If we are going to do this we better do it properly..

“Leaders think and talk about the solutions. Followers think and talk about the problems”- Brian Tracy.

This statement can be perceived as being false however in my situation I can associate with both of them. Deep down I wanted to lead however during my time at University I was so used to following that I lost all sense of reality.

When it comes to tackling insecurities what should you do to get yourself on the right path? Should you stare an insecurity in the face what is the worst that can happen? You will fall on your face perhaps. What if you don’t fall on your face? What if people look at your insecurity and realise that you have more in common than you think? There is the possibility that that will happen but who cares about what people think? I will still have my moments but I’d like to think I am not as bad as I once was.

I thought those very feelings for a vast amount of time however now I don’t care as much as I did at that stage of my life. I was young, naive and allowed people to take advantage of me. In my late teens/early twenties the what if’s took over the I can’s and it was a bitter pill to swallow.

If I could give one piece of advice I would say if you are going to change do it for you. Don’t do it because someone tells you. Do it because you want to.

After reading numerous forums about insecurities/anxiety I noticed the same statements would crop up such as “I did this because my partner wanted me to” or ” I just wanted to keep the peace”. I thought the very same thing when I was younger but that has changed now. I have slowly accepted that you have to be caring about the ones you love but carefree about everything else as they don’t even come close.

Your health and your immediate family should always take priority. Rest assured the more you “keep the peace” and silence your thoughts the more you get into the habit of worrying about others and prioritising them before yourself. You beat yourself up more by keeping your mouth shut than by voicing your opinion.

Moving swiftly on.

The seizures were more frequent and all I felt like doing was sleeping. Convulsions were easier to cope with now than when I was younger as I knew exactly what was coming. The aftermath is harder for me than the seizure itself. This is down to the fact that I am oblivious to having one when they do occur. When I awake the following would have happened;

*Bruises would have come from nowhere
*The occasional vomiting would take place in which I would shortly run to the fridge wanting to raid the entire contents of it
*A swollen tongue
*A migraine that felt like it would never go away
* A teary nature in you apologising for upsetting the people who had to witness the event

What I have identified to be the hardest of all is was that I could control every aspect of my life however this is the one thing I couldn’t and it angered me immensely.

Trying to explain to family was hard as I would break down every single time I would utter the word worry. The elder generation of my family were convinced that I didn’t actually have epilepsy as I was having fits however not as many as most. Ten in an eighteen month period was a lot for me. To this day it still knocks the wind out of your sails.

On occasions part of me agreed with my family. It was only when I returned to the neurologist that my optimism had ran away with me because the epilepsy had never actually gone anywhere. It was like a volcano it remained dormant for a while. Like a pressure cooker there’s only so much it can take before it explodes and then shuts down.

When I was initally diagnosed I was told that the seizures may return as recent studies revealed that epilepsy returned every 7 years. It was known as a “growing thing” a bit like growing pains. This coincidentally would roughly fall in line with my very first mishap.

I returned to the neurologist and remember it like it was yesterday.

The neurologist sat me down pen in toe and asked an erray of questions ranging from past events to more recent behaviours. After careful deliberation my neurologist thought it would be best to start me off on a new type of medication. This medication is what I am currently on and it has been a rollercoaster to say the least however I have continued to percevere and have included it into my routine. Like all medications it’s trial and error. I was told what side effects the medication would bring. Effects such as migraines, sickness and shaking would be a couple to name a few.

The neurologist came across as a generous and approachable man however he could see that I was apprehensive and did his utmost to calm me down. I will always remember the moment in which he would look me in the eyes and run through my diagnosis in an orderly fashion. He made me aware that I could have a long road ahead of me however I didn’t care. This time I believed my neurologist as he cut the bullshit and focused on my current symptoms. Unlike when I was diagnosed I finally got the explanation that I deserved, I trusted this doctor and the fear had miaculously went away.

