Fahckmylife's Blog
Crap adult, OK human.



Transitioning from an extended puberty into adulthood is scary.  All of a sudden you realise that you have way less time than you used to.  Here are some tips on how you can make more time for yourself to keep in touch with your ‘younger’ self, and free you up to sit on the sofa watching Game of Thrones wondering how you’ve wasted your life before you become a bitter old bastard.

Do not read the comment sections on anything – be it political, celebrity news or youtube videos.

Just. Don’t.  If you want to end up spending your afternoon cross because of the brazen and ridiculous opinions of uneducated fools (not in the academic sense, but in the sense that people want to have opinions on everything but lack the actual knowledge, critical awareness or experience to back it up) and being sad about the state of humanity avoid them at all costs.  Make yourself a little bubble with tea and cake.  You’ll feel better and spend your thoughts on much better things.  People pick on each other on the internet all the time for horrendous things, brandishing their opinions as fact and discounted peoples’ lived experience, for things that they would never say to their face – this is partially why I deactivated my personal Facebook page and I think it’s made me feel better and more productive.  Also, don’t waste your time posting constant pictures of you and your other half trying to convince everyone you’re happy – you’re not – it’s obvious in your overcompensation.

Don’t answer private numbers.

Seriously, what good has ever come from answering a private number?  It’s either a survey, a bank or something even more ominous.  Just don’t.  And to save yourself time as well, put your number on private so that nobody will answer your calls either.  Win, win!


Pretend you are stupid.  

This works particularly well when you are a girl.  If you know me I guess you know my feminist tendencies but I’ve come to the conclusion that no matter what I do or say at this point that lots of people with penises think that I’m stupid, or at least not as clever as they are.  To this I give a derisive snort because I know the truth, but sadly, I’ve come to stop fighting it and let them explain things to me.  So in order to save time I just stay quiet instead of drawing out a conversation that could have simply been avoided. Essentially it would save me time if people didn’t feel the need to explain things to me that I already knew but I’m well aware that people make assumptions, even subconsciously, based on gender and if you point that out you’re the bad person.  I’m too old for this shit.  Practice a blank look on your face, tilt your head slightly sideways and giggle pretending that only now do you understand the concept of GDP.  Not only will you have an easier life but men will consider you less threatening – which is what we all want, amirite?


If there is a task that you can do on the toilet when you know you’ll take a while – do it. Personally I favour ringing my parents or brushing my teeth on the toilet.  Saves heaps of time.  Don’t stop there – drink in the shower, write on the bus, keep shower gel in your belly button in the bath, pluck your eyebrows while you sleep.

Get less sleep.

What do you need sleep for anyway really?  You’ll just be tormented with nightmares about your faded hopes and dreams.  Sleep is a waste of time when you could be sitting into space thinking about the overwhelming amount of stuff that you need to do just to maintain your miserable existence in the first place.  And, on the plus side, if you’re only half awake doing things you don’t want to in the first place, it doesn’t feel like you’re really there.


Be brave.

In my experience men are always tormenting women, particularly women on their own trying to walk from A to B.  Yes, they are scary and yes, we shouldn’t have to deal with it but a rule of thumb I follow (and I admit that it may not work for everyone but it has for me this far and is very situationally based) is to always assume the worst and be brave.  So when you’re scared and they give you shit, or try to intimidate you, dependent on the situation, stand your ground and be a cheeky fucker, whilst holding your keys between your fingers in your pockets.  The times I’ve looked scared are the times that they’ve persevered more, whereas the times when I’ve stared them square in the eye and made a joke of what they’ve said have served me better.  This includes gangs of men pinning me to a railing and attempting to prevent me from moving, but when I didn’t and just asked them how many of them were impotent, they laughed and let me go.  Clearly, I’m not saying this will work for everyone or every situation but it is something to bare in mind. If someone catcalls you, shout back when you’re sure you’re safe.  If someone grabs your arse punch them.  It’s shit we have to put up with this stuff but we do.  Don’t drag it out more than you need to.

One night stands.

One night stands are a great way of having mediocre sex without emotional attachment. You can save even more time by handing them their pants once it’s done and then you can continue with your day as you intended without having to worry about taking up your time with ‘breakfast’ or ‘waiting for them to wake up’ or stupid ‘I’ll call you’ conversations.  You don’t need ambiguity or to invest in anything.  Just scratch an itch!



Sleep in your gym clothes.

This only works if you go to the gym in the morning but sometimes your PJs are very similar to work out clothing.  Nobody really cares what they look like in the gym so I find it useful to sleep in what I’ll be sweating in the next day.  Saves you on washing and time!



Stop explaining yourself to gobshites.

This took me ages to work out but some people literally don’t care how you feel or what they’ve done no matter how well constructed your argument is.  Don’t waste your breath.  You can’t force people to understand and if not empathise, sympathise.  Some people just don’t have it in them.  You’re only going to waste time and energy, on someone or something that think makes you feel like you’re overreacting.  Then, you’ll just spiral into thinking that you’re the bad person.  So learn to just walk away and go home and have an angry wank.

If you’re unhappy and you can change it, do it.

Moaning isn’t going to change anything.  It’s one thing to voice concerns, or sound something off someone, or on occasion have a bit of a meltdown but consistent moaning about something that is in your power to change isn’t going to do fuck all.  If you are stuck in a job you dislike, change it or at least try.  If you can’t, try to make it bearable by coming up with ways to pass the time.  I say this with pretty bad anxiety bubbling away under the surface most of the time and I know it’s not always easy, but I’ve found myself often making excuses to stay in situations that weren’t making me be the best version of myself.  I know things aren’t as clearcut all the time and everyone is different but if something is bothering you, instead of letting it take over, try to approach it from a different angle.  I’ve made some serious changes in the past few weeks and more are coming – it’s scary, and it’s uncertain, but I know that they will improve my life even slightly and possibly make me a better person to be around.  In a nutshell, I want to change things, so I don’t have to spend hours wondering why I’m stuck in situations when I can.

Avoid doing the dishes.

Use paper cups and plates or eat from a tin or packaging.  Put everything in the bin.  And before you say anything about the environment – it’s already fucked and most likely in our lifetime – so I will save time washing dishes and try and do something more constructive with my day.

Say what you mean and mean what you say.

You’d think this would be obvious, right?  Not to most people.  Not at all.  Most of the time being honest and just coming out with stuff just stops a situation getting needlessly dragged out or getting fucked beyond all recognition.  Think of all the hassle you’d save yourself rather than pretending you’re happy with everything.  It might be hard but a difficult honest conversation is worth a lot more than months of wondering a bewilderment or fighting.


I don’t care how crude or crass it is but cursing minimises the amount of words that you have to use.  I don’t care if it comes across as unintelligent – it just saves time.  And also, apparently you’re more trustworthy.


Peace out motherfuckers.











