My Barbie was a Super-Model. No matter what I dressed her in, what accessories she wore, she always looked amazing. Because I had no doubt at all that she could rock any style / any colour / any combination - I believed in her.
In my eyes, Barbie rocked. I actually wanted to be her. She set the bar and all of the other dolls followed (in dolls world anyway)....
They say that we all have a "Guardian Angel".
Someone with our best interests at heart, "watching our back", ready to step in and fight our corner the minute that things start to get tricky.
Except that when I was drinking, I didn't need a Guardian Angel. I needed a full time carer. Preferably one who didn't sleep and who was happy to work 25 hours a day, 8 days a week.
"I'm gonna pick up the pieces, and build a Lego House.....if things go wrong I can knock it down...."
He's a clever guy Ed Sheeran - writes all his own material, sings, plays several musical instruments and has a house made out of Lego.
Funnily enough, so do I.
Because Lego is cool. Lego is the future....and my Lego house rocks....
I didn't have the best of weekends.
I got chatted up, which was nice....
By a homeless, drug dealing alcoholic which wasn't quite so....."nice".
On the plus side, I was stone cold sober. So he didn't manage to get my number....Although it did take me slightly longer than it should have done to see right through him and send him packing.... mainly because I try to see the best in people, which is why I was even talking to him in the first place.
If you asked my male friends to sum me up in two words they would use this as a description.
Big hair. Nice arse.
I have a sparkling personality, nice eyes and white teeth too but "Big hair" and "Nice arse" are the dealbreakers....
I stand out a mile because of these badboys. Which is something I didn't think I'd ever be able to say again - Because my addiction took the lot.
Living with an addiction is horrific.
It's Groundhog day. Where the only thing that changes is the amount and severity of bad shit that happens to you.
I still can't believe that this is how I used to live my life.
Or that a typical 24 hours went something like this.
And that, believe it or not, this was what I would class as a "good day" ....(because I really don't want to talk about the bad)....
Welcome to a day in my life back then....
I've had better. But I've also had a hell of a lot worse.....
I don't like my head today.
I don't like the way that it feels, I don't like the thoughts that I'm having, and I really don't like the way that it is talking to me right now.
Today my head is telling me that I'm ugly. That I'm fat.....and, horror of horrors, that my depression is coming back....
My depression is coming back....
Once upon a time there was a girl who lived in a caravan.
She used to have a house but then she used to have a lot of things. That disappeared, like magic...."Poof!!"....
When her husband left her to "go and find himself " which, the girl later discovered, involved hotel rooms in Brighton and a mysterious other woman.....
I remember how scarily brilliant this film was when it first came out. It scared the shit out of me. I was on the edge of my seat with a cushion over my face for at least half of it.
Can you imagine that?? Like if that actually happened to you??
Because you've just happened to cross paths one day with someone who decides that they want what you have. And so they decide to take it....with or without consent. And fuck the consequences...
But then that would never happen obviously. Because Single white female is just a film....
Earlier this year, a very clever lady gifted me this website. She designed it for me herself. Because she wanted me to write.
She said that it would help me to make sense of the stuff that was going on inside of my head. And that once I made a start on trying to get this stuff out of my head and into the open, that a story would start to emerge....My story. Because she thinks that it needs to be told.
Birmingham New Street train station main entrance is not the place for a meltdown. This is what I am telling myself as I wave goodbye to the taxi driver and attempt to drag both myself and my bags through the automatic doors towards the turnstile.
I'm tired, wired and just really need to catch my train today. So, tempting as it is to just sit on a step with my head on my knees and make the world around me go away right now, it's not really an option for me at the minute.
I've travelled 350 miles to see my family.
All two of them.
It's not going great.
I should be sat in my mums house keeping her company but my buttons have been pressed enough for one day and I can't handle that right now. So I'm sat, by myself in Wetherspoons, nursing my pretend beer and killing time until I can't put the rest of the evening off any longer.
It's pissing down.
I'm lying on my bed listening to the rain.
In the distance someone is playing the guitar and there's a magpie dancing on my roof. I'm in the middle of nowhere in my new little house. In my backyard are sheep and cows, buzzards, owls and a peacock.
I'm attracted to chaos like a moth to a flame.
I always have been. Since I was a child - Subconciously re-creating car crash scenarios.
I know where I am with chaos. I know "what to do". It's all I've been used to. Noise and uncertaintainty and drama. So I've always had a plan B for when plan A goes wrong. Which is most of the time.
12 months ago I was unemployable.
I wore the same crumpled clothes for days on end, rarely showered or brushed my teeth and my hair was matted and tangled. I weighed just over 6 stone and was so thin and malnourished that I struggled to walk.
They say you that shouldn't eavesdrop.....and to be fair I actually wasn't. I was busy getting dressed whilst checking my e-mails.
And then my biggest fan in the world turned up for work and started her usual bitchfest - Right outside my window.
My little caravan was her subject of choice today.
I actually want to kill her....
My friend Nathan knows me pretty well - We spend a lot of time together. A lot more time than we used to actually, now that I'm sober and capable of stringing more than just the odd sentence together.
Tonight we are talking about my drinking days. I don't really want to have this conversation but it's Nath and he was worried for a while and so I know that I should.
I take a sip of my drink, grit my teeth and prepare myself for a bumpy ride...
Before I became ill and way before I became a writer, I had a completely different life.
I was a fixer. A magician. A person who performed miracles and made magic happen. If people said that it couldn't be done I would prove them wrong by being the person to do it.
There are two ways to sofa surf.
The first way is generally pre-arranged - A place to stay with friends after a night out or as an overnight guest at a house party. Usually involving copious amounts of alcohol and random conversations until the early hours of the morning before someone crashes and burns, indicating that it's probably a really good idea to try and get some sleep. Especially if one or all of you have a job that needs attending to at some point later that day.