But how does one know this for sure?

I certainly don't. But i think it's a reasonable explanation for my behaviour.

Back then when i focused everything i had on getting this house. On having a relationship. On the dream of a white picket fence, marriage and kids.

Maybe it was because i'd been so emotionally wrecked from the relationship with Mathew and the pregnancy. Maybe it was because all the drugs and the drinking had messed with my prospects. Maybe it was because i felt so unloved and unwelcome in my own family home.

I wonder if i ever stopped to ask myself if it was really what i wanted?

If he was who i really wanted?

If i was becoming who i really wanted to be?

No. I don't think i did. I just operated on autopilot.

Shopping for things and showing the appropriate level of enthusiasm at having a place to call my own.

Dreaming of christening every room and having an exciting future. Building my very own family.

Then it turned out to be nothing like it was cracked up to be.

I stressed out over having to pay so many bills. Having so much to fix and decorate. Having to cook and clean and finding myself so isolated from everyone else.

After a while the house and Mark became all i had.

I didn't have time for anything else. I didn't make time for anything else.

After another little while i realised deep down that i didn't actually like the house. I infact hated the house and everything in it.

It wasn't me at all. It was all him.

Then on some deep level i must have realised i didn't love him either. I didn't want to have sex with this man i wasn't attracted to anymore. I didn't want to spend my life with someone i didn't know or like.

And not because he'd changed. Because i had.

I'd fallen out of love and i'd lost the person i was supposed to be.

But instead of trying to figure a way out of the situation i'd found myself in...i stopped caring. I stopped trying.

Maybe this was what i deserved? I didn't feel like i had anything going for me. I didn't feel like i had anyone to rely on. I was weak.

I spent all my free time reading soppy love storys and watching boxsets whilst gorging myself on the loveliest of sweet foods.

I spent money like crazy. Trying to fill the empty void in my chest with the little bits of happiness that gave me.

I stopped writing and i stopped painting. I stopped doing things with friends and eventually lost those few friends who'd survived my last relationship.

I hardly ever saw my family. I hardly ever did anything. I only went abroad once...and that was the holiday that decided my fate. That was the holiday that showed me i could have more. I could be so much more.

I spent three years with a man being someone else. The year and a half prior to that i wasn't 'me' either, but i wasn't the same person as i became in those three desperate years.

The last time i was 'me' was when i was fifteen years old.

After that my head got messed with beyond belief and i became constantly confused and hurt 'me'. I spent two years like that.

Then i became seeking comfort and escape 'me'. That was me for nearly two years.

Then i became depressed 'me'. That was me for three years.

Then i escaped. And i became clueless seeking myself 'me'. I've been that me for over a year now.

I'm hoping that after all of this...i get to just be me again.

The me that loves to read everything and travel everywhere and write anything and paint my mind on a canvas. The me that laughs at morbid things and does anything for the people she loves. The me that can spend all day at an art gallery or museum. The me that loves bowling and horror movies. The me that yearns for answers and constantly asks questions. The me that quails inside but tells her self to 'fuck it' and leaps into the situation head first. The me that fills her room with eclectic items to express her personality. The me that loves country cycle rides and incense burning all over the house. The me that can't cook or sew and hates having to clean. The me that argues for the sake of it but loves to hug people afterwards. The me that sticks her tongue out at children to make them laugh. The me that loves to swim like a fish, dream all day and cry in sad movies. The me that wants to try everything just the once. The me that's intuitive and sarcastic and stubborn. The me that's understanding and kind and doesn't make much sense to other people. The me who adores pretty things and likes taking beautiful photos. The me that's a collectomaniac and a neat freak. The me that loves christmas and autumn and the colour green. The me that gets excited over fireworks and fair rides. The me in love with vampires and wizards. The me who thinks the smell of the cold and dry sponges and bergamot is delicious. The me who loves peircings, tattoos, hair dye and dark coloured clothing. The me who loves all music and wants to dance the night away. The me who gets bored of video games but will play them to make you happy anyway. The me who can laugh at herself and is always hurting her wrists and ankles. The me who smiles at strangers and believes in magic. The me that makes everyone feel welcome but doesn't put up with bullshit. The me that wants to write a novel someday. The me who wants to travel the world and learn to speak french. The me who wants a job thats rewarding and makes me feel more than whole. The me who wants to fall in love some day and have a beautiful big house full of laughing children. The me full of hope and love and possibilities. The me that can find what feels right and work hard to make her future happen.

I'm starting to feel a little more like me again. Slowly but surely.

I have bad days and i have good days. But i'm fixing myself. I'm healing.

I've still got a long road ahead of me. But give me that time and i'll be more amazing than before. Because that's what i was...amazing. Just amazing for me, not for anyone else. And so happy.

I'm gaining confidence and i'm gaining my life back.

Although i hate that i spent all those years effectively wasting my life, at least i know now how much i have to lose. At least i know now that i can't ever survive being like that again.

Maybe it's helped me gain a better understanding of life. Of myself. I'd like to think so.

Maybe one day it will stand me in good stead. Make me a more rounded person. A better writer perhaps.

I'm only 23. I have a whole life ahead of me. I have years to live out my dreams and the dreams of others.

Maybe i've found something to have some faith in.

Myself.

I've been having such vivid dreams lately. I'm taking that as a good sign. It's been too long since i was able to play out my thoughts through crazy dreams.

Last night it was all about dirt roads and fast cars, my brother arguing with me and stealing my car, me having to walk said dirt road until i found myself propped up in a bar with my cousins and lastly my brother getting mad and crashing my car into the back of a big caravan in a field because he couldn't find me.

As i said. Vivid and ever so strange.

But a relief.

I always had amazing dreams and i loved that i could remember them afterwards.

Not that i could ever understand their meanings. But they comforted me none the less.

Muse - Starlight

Contemplative

The Princess Bride by Williams Goldman