OK so I thought I could go with a different type of tale today, so sit back, grab a cup of tea or get comfortable hiding in the jacks in work, whilst I regale you with a story of a day in my life of yesteryear.  ‘Twas the summer of 2003, I was 21, on break from college before returning for my final year of my degree and working in town.  This shop was a novelty shop, mainly for children, producing a variety of teddy bears on the site to the specifications of stupid little people.  We put in hearts, voice boxes, stuffing, dressed them and gave them birth certificates.  We smiled and joked with children and it was all really saccharin, but, for the most part I enjoyed it.  It paid well, I liked sewing and some children were scared of balloons which amused me no end.


This particular day was a strange one for me.  I hadn’t been feeling well for the last while.  I had been putting on weight despite being on a very strict diet composed mainly of Slimfast milkshakes.  I was really annoyed at myself for being the ghastly weight of 9 stone (oh how I laugh now at that) and had pretty much been starving myself for the past few weeks.  The night before I was tossing and turning and had barely slept and somewhere in the recesses of my brain fluttered a serious hidden pang of anxiety.  It was only sitting at the table at the back of the shop at the sewing table, staring at the small wide eyed fools screaming incoherent shite, that the realisation hit me of what this potentially could be and so frantically on the short morning break I ran to the pharmacy on the floor below.  Ten minutes later I was staring at a positive response on the test in the toilets, barely able to breathe.


When I left the toilet, confused and a bit shell shocked, I stumbled aimlessly back onto the floor.  A supervisor approached me and told me that I had to go to the RDS.  Why?  Because I had to dress up, with another guy, in a mascot outfit – the giant smelly girl teddy for a photo shoot.  I would get paid extra.  I complied barely saying a word, partially glad to get away from all the children on the shop floor and pretending to be happy – my resting bitch face game would have been too strong for the public today.  I was kinda paralysed watching children with their sticky hands pick up teddies, drop lollies and somewhere I could smell a well filled nappy.  So I went with the other guy to the RDS, making awkward small talk and trying not to have a mental breakdown.


The costume had never been washed.  Not once.  And the inside of the heavy plastic head smelled like twenty people’s stale breath.  It was claustrophobic and heavy with warm air, despite the large opening for the mouth and eyes.  In order to walk I had to press my face up tightly to the inside of the head and peer out the mouth, which I could only imagine looked as macabre appearing as if I was trapped inside the bear being slowly digested.  I wondered if I tried hard enough would the body digest the foetus, thought that was stupid and asked someone to align my head properly.  The costume hung loosely around my body, but felt crusty and trapped the building heat around me.  Was it always this warm in this suit or was I just panicking?  I could feel sweat drip down my back but there was nothing I could do about it.


How the fuck was I going to have a child?  What would I ever do with one?  Surely, I’d accidentally break its neck the first time I held it?  All I did was booze, work, study and sleep.  I had nobody to answer to.  I lived with my parents in a teenchy gaff.  When the goldfish became a pain in the arse they were flushed down the toilet like (not me), so what would happen with a screaming baby?  What about college?  I wanted to do my thesis on the Alien series and the idea of babies as parasites and bodily autonomy – seemed fitting now.


I was ushered along by someone I couldn’t see, an irritating hand between my shoulder blades into a flurry of people.  I couldn’t turn because the costume didn’t always move with me and it was hard to orientate myself in it, so as much as I wanted to I couldn’t push their hand off.


‘Don’t talk at all’ a voice said.

Screen Shot 2017-09-12 at 18.15.32

Journalists, photographers, some TV presenters I could recognise but not name…. and there he was Keith Duffy, in all his orangeness (ornateness kept coming up in spellcheck as a possible correction and I can’t stop laughing at it) with his crazy white teeth standing smiling away in the middle of it all.  It didn’t matter that I could barely see out the mouth – I could still tell he was famous, even in his shit blue jumper.  Other people dressed as teddies pranced around with exaggerated poses.  It was like walking into a party where you were the only one who hadn’t taken cocaine whilst everyone went all Scarface.  He was moved over to me, the only female bear, and tightly wrapped his arm around my neck, as flashed went off.  I tried to pose in some way enthusiastically and made eye contact with him through the mouth and he smiled in the most comforting way into the bears mouth.  It must’ve looked super weird to him.  It was, however, magical for me.  We were sharing a moment.


Inside, still reeling from the news earlier, the heat rising and rising, I could feel myself start to have issues breathing.  I could feel that it was possible that I would vomit inside the giant head as well, possibly morning sickness, possibly just from the stress of it.  Thing is, although Keith was subconsciously calming me down, when you can’t see anything in your peripheral vision you can be frightened easily.  As he loosened his grip on me some squeaky gobshite jumped in front of me:


‘YOU’RE DEFINITELY A GUY!’ she squealed, not only giving me a shock but also causing me to back away slightly.  ‘YOU’RE DEFINTELY NOT A GIRL!’


Over and over and over.  Until warm and angry and panicked, the smelly girl bear shouted in front of the journalists, TV presenters ad Keith Duffy.


‘I’M A FUCKING GIRL!’ I screamed.


Ten minutes later we were leaving on our way back to work, normal clothes but red faced, absolutely nothing acknowledged by anyone of my outburst, on the way to get a goddamn burrito.  When my supervisor rang me to find out where we were – slightly angry I might add I simply said in a narky tone ‘to get a fucking burrito’ and hung up.  I was getting a burrito and I wasn’t rushing it either.


Then in work I text the father of the child, not my partner at the time (long story) and told him we needed to chat.  So yeah, I guess I had the kid but Keith Duffy also, without knowing it, stopped me having a panic attack.



EDIT:  This story really did happen and I tried to Google pictures of me (as a bear) with Keith Duffy but I couldn’t find any.  If anyone does come across some please send them on! It’d be cool.




You probably wouldn’t think it when you met me but internally I’m a bit of a general mess.  Well, I mean I’m a highly functioning mess but I never actually relax.  It’s probably a combination of nervousness and sensitivity, masked under confident-ish cheeky banter and a willingness to listen and empathise, so you mightn’t see it directly, but it’s there and it has been since I was tiny.  I think I’m pretty decent at hiding it usually, but that in itself is exhausting, because as far as I can see I’m generally fighting a losing battle. No matter how proactive I am and how much I plan for every possible eventuality,  the voices of self-doubt in my head repeat all the negative things I’m trying to avoid.  So whilst I’m smiling and laughing and talking away underneath I’m nearly always panicking.  Even when someone notices it on one of those rare occasions you’re still going to get some patronising fucker telling you to ‘calm down’ as you verge onto a panic attack because y’know that’s really effective and doesn’t make you feel like an inconvenience at all.  If you’d ever had a panic attack, where you feel yourself get dizzy and can’t breathe, you wouldn’t be saying any bullshit to that effect at all.


