(BREAKING THE) LAW OF ATTRACTION

My metal friends will forgive my almost Judas Prieast-y quote!

I used to be highly sceptical of things such as the “law of attraction”, the “power of the mind” and stuff like that. I considered most of that stuff hipster bullshit, or crap written on self-help books that only benefits the writer making money on false hopes, not the reader getting out of their misery. When I embarked on this journey of mine, I stumbled over and over across these things, and since I decided to not give anything for granted anymore, even if may feel a bit stupid at times, I decided to kind of open up to the possibility that this bloody law of attraction thing may be true.

Marge, my dear friend, every single time she saw me dressed like I just got out of bed and picked the first things I found, with no makeup and looking like I couldn’t give a fuck about life, always told me off saying “if you dress nicely and look nicely, you will attract nice stuff; if you dress in crappy, baggy clothes and look like shit, you will attract shit”. I used to laugh about her remarks, because my Kreator hoodie has been my second skin for years now, but the further I progressed with the gym and therapy, the more I started to wonder whether what she kept saying (and still says!) held some truth in it. And I started changing the way I portrayed myself to the outside world.
I didn’t really pay attention to what was happening around me, since I have been too busy focusing on what was happening with me, but last Friday something happened that woke me up from a weird sleep-of-the-mind moment and made me think “actually, if I needed proof that Marge is right, here is one right before my very own eyes”.

So, I had a very horrible night where I didn’t sleep well. I was nervous, I had a nightmare after the other, I was cold, then hot, then cold, then itchy, I just couldn’t rest for more than five minutes in a row. I blamed the full moon and my pre-menstrual hormones and tried to get over it, but in the morning, I felt dreadful. I dragged my sorry self to the office, all sluggish and lethargic, in a rather upset mood. I worked as much as I could, then I decided I had to have a walk to clear my head, and since I had to courier some documents, I took the chance to take few minutes break and walk to the loading bay in my office’s basement. Once I got there, the security guy Mo greeted me with a big smile and a hug. He saw that there was something not adding up, and immediately started to encourage me and make me feel better: “no, don’t be like that, go to the gym, I see you every day going there like all moody and coming out energised and happy, you can do this, you work so hard, I believe in you, go and do some lifting, get the happy hormones fighting the sad ones, show me you can do this!”. I left the loading bay with a smile, thinking “yeah, he is so right, I should just forget about everything, go and sweat a bit at the gym Silvia, come on”. I didn’t go there in the end (I have been way too busy to leave my desk) but I kept a more positive mood all day long.

I kept thinking about Mo’s words all afternoon and evening. It made me reflect about the massive support and love that the people who are in my life right now are demonstrating and showing to me each victory I nail, and how all the haters, negative soul-eaters are so far away from me, whether because they got rid of themselves on their own accord or because I pushed them away (consciously or subconsciously). Only few months ago, if I had a bad mood day like that, I would have got a barrage of negativity back that would have reinforced my feelings of shittiness. Now, if I’m on the lower side of happiness, people rally to bring me back to a more positive place. It’s like I’m running this marathon of life, and whenever from time to time I take a stumble or I’m too tired to keep going, someone offers a hand and gives me the energy boost I need to go further and further, without having to proactively asking for help; people are cheering me on the side of the track, and even though at times it is painful to keep moving, I know I can count of my friends to be there when I need them. I guess my new, more positive outlook, inside and outside, has attracted more positive people who approach me with a more positive attitude.

I spoke to my therapist about it a while ago, and she said that, aside from any spiritual connotation that one may want to see in this law, it does indeed have some truth in it: the more you take care of yourself, inside and outside, the more you work on yourself to elevate you from negativity to positivity, the more people will notice the change and shift their behaviour accordingly, because if they don’t, you would not put up with it (consciously or not); more so, you would be attracting more positive people not because of some mojo-voodoo-whatever magical thing, but because you’ll be more positive and won’t stand whatever dragged you down in the past: you’ll be savvier choosing those who surrounds you because you will recognise the negative stuff that you worked so hard to get rid of, and you won’t chose to befriend someone who doesn’t match your new you. Indeed, this is what is happening to me. The more I think about it, the more I see it in the people around me, especially in those that weren’t there before I started this journey but that now I can’t imagine my life without: everyone is kind, enthusiastic, generous, encouraging, inspiring, empowering. Of course, some negative influences try to show up here and there (ex-boyfriend I’m pointing the finger at you) but you know what? I’m in such a different mindset that I don’t really give a single shit about it. Like, not even a remote one, no matter how hard I try (and I don’t). If these new people are those I’m attracting in this journey, well, I’m doing something good and I’m in the right path.

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Which made me think… I was scrolling through my Instagram feed and I saw a video posted by Alex Rodriguez gushing about Jennifer Lopez working hard as hell for her fans and doing an amazing job (I know, I know, I’m obsessed, I really am): it was just beautiful, you can tell he is one hell of a proud man who is madly in love with his woman. It made me cry: I never had a man so proud of me that he’d scream it out loud for the whole world to hear, or even just for me to hear it. I always been treated like I should have been grateful to be in a relationship in the first place, and that it was a sort of a miracle they picked me instead of the plethora of better / hotter / smarter women they could have picked. You know what? I’m done with this shit. I deserve my very own A-Rod. Someone who will be proud of the journey I’m in, someone who will be solid on my side, who will be my number one supporter. Someone who won’t gaslight me to hide his insecurities, but that will push me to conquer any goal I set myself to achieve. Someone that will lift me up when I’m down and shower me with love and affection. I know my heart, at the moment, is locked away and has said to the brain “pretend I don’t exist, I’m on an indefinite leave, you are in charge mate, enjoy” so there are approximately zero chances for the above to happen, but hey, who knows, maybe, one day, when the time will be right, the laws of attraction will give me another massive present?

