Back on the treadmill.

Yesterday, I finally forced myself to go back to the gym, after what must've been a few months off, while I was stressing over the end of uni, deadlines and wandering into the real world. 

Nobody told me thag I would be at a disadvantage if I had a degree. Not one person. Admittedly the job hunt wasn't as pro-active as it should've been to begin with, but now it's in full swing. At the age of almost 22, I am unemployed with a degree in English Literature and Creative Writing. I want to break into that discipline, but living in the north east of England, it seems relatively impossible. I can see people trying to conceal their eyes rolling into the back of their heads as I announce 'I want to write.' Frankly, if I had a £1 for every time someone had said to me, 'so are you just going to teach?' I wouldn't even need a job. Credit goes out to those who see that as a life they want, but I'm not one of those people. I lack the patience, the desire or the determination to teach. My passion lies with writing. Picking up a pen, or in this case, my iPhone, to blog. It's soothing writing down my thoughts, even if I'm editing them all as I do so. 

I've been pretty down about the job hunt, as well as some other things lately, but yesterday I powered through. I set my alarm, got up, had breakfast, put my gym attire on, grabbed my keys, a water bottle and some headphones, and I was off. Although I struggled through the hour I was there, I felt better for forcing myself to get out of bed and exercise. It was a step forward. It was something pro-active, and until then, I don't think I'd considered it so. Whether I used to like to hear it or not, my P.E. teacher used to tell me that, 'exercise relieves all your stress, Eleanor' and yet, despite her prevailing, I hated it. I walked into my physical education lessons, entering via the changing room back doors, and while all the other girls were chatting away, I didn't say much. 

I passionately hated PE. 'I can't do it,' was my favourite excuse. In case you hadn't noticed, I have a strong, stubborn negativity about me at times. Even at the height, I was a 16 year old who was very self conscious, and didn't believe she was sporty whatsoever. I'm still not. I still have that attitude. I will probably never run a marathon. I will never be on a sports team. But I figured out early on, that was because I didn't want to be, rather than any capabilities I did or didn't lack.

My point being, the exercise that once scared me half to death, actually does make me feel better. It's a stress reliever definitely, for me anyway. When discussing this with my boyfriend via text the other day, I just happened to drop in a relevant Legally Blonde quote, and he had no idea what I was saying, having never seen such a brilliant film. I'll leave you with the quote, that is seriously relevant, very daft and almost always puts a smile on people's faces. Even after what can be described as a really shit few weeks, or even months, I know that getting back on the treadmill makes things fade away for a bit. 

'Exercise gives you endorphins, endorphins make you happy, and happy people just don't shoot their husbands, they just DON'T.'

-Elle Woods, Legally Blonde.

Blind hope.

You're laughing and joking and making plans, for the weekend, and the summer, and the future, and then suddenly life throws another curveball and everyone just stands there, looking at it, like, 'SHIT.' 

I am lying in bed, cocooned in my quilt, and I can't shift the attitude that life just isn't fair. Certain individuals seem to be handed the worst of hands, and it doesn't seem right, or okay, or fair at all. With crossed fingers and toes, tense chests and heavy hearts, we hope things turn out okay. There is no other option, nothing else we can bare to entertain. This is the only outcome we can fathom, so no pressure, SCRATCH THAT, all the pressure in the world is on your shoulders, because after all, even Duffy Moon can do it. 

It's you again.

Maybe she's old-fashioned,  but she'd say she was traditional. 

I never was one of those little girls who dreamt about being rescued and marrying their sweetheart. Never. Not once. I didn't have a string of on-off romances through my teens, a whirlwind love affair at any point, and yet something in me changed. I can't even recall when I first felt like this, but I can just say that now, at the age of 21, I'm very much a romantic. 

There was a time I'd scoff at my friends receiving cheesy, gushing Valentine's Day cards and teddies  holding heart-shaped cushions. When I'd see a couple kissing in the street and avert my eyes, sighing. I'd come to associate romance with a sickly feeling in the back of my throat, a fakeness to it, a childishness. And then, I met someone. 