Before I describe some of the stupid shit that I do because of my anxiety I’d like to briefly describe how I feel from it to give you an idea of what I feel like 80% of the time.  That’s right, 80% of the time – sleepless nights, nightmares, panic attacks, being hyper vigilant and waiting for bad stuff to happen etc…  I’m not doing this so you’ll feel sorry for me – it was what it is (I hate that stupid phrase) – I’m just asking that people stop thinking people are dicks for things that they clearly have a hard time with.  OK, so imagine everything is in slow-motion and you’re watching a cannon ball coming towards you, or some other dangerous object.  You know in real time that you cannot escape it and it’s going to hit you.  You just know.  That is how I feel the majority of the time, waiting for that big hit, that will at least seriously injure me, like some kind of horrible purgatory, that probably will never come to a conclusion.  And in real life you have to keep going and function all the time, so imagine how difficult it is to focus or complete tasks when you are even slightly stressed.  Imagine how overwhelming that is.


Anyway, I thought I’d just share that to give you a glimpse into how things can be difficult and how things are in my head.  I’m not saying everyone’s anxiety is the same but the phrases ‘calm down’ or ‘relax’ really don’t help – so maybe consider that before you use them.  Having anxiety doesn’t make you weak either, although I know it makes me awkward and perhaps a bit twitchy, and sometimes I suppose I seem rude, but generally I don’t mean it.  If I cause offence I usually apologise if I’m aware of it.  Panic attacks don’t have to be full blown and obvious either, they can take the form of zoning out and going quiet amongst other things so just because it doesn’t ‘seem like there’s anything wrong’ there can be so don’t bother saying that either.


So here is a list of things that I do or find difficult because of my anxiety.


Leaving the house:

It’s overwhelming.  Too many unpredictable things and loud noises.  Sometimes I cancel plans last minute because outside just seems so daunting and the thoughts of going outside alone has exhausted me.  I don’t mean anything bad by it.


Being late for things:

I don’t like rushing either so I like to give myself lots of time.  I’m nearly always early but the idea of being late twists my guts up into massive knots.  Don’t get me wrong – I still won’t run or anything.


Getting off a bus or negotiating through tight spaces:

Probably because I’m a woman and regularly get groped from vag to tit to arse.  I stare for ages at spaces trying to decipher the path of least resistance even if it is the longest route.


Group messaging:

Anything that involves more than three people will just overwhelm me.  I’m not being rude if I leave.  I just can’t handle all the information.  I can put it on mute but seeing 24 notifications sends me into a spin.


The ‘sign of peace’ at mass:

I don’t want to awkwardly shake your hand.  I’m so nervous anyway that I’m dripping sweat.  Nothing induces a mini panic attack for me like the lead up to this part, which I know word for word for some reason.  Also, I saw you scratch your arse beforehand or pick your nose.  Now I’m forced to touch you.  I wish foot in mouth was a thing again.



What’s your angle, eh buddy?  FUCK OFF!



I’m super jumpy, even when I’m expecting someone to call up.  I would disable my doorbell if I had one.  I am constantly in a cat like state of readiness.


Having to take a shit:

I can only poop in about 3 toilets and I won’t shit if you’re in my apartment.  I will kick you out if I have to.  This makes one night stands amazingly awkward.


Not being able to move:

It’s awkward as fuck but sometimes I can’t move because I have so much to do that I’m overwhelmed by everything and end up paralyzed.  It sounds ridiculous but when I move I have to keep moving to avoid this, where I just sit and stare and panic about all the things that I have to do but can’t because I don’t know where to start.


Night terrors:

This has been a problem for years.  Sweat inducing nightmares about past events, women with horrible eyebrows slagging mine off and sometimes things that I know the reality of my subconscious presenting themselves.


Someone I fancy talking to me:

I am a terrible human.  Seriously.  I remember some guy I liked (which rarely happens) talking to me and when he was talking I just shouted ‘PENIS!’ for no reason other than I was thinking about his penis… because, well I was like.


Subconsciously slightly hurt myself:

I dig my nails into the palms of my hands, hold my breath for ages without knowing, scratch myself, pull my nails off and when I was younger I used to pull out big chunks of my hair and eat it when I was particularly stressed out.  There ya go, I’m a fucking weirdo, I know.


Have a hard time telling the difference between excitement and nervousness:

If I go hyper, especially when I’m drunk, I can’t tell if I’m happy or just nervous.  It all seems to run off the same energy with me, particularly in public.  I mean, I’d be happy sitting quietly in a pub on my own with a book – I love my own company


Small talk:

My head is full of fuck most of the time because I guess subconsciously I think a lot of people are cunts, everything is dangerous and I can’t be bothered talking about the weather.  I wear headphones for a reason asshole, don’t force your mediocrity on me.


Watching my child climb on high things:

This actually makes me dizzy.  Even in a playground.  I just walk off and hide somewhere till he tells me he’s down.  God forbid he ever gets stuck somewhere.


(A recently received message from some horrible gobshite)


Social media:

It seems these days that people can’t have coherent arguments or debates without being complete dicks and piling onto each other, even when we’re on the same side.  People make mistakes, you don’t always have to agree, we should just all have open minds about these things but that isn’t the case at all.  The worst thing is getting unnecessary abuse online, particularly if you’re a chick, because more often than not some dude runs into the argument brandishing his opinion as fact despite the fact it’s your area of expertise in a really hostile manner.  It sucks but I defend myself as much as I can without getting emotional, despite wanting to crawl under a rock and die, but I’ve found these fights often get brought to me instead of the other way around.  In fact,  I think social media is one of the worst offenders for myself when it comes to inducing a panic attack because half these people wouldn’t be as brave or extreme if they were sitting facing you.


So there you have it – this probably makes me sound like an asshole but I don’t care.  It doesn’t come from a bad place, and I genuinely care about people, but a lot of the time I just can’t deal with things.  Please don’t take offence if I do any of these things to you – just try and be kind and remember that doing things that are possibly easy for you isn’t the same as for others.  If I calmed down I wouldn’t be me either, would I?  Being compassionate and not dismissing people, perhaps reminding them of their value to you and that they will be ok are so much more effective than being a jerk.


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I am working class and from Finglas.  I may have moved around the country a lot (probably about 8 different houses before the age of 9) before we settled in Dublin in the early 90’s but I consider Finglas my home.  However, I was kind of in a weird situation, because I was never really considered middle-class or working class in any proper sense of the word.  At various stages I was considered ‘posh’ as a disadvantage, was picked on in my area and in school and found it difficult to make friends in my area because my parents, who thought they were protecting me, wouldn’t let me associate with people from my area.  However, despite their best efforts and what-not I was still considered ‘common’ and likewise people weren’t allowed to hang around with me.  Also, I feel that the ‘working class’ label has worked to my disadvantage in college and lead to people severely underestimating me.  So essentially I don’t know what the fuck I am, although once I say Finglas with my glorious accent the decision is taken out of my hands.  But I kinda dislike poshos anyway so I guess it doesn’t matter.

Class is still a thing.  There is elitism and there are still prevailing patronising attitudes towards people based on their ‘class’, which is now more complicated than ever to quantify, as if acquiring an education and being working class were a fucking oxymoron.  I remember asking students during a tutorial whether they thought class was an issue and most of them replied that they didn’t think that this was the case.  They were all, however, at least middle-class so it probably is harder to see other people’s difficulties when you’re immersed in your own little bubble.