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TOMBOY MUMMY

The other night I was snuggled in bed with my (not so little anymore) bundle of joy (aka my son). We were watching cartoons after dinner, and out of nowhere he looked at me and asked “mummy, why babies are in mummies’ tummies? Was I in your tummy? What did I do when I was there?”

First thought: “hooooly shit. Fuck, I’m so screwed!”

Second thought: “please come up with a very nice answer that won’t lead to the school calling you because your son said some weird stuff, like the time you told him his gastroenteritis was caused by bugs like little spiders and then he made a very creepy picture the following week, and you had to have an hour long call with the school about it…..”

I managed (hopefully) to dodge this massive bullet with a very easy and clear explanation that he accepted without moaning too much. Then he hugged me, told me he loved me and that was it. I held is little body in my arms and I thought “damn, my boy is so growing up”.

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me and my little boy a year or so ago

I did so many things I am not quite happy about in my life so far; I don’t necessarily regret them, since they brought me to the place, mentally and physically, where I am now, but put it this way: if I could go back in time, I may not necessarily repeat them the same way I did them the first time. However, there is one thing I never, ever, ever regretted, not even in my darkest times, not even when the world crumbled and collapsed straight on my sole shoulders: becoming a mum.

I never had the “mother instinct” or dreamt about having children. It was just one of those things I didn’t care too much about, but that “if it happens it will be ok”. I never felt “that pressure”. Yes, people around me nagged about the fact that I should have put “one in the oven” once I got married, but still, me giving a shit about it was not something truly happening. I was absolutely clueless about anything related to babies; I never had any young relatives around me when I was younger, I never played with dolls, I just never ever. EVER.

From the moment I held this tiny life in my arms, I felt my heart bursting with love. I couldn’t believe that my body, my horrible, hated body, made such a wonderful, living and breathing (and fucking hell, crying and pooing and vomiting) creature. I spent ages just cuddling him, keeping him with me, on me, kissing him and making sure he was fine. In my case, the saying “when a child is born, a mother is born” is so, so true.

I’m a single mum as we speak, though it is fair to say I’ve always been that way. At times, I must admit, it is a curse: I wish I could get a free pass now and then without having to beg babysitters or my parents to fly their asses from Italy to help me; oh, I would love a proper night out without worrying about coming home when the sun is rising. However, aside from these things, I know I love it just the way it is: me and him, doing our own things the way we want it. I always tell my son “you and I, we are a team” and every time he gives me the biggest smiles.

I’m not a perfect mother and I’ve never been one since the beginning of my life as a mum. I don’t look “like a mum”, I don’t behave “like a mum”; at best, I’m a tomboy mum: more than once, at the school gates, I’ve been asked whether I was my son’s older sister, au pair, baby sitter, nanny…. Just because I go and pick him up in my leather jacket and heavy metal t-shirt. Few mums gave me “the looks” more than once, like “how dare she”: I kept staring at them, dead in the eyes, waiting for them to utter any word against me. Like I care. To me, all that matters is my son and his education; anything else, including mums with too much time in their hands who bitches against me, I don’t have a single fuck to give. We live in a rather “posh” town, though my neighbourhood is quite “normal”. When we moved here 3 and a half years ago, it was march, the weather was quite cold still, so I was always clothed like the Michelin man from head to toes. When the warmer days came round, I stopped wearing 4 layers of extremely thick tights and just put a pair of shorts or shirt…. And all my neighbours, who were used to have a rather “average” woman strolling around, pushing her lovely toddler comfortably sitting on the pushchair, suddenly discovered yours truly was no average at all. More than one of them where left quite perplexed at my tattoos, my metal shirts, my leather jacket and me being… well… me.

It is weird in a way that my appearance makes people think that my son is a wild, feral creature. Fucking hell, few tattoos and a slayer t-shirt, and people are quickly to assume you are a mom from hell. It couldn’t be further from the truth: I am strict with discipline, make no mistakes about it. My son behaves like a little soldier and I wouldn’t have it any other way; I do hate spoiled brats and misbehaving kids so hell would freeze before my son becomes one of them. It is kind of funny: once I got into the idea of having a child, I desperately wanted a boy because well, a girlie-girl, princesses-loving daughter would have had a very bad time with me at the time, so when I discovered I was expecting a boy… it felt like winning the lottery of life.
Well, my son is definitely a boisterous, loud, crazy boy, don’t get me wrong, but is also quirky in his own way, a very gentle soul, way more into fashion than me, he loves my makeup, knows all the shades of colour better than me (“muuuuum – eyes rolling – this is not just BLUE, this is turquoise”) and yes, when we need to go out, he takes ages before he decides what t-shirt goes with which trousers AND the shoes. He cracks me up sometimes when he goes into fashionista mode and tells me stuff like “muuuuuum you can’t wear your working shoes to go shopping!!” or “mum that lipstick you are wearing is so cool!”.

He is 100% involved in my life. Of course, I shield him and protect him from all the horrible stuff, including whatever his idiot of a dad (my ex-husband) did who almost got him arrested, but on a normal, day to day basis, my son and I have no secrets. Whether is “mummy will come late tonight ‘cause she is going to see Kreator” to “mummy is not ok because her heart is a little bit broken”, my son and I are on the same page. He knows he can tell me whatever he feels or thinks, and that we can work together through any issue: he always says, “we are a team” and yes, we are. Sometimes I feel like it is us against the world.

