The few weeks after my first hospital appointment were weird.  There wasn't much I could do, it can take a few weeks to be diagnosed, so I just went to school and acted normal - okay, not normal, I was a complete weirdo at school, but I just carried on with my life.  It was just waiting for letters to my parents, about me, then more blood tests, scheduled scans, potential surgeries, more 'keeping an eye on me'.  Keeping an eye on what exactly?  I just remember being like "umm... I'm fine, obviously" because I thought I was the toughest of all the cookies and nothing could touch me.  Spoiler alert, I kept up the obnoxious "I'm fine" act for many months to come - actually, many years... That's probably why I have so many issues now!

ANYWAY.

Over the next few weeks I told a few of my friends a little bit about what was going on, but in my own special way... I told a few of them that there was a squishy lump in my neck, but at this point I still thought it was kind of hilarious.  I didn't tell them it might be cancer, whether I thought I was protecting them or whether I was still in denial, I don't know.  I think I mainly just didn't want people to think I was telling people I had cancer for attention, like what if I didn't have cancer in the end?  How awkward.  I think I told my best friend at the time that it might be cancer.  I don't remember her reaction, but I think it was pretty calm.  We were all pretty calm, because it probably wasn't cancer.  Or because we didn't have to admit that it was just yet...

My entire family continued the "well, she's probably fine, because look how healthy she is, she'd be sicker if she had cancer" act.  I remember my mum saying one day that some of my bloods came back clear, so that was a good sign and my dad replying "not all cancers show up in bloods".  It's always nice to have a realist around, because dad was right and not all cancers do show up in bloods... even my blood cancer.  Please don't ask me how that works, I literally had a blood cancer but, you know... I don't know... Science.

At that point it did seem like I was probably fine though.  I was so fatigued some days that I literally lay down in the middle of the kitchen floor and fell asleep, but that's not completely unusual behaviour, right?  I seemed basically fine.  Obviously I wasn't, or this entire blog series would be boring and pointless.  I'm just saying, some cancers are sneaky bitches and you don't even know that they're there until they mess up and decide to start creating visible tumours, stupid cancer.  Although, maybe it just ran out of space on my vital organs...

Everything seemed okay until the middle of May, when I started noticing a few things... Nothing too dramatic, but subtle hints that I was not, like I kept telling everyone, okay.  I woke up one morning completely covered in sweat - ewww what? I know, I'm disgusting, but nothing is TMI anymore.  You don't even understand how much sweat, I'm not a generally sweaty person but my entire body was wet to touch, like I'd been standing outside in the rain for a few minutes.  Yeah, I know, GROSS.  It wasn't a particularly hot night, just a symptom creeping in.

I had to shower before school, which should've been a clear sign to my entire family that I was dying, because there's no way I'd be up early enough to do anything other than get dressed if there wasn't something wrong.

On another occasion, I was struggling to breathe one day after school and mentioned it to my mum.  She was a little bit concerned but I didn't want to go to hospital so I just told her it was fine again and we didn't go.  She did the typical mum thing "well if you're sure you're okay, but if it gets ANY worse..." and I thought that was the end of that.  It wasn't.

The next day, as I was running into my form room with my friends, I felt a stabbing pain in my chest, forcing me to stop and grab my boob.  That's not strictly weird behaviour, sometimes you're running and you just wanna grab a boob, it happens.   Just make sure you're grabbing your own boob, 'cause not everyone likes that.  We later found out that chest pains are a symptom when you have tumours all over your heart and lungs, who knew? But at the time I just assumed it was from the ten seconds of running... I mean they say it was the tumours, but I still partially blame the running... Cardio is no one's friend.

As I entered the room, my tutor came up to me and told me that I had to go to reception because I was going home.  He said my mum was waiting in the carpark and that she was going to take me to hospital, and I was furious.  I think I actually got a little bit angry at him.  I feel bad now because it wasn't his fault I had cancer, I just didn't want to leave.  I was having a good day and it was sunny and my friends and I were having fun.  Also, it was becoming clearer by the day that I had cancer... and I didn't really want cancer.

After almost throwing a tantrum right there, I think I told him that I didn't want to go and I wasn't going and he just said that I had to and I should go and talk to my mum about it, so I did.  We weren't going straight to the hospital, we were going home so I could pack an overnight bag in case I had to stay overnight to be monitored.  I was rude to her the whole way home.  I didn't want to stay overnight.  I didn't want to be monitored.  I wanted to go to my class.  In all my life I have never been so committed to my education.  Remember when we thought having the afternoon off was exciting and nothing was worse than school?  We were wrong, cancer is worse.

By the time we got home my mum was probably pretty pissed off with me, because - story of my childhood - I was being a brat.  She had explained that Louise called earlier that day and my mum told her that I was struggling to breathe the night before, so they asked me to come in.  I was so fuming and told her she was overreacting and that I'm clearly fine.  How dare you care about my health! Realistically, I was probably just scared and lashing out.  I don't remember feeling scared, not consciously, but I'm not sure why else I'd be such a dick.  I guess, probably because of my personality... I have too much attitude now, imagine me as a teenager! Imagine me as a scared teenager... my parents probably deserve some kind of award for putting up with that level of sass.

As soon as we got home, I went to my room and my mum tried to get me to pack a bag, but I was just mouthing off about how I wasn't going to stay in hospital because I was fine and CLEARLY I COULD BREATHE BECAUSE HOW ELSE WOULD I BE ABLE TO SHOUT SO MUCH.  I actually distinctly remember saying that because I thought I was being really clever and really funny... which ummm, let's face it, I kind of was.

I think my dad got back from work soon after and finally convinced me to just pack a bag so he could take me to hospital.  Mum stayed at home and waited for my sisters to get back so she could explain the situation.  Dad has slightly more patience with me than mum, but he also seemed less scared and erratic.  I think that's why I was more willing to do what he said at that point.  Actually, to say he has more patience with me would be unfair, my dad doesn't need as much patience, because by the time he comes along I'm already exhausted from the hours of arguing mum has had to put up with.  Mum definitely has more patience, dad just has better timing.

All he said was that I probably wouldn't have to stay, but it's better to have a bag than not to.  Logical.  He probably made some jokes about something, because that's what he does and then we left.  The thing is, dad is usually pretty chill, externally anyway.  He was also rational, he said I probably wouldn't have to stay overnight because I was fine and they just wanted to see me and check.  He said he didn't know what they'd say, but its not like the NHS are actively looking to fill their beds up.  Mum, on the other hand, is a mother.  I think she was preparing for the worst, which is why Hannah was pretty upset when I got back a few hours later.  Did I mention it was her birthday?  I know, way to steal your sister's thunder... I just really don't like other people getting the attention, even if it is their birthday.  That's not a joke, I actually didn't like other peoples' birthdays for that reason - but I think I took the attention stealing a little bit far in 2010.

Okay. Prepare yourself for an anticlimax - ladies, you should be pretty good at this. ;)

We went to the children's ward, we sat in an empty room and we waited for Louise.  I continued to complain.  Dad continued to joke about... I don't know, stuff and then Lousie came in.  She quickly checked me over, told us that she wasn't worried, checked that we were going to the other appointments that were lined up - the scans and the doctor in Bristol we had to see - and then she sent me home...

And I was furious.

Despite the fact that it was the best possible outcome, I was still a sarky bitch on the way back, bitching and moaning about how I had to pack a bag and that I was missing Hannah's birthday, and then I got home and she'd already opened all her presents.

Apparently she needed cheering up which is why she and mum had a party for two, and I felt guilty but processed that by getting angry and I think it was probably the worst birthday she ever had.

Don't worry, I made sure everyone else's birthdays were equally/exceedingly terrible that year.

