Hormones and moans

The twenty-fourth and twenty-fifth erotic journal challenge prompts are hormones and mental health.

One of the side effects of my mental health, and related medication is that when I do have moments of unrest I never know the causation. I did wonder, over the past year, if I may be perimenopausal but the GP doesn’t think so. I have no family history of early perimenopause. I did point out, as I regular do, that I don’t know my biological family so my family history is unknown rather than negative so by writing off conditions based on the fact no known family member experienced something is actually putting my life at risk (for example, if I have a symptom that is associated with a hereditary illness I do not get referrals based on the fact I don’t know my biological family. If a person who do know their family, had the same symptom and there was a family history of specific illnesses they would be treated differently). Anyway, I digress – I’m just annoyed at biocentrism in medical care – especially as I expect someone with a science brain to acknowledge the difference between no and unknown.

Also, because I’m obese everything is attributed to my weight. Change in hair growth, location and density = lose weight. Fatigue and anxiety = lose weight. Worry about auditory hallucinations = lose weight. Finding sensory stimuli overwhelming = lose weight. I ain’t even joking.

So between being fat and not knowing if I’m genetically predisposed to certain illnesses, I’m a bit stuck.

Puberty came early for me. I remember being in the final year of my junior school because when I started bleeding my mum thought it would be helpful to tell the teacher so I could change in the toilets by myself during my time of the month. My body had already started changing before that point because I have clear memories of a birthday party at a swimming pool the previous summer where friends asked to look at my body in the changing room (if it sounds a bit weird now, rest assured it didn’t feel weird at the time – just annoying). I also remember having a mustache from age six onwards which I thought was a clear indication something was up with my hormones. Obviously my GP disagreed because members of my adopted family were also hirsute (Hello!? I would have challenged my GP but my mother said it was rude to argue with him.).

A few years later my mental health problems started getting diagnosed. Two decades afterwards, professionals are still disagnosing them. But now, there is an openness (in me) and awareness (in them). Things that were originally thought of as growing pains are being reexamined.

The reason why I have given so much history here is to show that (undiagnosed) mental health issues were around earlier than I anticipated and puberty arrived before I was mature enough to understand it. I was navigating both of these fields before my friends, and due to the nature of my upbringing relatively alone (my family were very old-fashioned so depression was pretty much seen as weakness and laziness, and body changes were not talked about… and there was a general uncomfortableness about early puberty because they were not ready for me to grow up).

And let’s not forget that mental health medication is widely associated with hormonal changes (good and bad).

So, how do hormones and mental health impact me? Gaaah! I don’t know. They are so fully intertwined in my life that I wouldn’t know how to seperate them…

But I do know chocolate helps 🙂

Watch out for my body rolls

The twenty-second and twenty-third erotic journal challenge prompts are about body love.

Sometimes I like my body, sometimes I don’t. The only time it really frustrates me is when people make uninvited comments about it. But normally I cannot be bothered to be insulted. I have bigger worries at the moment – and they shape how much other things bother me.

The thing I love most about my, and my partner’s, body is that we have fun with it. Our lifes are full of humour and it makes me so happy.

Here’s what an average day in our household looks like:


The twenty-first erotic journal challenge prompt is gratitude.

I am going to try not to stray too far from the prompt today, as I am very aware I do this daily. Interestly, I recently bought a Gabby Bernstein card deck which I keep meaning to write about… Brigit Delaney mentioned an Every Damn Day in June blogging challenge and I think it would be great to take part in because I am finding it difficult to talk about my feelings about my new job. It has a bit more importance and responsibility than I am used to, so I feel that showing any self-doubt looks unprofessional.

Anyway, without further ado.

Thank you

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The twentieth erotic journal challenge prompt is aging.

This has been on my mind lately, just because time is. As a young person I didn’t care about much – or rather, I didn’t value myself so I lived for the moment. To be honest, this seems to be a family trait and now in my late thirties I am seeing people I care about harm themselves with reckless behaviour. But I digress, this post is about me finally.

Yesterday I experienced something that I think was food poisoning – but I am a little bit apprehensive about it because I don’t want to upset the chef. It could be related to environmental factors or the huge anxiety I felt earlier on that day. Maybe it’s a mixture of all. The reason why this experience made me think about time was because I was laid up on the sofa clutching my stomach. Going out for a walk felt impossible so I ended up browsing the internet for a satchel (for my partner’s upcoming birthday) and reading a bunch of adoptee Twitter accounts I love.

And I feel so sad about the time it took to get to this point. A place where I feel loved unconditionally and where I am starting to put the pain of the past behind me. I want to cry thinking of the decades I spent trying to be somebody else, trying to please others, pushing my emotions to one side and caring for others while never feeling cared for.

I now love my life, and I want to have it for as long as possible. I want good health. It’s funny that when I started getting tattooed and pierced the comments I heard most often was How will that look when you’re older? And I’d reply that I hope my life is meaningful enough that I won’t have time to focus on how ink looks on wrinkled skin.

And I do think my life is meaningful enough, because my only worry about aging is that I waste time.


The nineteenth erotic journal challenge prompt is embarrassment.

I thought I’d hollaback to Discovery because I talk about embarrassment in it, and now I’m embarrassed about it. I think I sum it up best in my line;

I wanted to be a writer from an early age. But, I wanted to be an important one.

I am not ashamed of the type of writing I do, or writing in general. I just feel a bit like my published work is similar to my birthday; it should be celebrated but it just reinforces my feelings of inadequacy. And then I feel embarrassed for feeling this way; like I am ungrateful for the small successes I have. I feel like a selfish person for not finding pleasure from achieving my goals – and it’s hard to talk about.