To You, from AKA Nicky

I want to start this off by saying hello to you.

I feel a little bit out of the loop here because you know so much about me, but I know nothing about you except that Dolly thinks very highly of you. You’ve been here for her throughout this whole blogging journey, you’ve been on-hand to deliver advice as well as to tell her what an absolute “cockwomble” I am at times. (You were SO right, by the by. And what a great word.) So yes, I wanted to say hello before I begin.

Around two weeks ago Dolly told me all about her blog, her Twitter and why she had decided to remain anonymous throughout the whole experience. I won’t lie, it was a lot to take in at once. I was more freaked out by the fact that she had managed to compile such a vast amount of blog posts without me even noticing. I learned that I’m not the most perceptive person in the world. Any how, I asked Dolly if I could write to you because after reading through everything, I kind of owe it to you. You’ve been a big part of her life for so long so you deserve some closure, you deserve some answers.

When I first met Dolly we were in the elevator in work, it was my first day and I was drenched from head-to-toe. She was the first person I saw when I pulled up in to the car park; I remember thinking to myself that she was very beautiful and hoped that she was going to be working close by. She was a little bit shorter than I was, even in her heels. Her pale skin was dewy from the rain and her dark hair was clinging to the exposed flesh of her chest (yes, I looked) and she was out of breath from the dash to grab the elevator. I don’t know if she could feel me glancing at her in between floors — if she did, she hid it well! I was beyond gutted when she got off on the floor below mine but I promised myself that I’d find out her name at least. It was a couple of weeks later that we ended up working together when she was promoted. I became her manager which had hindered my chances at getting to know her personally even more than a floor between us. But hey, the Christmas party was coming up so maybe I’d loosen up a little after a few drinks.

Loosen up, I did.

She arrived around 45 minutes late to the pub we were all in and I felt myself get so nervous when she came to stand next to me. I had no clue what to say so I ordered more drinks. We all went up to dance and that’s when I felt like it was time to speak to her. I asked if she was having a good time, if she wanted another drink and eventually if she wanted to come over and sit at our table. She was wearing this amazing striped, tight dress that hugged her in all of the right ways, she was truly breathtaking and 110% out of my league, but I felt like I wanted to get to know her a little better, even if it was just to break the ice and make working together more comfortable because I think she thought I was a bit too serious. So, in-between long chats about our families and what our plans were over Christmas we went up and danced to Cher, did the Slosh and the YMCA. Half-way through “Magic Moments” by Perry Como, I leaned in and asked her if she wanted to get some air as it was getting so hot in the bar.

As soon as we got outside we went quiet. Both of us stood pressed together as the smokers of our group chatted and cackled. I moved my hand down and her fingers intertwined with mine. I felt like I’d just won the lottery. I tugged her back in to the pub and found a corner to kiss her. We were in that corner for a good twenty minutes before we decided to get a taxi and get out of there. We spent the night at my flat and the next morning was the morning of the pink knickers army crawl which will be forever engrained in my memory. I’d never seen someone look so panicked, bare-arsed.

From then on our relationship was what she documented it as; wild, passionate, secretive, exciting and it’s no wonder we became obsessed with one another. It was very, very easy to fall in love with her. In some ways it scared me shitless to know that at any moment she could move on from me and break my heart, to me she is a very strong person and can make decisions that others would find impossible. It’s one of the many things I admire about her as well as how dedicated she is to her work, but you know that already.

We’ve had our low points, too.

In California I realised I was watching another man falling for her the same way I had already. Obviously I had no say in who she dated or slept with because “we were on a break”. It was a combination of angrily disliking the Aussie bloke and resenting the fact that I was still deeply in love with this woman that made me act like a complete fud. If I had known before how bad my behaviour was going to get, I would never have gotten on that plane to California. I’d have stayed right here in Glasgow instead. But that’s a regret I’ll always have.

Now on to the “Sam Saga”…

Reading through those posts I knew that these were things she felt she couldn’t tell me at the time. She was afraid she would hurt me or that I would hurt him. It tore me apart to read how he played with her emotions and twisted every innocent remark around to make it look like she was after him. I remember the night we went to dinner with Dolly’s family and Sam was sitting close by with his wife who, after seeing Dolly, decided to go apeshit and start shouting across three tables at her as Sam sat and finished his meal with a sick smirk on his face. I couldn’t sit and say nothing, so waited until Dolly and her family were out of ear-shot to have a few words with dear old Sam. I realised that day that this was a woman I wanted to be with, I wanted to protect her and take care of her, if she’d let me. So, in a way the Sam Saga was a key factor in our own story which isn’t finished yet. Not by a long shot.

