A haiku about insulin resistance

Craving some sweet food

Can't eat that. Besides, there's none.

Well, screw you hormones

"I'm your mum, so I care for you"

First off, you're NOT my mum. You are someone who does everything a mum does, except for parent well and provide support-other than financial, because real mothers provide support in more ways than just paying my tuition fees.

Real mums care about their daughter's emotional, physical and social well being, some things that you don't.

If you cared for me, I would've been in a much better place than I am right now. But I am not.

You did not care my physical health growing up, so now I must deal with the consequences as I was too naive to do so myself when I was younger.

I am not using this as an excuse for being overweight. I acknowledge that I am overweight. I try to lead a healthy lifestyle. I have lost approximately four to five kilograms, without your assistance in the past five months, and I am ever proud of that. I simply acknowledge that it was you who started it all, and now I must deal with the consequences.

Even now, you do not understand my polycystic ovarian syndrome- you do not understand why I must cut down my on carbohydrates. If you cared about me, you would've listened when I told you about my insulin resistance. You would've listened when the doctor told you about it.

"Exercise is important." Indeed it is, guardian. But watching my food intake is also important, because of my insulin resistance. You did not listen, or attempt to understand.

"I don't care about all that carbohydrate and calorie intake. All I care about is you exercise. Now go and eat your bread, rice and pasta."

Well... that's not caring for me then. That's called selective listening. Listen to the exercise component. Don't listen to the diet component.

It has been about a year since I was disowned as a daughter

I cannot remember the exact date, but I remember it was the holidays between term three and four. I got disowned as a daughter and as far as I'm concerned, that still stands.

I'm fine with it though; growing up, my mum and I weren't close and she didn't really express any feelings of love (or whatever that concept is) to me. So I do not really recognise any love in our relationship.

In the future, I might hold my head in my hands and sigh about how my mother WAS showing me love-I just didn't recognise it (a lot of people tell me this). I don't care. I am in the 'now.' Right now, I don't feel any love, so I will say there is none.

So getting disowned was not, and one year later, is not, a ground-breaking change. The woman I call my 'mother' (for the sheer purpose of convenience) is simply a woman who feeds me, clothes me and pays for my lifestyle, and that is about it. A guardian, if you will say. But not a mother.

I do not turn to her for personal advice. I do not confide in her as a daughter. I do not (never have) tell her I love her- how can I if it might be a lie?

For me, it wasn't much of an emotional change, to know the woman whose vagina I shot out of no longer considered me as one of her own.

As I made my own food and washed my own clothes and packed my own bags, I realised I didn't care.

I did not, and do not feel like anything changed between us when she told me I was not her daughter any more.

Today I found another piece of clothing which I can fit again due to my weight loss and increased fitness levels. I am very happy.

I once asked my mother if she was proud of me

I asked her this about a year ago. The conversation went like this:

---

Hannah: Mum, are you proud of me?

Mum: You haven't done anything good lately. Back in primary school, you were getting good grades, you were fit, everything was going well. I was proud of you.

Now? You're not doing any of those things anymore Hannah. You're not doing moderately well at everything. Look  how short and fat you are now. You have done nothing special at all. There is nothing to be proud of.

---

And I don't know if I should be more upset that my mother isn't proud of me, or because I find myself agreeing with her from time to time.

Today was a rather lousy day

I arrived at school early and was in the canteen for a little less than an hour. I volunteer, helping to make sandwiches which are later sold.

I immediately had my accelerated business exam after, from nine to eleven. Despite the lack of studying I underwent to prepare, I could attempt most questions. I have grown to dislike business studies and will be shortly dropping it; preferably in a few weeks. If not, by the end of the year.

There was some confusion afterwards amongst our class afterwards on whether we had exam leave or not; our teacher, who had left us halfway through the exam did not, untrue to his word, come back.

I left anyways. I had tutoring work to catch up on and presents to buy. I knew from past experience that the time taken to travel to the locations to purchase the presents would take forty-five minutes; at the most, one hour. Afterwards, I would travel home, finishing the work at my local library.

And that's how I wasted two hours, being lost in Sydney's annoying public transport system.

I go to school in the city, and make my own way to excursions, and my own outings using Sydney's public transport. So I'm not completely hopeless, and my own expectations for our transport system are mediocre.

