The One Where She Says "Thank You"

About eight years ago, back in the days of MSN, I met a guy with fluffy hair and a funny laugh. After about twenty seconds of being together we realised we were just destined to be best ever friends in the whole wide world and that was that. We were even in each other's MySpace Top 8 at one point.

This week I saw an article on Twitter. Reading it momentarily tipped my world upside down. The article was written by a man who had struggled with depression and attempted to take his own life. The signature at the end of the article was my best friend's.

My instant reaction was "Why did I not know about this?" quickly followed by "I'm such an awful friend. How did I not notice?" After re-reading and re-reading and re-reading I came back down to Earth and remembered that it was not about me. This whole situation is not about me. I didn't know about it, because my friend did not even really know about it himself. I did not notice because it would have hurt him more if I did.

I am so proud of him for speaking up about mental illness and for helping to break the stigma attached to it. I hate that some people feel they will be viewed as weak if they admit that they are struggling, when in reality, so many people can relate to it. In being candid and open about their experiences people could actually save the lives of others.

There is so much I could say about this, and to my friend in particular. So I will.

Here's to you, my best ever friend in the whole wide world. I just want to say thank you. Quite a few times actually, so you probably want to sit down. Stop rolling your eyes too.

Thank you for letting me steal your pillow the night we all slept over after a party. Thank you for not putting your glasses on the next morning and seeing me in someone's spare pyjamas and last night's make up. I'm not calling you shallow but our friendship may have ended right at that point.

Thank you for leaving the pub that night at half time and coming to pick me up so I could watch the match, even though I wasn't wearing any eye-liner.

Thank you for lying to telling my mum we wore suncream that day we sat in a beer garden and I got so burnt that I couldn't cover my shoulders for two days.

Thank you for not disowning me when I threw up in your front garden and left your birthday party before midnight. Granted I kept it a secret for several years but still. Oh and thank you for not being mad that I kept it a secret.

Thank you for taking me on my first and only picnic.

Thank you for making me a moving mask of your face. For buying me a new copy of Peter Pan. For writing week-long letters to me when I went away.

Thank you for forcing me to go to hospital on several occasions. Thanks for staying up through the night to send texts of support to my mum and to make sure I hadn't escaped. I will always be grateful that you visited me and witnessed a woman falling asleep with her hand in a mug of tea and a banana in her mouth, otherwise I would have really begun to doubt myself.

Thank you for pretending I stayed up through our all-nighter so that we could brag about it to no one at all.

Thank you for leaving a little green alien on my doorstep seven years ago. We might have ran out of things to talk about on a few occasions if you hadn't.

I can't believe I'm saying this but thank you for making me those CDs and taking me to the Beatles museum. That first summer when I got to camp and people found out I was from Liverpool a Beatles question usually followed. I could tell them my favourite song. I could tell them that George was my favourite because he liked to garden. I could even tell them what Ringo's real name was, if they really wanted to know. They never did, but I could have, because of you.

Thank you for always taking me to McFly concerts even though you reaaaaaaally don't like their music. Thanks for doing the claw dance with me. For singing in that ridiculous voice on the way home.

Thank you for not getting mad that time we got lost looking for the car park in Chester. Driving round the roundabout eleven times and laughing each time was much more fun.

Thank you for pretending (I know you are pretending) that my impressions are great. Even my Yoda one. Especially my Yoda one.

Thank you for always doing a New Year's Eve count down with me, even if it is ten hours early.

Thank you for understanding my fears, my worries, my inability to eat at a restaurant, for pushing me when I need to be pushed, for reminding me that my dreams won't just land in my lap because I want them to, for always bringing me a gift back from holiday, and most of all, thank you for sticking around. I cannot imagine my life without you in it. There would be a lot more rain and a lot less laughter.

Thank you for reading all the way to the end of this, even though it is ridiculously long and more than a little mushy.

