My Mental Health.

*This blog post may be triggering to people dealing with or recovering from Trichotillomania and Psychosis. 

This is the cold, hard truth. I’m not going to sugar coat and romanticise my mental illness because that would make me a twat.*

~

People who know me well enough or have read some of my earlier blog posts will know that I struggled with my mental health a lot. They will also know that I use this blog as a sort of ‘free therapy’ session for myself… On the Internet… Which is available to anyone, anywhere…
I thought I’d write the following to bring awareness to how it can/will affect me almost every single day.

Most of us know that there is a huge stigma around mental health. People seem to brush it off as if it’s nothing but it is so much more important than we think. In recent years, a conversation about how we deal with and discuss mental health has been very prominent but still, not enough is being said or done.

I tweeted in the very early hours of yesterday morning that I’m making a change about how I use my social media. I decided that I’m fed up of pretending that my mental illness(es) doesn’t exist and doesn’t control me. I decided that I’m fed up of feeling like I can’t tweet about it. I decided that I’m fed up of living, as what I see in my opinion, a lie. From now on, I will do more to talk about/promote the importance of talking about not only the types of mental illnesses but the treatments and my own experience(s) with them.

I’ve been in and out of hospital for almost four years because of various reasons and during that time I’ve had multiple diagnoses. I’m not going to talk about how and how long it took me to actually get a diagnosis because I could write about it for years. All four of my diagnoses contradict each other, shift and cause me to feel like I’ve lost control.

I worry a lot – to the point where it makes me physically sick. I worry every single time I leave the house that something bad will happen or I’ll have to talk to a stranger. I get so worked up about the tiniest of things which means I cancel plans so often because I’m terrified of what could happen to me or someone else if something even goes slightly wrong. I used to have my anxiety attacks under control and know my triggers but they are now more often and more unpredictable than ever and I don’t know how to stop them any other way apart from taking medication.

People who see me outside of the internet will have seen my odd little bit of (significantly shorter) hair right on the top of my head. This is because I sit in lessons and exams, or at home either pulling clumps of my own hair out or wanting to. I have bald patches all over my head and sometimes my eyebrows if it gets really bad. This is a side effect of my diagnosis. I get so stressed/anxious but I don’t know how to put it into words to tell people. My bald patches and inability to explain myself cause me to become even more self-conscious and stressed that usual. People think my patches are a joke – I am the punchline. It is unbelievable common yet it isn’t taken seriously enough. Unfortunately, my Trichotillmania (hair pulling) has shifted into full blown OCD. I do weird things when I go to ‘strange’ places because I need to have as much control of situations as I can which, nine times out of ten, isn’t humanly possible. My OCD drains me. I get home from school or a stressful situation without the energy to even eat sometimes. But, if I don’t use every single bit of energy in my body, I get giddy or have to put all my remaining energy into something, anything – tidying, fidgeting, dancing, hair pulling…

I cry when things don’t turn out or aren’t in a place I’m familiar with. I hate change when I don’t have control of it but at the same time I hate routine. My OCD just makes me sound like a bratty, needy arsehole but I can’t help it.

A month or so ago, when me and my friends camped out for the night, I felt one of my psychosis episodes – I call it PE for short – coming on. It was sudden and unexpected as it normally is, for me. All I could do was just stand still, stare at complete nothingness and pray it didn’t take over and cause me to embarrass myself. Psychosis is not a solitary illness, it’s sort of like a side effect almost. I used to have at least two to three weeks off every half term because of it. I’d start hearing drums, feeling bugs crawl all over me or see/hear things that aren’t really there. They used to occur while I was showering which wasn’t helpful as I used to always lock the door. My so-called friends thought this was funny when in reality, it is terrifying. I feel a complete loss of control before, during and after a psychosis episode.

During the last Half Term Holiday, I snapped. I trashed my brother’s kitchen. I literally sat and ripped my own hair out. I told the people I care about most that I ‘just wanted to throw myself off a cliff and die’. I just stopped thinking how I normally do – as sanely and rationally as possible. This was my first serious mental health related breakdown since about Year 10 and it was the scariest thing I have ever experienced.
I don’t have a specific diagnosis. I have a list of ‘maybes’ which means I can’t be properly treated. All my possible diagnoses can be side effects of eachother which makes finding the root cause incredibly difficult. 

