We learn to compromise.

Sometimes you have to be the one who apologises first, even if you swore you wouldn't. Sometimes you need to forgive and forget, even the worst things. Sometimes, it's important to compromise. 

We all do it. We all have one time or another compromised. Settled. Made do. When your food comes at a restaurant and it's slightly cold, you haven't complained. When it's raining outside and you were planning on wearing sandals, you change to boots -it's more sensible. When you're arguing with someone you love, sometimes in the midst of your point, you have to give in, submit defeat, back down. Knowing when to speak up and when to stay silent is a good lesson I should attempt to learn. There's nothing wrong with biting your tongue sometimes. 

There's really nothing too bad about lukewarm food at a restaurant when it's busy, or a late bus in the freeezing cold, or the fact someone picked a fight and you held back. If like me, you're happy, surrounded by people you love and who love you in return, then none of it matters. The little things you can sacrifice if the big things are in place. 

Compromise isn't a bad thing, it's an adult thing. Everyone does it. Everyone accepts things. Everyone makes do with the best hand they've been dealt. As long as you're happy doing it, does it really make a difference? 

Step off.

Who is the person who texts you back at 4am when you're getting drunk and teary-eyed? Who can take stick from everyone else and yet have your back anyway? Who's the one who can make you smile at the drop of a hat? Who will do anything humanly possible to make you happy? The one who isn't afraid to hold your hand in public or to be seen with you. The one, who, despite all the negative critique, is determined to set the record straight. The one who knows your flaws and failings and insecurities and still won't let you walk away. This person, at the minute in my life, is making me rather happy.

I've taken a risk.  A big risk, for many reasons. A possibly, in fact, probably life-changing risk. Some people will say it's "selfish" and "inconsiderate" while others will say I'm "stupid" and "naive" but I don't care, to hell with them. It doesn't affect them as much as it affects me, and for god sakes, it's about time I did something for myself for a change. It's not like taking other people's advice has ever gotten me anywhere in the past. Frankly, quite the opposite. Approval, I honestly couldn't give a fuck about any longer. My life is, obviously mine. Keep your negative thoughts firmly in your mouth because I have enough in my own head thanks. Doubts and worries are all that ever encompass my little self, but I know that there's nothing better than taking a risk and watching it pay off, big-time. I recently told someone that my biggest fear was heights, because, note this: "I'm scared of falling." Yeah. It was like having an epiphany or something. Of course I'm afraid of falling. But that same someone responded with something quite clever, that got me thinking: "but eveything has a risk, if you're afraid of falling you'll never risk anything." And that's when it hit me. Maybe stepping over the cliff edge scares the hell out of me, but if I never do, I'll never know what is over that cliff edge. Life starts at the end of your comfort zone, I'm told. In which case, my life starts now. My nervous, little self, with bitten-down nails, and a cold, shaky exterior, is ready to jump. There is no guaranteed safety net, but then again, if it's worth the risk, it doesn't really matter. I point-blank refuse to live on the sidelines watching someone else experience the life I'm supposed to live. Trust me, step off the edge, there's nothing like it. It's scary as hell and a little unnerving and my stomach wants to crumble my organs right now, but also, it's kind of great. Euphoric. 

"Ask me again after another tequila."

A weekend wasted, is, as they say, not a wasted weekend. I fully, totally, undeniably agree with this. It's 19:02, the remnants of a hangover are still lurking on my shoulder, and I'm wallowing in a mixture of self-pity and guilt. I've spent the entirety of my weekend pouring alcohol down my neck at record-breaking speed. Stupid, and yet, I always do it. So now, I'm nursing a two-day hangover, it's feeling quite pitiful. Last night, well, [there are no words.] No suitable words anyway. I am, for my sins, forever making bad, ill-advised and completely, utterly stupid decisions when I'm drunk. Last night may have been a peak, or a pitfall, depending on which way I look at it. As the news blares in the background, the kettle whirs almost-too-slowly, and my family talk amongst themselves, I've zoned out. I'm staring kind of blankly at the screen of my laptop, struggling to successfully multi-task; suppressing an evident, tequila-related gag reflex, stay awake and trying oh-so-hard not to submit to my hangover from Hell. I pulled out all the stops last night mind, the bitter icing on the already-sickly cake being the fact I am, it seems, unable to go out and act like a normal human being. I drink, in excess. Always. About once a month, or maybe more, I'll end up having "one too many" and almost end up in a gutter or something. I'm shameless when tequila/sambuca is added to the equation. So, here's me, shivering, gagging and trying to actually keep some food down, after a very bad decision. Drinking doubles too quickly, downing our bottles of Desperados because we were sick of them and wanted another drink, accepting countless shots of tequila and sambuca. Singing badly with strangers. Losing everyone I was with. Having my best friend (who works behind the bar) in hysterics laughing at my plea for "just some more sambuca" when the lights went on. The bouncers asking me how much I've drank again, the antics, the decision to stay out until four, when the pub shuts at half two, the stupid, stupid inability I have to control myself. Downing drinks and throwing them back up faster, and getting another.

