Operation Transfer Girl

 Dear Healthcare, I cannot help but feel like you are letting me down. I've turned to you on many accounts and been turned away with the same results, you barely heard me, onto the next. You tell me it is normal to struggle, that there is nothing to do, you tell me to unlearn the pain. You tell me that while most part of my body has something wrong with it that's affecting me, I am not broken. You tell me to take yet another paracetamol. I have asked you to help me live a better life and you keeping me on the edge where I cope, and I should because, as you say, it is what it is. I don't think I am asking too much. I am not asking you to perform miracles. I am not asking you to deal with all that's in my head; I am not asking you to provide me with a shoulder to cry on, to untangle my thoughts. I don't expect me to make my worries go away, to shush the voices in my brain, to reason for me to keep going, to pour will-power in me when the existential dread hits. I do a...

As gyms reopen, pole studios can start offering practice sessions and private lessons. Everyone is buzzing. I am sad. I am sad because now I have to face with the reality of quitting pole dancing. I always felt like I was behind compared to others. As someone who has no standard working hours nor working days, doesn't drive, and therefore relies on buses, I could never regularly commit to lessons. Sometimes I had more chances to go, sometimes it was a rare occasion. Sometimes by the time I got my rota and knew that I can go to a session, it was booked up. And that is across three lovely studios. I know the irregularity of my training was not my only downfall, but I am also aware of how much progress I used to make when I had a good month with lots of lessons. Thanks to the pandemic, I had even less chance to pole. Since I moved house in October, my pole is back in its box. Classes have smaller numbers, giving me even less chance to book in last minute. I lost my strength; my flexib...

 I am borderline a hoarder. What is lucky, is that I had to move a million times in the last 10 years. Fine, if you want the real number, I called 13 different places "home" since 2009. In contrast, only a few of them felt really like home. Why did I say that is lucky? Because when I am forced to move, I am forced to sort through my belongings, or most of them, therefore my hoarder lifestyle has never really kicked in. That being said, I still keep every knick-knack for a longer-than-normal/needed/necessary time. If I found it, or it is a scrap of another project, I am so worried about creating waste, about wasting money, I always keep it, just in case it will be good for something. I believe I learnt this behaviour from my grandparents. My mum's parents ALWAYS kept every little piece of metal, wood, textile, paper, you name it. And they were crafty people. They had a lot of projects, always creating something. My grandpa worked at the radio as an engineer, my grandma was...