Thankfully, my most close friends understand this and have the patience to repeat what they’ve said, try to make me see things more rationally or help me with my words. I get very paranoid after telling people about my mental health – I get scared they’ll think I’m absolutely crazy – so writing this is a huge achievement for me.

~

My mental illnesses are very very real. Being fully aware of this means I have two options:
I can shut up, lie in bed and feel sorry for myself or I can ignore every single anxious thought in my body and do something about it.

I used to deny that I was “fucked in the head” – credit to an old ‘friend’ of mine for that quote – but now I’m beginning to agree. The thing is, being ‘fucked in the head’ isn’t a bad thing – most of the time. It’s taught me so much more than I thought it could.

Obviously, I’ve chosen to ignore my anxious thoughts as a few weeks ago, I started Cognitive Behavioural Therapy (CBT for short) because of what happened during half term. This almost feels like its my last resort to deal with my Trichotillmania/OCD. It doesn’t work for everyone but so far, CBT seems to be working for me. It will be an long up hill climb but I am determined to get to the top of this very high, very dark and very scary mountain.

*Edit on 10/8/16: CBT didn’t work for me. It seemed to for a while then all of a sudden I was back at square one. I’ve been referred to another type of therapy so I’m praying this one actually works for me this time.

Edit on 19/9/16: I was taken off medication officially on Friday as it has shown to have no effect. The different therapy type also doesn’t seem work but I have six weeks left of it. My physical signs of suffering are not as noticeable anymore as my hair is getting significantly longer and blends in more. *

~

I’m not going to lie. I am nowhere near fine.

Neither you or I can control my random fits of anger or anxiety any longer but that doesn’t mean I want your sympathy.

I don’t want to look at my Facebook tomorrow to find an abundance of messages filled with ‘I’m so proud of you!’, ‘I’m always here!’ etc from people I hardly know or talk to. And anyway, eight times out of ten they don’t mean it anyway so cut the bullshit.

I just need people to know. I just need people to understand. I don’t need people feeling sorry for me.

That is all.

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Perfection: The Problems and Its Purpose.

I read a blog post on perfection a while ago. It made me think about a lot of problems with perfection so I thought I’d add my view on the subject.

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We all strive for perfection. It motivates us. It stretches us. I hate to be all poetic but it can also destroy us. Never the less, wanting it makes us incredibly human.

Unfortunately, perfection is, in all honestly, non-existent. It’s something that we, humans, created and now enforce. We use it to control people and tear them down. It’s fiercely overrated and isn’t anywhere near achievable.

Perfection is not achievable by human beings because, just like the things we create, we were built with flaws. There’s no such thing as the perfect body. There’s no such thing as the perfect human. There’s no such thing as the perfect life. There’s no such thing as perfect. Yes, there’s variations of perfect but again that makes it hard to achieve because it isn’t possible to fit into every ‘perfect’ box.

If you search the word ‘perfect’ under the news tab on Google, it comes up with a million and ten articles by news outlets like E! News, MTV and The Daily Mail spewing out shit about the newest ‘perfect’ celebrity couple, the ‘perfect’ diet/exercise routine etc… The list is a long and toxic one.

~

If you’re to take anything from this blog post it (probably) should be this:

We are flawed but we are also human. Perfection will just have to be another social construct that we choose to ignore.

~

sorry for being so poetic.

Waiting: The Never Ending Game.

*As always this will be full of rambling, repetition and incomprehensible sentences because I am really bad at making sense of my thoughts and feelings.*

 

I’m fed up of waiting.

Waiting to leave school, waiting to start college, waiting until I can drive, waiting until I can move out, waiting for my life to ‘really’ begin, waiting for my ‘dream job’, waiting for ‘the one’.
It’s even gotten to the point where I’m literally waiting for my own tragic yet imminent death.
All I seem to do is wait and wish away my life. I’m waiting for things I know full well won’t happen and I’m fucking sick of it.

I’m waiting for people who I know aren’t waiting for me. And it hurts. It makes me feel like I’m the only one who gives a shit anymore. I’m playing the usual waiting game: I’m just floating about while everybody else knows what they want and when they want it.

They say ‘good things come to those who wait‘ but I’m waiting for things that don’t happen to people who just sit and wait. I feel like I’m trapped in a vicious cycle of waiting then being disappointed when things don’t turn out how I want them – even if I’ve done nothing to try and change the outcome… I’ve just sat there and watched from a distance.

