My legs are hairy.
Like really hairy.
Like hairy where you aren’t sure if there is actually skin under there anymore of whether you are slowly morphing in to a gorilla woman from the caves of the Outer Hebredi jungle. (Which is somewhere near north wales, according to my Sat Nav.)
The Irish one hasn’t noticed, which basically tells me one of two things.
Either he secretly has a penchant for cave women with furry shins, or it has been far too long since he got up close and personal with my knees.
Probably a bit of both to be honest.
I am telling you this because apparently, according to my therapist, I have this affliction where apparently, I put myself down in front of people and then laugh it off, because apparently I have this fear they will do it, and so if I get in there first and then I do hear an interject, I think it will be easier for me to shrug off.
Are you following?
An interject, just in case you aren’t aware (I wasn’t) is when somebody will say something to you like;
‘Oooo you look like you’ve lost weight!’ and even if you know it not to be the case, you automatically believe it, as why in the hell would somebody say it if it wasn’t the case?
Which is great if people tell you are skinny all the time (and like me, you then allow yourself a big mac on the way home, cos its put you in such a great mood and you feel positively waif like) but not so great if someone says something like, oooo, I don’t know….
‘You are over sensitive.’
And you laugh it off, cos you know you’re not.
You know you aren’t.
But… and this is the bastard thing about interjects… while washing the pots an hour later….you catch yourself…
Am I? Am I? Am I over sensitive? Am I over sensitive?
…You even put the sponge down for a minute while you have a proper think…
‘I must be. I must be!! Otherwise, why would they have said it, if it weren’t the case? Oh my god I’m over sensitive! I am such a dick!’
You knew at the time you weren’t… but… the sneaky interject… it creeps up on you…
And by the time you have washed the knives and forks (that he ‘forgot’) you have ultimately and concretely decided nothing is ever allowed to upset you again, because that person was right!!!! And you just need to get a grip.
Once upon a time…3 days later…
You are in a great mood, but then, out of no where, while you are busy thinking about how you may shave your legs tonight and maybe if he is very very lucky, the Irish one may get some, Tom the office plank walks over and…
‘What’s up with you today misery guts?’
… ‘Hey planky Tom!’ you respond, averting your eyes ‘No, I’m not miserable! I’m having a great day thanks!’ you sing as you walk away, muttering ‘dickhead!’ under your breath for good measure…
And fighting the sneaky interject…
You know you aren’t miserable; you even have lipstick on today!!!
But…an hour later, after one other person, who you actually like, has said something similar…
You put down your pen and..
‘Do I? Do I look miserable? DO I? Do I look miserable? AM I miserable?’
…You even go to the toilets to get a look at yourself in the mirror to check…
‘Oh my god!’ you think to yourself, ‘I do look miserable! I thought I looked ok today but I really do look miserable. I must do! Because why would they have said it, if it simply weren’t the case?’
And there you were thinking you were feeling great!
The sneaky interject, it creeps up on you…
By the time you get back to your desk, you have plastered on a fake smile so bright, you look like the village idiot and unsurprisingly… you are starting to feel completely and utterly miserable.
Either I am completely weak… or I am not the only one life has this annoying effect on?
I hope I’m not the only one.
So what was I saying?
Even if I am the only one!
It’s ok! Cos I have a plan!! I can beat the interjects!! (And I sincerely hope you join me!)
Basically, by telling you I have hairy legs (and have my hair tied up with a pair of knickers right now – god the Irish One is one lucky man) I am essentially guarding myself from interjects by not putting myself down, but by being honest and proud!
I am proud of every one of my crispy, stubborn hairs! (Honest…)
Apparently I should have gotten to know myself well enough over the last 32 years that only I, Lexy Ellis, should be able to control my own mind.
And I need to share with you my vulnerable side so that I get more comfortable with human contact (blah cringe blah) and ward off others controlling me.
So with that in mind… I share with you some therapy… honesty… cringe, cringe, cringe…
I am miserable but no longer psychotic. (DO NOT ARGUE WITH ME ON THIS ONE!) But sometimes I wish I still were psychotic, because when I was, everyone left me alone except when they brought me cups of tea. Now no one ever brings me cups of tea anymore. I miss that.
I hate shaving my legs and this makes me a bad mother. (Look I don’t know why ok? I just think if I was a good mother I would probably want to shave my legs more often, but I don’t… how do you get over the knee without slicing yourself? It’s a nightmare! Scabby knees aren’t sexy!!)
I am curvy and I love it (but call me fat and ill cry for a week…. Ok a month, maybe a year.) Ok, I don’t love it. Sometimes I wish I were really thin, but only so I could eat my way back up to a size 16. Why do Diam bars taunt me so?
I can’t stand people who hurt others by telling nonsensical and cruel lies. Sometimes when somebody hurts me, I sing nasty songs to him or her really loud in the car and picture myself being interviewed on the telly about it. It’s actually fun. ‘No Oprah, I believed her completely, until I found out she thought I was a mug.’
I am all talk. Except when I am thinking, and then mostly I am analysing. Like, could someone actually swim to America from Blackpool? And, if I eat a donut and keep my eyes shut, maybe my hips won’t notice. And, did they really walk on the moon, or was that a cow in the background? What will Addison look like when he is 21? Will they ever invent a self filling car that doesn’t need petrol?
I love my son. And it scares the living shit out of me, because if anything ever happens to him, and he gets stolen from me, I will stop breathing. I will actually fold from the outside in. The thought of this happening sometimes makes me want to die. Sometimes I wonder if this feeling is worse than the possibility of perhaps not having ever felt anything for him at all. Love is terrifying to me.
When I was younger somebody stole an important part of me. One day I will tell them this. I will be brave.
I suffer with clinical depression brought on from postnatal depression brought on from a life of not knowing I was missing something.
I AM NOT ASHAMED.
Right now, I am trying to think about me. It’s really hard! (See how I snuck the real stuff in there? DONT MENTION IT!! PRETEND IT DIDNT HAPPEN!!! ARGHHHH I HATE BEING VULNERABLE!)
I hate interjects, because one way or another, I usually end up believing them, but from today, I will try really hard not to.
I am a good mum. What I lack in money I have in love.
I am kind, friendly and loving.
Occasionally I am psychotic.
I take no sugar in my tea and love a nice chocolate biscuit…