But my god, today was so frustrating.

First, I went to chemist warehouse. The one I went to, however, did not stock Maybelline. No problems. The employee told me there was one in Darlinghurst that did. I looked up directions on my phone, and I was ready to catch a train back to Central.

I waited five minutes. Ten minutes. Fifteen minutes. Three trains were might to have arrived already. So I sighed and walked to Central instead. That took about fifteen minutes. Five minutes into my walk, what did I see drive past me? A bus. A bus that had came the stop I left. Which went to Central.

Obviously I couldn't do anything about that. So I kept walking to Central, around to Eddy Avenue. My bus arrived after ten minutes of waiting, only a few minutes late. We left. My stop was meant to be the fourth stop, where I would get off and change for a second bus.

The thing was, the bus didn't go where I wanted to go. I asked the bus driver if it was the 374, city to Coogee.

"It is ma'am."

But the bus went in a totally different route to what Sydney transport website said it would.

After the fourth stop, I got off. The bus was heading in a direction where I had absolutely no idea where to go. I found a nearby buststop (the one I got off did not have buses going to Central) and was pleased to see a bus going to Central would arrive in five minutes. I double checked on Sydney transport's website.

Five minutes passed. Ten minutes passed. Fifteen minutes passed. I was on a long road, and walked to another bus stop further down, in case they had different timetables.

A sign attached to the bus stop apologised for any inconvenience as it told me that all bus stops along this road were temporarily unavailable. So I kept waking down the road, back to a bus stop about fifteen minutes away which I knew was not closed. Every bus stop I passed had a sign to announce it was out of service. Except for mine. Just to my luck.

I saw a man taking posters off, and asked if there were any buses that could take me to Central. He pointed out a bus stop right across the road. Much to my surprise, I only had to wait a minute before my bus arrived.

Arriving at Central, I caught a train to Town Hall, and spent about fifteen minutes there getting one part of my present.

By the time I arrived back at Town Hall station, my train was arriving in eighteen minutes. It was already 1pm.

I called Chemist Warehouse I was headed to on the train, to see if they stocked the item I wanted. They bloody didn't.

I had had enough for a day. I got off the train a few stops later to change trains. By the time I arrived at my train station, it was past three o clock. And it was only meant to take, at the most, one hour. And I didn't even get everything in the present.

Left my term one business studies notes at home

Where Hannah talks about Assassin's Creed because she hasn't played in more than a month she needs to take a break from work

CONTAINS REVELATIONS AND ASSASSIN'S CREED SPOILERS. All my own opinion.

This picture shows what is, in my opinion, a rather important moment in the Assassin's Creed series. It shows Altair standing over the recently-dead body of Al Mualim, the former leader of the assassins' in the main entrance of the assassin's... fortress? building? in Maysaf, Syria.

Al-Mualim was the former mentor of the assassin order who had been corrupted by his desire for power. 

Unbridled power in the Assassin's Creed universe comes in the form of objects (called simply "The apple" [of Eden],) which grant(only for those strong enough to wield it-otherwise it's power ultimately destroys you) unlimited power over the minds of people.

His desire for power lead to his secret betrayal of the Assassin order, working with those who oppose the assassins in ideology- the Templars, and the subsequent betrayal of the Templars as he took 'The Apple' with him, away from the Templars.

After the death of Al-Mualim, Altair assumed leadership of the assassin order. 

Over the course of the rest of Altair's life- nearly seven decades-(Altair lived to a VERY ripe age of ninety two) the assassin order would spread across the known world, be reformed from the bottom up in a variety of ways-ideology, weaponry and combat, decline under corrupt leaders and once again, be rebuilt from the ashes of corruption.

Altair is all really such a long story-long, windy and heartbreaking-one that took one and a half games, or one (not the best written) thick book to explain. I personally feel that Altair and his storyline is not given as much attention amongst the general fanbase as it would.

This photo; 1911 in Masyaf, Syria. Altair Ibn La'Ahad, at the tender age of twenty six has just slain his mentor. His story of reforming the order has just begun.

My oldest sister just gave me a piece of licorice with a strand of dog fur on it and I'm not shocked

What do you think this says about my sister

Life update on my weight

I have a green book which I used to use to keep track of my weight. I used it earlier this year, but lost the motivation to keep updating it. I've recently started using it again.

