February 14 2011 – my first real Valentine’s Day. *vomits from that whole cutesy grossness*
And I really mean, I finally had someone to celebrate with. Not one of those awkward ones where you do something for the guy you like and they just end up laughing at you (yeah, true story).
MOVING RIGHT ALONG.
Man piece wouldn’t tell me where we were going or what we were doing, which concerned me a little. There were rumours floating around twitter that he was taking me to a Data Centre.
Sure, that’s HIS idea of a hot date. Frankly, it’s not mine and would have resulted in a swift kick to nether regions.
Lucky for him, it wasn’t a Data Centre. He took me to the Observatory up the tram.
But I’m more going to use this post as a sort of reflection of the last few years, because for me, there has been quite a turn around of events.
This is the time where I should put in a warning that if you’re sensitive about anything or tend to burst in to tears for no particular reason you should probably stop reading or not read this when someone else is in the room. Oh and possibly have tissues ready or something like that.
Three years ago, I had a fairly epic break down. It just happened to be on the 14th. Nothing particularly to do with that day, just happened like that.
I had been diagnosed with depression about six months earlier and hadn’t really done anything about it. I’d just kept going on as per usual. But this particular day, I was stressed to the max because summer school was finishing and I was trying to organise the next semester and working too.
It was a fight with one of my best friends (and flatmates at the time) that was the catalyst to my break-down. Absolutely nothing to do with her, it was just wrong place, wrong time. I love her to bits.
Anyway, I ended up trashing my room. Literally trashing it. Throwing things around it, breaking things, completely stripped the sheets of my bed and pushed the mattress off it and ripping up uni notes. I don’t even know why I did it. I just knew I had to do something and that was what I did. It was also the first time I cut myself. I just felt I needed to feel something, anything and that helped.
It was @LittleIchiban that ended up helping me through that night. She sat there with me, just letting me cry (with my arm bleeding, superficial, but still) and finally I knew I couldn’t put my friends through what I had been putting them through. That night was when I finally decided to try and turn my life around.
It’s now been three years. Three very long years, but I can finally say I’m me. I’m happy. I’m “normal” (whatever normal is).
I still had my ups and downs and it wasn’t really until the last year that I started to make progress. But these things take time and I took mine and I’m better off for it.
And because I did, I know have an awesome Man Piece to enjoy, not only Valentine’s Day, but every day with. #OMGCHEESE *vomits*
One thought on “VD and not the disease or the TV programme.”
Aww nice work J!! I so would have punched him in the ovaries if taken to the Data Centre too… heheGlad you had a happy V Day missy! :)And it's always best to ask for help when you're not happy – no point suffering!!
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