Thursday, 2 August 2012

It's been a while...

Don't deny it, we've all been there.

So. It's been over a month since my last post - where have I been hiding?

There's so many posts I want to get on and write; I've done so many amazing things in the past month that I can't wait to tell you all about - but I feel like I can't just jump back in without explaining why exactly I haven't written in over 5 weeks.

Being somebody who loves to talk (and write) about almost anything, when it comes to the personal stuff - I don't really like it. But when somebody breaks up with you, it's pretty impossible to not talk about it. When you're crying in the kitchen at work every half hour, saying "I can't do this" (Goodness only knows how Laura handled that one), people aren't really going to let you keep quiet. But it's sort of impossible - whenever you're not talking about it, you want to scream. SOMEBODY TALK TO ME, I'M HAVING A REALLY FUCKING AWFUL TIME HERE, HAVE YOU NOTICED? But as soon as somebody asks you if you're OK, you're cursing them and their thoughtfulness, wishing you could melt into the floor so you don't have to think about it.

For a whole week I cried everywhere. The tube, at my desk, in the toilets, in the shower, even in a meeting a teensy bit once. (Nobody noticed that time - I think.) For a week I walked around London in utter disbelief and total, complete, shock. I was surviving on Berocca, my mum's herbal sleeping tablets, black coffee & not a whole lot else.

For the week after, I usually managed to hold it together long enough to run into the disabled loo, where I could steady myself with two minutes of privacy (and the gorgeous smell of l'Occitane hand wash which, for some unknown reason, is always in there). I started to re-read Caitlin Moran's How to be a Woman - partly because it's utterly inspiring, partly because I genuinely feel every person should read it at least once a year, from the age of 14 onwards, and partly because it distracted me in those moments where I would otherwise be sucked into thinking about it. For a week she nestled in my handbag, ready to make me laugh, cry, or realise that it could always be worse, whenever I needed her.

For the third week, I was out all the time, was drunk 8 nights out of 9 and was totally, irrevocably, losing my shit - in a good way. I was dancing on tables in G-A-Y late, breaking into private Bloomsbury gardens at 2am, doing tequila in sweaty downstairs clubs, partying aboard German cruise ships with drag queens & billionaires and ultimately, having a shit-hot time with my shit-hot friends.

The lesson I've learnt, through all of this, is this: people are amazing. When something bad happens, if you can open up to someone about it just a tiny bit, they will give you so much in return you wouldn't believe. They'll organise the most magnificent birthday surprise for you, tell you an experience they've had that will make you realise 'shit, I really will be OK one day', hide hashtagged KitKat chunky's in your desk drawer, get on a train from Macclesfield to come and look after you, offer to hang out with you when they know you have no plans on a Sunday afternoon, or get you shit faced on M&S wine in Green Park on your birthday... the people you know, even if you think you don't know them that well, will surprise you. And when I tipsily stammered this to my KitKat-hiding Sasha, one Friday night after work, she gave me no room to wriggle around it. "You get out what you put in" she said bluntly. And I thought, you know what? I'll take it.

So thank you, wonderful people, for being just quite so magnificent that you've made this all OK. I love you all.

Now can I stop talking about all this shit and tell you about the increds times I've been having when I haven't been crying in the toilets?

1 comment:

  1. Frickin' awesome post homie. Onwards and upwards...with PLENTY more partying on boats ;) x