Tag Archives: Personal Life

A Letter To You, My Love

My love, you are my everything and you are my always, you have my heart and you have my soul. In my darkest days and my brightest hours, you are the one I look to for comfort and clarity.

I love the way you talk about the things you love, I love the way you laugh at your memories when you’re recounting them. I love the way you wrap your arms around me when you’re sleeping and I love how patient you are with me.

I adore the little things you do, like when you bring home flowers and keepsakes just because. When I catch you looking at me with a smile. How you wipe away my tears and bring me hot water bottles when I’m feeling sick. You are the reason I am who I am, and the reason I learned that it’s okay to be me.

But there are things that I’m afraid of, my love. I’m scared that I’ll lose you, that one day you’ll wake up and not feel the same as you do today. I’m afraid that you’ll stop loving me, even though I know I’ll never stop loving you.

My love, I need you to know how much you mean to me. You’ve pulled me through my worst hours and you’ve brightened up my most favourite days.

There is one last thing, my love, I need to thank you, for without you I wouldn’t be here today.

Closing Thoughts

Yet again we’re sitting at the end of Christmas Day, a day in my opinion that always goes by far too quick, quicker than days at the office, quicker than the run up to the big day.

I’ve spent the day exactly how I always like to. Surrounded by family, eating delicious food that always seems to taste better on this day. My brother and I started drinking at noon, and I’ve watched all of the Harry Potter movies in two days – thank you NowTV.

I’m forever grateful to my family for the day and everything we do for each other, the smiles and pile of wrapping paper in the living room that is a tradition that hasn’t changed even now when I’m closer to 30 than 20.

One final thought before I close this short but sweet post. I just want to take some moments to remember the members of my family who aren’t with us today, the members who, when we lost them our traditions changed. Those who we will never forget as long as their memories live on in our minds and in our stories. You are missed, you are loved and you are remembered.

To all of you, Merry Christmas to you and your families, wherever you are in the world, however you celebrate.

All the best.

Christmas Time…

Mistletoe and wine… and gin and chocolate and tinsel.

Ever since I can remember Christmas has always been my favourite holiday. I’ve always associated with happy memories, with magic and with family.

Every family has Christmas traditions and mine was no different. We would wake early after a restless nights sleep waiting to here the jingle bells and the footsteps on the roof, but we didn’t care if we were tired. My brothers and I would rush downstairs and gather in the living room – fire on, and mum waiting with a smile on her face. We’d settle down and start opening the presents piling the wrapping paper into the middle of the room for a quick clean up later.

As the morning went on we’d binge on Quality Streets or Celebrations – knowing the exact limits so that we wouldn’t spoiling our dinner appetite. While we were opening boxes and watching Christmas Movies on TV there’d be the smell of Turkey filling the house, the steam of the kitchen forcing condensation over the windows trapping us in our own magical day.

After a Christmas dinner that I swear got better every year, we’d all get dressed in clothes that were wrapped up only hours later. We’d then all wrap up warm and start the 5 minute walk to my Nanna’s house where all of our extended family would be waiting.

There we’d exchange cards and hugs, and enjoy each others company in to the night.

It might sound romanticised, and in part it might just be, but it’s how I remember it, it’s how I choose to remember it, and I’ll remember it as some of the happiest years of my life. Forever.

These days, some 15-20 years later it’s still the time I look forward to, seeing the Coca-cola Christmas advert on TV for the first time signals to me that it’s time to start getting festive. I chose to put my decorations up at the earliest opportunity – my record is November 22nd. There’s something about the colourful lights, the tinsel and the atmosphere that brings me joy and happiness.

With so many things different now, my traditions have changed, they’ve evolved. Now, a week or so before Christmas my partner and I have a Christmas jumper party with our friends, then the next day we have our own Christmas Day complete with presents, Buck’s Fizz and Christmas dinner. Its something I look forward to all year, it’s a time we can lock ourselves and in our house and just be with each other and that’s one of my favourite places to be.

When it comes down to Christmas week, now that I’ve moved away from home I try my very best to get home to my mums a few days before, so we can have our annual shopping trip, and an adventure to see Fenwick’s Window. From there the traditions revert back to those of childhood, even as an adult I still find the magic in waking up early and spending that quality time with my family. Although, now I’m not waiting for Santa Clause, I’m waiting for the turkey.

To round off what is usually a day to remember we gather around the TV together, with leftover sandwiches and we watch Mrs Browns Boys in the living room, drawing comfort from the glow of the Christmas Tree lights.

Pushing Them Away

It occurred to me a few days ago that I’ve driven away most of my friends and I can tell you now, that’s not a good feeling.

Over the years, I’ve had a lot of friends, from school to high school, from college and university to different jobs. I can tell you now that I am only friends with one of the people I knew in primary/junior school. From high school, I’m friends with about 3 people still and even then we don’t talk as much as we used to.

When I went to college I met a whole loaf of new people and while I’m friends with some of them still we don’t talk or see each other as much as we used to. Then when I moved away to university I met so many amazing people, the kind of people that you just know you’ll know for the rest of your lives… and I messed up.

I entered what would be the darkest time of my life, I took so much for granted and took a lot of wrong turns, a lot of which I regret now. I pushed everyone away, I entered my own bubble and now there’s only me.