I walked away from that appointment content and with a six month prescription in my hand. I would be lying to say that I wasn’t nervous from the ofset however I knew that if I wanted to move forward with my life that I would at least have to give this medication a go. Now I was being listened to by someone in the medical profession who actually gave a damn. The way the NHS was going in the early noughties was a disgrace. There wasn’t and still isn’t enough resources to cope with the entire population and I was scared that I wouldn’t get the support I needed should the worst happen.

That very evening I took my medication, gulped down two large tablets with a glass of water and hoped for the best. This was the first time in a long time that I knew I was on the up. Now all I needed to do was to get a job and live my life the way I should have done from the get go. If I was going to do this I was going to do it properly. I best turn that frown upside down 🙂


Decision time.

What shall I do?

Those words sprialled round in my head continuously for two months following the fire alarm seizure. I was petrified they would come back like before and it got to the point where I was no longer interested in the degree I was enrolled to do for three years. All I wanted to do was earn money and spend it. It burned a hole in my pocket and to top it all off the debt was starting to get out of control.

Come to think of it sitting in a room with a mountain of books isn’t for me. I lose concentration easily and I have to actually be interested in something if I want to learn about it. My fellow students were the complete opposite. Their heads were down and they were focused on the task ahead. Me I was interested in getting well and staying strong. On top of that I wanted to make that extra cash. The only way I was going to achieve this was by getting a few extra sales so I could put savings away towards my future. Was I thinking this way to take my mind off my condition? Possibly.

To this day I think university still wouldn’t excite me. Should someone ask me this in ten years time I may give them a different answer. University takes patience and a great deal of time and effort. Me I was just scared of not succeeding.

The strain I was putting myself under was beyond belief and I was sinking fast. All I could think was that the seizures would return with a vengence and I would be on my own. What would happen one day if I had a seizure and I never woke up. I had never had a fit on my own, that was alien to me.

I needed help and the only people I could turn to for help was my family. I had tried for two months to cope on my own putting on a brave face to all involved. My worry whilst making the decision to travel home was that I would have not strived for my childhood goals and that once again the epilepsy would win.

Looking back I’ve realised that it takes more of a person to ask for help than to cope on your own. I think it’s an acalade to be independent and determined however everyone needs help at some stage of their life and it shouldn’t be frowned upon by anyone.

My family repeatedly told me that it showed more courage walking away from something I was never interested in than to continue participating and not being truly happy in the process. I wasn’t prepared to put my family in debt for something I thought I wanted. It took a long time for me to accept that my family are proud of me regardless. I should have known from the start as that has always been the case.

Thoughout my life I thought getting a degree would be the be all and end all. It really isn’t. It’s an achievement but there’s more to life than letters after your name and getting that high power job. It’s about what makes you happy.

I was convinced that the seizures retuning may have been a sign. Maybe they were telling me that university wasn’t for me and that I was destined for something new at home. So I followed my gut and did just that.

I packed my belongings, said goodbye to friends and work colleagues and returned home to the life I had left only this time I wouldn’t just come home to a cuddle and a few wise words from the ones I loved. This time I would have to face the worry of arranging an appointment to see the neurologist again and go through the stressful proceedure of trying various medications to determine what one would be the best for me. The difference between then and now would be that I was ten years older and understood fully what my condition was.

The relief was overwhelming when I returned home. The only downside was that I felt a failure. For years I had convinced myself that I was going to get the degree my parents never got and that I was going to do what all people aspire to want for themselves.

I wanted to be successful, comfortable and have a stable life. All I needed now was to face up to this insecurity and tackle it head on. So I decided that I was going to do it differently I wanted a new job and I wanted to be proud of myself again whether the seizures continued or not. Before I could face looking for work I had to face the neurologist first..

I have to see this through..

The way I see it if you want the rainbow you’ve gotta put up with the rain.- Dolly Parton.

Nowadays I ask myself the very question. If the garden was always rosy then there would be nothing to strive for, no goals to achieve. It’s right in what people say you have to take the rough with the smooth, it’s only then that you truly appreciate what you have.

One month into my university stint and I was laughing on the outside but doubtful on the inside.