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Chelsea fan @ Stamford Bridge

Whenever I can, I try to make him experience the things that are part of my life: when he was two, I took him to see Megadeth & Lamb of God with me, and he ended up eating chocolate with Randy Blythe (Lamb of God’s singer); when Randy asked him “hey, do you want to sing with me on stage?”, my (usually extremely shy) shy son grabbed his hand and said “yeah, let’s go”. He even had a “party” with Megadeth, and Dave Mustaine (the frontman) taught him how to do the horn sign. I took him to Stamford Bridge more than once to see Chelsea FC playing, and believe him, it is like having a pundit sitting next to you: if he is not singing, he is talking ALL THE TIME. He is a regular at my office, where he knows everyone, from the big boss to all my colleagues. He even attended more than one (real) meeting just because he was loving the attention: he managed to sit on a forty-five minutes call pretending to take notes like he was a real employee!

I must admit, I’m scared if I think at the future, because the more he grows, the more there will be just so much I can do to protect him; he will have to fend for himself more and more, and “a huggie and a kissy” won’t make up for whatever will happen to him. One thing is for sure: till I can, whoever will try and break his heart, or bully him, or whatever, will have to face ME.
Believe me, I’ll be more than happy to storm around with a cricket bat to teach people a lesson or two.

OH, YOU ARE MY BEST FRIEND

I have been thinking about writing the following entry for a while, but I have never found the words, or moment, to do it. I kind of avoided talking about my best friend so far because she is the most precious person I have in my life after my son, and even though it is not the first time I shout to the world what an incredible person she is and how much I love her, I kind of kept her away from my blog because… because she deserves so much, and when this thing started I was not in the right mental place to honour her.

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This is one of the craziest pictures of me and my best friend, my sister from another mother, my soul mate, my partner in crime, my beautiful friend Sara. Yes, I was dressed as a unicorn, for the record. Yes, it is not the best picture ever, we probably had one drink too many to care anyway when we took it.

We know each other since the dawn of time, but we became very close friends few years ago: my life was shit (I had recently told my ex husband that he was, well, an ex) and she wasn’t doing great either. We started talking, and then sharing our stories, and before we knew it, we were spending every second we were awake texting each other.

People dream about finding “the love of their lives” and make no mistake, I still long to be loved romantically, but what I have found in my friend goes beyond that: she has been there on my side through whatever storm I had to face, whether big or small; she listened to anything I had to say, without passing any judgement, with her arms open to accept whoever I was in that moment (including an inconsolable, depressed mess); she gave me comfort, strength, love, care; I never, ever once felt embarrassed of being truly myself with her, because she is too special, she has always loved me way more than what I loved myself and she never failed to remind me of that, even when I was too depressed to appreciate it. She has always been the only light in my dark, horrible tunnel, and  I know that whatever life will bring, she will be just one text away from holding my hand and helping me facing my next war.

She is more than my heart, more than my soul. She is an angel. When nobody remembered I existed, she was the only one who made sure I had the most amazing birthday present waiting for me at home. When I spent two weeks crying solid because my ex boyfriend dumped me, she knitted the softest, most precious scarf so that I could have wrapped myself in it and feel her hug. When I screamed at the world how ugly I felt, she painted the most beautiful portrait of me to remind me that whoever I see in the mirror is not what she sees. Honestly, I am the luckiest person in the world to be able to receive the honour of her friendship, and I always feel like I don’t do enough to celebrate her and to tell her what a gem she is.

Hey, it is not all tears and sadness though: when we are together and the mood is right, we barely breathe so much we are laughing. We are like two peas in a pod. We could spend endless days in pyjama on the sofa without even getting up to go to the toilet. I remember the first time she came to stay for a week at my place: before she arrived, we planned billions of activities. Oh we were supposed to do everything and anything, partying hard, drinking even harder, crazy life. Well, we barely left the house, and when we did it was because we had no other choice (like when we ran out of toilet rolls…).

We can talk very deep and serious things, and three sentences later go bonkers and tell each other the most hilarious jokes ever heard. We curse like sailors, we drink prosecco like it is sparkling water and we could potentially live on a diet based on Aperol Spritz and lasagna.

There is nothing I wouldn’t do for her.

My love for Sara is immense, and I’m grateful, honoured and blessed to have her in my life.

I love her so much, and to preserve our beautiful friendship, I recently felt the need to “push her away”, because I was becoming a horrible person and she didn’t deserve such an awful person like me on her side. I was in a very dark place, my head was full of disturbing thoughts. I was scared, I was badly scared I was slowly going back to my dark hell. She was living a truly magic moment and I was just not in the right mind: I got dumped by what I thought it was the love of my life (more like the leech of my life, but it took a while to see it), I was humiliated, used and abused; he managed to crush every single bit of me and I felt lost, helpless, useless, stupid…. at the same time, she was beginning a new relationship, and living exactly the opposite. I just wanted to die, because even though rationally I was absolutely thrilled for her (and I still am!), at that point in time, everything she was experiencing was exactly everything that it got ripped off from me. I had to take a break, I had to be alone this time, truly alone, to face my demons by myself, because letting her enjoy her moment was paramount and she didn’t need a negative, depressed and damaged person on her side. Also, I knew I could have hurt her down the line (not voluntarily, of course) because I was simply not remotely capable of thinking straight, and believe me, I would have rather killed myself than do anything to make her sad. Coming back to her when the dust settled and the dark, negative fog left my mind felt truly special. To quote Harry Potter (that she really loves), it was like when Ron came back to Harry and Hermione after he left, due to having his mind clouded by holding the horcrux for such a long time: he not only came back to save the lives of his friends, but also managed to destroy the horcrux with the sword of Godric Gryffindor. Ok, I didn’t save her life, but fuck yeah I destroyed my fucking horcrux for good (and boy, it felt so good being able to put “the end” once and for all to that chapter of my life).