I’m bored of waiting but it’s something that I’ve always done; I’m not sure how to not do it which confuses me so much. I feel as though I have to carry on waiting but at the same time I find it so draining that I know I need to stop.

The more I’ve written, the more I’ve realised that writing this has taken too much time out of my day so now I must return to what I was doing beforehand. That’s right… I was waiting for shit that won’t happen.

The Last Year: During.

I’m writing this on technically my last day of school ever, May 27th. I’m midway through my exams and feeling incredibly sentimental/nostalgic.

Here’s Part II of The Last Year.

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When I first say “oh I can’t believe it’s been five years!”, I think that isn’t a long time but then when I sit back and think about it… Five years is almost a third of my life so far. Not only does that sort of scare me, it makes me feel incredibly grateful that some of my favourite people in the whole world were born within the same [academic] year.

 

I want to leave, don’t get me wrong, but I don’t want to leave the (very few) people I’ve come to love and care about over the past five years of being at school. I’ve had so many wonderful memories and moments with friends, new and old, and I can’t believe it’s finally time for us all to say goodbye and go our separate ways.

I haven’t realised until now how much I’ve changed.  I’m a completely different person compared to who I was, or thought I was, a year ago… A month ago even. I’ve changed quicker than I ever thought possible, not only physically but mentally. Knowing how much I’ve changed worries me. I’m a person who absolutely despises change whether it’s good or bad. Like most people during their time at school, I’ve struggled. Not only with school work, deadlines and making new friends but with my mental health – It’s only been recently that I finally decided to do something about it after ‘suffering’ for almost all of my ‘schooling career’. I went through a phase where I couldn’t even step foot in the school grounds without feeling sick to my stomach. I hated every single second of it but thanks to some wonderfully friendly people who’ve come along over the last year or two, it’s no longer a problem.

I can’t even put my feelings into words now but I am both sad and happy to be leaving. I’ve had a love/hate relationship with school, like most people do. Now I’m literally on the verge of leaving and I couldn’t be more scared yet excited.

~BeFunky Collage o

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To all my friends, reading this right now:

I love each and every one of you. I will miss you guys so much more than you will ever know. And finally, thank you for the best five years I could ask for.

Good luck with whatever you do, wherever you end up.

~

The Last Year: I

The Last Year: II

The Last Year: III

 

Thank you, friend.

This post is just a couple of public thank yous to the people I care about most.

Enjoy.

~

R: Thank you for giving me a place/person to rant and cry. You’ve helped me way more than you know and I can’t thank you enough.

M: It still blows me away how alike we really are. We’ve had so many memories in such a short space of time. Thank you for all the laughs, buddy. Stay in touch.

E: I can’t believe how different you are compared to the shy little kid you were in Y7… I’m so glad I get to keep you around for another two years. Thank you for making me laugh at the most ridiculous things and crying over Captain America with me. #GoldenTrio

C: Thank you for letting me send you songs when I’m sad, giving me awful advice and acknowledging my slaggy ways. I will miss your face more than you will ever know.

L: I can’t believe I still can’t get rid off you… but that’d mean I’d have wasted the past 16 years being your friend. I promise to give you lifts to college but only if we can sing to Hamilton. #GoldenTrio

E: Thank you for everything. You make me so proud every single day. I am so lucky to have such a hilarious and talented best friend. You won’t see this but I can’t wait to see you again and sing ‘Hamilton’ as loud as we possibly can.

J: Thank you for filling the past year with laughter. I don’t think I’ve ever told you this but I am so proud of you – with your art and everything else.

L: Thank you for being my outsider’s opinion for the past year or two. I don’t think you realise how much confidence you’ve given me – not only within myself but my writing too.

E: Thank you for teaching me that grades aren’t everything but they still matter. Your twenty years of wisdom has taught me a lot in my sixteen years.

H: Thank you for helping me forget about all the shit that happens at home/school etc. You treat me as an equal and make me feel incredibly valid in every way. You remind me that smashing the shit out of gender roles and stereotypes is the best.

W: Thank you for reminding me that I’m not alone and even the most intelligent people struggle. You remind me to live in the moment and actually act my age for a moment.

D: We haven’t actually been friends during my whole five years of High School but you were there when I needed you – during the worst year of my life (so far). We’ve both done some pretty amazing things since being 9 and 11 – you may have out done me but I can’t hate you for it. Your show is shit but not as shit as you

The Last Year: Before.

