The trigger warning is pretty much in the title (this blog is a trigger warning, I'm sorry. I'm genuinely a positive person in real life! Promise!) ... but to clarify, I'm talking about abusive relationships and rape
Hmmm...This one has been a tough one to write... but here we go.
Intimate partner rape/sexual assault = rape/sexual assault that occurs between 2 people who currently have/have had a consensual sexual relationship.
As I've mentioned in many a previous post, coming to terms with my past abusive relationship has taken a really bloody long time. Although the relationship ended about a year ago, I still struggle to accept the realities of what occurred in the 9 months we were together. With his emotional abuse and my depleted mental and physical state, piecing together a cohesive narrative of the time we spent together is pretty difficult.
I have begun to accept the past and want to share my story with people out there in the hope I can help one other person confront their situation... (that, and H said if I ever left him, he would tell the GMC I was psychotic and make sure I never practised medicine... well fuck you, all my crazy is in the public domain now...)
In our short relationship, he raped me on way more than one occasion. I am unable to put an exact number on this because all dates and events are blurred by depression (memory loss/blurring is a well accepted side effect of depression and anxiety... the fun times keep rolling here)
The first occasion is still pretty vivid though. It was three months into our shit storm reletionship. I had been having a really rough day. We had arranged to meet at 7pm in the Quad and I hadn't eaten since breakfast that morning (with no intention of eating until the next morning). I had ran 6 miles in before class because I woke up feeling fat, and spent 5 hours in lecture with 3 extra in the library. I had brought flashcards with me because I knew he would be late (20 minutes aways, at least)
We went back to his, and his roommate was out. I started talking about my day and asking about his. I needed to vent about lectures and pissy labs (all the medical school bull shit he hated). He pushed me onto the bed and pressed against me, forcing me down on the bed. To stop me talking, he kissed my forcefully, then pulled away, telling me to be quiet. Taking the time to remind me that he though the medics were self important arseholes and medic chatter bored him.
I was having a particularly dark day (hence the lack of food and excessive running), and felt very fat and repulsive. My skin crawled with the sheer sensation of existing. I couldn't bear to be touched, even by my friends that day (at near peak self loathing by this stage). I really don't know why I agreed to met up with him to be honest, but he was my boyfriend, so I had to see him...
I tried to pull myself from under him, but he was too strong and with his full weight on top of me, I couldn't move. I then started to struggle to breathe and my chest grew tight. My limbs went cold and heavy and I completely froze. I was having a panic attack (which is a physiological and mental attack on the system...)
I lay still while fear and panic left me stiff and motionless. He pulled down my underwear and raped me while I remained fully clothed. I hadn't been aware of him removing his trousers.
When he was finished and rolled off of me, noticed I must have been crying because my face was wet. I felt so confused and hurt. Why would he continue if he could see how upset I was? I remained very still and quiet as I slipped further back into my thoughts and tried to put as much distance between myself and reality(not the best idea, because they were pretty fucking dark throughout this period...but probably still better than confronting the real life shit happening)
He reached out to pull me closer but I turned and curled away from him, trying to make myself as small as possible. I started to shake and sob at this point. This made him really angry. He reminded me that no one else would put up with my bullshit, or tolerate me like this. Did I know how lucky I was to have him? Did I know how hard it was to love me when I was so unstable? If I loved him, then why was this a problem?
I did love him, and I wanted to be better, fitter, slimmer, prettier for him. I hated myself for ruining everything with my talking, and weirdness and generally repulsiveness.
I got myself "sorted" silently and left. I couldn't find words to describe how I felt or what had happened and I couldn't bear for him/anyone to see me like that. I left his halls and wandered around Soho until it was late enough to ensure my roommate had gone to bed and I wouldn't have to speak to anyone.
The first time is still the most vivid. Probably because I felt it was my fault up till a couple of weeks ago. The same kind of thing happened throughout the remaining 4 months of our relationship... (sex was completely off the cards for the last 2, I couldn't maintain eye contact let alone be touched by anyone. I am so proud of how far I have come in the last year, it scares me how ill I was... but I digress)
It never occurred to me to call what happened rape. He was my boyfriend and he loved me, so how could he do that to me? Of course intimate partner rape is a real thing, but I didn't think it would happen to me.