You may have heard about the Heads Together campaign Prince Harry and The Duke and Duchess of Cambridge launched last year... pretty sure it was last year.  It's basically just this whole big campaign to normalise discussing mental health and letting people know that IT'S TOTALLY OKAY TO BE CRAY.  Okay, so that's not quite how The Royal Family put it, but that's the message that I got.

Anyway, Sunday was the London Marathon and Heads Together was the main charity.  It was the first mental health marathon.  Mental health is just kind of a big deal right now and I personally think that's really cool, because for a long, long time it was not okay to talk about mental health and everyone thought it was weird.  So, I'm writing about this now, because it just seems like the right time.

A lot of people might still think it's weird to share such a personal experience online, but that's kind of why I'm doing it.  A lot of people probably also think it's weird when I start crying on public transport or hyperventilating in classrooms, so I think I'm beyond embarrassment by this point.  The whole point is, it shouldn't be weird and it shouldn't be embarrassing and it is no more personal than my cancer chronicles, which has only got positive responses.

If I can write blog posts about what it's like to have cancer, I can write about the scars it left me with.  Nah, not the weird line just above my left boob or the one on my neck that no one notices until they ask about the other one and I point it out to them, because I'm kind of proud of them.  I'm talking about the mental scars, the ones I haven't been so proud of.

I'm writing about what it's like living with slightly fucked up mental health, because it's actually okay to be a little bit cray and I never want anyone to feel like it isn't, because that's just a super bad way to feel.  I never want anyone to feel like I felt.  I never want anyone else to feel like their problems aren't valid or that they have no right to be feeling the way they're feeling, just because maybe someone else has it worse or because they're too rich to be depressed, or too young to have anxiety or because they should just be grateful to be alive or any of the other bullshit myths out there.

I've told myself all those things, but the truth is someone else will always have it worse, that doesn't mean you have any less right to your mental health.  It doesn't mean you have any less right to the help that's out there and it doesn't mean you should be ashamed or embarrassed to admit that you're struggling.

Everyone has a different story, but all feelings are valid.

hiding the cray and seeing the stigma

Someone once told me that they're a big advocate for standing up for people with mental health issues and there shouldn't be such a stigma around it, "like if you wanna go and see a therapist, see a therapist, that's a good thing to do, it shouldn't be a big deal."  I'd only known them for a few months, but from what they said and the way they said it, I didn't get the indication that they personally deal with mental health problems, but they have friends who do and feel strongly about it.

It kind of randomly came up in conversation, and I was a little bit surprised and consequently reacted really awkwardly.  I felt like I'd been caught out and immediately felt completely exposed, which is hilarious when you consider that a) he didn't know I have more issues than vogue, he was just talking about something he saw on Facebook, and b) I was actually completely naked at the time this conversation took place.

I wanted to agree, because I do think there's an unnecessary stigma around mental health - at least I thought I did - but I didn't want him to know how badly I suffer with my own.  How could I possibly agree that there shouldn't be a stigma and there's nothing to be embarrassed about, when I was so clearly embarrassed about it?

What would I have said?

"Yeah, me too, did I ever mention that I'm actually fucking insane? I've seen a lot of therapists and been prescribed a lot of drugs.  Sometimes I cry because I'm too scared to leave my room and I genuinely think I'm dying on a regular basis.  One time I made my bed into a blanket fort and didn't leave it for a week.  Also, I regularly believe that my teeth will fall out over night and I'm too scared to go to sleep because of that."

How to scare off boys, by Jamie.  As if that's something I need help with...

My friend and I laughed about it when I told her, she was like "What did you do? Just sit there like - oh, mental health.... what is that? This is a totally new concept to me.... I have ZERO experience in that area."

So, what did I do? I said nothing.  Possibly an equally weird reaction, because I probably just came across as communicatively incompetent, but whatever.  It's just like most boys already think I'm cray, they don't need to know that I'm medically cray on top of that...

I couldn't stop thinking about it though, because that conversation was when I realised that I actually was really ashamed - I don't know why that wasn't obvious before, since I did my best to hide it for over six years, but I'm just kind of an oblivious person...  I also came to realise that there was nothing to be ashamed about, because like he said seeing a therapist for a mental health concern, is just a really sensible action to take.  Admitting you have any kind of health problem is just a great idea in general, how else do you expect to get better?

Yeah, so the moral of the story is, typical me, didn't notice until a cute guy told me and then believed every word.  Hasn't always been a great strategy for me, but I'm pretty sure this one had a point.

It's hard to admit it and talk about it, especially when you're a teenager or in your twenties, because we're young and we have the world at our feet and this is the best time of our lives, right?  But depression, anxiety, panic disorders... They don't discriminate, they can affect anyone at any time in their lives, regardless of their circumstances and sometimes without a clear cause.  They're also completely normal human emotions, by the way, it's just sometimes our brains get a little carried away and then it takes over our lives for a bit... which is NOT our fault.

Mental health doesn't always need a reason.  It's just a sneaky little bitch.

how cray we talking here?

OKAY. So here's the juicy gossip.  My mental health - like everyone's - is very complex.  I'm not going to go into extensive detail right now, because it is so very complicated and I have almost seven years of cray inside of me.  There is literally just too much for one post.  So, here's the summary;

I've basically been dealing with mental health stuff, primarily anxiety and panic attacks with 'periods of low mood'/low-key depression, ever since I had cancer in 2010.  I mean... that's kind of unsurprising, right?  I realise that now, but for almost seven years I've been keeping it to myself and I never took it seriously or did anything about it until last summer... when I finally reached a point that was as close as I've ever been to a breakdown.  I don't even know how to describe that point because it doesn't even make sense to me and I was there, but I'll give it a go.

It started off with a really bad panic attack in March 2016 - one of the worst I've ever had, which lead to a series of panic attacks over the next few months.  Before them I'd actually been doing okay for a while.  I started having really intense panic attacks every single day, sometimes multiple times a day for months and I didn't know what was causing them or what to do about it.  I was too scared to go to the doctor, too embarrassed to properly tell my friends or family the full extent of what was going on and I honestly didn't know what to do.  I didn't think anyone would believe me and I didn't think anyone could help, but I finally reached a point in July last year, when I realised I needed to at least try to do something about it.  I reached the deepest darkest point of my entire life.  With all the stress my body was under, my physical health started deteriorating too.  The months of uncontrollable panic attacks, having to quit my job, fucking up my final exams and then returning home early from a trip abroad left me impossibly sad.  There's no way I can describe it to fully explain how bad it was - I'm a good writer, they just literally haven't invented words for what I was feeling yet.

I felt so trapped by the constant anxiety and panic attacks that I stopped wanting to leave the house at all.  I still wanted all the things I've always wanted; I wanted to travel the world, live abroad, go out with my friends etc. but I felt like it would never be possible, because I couldn't even make it to the supermarket without shaking and crying.  I didn't understand why I was having so many panic attacks and I didn't know how to stop them and then I became truly miserable.  For the second time in my relatively short life, I was stuck at home most of the time, but this time it wasn't cancer and I wasn't potentially dying. I felt like I had no excuse and that it was all my fault.

I was staying in bed for hours and days doing nothing.  I was crying all the time and I didn't know why.  Sometimes when I was driving at night I would pull over and cry for twenty minutes before going home.  One time I just stopped my car in the middle of the road because my eyes started filling with tears and I stayed there and cried uncontrollably for ten minutes - don't worry, I live in the deepest darkest depths of the countryside, this wasn't causing an inconvenience for anyone... well, apart from me.  It was hugely inconvenient to me.