I've never ever imagined a future with anyone until I met you. I'd never even entertained a marriage, never mind anything more than that. Overtime, I've become someone my old self wouldn't even recognise, and yet I welcome the changes. I'm a happier person because of you. The romantic side of me has flourished, and not before time. You're the person I now cannot picture my life without. You're part of me, and I'll walk over broken glass before I let you go. 

You've changed me, and I welcome those changes. I'm a happier, healthier person. You've made me proud to be who I really am. The romantic side of me is truly alight. Because, why not?! 

There's nothing better than flowers just because they're pretty and he thought she'd like them. A little surprise is cute and thoughtful, and that beats expense hands down. Sometimes, all she want is for him to wake her up and say "I'm taking you out for breakfast" just for the hell of it. She sees a future with him, as he holds the door open for her, grabs the bill, does the chivalrous thing extremely well when he can. She has a lot of admiration for a man who isn't afraid to compliment his girl and show her off. She's always waiting to be whisked off her feet at a moments notice, even if that's for a coffee and some cake. She'll hold your hand like her life depends upon it, smile at you like you're her entire world, and wake up every morning with you dancing in her thoughts. She already knows she will hold on to you before she ever says it aloud. She will make you work for it. She will test you. She will push you to your limits if she thinks you may be the one for her. She'll tell you what she wants, what she loves and what she hates. She'll tell you what she expects from you, even if she never has to say it out loud. She wants to be wooed, she wants to be spoiled, but most of all, she wants to feel loved. 

When I realised.

My phone buzzes throughout my seminar as I carefully make plans from beneath the safety of my desk, as to not look rude or ignorant. We're having a seminar on Eastenders, and how to write for a brief. It drags knowing I've got somewhere to be.

By the time four o'clock strikes, I've already slipped my arms into my coat, closed my notebook and have my bag over my shoulder. It's time to go. 

As I brace the miserable northern weather, thoughts of you dance around in my head. I'll be seeing you soon. I zip my coat up around my neck, shivering, and occasionally glance down at my phone gripped firmly in my hand. It's too cold to text you back just yet. I'll just see you soon. 

Walking through the door of the pub, I realise a cheeky grin has found it's way to my face, and my eyes feel bright and happy. There's an excited feeling in my chest and a new found positivity in my step. And then, I catch sight of you sat at a table in front of me. Your arms folded, your shirt rolled up around your elbows. Your collar unbuttoned slightly and your hair all fuzzy from the rain. You don't see me at first, and yet I watch you, as your eyes are focused down at your phone in yours hands. For a second or two I just study you. Your muscular arms that make me feel like i'm in the safest place in the world when they're wrapped around me. Those eyes I just get lost in every time they meet mine. And then I do. You look up at me and grin genuinely like I've always dreamed of. I never thought anyone could look at me like that. As I walk towards the table and pull out the chair opposite you, I can't suppress my grin. 

'Hello you.' 

And our Cheshire Cat sized grins match up. I sat across the table from you today, and I've never been more sure in my life; there was nowhere else in the world I'd rather have been. 

Me and You.

I'm 21 years old, 5 foot 2 inches high and weigh around 9 stone. I have never broken a bone, spent a considerable amount of time in hospital or suffered from a debilitating illness. I do no take medication daily, rely on something to get me out of bed or have any sort of symptoms that stunt me in every day life. This isn't a norm, I'm suddenly becoming aware of this. I'm very lucky. I am surrounded by people who do. And credit to them. Waking up every day and swallowing a tablet that will correct their hormones, make them feel 'normal' or less anxious, stabilise their blood pressure, suppress their pain. I couldn't imagine it, and yet I experience it vicariously on a daily basis practically. I thank my lucky stars I have such wonderful people around me. I don't care what it takes for you to get out of bed, I don't care you're miserable if you don't take your medication regularly, all I care is that you're mine. It makes you no less of a person. It doesn't make you any different. Whether it's an insulin injection or some really strong painkillers, or something totally different, so what. Everyone has a crutch. Something they rely on. Something they need. And maybe I don't understand, because I've never had to do it. Maybe that's how it feels to all of you who wake up and reach for the silvery white packet of pills and swallow hard as they coat your throat. But this is why. You're all my crutches. My reasons to wake up. My reasons to live, love and laugh. My people. I love you so desperately, wonderfully, brilliantly, and I'm so happy that you're all mine. Don't think anything like that makes a difference to me. 