Similar things have happened to friends, and it makes me sad and disgusted that this is the society we live in. One of my friends, who was brave enough to come out with her story, was told that her boyfriend would never rape her. It wasn't until she told people that he had forced himself on her with a tampon still in that people accepted that this might be a thing that is not ok....
I want to say things are getting easier now after a year, and to a point they are, but being intimate with someone is still a pretty big struggle. I have had sex since H and I broke up, but it tends to be when I am blind drunk and only one night stands. I am seeing someone at the moment, (a he!) and it has taken a while to even be mildly comfortable with being sober and intimate with someone... Trusting someone to not point out my flaws to me during/after sex, or leaving me because I am too much of a lost cause is not going to be easy, but hey, that's what therapy is for! Everyone deserves to be loved and cared for and I've popped a few links below for added support if any of this sounds too familiar to you.
Stay strong my lovelies x
http://www.pandys.org/articles/intimatepartnerrape.html
This one is really good at highlighing the complex difference and variation of cohersive sex in reletionships as well as using sex as a power move in abusive reletionships...
http://www.bandbacktogether.com/intimate-partner-rape-resources/
Wednesday, 13 July 2016
Tuesday, 14 June 2016
Menstruation Celebrations
What a lovely click-baity title... If you're squeamish, or in denial that periods are a thing that happen to 50% of the population, then this might not be the blog for you....
I GOT MY PERIOD FOR THE SECOND TIME THIS YEAR! Now, that is not news if you are a normal, healthy 20 year old women... like, you should be on number 6, but hear me out...
I've been dealing with anorexia nervosa (just getting to terms with calling it by it's name, and admitting that was what I had...) since I was 13. I had my first period when I was 12/13 and it as the awkward trauma that most girls have to deal with... "why is my uterus falling out?!" ect..
I was not coping well with puberty, or high school/life in general, and started to restrict my foods. I lost 30% of my body weight in 4 months and failed to establish a normal cycle (as in, I didn't have another period after that first one). I can now see that my eating disorder behaviour is linked with my anxiety disorder, but at the time, it was about being in control. At 13, losing my period wasn't a major problem, and according to the pro ana websites I frequented, that meant I was doing something right...
What I was actually doing, was giving myself secondary amenorrhea. Amenorrhea is the lack of a normal menstrual cycle, and secondary refers to the loss of menstruation after the first menstrual cycle.
Amenorrhea can be caused by;
This is a weird stage in my recovery at the moment... my weight is normalised, I've gotten my boobs back, and I am a (potentially) fertile woman... I couldn't see myself getting better last year, but now there is so much hope and stuff to look forward to... (that is as soppy as I will get, but I'm glad I got another shot at this living lark)
If by some strange miracle, you get to the end of this super long post, and have been dealing with some similar things, I'll leave some links to resources I have found useful;
I GOT MY PERIOD FOR THE SECOND TIME THIS YEAR! Now, that is not news if you are a normal, healthy 20 year old women... like, you should be on number 6, but hear me out...
I've been dealing with anorexia nervosa (just getting to terms with calling it by it's name, and admitting that was what I had...) since I was 13. I had my first period when I was 12/13 and it as the awkward trauma that most girls have to deal with... "why is my uterus falling out?!" ect..
I was not coping well with puberty, or high school/life in general, and started to restrict my foods. I lost 30% of my body weight in 4 months and failed to establish a normal cycle (as in, I didn't have another period after that first one). I can now see that my eating disorder behaviour is linked with my anxiety disorder, but at the time, it was about being in control. At 13, losing my period wasn't a major problem, and according to the pro ana websites I frequented, that meant I was doing something right...
What I was actually doing, was giving myself secondary amenorrhea. Amenorrhea is the lack of a normal menstrual cycle, and secondary refers to the loss of menstruation after the first menstrual cycle.
Amenorrhea can be caused by;
- low body weight
- excessive exercise
- high levels of stress
Amenorrhea doesn't just make it more difficult to get pregnant, it can also cause pre-menopausal symptoms (night sweats, dizziness, all that fun stuff your Nan complains about) and eventually leads to osteopenia (loss of bone mass) due to chronically low oestrogen levels.