So yes, my beautiful, gorgeous, incredible friend: I absolutely love you with every single atom of me. I damn the distance that keeps us so far from each other, but as the saying goes “true friends are never apart, maybe in distance but never in heart”. Never forget my special gift (the mighty lemon) is waiting for you, and it will be my absolute pleasure seeing it on you. You deserve everything and some more, and I will always be your friend forever.

Ooh you’re the best friend that I ever had
I’ve been with you such a long time
You’re my sunshine and I want you to know
That my feelings are true
I really love you
Oh you’re my best friend”

RECOVERY 101

Beware, this is going to be a potentially “what did you just say?” entry, so if you think you may end up being upset (which is not my intention anyway, for record), stop right now. I’ll try to measure words and expression as best as I can, but I know I’m about to state some very “potentially upsetting” things so you have been warned. If you keep reading, “do at your own peril”.

This is a rather distressing thought that has been going on my mind lately; by seeing how my blog is going, after having a look around WordPress, I feel the need to let this thought out of my head and into “the wild”, even though I know it has the potential to feed an unwanted shitstorm: is it me, or is there such a thing as a “depression fandom”?

Let me explain before one of you calls 999 and get me locked up either in jail or in a mental unit.

I’ve noticed that, out there, there are a plethora of sad, upsetting, and negative entries (not in the sense of “bad”, but more like “a story or a personal entry not conveying a positive message”); the vast majority of them receives an incredible amount of views, likes and comments. The ones where the message is more uplifting, positive (as in “I was suffering from this but with the help of that I’m now in a better place”) are kind of not that popular.

Maybe it is just my impression and it is all in my head (wouldn’t be the first time either).

Maybe it’s just me noticing more “negativity” because I’m in this new mode; after so much therapy and positive work, I see my mental illnesses getting further and further away from me whilst I ride in the sunset, and I would like to see (and bring) more messages of hopes to encourage and help people be on a more positive journey with me than to “drag them down” with my sorrow stories.
Hey, don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying that these stories shouldn’t be written, read, shared, liked, published, you name it: I firmly, strongly and undoubtedly believe that these stories have an incredible importance, both for those who write them (writing is a wonderful therapy, I for once use it to clear my mind) and for those who stumble upon them, read them and feel less alone in a world that rarely proves to be kind to them. So yes, if it is not clear enough, I want those stories out, if you have them in your heart please let them out. Don’t be ashamed of them: you may not know, but your stories maybe will inspire others! Someone, somewhere, right now, is looking for them.

What I’m scared of it that these stories will stop being an helpful anchor for someone desperate to know he/she is not alone with his/her mental issues, but an ugly chain of negativity and sadness, as in “the more I write about negative things, the more likes I’ll get, the more I’ll dig deep in my negativity to get more likes” which will basically end up upsetting the writer (because believe me, even if I try to make my issues sounds funny, it is not a pleasant experience to re-live them and put them black and white) and attract the wrong kind of audience: not the one who can relate, but mostly those who enjoy “laughing at someone’s misfortunes”, and those who could relate would end up thinking “oh my, there is not a single thing out there that makes me want to try and get better”.

ab6621389e98c6d924fa44bd9f58599fI know, I’m panicking over nothing probably. I just… I just would love to let people suffering know that there is hope. There is. I recently lost a very close relative (my mum’s sister) to mental illness, because she thought she had no hopes. Fucking hell, I thought I had no hopes, when I planned my own way to check out of this world. I was luckier: I didn’t completely lose the plot, a glimpse of me still begged me to fight, I grabbed that incredibly minuscule flame with all my strengths, and here I am three years later, sitting on my sofa, enjoying all the beauty that life can bring. I could have never, ever dreamed to be in these shoes just six months ago. Maybe next month I’ll be back at crying my eyes out every night, who knows.

Whatever the future will hold for me, I don’t care. I now feel the urge to shout the following to the world: don’t surrender, please. You may think you are useless, that your life of pain is not worth living and you know what? I thought exactly the same. I know how it feels to stare right into the void, with a heavy heart, your mind spinning and nothing, no one, zero reasons to live through another hour, let alone a day. You know what I also know? That you are worth more than what you think you are. That you pain, yes, that ugly, fucking monster in your head, doesn’t define who you are: it is part of you, but only a part. You are you: there is no ne like you, never was, never will be. Isn’t that something special in itself? I think it is, and mind you, I thought I was better off six feet under not long ago. Forget what people decided to label you with: weirdo, ugly, stupid, boring, annoying, mental…. Fuck them. They are them, you are you. You are what you decide you are. If you don’t want your mental health to define you, you have the inner power to make sure it won’t. Own your weirdness and fuck who doesn’t get it, because guess what? there is nothing to get about it! This is your offical permission to disobey: your mental illness, other people, yourself. Do you, and you only, because there is only you and you are enough.

Listen, I’m not “miss positive guru 2018” and I don’t give as single shit about becoming it either. If you really want to know, I’m single with not really much hopes to find someone (hey, single mum here, it’s not like I’m out and about living the life and meeting people), I am not wealthy, I have no friends close by outside my colleagues, so don’t think I’m one of those rich and famous sanctimonious coaches who blurbs about positivity and shit whilst doing “Ka-Ching!” on the side. I am an average Jo (ok maybe a Joanne!), I consider myself I survivor, and I still sail in this sea of shit, even though right now I seem to have reached a lovely, pacific, quiet little island of my own.

My heart breaks when I hear that someone decided this world was too heavy for his/her shoulders; when I hear, or read, people suffering saying they are alone, that no one gets them, that few friends stuck with them, that are getting bullied, isolated, dumped, you name it… I know how horrible it feels. I know. I have been at the receiving end of all these things, sometimes more than one at once. I just can’t stay here and watch it happening without trying to do something about it, without at least sending a positive message out there, a little light of a candle in the darkest of the nights.

