Just to make things clear…

Hi world.

Just so we’re clear and things aren’t misunderstood, here’s a little bit about me.

I’m a 25 year old trapped in a mind (and body) that is much much older and definitely a lot more mature.

For the best part of ten years, all I’ve wanted is to fall in love, get married, and have a family.

For the past nearly fifteen years, all I’ve wanted to do is teach. Just teach. Inspire young minds and show them that they can be successful and they can make a difference in the world. (Yes, that same world that has fucked me over so many times I’ve lost count.)

I don’t feel my hopes, dreams and ambitions are all that great.

I don’t think it’s such a massive thing to want to be left alone to live the life I so desperately want to live.

Why is it that people always try to destroy this for me?

I don’t want much, nor do I ask for much.

I don’t want to be rich or famous or even massively successful in my field.

I don’t want to be in charge of my own school and take all of the credit for everyone else’s hard work.

I just want to be me.

I want to be ‘Miss’ when I’m at work, and be the best teacher I can possibly be, and I want to be ‘wife’ and ‘mum’ when I’m at home, and, again, be the best wife and mummy I can possibly be.

Is this really too much to ask?

Is this really too much to desire?

Apparently so.

The other day Mr Mad said to me he thinks maybe sometimes people try to destroy my happiness (or, as recent events have clearly shown, destroy my life) because they don’t know me that well. Maybe he’s right, but I feel I’ve had to put up a strong, confident front to get through everything that life has thrown at me so far. I don’t want people to see that I’m incredibly sensitive and vulnerable as I’m scared they’ll take advantage of that. Only, it appears that was a stupid tack to take, as people have tried, and are still trying, to destroy my life regardless.

So this is my message, to the universe, in the hope that someday someone will come along and actually understand and realise that I come in peace.

That I don’t want your job.

That I don’t want your family.

I don’t want your happiness or your success or your things.

I don’t want or need anything of yours and I certainly don’t need to destroy you, who you are and what you have.

All I want is to live in my little house at the bottom of the grove with my wonderful husband, my gorgeous cats and (if I’m very very lucky) two beautiful children.

That is literally all I want.

What I need is a decent job to support that, and that’s what I’ve spent the past ten years trying to achieve.

I hated school.

Hated it.

I never managed to fit in and everybody was horrible to me.

I was beaten up several times, I had lighters held to my head on the bus home, I had food thrown at me, I was spat at, called a ridiculous amount of disgusting and horrible names and was constantly told I would amount to nothing.

Throughout all of that, as an awkward, self-conscious teenager, I tried my best to stay strong.

I tried my best to keep my head down and study and come out with the best exam results I possibly could so I could start on the path to forging my own future.

In the middle of my GCSEs my Grandad, my wonderful, amazing, kind-hearted, perfect Grandad got seriously ill.

I still didn’t miss a day of school.

I still went in and I worked and worked and then I went to the hospital.

Every night.

I sat with my Grandad, while he was in his hospital bed, going over past papers and revising.

A week after I finished my last exam he was gone.

That was it.

He never even got to see me get my GCSE results (which were, as he predicted, fantastic, particularly my A in Maths that I’d struggled to get, and that he’d tutored me for for months upon months).

But I did it.

I still did it.

I stayed strong.

I learnt how to live without one of the most important men in my life.

I carried on.

I went to sixth form.

I studied for my A-Levels.

I applied to, and subsequently was accepted, into my first choice university to study English.

I still carried on.

All because I had my end goal in sight….

This image of a beautiful little family with a man I adored.

Not because I wanted to “be the best”.

Not because I wanted “what she has” or “what he has”.

No, because I just wanted my own little quiet life.

I got a job in the first year of uni so I could afford to save a little money and move out of home for a bit of freedom.

I met the love of my life there – he’s the man I marry in two and a half weeks’ time.

He’s even more than I ever dreamed of and I still count my lucky stars every day that throughout all of the crap that has been thrown at us, we have always managed to get through it together.

Yes, we have had times where we have had ‘breaks’ in our relationship, where neither of us could see another way through other than to be apart.

Yes, on the occasion where we were apart for 6 months we both had relationships with other people.

We’re not perfect, shit happens.

But we’ve never cheated.

We’ve never done anything disgustingly bad to each other, because we both have respect.

Why do so many people lack in that nowadays?

We’ve been back together for 3 years now, and when we get married in February, I know it will be forever. 