I had a part time job, was attending the “majority” of my lectures and was now in about £1000 worth of debt. Apart from the debt aspect of it I was convincing myself that everything was as it should be. I adored my job as I was working part time in a beauty shop selling all I could to the British public. It would be safe to say that I enjoyed it more than the actual degree itself.

As mentioned in my last post the inevitable happened. The seizures returned and it wasn’t pretty in fact it was rather embarrassing when they did come back.

The night the seizures recommenced was at 3am one Friday morning. The entire dormitory was summoned to stand outside as the fire alarm had gone off due to some drunken halfwit setting the toaster alight.

All I remember from that incident was that I ran outside in my pyjamas and dressing gown. The other items I chose to pick up was my key, purse and of course my mobile phone (as you do). The next minute I was lying in bed with all my friends telling me that I was lifted on a stretcher by a paramedic, turned upright with straps holding me together and some sort of blanket over my upper face that resembled a mask.

“No word of a lie you looked like Hannibel Lecter, god are you ok? We didnt know what to do so we called for an ambulance. We called home and your parents are on their way” my friend shouted. Bless her I got the impression she thought that I had lost my hearing while convulsing. I had to explain to her that I had only lapsed for about five minutes and assured her that I would be fine.

I didn’t know what to digest first the fact that my entire body was bruised from me hitting the floor fitting or the fact I made a complete arse of myself having a seizure in front of the entire student dormatory before being carted off like fucking Hannibel Lecter. I was mortified. Thank god none of my friends didn’t capture that on camera. What a sight! For those who have never been fortunate enough to see the 90’s classic Silence of the Lambs Hannibel Lecter was a cannibal held in prison for eating numerous human body parts. Brilliant eh? I was associated with that for all of 5 minutes!!

Before long the parents arrived and I felt safe. Safe and happy that they were here. I felt horrendously bad. My family had come all this way, I had upset my friends and all because of this damn condition.
How many more people would I upset? As what happened in all seizures I would cry and try to piece together the time I had lost where I couldn’t remember anything.

All of my seizures consist of remembering the last thing before you fit and the first thing when you regain some normality. After every one you keep on thinking to yourself did I get a trigger this time? What had I eaten? Was I stressed about anything that would force these to come back? It didn’t matter how much I would analyse the situation, I wasn’t satisfied. The answers weren’t there and I was frustrated.

My parents were concerned about me throughout my time at university. Everytime I was feeling a little low they would utter the same words ” Well you can always come home if you want”. I think the seizure was the icing on the cake for them. They wanted to do what parents do comfort their child and ensure them that it’s not all bad.

I was adament I was going to stay so I told them that I wanted them to return back home and I’d be in contact soon. Irrespective of them returning I was going to continue as normal. And so I did.. for now.

New city, New me.

On a daily basis the words “Bring on the new me” would come rushing into my head.

It’s a bit like every Monday morning when you promise you are gonna eat healthily but you still manage to convince yourself that eating that little bit of chocolate won’t effect the diet. Deep down you know that once you start eating unhealthily that’s it till the following Monday. If you are going to do it do it properly. Take small steps and see what the outcome is. If you want something bad enough you can (within reason) make it happen.

I wanted to change; I wanted to make it happen. I wanted to be the person I was before the seizures arrived. I was sixteen years of age and I felt that I hadn’t lived my life to the fullest as I was hiding behind my condition. I was raring to go. The seizures had disappeared two years previous as had the medication and I wanted to focus my life on something other than worry.

I was never academically bright however managed to walk away from my GCSE’s unscathed to get into college where I channeled my love of drama into everyone else’s lives. I got by and that was enough for me. My family were extremely proud. If they were happy with my accomplishments then I had to be.

There’s always been a part of me eager to throw myself into a new challenge however the other side of me had the worry that I would never succeed. Concerns would arise the more apparent being the failure to succeed the other being the worry of taking unwell when I was at my strongest. Why do people feel this way? In my situation was this my new way of thinking? It has only been until relatively recently that I have managed to programme my mind differently and to realise that you can only try your best. If it isn’t good enough then you have given it a damn good go. If you haven’t then the only person you are letting down is yourself.