I weigh myself three times a day- morning, after school and at night time. This way, the moment something go awry, I can swoop in right away before it gets worse.

For instance, in the past week, my weight has been about one and a half kilos heavier than normal. I am also menstruating, and I remember learning in school that water retention (and therefore, weight gain) is normal when menstruating. I have been staying hydrated and moving around more, nothing too intense. Now my weight is back to normal.

In the course of five months, I have steadily lost four kilograms, and I know my fitness has improved.

I couldn't be prouder of myself.

I'm dropping my favorite subject next year

Textiles is not one of my subject choices for year eleven. I am doing English, maths, chemistry, biology and modern history.

My initial preferences would've had textiles take the place of chemistry. However, parental permission and a signature of approval is required for subject choices at my school, and when my mother saw that I had selected textiles, she was not pleased. She refused to sign the note approving my electives, and would not until I removed textiles.

I've been taking textiles as an elective through year nine and ten, and been steadily trying to convince her to allow me to carry on throughout the two years. It has not worked.

What I would've done, if I could've, would been to forge her signature, and entered my own choices. However, textiles does require the purchase of your own materials and notions. I am still financially dependant on my parents; I do not receive an income in any form, and any money I do receive, is saved for outings. I cannot discreetly purchase my textiles requirements, not whilst I am financially dependant.

It's making me very, very sad.

I don't know how I'm going to survive the next two years of school without textiles. I know I'm going to keep sewing at home- I have an industrial sewing machine and a cheap local fabric store- but I do not think I can rely on my home projects to maintain my sanity as well as as textiles as a school subject.

One of my favourite feelings is

When I'm hungry and can control myself to not eat any of the food in my bag

It's like yaaasss, you go girl, avoid those carbs

Work that self-control

Make your body use up that blasted fat as energy instead

Moment of absolute panic when you open your go-to pad  for your heavy flow days and see that the design of the pad has changed

A scary thought just came to me

It's very possible to live years of your life without touching anything live and natural.

Does that not scare you? Show you how disconnected we have grown from nature? And even those who do have the opportunity to immerse themselves into nature, often do not, pushing it aside in favour of work.

Personally, I do, because I have a pet dog, enjoy gardening and sit on grass during recess and lunch, should the weather allow. But it's so easy for anyone to live without touching anything live and natural (other than themselves and another human. But even with that, it's so easy to not touch another human for years at all, even when you're in the midst of many of them.)

I wake up, stepping on the laquered wooden floor and prepare for school. I brush my teeth, put on my uniform-nothing live or natural. Going downstairs, I step my feet on tiles grab my food and water, and soon leave for school wearing shoes on pavement.

My entire commute to school takes me through an urban environment, where I do not touch anything live and natural, other than humans. The chicken in my sandwich has been dead for a while.

School. I sit on the grass during morning and recess, but I could just as easily have not. I don't when the weather is not pleasant.

My commute home is just the same as it was in the morning-urban environment, no contact with live natural things.

When I was younger, I would play outside after dinner-this meant I could be barefoot on grass, but work does not permit that anymore. Instead, I go upstairs to work. Then I sleep. The cycle repeats.

Now that I think about it, I'm not that I'm touch with anything live and natural at all. My gardening takes place mainly on the weekends, and I only see my dog on the weekend.

It's scary isn't it? It's possible for humans to live years without touching anything live and natural.

What have we come to? Will this disconnection from nature harm us at all in the long run?

I love you. Don't go. Don't go to heaven. Stay with me.

Today I purchased some bras from higher end brands

I've always worn bras from generic department stores or lower-end bra stores.

Today I purchased four bras from a variety of high end brands because treat yo self. Can I say I can see why some of them were fifty dollars now.

The quality quite surpasses those of a lower end brand. Everything-the fabrics used, elasticity of the band, the hold and shape of the cup-is much better. Maybe because some of the bras I purchased were deliberately designed to be shape wear and made with the appropriate materials to do just that, but they sit much nicer on my body.

Overall verdict: I'm too poor to have a regular bra wardrobe with Guess bras flying everywhere, but I will willingly save up for them (expensive bras) in the future.