We’ve gone through losing two babies now (others may think differently and may believe they weren’t ‘real’ babies, but that’s how I feel and I won’t apologise for mourning the loss of our pregnancies).

We’ve gone through losing my amazing Nan, almost two years ago.

He, Mr Mad, has picked me up from rock bottom more times than I can count.

He’s wonderful and what we have is wonderful.

I don’t need what anybody else has because I have something amazing myself.

I also choose not to go on and on about how wonderful I think my husband-to-be is because I don’t want people to think I am bragging.

THAT IS WHY I HARDLY EVER TALK ABOUT MY RELATIONSHIP.

That’s another thing nobody seems to understand.

Just because I am an otherwise chatty person does not mean I am not private.

Nobody apart from my family and very closest friends know half of the shit I have been through, and there’s a reason for that.

Even now, even when I’m writing such a very deep and personal post, there are things I just won’t ever discuss.

I don’t understand how people have got me so wrong.

All I want, and need, in my life is my husband and my family.

That’s it.

So tell me why would anybody be so cruel as to try to ruin that for me?

What is it that I’ve done to deserve such horrible, vindictive, disgusting things being thrown at me?

I’m such a big champion of honesty and the truth, why aren’t other people?

Why do people believe lies even when it goes against everything else they’ve ever felt and known to be true?

Anyway, I’ve digressed.

I just can’t really believe or understand what is happening to my life right now.

This was supposed to be the happiest year of our lives.

We get married in two and a half weeks.

Instead of being excited and looking forward to it, we’re facing so much uncertainty and horrific times, all because of a few individuals.

We should be looking forward to our future.

We should be taking our steps that bit closer to having our longed-for child.

We should be enjoying our new house and be spending quality time together.

So, world, universe, please understand, I’m Mrs-Mad-to-be and I just want a quiet, simple life.

Nothing more, nothing less.

 

Tell me it gets better…

Tell me this empty feeling goes away.

Tell me the tears, the agony and the heart break fade.

Tell me my heart will slow down enough for me to breathe properly.

Tell me I will be able to eat properly again.

Tell me I will be able to pick myself and dust myself off before tomorrow so I can go into work and I don’t lose my job for having too much time off.

Tell me people will stop telling me “if it’s meant to be it will be” and “one day you will have a baby” and “no doctor has officially told you you’re infertile and can’t have children”.

Tell me one day this huge house will be filled with the tears and laughter of a child we created out of love.

Tell me one day this pain will end and I will be happy again.

Tell me it gets better…

please tell me it gets better…

How can you be sad over something that never existed?

chemical-pregnancy-was-actually-a-very-early-miscarriage

I don’t know where to begin.

I haven’t posted in a long, long time, as it wasn’t giving me the same cathartic feeling as it once did.

It’s hard.

So fucking hard.

I feel trapped inside my head constantly and am struggling to release any of that stress, tension and pressure.

This week has been one of the shittiest weeks of my life.

My life had been ticking over, I guess you could say, for a number of months.

Back to work, start of new school year, lead up to wedding, hen cruise (which was a bit of a disaster in itself, and seemed to matter at the time but is pale in significance after the events of this week), moved into our dream house etc etc.

Been off anti-depressants for 8 whole weeks now.

No strong painkillers.

Exercising regularly.

Eating well.

Doing. everything. I. am. supposed. to. be. doing.

BAM

Period 1 week late.

Cue excitement (stupidly) from me and a rush to take a pregnancy test.

Faint line.

It’s okay… leave a day or two, test again. Don’t get hopes up. Mustn’t get hopes up. Will only be a few weeks pregnant at most. Don’t get excited.

Do.

not.

get.

excited.

Wednesday rolls around.

Test again.

Faint line is stronger than last time.

Must be a positive.

GOT TO BE A POSITIVE!

Excited and crying happy tears.

Tell Mr Mad.

He is his usual sceptical self.

But I know, I mean, I know, I am pregnant. I can tell. Because, you just know, don’t you?

Friday, 3am.

Wake up in the most agony I’ve been in since before my surgery, when my endo was at its worse.

Go to bathroom.

Blood everywhere.

Then I knew….

even if I had been pregnant, I definitely wasn’t anymore.

I lay on my kitchen floor (my gorgeous, so-shiny-you-can-see-your-face-in-it black kitchen floor, in my dream house, our dream house, our family home) for an hour sobbing my heart out.