I was ignoring texts - not because I was playing some cute guys (not that I'd even know how to successfully do that), but because I just didn't care enough to respond and I didn't have anything to say.  I thought there was no point in living. I wished that cancer had killed me. I thought about dying all the time. I genuinely didn't think any of my friends liked me. I felt like a huge burden to my entire family, so I couldn't tell them the extent of sadness I was feeling because half of me felt like they wouldn't care (because of the anxiety, not because my family are arseholes) and the other half just felt like I'd put them through enough.  Like, "hey family, I know you watched me fighting for my life when I was sixteen, but now I wish I hadn't bothered, now I actually want to die."  How could I do that to them?

I felt guilty for the way I felt, not just because I didn't want to hurt the people who love me, but because sixteen year old me fought so hard to survive and I was letting her down too.  I felt like I was letting everyone down because I was lucky enough to survive stage 3 cancer, when not everyone gets that chance and now I couldn't even do anything with my life.  I felt like I should just be grateful to be alive, and that anything other than that was like spitting in my doctors' faces.  I didn't understand why I couldn't feel that way.

I was under the illusion that I should be completely in control of what's going on in my brain and what I was feeling.  That's pretty dumb in itself because if I was in control of any of my feelings I'd, at the very least, have much better taste in men.

On top of all that, I was embarrassed.  I think I would've been embarrassed regardless of my situation, but I felt like I had a reputation of being a strong, brave person who beat cancer and never made a fuss, who travels to strange places alone, who wants to jump out of planes and swim with sharks.  I felt a huge pressure to keep up that persona because I didn't want anyone thinking I was weak.

Anxiety made me feel weak and pathetic.  Who's going to think I'm brave if they know I missed a day of university because I was lying in bed shaking and crying, too scared to leave the house?

Also, it didn't make any sense to me - so, I can go through chemotherapy, including two serious stomach infections and a blood clot 'causing near death, completely fearlessly and I can travel the world to 'dangerous' places all by myself without a second thought, but... I can't get the tube because I feel like I'm suffocating as soon as the doors shut?  How is anyone else going to understand that?

I realise now that anxiety is just like that, but for a third of my life I told myself that no one would believe me because how could I be so scared of 'nothing' when I'm so 'brave'.  Even if they did believe me, I didn't think anyone would care or be able to help.  So what was the point in doing anything?

I'll go into more detail in future posts, but basically, up until last year, I completely downplayed everything and mostly kept it to myself, assuming I was just being dramatic... Looking back, the fact that I thought I was overreacting is more crazy than the actual mental health stuff I was dealing with.

so... err... you okay, bae?

being okay with the cray

When I started realising that I have anxiety, I defined it as my least favourite part of me, my biggest flaw... and there's a lot to choose from!  If there was one thing I could change about myself it would be that... wait, even over bigger boobs and a smaller nose?  Yup, I'd change anxiety before those things any day.

I don't want to see it that way any more though.  Partially, because if a fairy godmother does show up, I really would like that smaller nose and bigger boobs, but mostly because I AM NOT MY ANXIETY.  It is not a part of ME, it is not a flaw, it's a part of my journey and it does not define me or my life.  SIDE NOTE: I hate it when people describe their life as their 'journey', but honestly, it does seem like the most appropriate term here.

Anxiety is just my toughest challenge yet, and it's really hard and it's going to take time, but I'm going to be okay.  It sounds cliche, but the first step to getting better is admitting that you're not okay and accepting it - you don't have to share it with everyone in the world, but no one moves on from any of the stuff I've written about by not talking about it.

The good news is that we're really not alone.  Surprisingly to me, almost every person I have told, whether it be a friend, a classmate who caught me at a bad time, or the invigilator in an exam hall who approached me to ask why I was crying, has responded with the same thing.  Almost every person I've told, had on some level suffered with their mental health because it's much more common than you think.  Men and women, young and old, rich and poor, almost everyone has been able to relate and therefore help.  Even the people who couldn't directly relate, often knew someone who experienced something similar and were so nice about it. LIKE IT'S LITERALLY SOOOOO COMMON.  No one reacted the way I feared, no one told me I was being dramatic or pathetic, they just asked me if and how they could help.  People are great sometimes.

Best of all, telling people I have anxiety and having them say "yeah, me too" means that we all have a little support group now.  I call them my crazy crew (...not usually to their faces).  I have at least three people I can text and say "oh my god, I can't stop crying and I've been googling it and I think I have this rare illness that no one has contracted since the seventies and I'm definitely dying" and they know exactly what I mean and probably did the same thing when they sneezed three days ago.

I know how to look after myself now, I'm helping my friends do the same and I'm getting so much better because of it.  It's just another chapter of my highly complicated life, but I KNOW this is not forever.  I used to think anxiety was ruining every aspect of my life, and to be fair, it kind of was, but now that I'm working through it, I feel like I'm heading towards what will be the best place in my life and the best version of me. I'm going to be so much stronger and braver because of this experience.

So, basically I really am okay with it.  Mostly because it's totally normal to feel this way sometimes and because I know now that mental health problems are just as valid as physical illnesses, and (in my experience) can sometimes be worse... Realising and accepting that I'm little bit messed up has been the only way I can help myself and make the changes I need to make to help me long term.  

SO BASICALLY, I KNOW THERE IS HOPE and if you ever feel like no one cares, I promise you, you're part of a huge crazy club and we all care.

having a low-key bizarre AF name

I have a kind of weird, big nose, I'm a little too tall, too skinny, with the smallest boobs ever, long, gangly limbs, a manly back and hip bones that have always stuck out just a little too far...

I'm basically Pinocchio with longer hair, and a marginally better butt.

My mum is 100% going to send me a Facebook message telling me not to be so mean to myself after that little self hate-i-ness... wait, what? I don't know, but I like hate-i-ness, I'm sticking with it.  Don't worry, mum, it's just a joke, I love myself.

ANYWAY...

Rational or irrational, we all have insecurities and those are a few of mine... but my weirdest and probably most irrational of them all is that I am ridiculously embarrassed of my name.  So much so, that as I write this although a few people are probably thinking "Guuuuurl, that is so dumb." I'm pretty sure the other 90% are more "Yup, I'd be embarrassed about that...".

Actually, Mum, if you are reading this, I'd just stop right now 'cause you've heard all this 100 times before and you won't like anything I have to say here... (sorry!)

My first name is Jemima... Yes, really... and even typing it, I'm cringing.  You know the funniest thing about my name?  My sisters' beautifully average names, Emily and Hannah.  Oh, what I would've given not to be the middle child, the one who got the quirky name so no one could accuse my parents of being boring.  My mum has assured me several times that this was not the case, that they were just picking names they liked and they never envisaged that it would cause so much of a problem.  They had no idea what a nightmare child I'd turn out to be... probably wish they'd just given the name to one of my sisters instead.

I know, I know, there are worse things in the world than my name - I mean this is a serious first world problem, I'm not expecting anyone to lose any sleep over it! But I'd be lying if I said I hadn't.... Your name is part of your first impression, and my first impression is usually a joke as it is - I didn't need an imaginative name to make it even worse!

It's got to the point now, where I feel genuinely embarrassed when people ask me to introduce myself, call me by my name or even write it down.  I awkwardly stand there, trying to make polite conversation, little do they know I'm using small talk as a crafty distraction to avoid the question I dread the most.  And then it happens...

"What's your name, by the way?"

Palms sweating, you got this, just try not to make it awkward like last time.

"Ridiculous"

Shit. You can still recover! Just tell her your name, she thinks you're weird now. Laugh it off...

"Hahahahahaha, it's Jemima... but-I-hate-it-it's-so-embarrassing-blame-my-parents-obviously-they-hate-me..." *awkward laugh*

Yeah, say more words in close succession.  That'll help.

"You-don't-have-to-call-me-that!"

WHAT? Who does that? Does anyone do that? Has anyone else in the history of the world ever introduced themselves and then told someone not to call them by the very name they just introduced themselves with?