Luke.

I want someone to wrap their arms around me when I say "no honestly, I'm fine" even though I'm not. I want someone to kiss my forehead when they hold me and never ever want to let me go. I want someone who finishes my sentences, giggles with me and makes me a happier version of myself. Who playfully shouts at me and is the only one I'd ever let tickle me and not punch in the face. I want someone who loves and appreciates me and never makes me feel anything less than worthy. 

And I have all that with you. 

Once again.

This time last year, I was determined that 2014 would be the best year yet. In good old fashioned, clichéd style, my eyes were full of optimism and motivation. The blood pumping through my veins was buzzing with excitement. The new year countdown would be the best yet. Everyone would be smiling, merry and singing to auld lang syne with tequila slammers at hand. 

This was a world away from how I saw in 2014. In fact, I can't even remember half of it. I spent around two hours in the pub, after spending four getting ready, and countless more in prep and organisation. What started out as a casual, sociable night with friends soon turned into me doing a dissapearing act. I then ended up at a then friend's house, totally off my face on 60% proof white rum (wray & nephew shots will make you hate yourself the very second it passes your lips.) 

I had a numb face and barely any control of my legs, but luckily I had someone to make sure I was okay. Giggly, embarrassingly drunk and a total mess, I end up at my *friend's* house and end up meeting his family, in my drunk stupor. Luckily, everyone was numbed by alcohol which made the event a bit less awkward. More drinks, more laughter, and more celebrations. I woke up beside him with a banging headache, a raging hangover and the biggest smile on my face. 

The friend in question has now been my boyfriend for the last 11 months and I couldn't be happier or luckier. A new start doesn't always come hand in hand with a new year, but maybe instead of the completion of an old one. There's nothing to say you can't change something any day. New starts aren't just for January 1st, even if mine was.

9.

this time nine months ago, I was very probably drunk, hungover, or planning on being drunk within a few hours. It was January. It was freezing. I drank a lot. A lot changed in about three weeks. There was Christmas celebrations surrounded by family, the New Year blow-out, lots of catch-ups and I finally got together with one of my best friends, after a good seven months of complications, drunken nights and lots of revelations.

Nine months yesterday, we were official. And by that, I mean Facebook Official. I hate that. I hate that its even a thing now, but apparently, that makes it real. Disgustingly public, but its okay. It's daft, but nine whole months for me means something unbelievable. It means a lot. An investment of time, energy and feelings. I'm not ashamed to say that at the age of 21, it is the longest, and only real relationship I've ever had. So yes, it means more than I can say.

You all are probably shrugging your shoulders thinking that nine months does not count as a milestone, ever. I've been reminded of this a few times today. I guess its more of a personal thing anyway. It doesn't matter to me what anyone else may say. I'm happy. I'm in a relationship with my best friend. He makes me laugh like no one else. I trust him with my life, and honestly, I'm not sure what I'd do without him sometimes.

Hectic holidays.