Before I knew it I was en route to University. Like all students I was absolutely shitting myself at the idea that I was going to be alone,meeting new friends and living a completely different life. New city new me perhaps?

Settling in was easy and meeting new friends wasn’t as hard as I thought. In fact the girls I did meet were extremely nice. We had one hell of a time enjoying ourselves as teenagers did. The only difference being is that I felt I was different. I wanted to have the care free lifestyle my friends gave the impression they had. In my eyes something was holding me back.

Had my epilepsy done this to me? What was stopping me? Why do I give a shit about this. It’s gone. I’ve grown out of it. So why am I bothered?

One morning I woke up and thought Fuck it I am going shopping, and by gosh I did.

In times of worry your mind can play dreadful tricks on you. You will do absolutely anything to take your mind off it. So there I was standing in the middle of the city centre had just blown £500 on a credit card and was carrying so many bags that my arms were red raw.

What the hell did I do that for? To have a little bit of short term happiness. I had convinced myself that if I was gonna change and was going to do it correctly then I had to look the part, hence the new clothes.

Shortly after I uttered these very words something from my past would rear it’s ugly head..

When it’s good it’s exceptionally good and when it’s bad it’s ugly.

Times were changing. Apart from buying an outfit or going out on a family outing things were pretty crap behind closed doors. I was doing well at school however never felt complete as I was worrying twenty four seven.

Can you imagine worrying twenty four seven about absolutely nothing? Looking back it makes me wonder why I got myself so upset for so long? Looking back I think worry is worse than epilepsy. With epilepsy you have no control but with worry you have. It’s your choice.

My fear was was that I was turning into my condition and had lost my entire identity. I was trying to be someone I wasn’t. Who was I? I was this bubbly girl who whined every now and again but what was I becoming?

To this day I constantly ask the question; why are people so critical with themselves? Why can’t we just accept that some questions cannot be answered they are just there. My heart goes out to so many people who feel that they are not good enough. There are so many different people out there. Nobody’s perfect. Rest assured that’s true.

My parents tried their best to understand but they couldn’t experience what I was going through.

The slight glimpse of positively turned to negativeity. To everyone else I acted normal but to myself I turned into a completely different person. On occasions I would be so insecure that I didn’t know how to handle situations properly and when I failed to make the right decision I blamed my epilepsy for putting me in those positions. Instead it wasn’t the condition it was the way I handled having it was the problem.

I hit my teenage years, I had the usual ups and downs however never fully embraced the positive aspects of my life. I got angry very easily and didn’t appreciate the times when I was seizure free. To my parents I would smile everytime they would talk about the fits not being as frequent and always hoped that they would miraculously disappear. Specialist appointments diminished slightly and I had more time to think. On the outside I was overjoyed on the inside not so much. In my eyes I turned into this worrier because of my condition and I didn’t like it.

Four years had passed and I became seizure free.

My medication had reduced drastically and I was feeling normal. The condition was on my mind constantly from the moment I woke up from the last thought before I went to bed. It was exhausting, however I knew there must have been something I was doing right to go so long without a seizure.

What was happening? Was I cured? If I was cured how the hell am I gonna tackle this worry? When is the real me coming back?

But I’ve done everything right..

Shortly after the first batch of problems came the second and by gosh it was one that I was never to forget.

At school I was one who liked to keep herself to herself. Don’t get me wrong I had friends who I’d play out with and have a giggle with but overall I enjoyed going to primary school and keeping my head down. I was a great lover of history. Swot as I was I thoroughly enjoyed learning something new and telling the family about it when they would ask “How’s school been, what have you learned today?”

This changed when I went into senior school. Should I relive primary or senior school I would opt for the first option. My teachers were fully aware of my condition as were my entire family. They knew what to do if I had a seizure and were extremely supportive.

