Hello everyone,

I hope everyone has had a great week and a lovely weekend so far.

So…I’m really nervous about doing this blog post but I just felt like I needed to write everything down. I think this is probably the most personal blog post I’ve ever written. So here goes…

Today hasn’t been the best day, I’ve found myself crying at points throughout the day and couldn’t really seem to switch it off. Some days I get like this, and that’s because I’ve been through an awful lot in my 23 years of being on this earth, that sometimes it just gets a bit to much for me.

Today was one of those days.

Today I realised that humans break easily. I don’t know why I’ve just realised it today. I thought I was the only one that kept breaking and trying to fix myself. Turns out I’m not.

I’ve been broken before, I’m not talking about a broken bone or anything like that, I was broken as a person and my heart was completely shattered all over the floor, that even now I’m still trying to piece back together. I lost myself as a person, I didn’t know who I was anymore, I would wake up every morning and cry, wander around aimlessly not really knowing what I was doing, I didn’t eat. I think the most I had in a day was a packet of crisps and an apple, so obviously that didn’t go down well as I lost about 2 stone in the space of 2 months. But I had no appetite, I was that broken that even eating seemed pointless.

I’ve been hurt before, whether that being a fall out with a friend or an argument with somebody, and it gets you a little upset. You have a cry and then you move on. You get over it. This time though I got the feeling this wasn’t something I just had to ‘get over.’ I had to learn from it and understand it and eventually the process of moving on will come. I couldn’t just click my fingers and suddenly everything was ok again (believe me, if I could do that I would) but you can’t. I had to take time and that was the thing that sucked most about it all. Time.

It felt like forever. Each day seemed harder and harder, and the days just kept dragging. I just wanted to get out of Manchester and go home, but then when I went home I just wanted to be in Manchester. I wasn’t happy wherever I was going. Weeks passed and nothing had changed, I was still this broken mess that wasn’t getting any better. I had no idea what to do, I didn’t want to do anything but wanted to do something. If that makes any sense. Friends would try to cheer me up or take me places but I just wanted to be on my own and cry. I remember actually looking forward to the evening so I could just cry on my own in my room because I needed to let it out, it actually hurt keeping it in all day.

My mind was just constantly playing tricks on me, I was constantly trying to fight it but through those months it just kept winning. I kept thinking ‘how will I ever be okay again?’ I couldn’t see a light at the end of the tunnel, I couldn’t even see a tunnel, I was just in darkness. I was constantly on edge and scared of everything. There was no hope, I couldn’t find any, it got to a point where I just thought ‘Right, this is it. I’m done.’

I remember it was mid November, and it was freezing outside and raining. (Obviously, it is manchester) and I had just woken up from my 4 hours of sleep, which was what I was getting each night. I wanted to sleep but I couldn’t, my brain wouldn’t let me. I wasn’t looking forward to the day as usual, each day I was just waiting around to see what kind of torture today would bring. I remember heading off into my lecture in the afternoon, but had to leave early because even sitting down in a room full of people with everything going on just flipped me over the edge. I think I was in that lecture for about 10 minutes before I left. Even 10 minutes was too hard for me. I remember heading down to Bristol after that lecture to stay with a friend, for the first time in about 3 months I was actually looking forward to going somewhere. It was only a small excitement, tiny in fact. But it was something. That weekend was the first weekend in 3 months I laughed. I don’t mean giggled or a really crap fake laugh. I mean crying from laughter. Which was amazing because every other time I cried I was crying because I was sad.

That weekend I’ll always remember, the weather was awful and I got soaked through on each day, but I laughed. I laughed properly. I even ate a full meal and actually managed to stomach it. We didn’t do a ridiculous amount on that weekend but that weekend was a turning point, and it was only when I was walking around Bristol on the evening with all the lights and my friend by my side that I actually thought ‘I’m gonna be okay.’

From then on, I’ve just kept getting better and better. Some days, like today are not so great, but I have to deal with it and grow with it. I know tomorrow will be better. I started eating again, I started going out and actually having a good time, I started getting a good nights sleep, I started to enjoy peoples company and not constantly wish to be alone. I started to be kind to myself and love myself. I started to live again.

Looking back on what happened to me is hard, but it’s a story that I am so proud of. I’m never going to be ashamed of what I went through and neither should you. Whatever that is.

I’ve learnt that we all broken. We are all trying to fill in the cracks. We are all trying to face life the best way we can. Instead of constantly being broken on the floor, I decided I’m going to take my broken pieces and make them beautiful.

And that’s what I will continue to do.

Anyway until next time…

Lots of Love,

R x