iwritethingsaboutedsheeran

[iwritethingsaboutedsheeran]

girl youve missed some stuff. theres been loads of people writing about ed and loads of people reading it, so yes people still do!!

Ok this is very exciting!! the prompt writing begins tomorrow.

Everyone keep submitting writing prompts you want to see! 

[iwritethingsaboutedsheeran]

I really love you guys,

And i want to write, so everyone send prompts or requests or suggestions and let’s get this show back on the road. 

[iwritethingsaboutedsheeran]

I want to write again.

but really i want to know if anyone is still interested in reading things about Ed Sheeran anymore. 

[iwritethingsaboutedsheeran]

Supercut

Am i the only one who thinks the new Lorde album is worth listening to on repeat for the next 10 years? something about break-up songs and albums gives me the empowerment i need to tell fuck boys in my life to actually get lost, and start demanding respect from the people around me.

I’ve been listening to “Supercut” on repeat because i think the hardest thing in a relationship to do is to not look back on all of the things you could have done differently. 

And i wanted to write about it.

And so here I am, giving you something new, in a few parts. 

Enjoy, tell me what you think, tell me about your lives, just come talk to me sometime.

sometimes it feels like we’re just usernames and blogs, and i’d love it if we could feel like friends :)

----------------------------

SUPERCUT: Part 1

“It’s so hard to leave—until you leave. Then it’s the easiest goddamned thing in the world.”

su·per·cut

noun

“A compilation of a large number of short video clips, typically showing examples of a repeated or clichéd action or phrase in films or broadcasts.”

 Supercuts aren’t hard to make, at least not when film clips, photos, and memories are housed on SD cards in digital cameras and iPhones. The 21st century has made it surprisingly easy to remember every single second of our life together—both good and bad.

When I first starting putting these pieces—these memories—together, it felt obnoxious and overeager and cliché. I couldn’t determine if I wanted to do it because I wanted to upset him, or to get over him, or to just come to terms with the fact that we both fucked up. I keep thinking about how badass it would be if I were to drop off a film reel and an old as fuck film projector on his porch to watch the supercut. “Make it as hard as possible to get over me,” I think. I laugh about it, out loud sitting at my desk, because the thought of it is so absurd, kind of like the love we had.

I don’t know how parents come to terms with leaving their children. I sat in bed once, reading “The Bright Hour,” knowing very well that the author passed at least 3 months ago. I stayed up all night, with both of our children in bed with me, listening to each breath passing through their noses, hoping that the sound of them surviving would instill the idea that they’ll be okay, with or without us.  When Ed left, I couldn’t fathom it, I still can’t.  I don’t know how he can sleep somewhere without them, without us.

I seal the USB containing the supercut in a goldenrod mailing envelope and print his brand new address in red ink in big bold letters. The postal worker asks if I want to take insurance out on the piece of mail. I’ve never taken insurance out on mail before, partly because I was unfamiliar with what that actually meant, and partly because I’ve never sent anything I couldn’t live without.  I can’t live without him knowing, and seeing, and remembering, and forgiving. I take out $5000 on it. Fuck it. The reel of “what if, what if, what if,” plays in my head over and over again.

 When he opens it, he’ll find the USB and a note reading, 

 “I’m trying to remember you, and let you go at the same time. And this is the only way I know how.”

[iwritethingsaboutedsheeran]

Hey! I'm going to an Ed concert on Saturday but I have no idea what to wear😩 First concert ever and I'm really excited, thought you might be able to help me:) Thankss!❤️

You can pretty much wear whatever you want to his show at this point. Put on some nice clothes that you make you feel like a strong independent female, do a power pose in said clothes, and watch Ed Sheeran take you on a musical journey through time and space. 

[iwritethingsaboutedsheeran]

I never think its a negative thing to bring something fresh and new to the table! Dont be discouraged by factors that make you feel different, please let it encourage you to stand out. I LOVE your writing and there are MANY more readers that love your content as well, just a reminder :)

[iwritethingsaboutedsheeran]

what I always liked about your stories what that they seemed real, no happy endings no sugar coating, just the truth. and I'm really looking forward to your series about mental illnesses, are you going to be doing a drabble off of every song of the album too? I'm so glad you're still here you're honestly one of my favorite writers.

This is very sweet. Thank you for taking time to send this. I know we’re all busy people outside of this and you could be doing pretty much anything else, but you took time to send me this and I’m very grateful for that.

I was thinking about doing one shots for the songs on the album at some point!

:)

[iwritethingsaboutedsheeran]

It’s Mental Health Month!!

and given that I’m a mental health clinician,

I’m going to promote mental health awareness, and self-care, and things that are important to understand about mental illness.

