it’s theatre, darlin

Dear Ginny,

I had an awesome day. Today, I watched my very first theatre show. How awesome, right? I was a little nervous, for several reasons:

  1. I was going alone.
  2. Theatre has a reputation for being for “rich people” (rightly so, some of those tickets were a RIDICULOUS amount) and I am definitely not a rich person.
  3. Colitis, colitis, colitis.

However, I was very, very excited for the following reasons:


  1. Theatre! I wanted the theatre experience.
  2. I admire Jesse Eisenberg’s work a lot and the chance to see it… I had to do it, okay?
  3. There was a limited offer at the time of me buying the tickets. I got the ticket ridiculously cheap (in a good way, thank the gods) (cheap for theatre tickets at least). That show was one of only a few shows with that awesome deal.

The only thing that worried me, just a tad, was the colitis. When I ordered the tickets, 2 weeks ago, my colitis had been really well-behaved for a fair bit of time. Also, my excitement was far more abundant than my worry. I reasoned that if I needed to poop, I’d just use the toilet. That’s what bathrooms are there for. And with the whole thing taking about 6 hours (travel time + I got there an hour and a half before to pick up my ticket), I would probably need to do my business. It turns out, I didn’t.

That’s right. Who didn’t poop for 6 straight hours? This person *waggles thumbs*

I don’t know what kind of spin I want to put on this post. Do I go on about how I’m so glad that my colitis isn’t holding me back? I sure as heck know I couldn’t have possibly done this last year. Or do I say how glad I am that I got to have this experience?

Both of those things are true. What I want to talk about is this: I have an image in my head of who I am, and who I want to be. Big things like what job I want and smaller things like what books I read. I love theatre* and I’d love the opportunity to be able to do this on the regular. That isn’t possible right now (said the not-rich person with a bowel disease) but it makes my heart warm knowing that I (the not-rich person with a bowel disease) did just go to watch a play and enjoyed every last minute of it.

One last note: when the play finished, the lights dimmed until you couldn’t see a thing and everyone clapped. Everyone was clapping in the darkness and it felt so magical.

Take care,


*what little I’ve been privy to. To be completely honest, I heard a lot of show tunes from Glee and that’s where I was first exposed to theatre. I don’t know the songs off by heart, I still haven’t watched Rent or Les Mis but I think of theatre fondly.


My new face

14th March 2016

Dear Ginny,

I’ve been meaning to do about three other posts; busy, busy weekend but I’m going to talk about my face today.

I picked up my new glasses today, about an hour ago. I love these glasses but the thing is, it’s really similar to my old glasses. A slightly different shape and a different colour. The entire week I had been anticipating these new glasses, I thought these new glasses were going to change and complete my look, my face. I know, I know, it’s completely ridiculous.

Safe to say, it didn’t do that. I still love them. But it’s pointless trying to put all this pressure on this one pair of glasses. Sometimes I wish I could pick apart different pieces of me, chopping and swapping it for something better. My hair, my nose, my stomach. Not hate, no. Just hopelessness.

And I know, trust me I know. It’s getting boring to hear just about everyone coming and out and complaining about their appearance. But it’s just so hard. Well, if anything makes me feel better, it’s this:

  1. I’m still pretty young. There’s a strong possibility, or at least lots of hope, that I’ll grow into my face.
  2. If you think back to 2010 and everyone and their dad was watching Britain’s Got Talent or X-Factor. Have you noticed how different people looked in the final compared to the auditions? It’s not achievable by myself or affordable, I think. But it lends a certain comfort knowing that if I had a make up artist fawning over me, I’d look really good too.

Here’s to looking good in the (hopefully nearby) future. Or atleast, being okay with how non-model and normal-people I am haha.

From Carter.


The one I (don’t) love

11th March 2016

Dear Ginny,

(And also to that one anonymous reader who replied “yes, they would like to read what I told my therapist”)

This is now my third draft of the same letter. It’s weird – even though this blog is anonymous and nothing in it ties it to me, the person behind the monitor, I don’t want to spill certain things. It will come out eventually. All in due time, child.