But even being middle-class is a precarious position now, as rent in Dublin has become a nightmare.  If class is to be measured purely on occupation and income, as opposed to any other factors, there are more people who were possibly middle class falling closer towards the working class tier than ever before.  Sure, there might be jobs now, specifically in Dublin but rent is insane and capitalism is bullshit if you’re not in the top 30%.  For what has always been a struggle for some is now becoming more of a struggle for many people who had little understanding or compassion for those ‘beneath them’ on the food chain.

So here are my top tips on how to survive suddenly becoming working class:


Drink high percentage alcohol –the cheapest for the largest amount.  You’re poor so you’re not allowed drink or have any fun, (see comments made by Senator David Norris the big posho) but without a temporary escape or whatever you’ve got fuck all to keep you in your downtrodden position.


If you’re employed in a minimum wage job just be grateful that you even have one, even if you spent years in college studying things that are in no way related to what you are doing now.  It’s your own fault.  Perhaps you were always born to be working class and no amount of denying it will help.  The bluebloods say being poor is in the genes.


Get used to people telling you that the cost of living is way less in other locations in the country, despite the fact that Dublin is your home, and although rent is Dublin is a black hole and completely overpriced, they will completely overlook the long commute to a new job, or relocating your family, for what is essentially a catch 22 situation.


Don’t have sex.  Especially if you’re a woman.  Completely repress all needs and desires because if you get pregnant people will say that you only did it to get a house or a ‘free ride’ (pun intended) or if you have an accident and want to get it ‘sorted’ your options as a woman in Ireland are either extremely expensive or illegal.  Remember don’t have sex if you can’t fully afford a child.  Don’t think that those affordable LIDL condoms will protect you.

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Get used to the fact that it is property owners and the government in collusion with each other that could potentially make you homeless at any point and there is little recourse for you to follow up.  Settle for squalor, damp and rats, landlords that follow their own rules and sewage leaking into your sitting room – because that actually happened to me before.  (Seriously though leave refugees out of it.  We have enough resources to look after everyone but the government and the media are adept at refocussing frustration on those with even less of a voice.)


Expect a lot of humour punching down at you but just accept it ‘because it’s just a joke’.


Learn to combine beans with everything for sustenance.


Expect when you try to better yourself for people in many universities to patronise you and find you impolite because your language is coarser and blunter, or because of your new found social status.  Don’t change that though – it reminds people that they are better than you.  Working class, education and intelligence are not mutually exclusive, although if you keep hitting that 6% cider it might prove difficult.


Get used to everyone from outside of Dublin saying it’s a shithole, but if you say anything negative about a town or village outside of Dublin, you’ll be accused of being Dublin-centric. Maybe not in so many words, but if you have a strong Dublin accent, even if you aren’t a loud and annoying Dub, you’ll feel the need to defend your home.


Get used to people judging your accent, which usually starts changing 4-5 weeks after the other symptoms of turning working class begin, before they listen to what you say.  You’ll be spoken over.  Constantly.  Especially if you’re a woman.


If you get a medical card or rent allowance, you should consider yourself lucky.  Seriously, taxi drivers will talk to you about this shit all the time.  So never tell anyone you have either of these things.


If you have mental health issues and are on a shoe string budget, just go for a walk.  Seriously you can’t afford anything else.


Get used to the expectation in your minimum wage job that you are a ‘yes’ person and always take up the offer of extra work, even if it is your kid’s birthday.


If you do have children be prepared for nothing you do to be good enough.  Having a pint?  You should be at home.  Having a smoke?  You should be at home. You shouldn’t be working that minimum wage job; you belong at home.  Why didn’t you keep your legs closed until you could afford it?


Expect to be left behind.  Your friends with ‘good’ jobs who did everything sensibly will move on, go on holidays and do all the cool things you wish you could be doing.  Some of them will travel poor countries and ‘find themselves’.  This is a reality for you now though, although perhaps not as extreme.  Unfortunately, 70% of your income goes on rent and you don’t particularly have any sellable skills so you won’t be able to keep up with them and as they become more and more middle class you will fade into obscurity.  You would be better off with leprosy than being working class.


Consider sex work as an extra income but then factor in the stigma of being found out and the safety and then go back to eating dry crackers.


If you are made homeless expect people to judge you, want your kids taken off you and comment with statements such as ‘why can’t you stay with family?’  People will know your situation better with minimal details than you know yourself.  Being vulnerable automatically means you’re a bad person or stupid.


Around the two-month mark of being diagnosed with working-classism you will start to get followed around shops because the symptoms become visible to others.


Expect unsolicited advice on all fronts about how to deal with landlords, how you should spend your money, how you should be saving and watch, just watch, when people judge you for treating yourself to a takeaway.  Expect people to speak on your behalf because they expect you to be vulnerable and naïve.  Even when you quote big sections from the PRTB to your landlord to get your deposit back.


Walk away from house viewings if there are more than 10 people in the queue.  Unless, you’ve an amazing job you probably won’t get it.  Don’t even try if you’re getting rent allowance.


Learn to adapt to fuck all sleep.  Be it a combination of stress, poor diet due to fuck all time and money, or just having to do crazy things – you’ve asked for this.


If you have any allergies, fake or not, forget about them.  You’re poor now so you can’t afford soy products or gluten free bollox.


You will also need to put your clarinet on Ebay and start making your own hummus.


If you like my writing and all that jazz, you can buy a book of my musings here:  https://www.createspace.com/6970024 or here: https://www.amazon.com/Fahckmylife-Little-Book-Fahck/dp/1544185367.  Not only will you get to read more of my drunken thoughts but also wallow in the delight of some fancy-assed diagrams, drinking games and ideas on how to live your life.




I have a love/hate relationship with Facebook.  I think maybe most of us do.  Thoughts that we would’ve let go into the ether can be shared with all the people that we deem loosely to be ‘friends’ on the internet.  On nights out when I have the app installed on my phone I have to make sure that my statuses are made available to ‘only me’ in case I decide to write something drunk that makes no sense.  This happens more often than I’d care to admit.

I think the positives, (before I get into them) far outweigh the negative aspects of social media, however.  You can talk to your friends in Japan, share events and use it for publicity for your own little self-indulgent blog, share ideas and have a nice open exchange of ideas (although this is getting rarer).  You can reconnect with people that you have no seen in years and continue your friendship from where you left off.  You can feel that you are in some way included in people’s everyday lives and see what that kid that you will never go to see looks like.  You can see what people are doing on their holidays and you can get an idea on peoples’ political views.  In many ways, the online persona, can add a bit of depth to your character, or at least present viewpoints that you weren’t aware that they held before, or a hobby that you never knew they had.  You can go to specific groups, secret or otherwise, for a whole range of support, education and motivation.  You can look for jobs, make videos for people who are abroad, or far away, on their birthdays or just communicate for free with friends when you’ve run out of credit.  The positive possibilities are endless.