I had a friend at school who shall remain nameless however had the same condition as me. Her seizures were far worse than mine. My friend and I were laughing uncontrollably, before I knew it my friend hit the ground and I was responsible for putting her in the recovery position and calling a teacher before the teacher arrived. What came over me and how I got the strength to move her I never know. Everyone says that in times of need you get this illusive strength that cannot be explained. You just do what you have to do.

She was my friend and I wanted to help her. The one downside to offering that help was later when I returned home from school I immediately started vomiting and crying. I was told by my teacher that this was the side effect of helping her as it was a scary experience to witness. I was afraid. I was afraid because I knew from discussion that she had the same type of seizures as I did. She went blue in the face, her body shook uncontrollably and she foamed at the mouth. My fear was that I did that. Is that what my family really have to watch? Are they scared? Let’s put it this way I could relate to my friend and family all in the same breath as I had experienced them both.

A few days later my friend came back to school and I told her what had happened. She gave me a cuddle and we resumed as normal joking in class and having a laugh in our dinner hour.

Two days later this happened to me only this time I was in a toilet with the door locked. I overheard the teachers telling my parents that a couple of older children had to pull me from underneath the toilet door to get to me as I had locked the door from the inside. I had scratches all down my face, I had been groaning trying to get breath into my lungs. The girls were scared because as they didn’t know what was the matter with me. They pulled me out and found me with blue lips and my eyes rolling into the back of my head. I never blamed those girls for moving me (we shouldn’t be moved when having a seizure) but I was so grateful that they were there. I thanked them personally a few days later when I returned to school. I didn’t have the foggiest who I was but they now knew me as “The girl in the toilets who had a wobbler”.

Like before the questions came… What on earth had I done wrong? I thought my specialist had told me that this medication would keep my fits at bay so how come I was having one so soon? Like the Dr’s ordered it was bedrest for me. Mind you I did sleep for 15 hours after that incident.

I didn’t want to go back to school and I was reluctant to go into those toilets after that happened however knew that if I didn’t this “thing” would have won. So I chose the one thing I thought I could ever do. I went back to two weeks previous thought of those girls on that hospital ward and decided that I needed to think like them.

I wanted that positive outlook and for a brief moment I did. I may have this condition but I’ll be damned if I let it beat me… Let the games begin.

Appointments are giving me a headache..

My last two posts have given you an idea as to how it all began. The remainder will give you a proper insight as to how times changed considerably and how all who were involved had to change their lives to accomodate with this condition.

The years 1993-95 were without doubt a bloody nightmare!

I had been diagnosed with Epilepsy grand mal seizures to be precise. I didn’t have the foggiest what they were and why they wanted to come into my life. In my eyes it was all thanks to those Jammie dodgers!

I was fortunate that I didn’t have them on a daily basis however was informed by the Dr that I would get no warning signs and would need at least 48 hours to receover from each episode. I would also (like many others with the same condition) have to be trialed on various prescribed epileptic medication that I would be expected to take three times a day. I would continue with this ritual till they found “the one” I was also told that this medication would “keep fits at bay” and would help with everyday life.

During this time of my life I had more hospital appointments than I had hot dinners and was juggling attending school with visiting relatives and spending time with friends. Trying to understand what epilepsy is is so complex because you are always second guessing as to when the next seizure is going to hit you. The majority of the time I never thought I would actually be able train my mind to think differently. To be brutally honest with you I don’t think the Dr’s actually got to grips with my condition till I was a little older.

I met a significant amount of people who I found to be inspiring, caring and very loving some were older than me others the same age. Whilst on the hospital ward I met up with a few girls who had epilepsy far longer than I had and were coping extremely well. How on earth did they cope? How did they manage to maintain a positive outlook on life when they were having seizures every day?

They made me smile and to be honest I didn’t want to leave them as I was afraid that once I did I would have to cope with this on my own. Secondly if I did have another seizure I’d be straight back in that hospital bed with my family walking on egg shells again. Mind you I was thinking I might get a new pair of rollerblades as I got a mountain bike the last time! On a serious note I didn’t want to burden my family with that worry again. I hoped the seizures I had was a one off and that I wouldn’t ever have to put my family through that again.

