And to think not that long ago I was banging on about nearly dying choking on toilet roll…

On Friday I went full scale private detective and just kept calling different folks at the hospital to try to find a number for someone who’d give me my blood test results. It’s been over 2 months and I couldn’t really face the thought of another full weekend with no way to try to chase it up. I’ve got a busy week of work this week and no time to meltdown about it all. The consultant’s secretary’s line is just always an answerphone. Eventually I got another consultant’s secretary who very kindly broke the rules for me and found my results. The marker in my blood has reduced (not quite to the healthy level but low enough to know it’s not cancer). She said it could be another couple of week’s before the consultant writes to me to explain but for now it’s good enough. All the emotions, ooooft. I had to go for a run along the prom and coast path to give the mussel a wee stroke (hey now, it’s a sculpture at musselburgh beach) and back again.

here's the previous chat incase you are like, ‘wtf is she on about?’

I’m a very self reliant person but the thought of having cancer and all the treatments, how to look after my boy and everything on top of the stuff that’s been going on just felt too much for a while. Could still do with a healthy nap to get over that wild pandemic, to be honest. My energy has been stinking so I’ve been hiding.

I’ve had a lot of days in bed, missed some fun things I wanted to do cos I just needed to lie down in the dark. And of course literally everyone I know, even folks who don’t like music, have been out at gigs while I was lying in the dark. I missed Beyonce, The Boss, Interpol, Le Tigre, Hidden Door, Primavera but I hope you all had a great time and that’s not even sarcastic. I only had Hidden Door tickets so I’m being a bit dramatic but still. It was a wee kick in the ass to figure out ways of getting out of my head and into my body that don’t involve being in a crowd. Hence the attempts to run (my red face, hair and nails clash when I do vigorous exercise and it’s a vibe), getting in the sea again, amongst other things.

Then there’s the fear of men thing (here we go, she’s on her pure lying on a therapist’s sofa chat). It kind of mutated while I was feeling so down into this deep guttural anger that I’ve never allowed myself to feel before. But then two mad things happened (weirdly, about the consultant I originally saw and rapey Richy) that made the anger boil over and made me laugh my ass off. I got to thinking what if it’s not men I’m afraid of all the time but sometimes it’s my own fucking boundless potential because of how men I’ve known had treated me. (I donno how to add the fingernail emoji but just imagine it’s here, This is the bit where you punch the air, give me a wee clap, holler ‘yaas, bitch’ or whatever). Maybe I get really small, try to hide my weird neurodivergent stuff and hold on to questions and get frustrated with myself. Hmmm…

There’s also all the judgements around women who openly talk about male violence which informs the anger. It feels like a lot of people find it way easier to label us as difficult, mentally ill, covert narcissists, man haters, doormats, a bit stupid, demanding, jealous, fantasists, uncouth for airing dirty laundry etc than to hold the men accountable. Everyone thinks they know your business in a small city, even though we all carry these old versions of each other around that have no baring on who folks are now. Except abusive men don’t seem to evolve at all. Their situations change but not their behaviours. And nobody gives a shit unless it’s them at the end of the abuse. That makes places like here feel so small and suffocating at times. I’ve had strangers DM me to find out on a scale of 1-10 just how abusive an ex was as their friend was dating him. Zero fucks for how that question might affect me. And I bet if I had a partner they’d back off because they all see women as objects to own. Fucking seething again going down this train of thought…like how women just know it’s easier to get rid of unwanted attention by saying you have a boyfriend over just saying fuck off, you creepy prick.

I love men. I’m a tomboy, I’ve always loved time and conversations with groups of men over with groups of women. I prefer solo time with female pals, the conversation is always very different to how it is in groups. But I’ve had too many heartbreaking conversations with women lately. I know there’s some kind of art project brewing about it that will feel cathartic, just need to process the cancer whitey first and then it will surface, no doubt.

I had been wondering if me openly unravelling all of this messy human stuff was just harming myself but I think it’s the healthiest and sexiest thing I’ve ever done.

I figure those who agree will stick around and those that don’t leave space and time for others. So long as I hold some gratitude for it all I’m good. I’m coming through the other side of it all but it’s not an exaggeration to say it’s felt like a fuckin dark night of the soul round my gaff lately.

But sometimes you’ve just got to get your hands dirty and get stuck in about doing the work. To really let all that stuff go you have to wade through it and I feel fucking great now. Hopefully it stays that way for a while. I’ve been thinking of lots of juicy transmutations for the anger and becoming so aware of all the things just allows you to process them and grow.

Above: top: Alex Osborn (ECA degree show), Eduardo Paulozzi, Alberta Whittle, bottom: Eileen Agar, Alberta Whittle, Marina Abramovic, Salvador Dali.

I’m trying to organise my time better to catch up a bit for the time in bed. And when I fail I’ll remind myself that time as we use it is a relative concept invented to make us all work for the man. Going to try scheduling in some work posts on instagram and the like with the app I pay for and never use so I’m not on there wasting time consuming endless ads. This week coming is a busy work week with a couple of portrait sessions, finishing up a brand commission and a road trip north too.

I’ll write a bit more on lost and found soon for the hardcore goths and the folks who find my rambling touches a nerve.

sign up for lost + found

First, my chat about all the glimmers and treats I’ve been finding to be gentle with myself - basically getting high on art, rolling about in sand and on grass, hugging my boy extra tight, taking in the small things and big old rants with pals. I spent the rest of this weekend visiting the degree show, the modern galleries, getting a cheeky discount on camisoles at Herman Brown, ranting with a couple of pals and worshipping the sunrise at the end of my street with just a very early metal detector guy and the birds around. I’m so lucky to be right here and I’m glad I’ve figured out healthy ways to fill myself up when I’m struggling so I don’t feel like getting on the sauce. I still find ways to self medicate but they work better for me than booze ever did. Sitting about drinking is boring as fuck after a while, it always just made the minx in me want to break into stuff and get a bit too lairy as some of you will recall. Not really things that help get anxiety out of your system but I’ve got a load of ways to do that these days. Some of them I need you to come with me though.

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