Late night truth telling

Recently I made this friend, or rather, recently I made this friend a better friend. I should clarify that he was not in any way injured, cajoled or otherwise manipulated into becoming better friends with me, but entered into this arrangement of his on volition for reasons I cannot begin to imagine.

This friend, simply put, is pretty sick. Both in sense that he is entirely awesome, and the sense that much like me his mental health can be less than stellar.

The result has been a number of impromptu late night/ early morning truth telling sessions in which we have both laid ourselves bare- figuratively- and maybe felt a little better for it.

This blog post is going up, not because I felt a random update on my social circle was in order, because I think people can underestimate the value of one really good friend. One person who’ll listen to all of it, all the incoherent babbling and say “yeah, me too”, one person who reads all of it and says “you haven’t lost your mind”. Its been a long time since I’ve had someone like that.

This blog post is going up because it’s time I start taking my own advice, and shouting (or ALL-CAPS TYPING into the void). It’s going up, like so many of the others, so that maybe someone will stumble across it, and it will help.

Yours as always

TheSarcastic Blogger



Almost the End

I’m writing this post from the corner table of the upper floor of the student union building, which incidentally is where I seem to spend most of time, whilst arguing with a friend who hasn’t been to a lecture this semester about attendance. And I’m struck by the sudden realisation that this year, the first year of my degree, is all but over.

I have a week left. One week of lectures, and seminars, and spending evenings laughing until I cry with my flatmates. One week and then Easter. Easter and then exams. And thats it. Year 2.

I am one week, and one exam away from being a third of the way through my degree.


I’m thinking back on the A’level student I was and realising I must have grown up quite a bit, but I’m also thinking of the 2nd years I used to work with who treat me like a child, and I can’t help but think, maybe both are wrong. I’ve definitely changed, grown up perhaps, but I don’t feel older, I don’t even really feel more capable. I feel… OK. And I also don’t feel like a child, I don’t feel like I’m gonna come back in September and be able to treat first years like infants. Cause we’re not all that different.

I guess what I getting at here is that, next year is the second year of living independently, of being in charge of myself and my life. Next year I move into a house I found and signed for. Next year counts. And I honestly can’t wait for it. Yet, I feel like I’m not old enough, or capable enough, or adult enough for that to be happening.

A little existentialism to liven up your early afternoon


TheSarcastic Blogger



The Beginning

I spent a long time considering what I want to do with my life, when I was little I wanted to be a teacher, on the days I didn’t want to be a princess, and for a while after that I wanted to be a doctor, on the days I didn’t want to be a teacher. Turns out I had much more realistic life goals as a small child than I did as teenager. When I was around 14 I decided I wanted to be an author, at around 16 I realised I probably wouldn’t make it as an author, but if I couldn’t write the books, I still might be able to produce them.

Publishing is a competitive industry, I know this. Publishing is also what I want to do with the rest of my life.

I honestly thought it would be a very long time, and an awful lot of effort and tears and wondering why on Earth I paid actual money for a BA in English before I got anywhere. Lucky for me my Uni is kinda amazing. This term I got the opportunity to apply for a publishing e-placement. If I got it I would spend a semester working long-distance for a publishing house. It was a slim chance and I knew it, 14 places on the module for the whole year, that’s over 100 people to each space, and I had 300 words to convince them I was worthy of one of them. Unbelievably, I was successful.

I think they must’ve been the best 300 words I’ve ever written.

This is the beginning of the rest of my life, the beginning of a career I desperately want, and hopefully the beginning of something brilliant.

Wishing you as much luck as I’ve had this week


TheSarcastic Blogger


The first time I realised I was a woman

I was walking home, at night

It was dark, not the kind of dark you get in the countryside,

City dark, big town no city status dark

Streetlights and headlights, and the biting cold

Nipping at the back of your legs

Prickling your skin under your tights

Like needles.


The first time I realised I was a woman I thanked god

For the woman holding onto my arm

And the loud women on either side of us

Because at least we were together

Which meant when a man rolled down his ford fiesta window,

And shouted like an asshole at a football match

At the girl beside me

We could laugh about it.


The second time I realised I was a woman

I was in a club,

It was dark, not outside dark, club dark,

No one to see wandering hands and sharp words dark.

Lights flashing like they’re trying to hypnotise you

And guys talking in riddles, saying one thing and meaning the opposite

Like novice snake charmers, like lion tamers

Like the guys with the whips at roadside animal shows.


The second time I realised I was a woman

Some guy at the same club

Tried to back my friend into a corner

Not realising that she was not drunk enough,

And we were not careless enough,

To let him do anything more than smirk

Before we were between them

And he could see our growling





The third time I realised I was a woman

I walked home alone

With my keys held loose in my hand

My heels louder than my heartbeat

My head held high

Not because I was not scared

But because my fear was a palpable thing around me

A blanket of protection, pricked ears and

The solid feeling of a phone in my pocket


The third time I realised I was a woman

I knew there was nothing I could do

So I promised to text when I got home

And I regretted not attaching that rape alarm to my keys

And I thanked god

That I was not drunk or careless enough

To be a liability

An Ode to My Inner Bitch

My inner bitch is beautiful

Her lipstick is the colour of blood on the throats,

Of men who will not let her finish a sentence.