How could this happen?

How could life be so cruel to me, to us?

How could Mr Mad still be asleep when my entire world is crumbling underneath me?

It’s not his fault. It’s my fault. As per usual everything is my fault.

I stress too much.

I work too much.

I exercise too much.

I ate too many chocolates the other night.

I had a gin and tonic to calm myself down after a particularly stressful day at work.

I’ve taken on too many extra things.

I’m rushing around too much.

ALL MY FAULT.

Except, is it?

Everybody keeps telling me that if it’s meant to be, it will be. I understand it’s to try to comfort me, but it really doesn’t help.

Never before have I experienced such lack of compassion in a hospital. Being stuck with visibly pregnant women whose partners are cooing over them when you’re in agony and bleeding is the single worse thing in the entire universe.

To know that one day, in about 4-6 months, every other woman in that waiting room would be leaving that hospital with her baby, meanwhile mine, which never really properly existed, is gone forever.

But it wasn’t really a baby, was it? How can it be after a couple of weeks.

Chemical pregnancy they call it, don’t they?

Never would’ve been a baby.

So why does it hurt so much?

Why do I keep replaying that conversation with the doctor over and over again?

“What number pregnancy was this?”

“Three”

“How many children do you have?”

“None.”

And I suppose I should be thankful that I’m still here. A little over 24 hours ago I was being rushed to hospital thinking I had an ectopic pregnancy and they were going to remove yet more of my precious reproductive parts.

But why won’t my body work properly?

What have I done that’s so awful to deserve this?

I have no hope left.

None.

All I see is 50 years, if I am that ‘lucky’, in a big empty house.

Endless holidays.

Tonnes of cats.

But still no children.

Never

any

children.

 

 

 

It’s not because you’re not happy for them… it’s because you’re sad for you…

Yesterday I spent some lovely quality time with my mum. It was great to see her properly and get the chance to have a proper chat without me having a ‘fuzzy’ head (either from prescription painkillers or recovering from horrific surgery).

We trawled through the rails of a new vintage shop (that’s a bit oxymoronic!) and had high tea at a Victorian tea rooms near my mum’s house.

It was wonderful.

However, the conversation naturally fell to babies.

As always.

As it will probably continue to be for a long time to come.

I joked to my mum, “If one more person I know announces they’re pregnant I’m going to go crazy!”

Obviously that’s not the case, but I am feeling incredibly down whenever somebody announces their pregnancy. I know I shouldn’t, and I know it’s horrible to be unhappy when somebody else is happy. But it’s very very difficult. Any of you struggling with infertility and this maternal ache that never leaves you will understand how depressing and lonely this whole thing is.

Last night I reactivated my Facebook account as I’ve felt a little out of touch with the world. It’s been a blessing and simultaneously a curse, being off social media. Going back on to social media has also been both a blessing and a curse. I scrolled down my “top stories” in a bid to catch up on ‘important’ news I had missed in the month I’ve been off the social network. There it was. One pregnancy announcement. Great… how ironic after saying to my mum I would go crazy at one more announcement. I didn’t go crazy. I didn’t express any emotions outwardly. Just another piece of me died inside. I felt selfish for being so pissed off at this person for being pregnant. I felt disgusted at myself for thinking things like “how come she deserves a baby and not me?” “for years she’s said she could take or leave having children and now she’s pregnant.” “she’s 40 and left it until now to decide she wanted a baby and she’s got one straight away.”

Then, when Mr Mad fell asleep last night, I lay in bed crying for an hour until I eventually dropped off into an emotionally induced slumber.

I know, I know, I’m a horrible, awful, mean person.

But I can’t even begin to put into words how heart wrenchingly difficult this whole experience is.

While she’s whinging on her status updates about not being able to fit into size 6 jeans anymore, due to her ever-growing bump, I’m sitting alone in an eerily quiet house wondering what my Sundays would be like if I had a toddler running around.

Somebody who shall remain nameless and faceless often likes to tell me I live a shallow existence (needless to say, this person is not, and will never be a friend). I wonder if she’s ever stopped to think that the reason I have a lot of possessions and a lot of things is because I simply can’t fill my life with children. That I wasn’t fortunate enough to have my baby 3 years ago, because he or she was gone before he or she even really properly existed. That I didn’t get pregnant “by accident” at 19 and spend most of my life travelling the world with my baby, bringing him up and spending quality time that I will never get back. I’ve spent years, by the way, wishing I could get pregnant “by accident”…. none of these things she even considers.

