This is it.

Well, this is it. After a long, undeniable wait, granted, I was happy to wait, however, there's no doubt I am in fact 20. The big 2-0 I've been dreading since summer ended. Pinch, punch first of the month, and October spelled the true colours of winter approaching, as well as the end of my teenage years. Despite this, I'm currently sitting in my dad's car thinking and wondering what all the fuss was about. I hated the idea of turning twenty, abhorred it even, but now it's here, it's okay, it's bearable. It's like going to the dentist I suppose. No one really wants to go, but after you've been, you realise it wasn't as bad as you thought, and you needn't have worried so much. And then, I thought, why was I so set against turning twenteen* as I've called it. Were my teenage years really all that? No, no, actually, they weren't. For every high I had, I probably had twice as many lows. Teenage years are confusing and stressful and bloody hard work, but no one ever tells you that.

The best and worst years of your life. Well, okay, that's true. I grant that. I've had some wonderful, hilarious and downright brilliant times as a teenager, but does that mean I have to hate the idea that I'm no longer in that chapter of my life? Perhaps not. New beginnings and all that jazz. So, I'll embrace it. Why not. I've got a smile on my face and that's all that matters.

I don't like today much.

It's Saturday, and I've done it again. Spent the night before pouring alcohol down my neck like I was getting paid to, and yet coming home with 25p. Yes. And managed to upset someone I really didn't want to. Arguments, tears and tantrums. Last night's themes. I've got a post-Friday night hangover and such an awful cough I sound like I'm a 40-a-day smoker, and I've never touched a cigarette. I'm feeling so guilty, so bitchy, so...nasty. I don't feel like me today. I feel like someone else. Sitting in my room, blasting party-ish music as some sort of motivational attempt to convince myself, and my liver, that I can actually hack hitting Sunderland tonight for Betty's birthday celebrations. I drink too much. I feel hideous. I don't look much better. This is all stupid and disjointed, because I'm half-hungover, half genuinely ill, although no one in my house seems to fathom the 'genuine' part. I wonder why.
 
I'm drowning out the bad stuff. Or attempting it anyway. Life, I guess, goes on, whether you're happy or unhappy, upset or angry. I guess the bad times make the good times even better. I wish I was an optimist. I wish I was a glass-half-full kind of person, but I'm really not. I don't even get the concept. I love everyone in my life right now. Why is it that the nice people get screwed over and I end up trusting the ones I shouldn't?

My head is well-and-truly battered. I smell like a brewery and I feel like I'm still slurring my words. I've only had like three and a half hours sleep and I don't know how much longer I can last before I drift into a deep, deep sleep mid-sentence. I'm feeling the 'horrible person' vibe today. I don't know what to do with it. Advice is being thrown at me left, right and centre, but I guess I have to, and do make my own decisions. Whether they're good or bad, will remain to be seen. I'm forgetting everything for now. I'm going to slap some make up on, to make myself look less like an extra from a zombie film and more like a human being, albeit a very unwell one. Things get better in time. Apologies wear thin, but they don't lose their sentiment. Well, mine don't anyway. I'm just saying.

I'm going for a Nando's. I need comfort food.
#bingeeaterandbingedrinker