I decided that if I am here, if I survived my journey, it can’t be just because “I got lucky”. There is a meaning to this, probably bigger that what I can see at the moment, but in the meantime, I decided that I will do my best to:
1 – share more positive things / messages;
2 – be more grateful;
3 – spread the love;
4 – reach out to everyone I can and say “I’m here if you need a shoulder to cry on”;
5 – to give hope, to inspire the will to find that fucking hope.

tumblr_m79hzkXhaK1ra41m8o1_500There is so much shit in this world already and I refuse to be part of it or contribute to make more of it. Please, please, I’m begging you, join me in this quest, let’s reach out to fellow sufferers, let’s stick with each other for good or worse, let’s appreciate us more. If you are a friend, an ex-sufferer, a relative, whatever, please be kind, support us, cheer for us. You may think that your words are just nothing, but for one of us may mean a reason to fight another day.

 

IT’S BRITNEY B#TCH!

Before anyone says anything: yes, I am a metalhead and proud.
Yes, I grew up with Kreator, Megadeth, Slayer, Testament and the whole lot of thrash metal; I got more band merchandise than what a “normal” person is supposed to own; I probably spent way too much money on heavy metal gig tickets than what I should have done and yes, I even got Slayer tattooed on my left leg.

But.

I have an insane love for Britney Spears.
I love her, I worship her, she is the mighty Britney bitch and I’m a devoted, proud fan. Whoever says anything bad about her in front of me ends up at the receiving end of a massive rant so don’t you ever dare do it, ok?
LEAVE BRITNEY ALONE, OK?

siso2Lot of people teased me for being a Britney fan in the past, and some still tried to teas me nowadays. As you can imagine, I care about it just as much as I care about what Kim Kardashian ate for lunch today: a big, fat zero.
People think it is absolutely odd for a metalhead, who is all Slayer and horns up, to listen to such a cheesy popstar. The fact that I (predominantly) listen to Heavy Metal doesn’t mean that I cannot appreciate anything else, I mean, I grew up being Madonna fan, and maybe one day I’ll tell the funny tale of that time I went to see her gig alone lying to my mum, but for some reason people are not that bothered about me being Madge’s fan as about me adoring Britney.
I have never bothered to explain the reasons why I am such a fan to these people, mainly because:
a) I knew the people having fun at me were not really interested in hearing them anyway, they just wanted more stuff to laugh at my expenses (like I give a single fuck about it), and
b) because, fundamentally, I couldn’t have been remotely arsed to waste my time and energy to do it, and since it involves my mental health too, the less thing I shared the better.

I did a post on Facebook once about it, but I have been stupid enough to cancel it because it was very personal, and I didn’t want my ex to see it (yeah, call me Queen Dumb, I deserve it). I’ll try to re-explain it here, and I promise this time I won’t remove it.

I hated Britney Spears.

43159It took me a split second to hate her, as soon as I caught a glimpse of her on tv. She was a fabricated cute little girl vomited out of that Disney club where everyone seemed to be pushed out to make money: Justin Timberlake, Christina Aguilera… you name it.
When she came out with “Baby one more time” I was already a metal head, and she was the personification of everything I hated in a girl: pretty blonde hair, pretty body, dumb acting like a teenager, silly girlie face and behaviour, that horrid baby voice, the hideous clothes, the even more hideous dance moves…
Shivers down my spine.
She was indeed beautiful, a classic case of “all the girls want to be like her and all the boys want to be with her”. Everywhere you went, every time you turned MTv on, she was there, with her stupid bimbo songs about stupid bimbo stuff. Jeez she made me want to pull my hair and rip my ears! She became big like very few pop stars did, she sang with Michael Jackson (think whatever you want about him, but he was the King of Pop ok?), she did a song with Madonna (!!!) and who can’t forget her performance at the MTv VMAs 2001, with a massive snake on her shoulder? Or the one with Madonna and Christina Aguilera? I watched all of them in a sort of shock horror (for the record, “I’m a Slave for You” it is not one of my favourite songs still today).
I kept disliking her for years, who cares about that American, ex-Disney stupid girl anyway right? She is nothing like the Real Queen of Pop Madonna, I don’t care.

However, the picture-perfect image of this lovely cute girl suddenly started to break. She became like a wild beast in a cage, trying to get out of a very gold prison she wasn’t happy to be locked in anymore… and one day she just lost her shit. Royally. Like a supernova explosion, she literally exploded in a massive, full blown mentally insane fit: she shaved her beautiful, gold blonde hair, she beat the shit out of a paparazzi car with an umbrella, she was completely, completely insane. Her eyes when she shaved her head where those of someone who’s not right in their head and that cannot be stopped unless sedated. Everyone who was there with her was either trying to get a picture of her or trying to upset her even more to make her go even crazier. I felt sick in the stomach.

I remember watching the footages (the “perks” of being a celebrity is that all your ups and downs get ruthlessly broadcasted on and on and on….) and I just felt… sorry.
I was so sorry for her.
I wanted to hug her, to hug her like I would have hug my best friend in a similar fit of rage, and just cry with her.

For once, I felt even luckier than her: very few people witnessed me losing my shit, having panic attacks, and ending up in a very horrible meltdown, or not making it on time to get to the toilet during one of my anxiety attacks and… well…  etc. etc. Everything people know about my problems is what I decide to share. It is up to me what I want to make people aware of, I have full control of it. When I cut my long hair very, very short, not too far from Britney’s shaved head, because I hated myself and I wanted to rip off the only thing I liked about me, I didn’t have an army of people outside, taking billions of pictures of me and laughing at my expenses. It was just me and a stupid hair stylist, who should have spent a bit more time talking with me and maybe, just maybe, convince me to gradually shorten my hair, rather than chopping all my locks in one go then grabbing the razor like he had been waiting for that moment all his life. It took me 6 years to set foot in another hair saloon, such traumatic was that experience. Still, no one waited for me outside to laugh at me and my almost bald head. Thankfully. I would have killed myself there and then, and I mean what I’m saying (I was that fragile).