After my first encounter with anorexia, I recovered to a point, but still restricted food and had a very intense work out regime of judo and running. I was eating enough to maintain a normal body weight, so concerns about my health had subsided and I was generally left to my own devices for a couple of years. Even though my BMI was normal (if a bit low), I didn't recover my periods, which still didn't really bother me because I was 14-16 years old and had no intention of having kids anytime soon. I knew all my junk worked normally because I would get withdrawal bleeds when on the pill (not the same as a normal menstrual cycle... just the body reacting to the external hormones you are putting in).
My first relapse came when I was 17 and in the run up to AS and A-Level exams. I was also dating fuck boys and was just generally a stressed mess. So no surprise when my periods still hadn't made an appearance. I was just about surviving, and was in no fit state to nourish another human inside me. At this point I was getting mildly concerned...did this mean I was infertile and could never have my own kids?! I knew I wanted to be a mum at some point, and would be really pissed if I had fucked that up for myself because of my eating disorder.
That relapse was relatively mild, and I was generally ok-ish when it came to starting university at 18. Still no periods, but I was very stressed because university, and moving away from home. I started dating a guy, who suggested I lost a bit of weight.... (I loved me some fuck boys back in the day...). This, and the stress of uni and first year medicine, triggered a full blown relapse that brought me to my lowest weight/level of functioning. My heart rate was 50 and my blood pressure was almost undetectable, my nails were brittle, hair thin and skin looked sallow and ill. No chance of sustaining a pregnancy, so no periods.
By August 2015, I had decided enough is enough and made the decision to get better. That meant eating 2000+ calories a day, exercising less, and just fucking looking after myself. There has been some wobbles, but in general, I would consider myself to be on the way to a full recovery. My weight has been stable for 5 months now and I've been at a healthy BMI for 9 months.
Once my BMI normalised, I though my periods would just return, but alas, the body is too clever for that... It took almost a year after getting my shit together for some spotting to occur last month, and last week saw the first "proper period" I've had in 7 years. I hope this is the start of a normal-ish menstrual cycle and that I can have my own kids at some point in the future... far off future though, I got another 4 years of medical school yet..
This is a weird stage in my recovery at the moment... my weight is normalised, I've gotten my boobs back, and I am a (potentially) fertile woman... I couldn't see myself getting better last year, but now there is so much hope and stuff to look forward to... (that is as soppy as I will get, but I'm glad I got another shot at this living lark)
If by some strange miracle, you get to the end of this super long post, and have been dealing with some similar things, I'll leave some links to resources I have found useful;
- Here are the DSM definitions of different eating disorders http://www.eatingdisorders.org.au/eating-disorders/what-is-an-eating-disorder/classifying-eating-disorders/dsm-5
- This site is great at explaining the longer term effects of amenorrhea, and why its a good idea to get it sorted sooner rather then later http://www.eatingdisorderhope.com/information/anorexia/anorexia-and-amenorrhea-what-are-the-consequences
- I love this website, the stage of recovery really help to normalise the recovery process, especially when you feel very alone and scared about the shit that is happening to your body as you try to recover http://www.youreatopia.com/blog/2012/11/23/phases-of-recovery-from-a-restrictive-eating-disorder.html
Sunday, 5 June 2016
The Semicolon Project
A semicolon represents a sentence the author could have ended, but chose not to. That author is you and the sentence is your life.
Let's welcome tattoo number 8 to the family....This is a piece I have wanted for a long time, even before my suicide attempt last year. The semicolon project was started by Amy Bleuel to raise awareness of mental health problems such as depression, suicide, addiction, anxiety, and self harm. As someone who has struggled with anxiety, depression, eating disorders, and self harm myself and knows others who have too, it was important to be to validate these experiences and create a dialogue about these issues.
Having the semicolon on the body, in a visible place, helps to start conversations about mental health problems and hopefully debunk some of the stigma surrounding these issues. I have recently tried to step up my game in mental health advocacy and begun to own my past experiences with mental health problems. I hope through opening conversations about mental health and sharing my story and experience, that I can help others.
There is controversy over the "attention seeking" nature of these tattoos, but I think that is more reflective of the ignorance surrounding mental health issues in the wider public...
People are more than their diagnosis, and this is true for every chronic condition, however their experience of the world has been shaped in part by their condition and their story deserves to be validated as much as anyone elses. I'm still trying to better understand how to best support people through their mental health difficulties, but I hope having honest conversations can lift some of this stigma and BS.
