Happy anniversary.

How many times did you walk into a public loo after someone and couldn't stand the smell? How many times did you curse or call someone names because s/he was occupying the toilet for too long? Has the thought of them having a serious chronic disease ever crossed your mind? I bet it didn’t. You have never probably noticed how embarrassed and ashamed they were walking out and seeing someone entering the toilet after them, or perhaps seeing the massive queue of people that has just gathered around giving them the worst look ever.

People often say that they could never poo in a public toilet. I get it, the uncomfortable feeling of other people ‘hearing’ you, judging you and giving you looks. I never liked to do it myself but sometimes when I’m out of the house I have no choice. I suffer from a chronic disease called Ulcerative Colitis, which together with Crohn’s Disease is part of the Inflammatory Bowel Diseases (IBD). What it means is that at one point of my life, when I was 21 to be exact, my large bowel started attacking itself, thinking there was an infection whereas there wasn't really one. Following this it started attacking healthy tissues causing inflammation and exposing me to heavy diarrhoea with blood and mucus. One day I was fine, the next I couldn’t get out of bed. I was weak, exhausted, couldn’t eat nor drink anything as it just passed through me. Everything seemed to irritate my sensitive insides, although I had no clue about it at that time. I simply thought it was a bug that was going to go away after a week or so, but it didn’t. What triggered it for me was stress due to the amount of exams and written assignments I had to undertake at my year abroad university, and probably the fact that they were all in French.  I didn’t go to the doctor in France even though my friends were trying to force me to. I guess I already knew that it was something serious and I didn’t want to stay alone in France for Christmas. So I went back to Poland, where I am originally from, and my parents took me straight to the GP who completely neglected me. Then there was the hospital where I was referred to go to an outpatient clinic. My dad got very frustrated and decided not to go there but instead made a private appointment with our old GP who suspected either IBS or IBD but wanted me to see a specialist for further tests. The only problem was the fact that it was 24^th December, Christmas Eve, and we had to wait until 6^th January for the specialist appointment. So with some dietary recommendations, some medications and pain killers I was able to survive Christmas and New Year’s Eve. Luckily my family was there for me. Although very caring and supportive, they drove me nuts treating me like I was an egg just about to crack. When I finally got the appointment with the specialist, his first question was how much weight did I lose, followed by when can I come to the hospital. I lost more than 5kg which doesn’t sound that much but for someone only 5’1” (155cm) tall and usually weighing around 50kg it was quite noticeable. After having a colonoscopy done the gastroenterology team discovered I suffered from severe Ulcerative Pancolitis which is a form of Ulcerative Colitis in which the whole colon (from the cecum to the rectum) is affected by the disease. Unfortunately (or fortunately) the extremely high dosage of corticosteroids that I was given, helped and the plans of trying biological treatment on me weren’t an option anymore. I’ve had my ups and downs ever since, some more painful and severe than others but luckily I didn’t require any further hospitalisation (and I hope it stays that way). Despite that I suffer from side symptoms which affect my life on a daily basis such as recurrent flare-ups, abdominal pain, weight loss and weight gain (due to corticosteroids), and extreme fatigue. I may be fine in the morning but in agony few hours later. The disease is completely unexpected. Moreover, I need to watch out what I eat and avoid certain foods that I know for sure will make me suffer later. I need to watch out for stress so that it won’t trigger a flare up.

Living with IBD is a constant struggle. It’s an invisible disease so I may seem perfectly normal on the outside whereas my insides are at war, fighting yet another battle. The risk of developing bowel cancer is high as well. This week (1-7 December) is Crohn’s and Colitis Awareness Week, a chance to shout out and educate people about this long-term chronic conditions that affect over 300,000 in the UK and millions more worldwide. Purple is our colour so if you want to support people suffering from IBD (me included) and spread much needed awareness about these diseases, wear it next Friday, 5^th December and spread the word!