So.. The medication started. Three times a day. It wasn’t a large dose but it was enough to give me a headache. I was never one who got a headache, I gave everyone else a headache by talking too much but never was one who actually got them. As a child I loved to dance and have a daft joke on with everyone I knew. I would jump up and down on my bed and dance in front of the mirror pretending to be my favourite singer. It was only when I was diagnosed that that changed slightly and I became a lot more intreverted. The worry had offiically sunk in.

Within two minutes of dancing my mother would come running up the stairs.

“Are you ok flower, I thought you were fitting” she’d say.

“No mam I’m fine, just mucking around. If there’s a problem I’ll give you a shout!”

This same statement would come out of my mam’s mouth for a further 15 years till I moved out and moved in with my husband. The more I think about it now how on earth would I have known that I was having a seizure? I got no warning signs! I don’t even know I’ve had one till I wake up.

Every single time there was a clatter or a louder noise that she was unfamiliar with she would peep her head round the door asking if all was well. As much as it pissed me off when I was younger her doing that it portrayed to me that she meant well and I loved her for it. It must have been so difficult for my mam us living on our own, her working full time and having that constant worry of her daughter coping with a condition that as a parent she couldn’t control.

Then two weeks later it happened again. We were back to square one.

What’s the matter with me?

In July 1993 an event would happen that would change the dynamics of my life forever. I would have not one but five epileptic seizures all at once. Not only did my body have to endure this but I also had to face having paralysis down my left hand side till I regained consciousness.

Ever since I was born I was never a girl to have a “lie in” I would always be awake sitting downstairs watching TV, reading books, writing stories and eating chocolate. I was notorious for eating a biscuit known in the UK as “The Jammie Dodger” a biscuit with a jam heart in the centre. I would eat two packets at a time and flush this down with a large glass of pepsi. As silly as it sounds I think it’s only now that I can eat jammie dodgers without having the fear of being unwell,

I never put weight on so as far as I was concerned I would eat a packet at a time and was perfectly fine. I would only do it when my mother wasn’t there as I knew fine well she would tell me off for eating too many.

On this warm Sunday morning I sat there in my pyjama’s watching a children’s TV channel when my nana came into the living room.

“Are you eating another packet? I’d be careful you’re gonna be sick. I don’t want you eating them to put you off your sunday dinner mind” my nana said.

My response whilst rolling my eyes was “No nana I’m ok I am feeling fine”. Then the inevitable happened. As predicted I was sick. Afterwards I lay on the sofa for a sleep to gain back any energy I had lost.

It was only when I woke up two days later that I realised that I was lying in a hospital bed, my family either side of me. I had two machines around me, my arm was bruised, my head was bruised and my tongue had been bitten. This was not normal. I knew this was definitely nothing I had experienced before and it scared me.

I woke up in tears and to say the following “Mam what on earth am I doing in hospital? Is dinner ready yet?” I’m starving. Nothing ever cured me like my nana’s mashed potato and yorkshire puddings.

In tears my mam said “No flower dinner isn’t ready, you’ve been asleep for a while but you are going to be ok” My dad then jumped in gave me a cuddle and said “You scared us all but the doctor said you are gonna be fine, we will explain more later”

Before long my gran stepped in ” Your grandad and I have bought you a mountain bike”

What? A mountain bike? How come? Everyone stood around me looking scared like they were walking on egg shells and I didn’t know why.

What the hell! Why was I given this preferential treatment? I’d only been sick for crying out loud.

Before I knew it questions were whizzing through my head. Explain what? Yeah I was sick, but how did I end up in hospital? What had actually happened to me? Is someone going to give me the explanation I deserve?

Shortly after I regained consciousness a doctor sat on the edge of the bed.

“Are you feeling ok now? You gave us all a fright but I assure you; you will be right as reign in no time. Do you know where you are? I need to tell you that you have had an epileptic seizure do you know what epilepsy is?”

