Last week, I nervously published my first really raw and honest blog post. You can read that here, if you like. Honestly, the disease that I was diagnosed with years ago has recently become a rather big part of my life, and I hate it. Honestly, it makes me feel vulnerable, confused and, at times, despairingly helpless. Honestly, I haven't felt like myself in a long while...and honestly, I'm not entirely sure what "myself" even feels like any more...



Invisible Illness

If you'd been in lectures with me today, you might have noticed my black skinny jeans, my adidas trainers, or my new favourite jumper. You may have spotted me fiddling with my necklace, running my fingers through my hair an annoying amount of times, or stifling a few too many yawns. If you had sat next to me you might have admired my freshly painted nails, my watch or my cute little rose ring. If you're an eagle-eyed make-up lover you'd possibly have complimented my bronzer or flawless eyebrows and you'd probably agree that my hair looked half-decent!
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