Friday, 3 June 2016
New Directions
Argh... second year of medicine... what can I say about you? You've completely destroyed me and my social life and left me drained of any capacity to function as an adult.
Nah, it wasn't really that bad (but close). The workload this year gave me something to focus on, and not having time to party/go out, gave me the space I needed to sort myself out. That being said, if I haven't passed this year (results are out next week), I highly doubt I will resit the whole year...
Hopefully, next year, I will do a IBSc in The History and Philosophy of Science... sounds very impressive, I know.... It will however mean that my contact hours will go from 35-40 hours a week to about 7. I know that there will be a lot more reading and work to do outside of class, but I am looking forward to this freedom/free time/escape from the medical school lecture theatre.
I may be completely jumping the gun on this one, and I may have to resit/completely rethink my life trajectory/move to the Andes and become a goat farmer.... but I've started to think about my goals for the next 12 months.
I've been applying for jobs over the summer in London, with the hope of carrying on working next academic year.... I've started dating seriously, (not one person seriously, but dating with the intention of meeting someone serious as opposed to for funsies/out of boredom).
This year had also given me time to reflect on what has happened over the last couple of years and begin to accept/come to terms with the shit and good times. Looking forward, I want to start to move this blog on and write more. I've started keeping a regular journal and have been writing for the sake of writing again. I used to believe that I didn't have a creative bone in my body, but it seems writing may be my outlet....
I've been thinking about what I want this blog to be and what I want to share/write about. Mental health advocacy, body positivity, and feminism seem to be topics that play a big role in my life. (as well as food and animal rights, but it turns out, I'm not that passionate about food.... its just when you restrict it for so long, it becomes a much bigger part of your life that it actually is...)
I'll see where this goes, but it is what it is and hopefully I'll still be a queer medic on adventures.. (well I'm still bi/queer.... it's whether or not I'm a medic that bothers me)
Nah, it wasn't really that bad (but close). The workload this year gave me something to focus on, and not having time to party/go out, gave me the space I needed to sort myself out. That being said, if I haven't passed this year (results are out next week), I highly doubt I will resit the whole year...
Hopefully, next year, I will do a IBSc in The History and Philosophy of Science... sounds very impressive, I know.... It will however mean that my contact hours will go from 35-40 hours a week to about 7. I know that there will be a lot more reading and work to do outside of class, but I am looking forward to this freedom/free time/escape from the medical school lecture theatre.
I may be completely jumping the gun on this one, and I may have to resit/completely rethink my life trajectory/move to the Andes and become a goat farmer.... but I've started to think about my goals for the next 12 months.
I've been applying for jobs over the summer in London, with the hope of carrying on working next academic year.... I've started dating seriously, (not one person seriously, but dating with the intention of meeting someone serious as opposed to for funsies/out of boredom).
This year had also given me time to reflect on what has happened over the last couple of years and begin to accept/come to terms with the shit and good times. Looking forward, I want to start to move this blog on and write more. I've started keeping a regular journal and have been writing for the sake of writing again. I used to believe that I didn't have a creative bone in my body, but it seems writing may be my outlet....
I've been thinking about what I want this blog to be and what I want to share/write about. Mental health advocacy, body positivity, and feminism seem to be topics that play a big role in my life. (as well as food and animal rights, but it turns out, I'm not that passionate about food.... its just when you restrict it for so long, it becomes a much bigger part of your life that it actually is...)
I'll see where this goes, but it is what it is and hopefully I'll still be a queer medic on adventures.. (well I'm still bi/queer.... it's whether or not I'm a medic that bothers me)
Sunday, 8 May 2016
Anxiety and Alcohol - No, that Cannot be a Slogan Tee
Hands up if anyone has ever been more worried about the rebound anxiety following a night out then the hangover the morning after?
That's me 85% of the time...
The last couple of months have been spent in lock down for revision, so I've not been too indulgent on the old booze front... I have however noticed a marked increase in my anxiety the day after a night of drinking.
I have started to take the time to check in with myself more and I'm becoming more aware of my feelings and anxieties. I've also been in therapy and partaking in some more self care over the last couple of months, so maybe I'm able to draw these patterns because I am more in sync with me... who knows?
This increase can be anywhere from an increased heart rate to an higher incidence of panic attacks. I don't know if this change in my mental state is directly influenced by the alcohol from the night before because it doesn't appear to be dose dependent (shout out to the Bradford Hill Criteria).
