APRIL, 2016
1. What did I say last month? DON'T FUCK YOUR FRIENDS.
2. You can get over that person you believed to be your 'great' love.
3. Your having fun, don't over indulge, everything in moderation or you'll end up miserable.
4. You over indulged, consequently your miserable.
5. Every end has a start.
6. Distracting yourself from the real problem at hand is temporarily fun. Don't loose yourself in the process.
April started off with a big FUCK YOU, times have gotta change. Clinging on to that rare feeling of happiness I experienced in March (before the disastereous bank holiday) I realised how much more beautiful life was living it through a positive perspective. I know how incrdibly dumb that sounds but I have spent so many of my years living in misery, to experience 'happiness' was such a foreign feeling, yet such a beautiful, consuming one. One that I don't want to live without anymore.
So as clichéd changes always begin ... I began with a big clean out. The clean out was pretty painful, in the depths of loosing myself I had neglected so many things, my business I worked so hard to build, the studio I am so fortunate to have had become a dumping ground for the spillage of my junkyard bedroom but rather than feeling so pained that I had lost myself, I felt so pained that I had lost you. Pictures of you were cropping up everywhere and in the height of sorting out my studio I found a picture of you I kept in my purse/pocket since I was sixteen. It stopped me in my tracks and I instantly felt sick. Till this day I still haven't cried over you. I never cried at the fact our eight years together came to an abrupt and bitter end, I still haven't. Sometimes when I catch a moment of silence I do think about you and how it is that we have become strangers and how strange it is that even though we split up over a year ago that I have never passed you by in the street. And if we were to pass one another by in the street how would that feel, how would we behave? Would you acknowledge me? Would she let you? Would you want to? Would I want to? What a strange, sad feeling. I hope your happy again, I hope your smiling once again, I hope your loved and as long as you have all of that, that's alright by me, always. Anyway I am writing this at the beginning of the month, which is bad form, I always summarise right at the end....
Clearly, April started off pretty emotional. Ex's were creeping in from every angle. Unfortunately 'literally' every angle. I was still putting in plenty of bed time. Still fully finally loving being single and fucking every guy that came in a half a mile radius of me. Okay I lied, not every guy but pretty much every beautiful guy. See I really didn't need to lower my standards and no I am still not looking for a boyfriend.
You know what I fucked up this month. I didn't save what I wrote, I school boy errored it and so much shit went down in May I can't even recall last week let alone two months ago. Total cop out but this will have to do! Life eh?
Actually no, there is something I gotta touch base on that I remember vividly otherwise I can't really post future posts. This blog was all about transition and the comfortability in the uncomfortability. So when I was in Paris I got speaking about how for the first time in my life I felt pretty settled in being unsettled. I was excited for the next chapter in my life. I no longer felt the love I had for my 'great' love and weirdly enough as I was speaking about it he rang. I was dining on steak and wine (of course I am the biggest cliché) and I spoke briefly and jokingly suggested meeting me off the Eurostar... which I shall get to shortly. Anyway I said how unless this guy walked in to my life : painter / art curator, long dark hair, skinny as hell, tattooed, mexican (or as close as), bohemian, not driven by money, aka all around total babe (it doesn't have to be realistic - this is just my ideal) then I was more than happy doing my thing. Okay so I set you up.
Get off the Eurostar. He's waiting. I spend the evening with him. We fuck. I feel nothing. Actually I feel sick. I decide this is the last time I will ever fuck him. He makes my skin crawl and I can't for a fucking second believe I tried to commit suicide over this guy. This thing that I have absolute no feeling for lying next to me drove me to such desperation because he made me believe a life without him in it was not a life worth living. I woke up in the morning and felt new. I said goodbye and knew it would be the last time I would ever see him again under such intimate circumstances. I walked away from the place I once called home, knowing I would probably never see that again and I smiled... I fucking smiled. Six months back I left feeling worthless and so alone. Now I felt alone but so happy in it. He called me later to tell me he knew I didn't care anymore. He cried and begged for my love. Still I felt nothing. Still now, I feel nothing. I wish I could have told my past self that as much as it hurts like hell right now, your going to be just fine. And if your reading this and your lost and your hurting, I promise you, you are going to be just fine. Your going to be better than fine, your gonna be real fucking good. You just gotta get through the sucky in between but the outcome is so worth it. I swear.
So I left London, I headed back home, I made a pitstop at a friends. We got a bottle in so I could fill her in in all my misdemeanors of the month so far. All my fuckerys. All my promiscuity. We decided to go out. One is never one. I'll never learn - I should learn to save my breath on that phrase though.
I end up at a party. The party of the place I fucked up at last time.
Around 5am the most beautiful face I had ever seen walks in. I say hi. I don't remember the rest but we end up back at his and things feel pretty beautiful.
And guess what.
He's a painter.