#BeCrohnsAndColitisAware

one of these days

Few weeks ago I was asked to write an artist statement for my drama classes. I struggled. I was lost, without a clue where to start hence my first words were 'I have never considered myself an artist'. That's entirely true. I have never considered myself one as I haven't achieved anything yet and I'm not as good enough to call myself one. At the very moment I am completely lost. I have no idea how I am going to achieve what I want to achieve. I'm angry at the fact that I've still more than six months left until I graduate. I feel as if I was trapped in a world that I no longer belong to. French lectures are annoying me and I see no point in attending translation classes even though they're with the nicest tutor I have ever had. I was interested in translation at some point of my life but then I realised that I'm not really good at it, so I gave up. I do that often though, I give up when it starts getting serious, when I have to put in an extra effort and start to care. You know why? ... because when it's finally over I feel lost and helpless, like an abandoned animal. I don't know what to do with myself and then I start to think, and think, and think. I tell myself that I'm not good enough and I have never been and that I will probably end up having a shitty job that I will hate (or worse - stay in McDonald's forever). And most of all that my parents will be right... They have never believed in me when it came to drama, no one did. It was always considered a whim. I was supposed to get over it at some point. Well I didn't, did I?

There's a million ideas per second going on in my head right now. I'm a poor student though. I need to find a hidden treasure in my backyard or something to accomplish them all.

I need a cigarette. Wait I quit... Putain!

...

People tend to think the worst in the hard times. Am I ever going to be alright? Will I get cancer? What’s going to happen to me? How am I going to enjoy life when I perfectly know that I’m screwed up? We try to put a smile on our faces, but in fact it’s only a shadow of a smile. We put our masks on and pretend everything’s alright. However, deep down we know nothing’s alright anymore. Even a nice dress or an amazing pair of shoes won’t make us feel better. I've put it wrongly. It would help but only for a moment; later on it would be just another pair of nice shoes that takes space in our overstuffed wardrobe.

How to get on with life then? Is it even possible? There might be moments when we get so occupied with other problems that the big ones seem to fade or even disappear. How long for though? We perfectly know that they are never going to go away even if we try running away from them for as long as we can. What should we do then?

If I ever get the answer, I’ll make sure to let you know… 

Paris oh la la...

17.04.2013

I’m so glad I’ve lived in France for almost 8 months now. Hmm I’m glad because when we first came to Paris there wasn’t any of the big ‘wow it’s Paris!’ thing. I felt normal, familiar with everything and didn’t behave like a Japanese tourist. I guess only the plan guide gave away the fact that we were tourists. The journey to Paris was exhausting. Carrying a huge backpack, small suitcase and a medium size travel bag was NOT fun at all. My back is hurting so much. The same is waiting for me on my way to the UK… God why?! I’d really use a man carrying the entire luggage for me. But wait, I can do it! I’ve done it so many times before. I’ll be fine. I’m sure I will.

First day in Paris was the day of our arrival. We started the journey at about 6am, arrived in Paris at noon and then it took us an hour or so to find the bloody hotel. When we finally arrived there we decided to have a power nap to get our strength back and maybe try to visit some places in the evening. Unfortunately, or maybe fortunately, it ended up quite a long one as we got up after 7 or 8pm. Already being too late for visiting we decided it was time to try some of the French cuisine, so we went on restaurant-hunting. Beside the food being delicious and me breaking almost every rule of my diet (fortunately there wasn’t any side effects… ouff), the weirdest thing was the behaviour of the French. I’d already noticed it back in Besancon but I believe in Paris it was visible on much bigger level. The French are absolutely weird (I know I’ve said it so many times now and I guess I’ll be saying it until the end of my life unless I find a really nice French guy who will accept all my disadvantages). I don’t know why but when they meet a foreigner they get either completely paralysed and just ignore you as if you weren’t there at all (literally not even looking at you) or speak to you in English even though you have started the conversation in French and you’re replying to all their questions in French. The other ones are the over-excited ones who just try finding in their memory any people they know of your nationality or jump around you all the time (bear in mind that they’re the minority). I find it quite amusing but at the same time so disturbing and weird. I guess it only happens in France as I haven’t experienced it anywhere else.

Day two was a much nicer one. We went to see most of the tourist attractions. Yes, I went up the Eiffel tower and I have a picture with it (I know how tacky it is). I must say that it was nice, even though I have a little fear of heights, but in general I guess I expected more. Don’t get me wrong, the view was amazing and all that stuff but still the magic of the place somehow disappeared. However, the place that astonished me the most was Montmartre. It looked the exact way as I imagined France would be, although without all those tacky souvenirs, but I guess it has to exist in every tourist town. On our way to the actual place we passed by few galleries. I need to go back there one day and have a closer look as the paintings were incredible! I especially liked one artist who painted faces as a compilation of human bodies; I can’t really explain it you would have to see it on your own, anyway for me they were interesting enough and I hope in few years’ time they’ll still be there. I would have forgotten about the Sacre Coeur church which is also situated in the same district and when you get inside its beauty hits you right away. In my opinion it was even better than the famous Notre Dame. I guess in my case I had too great expectations if it came to Paris (after all it was my first time properly visiting the city and not only going to Porte Maillot to catch the bus to the airport). The most annoying thing during the whole journey was American tourists. For God’s sake! Not all the fucking world speaks English. Show some respect and learn at least ‘Bonjour’, ‘merci’ and ‘au revoir’. Either you’re so terribly lazy or just dumb as fuck. Although I might not be totally objective, I do know that not all Americans are like that and I even met some who speak quite good French but the ones in Paris were extremely annoying and so overconfident, just as they thought that the world lies upon their feet.  