A few cocktails with friends the other night (2.5 max) made me a total nervous wreck the next day. I had my first panic attack in 3 months and was incredibly on edge for the rest of the day. However 4 pints just left me with a groggy head and sleepy the next day...
Luckily, the effects seem to only last as long as a typical hangover (36 hours tops), so it's not like it is triggering a total relapse into agitated depression (thank fuck....). It is still a bit of a kick in the teeth for people with anxiety. I can only speak from my experience, but alcohol is my main crutch for dealing with social situations and is used by the majority of my friends to unwind after a tough week.
I feel stuck between a rock and hard place. I want to drink because cocktails and wine are lush, I want to have a good time with friends, and it takes the edge off the social aspect of my generalised anxiety. I also know that if I do drink, I have to deal with the aftershock the next morning (most people get a hangover, which is a pain, but not as stigmatised as having a panic attack on the bus on uni...).
My depression is slightly less affected by drinking (at least in the immediate term, in the longer term, cause and effect can get a bit blurry). I couldn't find any hard evidence in the medical literature, but anecdotally I feel this is a recognised connection.
If anyone reads this, it would be nice to get some of your experience regarding rebound anxiety.
That's me 85% of the time...
The last couple of months have been spent in lock down for revision, so I've not been too indulgent on the old booze front... I have however noticed a marked increase in my anxiety the day after a night of drinking.
I have started to take the time to check in with myself more and I'm becoming more aware of my feelings and anxieties. I've also been in therapy and partaking in some more self care over the last couple of months, so maybe I'm able to draw these patterns because I am more in sync with me... who knows?
This increase can be anywhere from an increased heart rate to an higher incidence of panic attacks. I don't know if this change in my mental state is directly influenced by the alcohol from the night before because it doesn't appear to be dose dependent (shout out to the Bradford Hill Criteria).
A few cocktails with friends the other night (2.5 max) made me a total nervous wreck the next day. I had my first panic attack in 3 months and was incredibly on edge for the rest of the day. However 4 pints just left me with a groggy head and sleepy the next day...
Luckily, the effects seem to only last as long as a typical hangover (36 hours tops), so it's not like it is triggering a total relapse into agitated depression (thank fuck....). It is still a bit of a kick in the teeth for people with anxiety. I can only speak from my experience, but alcohol is my main crutch for dealing with social situations and is used by the majority of my friends to unwind after a tough week.
I feel stuck between a rock and hard place. I want to drink because cocktails and wine are lush, I want to have a good time with friends, and it takes the edge off the social aspect of my generalised anxiety. I also know that if I do drink, I have to deal with the aftershock the next morning (most people get a hangover, which is a pain, but not as stigmatised as having a panic attack on the bus on uni...).
My depression is slightly less affected by drinking (at least in the immediate term, in the longer term, cause and effect can get a bit blurry). I couldn't find any hard evidence in the medical literature, but anecdotally I feel this is a recognised connection.
If anyone reads this, it would be nice to get some of your experience regarding rebound anxiety.
Saturday, 5 March 2016
Two Steps Forward, One Step Back
Twigger Warning - In this post I will talk about my eating disorder, just a heads up there.
Ah, lets take a step back from the trainwreck that is my love life, and I'm going to get real with you. I've fallen back into some restrictive patterns of eating in the last 3 weeks. I have be subsisting on around 1100-1300 calories a day and it fucking well sucks. I have had no energy, and I've not been able to run, or cycle, or do any of the activities I enjoy.
I have relapsed enough to recognize now when I am falling back onto old patterns, and I am beginning to see the things that tend to trigger my relapses.
We had a formative assessment, and I needed/wanted to do well in it (even though the rest of my year likes to play the, "I've done nothing card", no medical student means that - I did do well though, 1st decile). Since GCSE's, I have used restricting food to show how disciplined I am when it comes to my body and therefore my studies (ILLOGICAL, I know) .
I had also noticed some weight gain around my hips and stomach that made me uncomfortable. Any hint of weight gain or bloating send me into a spiralling cycle of guilt and shame about how I could let my body get like this. A jacket I had bought last spring, when I was very ill, no longer did up and a skirt that had onced bagged around my waist was constricting and awkward to wear. I'm aware that when I bought these clothes, I was quite poorly, yet the fact I no longer can wear them feels like I have lost control of that thinness of myself. That thinness became an outward symbol of my self control and worth. (I felt cleaner when I was boney, willowy and beautiful - I was weak, and could barely finish my longer runs and wasn't sleeping, but hey, you could count my ribs!)