Please also note that if you ever write a script for a movie and cast me as the leading lady I will be reusing this post when I win my Oscar. I will be much too busy being famous and adored to write a speech so just bear this in mind at the time.

Seriously Googs, for a fluffy-haired guy, you're alright.

As ever,

Becca Biscuit

The One With All The Sobbing

Yesterday was a bad day. It stopped being Friday and turned into Cryday at about 8:25 in the morning when I stepped into a puddle Vicar of Dibley style. It all went downhill from there. The day ended on a seriously low note when I watched an old episode of Smallville; it was from season 2 and Clark wears the red meteor rock ring and hurts everyone who cares about him. I couldn't bear to watch it - I didn't know Clark Kent could be so cruel. I bawled for a good two hours after that and fell asleep still sobbing.

Usually, after Cryday comes Faturday. I make up for the tears and dehydration by eating everything in sight and sitting in the garden telling my rabbit Paul about my woes. Not today though. I challenged Faturday in an attempt to claim back my weekend. Paul got a break and I went to the gym again. It was a very weird experience. It smelt less like public transport this time, which was great, but I felt very intimidated by the woman on the treadmill next to me who was dance-running. Like, literally dancing while she ran. Is that a thing? I don't know. Should I have been doing it? I don't know. I ditched the treadmill for fear that I had been using it wrong and went to do some sit ups. I did two. Then I cried. Then I shouted at my personal trainer (dad) to just let me lie on the floor and be chubby. I saw a guy on a nearby rower laughing at me out of the corner of my eye and I decided it was time to go home. He was laughing at me?? He was rowing, on land, in a poor excuse for a boat and HE was laughing at ME? Maybe Faturday was winning. Until...

A thought struck me. I don't have to eat junk all day and unburden my soul to a hare who may or may not be listening, just to make myself feel better. It doesn't work. In fact, there is no rejection quite like Paul hopping away right in the middle of my monologue. So instead, I left him outside and decide to write a list of things to be happy about. I came up with a really unique title for said list, as you can see.

Becca Biscuit's List of Things to Be Happy About

1. I am not Prince Harry's ex-girlfriend. Whilst I know deep down that we are destined to be together, it hasn't happened just yet. However, I am now seeing this as a wonderful thing. If there is anything worse than not being Prince Harry's girlfriend it has to be being Prince Harry's ex girlfriend. Imagine the sheer joy you would feel if that glorious ginger Prince loved you. Then imagine that joy being taken away and replaced with nothing but ginger-induced pain and horror if he stopped. The longer it is before I meet him, the longer it is until he dumps me.

2. People like Chris, Simpsons Artist exist. I don't know about anybody else, but I love living on a planet inhabited by this guy. I ordered one of his posters for my best friend's birthday and he included a free drawing of a heart with my name spelt incorrectly inside it. Today he is standing outside his local Tesco giving massages to women to "make them feel less stressed about being a woman". One of the things I miss most about Facebook is his posts.

3. Somebody invented dry shampoo. An essential item to get through daily life. Just incase I didn't mention it enough already, I joined a gym. I have since learnt that using my arms for anything other than lifting food to my mouth makes hair-washing a major chore. Some absolute genius invented dry shampoo, possibly for this exact reason, but who even cares why? What matters is that I get an extra hour in bed thanks to this bad boy.

4. Puppies. Just puppies.

5. Women who dance on treadmills. No matter how red my face turns, or how slow I run, or how many sit ups I can't do, or how messy my hair gets, or how much I lay on the floor and cry, if a woman dances on a treadmill people will always be looking at her. If people are looking at her, they won't even notice me plodding along at the end of the row, slightly offbeat because One Direction ballads are not the best to run to.

Next time Cryday comes along, I will be so prepared I can't even stand it.

As ever

Becca Biscuit 

The One With The Endorphin

Well, I did it. I survived a whole day without Facebook and I went to the gym. I have picked up my phone to check Facebook more times than I can count today but luckily I deleted it from said phone so that I wouldn't cave. It made me realise how many times I feel the need to post something that has no real impact on life. I'm slightly ashamed of how many times updating my status crossed my mind. However, it didn't flit through my brain once whilst I was at the gym, so maybe I'm on to something here.

