I'm back, bitch

Literally could not think of a better title for this post. 

I need it. I miss it. I started this blog over a decade ago. Last time I posted was over six years ago. 

Christ. Shall we recap?

In a nutshell, since the last post, we:

- Graduated university with a very reasonable 2:1

- got over the breakup with Lina, and moved to South London with my mother - where I started bartending, writing a book about bartending, and losing a lot of weight, and eventually found A

- moved in with A, who was a complete shit, and a junkie. Turned into a junkie myself. No, I mean, really. I developed quite the serious speed problem in my twenties, which I'm still paying for. (Thanks, Dr. Dude who gave me all that Ritalin while I was at university!)

- got pregnant (not planned. Awful. Horrible. Scarring! Abortion, cheating partner, followed by a second abortion cause the first one didn't work - lost my health and became chronically ill) 

- slept with a fuck ton of men and women, most of whom were deeply terrible for me

- became a primary school teaching assistant, but speed addiction and health issues meant having to come clean to my mother and quit the job to sort myself out 

- ran away to LA to recover, met R on the precipice of the pandemic, a funny Californian hippy who I really loved, but was ultimately quite a useless bloke and then in the end a really shitty bloke. Surprised? No, me neither.

- got a masters in creative writing, graduating in one year with a first and a published book under my belt (not bad for a manic depressive drug addict!!) while also getting to know my half-sister and handling the aforementioned Californian with kid gloves over zoom

- began an affair with a married man which may or may not still be slightly going on. Moved in with Cara

- found out my mother had stage 3 lymphoma (that was a less than ideal one). R couldn’t handle it, we ended 

- suffered yet another horrible depression, quite reasonably, but have worked really hard to deal with it and am now in probably the most stable place someone like me could possibly be. I write, and I sell books for a living (shit pay but I am waiting for the big break). I have friends and prospects. I have a future. I am moving into my own flat in a matter of weeks, with my name on the lease.  

In all this time, my weight has spanned the breadth of an almost 70-lb range. I've been 140 at my lowest (whilst bartending and speeding at 25) and 210 at my highest (right before I turned thirty). 

Now I'm 201 and yes, you heard that right, I'm thirty, and we're going to be starting this all over again. Broke, overweight, life not without its stresses - but a hell of a lot happier (and smarter) than I used to be.

There was a clear set of reasons why my body gained the weight, and ultimately, I forgive those reasons. But this is about a new (old) chapter. Going back to basics. Making myself accountable again. Giving myself the body I deserve after all the shit that's happened to me. Taking care of business. Accepting what's come has come and gone, that it's in the past, that it's about moving forward now. Becoming fucking brilliant. 

-- Maple oats (180)
-- Ham and mustard sandwich (270)
-- Gummy bear (5)
-- Sausage (90)
-- Savoy cabbage, sauteed with chorizo and garlic butter (350) 

Total (895)