An outfit post.
This has been this weeks staple outfit. I usually have an item that I wear 2 or 3 times in a week, this time it was this dress.
I would wear it every darn day if I could.

Pinafore-Primark (super duper worryingly cheap)
Long sleeve floral top-Primark
Boots-although yo can't see them, they're from H&M

My room is apparently a mess, the toilet roll and glasses were, I can assure you, not intentional props but just a bitta real life for y'all.
My hair was cut short again which I l-o-v-e because its different and isn't just a mass of dead ends lurking at my waist.
This week has been oh so much better than last. 
I am back into the swing of school and enjoying it.
The weekend was spent cycling, battling through a student infested town, getting more and more lost in my History coursework, drinking rum and pepsi (rank) at a party where tension meant we ran to the quayside, chatting drunk chat, sitting on the waters edge with our legs hanging over the edge. We ran, observed an argument, embarked on a long, late walk home in which I was coerced to sing Bohemian Rhapsody, watch the shark tale lava lamp scene and talk to every stranger we met. I also went on a beautiful early walk through alpine-y woods nd up a hill where we ate croissants.

This week of school has been a mass of hilariously adolescent stories from the weekend and kind teachers and hours in the library and nights in pubs and job interviews, lots of reading which is classed as 'homework' and an overload of unbearable laughter. 

Hope you are all well.

p.s the pics were taken on different days hence the different lighting and drained face. The mess was still in my room, I just strategically hid it.


It was when I stopped searching for home within others
and lifted the foundations of home within myself
I found there were no roots more intimate
than those between a mind and a body
that have decided to be whole.
-Rupi Kaur

Life has been tough these past few days.
I get into a habit of documenting the tough and this makes me fear that I rarely experience contentedness. I don't think this is true. Note to self, write some happy stuff once in a while.
I feel as though I am running an obstacle course of resilience, as though everything is trying to push me a little harder to see when I will break.
I broke today in the most public and vulnerable way but that isn't really the moral of this story.
There isn't really any moral.
Other than, asking people for help is good. They often do everything in their power to ease the strain.
And reliance on people is bad. They mess up.
And a damp school yard feels a dramatic place to expose your inner fears.
And history A-level is hard.
And pressure is hard.
And that feeling like you have nothing to look forward to is hard.
And being lonely is hard. Everyone creating a life for themselves outside of you, being left to think-and what now?
And social media creates false constructs of how life is supposed to be. Because in the words of Stephen Chbosky, I am both happy and sad and still figuring out how this can be. And I think this is life.
And some people are the kindest people you will meet. They engulf you in their arms to relieve your pain.
And social media really is bad.
And autumn light is so beautiful, the way it caresses the leaves with a soft, evanescent glow.
And insouciance is what I crave but will probably never find.

I hope people's lives are going okay.
I am figuring out what life is supposed to mean. Its scary.
I love talking about fears and problems in metaphorical ways so I would thoroughly enjoy an email or two if people felt they had something to share.
Some nice words or your fears or a poem you found or your favourite word.
yeh-I'm the kid that regrets their 7 year old email.
But still uses it.

Thank you for letting me whine and moan in the way I find easiest.

"She'd come again, with a greedy ear and devour up my discourse"-Othello

Oh Comely

Amongst all the crappy mundane loneliness that has filled my life, I have been finding a happy serenity in reading. Not just novels but magazines and blogposts and websites that discuss the creators thoughts and everyday activities and the mundane crappy loneliness that fills their lives that makes me feel so much more at ease.
A firm favourite in this category is Oh Comely. This is the third issue I have read and I think it is my favourite. The magazine itself is an amalgamation of everything minus that bullshit you find in trashy magazines that tells you to do this or be like that.
Its empowering and entertaining, full of stories and reading suggestions and thoughts and projects and DIY's and adventures all in the most aesthetic way.
This issue, issue 32, follows the theme of letters.
Some firm favourites include Letters of the heart (a collection of letters to the authors' ex lovers-it nearly made me cry), an amazing story about someone's great grandfathers great escape, dip recipes, a memoir of Sophie Scholl (The White Rose Anti-Nazi protestors) and someone who sends pick-me-up letters randomly across the world.

Letters of the heart

But there are also articles of the best benches in Britain, lost languages, the secret language of stamps and improving ones handwriting.
And even if you aren't that interested in the articles (idk how) the pictures and layout is to-die-for.

Unfortunately, I read all of this issue on the train last weekend so am twiddling my thumbs until the next comes out.
If you fancy a light, interesting, fulfilling read, give this ago.
I bought it from WHSmith for £5.

Currently: Loving: the sun and the blonde streaks in ma hurr//Thinking: Far too much//Needing: Some kind of social interaction, someone speak to me (@katielou_blog)//Wishing: that I was back on holiday.


(not my pic but very apt-source)

I have consecutively read two posts about the negativity of sugar coating life through social media, of not documenting the bad alongside the good and creating an ideal life that is so unattainable.
So here is the negative and the shit that is going on in my mind to get some reality back into this world.

I am a self diagnosed hypochondriac. I used to be horrendous, my life was taken over by 'illnesses', I've been better over the past few years but since Saturday (after I woke up with an ache in my neck having slept badly because I was drunk and gave my pillows to my friend (WHY)) I have had a pain in my chest.

Its a pain that in the right of my chest, stabbing sometimes. I also have an ache that runs down my shoulder blade. My chest feels tight and I am finding breathing constrictive and hard work.
But I don't know how many of these symptoms I have made up, how many I have psychosomatically generated in my head because I think I am ill when I'm not. I don't know if my difficulty breathing is because of my anxiety or because I'm telling myself I can't breathe or if I actually can't breathe.
And, as a common sign of hypochondria, I have seeked reassurance everywhere, mostly my mum.
I have texted her and pestered her asking if I am dying and she reassures me every time that no, I have no other symptoms, no fever, no cough. I have either got some kind of virus or have pulled a muscle.

But this isn't enough, my head is exploding with possibilities, mostly centring around cancer. So much so that on my 'Frequently visited' on safari, NHS Stomach Cancer symptoms features.
But I can't stop thinking. What if?
"Go to the doctors" you all scream. But I can't. Because going to the doctors could actually result in being told I have something wrong with me, could actually be the news that I have practiced receiving almost everyday for 6 years.
I can't go to the doctors because they will listen to my chest and will say "We need to send you for tests". And even if they don't, as they didn't the time I thought I had a brain tumour or pancoastal cancer or meningitis, they might have got something wrong. People tell you not to worry, that worrying is like walking round with an umbrella up waiting for it to rain (or something like that) but if I worry than I am expectant, if I worry I have predicted the worst.

I feel sick and I feel shaky and I feel exhausted and these are all symptoms of something serious but also symptoms of just bloody overthinking.

And I don't know what's real or made up any more and I can't focus or feel normal because this fear is eating me up inside.
I don't know what to do but it's making everyday such hard work.

So there's some real life stuff for y'all.
Its not a pity post its just my head.

If I do actually die, this will be a humorous kind of memoir.

I probably do need to go and see someone about this but the illness aint the point of this post ygm? Also, it was written in 10 minutes as the shit ran from my head to my fingers so probs not my finest work.