December 21st, 2016. Wednesday. 3:00pm. Feeling hungover.

 

I’ve got to admit, I’m rather surprised that I remember the majority of last night.

 

If you happen to attend any sixth form in or around the Reading area, you may well be fully acquainted with the concept of an Icebreaker.  In short, these are parties organised by the sixth form social committee which, much like the Yule Ball in Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, have one simple purpose: to make friends.

 

*So basically, the school is bribing us with a night of premature clubbing on a budget to emerge from the dark confines of our bedrooms and socialize with drunk teenagers. Prevail, Lucifer!*

 

Ah, I jest. Really, I love the Icebreakers. It’s the perfect excuse for me to combat my riddling anxiety and actually hit on- I mean TALK TO fellow anxiety-riddled students. At the Halloween Icebreaker, I arrived with my face decked out in gory burn prosthetics which naturally attracted some attention. Last night, however, was a Christmas party, and to be perfectly honest I didn’t really feel like shoving a pair of antlers into my scalp and calling myself Rudolph. So, I went bald.

 

Panic not, my friends! I didn’t suddenly channel my inner Britney and fall into a dramatic, hair-shaving meltdown. Oh no. Any subscriber of my YouTube channel will know that, recently, I decided to take the greatest step towards combating my alopecia that I have ever made in my 10 years since diagnosis. I decided that, on the 9th December, 2016, I would shave off my hair and cover up all evidence of my alopecia areata for good.

 

Or at least until it falls out again, but let’s deal with that if and when it happens.

 

You can watch that video here:

 

So yeah, back to my hangover.

 

Last night,  I decided to ignore the potential ignorance from everybody else and leave my wig at home. I’d love to be able to say that this decision came from the courageous core of my heart in a valiant leap of faith away from the satanic treachery of my anxiety, but really I just know my drunk self too well. If I’d have worn my £400 Jon Renau wig, I’d  have been £400 out of pocket with nothing to show for it by the end of the night.

 

So, I left the bangs at home, and oh how the comments poured in! As it happened, my  punky black-and-white leather ensemble really did my skinhead justice. No matter how much vodka was flowing through my system (really, I have no idea), I could never forget the appraisals from my peers. They knew my story, and they were genuinely proud. I don’t remember the last time I had been made quite so happy by the words of total acquaintances. One girl, clearly off her face, spent a great deal of time screaming compliments at me and forcing her friends to do the same. Bless.

 

I think what I’d trying to get at from all of this is this: be yourself. I know, that’s so painfully cliched that I might as well have said “don’t judge a book by its cover” (another moral which is still pretty damn good to live by, just saying), but seriously. I might have been drunk last night, and I clearly have the hangover to prove it, but there’s banana milkshake for that. I don’t think I’ve ever had so much fun at a party, and all it took was for me to let go. Enjoy yourself. Live your life in your own skin.

 

You deserve it.

 

 

By the way, banana milkshake is a really good hangover cure. Try it.