:)

and if you have any questions about mental health or how to help others struggling with mental illness, i’ll do my best to answer them, and if i don’t know the answer, i’ll provide you with the resources that can help you find the answer.

[iwritethingsaboutedsheeran]

This blog has had quite a run.

When i started writing, I didn’t write about Ed Sheeran. To be honest, I had never even heard of him. 

I was in my early 20′s, on my way to a bachelor’s degree, sitting a creative writing course that made me try harder--in the sense that I could write powerful things without letting cliche romance take over, that i was allowed to write about the fluffy stuff while still writing about all of the realistic pain and reality that goes with it.

And something about that class left me wanting connect with more people. We’re all sitting here, armed with experiences that make up our own reality, both good and bad. And i love that about writing. I love that there are themes that tie us all together, where we can come and relate to stories, even if they are about a ginger musician. 

One of my professors said, “We read to know we’re not alone.” And that’s something that has stuck with me for years. A lot of the time i read pieces of writing on tumblr like i read published books. Because they’re good. Because we’re good. 

But i struggle with the popularity contest that is tumblr. I struggle with fan fiction in a sense, because while it used to mean something different, it now means cliched young love and daddy kinks. That’s what mainstream tumblr is into now.  

So i struggle with being too old for it. Like i’m not relatable anymore because what i write does not have to do with anything that is popular on tumblr. And i appreciate those people who are out there, doing their thing, writing about that stuff, because it’s creative, but i feel like i’m missing the mark these days.

Maybe it’s because i’m not as active. I wrote a 50 page research paper over the last 2 months. I’ve been so bogged down by school and work and while it’s not an excuse (even if i apologize for it multiple times) it is reality. I want to write (i also want the phd i’ve been working on for 3 years). But i want to write about things that matter and about things that interest other people.

so i guess the point of this post is this:

What is interesting? What is relatable? What is important to you as a reader? (if anyone is even still reading) and how can i make this better for all of us?

[iwritethingsaboutedsheeran]

Thanks for part 2! It is so relatable, you really captured what it means to me when I'm feeling anxious. thanks again xx

thank you for the feedback! I really appreciate it :D and I’m so glad you like it!

[iwritethingsaboutedsheeran]

Keyed Up: Part 2

Hi, hey, hello!

It’s been a minute, but i’ve finished a 50 page paper for school and now i’m here to give you part 2 of the anxiety one shot.

 :)

As always, let me know what you think!

——————————————————–

Keyed Up: Part 2

The way my head feels mimics the feeling of hitting your funny bone.

A split second of pain—when the never ending worry-thought cycle tells me that it’s me you’re staring at, and then pins and needles—when I try to make sense of the evidence for and against my warped cognitions.

I don’t know how to exist without all of these thoughts.

I suppose at one point I wasn’t always this fucked up, maybe when I was younger, but I can’t imagine a time when I wasn’t consumed with all of these “what if’s?”

Fun fact: We think at 800 words per minute.

For me, that’s 800 worries, 800 thoughts about the future, 800 thoughts about the past, 800 reminders of 800 things I’ve done wrong, or that could go wrong.

I’m not crazy.

At least not in the sense that it takes me 3 hours to get out of the house because I need to check the locks on the doors an odd number of times.

No, not that crazy.

Just a touch of the worries.

Keep reading

[iwritethingsaboutedsheeran]

Keyed Up: Part 2

Hi, hey, hello!

It’s been a minute, but i’ve finished a 50 page paper for school and now i’m here to give you part 2 of the anxiety one shot.

 :)

As always, let me know what you think!

--------------------------------------------------------

Keyed Up: Part 2

The way my head feels mimics the feeling of hitting your funny bone.

A split second of pain—when the never ending worry-thought cycle tells me that it’s me you’re staring at, and then pins and needles—when I try to make sense of the evidence for and against my warped cognitions.

I don’t know how to exist without all of these thoughts.

I suppose at one point I wasn’t always this fucked up, maybe when I was younger, but I can’t imagine a time when I wasn’t consumed with all of these “what if’s?”

Fun fact: We think at 800 words per minute.

For me, that’s 800 worries, 800 thoughts about the future, 800 thoughts about the past, 800 reminders of 800 things I’ve done wrong, or that could go wrong.

I’m not crazy.

At least not in the sense that it takes me 3 hours to get out of the house because I need to check the locks on the doors an odd number of times.

No, not that crazy.

Just a touch of the worries.

“Do you remember that guy I told you about on the bus?” I peel the nail polish off of my thumb and look up my therapist.