“No doctor” I replied.

He continued by saying “It’s nothing to worry about it’s just when your body shuts down, you shake for a little and then you have to rest”

“We will chat soon, I will be round to check up on you later”. The checkup came but the discussion didn’t. It was up to my parents to explain this to me fully and to do it on their terms. Even to this day I don’t know how they explained it to me without crying.

My family never left my side. My mam was given a bed to sleep in for the eight days I was in hospital. I don’t think I have ever drunk as much blackcurrant juice! I made friends, undergone a vast amount of testing including an brain scan and an EEG. It became the norm having electrodes attached to your head monitoring your brainwaves. You look silly and you don’t know where to look. Your head’a all over the place.

As much as this has an element of humour, it was a daunting experience for all. It was only when I left hospital that the real journey began..

Here we go..

I’m a 27 year old female who is in the process of accepting herself; however it’s not always been easy. This is my first blog so please bare with me…

Over the course of the past twenty years I have done nothing but worry. It’s only now after overcoming numerous obstacles that I am in a place where I can document these worries and see if any others can associate with me. One of the obstacles being that I have a medical condition called Epilepsy.

It’s taken a long time to accept that I have the condtion and I’ve got to the point where I’m now gradually moving forward and not allowing it to dominate my thought pattern.

This blog isn’t an attempt to receive any form of sympathy just to share past-times and to write about general topics. I write the way I talk. Sometimes it’s the best way. It’s more intimate and that’s the way I like it.

When it comes to fashion I’m a typical woman all the way. I love spending money on clothes and beauty products and thoroughly enjoy dolling myself up. My manerisms at times are extremely daft and I ain’t gonna lie I have a good few of them. I do however have moments where I act like a fella. I am partial to the occasional steak and ale pie, enjoy a pint of guinness and put on football bets every Saturday with my nearest and dearest. Unfortunately these bets always go “Tits up” however it doesn’t stop me from doing the same thing all over again the following week. I’d be a fool to say I didn’t enjoy it.

Everything I blog about is true to form. I’m not going to lie a great deal of things annoy me so there will be the occasional swear word in here. I appreciate some may feel that it’s “not ladylike” to swear but what can you do? So here we go…

Up until recently my aim was always to prove others wrong and to show everyone what I was made of. I would like to say that I have had a relatively happy childhood, my parents ended their relationship when I was four years old and like all children it effected me badly. My parents were never married and were in their early twenties when I arrived, they were also in their early twenties when their relationship ended. They loved each other however knew as they grew older it just wasn’t meant to be.

My relationship with my family has always been a strong one, this relationship you will hear more of as the posts continue. Don’t get me wrong you love your family but you don’t always have to like them.

My parents have always maintained a positive attitude when I was involved and have always had a very close friendship that as I have grown older has been very comforting. Very few understand the relationship as a family unit we have. On occasions people have asked questions such as “Isn’t it not uncomfortable your parents being in the same room” or “How does that setup work?” To others it’s strange but to me it’s normal. In today’s climate it’s very rare that a family can come together in that fashion .I cannot thank them enough for keeping me together. I love my parents dearly and I’d be lost without them. Anyway enough of that let’s start from the very beginning.

My very first memories of my childhood consisted of living on a council estate with my mam who did her utmost to provide for me the best she could. The remaining time was spent with my dad and his side of the family. It would be specific members of the family who would teach me the lifestyle choices I have had to make when I got older.

The two main people who have always given me that stability was my grandparents. Combined with my parents contribution my grandparents made it their priority to teach me what I needed to be taught. They loved me like their own daughter and provided for me in a way I couldn’t have imagined, not necessarily in a materialistic way but taught me manners, how to behave in front of adults and to understand right from wrong. Throughout my life they have been the rock when the going get’s tough and have always listened to me when I was feeling a little lower than usual. To this day I listen to my grandmother every Tuesday over the same bar of chocolate and can of Pepsi. She makes me smile and I cannot thank her enough for being there and giving me that childhood.

It was only when I was eight years old that things started to change…