20s · ramble · sex · twenties · Uncategorized

5 not-widely-known facts about me

1. I have a Disney Christmas comforter called blankin. My Dad bought it me for Christmas in 2013 but the fleece got ruined last year so my Mum replaced it with one of her fleecy blankets. ┬áIt’s one of a few things that always makes me feel better.

2. I run a moderately successful Tumblr page. It’s called UKLesbians and girls send me their submissions/photos/contact details and I post them. It has nearly 10k followers and several couples have come forward to thank me for running the blog and allowing them to meet.

3. I have a cat! She lives with my Mum and her husband because I’m not allowed big pets at my house and she gets more attention at Mum’s anyway (plus I have rats).

4. I’m a little. It’s a term you’ll either instantly understand or have to google – but there it is!

5. I used to be a cam girl. In 2013 I was unemployed and keeping my eyes out on how to make dollar when I ended up on a cam site. I only did it for a couple of months because I didn’t have a laptop and actually used my boyfriend at the time’s Mac! It was a lot of hard work to build up a fan base and I eventually lost interest. I decided a while ago that I wouldn’t be a victim of ex’s sharing my nude photos publicly and slamming/slut shaming me – so I posted them myself online!

20s · depression · ramble · reflecting · reflection · sex · twenties · Uncategorized

A letter to 22 year old me (from 23 year old me)

It gets better.

There’s much more to it than just that of course, but that’s the main point I want you to take from this letter.

 

Right now you’re probably working until 8pm because even though you’ve been promoted, you’re still working your old shifts. You usually get picked up by him. No doubt you’ll grab some food on the way home too. You’ll eventually get inside your dingy, disgusting flat. He’ll go into the living room and you might follow him, sit at the computer and browse Facebook for a few hours – ignoring each other. You might clamber over the rubbish to get to the bed, which only you now use. The bedsheets haven’t been changed in over a month and the bed frame is so broken, it’s basically just a mattress on the floor with surrounding wood. You’ll spend at least an hour each night in the utility room, staring out the window at the park your multi storey flat block backs onto. You’ll stare at the ground from the 4th floor, willing your brain to have the nerve to throw yourself out. He didn’t know you thought about things like that. He must’ve been just as miserable as you were but he played video games and shouted and denied instead.

You can’t see an end that doesn’t involve you smushed against the concrete below. You don’t think he’d let you leave. You tried to before, during a big fight. He always twists your words or changes tactic and makes you feel guilty.

I’ve got some good news. You do leave him and that horrible life. It takes you until February but you do it. It’s a struggle at first. The night you arrive at Janine’s at midnight – backpack with only your laptop, phone charger and a few changes of clothes inside – is intense. You’re panting from running the entire distance because you were terrified he was going to come after you. You’re ecstatic and the relief you feel is mind blowing, but it’s a huge struggle not to turn around and run back to him. You sit there on the sofa after Janine goes to bed and wonder how on earth you’re going to do this without him. Everything that has happened over the past 2 years has a link to him in some way and you’re not even sure who you are as a person anymore.

I think you leave it about a week before you put yourself on dating apps. Not to find a relationship, no you’re pretty adverse to that at the moment. You just want some fun. You end up talking to someone called Sam. You have some fun but get a little attached. Don’t worry, it’s normal. The same thing happens with Charlie and Josh. You’re being a bit reckless and slutty but that’s okay too because you’re dead against slut shaming. You drink a lot too and start hanging out with friends again.

There’s a moment, a couple of months after you start this new life, that just blows your mind. You’re sat on a rooftop, a little sleepy because you’ve been on an early shift at work. You’re having (non alcoholic) drinks with a guy he knows. You realise you haven’t checked your phone in like 3 hours and dread suddenly pours through your veins. You start to panic because you can’t imagine how many texts and missed calls you’ll have, especially if he’s seen you with this guy. You rip your bag from the ground with such ferocity that it stops the guy from talking and he watches you. You tear it open and desperately grope about for your phone. When you find it, you press the button and look at the notifications.

You had one..

From your housemate..

Telling you about her day.

That was a turning point in your head. That was the moment you realised you were free.

 

And now it’s the following October. You’re the happiest you’ve ever been in your adult life. You’ve met that person, the one you’re positive you’ll marry and spend forever with. He thinks it too. Your life still isn’t perfect: he has to work away a lot and it makes you sad, and your job is getting you down because the hours are taking their toll and your pay isn’t amazing. But I wish I could go back in time and spare you all the pain of not knowing, of wishing you were dead.

It does get better. It is better.

 

20s · feminism · ramble · reflecting · self love · sex · twenties

On being broody and not wanting kids (yet)

I shouldn’t have to apologise for being broody. No one should. My body is designed to carry small humans, it’s designed to bring them into this world, to feed them. My body wants to have babies. It reminds my mind of this by pushing up my sex drive. It punishes me for staying childless by ripping out the inside of my organs for 4 days.

My parents have started to mention babies. I was at my Nanny’s the other week and she was cooing over next door’s little girl, sighed and said under her breath “I wonder if I’ll get to meet my great-grandchildren.” I spluttered orange juice everywhere and laughed a lot. She then went on to tell me that she’d recently had a dream about me having a boy, which is when I told her to stop right there.

Last weekend I saw Dad and told him the story. He laughed too, and then told me that he thinks I’ll have a boy too and he hopes so because he wants to play with Tonka toys and Scaletrix. I walked away from him and changed the subject.

My brain does not want children – not anytime soon anyway. I’m only in my early 20’s, I enjoy getting so drunk that I can’t stand. I hate being tied down by anyone who won’t/can’t walk by my side. I want to stay in bed until 2pm on my days off. I adore being reckless and stupid.

I’m sure I’m not alone in feeling like this. Hormones play a huge part of course, infact they’re probably to blame for 99% of my fawning-over-cute-baby-clothes type moments. Being broody is not something I can prevent, nor escape. My mind and my body are two completely seperate entities and I have to float somewhere in the middle.

Somewhere along the line, I’ve felt the pressure to apologise for my feelings. I’m not sure which group of people it stems from, but I’ve concluded that it’s probably from guys who are oh-so-often terrified at the thought of getting somebody pregnant. And so everyone I’ve ever told about this, I’ve made excuses or lied to.

 

Fuck it. I shouldn’t feel pressured to apologise for things out of my control. It’s perfectly natural to both want and hate children….right?

sex · Uncategorized

Using sex as a coping mechanism?

So throughout my time on this earth i’ve had a number of ‘unhealthy’ coping mechanisms.
Self harm, cigarettes, drugs.
Those three are probably the worst.

I’m sure there was a time in my life where i knew how to handle emotions sensibly like your average human. If i could go back and ask that version of Lora just how she managed it, i would.

My most recent way of coping with the shit life throws at me has been sex. Sex with friends. Sex with strangers (well, people i met on the internet). Sex with people i fancy. Sex with people i’m not attracted to. You get the point. I have a lot of sex.

I count myself as a very pro-sex person anyway, and providing it is consensual for all parties involved and all parties are able to give said consent then i am all for it. It’s also a hell of a ton better for me than getting drunk or physically harming myself is, though it does of course have it’s own risks.

So, i ask you this avid readers – do any of you use sex as a coping method? Do you think it’s a good idea or a bad one?