"I have loads of nicknames, so many names I respond to...  Literally call me anything, just shout 'slut' and I'll probably turn around. Hahahahaha"

Oh my god. Just stop talking. You don't even know this person. Let her talk. At least give her the option to walk away...

"Oh....... I-I""

Don't know what to say? Yep, I've made this awkward. Maybe I should walk away...

"Err.. I think it's a nice name! ...... It's unusual."

(this part only happens if I'm in England - if I'm speaking to an American or Canadian I'm usually faced with "Hahaha, like the pancake lady?" and if it's anyone from Europe I get twenty questions... "that's an interesting name, what is it? say it again, I've never heard that before. Where's it from?  Really? What is it again? Je- Je- Jemaaaaaaymaa? Jemeeeeeeeema? Jimimahhh?")



"Yeah, it's just weird... I don't like"

"So why don't you change it?"

Such a fucking excellent question.  I wish we could just stop talking about this.

"Umm............ I just... I don't really know what to change it to"

Duuuhhh... How about... a name you do like?  Maybe you should just change your entire identity at this point, cut all ties now, make new friends... they'll like you more anyway, because you'll have a cool name.  In fact, not even a cool name, you should probably just settle for an average one at this stage.

And that's pretty much how it goes.  I end up genuinely considering moving away so I can start fresh with a less embarrassing name and I'd never again have to deal with:

• "Hahaha, no your real name."
• "What is it? Say it again... What?"
• "Are you joking?"
• "Why did your parents call you that?" *laughter*
• "Is that actually a name?"
• "Je-whatnow?"
• "Like the duck?"
• "Like the pancake lady?"
• "Like the kid in Chitty Chitty Bang Bang?"
• *laughter*
• "Do you have any siblings? Do they have weird names too?"
• "Wow, so I guess your parents decided they didn't like you pretty early on"
• "what are you sisters called? ... obviously your parents realised they made mistake before they got to the last one. *laughter*"
• "Your name is not Jemima! *laughter* No one's called Jemima!"

a comprehensive list of the precise reasons i don't like it

This isn't just me being a baby, this name actually has so many problems.

So, I've constructed a comprehensive list of reasons my name is not the greatest:

1. It has too many syllables, who needs that many? Like two is enough, it's actually an effort just getting my attention.  I think it's really weird that my parents actually went with that, with the knowledge that they'd have to say 'Jemima' several times a day for potentially the rest of their lives (provided I don't die before them, which let's face it, I've come pretty close! AYYEEE. Cancer jokes!).  I'm honestly pretty grateful I don't have to talk to myself, because I'm semi-sure that I pronounce it incorrectly at least half the time I introduce myself... It's pretty hard to say, no?

2. It kind of rhymes with vagina... I don't think I need to elaborate on this point, though maybe pointing out that my last name rhymes with 'bendy' will give you some indication of the nicknames I got at school.  Again, thanks mum and dad!

3. People misread it.  I used to get sweaty with panic every time we had a substitute teacher at school taking the register..... Like, I will take Jemma, but please don't call me Jeremiah.

4. People mispronounce it...  Even the people who chose it.

Last year my dad accidentally called me Giomima and seconds later my mum went with Jermamima.

SERIOUSLY?!  YOU NAMED ME.  YOU DID THIS TO ME.

5. People misspell it. Someone once spelled my name "Germima"... Like I'm some kind of germ.

Also, my parents recently added an additional "aggghh" to the end of my name because I am such a hassle.  They think they're so funny...



6. It sounds even stupider when people from other countries try to pronounce it - my French friend said it with a French accent and we laughed pretty hard... It was even worse in Spanish, because 'J' is pronounced more like 'H'.  My Polish friend just looked at me with utter bemusement when I first met her, and had to practice a few times before she got it...  Even now I'm not sure she always says it correctly.  I travel quite a bit, you know, it's just causing problems globally at this point.

7. It means 'dove'.  One time I told someone that they responded with "oh yeah, my name means Radox."

8. Starbucks.


9. I'm never going to find it on a keyring in a gift shop.

10. It's pretty pretentious.  My name along with my unwarranted semi-posh accent, leads people to think I'm much richer and much more stuck up than I actually am.  Which is annoying, because I'm very poor and in debt right now....... and I'm working on the stuck up thing...

11. If I overhear people talking about me, they are definitely talking about me.  There's no "oh, it's probably that other Jemima..." because there probably is no other Jemima within 100 miles.

12. Other people are embarrassed of saying my name, either because it's weird or because they're not entirely sure what it is and they don't want to get it wrong.  I have a lot of friends who've admitted they just avoided addressing me by my first name for months, because they weren't really sure what it was or how to say it.  I have literally slept with people who aren't sure what to call me... (although, maybe that's more of a reflection on me than my name. AYEEEE!).  No but really, I have been in semi-serious, but not-quite-relationship, non-slutty, fling-type situations with people who just didn't say my name the entire few weeks it lasted.

a thousand and one names to choose from

I know the most obvious thing I could do here is just go by Jem.  No one would question it, it's a perfectly normal acceptable name and it makes sense.  Unfortunately, I was conditioned from a young age to hate the name Jem.  My mum doesn't like Jem, so I was discouraged from using it at school and as a consequence I learnt to hate it.  Unsurprisingly, some people still choose to address me as "Jem", because having a weird name apparently gives everyone unspoken permission to create a nickname for you. Consequently, I will probably respond to any of the following:

• Jemima
• Mima
• Mimey
• Mimes
• Jam
• J
• Jamie
• Jemma (This is mostly people who think Jemma is my actual name and I've corrected them so many times it's just too awkward now... I've never asked anyone to call me Jemma)
• Jem (actually I usually don't respond to this one...)
• Jim
• Jimjam
• Jamjar
• Jammylee
• Jamaica
• Jumanji
• Ja-may-may
• Je-mee-mee
• Jimpops
• Jiminy Cricket
• Duck
• Puddle
• Puddle Duck
• Pieman (I don't know, ask my dad.)
• Nugget (I don't know, ask my uncle.)
• Slut/Whore/Princess (I don't know... okay, I kind of know... but ask Laura.) 

I had an unhealthy relationship with Tinder and recently, I had to say goodbye.  Kind of for lent, but like five days late because I forgot that was a thing and also I don't see myself re-downloading it anytime soon... So in some ways, not at all for lent, but it's kind of nice to do something for lent.  It just makes me feel better about myself. I'm not even religious... what am I?

I first downloaded Tinder in 2014 when I was visiting my sister at university.  She was new to the app and advised me to download it.  I was in a relationship (well... kind of... it's a long story) at the time, but she said it didn't matter because it wasn't really about dating and after she helped me set up a profile (just for fun). I kind of understood the appeal and kept it.  I never really swiped right, and I definitely didn't message anyone if I did because, like I said, I was in a (kind of) relationship, but there is something weirdly entertaining about swiping through pictures of strangers.  Not just the photos, but the whole idea of the app is somewhat amusing.  The bios and the photos and stuff; some people are super weird and Tinder is their place to shine.

There's a certain amount of stigma attached to the app, probably due to the format - it is primarily about appearance - and for that reason has a reputation as a 'hook up' app.  I know of people who have found more through it, but most of the time I think it was kind of accidental, no one actually expects to find love through Tinder.  Most people that I know agree that Tinder is just for fun.  This could be for casual dates and hookups, but often people don't even go on dates they just use it as a way to pass the time.  I've had it on-and-off, for three years and only actually met two guys in person (a total of four dates between them).  Can't say it's lead to much, I mean barely consider it a dating app at this point.  Somehow, though, I managed to spend hours a day on it.

So what is the appeal?  Why was I so addicted to it?