I’m literally weeks away from sitting my first GCSE exam. I should probably be revising but instead, I’m sat writing this.

Here’s Part I of The Last Year.

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Year 11 is tough. We all know that much. It’s your last year of school before you go off into the world. It’s the last year of being seen as a child. It’s the last year you have with the people you dislike most. It’s the last year you’ll be lectured about your GCSE exams (hopefully).

I was one of ‘those’ kids who was never taught how to revise because I was already deemed ‘smart enough’.  I was frequently told I was ‘gifted’, ‘talented’ and ‘very intelligent for [my age]’. Now, with my last year of school upon me, I’m stuck. I don’t know what I need to do to revise and help myself get the grades I want and desperately need for my future.

 

Not knowing how to revise isn’t my only problem…

This whole build up to exams has gone way beyond just how to revise. It’s when. Some of us are in school from 8am until 5pm (sometimes even 6pm) almost every single day but school still expect us to do 4 hours worth of revision when we get home and still be able to function properly. It’s gotten to the point where most of us only go home to have a half decent meal and a few hours sleep.

My school attempt to motivate us but it comes out in such a toxic way. They tell us not to panic and become stressed then carelessly ‘remind’ us that it’s only 18 lessons until Maths Paper 1 like we didn’t know already. They choke us with all these statistics and tell us we should be doing at least three to four hours revision once we get home or else we’ll never get anywhere in life. They don’t seem to understand that standardised testing isn’t effective. It doesn’t work for all of us. Some of us couldn’t care less whether John Steinbeck wrote Of Mice and Men (an absolutely awful book which could send anybody to sleep in a matter of minutes.) or he wrote the dictionary and the Bible.

My fellow pupils try to encourage me. It’s almost like a competition to find who is has done the most revision – “I did seven hours on SAM Learning yesterday and I got 100% in them all!!” – or the most stressed – “Well, Georgia, you can’t say anything!! You’ve only cried twice this week while I’ve cried every night for a fortnight!!” I know how much revision is good for me. Some people will only need to do an hour of revision a night while some will have to sacrifice almost every aspect of their non-school life to get their ‘attainment’ grade. I’m not saying don’t support your friends, I’m saying not to compare your revision – whether it be techniques or time spent – to theirs. It’s harmful to their motivation and may even increase their stress levels even more

My parents try to motivate me too. They tell me to ‘do my best’ but what if my best isn’t good enough for AQA’s Biology Unit 3 exam? They tell me that these exams will shape the rest of my life and that they’re only for the next month or so to which I reply with ‘Yes, I understand.’ They tell me about how it ‘wasn’t like this in [their] day!’ which is not only patronising as fuck, it makes you feel like your emotions/feeling are invalid because you don’t feel the same they did however many years ago.

My family try to motivate me by telling me about what they got at GCSE level. But the truth is, I don’t want to be like some members of my family who got all A*s,  have Master’s Degrees etc. but are so smart that you can’t even have an ordinary conversation with them – It’s almost like they’re saying facilitated diffusion or fuck off.

I understand, GCSEs get you places. They get you into University. They get you into your ‘dream’ occupation. They make your life worth living. They get you the income you want. They do this. They do that. Blah, blah, blah…

~

This is a little contradictory but as long as you are in the right positive frame of mind, you will do well. You know your own strengths and weaknesses. Whatever grades you come out with won’t define you if you don’t want them to.

Good luck.

~

The Last Year: I

The Last Year: II

The Last Year: III

Room: Four Walls Filled With Fear.

*Trigger Warning*

The following post talks of/hints at theme of sexually abuse, rape and violence.

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I finally got round to seeing ‘Room’ last Saturday. I was apprehensive at first as Oscar winning films aren’t normally something I’d watch or genuinely enjoy but Room was different.

I have never been in a situation like the protagonist, Joy, but I can’t help put pick out bits of her story that I do relate to. Joy is a character that you feel sorry for right from the beginning of the film. She is incredibly easy to like and feel empathy for but not in a ‘hashtag relatable’ way. Joy’s son, Jack, is the reason Joy does what she does in the film. He’s a typical kid except he’s stuck in room and doesn’t know anything about the ‘real’ world. Old Nick is a character that you hate from the off. The first time you see him, you know he is the reason for Joy’s shitty situation/circumstances. He is Room’s equivalent of Jessica Jones’ Kilgrave. He is a sick twisted man that you just want to punch square in the face even though you don’t get formally introduced to him.