I don’t know if I’ve made any sense whatsoever throughout this rambling post, but I hope it’s perhaps given you a bit of me. It’s been cathartic to get some things off of my chest and to just read through her thoughts and feelings. I’m not as articulate as she is, so I feel a bit intimidated here. I hope this has been at least a little bit interesting and gratifying to know that I adore her as much as I do and I hope this isn’t the last of “Dolly” because the more I’ve read, the more I myself have been in her corner wanting her to get her happy ending as stupid as that sounds. She deserves nothing less than that.


I will say goodbye.

But I want to say that before I go, I promise to take good care of your girl and love your Dolly forever,

AKA Nicky.



What’s Mine Is Yours (Just Don’t Break It)


Everything is new.

The sheets that I fall asleep wrapped in, the view from the bedroom window, the kitchen I make my coffee in, the paint on the walls; all of it is fresh and pristine, all except, for the arms I wake up in, the mouth I kiss every morning and the cup mine clinks as I pour our coffee. All of those things belong to the man I have bought this new home with and I am very, very familiar with those arms and lips.

We have his and her’s toothbrushes, we have our own sides of the bed and our slippers are kept next to each others at the bottom. We share a walk-in wardrobe and I wear his t-shirts to bed when he’s away to London overnight because I’ve gotten so used to having him lay beside me all night. I’ve almost become dependent on his presence for a good night’s sleep and that scares the absolute shit out of me, but then I forget all about that when he comes home and we have a beer whilst we paint the hallway, eat noodles in our bare kitchen and have sex in our coverless bed.

Laying in someones arms in your bed and talking about your dreams and planning your lives together is quite extraordinary. I’ve never experienced anything quite like it until now and yes it’s strange and alien to me, but when I watch him doing his tie in the morning whilst he checks his emails or takes a bite of his toast, I am sure in my heart that this is real. We are finally real.

Sometimes I think back to the first day we met in the elevator of our office building. It was a wet morning and my hair was sticking to my face as he got in and pushed a button. I remember how wonderful he smelled and how cute he looked with little droplets running down from his hair to the sides of his handsome face. I was still “the new girl” so I was still figuring out who everyone was, but I hadn’t ever seen him around the office before. He has since told me that it was his first day and felt it quite poignant for him that I was the first person he laid eyes on when he walked in to the building, “You held the elevator door for me like something out of Love Actually and I hoped I’d see you again.” Even now I can hear his voice saying those words and get goosebumps.

It’s been an almost-fairytale romance (excluding the bumps in the road) and to have blogged all the way through it has been a ton of fun and it’s been an experience to say the least. I’ve met wonderful people through this little blog of mine. You’ve all been pillars of support and given me advice when I needed it most, that includes throughout the whole Sam Saga and The Aussie. So I hope you will do the same for me one last time…

Should I show AKA Nicky the blog?


The Prequel: Coffee?


He had been back from London since Wednesday, we’d been in meetings every day since. Just because this was Friday didn’t mean it’d be an easy day. We’d all been given plenty notice that it’d be our busiest day and that we’d most likely end up working in to the evening.

After 5 o’clock the break room is blissfully quiet, so I head across to stick the kettle on and grab a paracetamol. Back-to-back meetings always leave me with a pounding headache and tonight was no different, I could feel it at the back of my eyes and the stiffness in my neck. Just let me go ho- . . . 

“My God my head feels like it’s going to burst,” I hear the door close behind him and a smile makes it’s way on to my face, he can’t see it but that’s how I like it. “Fuck me, how long has this day been.”

He comes up and stands next to me and I pass him the packet of painkillers just as the kettle boils. He takes them from me, leaning back against the work top and loosening his tie. I hear the foil pop as I grab two mugs from the cupboard and ready our much-needed caffeine boosts.

“Hopefully we’ll be finished by seven, well if Gerry keeps the powerpoint presentation under two-hundred slides, that is.”

We both giggle before Gerry bursts through the door, “I’m about to get started, we’re just waiting on you both.” His tone suggests he’s heard us as does the way he slams the door as he leaves which makes me laugh even harder.

“Let’s go and get it over with,” I say, still laughing as I hand him his coffee.

“You’re a life saver,” he states as I turn my head to look up at him and our lips bump against one another’s. We stand silent and motionless for a few seconds and I feel the tingle of where his lips touched mine. Even if it had only been for a brief whisper of a moment, the impact of it alone had knocked the air from my lungs.

“Sorry. Sorry! I was just thanking you for the coffee and the. . . the other stuff. . . ” he trailed off, his eyes on my mouth. The smell of his skin, his clothes, his cologne swamped my senses and suddenly my legs felt heavy, my heart skipped every second beat, I couldn’t move and didn’t want to.