Britney? Not so much. Every single detail fed tabloid for months, and years. Her pictures, the measures that her family had to take in order to keep her alive and (medically) cared for, the custody of her kids gone to that work-shy sleazebag of her ex-husband, everything. It still haunts her today, 11 years later. Everything she does, good or bad, she will always be “the one who went mental” in 2007. All. The. Time. Give it a bloody rest, we got it!!!

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My metal collection and Britney (with her show’s ticket!)

That day, Britney may have lost her marbles, but she gained a fan: me.
I started rooting for her. Every progress she made, I was there cheering for her. When “Blackout” came out, I bought it immediately, and much to my surprise, I loved it to bits. It is still amongst my all-time favourite albums ever, together with Slayer’s “Reign in Blood”, Kreator’s “Endorama” and Megadeth’s “Rest in Peace”. If you wonder, my favourite song from “Blackout” is “Break the Ice”. No discussion about it mates.
When she performed “Gimme More” at the VMAs in 2007, not in her best mental and physical shape, I cried all my tears in front of the tv: everybody bitched and trashed her, saying she was a fat cow unable to move and sing. Yes, she wasn’t exactly in the same shape of when she was dancing with that bloody yellow snake years before, ok. However, what I saw was more than what the tv transmitted: I saw a strong woman, performing in the face of all the shit that happened to her, still trying to do her bit in the best way she could. Yes, it was atrocious, but I dare you do the same when your mind is in a blur: best of times, when I’m in my worst states, I can barely tolerate to function, let alone get on a stage and putting up a show. When it was my turn to go to work even though I was suicidal and out of my right mind, that performance kept playing in my head: “if Britney did it in front of a huge crowd, live on tv where millions of people were watching, so can I” I kept repeating myself. Every single minute of every single day.
Still today, every time I have to face something difficult, I channel that thought in my head and off I go.

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That’s my Britney!

I am so happy that not only she recovered, but that she is still a successful performer, has her life back on track, a smoking hot body, her kids back with her and so many good things. Think what you want, I don’t care, she deserves everything she gets.

Why all this blurb about Britney?

Well, on Friday I went to see her live in London, for the very first time in my life.

Yes, I was still recovering from food poisoning, but I was there.

I wore my hair extensions, some very pink and funky makeup (I had to get ready at the office, in the only Friday where everyone was in, so I had the pleasure of doing a walk of shame out of it) and yeah, as you can imagine, I was so agitated and emotional that I felt almost sick.

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Me on the train back home. DEVASTATED.

The gig was…. Well, the only thing I can say is that I cried all my tears. All my emotions, all my suffering, all my mental problems… I felt like it was the beginning of a new era for me. I sang all songs, I danced like crazy, I laughed and had fun with everyone around me, it was just magical. Magical.
I don’t care if she lip-synced all her performance, or if her moves where not super complicated: the whole show was just exceptional, and I had the night of my life.
Before anyone asks: no, I didn’t take any picture of video of the show. I kept my phone in my pocket and just lived the moment as it was unfolding (and I was too busy trying not to lose my fake eyelashes because I was in a flood of tears).
The next day I felt like I suddenly became a 98 years old woman, since part of my body ached (including my hair: fucking hell, hair extensions are heavy!!!). I regretted not having bought tickets to see her even Saturday and Sunday, but hey, I’m sure it won’t be her last tour and who knows what the future holds for both of us?

OVERPROTECTED (BY MYSELF)

Apologies if it took me a while to post this. I have been very busy at first, then very unwell in the last few days: I think I caught some sort of stupid stomach bug, who knows, and I just couldn’t type anything at all. Or thinking anything at all!

Aahhh I hate being sick!!!

As we speak, I’m currently in a defensive, ultra-protective mode. I feel like if I could, I would hug myself constantly and tell me “I love you, don’t worry, I’m here for you, should anyone come closer they’ll get hell, keep focusing on what you are doing”.
For the record, there is nothing threatening me or potentially hurting me, whether physical or mental, I know it rationally, but I can’t help and have this feeling of “you better keep an eye around you”.

I think these feelings are the result of me finally coming out of the very dark place I slipped in when my relationship ended. No, better: from the very dark place that I allowed my ex to put me through, and from the realisation of what I actually had instead of what I decided I wanted to see in our relationship, which was… well… the very opposite of what a loving, caring, uplifting and affectionate relationship is. Hard to admit when you spend two years in a massive illusion.

I feel like I’ve woke up from a very horrible nightmare, and I’m reassessing everything my relationship has been (and, most importantly, what it has NOT been): the pain and tortures I’ve been put through, whether by him or myself trying to win his love, or trying to feel worthy of the crumbles of love he threw at me when convenient; what his behaviour really was; the lies; the abuse; my stubbornness at believing in love when love never was there, not even for a single moment, and how stupid I have been to hate myself so much for allowing such a twat to hurt me and traumatise me for his fun.
Yes, to his very own admission, he used me only for his needs, and to do that, he faked any feeling he said he had for me. Most of the tortures he put me through, were for his own amusement, such as flirting with other (hotter) women right under my nose and showing it to me. He hid his own insecurities by deepening mines. But, this idiot that I was wanted to see in this disrespectful behaviour like a kind of proof that he loved me because he was “testing me” to see how strong my commitment was. To see if I were really worthy of his amazingness.
Bloody hell, can you believe how incredibly dumb I have been? If I could be swallowed by the ground where I stand as we speak for the embarrassment I caused myself, that would be great.