So, it's Friday morning. My mind is working in a stressy overdrive mode. And I'm neglecting any form of writing whatsoever lately. Wrapped up in too much sleep, the rubbish british summer, and my lovely boyfriend, writing has just been pushed back underneath everything. Oh, and to tell the truth, I'm a bit uninspired. I'm stuck with regards to writing. And now, holiday planning is running wild. Me and seven others, my family, are jetting off to menorca on Saturday afternoon, (yes, as in tomorrow afternoon.) Note these things:

1. We aren't packed.

2. We have no holiday money

3. The holiday docs for our details are somewhat vague. 

That's a stressy start. I have a lot to do, and no time at all to do it in. My alarm is set for 7.30am, and I've got a list in my 'Notes' of things I must achieve tomorrow. All of which, I intend to have finished by early afternoon, for then, I have something vital to do. Oh yes, SOPPY ALERT...I'm off to see my boyfriend before we part for a week. Oh, and I'm telling myself I won't get all emotional and cry. (WHO AM I KIDDING?) 

Take a breath, Eleanor, god. Holidays aren't supposed to be THIS stressful. Jeeeeeez. 

Don't ever say you're lonely.

The taboo you're never supposed to say. Not banned, not illegal and yet, if you start spouting it here, there and everywhere, you'll start to cause offense. Backlash. People around you will begin to feel distant, insulted, put-out. But still, sometimes the feeling prevails, and on rare occasions, you blurt out the thing that any self respecting human being isn't supposed to say.

"I'm lonely." 

Why? What? Has something happened? Who have you fell out with? Questions gushing in. In reality, it's probably nothing. Maybe there's no one you're blaming. No one making you feel alone and isolated. No one that abandons you or makes you feel small. No one, that is, except you. You can have the most amazing support system around you, and still, sometimes, it's possible to feel really quite lonely. Whether there's someone holding your hand, or at the other end of the phone, or if they have their arms wrapped around your waist. I feel guilty, because I feel this way. I have the most amazing boyfriend, wonderful family and brilliant friends, and all I can think of today is loneliness. I should just shrug it off. It's just 'one of those things' that will pass. Exhaustion, routine, boredom, space, whatever it is that makes me feel like this, I haven't a clue. I feel like I try to push people away when really, they're the ones I need the most. If I don't understand my reasoning behind it, how can anyone else? 

All I can ask of you is this; don't give up on me. Bare with me. If I doubt myself, reassure me. If I feel down, try to make me feel more like myself. The smallest of gestures can go a really long way. No one is negative forever. 

Anything but HAPPY.

"You can't go to sleep like that, it's not fair." 

So, you're not supposed to go to bed in the middle of an argument. The age-old cliché, I guess. But, I never thought anyone would say it to me. The voice vibrates around the darkness in my room, reverberating through my ears. The words echo in my mind, over and over and over, until they don't sound like words any more. Despite whatever it is we're arguing over, part of me doesn't hear it. The romantic in me is too swept off it's feet. That's a movie line, or a famous quote, or something. It's not something I expected to hear, ever. Maybe it sounds stupid to make so much of so little, but to me, it's different. All I could want to hear and more. I've got everything I could ask for. My silly, fluffy, soft insides have longed for someone who won't let me go to bed feeling anything but happy. 

July daze.

So, it's here. Today. The seventh month of 2014. That sounds strange. Gosh. (I never, ever say that, but it seems fitting today.) I'm speechless. Sitting on my bed, in sweats, (yeah, I do that now) and no make up and freshly painted nails of which I've been trying to establish the real colour for about a week now (we've settled on 'heather.') I have my iPod attempting to play a soundtrack that seems fitting for July, but I keep my forefinger stubbornly paused on the 'Shuffle' button. I'm restless today.

I feel like I haven't had enough sleep. I feel dissatisfied with July already in one respect, and in another, I'm totally, utterly and completely happy with everything. No sun = poor excuse for summer, well, in my eyes anyway. I have Coldplay strumming right now. Maybe it fits, there are clouds hanging heavily in the sky outside my window, after all. I feel like I should write something profound and substantial. Pinch-Punch and all that jazz. Here goes. Here's to trying.