Firstly, in some ways, I initially thought of it as kind of a confidence boost... for girls, anyway, because mostly we get matches.  We know that boys just swipe right for almost everybody, but it still feels good when you swipe and it instantly comes up as a match.  Another great thing about it is there's usually someone to talk to if you're bored and your friends are busy.  Sometimes it's just funny because of the cheesy lines, the weird bios and bizarre photos.  Honestly though, it's mainly a time passer and/or distraction and as soon as I realised this (which was way way late), it was time for it to go.

I thought I loved Tinder, I thought Tinder was great... but in reality, Tinder was boring and annoying, but strangely addictive and low-key ruining my life.  I suddenly found myself on it every time I checked my phone.  I wouldn't be swiping right at all most of the time, but I would spend hours a day on it.  I'd use up all my data because of this app.  I'd Tinder on the bus, I'd Tinder in the gym, I'd Tinder in my classes, I'd Tinder on nights out with friends.  I realised how bad it was when I was discussing deleting it with a friend and then five minutes later I was on it!  She mocked me and said I couldn't delete it, and that's when I realised I had to because I couldn't remember the last time I hung out with friends when I wasn't on Tinder at some point... and that's just rude, for a start, but also really tragic.  It kind of became my thing.

After realising what a huge part of my life Tinder had become, I really thought deleting my beloved 'dating' app would be difficult, but it wasn't... not even one bit and maybe this is why:

1. i got a decent sleep

I felt so relieved when I deleted it, it was like a break up waiting to happen!  You know when your ex walks out of the door and you know you never have to see them again?  It was like that, only better... because - in a way- I just broke up with over 200 guys.  Wow, putting it that way makes me sound like such a slut.

Obviously I wasn't talking to every single one of my matches, but that doesn't mean that the few I did interact with weren't causing me stress.  It's hard for a girl to keep up with 8-10 Tinder boys, plus four group chats, two friends in crisis, a mother in another country, two Instagrams, Snapchat, Facebook, Twitter, a mediocre blog, oh and you know, uni work and the gym and real life etc. all in one day!  Cutting out the multiple average-to-boring conversations I was having with people I didn't really care about (and to be honest, couldn't even keep up with or remember what I'd said to who) actually made a huge difference to how chill I felt.

I didn't think Tinder was affecting my sleep, and I'm sure it wasn't the only contributor because I'm not sleeping any better now, but I think the initial relief was enough to lull me into a blissful night's sleep for once... That's a win in my book.

2. i spent less time on my phone

I didn't realise how time consuming it was.  The problem with Tinder is that it's kind of endless... I say 'kind of' because I've run out of potential matches more than a few times, but it takes a while!  We're all victims of our phones every now and then, spending hours scrolling through Instagram or Facebook videos, but I've found that since I deleted Tinder I can check Facebook, Snapchat and Instagram pretty quickly and then put my phone away again.  I'm definitely not missing the zombie-swipe-state I was in where I was just getting frustrated with the low quality of men being presented to me (who I'm sure were lovely but I'm kind of on a man-hating mission at the moment and they were getting in the way of that).


3. several guys started creeping on me in real life instead

I don't know why this happened, but as soon as I decided I was deleting the app, creepy guys started appearing everywhere else in my real life instead.  Maybe they were always there and I just didn't notice them because I was too caught up in my phone, but the very same day I deleted it someone added me on Snapchat and offered to send me pictures of his '9-incher'... I can only assume he got a new ruler or something.  I also received weird DMs on Instagram and a homeless man tried to feel me up at a bus stop.


Not sure Tinder can be help responsible for this... unless there are some kind of Tinder Karma Gods out there or something.  That would be horrifying.

4. i felt more confident

I didn't expect this either, but I just generally felt better in myself.  It's weird because I wouldn't have thought I cared about the opinions of strangers on an app, and to be honest, most of the messages I received (but often ignored) were complimentary.  Things along the lines of "you're so cute" and "hey beautiful" but it was all kind of cringey and totally pointless anyway.  If you read my previous post about the benefits of being single, you'll know I'm not really looking for a relationship right now.  So, I have no intention of dating these people and I honestly don't care if they think my best pictures are pretty or not.  For that reason, it didn't make me feel any better about myself, because most people on Tinder are losers and start the conversation with a lame compliment, but it's not exactly meaningful and sincere.  Let's be honest, most guys on Tinder are looking for a casual fuck and most guys will casually fuck anything.  It's not like that makes me feel bad about myself, but it doesn't exactly make me feel good about myself.  Being a strong, independent, Tinderless woman makes me feel better about myself.

The other thing you don't really consider when you're on the app is that you're putting yourself there to be constantly judged.  You're actually asking strangers to accept or reject you... No thank you, app.  I have enough guys rejecting me in my real life, I don't need electronic rejections too.

5. i didn't miss it at all

This one shouldn't have been surprising, but it kind of was.  I thought I'd be reaching for it all the time, accidentally opening up the 'Health' app which now sits where Tinder used to, but that didn't happen.  I barely even think of it unless a friend mentions it, but even that doesn't lead me to want to re-download it.

It's been great only getting notifications when my real friends message me, instead of several times a day receiving 'Daniel sent you a new message' or 'You have Super Likes waiting for you'... Who's Daniel? I don't give a crap who Super Likes me!  Previous evidence suggests they wouldn't in real life anyway. HAHAHA. No... seriously.

But basically, I think deleting Tinder was one of the best decisions I've made all year and I think everyone should do it....


(but not really because I'd feel bad for whoever created it because fundamentally I think it's a great idea for an app just not really what I want right now at this stage in my life and maybe some day I'll get it back and find true love and how am I gonna do that if it's gone, nomsayin? Sit tight Tinder Bae, I'll be back for you.)

I don't remember the date of my first trip to hospital, some time in early May.  It was probably a week or two after my first GP appointment, but I remember it felt relatively non-urgent (to me anyway) and I wasn't really worried...  Why would I be? Of course I knew that young people get ill but, just like everyone else, I assumed I wouldn't be one of them.  As far as I can remember, I was just excited to get another afternoon off school.

It was weird because not many of my friends knew where I was going or why, but I don't actually remember them asking much.  We all had GCSEs to worry about and people go to the doctor all the time.  Actually, I didn't, when I was younger... These days I may as well live there, but I think most of my friends, if they questioned it at all, would assume it was something pretty normal and non-serious.  Maybe I told them it was to do with my fatigue or the nerve problem I'd had with my leg for the last year. I only remember telling one or two people that there was potentially a cancerous tumour chilling on my collar bone, but I think that was a few weeks later anyway.  Honestly, why would they be concerned though?  Why would it be anything serious?  I was so skinny, had the diet of a young rabbit and barely missed a day of school in the eleven years I attended.

Mum picked me up from school a couple of hours early, I have a feeling it was a Monday but I could be wrong.  There is something ridiculously blissful about driving away from a quiet school, knowing that everyone else is in a lesson, knowing that you should be in a lesson, and in reality you're in a warm car with your shoes off and the radio on.

The hospital was about 30 minutes away.  We parked in the carpark by The Old Building of the hospital, which I don't actually think exists anymore.  I'm pretty sure they built over it, which is weird because for ages it was just where we parked every time we went and then suddenly we couldn't park there because it was a construction site.  From there we had to trek through most of the hospital to get to the appropriate department, which was a challenge because hospitals are built like mazes and we were heading to the complete opposite side of the building.  Thinking about it now, I don't know why we always parked there, but maybe there isn't a convenient way to get to the children's department.