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Room has helped so many people fight against the abuse in their lives. It gave people the chance to speak out about their circumstances. It let victims speak out about their rape, assault, abuse and oppression without being met with the usual victim blaming shit.

Whether your own ‘Room’ is metaphorical or physical, it doesn’t matter. Room keeps you safe. Sometimes Room may have been dangerous to ‘stay in’ but it is always there. For you.

Whether you have you own physical embodiment of Jack or not, it doesn’t matter. Your Jack is just like your own personal guardian angel or your knight in shining armour. Jack can be anyone or anything as long as he ‘works’ for you. Jack keeps you sane. Jack keeps you strong. Jack keeps you alive. In Room, he does this in the most innocent way that Joy was completely unaware of until she left the confines of the shed.

I wasn’t lucky enough to have my own Room but I did have a Jack. Yes, my Jack is a person but he isn’t aware of me. He kept me going. He kept me focused. He kept me safe. He kept me alive. He’s been a Steve, a Jake, a Nick and even a ‘Harvard Hottie’ but not a Jack, yet he is still my very own Jack. He made me realise that I don’t need shitty people in my life, people’s opinions do not define me and that I am so much more than my mental illness. Even though I may never be able to tell him in person, I cannot thank him enough. He is my real life superhero.

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victimsupport.org.uk // rapeandabuseline.co.uk // womenagainstrape.net // itsonus.org

Friendship: The Burning and Building of.

*This was written at 6:07am. I was sat freezing to death in a train station. I genuinely think the cold got to my brain and kick started my motivation and creativity because here I am. The following is full of cringey/confused/tired thoughts as well as a lot of rambling but I hope it gives my friends that little lift that they may just need right now or even in the future.*

 

I just had sort of a revelation: I feel as if I don’t give my friends enough credit.

 

In the past year or so, I’ve changed. I am not a little girl any more but I am yet to become a ‘fully fledged’ woman. I have become a much stronger person because of my lovely little support network with me*. I have moved mountains that I used to struggle to climb. I’ve had some pretty awful experiences but they were counteracted by the happy ones made by my friends. I truly have come a long way but I would not have been able to do it without the help of my friends. I used to believe that the more friends you have, the happier you’ll be but the burning of many bridges between me and my – now ex – friends made me realise that this isn’t always the case. Friendships end for a reason, whether the reason and/or outcome is good or bad, life goes on.

Some may have left but others still remain. People change, things change, plans change but moments don’t. I don’t know how to put it a comprehensible sentence so in the wonderful words of Stephen Chbosky: There are people who forget what it’s like to be sixteen when they turn seventeen. We know these will all be stories someday and our pictures will become old photographs. We’ll all become somebody’s mom or dad. But right now these moments are not stories…

 

In the past year or so, I’ve made so many friends. We’ve met through some pretty peculiar of ways.
Sometimes, when it’s a little too late for my brain to be doing brain stuff, I’ll feel unbelievably alone so I’ll begin to flick through my Twitter feed and see that – sometimes – my friends feel the exact same way. Knowing that the people I care about most in this world feel similarly is incredibly comforting. Knowing they might have been in the same situation as me makes me feel included in the weirdest way.

In the past year or so, I’ve lost many friends. We parted with each other in the strangest and sudden ways.
Some of them left me when I needed them more than anything. Some left without a word. Some told me they’d be there until the end of the line but we all now know how that one has turned out. I – probably – used to rely on them (maybe a bit more than I should’ve) but that is no longer the case.
I am so grateful for each little molecule and every tiny cell that has kept you alive to read this odd ramble until the very end. I’d like to thank you, my friend, so much for unintentionally rubbing off on me and making me a little less cynical and cold hearted – most of the time…

To the construction and demolition of the friendships to come.

To the memories made and ones to come.

To real friends to the real end.

Jokes. I am not Kanye.

Dedicated to C.M, L.D, M.S, I.S, T.P, M.H, L.A, E.V, L.B, M.L, C.O and E.S.

♥The best friends a person could ask for♥

BeFunky Collage

*I was going to put behind me but if anything my friends are ahead of me so I settled for somewhere in the middle…

A Letter To My 12 Year Old Self.