#1: Today, I read Gracie's latest and probably, the most important blog post. A fabulous girl I write about frequently, and yet, I've never so much as clapped eyes on her in person. (This year, we'll share a coffee, in person. At some point, I've vowed.) I let my coffee go cold as my eyes adjusted to what was appearing rapidly on my iPhone screen. My mouth fell open. My eyelids gathered salty tears. My heart seemed to stop a moment. Not only is this a very beautiful piece of writing from a lovely girl with a huge personality, but I can only even try to comprehend how hard it must have been to write. For reasons, that if you give it a read, you'll know. Hell, of course you'll read it. She's wonderful. Gracie is someone I feel like I've known for years, and in reality, it is merely due to reading her blog intently in a pseudo-stalker-like fashion (oh, and a few avidly typed tweets: Come say hello!@eleanorward_) Anyway, she's been through an awful lot lately, and deserves acknowledgement, and a very strong Jack and Coke. That's my first 'July' thing. I'm sending her lots of love, because I have a lot to thank her for, and she's one of my favourite people.

#2: July sparks something for me I've never been able to say before. Exciting! As of a few days time, me and my boyfriend will have been together for six months. Half a year. To some, that's probably not a big deal. To me, well, it really is. I hope he won't mind me saying all this, well actually, I know he won't. It's pretty surreal to think it's been almost six whole months. It's a blur. A happy blur at that. We've known each other a lot longer than that though. It's a funny story. Well, maybe it is, but that's for my own memory. We were friends for a long time, and have known each other for around 15 months now. I won't throw all the soppy clichés your way, except maybe this one: not only is he my other half, but he's also my best friend. That's all I'm saying. He's incredibly important to me, and how anyone copes with me for a week, let alone six months is beyond my comprehension, but I'll not complain! Stop grinning Lukas, this isn't for your ego.

#3: July is the limbo for me, between holidays (Ibiza and Menorca) and just some of the space that makes up the journey between Year Two and Final Year in degree lingo. This year, my final desperate shot to prove to myself, and everyone around me that my degree has been anything but a waste of time and money. I need to prove myself. I need to "write something substantial." I need to do something that scares me but maybe will open up an array of opportunities for me, and ultimately, I need to decide on what I'd maybe like to do in that scary thing called Future.

July is full of indefinite possibilities, opportunities and events. It's getting warmer. It's getting closer to Decision Time with regards to my degree. It's closer to my 21st Birthday, which I'm really excited about, but also kind of apprehensive. 21 means responsibility; and not just being able to cross the road on your own, or standing on your own two feet. July features my mam's birthday, the anniversary of my Grandad's death, and the cram of planning and organising for a family holiday that has filled all eight of us with a sense of dread and excitement at the same time. Also, here's a random fact: July was named after Julius Caesar, as it was his birth month. I'm positive, I'm excited, and I'm ready to go. Metaphorically speaking, that is. In reality, I'm lazily perched on my bed, still, checking my phone compulsively and eagerly awaiting my latest purchases from my beloved ASOS. Russell is making his way to my house, to deliver what I hope will be the most beautiful handbag I've feasted my eyes on. Only time will tell.

"If anyone's worth letting your coffee go cold for, it's definitely you."

Something more.

The way to my heart is through a really strong brewed coffee. The fresh comfortable silences that two people share. Being able to blurt out anything to someone and knowing they'll react well. Being seen as predictable. Knowing what the other person will say next, the side of the bed they sleep on and where their heart really lies. Their guilty pleasures, deepest secrets, their past regrets and future endeavours. The sacrifices you'll make for them, and they'll make for you. Hands down. Removing inhibitions, banishing worries and knowing there's no one you'd rather walk over broken glass for. I'm ridiculously happy. The kind of happiness that overly consumes you. It makes your chest tight and your face ache and your pulse race. The sleepless nights and the good morning texts. Having someone in your life that makes everything easier, better, more worthwhile. Being shamelessly soppy and hopelessly happy, and constantly having the biggest grin on your face. 