The children's ward at Musgrove Park Hospital is split into two sections: the Oak Ward and the Acorn Ward.  I remember thinking it was cute they were named them like that; the Acorn Ward was for babies, prompting my mum to tell me a story about when she was there with my sister when she had pneumonia as a toddler and The Oak Ward was for the older children...  I became pretty familiar with that one.  We had to buzz to get in, because you know, kids and stuff, you don't want just anybody wandering around there.  Sometimes I got stuck out there and had to buzz to get back in.  The nurses probably got pretty annoyed, but by the time I actually had to stay there, I was the sickest kid on the ward (also the most ill), and you can't be mad at the one that's almost dead.  The wards were decorated with pictures of animals and kids stuff and honestly, I felt a little too old to be there as we walked past the younger children.  We passed the intensive care unit within the department, I didn't even notice it at the time, but a few months later I'd be back there with a nurse checking on me every hour, making sure I didn't die.  Weird, right?

We reached the desk and the nurse explained that the doctor was busy, but she was lovely and she'd be here soon, so we were taken into a room to wait.  I think it was a small ward, there were a few beds, but it was pretty much empty as far as I can remember.  Maybe there was a nurse in there and I think there was one other patient behind a curtain but, let's face it, I've always been somewhat self-involved and probably didn't pay them much attention.  I sat there in my pleated black skirt, black tights, half-broken ballet pumps and a navy sweater and we waited.  Mum probably pointed out that I needed new shoes because mine were falling apart and flat shoes aren't good for your feet anyway, and I probably responded with something sarcastic and pointed out that I was leaving school in a month and I'd never have to wear them again anyway.  She was probably talking about babies too, there were lots of babies and she likes babies.  I don't like babies, I was probably just rolling my eyes... Teenagers, eh?  I was in a pretty good mood though, most of my friends now only know me as the pessimistic mess that I am, but before I was somewhat more fun to be around.  Not a lot, I've always had a dangerously dark sense of humour and a pessimistic streak, but I was definitely a lot more positive than I am now... Life altering illnesses will do that to you.

I don't remember if we waited for very long that day, waiting in hospitals very quickly became a special skill but I don't think it ever bothered me that much anyway.  The way I've always thought about it is that I'm waiting, because someone else needs help more than I do and becoming a regular patient only confirmed that for me.  Most doctors aren't just hanging around having a chat and a coffee while you've been waiting 45 minutes for your appointment, and if they are it's most likely because they've been working hard saving lives and they need a break.  Honestly, when people complain about waiting times in hospitals and doctors offices I literally want to punch them in the face... and I'm not actually a violent person, I'm just quite vocally aggressive.  I fully understand that it can be annoying but I wish people would just stop and think before they do.  What some people don't realise is that sometimes you're waiting because a girl just collapsed and lost a lot of blood and she urgently needs this scan before you because otherwise she could die today.  Or that your doctor is late to the appointment because she was busy resuscitating a patient who went from non-critical to urgent in thirty seconds.  I know that, because I've been that patient... but I guess maybe some people complain because they're lucky enough to have never been in that position.

So then a magical human being entered the room; a woman who is genuinely some kind of superhero and though I didn't know it then would go on to save my life, perhaps three or four times.  Not only is she one of the reasons that I'm alive today, but she made every horrible thing I went through over the next few months and years, about seven thousand times easier than it otherwise would have been.  Her name was Louise, and I truly owe her my life.

She had long-ish brown hair, glasses and she usually wore beautiful skirts and shoes.  She was the perfect balance of funny and kind, she laughed at my horrible jokes about dying when my parents couldn't and she took the time to support them and advise them when they were worried.  On top of that she was ridiculously intelligent and understanding with a crazy amount of compassion and empathy.  She was the best doctor to the extend where I remember kind of hoping there was something a little bit wrong with me after we first met, because I just really wanted her to be my doctor.

The first day we met she came armed with a comically small paper file, which today is bigger than your average encyclopaedia.  It contained a few sheets of paper, but nothing remarkable.  Something about how as a child I was a total dumbass and sprayed window cleaner onto the window so closely that it bounced back into my eyes, which then went all red, and caused a family outing to A&E. Another entry explained the details of how I popped my little finger out of its socket when I was turning the bathroom tap off, causing another family outing and complete outrage from my sisters when they had to stop watching Indiana Jones just because the little finger on my left hand could suddenly bend the whole way back to my wrist.  On that occasion, I was playing with it so much on the way to the hospital that I actually managed to push it back in just as we arrived in the hospital carpark... concluding in a totally wasted trip.  It still bends out way more then the little finger on my right hand though, so I'm pretty sure I did it wrong... but whatever, it's a little freaky and I kind of like it.  I think there was also something in there about my feet when I was really young... they were too flat or I was walking weirdly or something, I don't know, they're fine now.  Actually, they're not because chemo and months of bedrest fucked them over, but they were fine then.

She started talking to us, basically addressing most of the things covered in my first GP appointment.  She asked general questions about what had happened, that weird question about whether I'd be hanging around any cats... I don't know if I ever found out why people kept asking me that.  I probably did, but the chances are I wasn't really listening.  I don't care for cats.  Plus, I barely remember actually useful information, let alone why cats might cause raised lymph nodes in teenage girls. She examined me and asked if I'd experienced night sweats, itchy skin, chest pain or difficulty breathing.  No, no, no and no, not that I'd noticed... I think the fatigue issue came up, mum probably brought it up and I imagine she told her that I'd been 'over-doing it' because mums always say that, but at this point I was just concerned because they were weighing me and taking my height and I didn't want anyone to find out I hadn't eaten that day.  Another doctor came in and was like "oh so this is the girl with the mysterious lump" or something along those lines... I'm glad that didn't catch on as a nickname.  I mean, I'm not overly keen on Jemima as a first name, but I won't be trading it in for "the girl with the mysterious lump" anytime soon.

After they both looked at me and asked more questions Louise explained that she wanted to do a couple of tests and that she would send the scans to a wonderful doctor in Bristol who was a specialist in this kind of thing.  She didn't mention at that point that he was an oncologist.  She sent me for an x-ray and said there were a few things it could be and it could be nothing; sometimes lymph nodes just pop up when you're stressed, but I'm pretty sure at this point she already knew it was bad.  She couldn't have guessed exactly how bad it was going to get, no one would've predicted that, but it wasn't a great start.

So, we walked bloody miles through this hospital again.  The children's ward is way over on one side and the x-ray department is a good ten to fifteen minute walk but we didn't have to wait very long, x-rays are pretty speedy.  I just remember the waiting room being full of old people, everyone they pushed past looked minutes from death.  It was a pretty depressing part of the hospital...

My first x-ray was a pretty uneventful but unnecessarily awkward event. I didn't have to take all my clothes off, but I had to take my top and bra off and replace it with a less than flattering gown... that was inconvenient and embarrassing.  Eventually, the months and months of having my body examined and countless scans and accidentally flashing people, would lead to me becoming the shameless individual I am today.  If I had to do the same thing now I wouldn't really care who saw my nipples through a hospital gown - take a look! I have perfect nipples - but that was probably one of the most embarrassing things that had happened to date and even though the nurse was female, I was very self-conscious about the whole event.  You'd think my mind would be mostly focussed on the potentially serious illness I was yet to be diagnosed with, but it just didn't seem like a concern. Everything was so different then, I don't even remember what it's like to be like that... so blissfully unaware of real fear, real pain, real suffering.

They took the x-ray, I put my underwear back on and then we started our long trek back to the children's ward, we waited there a little while longer and the nurses got us some colouring to do at a teeny tiny table, before being taken into a private room where Louise was waiting at a computer.  I was still in a relatively good mood, I made a couple of jokes - as I do - and we sat down, but I knew the atmosphere had changed since the last time we saw her. Her tone had slightly shifted, her voice was still calm and happy but it was serious. She laughed at my jokes, but it was clear it was time to stop making them.  I don't think I did, I made jokes the whole way through my treatment because I'm inappropriate and awkward and I can't deal with serious situations.