Sometimes  most of the time, I wish people could put themselves in my shoes, and actually feel what it’s like to be me and be going through this hell. Everything I have I would give up for a baby. I’m sure most, if not all, women who are experiencing infertility feel like this. That doesn’t stop us from feeling incredibly lonely and isolated.

It’s even harder when your partner doesn’t fully understand either.

They try, bless them, they really do, but I don’t really think men can ever feel what we feel, because they can’t carry children. They don’t have that innate instinct in them that makes their bodies feel the need to create and carry a child, or to mother a child. Mr Mad tries his best, he really does, and he’s an absolutely wonderful husband (to be!). But quite often he just doesn’t get it. Especially now that I’ve had surgery. He seems to think I am “fixed” – that the surgery was some miracle cure and now we will be able to get pregnant whenever we choose to. So now that’s a major issue too, because he doesn’t want to try anymore. Apparently it’s not the “right time”. Apparently we should start trying “next year after the wedding and our holidays that we’ve booked.” Obviously I can’t force him to try… but when I try to explain I just know that we won’t get pregnant within the next year anyway, he dismisses it and brushes it off. He doesn’t seem to understand how empty I feel, or how painful my need to be a mum really is. I don’t want to wait and prolong things again. I don’t care if I’m pregnant at my wedding. I don’t care if I have to cancel a holiday because I’m due to give birth. None of those things matter to me as much as having a baby… having a family… doing the one thing I have always wanted, above everything else in my life.

I just wish things would get easier, and that people would stop telling me, “it will happen soon, you’re young, you’ve got years yet.”

Like that makes any difference…

others pregnancy

 

Moving on and letting go…

For reasons that can’t (or, rather, shouldn’t) be discussed on here, just in case, I have had a lot of thinking time the past few days. Furthermore, I’ve had a lot of time to realise sometimes (most of the time, actually) it’s good to move on and let go.

Elsa-Singing-Let-It-Go

I’m going to go off on a bit of a tangent now (what’s new?!) because while I was downloading that image it sparked an amusing image of me at work… I often wear my hair in a side plait for work as I don’t really have all that much time to get ready in the mornings (I’d sooner choose sleep, then going in early to get my printing and photocopying done before the mad rush!). Several times this year my kids (not my kids, rather, the kids I teach, but all teachers call their classes “my kids”… it’s both a blessing and a curse of the job!!) have mentioned I look like Elsa when I wear my hair like that. It’s cute! I like the idea of being both beautiful and deadly at the same time! I often tell them I am embodying Elsa and that if they ‘cross’ me I will freeze them! (Please note, sarcasm only tends to work with older children/teenagers, year 7s in particular get very frightened when you talk about freezing them!!)

Anyway… yes…

My last blog post was very negative, but I won’t apologise, as I was feeling very negative at the time. I was feeling let down and hurt. I needed somewhere to vent and release my emotions and writing has always always provided that outlet for me. Nobody can take that away from me, especially now I have found my little corner of the internet with people who relate to me and understand me (thank you, lovely people, for sticking with me throughout this horrific, emotionally draining journey!!).

I’ve had time to reflect, because I am not back at work until Thursday (hooray, finally! I can have social interaction again!!).

This evening I went through all of the old backups of my old computers (I have a habit of keeping everything, even if it brings back bad memories) and I deleted every single trace of my crazy ex. Several years have passed since I lived with this moronic demon, and I literally have no reason to keep any ties to him whatsoever. The restraining order has lapsed, granted, but I doubt he will ever attempt to come near me again. For some reason (maybe sentiment, who knows?!) I was keeping hold of photos, little mementos, copies of messages/emails etc. This evening I permanently deleted them all. I need to let go of so many things in my past that have been holding me back, and for no good reason either. I am finally in a place in my life where I can say that most things are good. I need to remind myself of that, too. For a start, I have Mr Mad, and he is absolutely wonderful. Yesterday I also realised that I am incredibly lucky to still have my parents. My parents are wonderful. No matter what, they back me up and support me. After losing both my grandparents at a relatively young age (Grandad at 16 and Nan last year at 23) I have a new found appreciation for my parents, as I realise they will not be around forever (although I really really wish they could be!) Take yesterday, for example, I made the 50 minute drive to my parents’ house (also my childhood home) and I spent the day sitting in the garden with my mum, dad and brother, chatting, reminiscing, helping my brother set up his new iPhone (which was a birthday present from me, because he’s still a student and deserved a) bringing into the 21st century and b) a treat because he’s had a rough few years with his health). I spent so long with them in the garden that I didn’t even realise I was getting sunburnt! But I did realise something… no matter what, I will always always have unconditional love from my family, and that isn’t something to ever take for granted. I have wonderful parents and a wonderful brother. They have always supported me, despite the thousands millions of mistakes I have made, and they are always there when I need love and comfort.

