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On the subject of honesty:

I cannot stand liars. They make my skin crawl with hatred. I’ve always admired the honesty of children. They don’t care what they say, perhaps because they don’t really understand the effects of what they are saying. I was in Boots the other day scanning the shelves for the right shampoo. Next to me was a woman, roughly 45 years old, and a girl of out about five years old. Out of the blue the girl said to the woman “Auntie Helen when I’m older I want boobies like mummies because they’re bigger”. I had to leg it out of the shop for fear of them sensing my amusement. It was hilarious! I appreciate the ‘directness’ of that statement however uncalled it was. That girl said what was on her mind and she wasn’t wasting anyones time by trying to cushion the fall for her aunt.

What really puzzles me is why some people accept others lies? They don’t even question them. In most cases it is because the lie is more comfortable to deal with but you’re just letting the unavoidable can of worms that must be opened grow. Being a naturally untrusting person, I don’t believe anyone. I will question everything that is said to me. A lie is no more comfortable for me, if anything it is more painful. The problem with people that like to people that prefer to let the can of worms grow so to speak is that they slow down the work of those that want to get it over and done with. A rhinoceros cannot be brought down if there’s only one lion willing to challenge it. I’m very pleased that I don’t tolerate people’s false words. I don’t like to be the one that delays the death of the rhinoceros when it’s certain

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On the subject of writing

Everyone does something for a different reason. Some people do just about impossible maths equations because they love the thrill of successfully working out 700 multipled by abc (you might be able to guess that’s not my thing). Some people love drawing because it’s an escape. I love writing as do many others because what my mouth fails to form into words, my keyboard always does. Sometimes I physically can’t say something but if I write it down it’s easier. I think it’s because it is there in black and white. I have no choice but to know what I’ve written because I can see it. There are no mind games involved with writing, whereas with speaking there are endless mind games.

I love being able to write something and thinking “wow – imagine if life was really like that. Imagine if unicorns really did exist”. I’ve never written about unicorns, but on a piece of paper, anything you want exists. I love being able to write a letter or a short story and forgetting that I’ve still got to do the dishes or the ironing. Writing is my reality. It is the only thing in my life that I don’t need proof for. The proof is provided for me – no sneaking and no secrets and that for me is pure bliss. It’s there in black and white – plain as day. I don’t bother with lengthy words like ‘antidisestablishmentarianism’ mainly because I don’t know what it means but I don’t see the point in using words I wouldn’t use in conversation. I want people to understand and engage with what I write and not lose interest at the first 10 letter word. I love the freedom that comes with putting a pen to paper or tapping my fingers on a keyboard. I don’t have to censor what I write for fear of offending someone – whereas with my words I do and I still end up offending people. I’ll never stop loving to write which is a great comfort to me. It’s the only thing in my life that is definite.

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On the subject of helping people

I have two blogs, this one and another that I shan’t name because I’d quite like to keep it private. In the other blog I document my life, the bad things and the good things. I make that blog because I like to let people know that they’re not alone in what they’re going through and because it is somewhere for me to log my life without feeling judged.

I know that that blog is really worthwhile because I get a lot of people that comment and message me saying that they are going through something similar and could they please talk to me. Obviously I’m always happy to oblige. Helping people just makes me feel a little bit better about self  – selfishly.

Being quite a risk taker I see the dangers but take them anyway – often wishing the danger would occur but that’s just me. I will do everything in my power to damage myself but if someone else were doing the same even if I didn’t know them, I’d be heartbroken. Why is it OK to damage yourself but not for others to do the exact same?

I think it’s because I can’t see the damage I’m doing to myself but it’s so much more visible on others because I’m looking for it in some ways. I’m a big believer in the fact that humans are a selfish species. We, in the majority of situations, gain something from what we are doing. For example helping an old lady across the street makes you a little happier with yourself.

Would intervening whilst someone is in self –destruction mode knowing that you could well make the situation worse helping someone? That to me is not helping. That is intervening for your own peace of mind. If I were in this position it would most likely because I couldn’t bare to see someone mistreat themselves and just sit by and watch. To me, especially if it were someone I loved, I’d feel like a second participant to their death.

When people tell me that they’re not judgemental, which a lot of people do, my first thought is – well – ‘bullshit’. Solely because if you have an opinion, however educated it may be, you are still judging something or someone. Do we judge and help people to boost our self – esteem? Would you help an old lady across the street if you really didn’t gain a thing from it – it just took time from your day? I’d like to think I would