Guilty.

I can't help but feel a sense of guilt creeping up behind me at times. I shed a tear for someone other than myself, and immediately, I wonder why. I know why my sadness is felt, but there's something alien about it. Something stolen, wrong somehow. It's like, maybe that person wouldn't be grateful for the tears I shed for them. I mean, it's not like it's the best thing you can receive from someone. A bitterly shed tear. It's pathetic, in one sense. It's criminal. Right now, I feel like every time I agonise on someone else's behalf, I'm committing a crime. Those tears aren't mine to shed, and yet I seem to have some sort of entitlement towards my feeling of upset. It's strange. But hey, what can I say, I'm very strange myself. My chest feels like it's caving inwards today. My emotions are poles apart. I want to smile and cry and punch a wall for how goddamn unfair life is, and yet toast it at the same time. Nothing about life is fair. But sometimes, it tests you, because you can handle it. Well, I'm kind of getting that feeling right now. Nothing we come up against in our lives is too much to get over. We are, as a race, resilient by force, rather than choice. We don't give up. We don't have the luxury of a choice like that. If you're kicked forcefully in the stomach, you get the fuck back on your feet, because you're bloody well good at standing on your feet. If you're tested by something, it's only because you're well equipped to deal with the problem in front of you. I can't even breathe. Just this.

Bound and gagged.

Okay, okay. Calm down. It's not that kind of blog post. What kind of shit do you think I write? *blushes* Yeah, okay, I laughed at myself. Apparently that's a sign of madness. May as well be one I applaud and self-confess. So, what's with the title, you may be wondering... Well, it's how I feel right now. I've attempted this blog post four times now. Every time, I was unhappy with the words on the screen. I deleted them with enforced frustration. My words weren't conveying the tone I wanted. It was, it seemed, useless. 

So that's how I felt, bound and gagged. Stuck. As if I couldn't find the appropriate words to explain how I was feeling. I still don't think I can, not really. My head is whirlwinding, sort of. Ups and downs. Good news and bad news. Positives and negatives. My mind is torn between tears and grins, and the poles are further apart than ever. I have my lovely other half to thank for the constant grin sprawled so effortlessly on my face. Lukas, thank you. For being just so amazing. Being with him is like my happy place, as Phoebe says, and he is my person, to quote Cristina in Grey's. The reason for my insane happiness. Now for the other side of the spectrum. Someone I don't physically know, and yet, have come to know, may be going through more than I can ever imagine. She's incredible, and is strong enough to get through whatever life throws at her, I just know it. Gracie, you can do this shit, okay? Whatever you need, there are people around to throw it in your direction with amazing force. Eloquence seems to have left me amidst my subsequent confusion, but it will hopefully be sitting comfortably in my lap soon. Today ends with prayers, happy thoughts and the confidence that things get worse before they get better. 

Making Ties.

making ties and breaking ties.

It's 10:04, it's Friday, it's 30th May (YES, WHAT? Where did May go?) and I'm screwed in every kinda sense. As I lie on my bed, seemingly the only neutral safe-house in my colossally-messy room. It's like a bomb hit twenty years ago, and the inhabitants just didn't clean up, ever. Holiday clothes are thrown around my four walls with reckless abandon, as if in a desperate attempt of artistic license, rather than the reality; that I'm being a slob.

So, where's my destination? The White Isle, of course. Cue the horrendous attempts to sing along to Vengaboys with alcoholic beverages in our clutches. Ibiza. Take two. It's funny. Last year was my first 'proper' girls holiday, and it's really weird to look back and realise the changes that have occurred. I've never really noticed, but, as I look back, a mere maybe 10 months, the changes appear crystal. My wide-eyed look comes to notice that said changes have crawled sneakily out of the woodwork of my life, and nestled themselves comfortably beside me.

