I Couldn’t Help But Wonder…

I am currently sitting at my window in rainy Southsea much in the style of Carrie Bradshaw drinking coffee and smoking cigarettes and pondering about my life. Today marks the birthday of my flat, me and her have been together for a whole year now and reflecting back on all we have shared is a whimsical ride down memory lane. First of all there were all the chairs. The flat came furnished by the landlord and in this humble abode by the sea the landlord had left behind three dining chairs, two dinner table chairs and a two seater black leather sofa bed I promptly named Ugly Steve and quickly covered him in leopard print throws. The Chairs moved to my mums shed. I don’t know how many bums the landlord thinks I have but one woman in a one bedroom flat with a living room/kitchen does not need seven chairs.

I have cried a lot in this flat. There was the time I thought I might not stop, days of wailing and sobbing over my broken heart, my emotions pouring out of me like the sea so close by, turbulent and then calm. I grieved so heavily at all the windows, smoking and wishing on stars to feel better, to move on, to let go. I cried when I started feeling better. The loss of my toxic relationship served to highlight a complete loss of my identity. I wished to wake up different, I wished to be who I was. I was an artist, I was a student, I was a hard worker, a girlfriend, a best friend. I had a home and a space to create and the furniture was nicer. As the summer faded so did my ideas of being a previous version of myself. After many incredibly painful months of back and forth conversations that lead to an endless lack of closure from my ex I cut contact (I highly recommend you do this as soon as you feel ready when leaving a toxic relationship, it will save you a lot of heartache later)
Slowly I took Phoebe out on dog walks along the common, my heart with the flowers as she lead the way, my skin soaking in the possibility of being myself again.

It feels like a long time ago I took my tiny puppy out along the common now, her pulling me along to the flower gardens, me obediently following her, her wonder of the world keeping me sane. As the sun went down, so did I. My tears would return, my heart a desolate place. Together we would wrap up in bed, her small body against mine, my arms around her, keeping me safe. I started going to bed at 8pm. It is my true belief now that when you are experiencing loss of any kind it is best to go to bed before the sun and before the rumination can begin. Also you should archive those texts, do not doom scroll. Read a book before bed if you can. Do not stay up late to stroll down memory lane.

Then came The Day Of Rage.

The Day Of Rage was a long time coming. After several dates with several unavailable men, I started to feel furious at my inability to let go of their lack of care when it came to my heart. I started to resent the ghosted texts, the late night ‘thinking of you’ the snapchat cheekiness. I started to feel a boiling rage at my ex messaging me late at night to repent his horrible behaviour only to throw it back at me when I would reciprocate and make amends. After a humble message to a potential suitor to ask about coffee I found myself being ghosted again. And I boiled over. For the next 12 hours carnage consumed me. Ripping and shredding and snot crying overcame my entire body, I desiccated all remnants of my former life. Gifts given by dates, shredded. Photos of my ex torn in two. Fridge magnets from holidays thrown in the bin. Ugly Steve shoved violently from the corner of my living room to the middle ( a sofa I realised after The Day Of Rage I couldn't move without assistance) I cried on the phone to my friends, I swore, I begged and I pleaded with the universe, please let me feel better, new, NORMAL. drawers overturned, beer slung back like a cowboy, cigarettes smoked in the bedroom. I tore the place free of every anchor I had to my past existence. If I could have breathed fire, I would. The Day Of Rage was the most honest I have ever felt about what happened to me. And the results where almost instantaneous. I deleted and blocked the boys. I cut contact with the toxicity. I started breaking patterns (which noone tells you feels deeply like swimming through mud on a stormy day, but steadily becomes easier) I let go of my obligations, I admitted to myself that I was too depressed to do my art, I took a break from my uni studies, I cut my hours back at work. And finally I embraced my current state of mind. I rested. I cried more. Again and again. I held myself accountable for allowing these people into my life and never asking them to leave. Finally I did. And I set myself free.

Slowly as the Autumn crept in I returned to life. I found myself smiling again. I found my laugh again. My value and self worth increased as did my capacity to create. I started to make art again. I started to decorate my home. Flowers began to fill spaces, books began to be read. I drank coffee and listened to The Hunna and Kate Nash and felt myself again. I wore gold pants on nights out and started having movie nights with my friends. Dancing has happened here, so much dancing. Love has happened here. So much love. It is the best thing that I’ve ever done to have this space by the sea. It is expensive and hectic and doesn’t function (the bedroom window hasn’t closed since November and I have had no heating since October) but it is mine. And my heart is all over her. Leopard print throws, patterned mugs, a laptop, no tv, plants EVERYWHERE, mis matched rugs and lamps and books and art, photos of my friends. Clothes, mountains of clothes. Phoebe. This home is mine and I love her.

I lent from my bathroom window recently. The same space I sat last year crying to be different. I lent from her recently and thanked the universe for making it happen. Never before have I felt so capable, so determined and strong. I have struggled here to kept my head above water, my rent has been so high and I have had so little money. My mental health has both survived here and thrived here. I have ridden my bike to food banks, I have cried in the civic offices. I have thanked my world for becoming easier. I have thanked strangers for helping me. I have kissed boys in this flat and felt like a teenager. I have cried on Phoebe and felt every year of 32. I have so much to be so thankful for in this place by the sea.

Today I sat in the council offices. I had received a letter of summons asking me to pay my overdue council tax, I knew it was coming and I waited patiently for my ADHD to find the power to see them, immobilised from fear and depression I found myself here. In the Winter I had done so well to just survive, it has been so crippling, now I see it has been building me. I have been so lucky to have such support from my friends and family. I have rang Samaritain’s so many times, I have them saved as a contact in my phonebook (I feel you should do the same) I have realised there is so much help available and the kindest people often have the least. So today when I sat in the council offices and explained how I came to be in arrears I explained. And as explained I realised through my tears I felt proud. Proud of what I have survived. Proud of keeping my little home over my head. Proud of feeding myself. Proud of keeping my mental health in a somewhat manageable state. Proud of opening myself up to creating again. I cried for the me who endured so much heartache and unwellness. But when I paid my council tax with the kind lady who helped me understand the forms, I felt happy. Because these are all the signs I have made it.

So today in the Springtime birthday of my flat, the springtime birthday of the rebirth of me I understand how much there is to celebrate. I felt emotionally stable. I feel so safe in my home by the sea. I feel like I am returning to my heart again after a long time away. I am embodying where I feel tired and need support, I am admitting I need it. I am looking after my heart and body again. I always thought I would yearn for the me that I was, I realise now its because I didn’t know who I had the promise to be. And I am so happy to be figuring out who that is. I feel so proud of this last year of my life. I feel like its the first year of life, I feel like a baby of the world, and full of curiosity, rest and contentment I am leaning into it. I am ready to nurture this little life of mine. So on my flats birthday (and maybe mine too) I am so proud of you, I am so proud of me.

We made it baby, roll on Springtime.

Until next time babies,

Love Bitsifind

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