Life Lessons from Me to You β„οΈπŸŒΈπŸŒŸπŸ’›πŸ§

An Insight into Bucci's Past

Not to toot my own horn, but I have been through a tremendous amount in my life. Nothing to brag about actually, as the lump some of my life experiences at the tender age of 23 has been that of trauma and tribulations. But each have shaped me into the person I am today and will continue to, I am sure, sway the pendulum of my life clock two and throw in eventual positive harmony...

But what I want to do in this semi neurological psychoanalytic article is to give you a glimpse into the devilish departures of my planes journey thus far, in hope that it will encourage you all to have a better belief system in yourself. To encourage you to think you can get over anything and accomplish goals; process wrongful ways in your world and collect golden marioa-esque coins from the cosmos that can at times cloys at your skin muffling you - like drowning in honey.

A sweet surrender I encourage you to take, by radically accepting what you cannot change. And pushing forth with what you have the power to alter in your encyclopaedic life.

If I can do it...

You fucking can too.


aged 3-10

Most people are unaware of the fact that I experienced around 7 years of sexual abuse from my babysitters daughter at the time.

Yes, you read that correctly.

I will not go into visual or physical details as I am sure that anyone with two brain cells can encompass manners in way the abuse was painted... but what I can tell you is that without any doubt in mind, a domino affect was set into motion of physical trauma, body image issues, sexual disorientation and more.

By not speaking about something as poignant as this for such a long time, the victim is at risk of developing physiological, emotional, mental and indeed physical problems that boil down to the thick burnt caramel mess of unprocessed adolescent trauma.

What I recommend for you to do, if you are someone who is holding a similar secret tight to your chest, is to write a letter - not necessarily addressed to someone, but just a letter telling the recipient what happend, when, who, where and how.

What this will do is enable you to face the demons of PTSD without reliving the trauma as explicitly as by talking. It, in theory, will not trigger as vivid flashbacks nor will it break your camels back by loading up too much in one go.

The beauty of journalling and writing, though tedious for some in handwritten format, is that it forces you to take the time to work and explain the scenario. When talking, we have the colloquial advantage of filling gaps with ums and ahs and metaphorical delights. When writing however, you have to stick to the topic. Explain your thoughts, paint the picture with words in a fashion that any reader will comprehend the happenings.

You can also come back to the writing - do not feel the need to explode everything onto the paper in one episode! We're not binge watching a netflix series, we are writing a screenplay of our lives. And we don't want the pilot show to be cancelled now do we?



Being bullied for ones appearance is possibly the most abrupt and effective way of battering someone to oblivion without throwing a physical punch. Sticks and stones may break my bones but words will never hurt me?.... poppycock.

I had dark hair on my arms and legs as a Lebanese-Armenian girl, and was bullied horrendously for it. I had a large nose that I hadn't quite grown into: again, bullied and bludgeoned. I then hit puberty before all my friends and weighed significantly more, had (WHAT I KNOW THINK IS CUTE) puppyfat; a peachy booty and muffin boobies 🧁 If only I'd held on to confidence and self love sooner to realise that all these things would balance out and beautify me beyond measure. This is why when someone I know is feeling insecure about their appearance, I will aggressively harass them with an abundance of love and positivity. Because sadly you have to in this era. Thankfully, mainstream media is shifting and magazine publications (for example) regularly feature non conventional beauty in the form of disabilities, gap teeth, plus size models, miscellaneous skin tones and so on... but it still isn't enough at times to prove to young and impressionable girls (or boys) that their beauty is so utterly unique and perfect.

Some may not take to this activity, but what I found helped me tremendously with realising my own independent beauty was to create a mood board of singers, actresses, artists, paintings and other "celebrities" with similar looks to mine. The same largeish bottom, the same strong nose and facial features; the same ethnicity or of similar ilk. This reinstated to me that "damn if theyre beautiful or famous or well off... then shucks, what do I have to be insecure about?!"



Eating disorders are horrific.

End of story.

I lost not just weight but physical and mental health, I dived into emotional infernos and psychiatric stupor. The disorder created a catalyst of irreversible neurophysiological damage in the form of gastroparesis - rare and incurable paralysis condition if the stomach and gastric tract. I lost friends... memories... I didn't do what normal teenage girls DO.

If you feel yourself slipping into disordered eating behaviours, please do not wait until it's at a point of difficulty to treat.

You don't need to be at deaths door to be a relevant medical and mental health case. Stand your ground, fight your corner, talk with people about your issues, verbalise your struggles, be brave and swallow (pun intended) the pride you may have in admitting somethings afoot.


m a n y

Ah hospital. Even doctors do not like them. Any doctor that does like being in a hospital in my opinion is the embodiment of Dr Death himself. No medical professional wants someone to be unwell, regardless of if it is their job or not. The four white walls of a hospital ward are cold and clinical, beeps circulating and echoeing down halls like a broken record, machine wires and plastic tackies sticking maliciously to the skin for never ending monitoring of your heart, your pulse, your lungs and beyond. I have been in general hospitals, gastric wards, RESUS and A&E; mental facilities, outpatient, inpatient... mental health assessments where total medical strangers literally decide your fate by sectioning and detaining you under mental health acts because "you don't know what is best for you".... it's these unfortunate series of events that fuelled the fire and desire within me to want to become a mental, medical and neurologically genetic mastermind. So as horrific as each of these chapters in a hospital have been... I oddly wouldn't change it. Because I KNOW pain. I KNOW struggle. I KNOW darkness. I KNOW negligence. ...thus I know goodness. I know promise. I know light. And I know when someone is good at what they do for a living.



Imagine not being able to just eat or drink like a normal person. No more blowing out the candles on your birthday cake and sharing a slice with loved ones round a table. No more dinner dates with romantic interests. No more just eating aomethjng you've got a real craving for. Why? Because regardless of whether I eat something at 1mph and chew it a thousand times, or keep that chunk down for 3 hours: it's gonna come up. No two ways about it. With a paralysed stomach, you cannot digest food. And what does digest, partially, causes immense discomfort and sometimes genuine crippling pain.

The moral of this story is to pay attention to your body. Be grateful that it works. Appreciate taste, love food and drink; eat the chocolate that Karen says is bad for you, get an extra helping if you bloody want to. Because life is too short, and it's not until something as simple as this that we all take for granted is gone that we realise just how precious health truly us.

You are a beacon of light.

You are a breadth of everflourishing knowledge.

You are meant to change.

You will have ups and downs.

You are allowed to cry.

And you are allowed to be so unapologetically happy that it makes you cry!

You are you.

And you, my dear, is enough.

Love Bucci

xxx 🐰


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Β©2019 by Lait Mylk