This brings me on to my next ‘epiphany’…

This evening, I sat soaking in the bath (with my horrifically sunburnt shoulders well and truly out of the hot water!) and, for the first time ever, thought “What if teaching isn’t actually for me?” Don’t get me wrong, I love my job… well…. I love the in the classroom bit… making children’s lives better, introducing them to a world of literature and language and showing them everything you can do when you have a proper grasp of the English language, showing them that they can succeed, no matter what background they’re from and no matter what challenges they face in life. However, the British education system is gradually being torn apart and ruined. There are so many politics involved in teaching now, I don’t even know where to begin to explain to my international followers (so I won’t even try!!) It’s also a very very intense job. You have to commit at least 60 hours a week to it. Your work doesn’t stop when you get home – it carries on. I am concerned, majorly concerned, in fact, that when I eventually get my little miracle, I won’t be able to spend enough time with them, and they will grow up so quickly and I will miss out on so much. I don’t want that. I want to be a mummy. I want to be there. I want to witness all of the important moments. I want to pick them up from school and ask them about their day. I want to spend evenings with them and have a proper bedtime routine, bathing them and reading them a bed time story, without constantly having “I hope this doesn’t take long as I have a shit load of marking to do and resources to  prepare for tomorrow” in the back of my mind. I want to be. 

I obviously haven’t made a concrete decision yet, as it was literally an hour ago that I opened my mind to the possibility that I could do something else. I always felt like I was born to teach, but what if that isn’t actually the case? What if I am actually meant to do something else, but I’ve never taken the time to explore other options, as I was so hell bent on becoming an educator?

It’s a lot to think about.

But something I do know for certain…

I am determined to be happy.

I am determined to make the most of whatever precious time I have on this earth.

I am determined to get to the end of my life with few regrets, and I hope those regrets are “I wish I’d done xyz” rather than “I wish I hadn’t done xyz.”

As a teenager, I was a geeky, weird, strange goth girl who nobody liked. As a (relatively) young adult, I am still that geeky, weird, strange goth girl who nobody likes… but, y’know what, I’m actually beginning to be okay with that. I like who I am, I am happy with who I am, and it’s people’s quirks that make them individuals and make them interesting. I will never be a sheep, and I will probably never fit in. But that’s okay.

I have decided, particularly as a middle finger to those who have tried to bring me down, both recently and in my past, that my mantra for life is going to be this…

don't let anyone dull your sparkle

I sparkle in my own way. And I like it. If you don’t like it, that’s your problem.

The Biggest Wobble Yet…

Today I feel awful.

I honestly feel like I can’t go on anymore.

All my positivity has completely vanished out of me and I feel completely broken.

My body isn’t happy – I know this because I know my own body.

I am in agony.

I have tried to get back to normal and, every time, my body tells me “no” “You’re absolutely not ready yet, stop trying to push yourself. Go home, sleep and rest.”

Nobody told me recovery would be the hard part.

I thought I would have my surgery and I would get better.

Alright, I knew there would be a bit of time while my wounds healed.

But then I’d be back to normal – surely?

Well, not even normal, the normal I was before this goddamn illness stole who I was.

That’s the thing with endometriosis, and I’m honestly starting to wonder…

Do you ever go back to the way you were?

Do you ever have a ‘normal’ life again?

Does it ever truly go away?

I know there’s no cure.

But the consultant made it seem like I stood a chance of being okay again.

“There’s a 30% chance it will come back.”

That’s a statistic I thought I could live with.

I foresaw me getting my life back. I saw me being pain free and having a future.

Right now, currently, in this moment, my pain is worse than before I had surgery.

My superficial wounds seem to be healing okay, but my internal ones don’t feel like they’re healing at all.