“The boy who hit you with his guitar case?” she asks

“yeah, him.” I nod, “What if he meant to hit me? I mean who just ---“

“Nope,” she cuts me off, “What are you doing right now?”

I exhale in frustration, “trying to be a mind reader.”

“and what else?” she asks, getting amusement for all of the things I’ve learned.

“Worrying about nothing.” I roll my eyes, “BUT WHAT IF HE MEANT TO HIT ME?”

“Did you do your homework?” She asks.

“Yes” I pull a notebook out from my purse and hand it to her.

If nothing else, I try to take this therapy shit seriously. I’m paying for it and I’m showing up every week and I’m doing the homework because my life is exhausting.

Ginger Boy on the Bus – TAKE ONE.

·      He hits my knees with his guitar case.

·      I’ve never seen him before, wait maybe I have.

·      Is he looking at me?

·      I’m fine, it didn’t hurt, it’s crowded.

·      Did he apologize?

·      It’s not really that crowded.

·      What if he meant to hit me?

·      What if he doesn’t like me?

·      What if he’s trying to tell me he does like me?

·      Yeah right.

·      I had like 4 donuts for breakfast

·      And I look like a lagoon monster

·      No one likes me

·      That seems unhelpful

·      I don’t even know him

·      Wait now everyone is looking at me

·      Was it that noticeable?

·      Do I have a mark on my knees now?

·      Please stop looking at me

·      Just relax, your stop is coming up

·      Can’t relax

·      I could get off here and walk

·      No it’s too far.

·      Well it’s not that far

·      Is he ever going to get off?

·      What if he gets off at my stop

·      What if he’s following me

·      Wait, maybe he’ll get off and apologize

·      Maybe he’ll ask me for my phone number.

·      He’d never like me, that’s fucking dumb

·      You’re an idiot.

·      You’re crazy.

·      If he ever sees this he’ll think you’re crazy

·      Hey therapist, do you think I’m crazy?

·      He got off the bus, didn’t hit me, but he smiled at me.

·      Maybe we’re meant to be.

·      In my fucking dreams.

·      What if I never see him again? 

“I don’t think you’re crazy” she replies, “but you are very concerned that I might think you’re crazy. Why is that?”

“Because I’m not crazy” I replied

“what if you were ‘crazy’?” she asks, “what would that mean?”

“It would confirm that everyone is indeed looking at me,” I state.

“how does that confirm it?” she asks

“I don’t know” I shake my head, “but enough people have called me crazy, and look at my journal. Look at it. look at all of those fucked up thoughts. Those are crazy.”

“I see someone who is struggling. Struggling to make sense of the world and herself, and for good reason.” She comments, “There is a lot going on in your head. So why don’t we try to make sense of all of these thoughts?"

“Ok” I nod.

She’s right.

She’s always right.

But my time is up, and she gets to keep being right, and I get to leave this office with all of these thoughts.

I wait for the bus outside of the building.

I can’t afford to have a car in the city, mainly because I still have student loans, and also because I don’t get paid in regular increments to be able to afford both rent and a car payment.

I work as a photographer, which gives me freedom in setting my own hours.

A wedding photographer who captures people on their best day.

A photographer who looks at everyone else and thinks that everyone else is looking at me.

Ironic.

“Hey, you again” A man’s voice comes from over my right shoulder, and when I turn to look at him, it’s the ginger guy from the bus, confirming that he does, in fact, remember me. I don’t respond, in case he’s not talking to me, and he’s talking on a Bluetooth, or to someone standing near me.

              “I hit you with my guitar case, I don’t know if you remember” he speaks up again, and this time I know he’s talking to me. I try to look the least awkward as possible, taking a deep breath before responding.

              “Sorry, hi” I say, “I completely forgot that even happened.”

              I lie. Because I don’t want to embarrass myself. I don’t want him to know that I wrote an entire journal about our encounter. I don’t want him to know I even thought about him.

              “’Ed” he holds out his hand to shake mine, and I extend my hand in response.

              “kate” I reply, “don’t worry, I don’t care about the guitar case thing.”

              “yeah, you said that.” he chuckles.

              Great.

              Great

              Allow me to draw more attention to the fact that I CLEARLY care about the guitar incident of 2017.

              “I don’t know if you like music, but I’m playing a gig at the bar just down the street tomorrow. You should come, if you like music, and you’re not busy” he says.

              “okay, yeah” I nod, “I’ll have to check my schedule, but if I’m free I’ll try to make it.”

              “Cool” he nods, “maybe I’ll see you there.

              And with that, he gets on a different bus than me, and disappears just as fast as he showed up. Of course, I’m left to wait for my own bus, drowning in the worries of his intentions.