Dear twelve year old Georgia,

Before I give you any advice I want to be honest with you and say that being twelve will be tough. Don’t let that put you off though, thirteen onward will be pretty great. You only have four or so years left at school then you’ll never have to return to this horribly yellow-tiled hell hole ever again.

First of all: Read. Read everything and anything that interests you. Even if your mom tells you you’re too young to read Young Adult books, do it anyway. Reread the books you read as a child and read the ones you’ve always wanted to. If you do by the time you’re sixteen, you’ll have read so many books to believe everything you are told. You may find a book that’ll change your life.

Also, don’t let any boy, or anyone for that matter, tell you that you can’t go see The Dark Knight Rises and other ‘boy films’ because ‘you’re a girl’ and girls ‘shouldn’t like superheroes’. Go see it anyway. Films may be targeted to a certain gender but that doesn’t mean you will or won’t enjoy it. Gender roles don’t control your life if you don’t want them to. Make sure not to wear your X-Men shirt when you do see it though… You’ll probably get a few really disgusted looks your way.

Sometimes friends don’t stick around. You’ll grow apart but that’s okay. More than okay even. Things honestly do happen for a reason and people change – sometimes not for the better. You will always have that small group you can talk to at any time. You’ll also regain friends you thought you lost and you will be closer than you ever thought. Just be yourself and your friends will come to you

If you’re going to learn anything this year, it might as well be this: Don’t feel obliged to say yes. Saying yes can open doors but it can also trap you in a never ending cycle of being a ‘people pleaser’ and whatnot. Only say yes if you truly want to and don’t be scared of the consequences. If they didn’t want an honest answer, they shouldn’t have asked. Remember: It’s only your second year in ‘big school’ so don’t waste your time doing things you don’t want to with people you don’t like.

Don’t try to grow up too quickly. By the time you get to sixteen you’ll want to be twelve again. Enjoy everything as it comes – good or bad. Experiences make you who you are. Twelve is the age where you’ll realise that the world is a pretty shitty place – it doesn’t take someone old and wise to tell you that either.

Last but not least: Don’t waste your time on ‘him’. Also don’t get close to his best friend because that will most certainly not turn out well by the time Year 10 comes around. Neither of them are worth it. They’re both manipulative dicks.

I hope twelve is as kind to you as it can be. You can do it. I know you can. Shit happens but life gets better. Your twelfth year of existing will be a turning point and make you who you are: blunt, opinionated and unapologetic. (most of the time)

Love always,
Sixteen year old Georgia who no longer cares about how her nose looks.

 

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To Write Love On Her Arms: The Future of Charity Work.

To Write Love on Her Arms (TWLOHA for short) is an American non-profit organisation which gives help and support for people struggling with addiction, depression, self-injury and suicidal thoughts. The organisation also helps to fund treatment and recovery programs. The organisation’s founder, Jamie Tworkowski, originally created TWLOHA to fund for a friend called Renee Yohe, to go into rehab.

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In 2012, a film based on the story of Tworkowski and Yohe was released. The film features Kat Dennings, Chad Michael Murry and Corbin Bleu. Tworkowski also wrote a book about Yohe’s life five days before she was admitted into rehab.

In December 2014, the charity (re)launched a campaign called ‘#WelcomeToMidnight‘. The campaign promoted the significance of a new year and how it means you can start over again if you feel like it. The hashtag was used on Twitter and Instagram and was a place for people to share what they hoped to leave behind and what they hoped to find in the new year.

I stumbled across their website probably around this time last year and was quite confused with what TWLOHA is and now, a whole year later, it’s one of my favourite charities. I’m going to put the confusion down to the fact that when you visit the To Write Love On Her Arms website, it doesn’t look like a charity in the slightest. It looks like a blog that someone has created that also sells merchandise. This sort of charity is, in my opinion, the future. It’s subtly clever enough to make you want to donate or help out without shoving a huge ‘donate now’ button in your face every time you click. The website’s shop not only sell the usual branded jumpers and t-shirts; they sell calenders, accessories, mugs and even a few of Jamie Tworkowski’s books. And the best part is that all the profits from their sales goes directly to the organisation which enables them to expand and therefore helping more people.

TWLOHA-Default-3

 ~

To find out more about To Write Love On Her Arm‘s work:

twloha.com/learn.

or donate here:

twloha.com/get-involved.