Her winged eyeliner is tipped with razor blades,

And she wears insults around her neck.


Her hair is thick and long and plaited with my insecurities,

Great flowers of expletives pinned through it.

She wears my confidence as a mini skirt,

And does not shave her legs


An ode to my inner bitch,

She is loud and brash and people take notice when she speaks,

She screams and screams within me

As I lay down and take it again


An ode to my inner bitch,

Whose words run over my lips like a waterfall,

And flood the ears of those who will not listen to me


An ode to my inner bitch,

Who is everything I want to be

And reminds me everyday that bitch

Is just a synonym for strong

A self-involved update

You know when nothing has happened and yet a lot has happened? Yeah.

I suppose I should start by saying it’s February and I’ve yet to fail anything or drop out, so life is good. That being said, the best friend I had so come to rely on has all but faded from my life completely, leaving me for a time entirely distraught. She has taken with her her now definitely someone, my flatmate, my friend, and so I am again left with this feeling of abandonment. It’s been hard.

In her wake I have grown ever closer to the people I live with, I have opened my social circle a little wider, and I better appreciate the other people I have around me. My problem wasn’t that I needed her, or indeed that I was so wrapped up in our friendship that her loss was like a killing blow, my issue is this: she imposed herself on me in those few initial weeks, she was a daily occurrence, a routine and a habit and I loved- love- her dearly, and so when she vanished so quickly it felt like I had done something wrong, it felt like I was rebuffed having not even known I had ventured something rebuffable. It sucked. But I’ve come to realise that I haven’t been rejected, rather she is so caught up and entirely in love with her definitely someone that she did not even consider how her sudden departure from the lives of her friends would feel. And so I forgive her for making me feel alone, and I recognise that if, and when, she wants to be my friend the ball is very much in her court.

The expansion of my circle of friends was interesting, it’s rare that I find myself feeling popular, and yet I am left in the peculiar situation of nearly always knowing someone in the room, nearly always being approached with a smile and a wave, as though I was someone worth knowing. It’s a very nice feeling, very affirming, and I could get used to it. It started when I ran into someone I had met weeks ago, we were friends in the sense that we spent hours together, laughing, drinking, knowing each other. We were friends in the sense that as soon as I met him, as soon as we spoke, I felt like I knew him, we were kindred spirits, kindred cynics. We were not friends in the sense that that night was the first and last time we had spoken before two weeks ago. Now we are friends in the sense that I sit next to him in seminars, and hopefully that means we are friends, truly. He is joined in this new expansion by a man with a German name and an American accent, and a very sweet- if slightly angry- vegan who owes me a bottle of wine. Life’s definitely getting interesting.

It’s honestly been an experience this past few weeks, losing people and then gaining new ones. Hopefully from here on out it’s plain sailing.

I hope you guys have had a good January, lord knows it lasted long enough.


TheSarcastic Blogger

Ps. I got a first in something, go me!

2017- A Summary

The year is almost over and as midnight fast approaches I’m looking back on 2017 so far and you know what? I’m pretty happy all in all.

This year I finished school, and by school I mean sixth form, I got not entirely terrible a-level results, I got into a pretty awesome uni, moved away from home and moved in with people who I hope I will only continue to get closer to. I ditched people, I can’t deny it, and I felt freer and lighter for it (even if it was childish). I grew acquaintances into friends and friends into best friends, and I can hardly figure out how. I signed the contract on a house and I got a new job, I became an adult.

I read a lot and I wrote a lot and I started to consider what I actually want to do with my life. I realised it’s not too late to be whoever I want to be and I recognised that I need help and support. I got better at being selfish, at knowing what I need and what I want. I got better at being selfless, at loving and caring and being the support network for someone else. I discovered the people I want in my life and added to that list everyday. I worked hard, and I tried hard and I didn’t let anyone tell me I couldn’t do what I wanted to.

2017 was a shit show politically, the UK is a little bit fucked and the sheer number of sexual predators in the US is growing by the day, but from a personal pov 2017 wasn’t all that bad.


Until next year.

Wishing you love and prosperity,

TheSarcastic Blogger


Signing Contracts, General Adulting, and Inexplicable Loneliness

This week marks the last week of my first semester of University. I’ve signed my first contract (here meaning I signed the first contract I’ve ever properly read and/ or cared about, I’m sure terms and conditions come under contract law somewhere), I behaved more or less like an adult, and I may or may not find myself slipping back into unhealthy habits and a generalised feeling of supreme loneliness.

Lets start with the fun bit huh? I signed a contract, a good one (well not a good one actually) for a house, a good house (a very good house) and it was stressful and exciting and genuinely terrifying for a minute there. The contract itself was quite possibly the worst thing I have ever read ever (and I’ve read Pamela.) The spelling was atrocious, the grammar was terrible and the fact that at one point one of my flatmates looked like she was gonna cry really only begins to describe how absolutely shhhhhhhocking this piece of writing was. But we signed it anyways. Why I hear you ask? Surely signing a shitty contract is, like, the worst thing ever??????