The lowest point for me last year was when I went Summer Ball dress shopping with my Mum. It should have been a happy day of mother-daughter bonding, but my Mum was just very concerned for me and I didn't understand why. It wasn't until I was trying on size 6 dresses in Topshop that hung off me that I may have started to see that I had a problem again.
I have made the conscience decision that I don't want to get to that point again, and I don't want to do that to my family and friends. I have put the ill fitting clothes away, and hopefully my mum can make some money selling them online. Removing them from my wardrobe is not admitting defeat, but it is understanding that those clothes were never meant to fit my body (well not the functioning version of it).
My aim is to get my uptake back to 1800 and reintroduce exercise into my schedule when I feel ready to. I miss the thrill of running and cycling up the final hill back to my flat, and no bloody relapse is going to stop me when I have worked so hard to get here now.
Ah, lets take a step back from the trainwreck that is my love life, and I'm going to get real with you. I've fallen back into some restrictive patterns of eating in the last 3 weeks. I have be subsisting on around 1100-1300 calories a day and it fucking well sucks. I have had no energy, and I've not been able to run, or cycle, or do any of the activities I enjoy.
I have relapsed enough to recognize now when I am falling back onto old patterns, and I am beginning to see the things that tend to trigger my relapses.
We had a formative assessment, and I needed/wanted to do well in it (even though the rest of my year likes to play the, "I've done nothing card", no medical student means that - I did do well though, 1st decile). Since GCSE's, I have used restricting food to show how disciplined I am when it comes to my body and therefore my studies (ILLOGICAL, I know) .
I had also noticed some weight gain around my hips and stomach that made me uncomfortable. Any hint of weight gain or bloating send me into a spiralling cycle of guilt and shame about how I could let my body get like this. A jacket I had bought last spring, when I was very ill, no longer did up and a skirt that had onced bagged around my waist was constricting and awkward to wear. I'm aware that when I bought these clothes, I was quite poorly, yet the fact I no longer can wear them feels like I have lost control of that thinness of myself. That thinness became an outward symbol of my self control and worth. (I felt cleaner when I was boney, willowy and beautiful - I was weak, and could barely finish my longer runs and wasn't sleeping, but hey, you could count my ribs!)
The lowest point for me last year was when I went Summer Ball dress shopping with my Mum. It should have been a happy day of mother-daughter bonding, but my Mum was just very concerned for me and I didn't understand why. It wasn't until I was trying on size 6 dresses in Topshop that hung off me that I may have started to see that I had a problem again.
I have made the conscience decision that I don't want to get to that point again, and I don't want to do that to my family and friends. I have put the ill fitting clothes away, and hopefully my mum can make some money selling them online. Removing them from my wardrobe is not admitting defeat, but it is understanding that those clothes were never meant to fit my body (well not the functioning version of it).
My aim is to get my uptake back to 1800 and reintroduce exercise into my schedule when I feel ready to. I miss the thrill of running and cycling up the final hill back to my flat, and no bloody relapse is going to stop me when I have worked so hard to get here now.
Thursday, 3 March 2016
First Dates - Covent Garden Mr Bond?
My second, first date was with Beth (again, not her real name, but I will work through the complete cast of The L Word for codename inspiration),
I met Beth is real life! Like not over an app! Now, calm down, all this interpersonal contact irl is not usually my forte, but three double vodka and diet cokes turns me into a right social butterfly. We met at UCL's LGBT Christmas party, Glitteris (yes, it was as amazing as it sounds, there was glitter everywhere, I was finding it on my person for days after).
Beth in a PhD student at SOAS, (which is a university very close to UCL in London for the people who live outside the London bubble). We were both rather tipsy, and I though she looked very cool.... like I'm punching here cool.
I've yet to perfect my girl pulling skills. I had them pretty down on lock with blokes, well when they are drunk, there is no challange! We got chatting, but I'm a little fuzzy on the details....We eventually exchanged Facebook info (oh the romance) and then I promptly went home to collapse into a pile of inebriation.
