This Winter

by Alice Oseman

Charlie and I have discussed at length how it’s possible for Oliver to be related to us, since he’s the literal embodiment of joy and we’re both miserable fucks. We concluded that he must have got all the happy genes.

Mum has this thing where she avoids talking about anything even slightly deep or emotional.

I used to think that difficult was better than boring, but I know better now. There have been a lot of difficult days in the past few months. There have been too many difficult days.

hate the way people react when they learn Charlie spent a few weeks as an in-patient. As if it’s the most horrific thing they’ve ever heard. It’s because it automatically makes them think mental asylum and crazy people, instead of treatment and recovery and learning to manage an eating disorder.

They think eating disorders and mental illnesses can just be fixed at the drop of a hat. They don’t understand that it’s a process. That it takes time and treatment and effort and bad days and good days.

I’m tired, though. I’m so tired of defending myself.

When people know you’re mentally ill, most people either want to ignore it completely or they treat you like you’re strange, scary, or fascinating. Very few people are actually good at the middle ground.

The middle ground isn’t hard. It’s just being there. Being helpful, if help is needed. Being understanding, even if they don’t understand everything. “Thanks,”

“I think sometimes you’re so scared of being a burden that it makes you terrified to ask for help.

Nick is Charlie’s boyfriend, who comes round our house all the time. I think they’ll probably get married one day so they can have their own house and not have to walk to each other’s houses every single day.