              What if he doesn’t care if I come? What if he invited a bunch of people and he was just being nice? What if it’s a pity invite? What if. What if. What if.

[iwritethingsaboutedsheeran]

Keyed Up: Part 1

So we’ve talked about this whole “mental illness” fan fiction idea, and i’ve played around with it in my mind, and my goal is to create realistic multi-part short stories about mental illness and Ed.

The goal is to write something that we can all relate to, whether it’s the mental illness being focused on (e.g. anxiety, depression, social anxiety, autism, etc) or if it’s just how Ed is incorporated.

But i’m writing these as multi-part short fanfics. Each one will be 3 parts. Each one will focus on a different illness. 

The first one focuses on anxiety.

I hope you enjoy it.

—————————————————

Keyed Up: Part 1

When my therapist asks me what I feel like on a daily basis, I tell her that I feel plugged in. You know that humming blue light that attracts mosquitos? Yeah, my body feels like one of those. Except, instead of being plugged into an electrical outlet, I’m plugged in to my own thoughts.   And that wouldn’t be such a bad thing, if I didn’t worry so much, or if I could turn the light off every once in awhile, and relax.

           Like right now, I’m sitting on a therapist’s couch, writing what it feels like to be me and I’m worried that I didn’t lock my front door to my apartment, and I’m worried that I’m taking too long to write this, and that my therapist thinks I’m an idiot, or that I’m making this up, and I’m worried about worrying, like there’s something medically wrong with me that my brain won’t shut off, and I’m worried that I’m going to get bad like the last time, and I’m worried that if I get bad I’ll be put into a hospital, or I’ll have another panic attack, probably in public, and everyone will look at me like I’m crazy.

           Crazy.

           Crazy.

           Look at the crazy girl who spent an entire month convinced that she was going to get cancer from eating microwaveable popcorn because that’s what the news said, and the news wouldn’t report on something if it wasn’t tru.

           Look at the crazy girl who eats alone in the library.

           Look at the crazy girl who worries about worrying.

           Look at the crazy girl who checks the locks on the door.

           Look.

           At.

           Me.

           Actually, don’t look at me.

           Please don’t look at me.

Keep reading

[iwritethingsaboutedsheeran]

Thanks for the first part! The anxiety part is real to me, kinda similair to what I have. again thank you xx

thank you for reading!

[iwritethingsaboutedsheeran]

Keyed Up: Part 1

So we’ve talked about this whole “mental illness” fan fiction idea, and i’ve played around with it in my mind, and my goal is to create realistic multi-part short stories about mental illness and Ed.

The goal is to write something that we can all relate to, whether it’s the mental illness being focused on (e.g. anxiety, depression, social anxiety, autism, etc) or if it’s just how Ed is incorporated.

But i’m writing these as multi-part short fanfics. Each one will be 3 parts. Each one will focus on a different illness. 

The first one focuses on anxiety.

I hope you enjoy it.

---------------------------------------------------

Keyed Up: Part 1

When my therapist asks me what I feel like on a daily basis, I tell her that I feel plugged in. You know that humming blue light that attracts mosquitos? Yeah, my body feels like one of those. Except, instead of being plugged into an electrical outlet, I’m plugged in to my own thoughts.   And that wouldn’t be such a bad thing, if I didn’t worry so much, or if I could turn the light off every once in awhile, and relax.

           Like right now, I’m sitting on a therapist’s couch, writing what it feels like to be me and I’m worried that I didn’t lock my front door to my apartment, and I’m worried that I’m taking too long to write this, and that my therapist thinks I’m an idiot, or that I’m making this up, and I’m worried about worrying, like there’s something medically wrong with me that my brain won’t shut off, and I’m worried that I’m going to get bad like the last time, and I’m worried that if I get bad I’ll be put into a hospital, or I’ll have another panic attack, probably in public, and everyone will look at me like I’m crazy.

           Crazy.

           Crazy.

           Look at the crazy girl who spent an entire month convinced that she was going to get cancer from eating microwaveable popcorn because that’s what the news said, and the news wouldn’t report on something if it wasn’t tru.

           Look at the crazy girl who eats alone in the library.

           Look at the crazy girl who worries about worrying.

           Look at the crazy girl who checks the locks on the door.

           Look.

           At.

           Me.

           Actually, don’t look at me.

           Please don’t look at me.

Everyone looks at me. Not in that “oh, she seems nice” kind of way either. It would be validating if they thought I was nice, or cute, or even in some way interesting, but they aren't. They are looking at me because I raised my hand in class once to go to the nurse’s office because of what I now know to be a panic attack. At the time I thought I was dying. Like some otherworldly force had its hand around my neck, squeezing the air out of my lungs and throat.