I mean, you’re not wrong.

But the fact is the house is amazing; good area; close to the uni; round the corner from town, and the main student pub; seven absolutely massive double bedrooms and original Georgian features. With my student debt I’m never gonna be able to live in somewhere as spectacular as this again. So, good contract or shitty contract, I’ll take it.

I’m not going to lie to you, the speed and confidence required to find a property, let alone a solid property for next year, whilst simultaneously dealing with your unchanged work load (and the fact that you can’t be certain of your choice in housemates because there’s months before move-in day) is stressful. House hunting sucks, and you have to answer unknown phone calls and talk to random blokes called Steve from XXX-Properties, who absolutely could run two viewings, but won’t, even if getting seven people with different schedules in one place at the same time is fucking impossible. It is truly terrifying, but needs must.

The less fun part of this semester has been the general adulting required to navigate it. Bus timetables and shopping lists and laundry and assignments with mean word counts. It’s hard, and it makes you want to cry, and then it started snowing, so now you’re sad and cold. Really student life is just a cycle of sad/cold and hot/drunk with some bad R’n’B music, a lot of pasta and some quality time in the library chucked in for variety.

I made a Christmas dinner, that was fun. And it went well. Unbelievably well, actually. I made Brussel sprouts for the first time, and they went so well I even got my veg-phobic flatmate eating them (the secret is pan-frying and smoked garlic, 60p in Morrrisons invest people, invest.) I never truly understood why my Mum drinks wine with dinner until I sat down with a burnt finger, cold potatoes and nine people wearing silver paper hats to eat a minimal amount of chicken and some frankly incredible Brussels. Stress.

Final part of my semester is loneliness, for want of a better word, and bad habits. It’s not so much that I’m alone, although I am and sometimes you notice your singledom more than others, its just that I feel pretty isolated. I’ve never been brilliant with the whole feeling left out thing, I was bullied quite badly as a child and the result was me spending a lot of time alone, as such I tend to get pretty sad and mopey when I feel left out of things. Like my best friends group of friends for example. It’s not necessarily that they don’t like me, although it would probably be best if they did, it’s that they don’t like me enough for me to be included in things, but like me just enough that I know I could ask for an invitation and receive one. Although I’d feel rude and imposter-y the whole time. And because I know they don’t really like me every time I see them I’m on edge; I feel jittery and sweaty and a little bit like a failure and there isn’t really any reason to. And yes, I know I should just talk to her, but old habits die hard and I’m still in the suffering in silence stage of angry-sad.

Also, I’ve started going out more, and that somehow makes me feel lonely too, I didn’t know it was possible to feel more entirely isolated in a humid room full of people and bass, than when you’re actually by yourself; but here I am. I think a big part of it is the separation I feel between me and the other people there. I’m never quite drunk enough, I never feel sexy enough or like my dancing is any good, I never feel in place. And its really fucking tiring. And I think the worst part is how entirely aware I am of how I look as well. Because I know facially I’m not terrible, my skin can be a bit shit and my foundation and my blush don’t always get on but I’m not ugly, sometimes actually I’m quite pretty. It’s not my face, It’s my size. I’m bigger. Not BIG, but bigger, curvy in the right clothes, but flat-out bad looking in the wrong ones. And looking sexy when you’re very aware of you’re own size is hard; you get self-concious and it knocks your confidence and you start wondering if this is why you’re single, and if it is what can you do about it.

So thats my semester in a nutshell, adulting and contracts and feeling lonely. Bad mental health days and Brussel sprouts. It’s been a time.

Until after my next accidental hiatus

Yours with love and Christmas (or Holiday) wishes

TheSarcastic Blogger




Poetry in Motion

I would like to say that my life is a series of poetic moments

held together by the string of chronology.

That I look for the poetry in my life,

the great heart wrenching,

soul swelling,

life affirming moments

that define me.

I would like to say that I have people that fill me,

with a such a warmth,

as though I am my own sun,

my own springtime.

As though the love I feel cannot be contained,

and it bursts forth,

golden beams from my soul,

from my eyes.


the truth,

is that I am without poetry.

My life,

is a series of mundane moments.

A string of the day to day with no variety,

with no love to give me warmth,

with nothing except the reality

of a smile,

of a hug,

of a laugh.

With nothing but the honesty

of a cup of coffee

and a chat on the bus.

With nothing more, and nothing less,

than friendship.

Which maybe, just maybe,

is poetry in motion


To the guy that makes her smile

like the sun has taken up residence behind her eyes

I trust you,

I trust that you will not hurt her

I trust that you know the treasure that now sits in the palm of your hand,

the jewel that sleeps curled up on your chest

I trust that you know her worth as well as I do.

To the guy that makes her gush

like the entire universe is living in her mouth,

I trust you,

I trust that you will keep her safe,

I trust that you will no let harm befall her

and that you yourself are not harmful,

I trust that you know her heart as you know your own.

To the guy that makes her happy,

I trust you,

I know she makes you happy too