This time last year, I probably could count my ties on one hand. As I was planning a holiday, everything went chaotic, and the strain was too much for some friendships to handle. While some ties were severed, others were made and celebrated. In that sense, I mean, the people I was really close to. The special people in my life. The ones I'd hold onto, not with entwined fingers, but clutched fists. The people I'd walk over broken glass for, run into a burning building to save, ultimately, the ones I was unprepared, and unwilling, to live without. Ten-(ish) months later, my ties are cemented in a truly different pattern. My friends are a different group of people. My close group of friends has expanded, and been truly tested through some bad times, as well as good. My ties seem to be barb-wired, rather than haphazardly flung together with frayed pieces of string.

I also have a really special tie. If it were a real, physical tie, in a suit-and-jacket-kinda-garment, it would be the brightest ever. The jazzy, jokey one. With some crazy pattern all over it, but not verging on garish. It would be the one you'd want to wear all the time, but it was expensive, so you sometimes think it should be kept in a fancy box in which it came. It's silk. It's gorgeous. It's the best fucking tie you've ever owned, and as you run the material through your fingers, the texture excites you in a way that nothing ever has before. It withstands all weathers, it doesn't fray or break. It's a constant. A feature you always want to show off. A tie everyone likes. And moreover, you love it. You love this tie more than anything. You trust this tie. With your life. Your family. Your hopes and dreams. Your tie knows more about you than you know about yourself. Your tie is wrapped in gold and you wear it around your neck with pride. With absolutely everything. Even if it doesn't go with that dress, obviously. It's sewn together with passion you can't even comprehend. But y'know the best thing about this tie? It's all yours.

Reliance.

Allie's back. With a brand new grin.

For her, he was more than just someone to share a smile with, a laugh with or a bed with. More than a figure on her arm, to mention in conversation, or to have as a Plus One when she was invited to a party. More than someone to drunk text, ring at 3am or vent to when she was stressed. Even more than a friend. Even more than someone to be with when everything else in the world got too much. Someone to be silent with. Someone to just be by her side. To hold her hand, or her hair back, or hold her up when she couldn't walk properly; whether it was due to her six inch heels, or blind intoxication. A support system. A lifeline. A crutch. A best friend. A mood-lifter. A helping hand. Her eyes, ears and the lung capacity she would never quite stretch to on her own. Her happy days. The reason for her giggling. The secret confidante. The person who knew all of her (even her secretly freaky things) and never ran a metre, never mind a mile. He put up with her negativity, her outrageous mood-swings, her inability to make a concrete decision, even if it was just a film choice. Someone who she ended up pouring her secrets out to, because why the hell not? He could take it, she was sure whatever crept from her lips, he's shoulders could bare the brunt of. And, she was right. For once in her life, her judgement wasn't skewed. Her friends didn't say "I told you so," instead, looked on with insane grins and admiration. The best decision she ever made was to actually trust her own judgement. Perhaps the only really good decision ever, but she's okay with that. One positive can outweigh any number of negatives. It's all worth it. The demons don't seem so bad when they're buried deep in the past. Reliance isn't so bad after all. In fact, she seems to think it's kind of great. Allie's on top of the fucking world, looking down, and yet, that's not a pessimistic view she takes. She's only short, remember, and looking higher would only strain her neck. But, as I say, Allie's happy. More than that, Allie is so content. She's a very, very lucky girl. And is looking forward to this summer more than ever. Bring it on.

Inside my head.

Long days and longer nights. Sleepy eyes and half-hearted smiles to keep you warm when inwardly, that grin has you glowing. Absence and unity, through a slight touch. That's all it takes. It's electric. Your heart skips three beats instead of one. Your breath isn't ever fully caught around them. You bite your lip, you stifle your laughter for it to burst out when you least expect it and frightens both of you. Every touch and you jump, flinch, draw back, just for a second. It tickles, and yet, it's a wonderful feeling. Catching a gaze, a raised brow, a slight movement and something beneath your ribcage begins to react like you can't even imagine. Someone who makes you happier by just breathing near you, being an arm's length away. Someone to shout at, laugh with and be yourself around. The one person who expects not one, but one hundred drunk texts from you. Every. Single. Weekend.