My hormones are all over the place – worse than ever before.

My pain is worse than it was and I’m still dosed up on cocodamol (which was supposed to be a short term solution, and I’ve now been on it for 3 months).

Today I’ve completed the tiniest of tasks and this has resulted in me drenched in sweat, sitting on my sofa, unable to move, sobbing my eyes out.

This is what I’ve done today:

  • Got up
  • Had a shower
  • Made my breakfast
  • Ate my breakfast
  • Watched Jeremy Kyle, This Morning, Loose Women and Judge Rinder
  • Looked at some school work then realised my brain fog wouldn’t let me do anything productive
  • Nipped out to the garden centre to buy some compost

Surely those don’t constitute strenuous tasks?

And it’s the same each time – I’m no better – there’s no marked improvement.

Since coming out of hospital a week last Friday I have left the house 3 times. One of those times was to be driven 5 minutes around the corner to my in laws house, where I ate lovely home cooked food and sat propped up on their sofa for 3 hours. Again, hardly strenuous tasks.

I’m petrified.

I am due back at work on Monday, and I literally have no idea how I’m going to teach for 5 hours a day when my body is like this.

I feel like I’m letting everyone down.

I’m part of a team and I haven’t been there to contribute for weeks.

I haven’t even been able to help them mark the piles of exam papers they undoubtedly have.

I feel like an awful, awful person. I am literally no use to anyone right now.

Everybody who has had this procedure span things in such a positive light. So much so, I thought I knew what was coming. I didn’t even hesitate signing that consent form. I thought I would be fine. In fact, I thought I would be more than fine, I thought I would be better. Now I’m wishing I’d just carried on dealing with the pain, because at least I was at work. At least I was doing something, instead of just being a huge pointless potato consuming ridiculous amounts of daytime TV and crying on my wonderful fiancé every time he gets home from work.

 

“It’s like there’s rock bottom, then 50 feet of crap, then me…”

Pretty much sums up my feelings right now.

I know I said in my last post that I was the lowest I’d ever been in my life; little did I know things could actually feel a hell of a lot worse.

Last week was supposed to be an enjoyable week, but yet again my plans were ruined by chronic pain.

I’d booked a week of posh hotels/apartments and fun trips to enjoy with Mr Mad – but this resulted in us (or rather, the hubster-to-be, because I was in so much pain) driving back from Edinburgh at stupid-o-clock on Thursday night, to get me home to my own bed where I could be in pain in comfort (a bit oxymoronic isn’t it?!)

It’s D-Day tomorrow.

To say I’m not looking forward to it would be an understatement.

Actually, to say I’m dreading it would also be an understatement.

There are so many things I am afraid of. I am normally a very brave and strong person. I’ve had to be – with all of the shit I’ve had to go through so far in my short (but seemingly long) 24 years on this planet. I know I have to have this surgery. I’ve also done all of my research and am prepared as I am probably ever going to be. However, I am still in the very angry mindset of “why me?” “why this?” “why now?”

Today has been crap.

I’ve not been able to turn my mind to anything and it’s very frustrating.

When the doctor signed me off work for the best part of a month I thought, “great, well, I’m in pain, but if I’m sitting about all day at least I can be productive. I can get marking done, I can start my reading for my Masters, I can do school work and help my team out as best I can while I’m sat on my arse.” Everything I have started today I haven’t been able to stick to for more than 20 minutes, let alone finish.

We have had some relatively good news. I shouldn’t spend my entire time complaining and being all doom and gloom. We sought financial advice and discovered we could actually afford to buy a house. Not a tiny house either – a 3 bed semi detached with a driveway and a garage and a lovely garden, in an even lovelier location. We had an offer accepted on it last week. Now to start the lengthy process of the mortgage application and everything else that comes with buying a house! I really hope it all works out, and I really hope I am blogging this time next year well on my way to becoming a mummy.

Of course, none of this matters if I don’t wake up tomorrow. I used to think death would bring a sweet release from pain, upset and anguish, but now I feel completely the opposite. I don’t want to die. I want to live. I have so much I want to do and so much time left to fill with wonderful experiences.

If today just so happens to be my last day on earth, it has been pretty shit so far. For this evening, I think I will watch trashy TV, eat my favourite food (ham and chips, classy!) and walk around in my dream wedding shoes that I managed to purchase at the designer’s sample sale at the weekend. It’s the little things, I suppose, that count.