It took me an awful lot of time and therapy to now realise that he was just mean for the sake of being mean. A proper twat of epic proportions, evil to the core, negative to bits, a total leech, and the only thing that got proven there was what a massive imbecile I have been.
Lesson learned: if you have low self-esteem and hate yourself, if you are desperate to fill a void inside you with any turd who crosses your way, if you hope to solve your issues by relying on someone else to do the hard job for you, these are the kind of people you will attract: the ones that will leech on you till there is nothing left, who’ll treat you like a commodity till they need you (for whatever: sex, money, company….) then dump you like garbage when you do not serve their purposes.

Thank you brain for finally waking up and telling him where to go (hopefully, to hell, one-way ticket).

What my issue is now though, is that I am in this weird mode where I see enemies of my wellbeing everywhere. I know I’m exaggerating big time here, and I apologise in advance to any PTDS sufferers out there reading this, but I feel like I’m in a post-traumatic situation.
Let me explain.
I was chatting to this lovely guy the other day. It was all nice and fun, till I got a joke that sounded in my mind like a “flirtatious” attempt. Listen, it was so innocent, that you must have had some mental issue to see anything remotely upsetting.
Still, like a horrible flashback, I pictured myself in my old shoes not long ago: checking his Instagram to see which other women I was competing against, or which other women he was cheating on me with (whether just by sexting or by actually having sex with); I saw myself in bed with him, whilst he had fun at humiliating me by showing me pictures of hot women to dig at my insecurities and self-esteem, the kind of hot women I could have never be like, and receiving a very detailed list of all the plastic surgery procedures I should have done to in order for him to think I’m good looking (botox on my forehead, a nosejob, a boobjob, a facelift, you name it); I saw myself spending nights crying, being hurt for fun; I saw myself being disrespected; I saw myself treated like rubbish even though I went above and beyond the call of duty to make him happy (being extra generous, extra loving, extra understanding, extra everything).

I had a panic attack.

No joking.

I suddenly felt out of air, heart racing, my head spinning, the dreadful feeling of being about to explode and die.

I dropped my phone like it suddenly became hot as lava.

I still cannot shake those feeling from my head even though few days have passed since that episode.

I tried to rationalise these feelings: after all, my “psychological freedom” is way too recent to pretend I’m ok, so much that it is normal, right now, to have a phase of “refusal” and “I can’t do this ever again”. Time will heal, the right person will come round, I will be a different person by then and all these things will be talked and put behind my back easily. I can’t expect to be out from a kind of abusing relationship like nothing ever happened to me. I would be in extreme denial if I didn’t assess what happened and pretend that not a single instant of it affected me. Don’t get me wrong, I’m using this trauma as a positive input to learn a (very harsh) lesson, to work on myself and on my strengths, to make sure I have clear in my mind what I don’t want and what I don’t want to experience ever again, but still, a little panicky voice in my brain is whispering “and what if you’ll never heal?”. Worse, part of me, when I’m tired and my brain is overloaded, tends to think “yeah… maybe I won’t heal”.

I don’t like to be so defensive.

gymI don’t plan to be in a relationship anytime soon, for god’s sake no, but I would like to get to know people before pushing them away like they have some sort of incurable plague that will take me to an early grave. Funny to think about it, I used to be so eager to not be alone that I would have put myself out there asap in the hope to find someone, and now I’m sitting here thinking “I can’t bear the thought of another man in my life”. It’s like… like this potential new man would be detrimental for the journey I’m in, unless he’d be a very amazing one. Can I be bothered to find this amazing one, at the moment? Absolutely not!

So for now, I’ll just stick with me. You know what? I’m actually loving it. I’m loving me. I’m a jolly good fun. I’m discovering this new amazing person and I’m too busy falling in love with me to look around and fall in love with someone else. Let’s see how things will pan out, shall we?

LIVING FOR LOVE (LIKE MADONNA’S SONG)

I spent a lifetime being a negative person.
Not necessarily towards other people, no: I’ve always been above and beyond kind, nice, helpful, sweet, you name it; I always thought that this was the only way to have people around me: me being negative about myself, and about life in general, meant that I have never believed I could have been appreciated for who I was, but only for me being useful, helpful etc.
Yes, I saw myself only as a rescuer, as a nurse, as the shoulder to cry on, as the one who works her ass off for everyone, getting nothing in return, because I thought I was too ugly, too stupid, too silly, too unworthy.

What the hell.

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this was me – all the time

Funny thing is, when someone dared to tell me “you are such a negative person” I got royally pissed off: how dare you! I’m not negative! I’m nice! I make everyone happy! Worse: when someone dared to try and help me and talk me out of my negative narrative…. The gates of hell opened up, and I’d have been yelling, absolutely furious! No way I need fixing, this is who I am and “there is nothing I can do about me”. Load of bullshit, I know it know.
In hindsight, of course I was negative. I didn’t act the way I did, or do these rescuing things out of love, out of positive feelings: I did them out of worry, so that people wouldn’t leave me alone, in the hope to hold on to people by trading their love with taking care of their shit for them, to try and bribe them into thinking “I can’t live my life without her”.
I never saw myself, or appreciated myself, for the amazing person I am. It was easier to portray myself as the poor victim, the martyr, the unlucky ugly duck whose life has been so cruel with her. Yes, it makes you always in a defensive, lower level, but you are passive at whatever happens, and because of that, you have plenty of negative food to feed your misery. It takes bloody hard work to crawl out of your shithole and stand up for yourself.

