Dipping your toes in.

The way to my heart is through the neck of a vodka bottle, the gap between the front door and the local pub, my lips and a cup of black coffee at 6 in the morning, the soles of my shoes and the northern concrete, the space between me and you, the time difference between Newcastle and New York City, the thud of our heartbeats and the next touch of skin on skin. The feel of a fresh, crisp twenty in my hands, hot cookies, the smell of real leather on my shoulders and around my ankles, perfume that makes you remember something distant, the instant photos taken in a drunken haze, the screamed words and bitter slurs. The sticky mark left on the bar when the tequila runs dry, the murky puddle when the sun isn't quite out, the cold cup of coffee, the downpours, the black eyeliner and burgundy lipstick, the expensive dress only worn once, the paper shopping bags that are overfilled, the six inch heels that hardly ever see daylight, the bitten down nails, the karaoke music, the cheesy grins and the psychotic rages. The hearty laughter, the constant Friends repeats, the silly cravings and the mental notes, the feeling when you open a new book and the spine cracks a little. OCD tendencies, memorable quotes and sitting on curbs having tipsy conversations. The first breath you take when you're waking up and become aware of it, the summery daze drinking pints in beer gardens, the last words in your favourite song, the first time you meet someone, and the last time you feel alone. 

"I want to write."

The answer I always give every time a friend, relative or stranger asks me what I want to do with my life. My response causes multiple reactions, but the one I've come to recognise perfectly is this; the vague look, the confused creases at the side of your mouth, eyes darting from side to side, and then hover somewhere over my shoulder as to avoid my gaze altogether. "Oh.." someone mutters, as if I've gave a response that did not fully answer the question that was put forward. "What, like books and stuff?" Yet again, the gaze is bored, disinterested. It's as if my answer has put each and every individual way out of their comfort zone. I mean, don't get me wrong, there are people who are supportive of my goal, but I know it's kind of met with a bit of resentment. I know fine well my grandparents would feel a lot more comfortable telling their friends that I was studying Law or something at university, or that I wanted to be a teacher. "A writer? That's not exactly a career." Well, I beg to differ. I've been shot down a thousand times, told I'm not putting myself out there enough, and simply being far too narrow-mindedly ambitious expecting such a naive career prospect to spark from a few dreamed-up scribbles. But I really, honestly, hand-on-heart, indignant face expression worn, don't care. If you don't try, you'll never know. That's how I feel. Writing is my only passion in life, and I'd rather shoot myself in the foot than channel my literature degree into teaching. (I'm not slating this choice, I just know very well that this path would not be for me, as I'm just not that way inclined.) With a severely open mind, a brand spanking new pen at my disposal, and some fresh ideas on the horizon, I've started writing creatively for the first time in ages. Maybe it's because I've finally realised that it's something I want to pursue, regardless of what other people think of it. It's like, I know I can write. It sounds silly and somewhat overconfident, but I can. In the same way that I am aware of my weaknesses, I also know my strengths, and that one of my biggest strength lies in my ability to write. Getting my words down, on screen or paper, is important to me. I want to be heard, I want my writing to be read and acknowledged. Even if it's hated, great. Brilliant in fact. After all, I always think there's a reason behind loving or hating a piece of writing. If I hate something, it's kind of a positive. Maybe it's a personal belief, a wrong sense of style or something totally different, as long as my writing has affected someone in some way, I'm happy. I've been blogging for around 9 months now, and I've come across many other talented writers along the way; Gracie, Hannah, Lucy and Amy, to name just a few. Blogs I follow constantly, admire and react to. I learn from them and try to adapt and change my writing with everything I discover. So, if you're reading this, send me a message. Send me your blog URL in a comment here, or probably more appropriately, on twitter: www.twitter.com/eleanorward_ If you've got something to say, write or shout about, I want to hear it! 

X

She said.

She said she'd never get upset because of him again. She said she'd spent her tears a while ago, and she couldn't cry any more. She wouldn't let herself hurt like this, because it was so damn exhausting. But as Allie found herself curled up in a ball, wrapped tightly in her duvet, biting back those all so familiar bitter tears, her heart just sank. A kind of sinking that made her feel like she'd never be happy again, she'd never smile or laugh or have fun and genuinely mean it. There would always be a niggling in the back of her mind. That thing. Remembering the way she felt and how stupid she'd been. It had been okay. A tough few weeks, but she'd made it through. She picked herself up even when she never thought she would be able to. After crumbling, after everyone around her asking "are you okay?" Eventually, obviously, she caved. 

"No," she said, shaking her head a bit too vigourously, as to not show her teary eyes, "no, I'm not okay." Words she had bitten back so many times before events came flooding out, and with them, a sigh of relief. She had been brave enough to admit she was wrong, and even to be honest about it all. The strong one, as she was known, wasn't meant to crumble under all of this upset, but she did. She sure as hell frightened a few people when she did it too. Faces of friends were a picture. All staring open-mouthed, as if what was happening in front of them seemed to disrupt their entire belief system. Maybe it did, she didn't know. So, she'd done all that. The hateful rage, the resentment, the harsh tears, the sleepless nights, the stress, the anguish, and came out of the other side, smiling and laughing and displaying genuine signs of happiness. How was she to know that it was all just too good to be true? It was only a temporary ceasefire. The smile of hers would soon fade. So soon. So out of the blue. 

He was there, the one night she just needed a break from everything. The one relaxing night she'd allowed herself in months, and he just happened to show up, unannounced. A smug look on his face, as if he was totally oblivious. He couldn't be. He wasn't blind to the trouble he had caused, and even if he chose to believe that, the elephant in the room was ever-expanding. Awkward glances were exchanged, people shuffled around uncomfortably, a tell-tale sign that they knew too. This wasn't supposed to be like this, they weren't supposed to see each other like this. There was nothing clean cut about it. Nothing at all. It was painfully awkward. Her smile faded into a crumpled sort of expression she tried so hard to fight back and failed to do so miserably. It was obvious. She spent the next few hours hovering around slowly, avoiding his gaze, trying not to get upset, annoyed or pissed off, when of course she was all three. 

"It's not fair, you being here," she thought to herself. "It's not fair that as soon as I'm okay again, you somehow walk back on the scene and expect me to be okay with it? I'm not okay with it! I'm less than okay with it, I'm not even sure I know how to cope with it." 

Her mouth went dry, her cheeks a crimson shade of embarrassment and humiliation. She had never felt so small, so meaningless, as she had been made to feel just then. She fought off the impulse to just grab her coat and head for home. Instead, she vowed to enjoy herself. It was going to be an uphill battle, admittedly, but she refused to give him the upper hand yet again. He may have broken her, but she wasn't giving him the satisfaction of knowing that. After all, nothing is irreparably broken. 

Allie: reloaded.

Allie is smiling genuinely for the first time in ages. She's surrounding herself with people who truly deserve her company and loving every minute of it. She's getting more confident every day and realising that if she doesn't start and take risks, she'll never know what the world has in store for her. She's closer to her family now, and is a suitable distance away from her friends. She has realised that sometimes, even the people who are supposed to love you the most are the ones who wield the most bitter slurs, but that's okay. In time, anyway. Allie respects herself and knows what she is worth and what she truly deserves from people, as well as from life. Her passion is stronger than ever and her determination is back in full-force. Her dreams are just on the horizon and she's going to try her best to achieve them. And finally, Allie has learned not to fight for people who are ready to walk out of her life, instead she will happily hold the door open for them as they leave.