I’ve settled on telling you something that’s normal. So normal, you probably talk about this to your friends all the time. That being L-O-V-E. God, I cringed even as I wrote that. But yeah, my therapist bought this up and I realised I haven’t had a crush in two years now. That is a ridiculous amount of time.

One on hand, my illness makes it hard for me to socialise. I don’t even have friends because I don’t want to tell anyone about it or risk them finding out. Having a relationship is out of the question for the sake of my dignity. Also, I’m not the most attractive person out there. I’d say I’m average; a 6. A strong 8 when my hair doesn’t look like a bird’s nest on my head. I wouldn’t want to embarrass this person that I probably like very much. Thirdly, my therapist has told me numerous times that I have a predisposition to stay clear of any relationships, romantic or otherwise, because people have a history of letting me down.

On the other hand, wouldn’t that be great? The constant affirmation that “yes, you look good”. Someone that you could take as your plus one anywhere. Someone to talk to when you’re bored, and not. Someone to share your experiences with. Or someone to gush to when you really like something. Someone that really cares about you.

I feel sad, in a nostalgic way, when I think about my dry period of love. I miss having butterflies. I miss it when that person looked your way and you were like “Oh my god, they looked at me.” Has my heart switched off its romantic side? Can that happen? Please, do find out and let me know asap.

From Carter

Both feet in

10th March 2016

Dear Ginny,

I’m breaking my own rule here, I’m going to tell you about me.

I go to therapy in school. I hadn’t even known there’s a therapist in school but apparently that’s a secret saved only for the most messed up kids. Not that I’m messed up but there’s a certain something in knowing that exclusive little secret.

Part of the reason I like therapy is probably because the narcissist side of me loves it. Why wouldn’t I? Talking about myself for an hour. That’s brilliant. It’s the same reason I’m writing in this blog. I love talking. And I especially love talking about myself.

The more major reason is because it’s therapy, for god’s sake. It’s so useful to see points from an alternate POV. It’s strange. Even as I’m telling my therapist things, I can see how she’s seeing it. Imagine seeing everything in your life from a third-person perspective, how useful that would be. No loyalty or intimidation to anyone or anything.

I actually just got out of therapy 15 minutes ago. Would you like to hear what we discussed?

From Carter

The obligatory first post

9th March 2016

Dear Ginny,

Why have I made this blog? Har har har. Well, I’ve been thinking of making a blog like this for a while. You know the type I’m talking about – anonymous with juicy, scandalous secrets. We’ll see how the scandalous part comes along but this will be anonymous. It has to be otherwise I can’t write down exactly what’s in my head. The really real thoughts. What name can you call me? Hmm.. I’m hovering over two names but you’ll know for sure the one I’ve picked when you get to the bottom of this letter.

I could probably tell you some things about me. I live in London. That sounds much more exciting than it is. Unfortunately it isn’t. I’ve lived here all my life. And also when I say “London”, the image in your head is probably of the very central part where the Queen lives. Nobody lives there in real life. I mean, apart from the Queen.

I have a medical condition. More on this medical condition another day because that is sure to take up a whole other post. You don’t need to fret. It’s not one of those medical conditions that has fucked up my life beyond repair. Nope, not that much. Just fucked it enough to really mess up my plans for the future.

There’s really, really fucked up things in my life. All the different parts of my life have been ruined. I keep thinking that if I was in a movie or a book, I’d be the main character because it’s always the main character that has to go through the roughest shit. That’s really comforting to me. So this blog will be my legacy. And you can read along.

You may have noticed that I’ve omitted my age and gender. I think you’ll figure it out along the way but there’s a reason I haven’t told you here. I want you to know the things that happen to me rather than me as a person. Does that make sense? I don’t want you to know who I am. But sure, definitely read about what happens to me and in my life.

Oh, and why am I writing to Ginny? Because I’m a huge Harry Potter fan and she’s one of my all-time favourite characters. I can only hope to have that level of badassery one day.

From Carter