Day three which at the same time was the last day of our visit to Paris started very early in the morning. We wanted to visit Musee du Louvre but un/fortunately it was closed – on Tuesday. Anyway I’m not surprised, it’s France, the country where everything closes down on Sundays or is open until noon because the French need some time to rest. I don’t have a clue why they’re so tired as they make themselves an extra day off almost every week due to a strike. In my opinion they should work a full-time shift on Sunday, every week they have a strike. Anyway after the Louvre we decided to see Notre Dame, the Jewish district called Le Marais and we walked down quite a busy street called Rue de Ravoli in order to find vintage shops. In fact we only found two or three, of which the first one was expensive as hell but I saw amazing dark brown Prada heels (my size!) studded at the back. I really wanted to try them on but after seeing the prices of other shoes (btw they not only had Prada but YSL, Louis Vuitton, Dior, etc.) which was about 200 euro I walked out with a broken smile on my face. I guess I’ll have to wait to afford a brand new pair then.  Anyway in the last one I found black Levis’ shorts which are going to be amazing for a night out ;) We then walked back to our hotel, had a nap and started preparing for the long and exhausting journeys ahead of us. Mine is about to end while I finish my little writing.

My little Paris’ trip has gone to an end. I’m so happy about the easiness of the subway in Paris. I guess it’s the only thing the French has ever done properly. It was a nice spent of both time and money with an amazing company of the meanest of them all ;p I only wish we had some more time to visit the places we didn’t manage to and perhaps go out clubbing. Anyway it’s time to begin chapter 2 of these holidays – Aberystwyth, Wales.

A bientot! 

Love/Death

I must confess.. I was trying to write something but every time I made an attempt I realized it was either bad or just complete bullshit. So I'm leaving you with two monologues I wrote last year for theatre classes. They were written on the themes of love and death using different speech patterns.

Enjoy!

MONOLOGUE 1 – LOVE

People say love is the cure for everything. Is it really? Isn’t it more like an eternal struggle to please the other person? Or perhaps trying to get to know them without putting enough effort to know ourselves first?  What about making mistakes? Should they be forgiven? Or maybe just forgotten? They should definitely give us a lesson. But do they always do that? Why do we listen to other people so much, instead of listening to our own hearts? Don’t they know what’s best for us? Don’t they give us signs when we actually meet the right person? Why do we ignore them? Why do we seek advice from others whilst we could get the answers ourselves? Wouldn’t it be easier to just follow our hearts once? Without unnecessary thinking, prejudices and dependence on others? Perhaps we would stop hurting people this way?

MONOLOGUE 2 – DEATH

I wasn’t really sad when my cat died. He was old and getting grumpy. I think it was his time already. My family wasn’t in grief for long either. We bought a new lovely kitten a week later. It just didn’t move me at all. A month later my granddad died. He was in pain for a long time. I didn’t cry. I thought it was the best for him. My family was in grief. My mum was in a total mess. At the funeral I was holding her, so she wouldn’t fall on the ground. I didn’t feel anything. Just the same kind of emptiness I’ve always had. I just lived my life after that. Two months later I went to the doctor. They run some tests. A week later they told me I had a brain tumour. Untreatable one. Something crushed in me. I couldn’t stop crying. I realized that I am going to die…

day like... always?