People looking at me makes me more anxious, like you’re waiting for me to fuck up, or do something that confirms the anxious girl stereotype. You think I’m weird, that I’m doing it for attention. There it goes again, my brain.

           We talk about anxiety like a faulty alarm system. It’s like a fire alarm. You see a fire, the alarm goes off, you get out of the building and you survive. For me, there is no fire. There’s zero danger. But the alarm is ear piercing, and I’m still trying to get out of the building and survive.

           My therapist tells me that not all anxiety is bad. I tried to give her an example of that when she asked me, because I feel okay talking to her for the most part. Sometimes she looks at me like she’s waiting for me to figure out how to solve my problems, but most of the time she tells me that if I could have solved my own problems, I wouldn’t be here, and she wouldn’t have a job. But I still worry, I still feel overwhelmed, and plugged in. It’s exhausting.

           “You’re worried that I’m going to think you’re crazy,” she speaks up, and I look up from the paper for a second to gauge the reaction on her face. She’s not wrong, and I can’t make it stop.

           “I am crazy” I shake my head, “I am. Don’t sugarcoat it. If I wasn’t crazy I wouldn't be here.”

           “Labels aren’t important to me” she comments.

           “Listen, I’m here. I’m trying to figure out how the fuck to turn my brain off, for even a minute, because I can’t have conversations. I can’t have relationships, and I sure as shit can’t keep living like this. I need it to stop. I need to be able to sleep, to think, to learn, to pass my classes. I need to figure out how to shut it the fuck off. So while I sometimes appreciate your comments and narration, today I just want to fucking turn it off.”

           “alright” she closes her notebook, “I can understand the frustration, and I can understand that you want a quick fix…”

           I cut her off.

           “therapy isn’t a quick fix, therapy is like going to the gym. I can’t expect to squat 400 pounds the first time I walk in the door,” I repeat her lecture verbatim back to her, “so what’s the homework.”

           “to write it down” she replies, “write down what goes through your mind when you feel plugged in, just for one hour of one day.”

           “Fine, but you’re not going to like it” I tell her, closing my own notebook.

           “Kate, I want you to be able to turn it off as much as you do. But if we don’t know what makes your anxiety worse, or better, we can’t really do much about it.” she tells me.

           I leave her office and take the bus back to my apartment. It feels a lot like my brain. The bus holds 30 people with different lives and different thoughts and different conversations happening at once. And the entire time I’m just waiting to catch someone looking at me long enough to judge me or come up with some back story as to who I am or why I’m here.

           “Sorry,” I lock eyes with a ginger guy, probably in his 20’s, who bumps my knees with a guitar case, “this place can get a bit crowded, yeah?”

           “You have no idea.” I reply. I know he’s talking about the bus, but I work his face into my racing thoughts, his ginger hair, those blue eyes, freckles on the bridge of his nose, and tattoos up his arms. I have a feeling it’s not something I’ll easily forget, even if he probably thinks I’m crazy.

[iwritethingsaboutedsheeran]

In response to the letter

I think it's important to address the fact that I come from a background of acceptance and commitment. I work with individuals everyday to identify values, defuse themselves from their thought, and live in accordance to what you value while being mindful. For me to say that yes, ed can do both, it's not a lecture or pointing a finger, it's an observation. He clearly values both family and music or he wouldn't be where he is now. From my experience, you can value more than one thing and still live a life that fulfills both. Like I said, there will always be things that are at the forefront of importance but it varies. I come from a place where we talk about balance rather than choosing one or the other, and that's how I try to not only live my life, but also encourage others to at least entertain the idea of learning how to do the same

[iwritethingsaboutedsheeran]

A letter to Ed;

I’m tired, Ed.

I’m tired of hearing that you have a mutually exclusive idea of what success is.

“When it starts fading, it’s time to have kids.” Or “There’s more to life than selling billions of records.”

There is more to life, Ed.

But I am tired of hearing you talk as though you cannot do both.

I am in your corner, every step of the way

But you’re allowed to have both.

You’re allowed to make music and have a family.

The balance is necessary, sure, and it may be difficult,

But we all balance a career and a personal life.

Things may become the forefront of importance but it’s an ebb and flow.

Society will push you to decide and I’m sure they will make it difficult,

But the confidence you have in yourself, the confidence you have in your music will make it easier.

At the end of the day, you’re still you, regardless of music or relationships.

You were you before all of this and you’ll be you after.

Balance is key.

Success is all-inclusive.

You can have your cake and eat it too.