Today, I'm pale. Okay, paler than usual. Washed out. My hands look thin and my face looks a bit too wethered for someone of only twenty. I have very harsh bags under my eyes, and despite many attempts, I can't shift the pub stamp from my hand, or the taste of tequila out of my mouth. Dirty shoes, random walks and yes, the undeniable sense of regret. Stupidity may become my middle name. My head is banging, and all I want is my bed, and a rewind button. The latter, I'm afraid isn't possible, although I thoroughly wish it was. I think I've fucked things up, but I'm trying to assure myself, it's nothing too drastic. We'll see. My binge isn't something I should be celebrating, but I can't help myself, I just want to laugh. I'm a little bit out of hand. 

Stand by me.

You may not always trust my decisions, share my thoughts or understand my reasoning, but that isn't the point. That's not what I'm asking you to do. That's not what I expect you to do. I don't understand everything going on in your life, but at the same time, you don't know the full extent of the events in mine. That isn't because I don't share things, because in fact, I'm the total opposite. I tell everything to the people I trust most. However, I do believe that there are certain things that no one, except you can know or understand. Your  real emotions and desires, your insecurities, your personal preferences that just aren't sometimes things you want to share. The things that make you who you are. I've been thinking lately, however comfortable you feel around someone else, I don't believe anyone is completely themselves around anyone, but instead, merely in their own company. Behind closed doors, I suppose.

As I sit here, in my room, with the curtains drawn and the door closed, I know this too well. My family, mostly, aren't even aware I keep a blog, (if it is in fact what you do, to "keep" a blog) as I like to think it's private. A way to let off steam and put my own thoughts and passions out there, perhaps things I don't always want to share with immediate loved ones. So, sometimes, I guess it's hard to understand another person's psyche, what really makes them tick, what they wake up and want to live for, even if you try to put yourself in their shoes. After all, you can squash yourself into my little size fives, but it doesn't mean they'll fit you like they fit me. It wouldn't be comfortable. It would be suffocating and infuriating and down-right wrong. You don't wear anyone else's shoes in the same way as you cannot live someone else's life, no matter how much you'd like to from time to time.

All I want, is for my loved ones; my family and friends, to always (I hope) stand by me, even when they may disagree with my decisions and choices. Maybe I'm not going down the typical career path, or studying what you'd like me to be, or perhaps I do tend to make irrational decisions, but that's okay, because, they are my decisions to make, and if/when they seem to become mistakes, that's alright too, as they are my mistakes; they are my burden to bare, not yours. So don't lose sleep over my mistakes, because I'll warn you, you'd spend too much time awake, and that's unhealthy. I love that you all care, but sometimes, it's okay to step back, it's acceptable to shrug off my choices or even tell me you think I've made a terrible mess. It's all okay for me, as long as I know one thing at the end of the day. That no matter how bad my life gets, no matter how many times I repeat a mistake or do something stupid, that you, my lovely lot, will stand by me.

Truthful lies.

My head is all over the place at the moment, it's like I can't concentrate on anything. I don't trust myself to make my own decisions, because every time I do, I get hurt, screwed over or let down. So, if I don't trust myself, how the hell am I supposed to trust anyone else? I realise I can't let my mistakes hang over my head forever, but they do seem to gather like a bad smell. It's like I can't get away from them. My own decision-making is gradually going downhill, so should I trust myself, when I seem to be the one constantly at the root of my own unhappiness? I'm too gullible to recognise a lie, and picking them out of the half-truths I get fed, is becoming increasingly difficult. Mistakes may make good stories, but eventually, you get tired of repeating them, it gets you down. How do you spot a good thing when you see it? Especially if you don't really trust your instincts? I have friends all around me, telling me to "be careful" and "watch my back" and all of the other trashy, half-hearted yet from-a-good-place comments, as if I'm the five year old who is unable to decide which crayon to draw with. I feel insulted when people don't trust my opinions and my instincts, yet I feel like maybe there's a reason they're so quick to dismiss my trusting ways. Maybe I do just make mistake after mistake after mistake. I need to figure out how to pick out the good times from the crowd, discard the bad decisions and not dwell on things that make me unhappy. To break the cycle, I must trust myself and have the courage of my convictions. Every time I say "I trust you," I need to learn to mean it with every bone in my body, so that when someone tells me otherwise, I can confidently dismiss them. It's not my fault, trust is such a dirty word.