Despite this there is a ridiculous number of contemporary artists out there painting pictures of hordes of zombies staring down at their phones or in some pseudo pretentious way trying to show that girls’ self-esteem is based on the amount of ‘likes’ a selfie gets.  The bang of self-righteousness off them is unreal, coupled with the fact that not only are these unoriginal ideas, but also the irony that these images are shared on social media itself.  Fuck that noise!

In the past, social media has made me paranoid about relationships – rightfully so, as well, because people aren’t even stupid enough to cover their tracks properly.  It has also shown me that I am gradually growing apart from older friendships as they go on nights out without me, or have pictures of themselves up at events where I was never invited. That’s not to say that I’m bitter or anything but in many ways, it’s concrete proof, visual confirmation, of what you already know.  That clearly doesn’t make it easier to swallow.  In many ways, the ability to sleuth around on the internet and spy on people you are no longer connected to makes it more difficult to get over things – because there you go, clicking on your ex’s page, seeing them all happy with a new person, and it just reopens old wounds (not that I do this, because I’m on good terms with most of them) or seeing some arsehole you used to know doing well at life.   I mean, there is a certain amount to relish, when you see the opposite as well, and that person you dislike isn’t doing well, and maybe that’s what you were hoping to find on their Facebook page anyway.  People you were meant to drift away from are still always there in the background, reminding you of the life they are living that you are no longer a part of and you have to wonder, whether still ‘friends’ online with them or not whether this is actually healthy.  Sometimes, coupled with ‘friends’ successes you might feel left behind, not only by them, but because your life sucks in comparison. Perhaps, I’m an over-sharer, but fuck it, I’m sure most of us have felt like this at some point, even if you only rarely log in.

I can understand that people perhaps think I am constantly on the internet with nothing better to do, but considering most of my time is spent in front of computer, either for work or pleasure (in every way that you could interpret that), it shouldn’t really surprise people that I am here.  I often hear people talk about people saying ‘oh they post too much’ and admittedly I’ve thought that too, because if I’m honest I don’t care about pictures of dogs, or your lunch, but still I never really judge about it.  If I don’t like someone’s posts I don’t follow them.  Simple as.  And I don’t make a judgement about a person based on things as arbitrary as whether they love their dog or are super enthusiastic about sharing music videos – I just them on their opinions and their treatment of other people.  I personally have quite often felt that I have been having a one-way conversation with people in real life, where people just go on rants in my direction, never ask me questions or actually listen anyway so over the years of using Facebook I began to gradually subconsciously use it as a platform to converse, because I was sick of people making assumptions about me without them ever actually hearing the words I was saying, which also contributed to the blog becoming a thing.  It’s not that I think that I have anything very unusual or interesting to say, but it’s nice to leave the ideas hanging out there, and potentially show people other aspects to my personality, other than the woman half locked singing Charles and Eddie in the pub on a Friday night.

One thing I don’t understand, and probably will never get right, is the collecting of ‘friends’.  Now I’m well aware that many people have vast numbers of ‘friends’ because they have travelled, or work in a certain industry that requires networking, but to be honest how does anyone have more than 1,000 people on their list?  I’m not being a dick, but seriously…  To be honest, it screams to me of a creepy dude, just adding randos so he can request nudes, throwing out friend requests to attractive girls that he may have said ‘hello’ to once.  It’s quality not quantity dudes – not fucking Pokémon.  I suppose it depends on the level of information that you share online as well, but personally I would not feel comfortable with more than 500 friends on my page at any time and I regularly clear them out, because if I’m being realistic here, do I really even know 500 people? And I like to share things, not to be an edgelord or controversial, but to potentially make people laugh or present a different perspective.  I think my Facebook persona is actually a pretty accurate representation of who I am, and it’s not something I could be arsed sharing with everyone.  I’m more confident and articulate online but in real life I’m shyer and overwhelmed with anxiety a lot of the time, but these still are my thoughts, peculated and condensed, in an easy- to-read version of my busy busy brain and perhaps, not everyone deserves to see this.  Some of my ‘friends’ I have never met in real life, like my American pen pal or some lovely ladies that I’m friends with from groups, but I keep them because we interact and I find their posts engaging, and these are all part of a network of people that have helped me form my own opinions and live perfectly well without leaving the house.


I’ve been deleted in the past, as we all have, but I really don’t know whether or not I should, unless someone ignores me in the street or actively pisses me off in real life.  I remember the time, on my business page, that I made a joke about selfie sticks and vaginas, and all hell broke loose.  You’d swear people never heard the word before, let alone from a girl and a few people were up-in-arms about my vulgar choice of humour.  I was called a slut, had horrible memes put on my page saying ‘your parents must be very proud’ and men were called on by conservative women to ‘talk some sense into me’ because it was so ‘unladylike.’  Personally, I thought the joke was hilarious, did a lot of banning on my Facebook writing page and tutted, but I know it caused people to delete me.  Your own level of what is appropriate or not is up to you, but I’m not hurting anyone or being mean, and there’s no one way that a girl, particularly one who doesn’t care what some rando thinks as to what constitutes what a woman should say, think or do, so scroll on if you hate it because I’m not going to stop writing and posting and doing my thing, regardless of your superficial online confidence to tear people (particularly women) down online.








‘You’re very opinionated.’

‘You’re very cocky.’

‘You’re not as clever as you think you are.’

‘You’d be great if you used your brain and weren’t so lazy.’

‘You sure you’d be able for that?’ (about furthering my education)

These are all sentences that people (mostly men, if I’m honest) have said to me in the past.  To be honest I don’t know where these opinions came from, possibly because if I feel confident enough to voice my opinion on a subject I know what I’m talking about, and will be quite forceful in being heard.

I know I don’t always put my best foot forward when it comes to using my brain or even presenting myself as someone capable of holding an intelligent conversation – I drink and smoke a fair bit, I’m quite working class and I have quite a lot of brain fog but I still wonder why people are so quick to underestimate me or obstinately challenge me about this.  Sure, I get drunk and fall over calling people ‘geebags’, say stupid things out loud that I should have thought through before they came out of my mouth and I definitely have done dangerously impulsive things in the past, but overall I don’t understand where these assumptions come from.

Now I’m not looking for validation here and I’m not being cocky either.  Not that I hold a crazy amount of faith in IQ testing but my IQ is, believe it or not, significantly above average.  In saying that I am lazy and have a really short concentration span (although I think that is partially due to my own anxiety).  I could read and write by the time I was three, started reading Stephen King when I was 9 and wrote my first full length book (about vampires, fucking cringe) when I was 10.  I did alright in the memory test, that is the Leaving Certificate, in 1999 despite leaving most of the exams early (again because I couldn’t sit still) and did fairly well in college with minimal effort.  These are just facts, this isn’t cocky.  This isn’t me holding up some sign asking people to tell me I’m great, but y’know, I’d rather if they didn’t assume that me simply stating the facts of the situation is not me having a massive ego either.  And also, it would be nice not be patronised either.  I’m tired of having things I already know and didn’t ask for, explained to me already because there is the presumption there that I don’t understand.  I’m exhausted of saying the exact same thing as the person beside me but not getting listened to while they’re applauded.