We arranged to meet for dinner and a movie (classic), the next Friday. There were the standard first date butterflies, but she was really straight forward in texting, no games which is always appreciated! She did have an odd fascination with my dissection sessions, and may have made some slightly creepy jokes about embalmed brains....and bringing one with me in my bag....(should have probably been a warning sign).
The first part of the evening was spent walking around Covent Garden and Soho in general. Conversation was good, standard first date small talk, but we just didn't click. It also turned out that she was a Tory, which isn't a deal breaker in itself, but her opinions on Conservative economic policies kinda made it imposable for us to have a serious relationship (I joke, the chemistry wasn't there way before that bombshell was dropped).
We did have a lovely meal at Jamie's Pizza Place in Covent Garden, and we both loved the new James Bond film ....
Dinner on a first date is a bit of a risky one for me, what with the eating disorder recovery lark and being veggie. As long as they aren't super fussy or restrictive and don't argue with me about my right to be veggie, then it can be okay-ish. Beth was fine about it all, so luckily that wasn't a problem! :)
Can we take a moment to appreciate the gorgeous Lea Seydoux... ok, all good (Funny side note - we went to the Leicester Square cinema to see the Bond film, the same day as the new Star Wars film came out! Nothing sets the scene for a romantic evening like 200 Ewoks)
It was all in all a nice evening, but no real attraction or spark. It was just nice, you know? The feeling must have been pretty mutual and after we parted ways after the movies, neither of us texted, so we both ghosted each other out.
I did however, have a major revelation on this date... When you are dating a girl, and you need a break to gather your thoughts, you can't escape to the bathroom like you can with a dude. Is it the universal law that girls need to go to the bathroom at the same time or something?! It seems like a really obvious thing, but it was a total revelation to my baby lesbian brain....
I met Beth is real life! Like not over an app! Now, calm down, all this interpersonal contact irl is not usually my forte, but three double vodka and diet cokes turns me into a right social butterfly. We met at UCL's LGBT Christmas party, Glitteris (yes, it was as amazing as it sounds, there was glitter everywhere, I was finding it on my person for days after).
I'm on the left, with my main babe K
Beth in a PhD student at SOAS, (which is a university very close to UCL in London for the people who live outside the London bubble). We were both rather tipsy, and I though she looked very cool.... like I'm punching here cool.
I've yet to perfect my girl pulling skills. I had them pretty down on lock with blokes, well when they are drunk, there is no challange! We got chatting, but I'm a little fuzzy on the details....We eventually exchanged Facebook info (oh the romance) and then I promptly went home to collapse into a pile of inebriation.
We arranged to meet for dinner and a movie (classic), the next Friday. There were the standard first date butterflies, but she was really straight forward in texting, no games which is always appreciated! She did have an odd fascination with my dissection sessions, and may have made some slightly creepy jokes about embalmed brains....and bringing one with me in my bag....(should have probably been a warning sign).
The first part of the evening was spent walking around Covent Garden and Soho in general. Conversation was good, standard first date small talk, but we just didn't click. It also turned out that she was a Tory, which isn't a deal breaker in itself, but her opinions on Conservative economic policies kinda made it imposable for us to have a serious relationship (I joke, the chemistry wasn't there way before that bombshell was dropped).
We did have a lovely meal at Jamie's Pizza Place in Covent Garden, and we both loved the new James Bond film ....
Dinner on a first date is a bit of a risky one for me, what with the eating disorder recovery lark and being veggie. As long as they aren't super fussy or restrictive and don't argue with me about my right to be veggie, then it can be okay-ish. Beth was fine about it all, so luckily that wasn't a problem! :)
Can we take a moment to appreciate the gorgeous Lea Seydoux... ok, all good (Funny side note - we went to the Leicester Square cinema to see the Bond film, the same day as the new Star Wars film came out! Nothing sets the scene for a romantic evening like 200 Ewoks)
It was all in all a nice evening, but no real attraction or spark. It was just nice, you know? The feeling must have been pretty mutual and after we parted ways after the movies, neither of us texted, so we both ghosted each other out.
I did however, have a major revelation on this date... When you are dating a girl, and you need a break to gather your thoughts, you can't escape to the bathroom like you can with a dude. Is it the universal law that girls need to go to the bathroom at the same time or something?! It seems like a really obvious thing, but it was a total revelation to my baby lesbian brain....
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)