She brought up the scan on the computer screen and we all looked at it.  At this point, I freaked the fuck out.  I almost jumped backwards.  Now, I'm no radiographer, which is why I was stressing about entirely the wrong thing... but my back looked bent.  I mean really bent, my spine looked like it had a lay-by.  Evidently, this was entirely the wrong thing to be concerned about and Louise didn't even mention it.  I think I asked and she told me that most people have some kind of curve in their spine and it's completely normal but that didn't stop me obsessing over it for a good few minutes. She directed our attention to an area of my lung, which to be perfectly honest with you, looked like a completely normal lung to me, further demonstrating, that I was not a radiographer.  I remember her explaining that there was supposed to be a gap between my heart and my lung and there wasn't, or that it was much smaller than it should've been, or darker or maybe there wasn't supposed to be a gap at all but there was... I don't remember the details, but there was something going on that caused her concern.  I think she said that usually if the scan shows up like this it's because there's something in the way, that there could be lymph nodes there or something... maybe.  Okay, so clearly I have a very limited idea of what was wrong, science was never a subject of interest at school, but I knew at this point that there was something wrong. My mum looked worried, but I tend not to worry until I know all the details and so far there may or may not have been a shadow or a gap somewhere on an x-ray... That information meant literally nothing to me, so I was still okay.  I wished she'd hurry up and explain it though, the suspense was killing me.  The build up was total jargon anyway... it wasn't the interesting kind of suspense, I was just confused.

Then she said "I don't want you to worry yet but this concerns me, there are a few things it could be but what it's indicating to me is some form of lymphoma".  Mum started crying.  Louise quickly grabbed some tissues and tried to comfort her... and I sat there like a lemon and looked between them utterly confused.  Let's try to remember that I'm fifteen here, I don't know what lymphoma is but I'm pretty sure it's not good at this point.  Based on what was going on I assumed I was supposed to be shocked or scared or upset, but it's hard to feel any of those emotions when you have no real idea what is happening.  Louise, a mum of three daughters just like my mum, was still trying to comfort her and explain what we were going to do, that we don't have to worry yet, that it's going to be okay.  Mum was trying to not cry and listen instead and no one was even really looking at me.  It was like they had completely forgotten I was even there, although I'm pretty sure my mum was acting in this way because I was there and she didn't want me to see her cry.  My mum cries at everything, I literally caught her crying during an emotional scene on Hollyoaks once, so I don't know what she was worried about.

I interrupted with "wait, but what is that? what does that mean?" and Louise paused.  They both looked at me and I waited until she slowly said "it's a type of cancer".

That was the first time it felt real. I felt a hot flush run through my entire body and my throat suddenly felt impossibly dry and I wanted to be silent, but she was looking at me and I couldn't... so I just said "oh... okay." and she carried on talking.

(or until all our friends settle down and we're alone and realise we've made a huge mistake putting ourselves first all this time because now all the good guys are taken)

Obviously, due to being the attractive specimen that I am I had big plans on Valentine's Day, multiple date offers... Just kidding, the only thing in my life screaming "do me" was a huge pile of laundry and probably some reading that I've been neglecting.  I actually did get asked out (no really), but I didn't want to go on a first date on VDay because that would be weird, and also, I wanted to make that joke about laundry.

ANYWAY, despite all that and my man-hatery, I do love Valentine's Day...  Wait what? Yeah, I know.  I actually love love, just as long as I'm not in it.  I love all the cheesy gifts, I think they're hilarious, who doesn't want a lobster with "Pinch Me I Think I'm In Love" written on the side?  The problem is, I invariably get to celebrate it as it's supposed to be celebrated because I love being single..... Oh yeah, and no one would ever have a crush on me so... why would people buy me that stuff?

I don't know if it's possible to tell people that you're happily single - like really, really happy to be single - without it sounding like you desperately want a boyfriend... but please believe me when I say I am.  I actually don't care if you believe me, it's the truth either way.  Men can probably get away with saying they like being single without being accused of lying... double standards.  This is probably also a good time to point out that I don't love being single because I want to sleep with many, many men.  Men can get away with being happily single without being called sluts too... triple standards.

I just love being single and I'm good at being single and sometimes I worry that I'll end up alone because I'll be so busy being single that all the good ones will be taken.  I guess I could just steal a married man.... but that's kind of immoral.

Anyway, if you're one of those girls who spent vday watching The Notebook, drinking wine and crying... here's why you should've been celebrating instead!


1. you have more time to achieve goals and focus on yourself

I'm not saying you can't achieve goals in a relationship, I guess if you're with the right person and getting the right kind of support from them they can even help you with that.  I do believe that being by yourself gives you the space and freedom to realise what YOU really want!  Whether that's with work or travel or fitness, anything you do, you're doing it for yourself.  Which is great because who better to make happy than that voice in your head you have to spend all of your time with?  It's that classic "love yourself first" thing, ya know.

2. sisters before misters

Sometimes when you're in a relationship your significant other becomes your best friend... which is lovely... relationship wise!  But when that inevitably comes to an end and they realise you're an annoying mess and leave you for someone better, you're really going to need your friends.  Sometimes you forget how much you love them until then, which sucks, but the best ones stick around anyway because y'know we've all been stuck in a boy-bubble... Your friends are some of the most important people in your life and - as long as you're not a dick - they don't break up with you!  Being single gives you the time to really appreciate that and have those fun girly and paint each others toenails and have pillow fights in your underwear.  Lol jk... we literally never do that.



3. dat freedom though

You wanna go to that new Mexican restaurant? Oh but your boyfriend doesn't like Mexican food... Bummer.  Or you want to spend six weeks travelling around Europe? Dream job in Dubai? Spontaneous trip to Paris? Or the pub? Or the moon? Okay, not the moon... But seriously, a friend could call you up and be like "I'm going to South America for six months, wanna come?" and you'd only have to check with your bank balance.


4. more money for yourself

Relationships make you spend money, unless you're some kind of money-grabbing-gold-digging-hoe... which... you know... no judgement.  But sometimes in a relationship with all that equality and feminism and stuff, you end up going out more and spending money on your other half and buying them gifts for their birthday.  You don't have to do that if you're single.  In fact, it would be really, really weird if you started buying your ex presents...... don't do that.

5. less stress

Yeah, ten guys liked my selfie and who's gon' shout at me about it? Oh right, no one.  Who's gonna argue with you because you haven't seen them enough this week?  Probably your needy bestie, if you're lucky enough to have one... but it won't be your lame boyfriend.

6. no heartache

Being single means you don't have to fall asleep at night wondering whether that guy next to you will still want to be with you the next day.  I don't even have a joke here, not being in a relationship just seriously decreases your risk of heartbreak...



7. MY bed

OH MY GOD YAAAAS.  You get to take up all the space you like, you can stay on your phone or your laptop until 1am without worrying if someone else wants to go to sleep, you can wake up when you want, you don't have to worry about someone waking you up in the middle of the night to cuddle (eurhghh... although apparently some people like that?), you don't have to put up with anyone's bad morning breath, or getting kicked in your sleep, or punched in your sleep, or getting too hot because there's someone else in your bed.  Hello good sleep.

8. you get to pick the movie

Sometimes I just want to watch Bridget Jones, okay?  I don't need any complicated plot lines where I'm just going to be asking you what's going on half the time.



9. you don't sacrifice yourself

Not in a creepy voodoo way... but even good relationships take work and time and energy and compromise.  I honestly feel like I'm just too young to compromise what I want.  Being single gives you the chance to learn that you don't want to sacrifice yourself, preparing you to be in a relationship if/when you're ready for one.  I mean don't take it too far, compromise is a good thing, you don't want to lose the ability to do that, but you learn what's worth compromising and what isn't.