Let me pick the above phrases apart that each came from a different person at a different period in my life:


‘You’re very opinionated’


This translates to me as ‘you think too much’ and in the context of this particular situation the implication extended to include a silent but deadly ‘for a girl’.  I would not consider myself particularly outspoken but I do call out bullshit when I feel equipped to defend my views.  Do you know how difficult it is to try and stand up for your beliefs, or even counter an argument in a non-aggressive way when you have continually been told that you’re wrong your whole life?  Having an opinion on something that you feel well informed on does not make you difficult – it makes other people look apathetic and weak.  By no stretch am I saying that I have opinions on everything, but I am willing to listen to people when they have them and I wouldn’t think less of someone for having a well thought out argument regardless of their stance.  Part of me wonders if men encounter this and, as was implied by the above sentiment, is it viewed as a negative thing that a woman wants to express her own thoughts.  Like am I supposed to sit by and just let people talk at me about things when I feel that they are just plain wrong?


You’re very cocky.’


This refers to me appearing confident about my brain juice.  It actually could be applied to other situations as well and is very problematic.  Let me just state I am not cocky.  I struggle with self-confidence on a daily basis in many aspects of my life.  I base how I feel about things on solid evidence – particularly about myself.  It’s only in the last few years that anybody, and I literally mean anybody, has used the phrase ‘clever’ to describe me.  Up until then I simply didn’t consider that I was and the above response was when (again a guy) told me I was ‘clever’ to which, in the style of Han Solo I replied ‘I know.’  Not that I really did know that I was for a fact, despite my various academic accomplishments, but simply because I just thought it was funny and the response was simply an effort to tear me down because they felt that I could only be boosted by somebody else.  I mean, even if it weren’t said in jest, what is wrong with me actually having a little faith in myself – because up until that point I was the only one that did?





You’re not as clever as you think you are.’


I remember this distinctly because I was shocked that this person, my boyfriend at the time who was for the most part lovely, uttered these words to me out of nowhere.  I had never said that I thought I was clever.  I was weighing up options for my future plans and was waiting for exam results.  I had never acted like I thought I knew everything.  I was silly and naïve but I was like a sponge for absorbing information.  Another attempt to put me down?  What was I doing exactly that made me seem like I thought I was crazily clever?  Should I have been quieter and more demure? And how clever exactly did he think I thought I was?  Can I not have realistic confidence in my own abilities?  Fuck him anyway, because I even exceeded my own expectations and as a result his.


‘You’d be great if you used your brain and weren’t so lazy.’


At the time I was studying for a Masters and working two jobs – one as a TV production lecturer and the other in a call centre.  I was also writing and busy with day to day stuff.  I was not lazy and I was using my brain but because people like to assume they know everything without actually asking this was the conclusion that was reached.  I accept the fact that I don’t always use my brain to the best of its abilities but I also know that I have never stopped using it.  I think sometimes people have ideas as to what constitutes a good use of your brain and in a lot of cases this equates to how much you earn.  If that is the case all plumbers must be in MENSA (which they could be for all I know).



‘Are you sure you’d be able for that?’


These shocking words were uttered by a close and dear friend when I mentioned my application to a PhD program.  Although this person is awesome and a dear friend I’m always going to feel a bit hurt when I think about it.  In fairness, I did leave the PhD without completing it for many reasons, but I don’t think my ability was one of them.  Eventually the person conceded that I was not overreaching my abilities but by then I was already hurt, that someone I knew so well would doubt me and my own judgement like the majority of people I had encountered had.


What I am completely unsure of is how I come across as being cocky exactly?  Is it because I seem to have ideas above my station, what with me having a vagina and coming from Finglas?  It’s not like I’ve refused to ever listen to other people and their own views.  It’s not like I rant at people and not let them talk while I dictate the course of the conversation.  It’s not like I think I am better than other people.  So how is me knowing myself, and in a very realistic way, bad?  Or am I supposed to have lowered my opinion of myself sufficiently that validation from another is the only thing that is supposed to bolster my confidence?

Irish people are really into putting each other down, or giving out about people that are confident, whether it be about looks, ability or if they have money.  It seems like a weird envious thing and also a modesty that I can only see really resulting from the fact that Catholicism had such a massive hold on the country for so long.  We should feel guilty for everything and nothing that we have done for ourselves, developed or learned was actually our own doing – it was all part of God’s plan.  Whether or not you chose to believe this or not, religion has played a massive part in our education system and if the nuns taught me anything we should feel guilty and not reach for things that are beyond our limited means, let alone excel and be proud of them.  And remember all the while, not to give poor boys the idea that you’ll have sex with them, because naturally women are temptresses and men lack the control to hold back.

Even aside from the religious aspect in our schools (I’m not so sure about it now although as my child does not go to a religious school I have heard some crazy stories) the emphasis on learning things off by heart seems to not teach people to engage with their subjects, or think critically at all, and that I think, is especially now with fake news sites, stupid leaders and so many international and national issues an extremely important skill to have.  The thing is that Ireland has a relatively decent education system, with a nice variety in subjects taught but there is a massive gap in knowledge that is not being addressed.  Education does not stop after school and college is overrated – knowing that there is more knowledge to acquire and being open to that is liberating.  There is always more to learn.  There is always more to hear.  There is always more to see.  And I have accepted that and refuse to believe that I am going to stop learning something.  I mean I always want to be, be it a skill, or something more abstract and if acknowledging that and being confident in my ability to do so is cocky you can go fuck yourself – figuratively, not literally.

I think intelligence is something that is measured on a very narrow spectrum today when there are various different types of knowledge and skill that are not recognised that are incredibly important.  Communication skills and the ability to read and interact with people are immensely valuable.  People that speak multiple languages fluently, particularly people who have to learn English, fucking amaze me.  When people can pick up an instrument and know how to play a song that they’ve only heard a few times it makes my bits swell.  The creativity that artists possess is something I am exceedingly jealous of.  Getting a bullseye in anything is a serious fucking skill.


I have a favour to ask you all today and I think it is a positive and sweet thing to do.  Pick a person you care about and tell them what they are good at.  They mightn’t need to hear it, and they might already know, but there’s a chance that they don’t and that your encouragement will push them in the right direction.


It’s not wrong to want to learn in whatever means possible.  It’s not cocky to be confident in your own abilities.  There’s a difference between being arrogant, deluded and confident and if you can’t see that you’re a bit of a sap, ain’t ya?




I think I might have a bit of a reputation of being quite moany, negative and generally morose.  I think nothing could be further from the truth.  When people have put me down I see sometimes it is because I have convictions, a moral compass and am genuinely passionate about the things that interest me.  Seriously, talk to me about music or film, socialism or theoretical politics (the real stuff is too depressing for even me) and you’ll see.  Although in fairness, these days I can see a look on faces when they glaze over and conversation can’t go beyond the superficial.  But, whilst I am aware that I can be negative I am the first to praise someone or hold their hand if things are difficult.


And there are lots of things I love.


I have done a similar post to this years ago (a post about things I really like) but this is a bit different.