The people I thought would be my friends through life now do everything without me. They all stayed connected from different parts of the country, they all enjoy things together. I know it’s not their fault and I’m trying to reconnect, I’m trying to improve my friendships and I’m trying to fix it.

I’m trying to better myself.

My Experience With Time

Time heals all wounds

It’ll get better

All you need is time.

Those are phrases I’ve used in conversations to friends that have been hurting. Those are phrases I’ve said out loud to people, but what if I don’t believe them. What does that make me?

I’ve always tried to be a person of comfort, I’ve always prided myself in being a good friend, maybe I’ll go a while without talking but nevertheless my friends know I’m there for them, through it all.

Yet, when I tell people it’s all going to be okay, I’m a liar. I’m a liar because I don’t think time does heal all wounds. I think that those wounds will always be vulnerable and fragile, and that they’ll open at a moments notice.

One thought, one song or a phone call and everything I know could come crumbling down. There’s absolutely nothing I can do to control it, it’s all part of human nature and coupling those realities with severe anxiety results in my constant stream of depression and panic attacks.

I’ve been wanting to write about this for a little while, but I could never find the right way to phrase it, and today after a brief cry I finally figured it out. I had to just do it.

When I was fourteen I lost someone, I lost my best friend, I lost a part of me, I lost all hope when my Nanna died. Still to this very day, 11 years on, I cry, I cry like it happened yesterday, I cry like I was at her funeral only this morning. Every single time, and I mean every single time I hear the song that was played at her funeral I break, something inside of me snaps and there’s nothing I can do to stop it. Every version of the song, no matter who sings it, those lyrics will be burned into my memories forever. I remember the exact lyric the exact moment in the song that they closed that curtain and she was gone forever. I remember everything I felt that day, I remember waking up with such fear and such dread that I couldn’t move. I remember sitting in the crematorium with my dad to my left and my cousin to the right. I remember seeing the look on my mums face, I remember the atmosphere and I remember feeling empty. It hurts me so much and to this very day I can not forget it… and I don’t ever expect to, it’s something I have to live with.

When I was sixteen I got my first boyfriend, and I’d like to say he was sweet and thoughtful but he wasn’t, I just didn’t know any better. He was my worst enemy. My life for those 11 months was a constant stream of endless nightmares. It was because of him that I drove away all of my friends, it was because of him that I almost lost my family. It’s because of him I have nightmares still, almost 10 years later. He threatened me, he hurt me and left me with emotional scars. I remember the feeling of his hand around my throat, I remember the panic of the moment I grabbed my shoes and ran for my life out of the fear that he was following me. My feet pounding on the ground in the rain trying to get away. I remember exactly where I was and what day it was when I told him it was over and he told me he was going to come to my place of work, jump over the counter and slit my throat. That night I had to call my mum to pick me up from work, because I couldn’t leave there alone. Even now, I’m scared, I’m scared that he’ll find me, that one day it won’t just be a nightmare anymore.

Life is full of hard times, and I’m by no means saying that my experiences are worse than someone else’s. Everyone copes differently, everyone deals with things in their own way and I… I don’t know how to deal with death, I don’t know how to deal with pain and hurt in this capacity.

As an atheist I don’t believe in a god, I don’t believe in heaven or in hell, but I am afraid of death. I am terrified that one day it’s going to be over for me, this thought overwhelms me to the point where I can not breath, where I am afraid to be inside of my own head. I need to believe there is something other than nothing at the end, but I can’t.

In the end, it’s mother nature’s twisted tale that tell us all when it’s over, when it’s time.

I’m not alone

For the longest time I thought I was the only one. The only one having weird, unexplainable things going on.

Ever since I was little, I’ve always woken up, or so I’m told, screaming and muttering on about a hanging rope or a hand. But I never recall any of it until I’m told what happened. I used to share a room with my twin growing up, so when I was “awake”, so was she. These episodes scared my whole family. They never knew what to do. And neither did I. But how can you try to fix something you can’t even explain or remember? You can’t.

One episode stands out to me the most. I was staying the night at my grandmothers when it happened. I was upstairs sleeping in one of the many guest rooms. I woke up screaming bloody murder. It woke up my grandmother and she came in to check on me. Only, I wasn’t in the bedroom where I had started my episode. She looked in every room and couldn’t find me. She finally came down to the basement and found me standing in the middle of the dark room with my eyes wide open in terror and tears streaming down my face. I don’t remember any of this.

From age 14 to about 21 my episodes has stopped. I thought I out grew them. My sister and I decided to move in together with a close friend. That’s when it started again. One of the firsts nights in the new house, I woke everyone up with a blood curdling scream. My sister knew exactly what was going on. When she came into my room, I was staring at the ceiling l, pointing and saying “the rope! The rope! The rope!” Repeatedly. Again, I remember none of this. She took my blanket and covered my face with it so I didn’t have to see it anymore. It still happens from time to time.

Thinking I was the only one who had this problem made me feel crazy. But I met someone who goes through it. Now I don’t feel so alone.

I wish I could make it stop. I wish I could figure out why it started happening in the first place. But, this is just something I’ll have to live with until my brain decides to stop playing nasty games with me. At least I’m not alone.