Writing

Here’s the thing with me writing – I love to do it when I can make time for it, but more often than not I don’t make time for it. Not even when a module on my degree is dedicated to writing reflective journals.

But sometimes I have an overwhelming need to write, such as nights like these: where it is cold; and my room is a mess; and I am borderline sick from eating too much Chinese food. I’m also single with not many friends left after the 4 years I have spent in University; and looking forward to having the quietest weekend to myself that I have had since I started my final year in September. In summary, I am cold (in all senses of the word), and alone (mentally).

I’ve spent the best part of 2 years in a messy break-up, running away from my ex and all the problems we/I had/have. I’ve been on this endless road to nowhere and I have come too far to turn back. I was going to say that I am lost, but no – I am not lost. I am still on a path, I just need to find a new direction and one day, a destination?

Yesterday, on my way to University, I noticed a girl wearing a gorgeous dark green jacket and I remembered I used to have one just like it. For a second I compare our outfits, I wonder how clear it must be that I literally threw on the first things I could see when I woke up: a pair of black textured 3/4 leggings, a pink jumper and a small black jacket. Then I am picturing the figure beneath my clothes. How the last 3 years of drinking, take-away’s, sitting at desks and laying-in have taken me from a size 4 to a size 10. Suddenly I am asking myself “When did you stop giving a shit?”

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