Here is a list of things I love specifically in people:


Having arguments about music or quizzing people about side projects of certain band members.


Getting excited about going to gigs.


Realising that a person has very similar tastes to you.


When someone knows you feel shitty about something and knows exactly what to say.




When you make someone laugh so much they cry or they do it likewise.


Having long conversations about anything, sober, at stupid o’clock.


Getting a random nice text or message from someone.


When people give you a very thoughtful gift (price does not matter) that makes it obvious that they know you very well.


That look that a person gives you when what you’ve said surprises them (in a good way).


When someone buys you a bag of cans.


When people remember the little details about you or when you met.


People ringing you first to give you good news.


An entire conversation based on slagging each other off.


When someone hides on you and gives you a fright.

When people are genuinely supportive – weirdly this one can come as much from people you don’t know that well as much as people that you are super close to.


People encouraging each other.


Pointing out flaws constructively but backing up flaws with compliments.


Falling asleep next to someone and waking up in the exact same position.


The face on a person when they see a lovely animal.


When someone gives you a head massage.


Getting the ride.


When you can see that someone is honest and really kind. These are the people that never claim that they are nice but if you watch them interact with other people you’ll see that they genuinely are.


The expressions that happen in the eyes.


Sexual tension – the calm before the storm and inevitable failure.


When you realise how fecking clever someone is and you’re a little bit in awe of them.


When people are quick to tell you positive things about yourself.


See, I can like people and be positive!  See?!!  That took me way too long to write but ah well….

I think in a roundabout kinda way I’m trying to say thank you to each one of you that has supported me and read this blog, or for the random comments and encouragement.  I mean I got all of my funding for this book through you guys and that’s really awesome.  It’s come from people I didn’t expect it from if I’m honest and that’s pretty amazing.  Thank you for reading and being nice.




We all know of the trope of the mad woman, the mad woman in the attic, hidden away for the ‘good’ of those that ‘care’ for her and herself.  She can’t be trusted.  She’s erratic, emotional and just basically an intense mess.  She’ll just set fire to the gaff and try and kill everyone.  And yes, this is Jane Eyre, and yes it is Bertha, an inconvenience, easily labelled as mad and swept away as if just a minor problem stemming from feminine insanity, despite being massively mistreated.

The same can be said for the main character in Charlotte Perkins Gillman’s short story The Yellow Wallpaper, in which after the birth of her child a woman is forced into isolation in her room, away from her child and husband.  Despite the fact that she most likely is suffering from post-partum depression she is labelled as hysterical, as if this is an inherently weak female attribute, and the story follows the decline her in mental health.

Mental health issues are clearly important, regardless of gender, as some disorders are demonised more than others in the media and on a societal level.  However, what I want to look at here is the specific treatment of women and mental health, and how from a personal experience, as well as objectively the treatment of men and women in this respect are very different.  The above examples that I have already used highlight this but it wouldn’t be a far stretch to think of a variety of ‘crazy’ lady stereotypes used in contemporary film (Misery, Wayne’s World, Psycho…) that can be seen as echoes of the cultural milieu and how society views women and mental health issues.

‘Hysteria’ was a blanket term coined during the 1800s  to describe what male doctors perceived as overly emotional and distressed females.  It was used to describe women who displayed symptoms such as sexual desire (how dare you have a libido or needs!), ‘a tendency to cause trouble’, irritability and other peculiarly termed ‘symptoms’.  Today many of these women would most likely have been diagnosed with borderline personality disorder, amongst others, but this formed the backbone of what it is to be considered female and where the problematic issues of the construction of women as ‘emotional’ and ‘irrational’ come from.

How does this have anything to do with us now I ask?  Well, I think it makes it easier for society in general to view women as inferior because of having feels.  At some point in your life you have heard somebody call somebody crazy, right?  You’ve heard some shitbag guy you know talk in graphic detail about this girl that he rode up the hole and how she was ‘crazy’ now and stalking him.  You may or may not have believed him, but he said and he felt entitled to say it.  In fact, it’s a lot of this talk that helps us deem women to be inherently weaker and that makes it easier to demonise them.  Realistically, if you look at a lot of these situations where men say a lot of their exes were ‘crazy’ or some girl was constantly in contact with them, there are two sides to the story.  It is easy to dismiss someone’s feelings, or use it as an excuse, if they have served their purpose to you.  You can easily lead someone on, exploit their feelings and then when their expectations do no align with yours write them off as being ‘crazy’.  I’m not saying this is always the case, but as a girl and knowing what people have said about me when I’ve been relatively normal and from listening to stupid menz, I can tell you that it happens very frequently and it needs to be something that we move away from.

I’ll give you a modern and personal example.  There was this girl I knew a few years back.  She was a beautiful and clever girl but she had a lot of problems and was at times difficult to deal with.  She could be mean and toxic and stole, amongst other things, but she clearly needed help.  She had a drinking problem and was extremely lonely.  To top this all off she was at times overtly sexual (literally no judgement here – just saying with this combination of behaviour I bet you can guess where this is going).  Everyone in the area knew her and knew what she did.  She was a constant source of entertainment for people, with her ‘crazy’ antics, which whilst I couldn’t condone her for (she went too far several times at stuff regardless of her issues) I felt bad about because to me anyway, it was very obvious she was in a lot of pain.  What I found disgusting was the fact that so many people were not only cruel about her but cruel about her whilst also trying to have sex with her.  In fairness, a fair few of them did, but even then she was still demonised despite the fact that these disgusting menz were exploiting her (I’m not removing her agency here) by having sex with her and then slagging her off.  The fact that they had intentionally sought out sex (some of them with girlfriends) with this messed up girl and then were cruel about her, contributing to idol gossip in a small community, pissed me off immensely.  Were they not worse and taking advantage of her?  Ah, it’s grand like – she’s just a crazy slapper.

So what impact does this have me personally, other than being angry with the hypocrisy of how women can be treated?  Imagine, for a second, that you are very conscious of the perception that women are viewed of as being irrational.  This is not something that men are generally conditioned into believing, so please bear with me.  So, imagine again, that you know that you have be careful about expressing emotions or wants and feelings without coming across as being a ‘fucking pyshco’ or ‘freaking out’.  Imagine that you try and vocalise wants and needs, that are completely rational and you try to do it in a very even levelled tone.  But nobody listens.  So you say it again.  A tiny bit louder.  Still nobody listens until you inevitbaly explode and feed into this irrational sterotype.  The content of what you are saying makes sense.  You are reasonable but when you’re called ‘craxy’ to your face or snorted you start to doubt yourself.  ‘Am I justified in feeling this?’ you ask yourself. It is constant.  The element of doubt in your own convictions, because it is easy for someone (usually male by the way) to write off your feelings means that you are always concerned with what you want, how you say it and whether your concerns are legitimate.

