinner, I make sure to exercise regularly, and although work is always at the front of my mind, I make an effort to carve our significant space for maintaining relationships. I may joke about this being to do with me “getting old”, but actually it’s just finding out more about who I am and what’s important to me. And the fact that I feel it the next day when I’ve only had two pints, probably shows that I can’t take much more. But I often relate to the idea of the “death-wish” as at times there is a flicker of desire, a kind of magnetic pull, to be destructive.

Tony Bennett says in the film that “life teaches you how to live it—if you live long enough.” It is and always will be a tragedy that we don’t get to see Amy prosper, that her bulimia meant she was too weak this last time to fight against the alcohol poisoning she inflicted on herself accidentally. What urged me to write about this was the relatability for young women, and so as this has become self-reflective, I’m sure many others will feel that it could have been anyone, had they not had the time to recover from such a series of events.

The best I can do to take on board Amy’s story is to take inspiration from her creative drive, and keep focused on this. And to not let anyone stop me from doing what I want to do, whether a parent or romantic partner. I’ll never be able to listen to Rehab in a club, but I will listen in my room, or sing along with my mum in the kitchen.