10. you learn to look after yourself

Being by yourself teaches you how to really take care of yourself.  You stop relying on someone else to bring you happiness and start finding it on your own.  You cheer yourself up when you're feeling down or you lean on your close friends and you realise you're okay by yourself.  You have to buy your own cough medicine and emergency tampons and soup... actually that part kind of sucks, but not nearly as much as becoming reliant on someone else and then having to work out how to do it all over again.

11. you can laugh at yourself for being single

This is legit one of my favourite things to do.  I don't actually think anyone else finds it as funny as I do, but I still think it's hilarious.  What you do is every time you do sometime awkward/unsexy/weird (basically everything I do), you say "oh my god, why am I single?" or "I can't believe no one will date me" or "yeah, this is why I'll be alone forever".

It's funny, people laugh... I laugh.  Maybe other people don't laugh, I wouldn't be able to tell over the sound of my own laughing.



12. dating is fun

Dating is so much fun, provided you don't fall for a douchebag and get your heart crushed over and over whilst telling them that you're chill, down for whatever, have no real feelings for them ahahaha *cries*.

Seriously though, you can talk to as many guys as you like, you don't have to worry about anyone getting jealous, you can go on dates, hook up with handsome strangers you meet on holiday, get dinner bought for you every now and then... no strings attached.  Should I again point out that I'm not a slut?  I'm just noting your options here.

On the other hand, you could find yourself being disappointed by multiple men...  Probably more likely... That is the risk you take.

13. TINDER

I genuinely don't understand why anyone wouldn't want Tinder, it's so entertaining.  Is it okay to keep Tinder even when you're in a relationship?  Probably not...


14. you can still believe in happily ever after

Even though you're having the best time of your life, you can still believe that one day someone is going to sweep you off your feet and it will be at just the right time and it will be uncomplicated and perfect and fun... and you won't have any regrets!

Lump is such a disgusting word, right?  It's so gross, but 'finding the tumour' sounds kind of scary... and also, I didn't have just one tumour, I had lots of tumours all over my heart and lungs and possibly my liver too, but there was some dispute about that and I'm not sure if they ever cleared it up.  See, that all just sounds way scarier, right? and it wasn't really scary yet.

I don't remember the exact moment I found it.  It seems weird now that I don't remember it, because I probably should.  I suppose, at the time, I didn't realise that it would be this huge defining moment in my life and a lot of my memory was being utilised to store Taylor Swift lyrics.  I don't remember if I saw a shadow in the mirror and wondered what was protruding out of my skin, just above my right collarbone.  I don't remember if I was moisturising and brushed my hand against it, or if I was scratching my neck and accidentally stumbled upon it.  Thinking back now, I honestly have no idea whatsoever how I discovered the cancerous tumour resting on the outskirts of my neck.  I think I was lying in bed, brushing a hair off my neck or something when my fingertips first discovered it, but I couldn't say for sure. I should remember, because looking back that was a pretty huge moment in my life, but I just don't.  I don't know if I was scared or confused or if I just had no idea what was about to happen.  I don't know if I was actually so scared that my brain doesn't want me to remember it... although I'm pretty sure that's not the case.  I just didn't realise it was an important moment.

I remember that it was night time when I found it, it must've been 23:30 at least and I'm pretty sure it was a school night, possibly a Sunday.  It was April 2010, near the end of April... I don't remember the exact date, but I want to say the 25th or the 26th.  With this vague information, I could probably look it up and work it out exactly, but who really cares?

I think dad was still awake, watching tv but mum had definitely gone to bed, so I went to find Emily.  She was on the computer probably talking to boys on MSN because people still did that back then.  I remember I told her about it and she poked it and I remember laughing, we both laughed because it was squishy and it moved up and down my collar bone a little bit when you pushed it.  It was really funny and kind of gross, but we like gross things. Then I remember stopping laughing and saying to her something along the lines of "This kind of isn't funny though, like... it could be cancer."  I think I was a little bit freaked out at this point, but as a healthy-ish fifteen year old I probably managed to convince myself that it probably wasn't, because who gets cancer?  Other people get cancer, we just hear about it and acknowledge that it's sad because we know it is, but what do we really know about suffering?  Emily just laughed and said "it's not cancer, you dick" or something equally sentimental.  She then proceeded to really freak me out as she told me a story about people who found lumps in their necks and it turned out to be a spider's nest and then one day hundreds of teeny tiny baby spiders started crawling out of their skin and all over their body. As sick as it sounds, that was scarier than cancer at that point.  In fact, I'm pretty sure I actually said in that moment "Oh my god, I would rather have cancer."

I think I told my mum the next morning.  I distinctly remember her pushing it in both directions and saying something along the lines of "well, it's not a tumour because it's moving and tumours don't move.  It's probably just a gland, but we should take you to see the doctor because you haven't been that well recently anyway."  We were standing in the hallway as she examined it, about to leave for school and Hannah was standing next to her saying "Ewww, I want to touch it" and laughing.  I probably let her play with it after mum was done, we used to play with it a lot because it was really freaky and gross, but equally funny.

Mum was right though, I hadn't really been myself recently but it was nothing serious and I'd put it down to other things.  For one, I was hardly eating at all and I hadn't been for months. That was a whole entirely separate issue (because I have more issues than Vogue), but it was probably the stress of exams and I felt a lot of pressure to be skinny.  I know that sounds weird, because I'm tiny and I pretty much always have been (minus the time they put me on steroids and I went up two clothes sizes), but I was terrified of gaining weight.

Anyway, I'd been really, really tired; there were a couple of days I was so exhausted that I just suddenly lay down in the middle of the kitchen floor because I didn't have the energy to move to somewhere more comfortable.  I remember one day I was too tired to really function at all, I tried to stay up and move around, but every room I went to I had to lie down. I can't even explain what it was like because I haven't really felt exhaustion quite like that since.  I just remember I felt really weak, like I'd been awake for 30 hours but it was only 11am.  I put it down to a bad night's sleep or that I only ate half a potato 12 hours ago - both perfectly reasonable explanations.  There were probably other symptoms we missed... I guess I'd been waking with night sweats, but I didn't really think about it at the time.  If you wake up covered in sweat, you just get a bit grossed out, assume you had too many blankets or layers or whatever and have a shower.  You don't think "shit... well that's cancer.".

So, we went to the GP either that day or the next and I missed a morning of school, which was great.  It's almost hilarious when I think of it now but I was NEVER sick as a child which meant I never got to miss school, so I was on some level delighted.  Almost hilarious, because if I don't laugh, I'll cry, but pre-Cancer, feeling unwell was a cold maybe once a year... Now it's a daily occurrence.  I think it's actually become part of my identity, I'm just that girl who's always sick (and always complaining and always late... not sure I can blame those on cancer though).

I remember sitting in the doctors office as the lump was examined.  She asked me if it hurt, which it didn't and then started talking to my mum about stress and exams.  My mum expressed concern that I was working too hard for my GCSEs and that I was "overdoing it" (which is hilarious because, I wasn't, I was really just drawing a lot for my Art exam and neglecting subjects that might actually be useful).  Perhaps I was anaemic, or just "coming down with something".  That was an optimist diagnosis, because in reality I was coming down with cancer, but we wouldn't have that confirmed for another couple of months.  I think they took my bloods, or maybe I had to make another appointment for that, and I distinctly remember the doctor asking if I had itchy skin (which as far as I noticed I hadn't) and if I'd been near any cats.  The answer to that was a HELL NO, because cats are disgusting.

She had a calm voice and went through several possible reasons for my new squishy friend.  It was a gland, a lymph node, but we shouldn't worry because sometimes they do just pop up and it may just go back down again.  I don't feel like anyone was worried at this point though, it could've easily been nothing... but, just to be on the safe side - a phrase I'm pretty sure they use around children and mothers, to ease them into bad news gently - an appointment would be made at the hospital where I could see a wonderful paediatrician and she could take it from there.