Now, after months of hard work on myself, it makes my skin crawl writing these things I wrote above about myself: why on earth have I been so shit with me? Why I didn’t love myself? Why I hated myself so much? It didn’t come easy being where I am now though. It required a massive mental shift. It required suffering the ultimate insult before I could think “THIS IS IT!”.

I decided to choose ME the day I got dumped and my ex vomited all his hate and nastiness on me.

That was the last straw.

“After all I did for you?” I though. “After two years of thinking only about you? All I get is this??”

From now on, I will only think about ME.

Enough with others, enough with giving my all to everyone else but me.
That day, my world became all about ME. ME ME ME ME ME.

ME ME ME ME.

And me, if you were wondering.

I cut the negative narrative straight away: that had to stop.
I was tired of it. Tired of feeling sad, frustrated, unworthy, shit.
I decided that day that I would have worked my ass off to become what I have never managed to be, but that I always dreamed of being: a positive person, with a big, positive and full of love heart, who is (positively) selfish and who is there for the people who really love her, not for those who only want to take advantage of her.

You know what I discovered so far in my journey?

I have never been more loved, appreciated, and cherished than since I decided to change for the better.

Since I decided to cut the crap and work hard to learn to love and appreciate myself more, three things happened:

  1. I became more aware of all the love that surrounds me, but that I never noticed because I was too busy focusing on the bad things;
  2. All the people who truly loved me and cared for me went above and beyond the call of duty to make me feel loved;
  3. Those who only took advantage of me, either disappeared or I made them disappear. Heck, I even had the guts to tell my ex to fuck off for good, something I would have never dared to think about just a month ago when I was desperate to have him back! I spent a day shaking and thinking “how did I finally manage to find the balls to do it!!!”, but I never doubted, not for a single moment, that it was the wrong thing to do. Hell yeah it was the right thing. I deserve so much better than this.

I spread love and I get love back ten times fold.

I was walking to the train station this morning and all I could think of was “I feel so loved”. I never had that feeling before. It is just wonderful.

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getting ready for my shoot

I had a photoshoot the other day, something I dreamed about doing (and I can’t wait to see the end result!!!!!). I wanted to see the new me, the beautiful person I am working towards becoming, in a mirror, staring back at me.
The ladies at Dollhouse Photography treated me like royalty. They have been the sweetest, most caring people ever. I told them the reasons I wanted to do that shoot: it was a special present from myself to myself, to channel my inner Queen and show myself what a stunning woman (inside and outside) I am. Boy, they took my words to the next level and made me into a real QUEEN, crown, throne and jewels included. They took all the beauty I had hidden inside me and made it boldly show in the outside, so much that when I looked at the mirror, I thought I was a Million Dollar Las Vegas Babe.
I left the studio in my Slayer t-shirt and baggy clothes, but I held onto those feelings: I did not play a part, I am a fucking Queen. I am a million-dollar babe. I am that woman I saw in the mirror. I am that and even more. I booked another photoshoot straight away, I want it even racier than what I did and the ladies at the studio have been nothing but awesome!

I went to the gym, and instead of being my usual moaning and complaining self, I put extra effort on my exercises: I actively increased my weights, I focused on every single muscle I was exercising, I listen to everything my PT said religiously, and I didn’t back down. Guess what? It was the best session I ever did so far. Today I can barely breathe, but I see my goal getting closer and closer.

It is funny to think how much effort I put into negative stuff, and being a rescuer to everyone, only to get back grief, pain, hurt, and how little it takes to be positive and love… and end up at the receiving end of a proper love shower!

The day after I saw my ex the last time, we left in kind of nasty terms: even though we had a decent time together, he joked saying “why don’t you go away? I can’t wait to get rid of you”. It stung at first, but then I though “what a turd…”. I stopped the negative feeling right away: his loss, not mine. As soon as that happened, like a sign from the universe, my colleague texted me a picture of himself with my boss and a close friend of mine saying, “where are youuuu come here, we are in your favourite pizzeria, quick, I’m ordering an Aperol Spritz for you”. A year ago, I would have said stuff like “naaaa, I’m not feeling it, I’m a bit down….”, hoping to fish some commiseration and “poor you” messages (I know because that is exactly what I did in Boston with my colleagues, and I missed out on an epic night out because no one said poor you, they said “bring your ass here instead of being miserable alone”. I chose misery. What an imbecile). This time I thought about it, then I texted back saying “get that Spritz on the table, will be there in 10 minutes”.
I had a blast.
My boss kept buying me drinks, and last thing I knew I was not in the pizzeria anymore, I was in my office swinging a cricket bat shouting and being all competitive with my colleagues: “Krishna, throw me a nasty one!!!”. How come I didn’t break anything I don’t know. Some guardian angel must have protected me that day.
We ended up having a night out at pub nearby to watch England vs India cricket match, drinking some more and just laughing. I came back home hammered, but… it was just amazing.

Again, like if I needed another proof, when you love and send love out, love comes back to you. When you send negative feelings… that is all you’ll get back.

I like this new mental place I am in.

For once, I’m just sitting at the back and enjoy what happens around me, rather than frantically chase the wrong kind of love. I don’t need love, I don’t need to beg for it. I have it. Granted, it is not a “relationship” kind of love, but who cares? I’m not really up for it anyway right now.
If you are there thinking “you are so lucky, nobody loves me” or stuff like that (like I used to think), stop that thought right now. Give yourself the chance to be positive for a day, or even half a day: you’ll be surprised at the things that will happen to you. And if nothing happens? Make it happen! Book yourself a pampering hour / day! Sit in a park and read a book! Blast music out loud and dance till your legs become jelly!
You only need yourself to be happy, and once you master that art, everything else will fall into place.