The gym was really not that bad. At first, it was a little weird because it was full of men with tiny legs and massive shoulders. So many that I actually began to wonder if my body is on upside down and my parents never told me because there is no cure. Anyway, the first two minutes were quite awful. I turn red very easily as it is but apparently when I exercise I sport the lobster look to the extreme. At one point I thought the guy next to me was really concerned about it but then I realised he was just looking at me funny because although I was running with my headphones in, my music was actually playing out loud. Note to self: plug them in. Then a really crazy thing happened. I started to enjoy it. I was running and everything. I knew I had the ability to run after Kevin the cat chased me home from the bus stop the other night but I actually really liked the treadmill. I think I got an endorphin. I can't be sure but it was like an amped up version of how I felt when I ate a whole Easter egg for lunch earlier, without the guilt that followed. Amazing.

After I got bored of running without getting anywhere my personal trainer took me to try out some weights. I say personal trainer; it was my dad, but whatever. He showed me how to lift without dropping the weights on my face and he kept saying really supportive things like "Don't kill yourself!" and "Stop worrying about your boobs".

The plan was to go again tomorrow but I just washed my hair and I hate to waste a blow-dry so we will have to see. On a side note, washing my hair was extremely difficult as I couldn't really lift my arms. I took that as an indication that I'm muscly now so I probably could grant myself a rest day after all.

So there we have it. I swapped my favourite activity for my least favourite activity and I feel a lot better because of it. I don't know if this means I'm a gym person now. I mean, I don't even have an ab yet. I might have an ab by the end of the week though, if I give up the Easter eggs for lunch.

As ever,

Becca Biscuit

The One Where She Joins A Gym

So I'm back in the blogging world with a big announcement. I have said goodbye to Facebook...for Lent. Who knows, maybe forever! (For Lent)

My Facebook addiction has reached extreme levels. Not only do I post every mundane element of my life on there but I spend the rest of my time scrolling through the mundane posts of others, refusing to 'like' them because their lives are slightly more Facebook-worthy than mine. My thumbs feel mildly arthritic and my already appalling social skills are suffering. It really takes the biscuit. So I'm done. For forty days.

I knew I needed a replacement activity though. My first thought was eating. My second thought was that I can't afford a bigger pair of jeans. So I did the unthinkable. I joined the gym. Yes, I joined the gym. Me. The person who is repulsed by exercise, eats Peanut M and M's for breakfast and refuses to walk home from the train station that is ONE STREET OVER from my own. 

The reaction I have received so far is: 70% absolute shock, 20% disbelief and 10% enthusiastic high fives. I hate high fives because I am really bad at them. My connecting 'five' is always very weak and a little embarrassing. Perhaps the gym can help with this?

Anyway, I digress. I joined a gym. I was getting along just fine with the paperwork when the girl behind the desk offered me a sweet from a huge basket of Maoams and Wham Bars. I normally love a good Wham Bar, except for when one of the fizzy crystals lodges itself in a back tooth and appears an hour later with the same jolting effect caused by licking a battery. I have never licked a battery (one of my many fears in life) but I imagine it feels very similar. I had no idea you were allowed sweets at the gym, if I had I would have joined much sooner, but this time I politely declined with a "no ta" and explained that too many sweets is why I was signing up for the gym in the first place. She really didn't need the Facebook story. I felt like I had passed my first fitness challenge. Go me! Amazing! So what if I celebrated with a fry up and two lemon and sugar pancakes when I got home?

Tomorrow is supposed to be my first evening at the gym. Exercising. If I survive, I will be sure to post my victory on here. After all, if I cannot update my status every five minutes with a witty life reflection and a screw-faced selfie, I may as well vent in a blog. I miss Facebook already.

As ever,

Becca Biscuit