Many women go out of our way to not be thought of as crazy at the best of times – let alone when we have mental health issues.  In my experience, telling people you have mental health issues (particularly in relationship situation) gives them ammunition to minimise your feelings, make you work harder and in extreme cases gaslight you.  I know writing here that I have anxiety and depression issues, as well as possibly another disorder which I suspect but have not checked it out yet), probably just adds fuel to the fire but I know enough at this point to know that my feelings are real and the things I ‘blow’ up over are as the result of exhaustion.  I should not doubt my feelings but phrases such as ‘I think you’re a manic depressive’ (I’m not), ‘stop being crazy’ and ‘I thought you were strong’ as well as ‘you fucking psycho’ have been specifically used to disarm me in a conversation where I was either looking for support or for help with a compromise in the relationship.

You can say that men are treated the same in relation to mental health issues.  I agree that there is a stigma for men regarding this also.  I believe that Irish society does not want to, or cannot deal with the emotional aspect of,  mental health issues  but I cannot see how anybody can excuse the recent case in Cavan where mental health issues were used as a ridiculous defense for Alan Hawe murdering his entire family.  If it were a woman, would that have happened or would she be demonised?  Because we all know bitches be crazy…


I made some diagrams here that I don’t think require explanation. I can’t sleep so I thought I’d do something pointless instead. 




Something occurred to me amidst cans (after the fourth or fifth I usually get my best ideas) last night watching shite reality TV.  We live in hysterical times.  Crazy hysterical times.

Think about it.  We live at a time when Trump can openly rile up a idocracy in the States, where exiting the EU has validated previously muted racist sentiments, where a guy gets six months in prison for sexually assaulting a woman and has Facebook groups supporting him and his loss of career, where white shooters are mentally disturbed and anyone else is terrorist, where we have a Government that are in power by default, where Luas strikers who are unionised and trying to do better for themselves are demonised by the public and people in receipt of social welfare are considered spongers despite the amount of money proportionally that bankers have cost the country.  On the flipside of that, there is now this new perceived culture of everything causing offense, ‘safe spaces’, giving awards for the mundane to children and a massive schism between the majority of social or political streams on the left bickering over smaller details rather than cohesively uniting.   Society seems to be verging on turning itself into a giant meme of extremities, everything completely black and white, to the point that opening Facebook or the majority of social media can and often does contribute to inducing a sense of dread and anxiety.  It seems in such an age of information that there has never been so much ignorance and divisiveness focusing on the individual and ‘what about me?!’ rather than creating a situation where everyone benefits and everyone is heard, particularly those that haven’t been heard before.

At the moment I personally think this concept of a ‘culture of offense’ is really interesting .  I’m quite torn by this one to be honest.  On one hand, minorities and people who have been systemically oppressed are standing up for themselves but then on the other hand it seems that simply disagreeing on something that is not toxic or malignant is offensive.  Then we’re told by the least oppressed in society that we are all too offended – generally by middle/upper class, white men like Stephen Fry – that we’re all getting too offended, simply because from their myopic perspective we shouldn’t be upset.  A lot of kids are raised differently than we were and have way thinner skins, all rewarded for the mediocre and not taught how to be competitive.  Weirdly isolated at times, and replacing physical social interaction with social media, how are the next generations actually going to function when people disagree?  In fairness, I’m very conflicted by this.  It think it’s brilliant that people are given voices and the means to tell their stories from their perspective as surely a large part of using this valuable information is to learn and develop a better understanding and more compassion in general.  At the same time it just feels like our culture is overly sensitive or crude and conservative with both sides (although the left I’d argue are considerably more articulate generally) resorting to similar tactics and there is no in between.   I think an adequate example of this is the idea the argument between various religions and atheism.  Fair play, believe either, I’d say I’m agnostic  but the very aspects that many male atheists  criticise in organised religion and the way in which they do it make them no better in several other respects.  There is a certain superiority involved in it.

The internet has amplified all of this seven fold and created mass hysteria it seems, although even saying this ironically seems to perpetuate this ideology, where flippant ill thought out arguments are made as if the world needs to hear them.  The individual and the idea of sharing your opinion on irrelevant things is crazy.  There is a massive emphasis on provoking and being controversial, people setting up troll accounts and bullying as if the world needs less compassion.  I personally would hate to start out as a comedian or musician now, particularly as a woman and see a vicious amount of comments under my YouTube videos relating to my appearance versus my talents.  Yet people feel the need to do this.  Neck beared guys sitting in their mothers basements?  12 year olds?  Who knows but the internet gives each of these people a chance to say whatever they want and I don’t think it’s overly sensitive to be concerned about this.  Can you imagine the hate mail that you would get for simply presenting your thoughts on feminism?  We’ve all heard the stories and although I’ve been continuously trolled and received vicious messages and the like, for a variety of reasons, a simple ‘I don’t agree with you’ or a coherent mature discussion would go a lot further, no?  And if you’re simply being controversial for the sake of it – maybe you need to get out more?

I have a massive issue with the term ‘egalitarianism’.  Controversial as that may be to many of you, I think it sweeps issues under the carpet.  When an individual tries to talk about their own personal experience of oppression, using the term ‘egalitarian’ derails the conversation.  It tells people to ‘shut up’ we’re all equal. Whilst I agree intersectional third wave feminism can be a fecking minefield, I am not going to speak for someone about their experiences, or quieten, or tell them how to react.  I will listen and I won’t tell them how they should feel. There is space for everyone but bringing the conversation back to your own grouping isn’t conducive to learning, is it?  You should not only hear what people say but listen to experiences of others outside of your own limited range and take it on board.  It’s like when the fact that men get raped as well is brought up when female rape statistics are brought up.  This really does my head in for two reasons, the fact that most of these are carried out by men anyway and the fact that the people who bring these statistics up generally don’t give a fuck about men that were raped either.   I realise that many straight white middle class men, probably feel threatened or annoyed by this perception of constantly feeling attacked, perhaps because they feel that they have been laden with this guilt or burden that they have no part of, but seriously dudes getting defensive just means that you can’t see how society has been structured around your needs and the specific needs of others should also be addressed.  We’re not a society of victims, although it can seem like it’s verging on that, but these are things that need to be dealt with to create a true egalitarian society.  That would be lovely, right?

I think people need to ask themselves sometimes ‘what difference does this make to me?’ about lots of stuff.  A lot of middle class people seem to think that they are burdened by people on social welfare, and although there obviously are people who take advantage of the system, what personal difference does it make to them?  And if we were to focus on anything surely it would be something like banking, that proportionally took way more away for the ‘tax payer.’  Fuck the fact that you pay tax in thinking that you have a choice about where it goes.  We never did.  Stop blaming those that are financially less well off when there are bigger fish to fry and politicians spending imaginary money on things we don’t need and selling off what little assets we have.  It’s divisive and making people scapegoats.  Don’t want an abortion – don’t get one – if you don’t have a uterus you should probably be quiet.  Why do you care how much the Luas drivers make?  Instead of worrying about irrelevant things that really have nothing to do with you we should all be focusing on changing things for the better and not getting worked up over a gorilla getting shot in a zoo (I hate zoos anyway) and blaming their parents from the comfort of your own home.  Divisiveness is not cool and shifts the narrative away from real things.  Everything  does not need your opinion.  Shut up and look at what is important.

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