This is for you, and the ego you claim not to possess. It's mad to me, that notion.  You are entwined with my brainwaves and my body clock. I check my phone for your name every five seconds or three minutes, or every time I wake up. You shouldn't just have an ego, you should have the biggest ego in the world. Or at least, I know you would if you could see inside my head, (as much as you really do get inside my head.) The best thing to ever happen to me, even if now, I find myself trailing off mid-sentence to think about you or something. This doesn't count, evidently. I'm comfortable around you, in a way I've never ever been with anyone. So, I guess you should feel pretty fucking special about that. Where's your ego Lukas? Well, it's hiding in my dark, twisted little mind as far as I'm concerned. A little place reserved for you. My happy place. (yes, my inner Pheebs is calling out, AGAIN.) 

I'm blank when you feel low or are all spent with confidence, because, I don't see you like that. If only you could see yourself through my eyes, I think it'd work wonders. I can't even put it into intelligible words or sentences, because frankly, you fuck with my head (in the best, most intense way possible) so sometimes, yeah, I can't string a thought together. I love that. Honestly, truthfully, undoubtedly, this is the happiest I've ever been. So, those doubts, well, hide them away, or shout them from the rooftops, but they're your own criticisms, not mine, and there's absolutely no need for them. You're none of those things in my eyes; you're my rock and my ego, so fair is fair- I guess I should be at least partly responsible for yours. I can work on that. ;)

Hello Ego. Welcome to my world. You'll fit right in. Trust me.

x

So indecisive, so adamant.

You don't mind me singing badly to Robbie William's greatest hits, or the fact I'm a tad neurotic and very, VERY high maintenance. The fact I can and do, on many occasions, quote Friends in real life situations. My caffeine addiction you seem to accept thoroughly. The way I can't walk past a mirror without checking my hair or touching up my make-up. Your willingness to let me get drunk and show you up, and yet you still pick me up when I fall flat on my face giggling. stop smiling Lukas. The days I don't want to speak, or get out of bed, or smile, and you let me do that if that's what I want. My stupid irrational shopping habits, my ambitious dreams, and my OCD tendencies. Knowing when to leave me alone, and fully understanding that sometimes, I just need to cry and have a massive hug. Knowing I gorge on stupid telly and will end up having an emotional breakdown every time something remotely sad happens in any programme whatsoever. [not that I ever do this, obviously.] You accept me drunk dialing you at 2am, and 3, and five. The fact it takes me about six hours to get ready for a night out. With a face full of make up, or totally bare. Knowing that I will go out every weekend, and moan about my hangover over and over until I can't take it any more. Staying up stupidly late with me because I just can't sleep. Coping with my sarcastic, bitter slurs at times, and banishing all doubts from my mind when I'm feeling really low. Telling me I look amazing, when I feel shit, holding my hand when I'm scared and encouraging me when I'm unsure of something. You are the reason my smile hasn't vanished in 78 days solid. The reason that 2014 is turning out to be one of the best, ever. The reason I wake up smiling and go to bed feeling content.

Gullible.

That's what I am, what I've always been. It's funny, it's silly and everyone gets a laugh out of it every now and again, but sometimes, I hate it. I hate the fact that I believe what I'm told. I'm trusting. I believe the people in my life, whether it's a big or small matter, because I have a tendency to lap up the information I'm given. Oh, and the obvious bit; I trust my people with my life. 

It brands me "blonde" and "hilarious" and just plain "stupid" at times, and I think I just need to give myself a shake. I began writing this piece a while ago, and then stopped, probably because I was hesitant. Until maybe, it doesn't really matter. Until there's someone who likes that part of me, and then, I guess, that's alright too.