I wake up at 6am, turn off my alarm clock and try finding a little box with medicines I need to take. Found it, yay! I drink some water and accidentally spill it on the bed, merde! I put the mug back and try falling asleep again, which to be honest is not hard at all. I wake up two hours later, finding it difficult to open my eyes and discovering that I’m going to miss my bus. I dress in a hurry. There’s no time for breakfast but I can still put at least some make-up on. The bag is already packed, that’s a good thing. I take my phone, plug the headphones in and run to the bus stop. I have 5 more minutes until the bus comes, a cigarette then. The bus arrives in the city centre. I run to my classes just to discover that there’s no one there. Awesome. I wait about 20 minutes. Still no one. I decide to go back to my uni halls, have some breakfast and watch one of the many TV series I follow. After 20 minutes I get there, have some breakfast, decaf coffee and afterwards another cigarette. I hope the other class is going to take place according to the schedule. An hour and a half later I get to the city centre. There’s still no one. I finally decide to go to ‘l’acceuil’ to ask what’s going on. They say the tutor has changed the room the day before and I have to go somewhere I have no idea how to get to. Nice. I fucking love how this country is organised… I finally get there and it occurs it’s a practical class, wtf… I’ve thought they only do the boring theory here. The best is still ahead of me. After an hour I discover there’s an exam… the next day. I have to sing, which I truly hate because I’m extremely bad at it, and do some performance together with it. I panic. What the hell am I going to sing? I finally find quite an easy song but there’s still the performance left to do. ‘Je suis dans la merde’. Eventually I manage to think of something but it’s far from my brightest ideas. I watch some other people’s stuff. It’s good. Why didn’t I think of any of that? I go back to my little piece. My brain is going to explode from that much thinking. We finally finish at 6 pm. I’m tired and the only thing I can think of now is sleep. I get home, eat some ‘petit beurre’ and fall asleep. I wake up at midnight. Fuck, I still have to think of some ideas for the exam. I ask a friend for some help and walk her through my ideas and my plan. I go to sleep again, only to find myself experiencing a sleep paralysis. I wake up terrified. What the hell is wrong with me? Somehow I manage to fall asleep again. I get up few hours later, drink my decaf coffee and prepare for the class. As I soon discover the 3 hours break has been replaced with an hour one and we’re having another class straight after the exam. Exactly what I needed.  I pass the exam despite being completely ignored by the tutor. Saying ‘It looks nice’ isn’t really helping, you know? It’s not like I don’t have a clue what theatre is, but apparently the Erasmus students are not even worth trying to be cared for. Thanks very much for being so supportive. I talk to the other students; I smoke, and talk again. It’s nice to finally connect at least a bit with them. I go to the other class and try not to fall asleep as it’s boring as hell. I go home and fall asleep immediately. I wake up and eat something as I need to be careful with my eating habits. I check Facebook and some other silly stuff in the Internet. I fall asleep only to meet my sleep paralysis friend again. I wake up wet and scared as hell. It really is far from funny. I try going back to sleep but I can’t, I’m too terrified of this thing happening again. Finally I manage to do so but it’s not enough to finish my translation homework and go to the classes. I wake up at 6am to take my medicine and fall asleep again. It’s 1 o’clock. I’m still feeling tired. I go back to sleep and find myself waking up in the evening. It’s like the last three days have been taken out from the calendar without me even noticing that… Can I go back to sleep again though? Spring hasn’t arrived yet so I can still enjoy my winter sleep ;)

Quand j’étais petite...

So I have to say that I got my inspiration for this post from a French video on youtube, made by a French comedian called Cyprien. Basically he talks about what he used to believe in when he was a child. I thought why not doing the same, but in a written version? So to start with:

1. When I was little I used to think that when you pee in public swimming pool, the water around you would change colour. Ridiculous I know, but I guess I'm still sort of afraid that it might be actually true

2. When I was little my great-grandma used to tell me that if I sang or talked too much during lunchtime I'd have stupid children.

I was a very lively child and really loved singing, and I used to talk way too much so I guess she just wanted a peaceful moment ;p  un/fortunately (for some people) the talking stayed this way until the adulthood ;) 

3. When I was little I used to think children grew on cabbage fields and when they were ready the stork would drop them from the sky into theirs parents arms. 

4. When I was little I used to spend a lot of time at my grandma's from my mum's side. Sometimes, when I had troubles sleeping, I used to be scared to death by looking through the window as I believed that there was a witch sitting on the roof of the opposite building. I used to be utterly scared that she would fly to my grandma's flat and kidnap me.

5. When I was little I used to think that if you ate apple pips, the apple tree would grow in your stomach... So I always avoided them until I accidentaly ate one and discovered that it wasn't true at all :)

6. When I was little I used to think a lot why some things were named the way they were and not differently. I know too much thinking ;p

And as a bonus - little pic of little Patty ;) Enjoy ;p