I felt the cold, hard edge of the counter against my lower back and leaned against it, steadying myself. Nicky stepped towards me, setting his cup down on the worktop and placing a hand either side of my hips, trapping me between him and the cool marble against my back. My fingers tightened around the handle of my cup and my stomach flipped feeling his body press against me.

Without thinking, I had placed the coffee down and wrapped my arms around his wide, strong shoulders. His hands left the worktop and slid up my back over the silky material of my dress.

The taste of his kiss was minty, like peppermint, but warm and thrilling. I felt my skin rise with little bumps as his tongue brushed mine. The small room filled with sounds of our intimacy; the light murmurous we made in to each other’s mouths, the friction of our clothes and for a moment I was sure he could hear my heart banging against my chest.

The sound of furious footsteps coming towards us broke us apart and I spun around to hide my face and grab my coffee. Nicky did the same. The door slammed against the wall behind it as Gerry appeared, breathless, his chubby face red with rage. “When you’re both quite ready, we’d all like to get home!” he seethed and I pursed my lips, trying my hardest to fight back the laugh in my throat.

I saw Nicky’s hand come up to cover his mouth and he squeezed his eyes closed. We really did look like a pair of teenagers getting told off by the headteacher.

“Be in in a minute,” I squeaked and that was it. The jig was up and we both erupted with laughter. We creased and ended up propping ourselves against one another as Gerry stormed off, just like he had done before, slamming the boardroom door as well for emphasis.

We didn’t arrive in time for the beginning of Gerry’s presentation, obviously, but we were in and seated with a fresh cup of coffee each for slide number seven.

An hour later it was over and everyone breathed a sigh of relief as Gerry packed up his laptop and dismissed us. Nicky and I had caught one another’s eye all the way through the presentation and, as the hilarity wore off, I felt invigorated. Maybe it was the coffee or maybe it was the kissing but either way I felt good as I made my way back to my office.


Under the Sheets


I enjoy listening to your soft snores as they break the steady silence of my bedroom. It’s Saturday morning so the traffic is non-existent and the street outside is uncharacteristically quiet.

Your blonde tufts and golden skin stands out against the bright white of my bedsheets. I used to hate sharing my bed; it felt too intimate and that someone was invading my space. I’ve never been a morning person – well, you know that – but this morning I’ve woken up earlier than usual and have found myself watching you sleep. Your dark eyebrows furrow and your lips twitch as you dream, the sheet is half way down your naked back, the curve of your ass prominent under it.

I move a little closer to you, the warmth of your body drawing me in like a moth to a flame. I want to be as warm as you. My eyes run over the defined arm you have shoved under the pillows; you’re so unaware of how beautiful you are that you sleep whilst the world admires you.

You stir and I snap my eyes closed, fearful that I’ve been caught checking you out. I listen as your body rustles against the sheets, the mattress dipping as you move around. You sigh and stretch then silence. No snoring, no rustling. Just silence.

Then I feel it; you stroke my upper arm with the back of your fingers. The hair is pushed from my face by your other hand and I feel the bed move again as you come closer to me. You pull the sheet back from me and I feel the cool air of the room creep under, making me shiver. I feel the hair of your chest tickle against my breasts, your warm legs intertwining with mine. I feel you bring your knee up between my legs as your bring your hands around and cup my ass.

“Good morning. . .” you kiss my neck, my skin tingling in the aftermath, “wake up. . . I promise it will be worth it. . .”

I know it will be worth it. It’s always worth it with you.

You pepper kisses along my jaw, collarbone and eventually dip your head and take a nipple between your lips. I gasp and you nibble. I moan and you smile against my breast.

I can’t pretend to be asleep any longer and move my hand up to take a handful of you hair as you continue your kissing trail down my body. I twist until I’m laying on my back, my legs resting on your shoulders as you look up at me from between them.

You take your time and I don’t mind, it’s Saturday after all. I stretch out like a cat, pushing my hips up and my pussy against your mouth, revelling in the softness of your caresses.

“I love the way you taste. . .” I feel your breath against my wetness and perch myself up on my elbows for a better view of what you’re doing to me. Your hands come around to grip my thighs, holding them in place before pursing your lips around my little nub.

“That feels so good!” I whimper, feeling like every nerve ending is connected to my clit. My breasts throb and my scalp tingles, my hair feels like it’s standing on end. I gasp for air as if I’m drowning.

Your grip around my thighs loosens and you pull yourself up, laying down on top of me. The familiar feeling of your weight pressing me in to the mattress is a welcome one, our hips grinding against one another’s as you tease me.

“I’ve missed you,” you whisper, leaning down to kiss me, “I’ve missed waking up in your bed. . .”

I’ve missed you waking up here, too I think to myself as you reach between us, grasping your hard cock and stroking it against me.

“Have you missed me, Dolly?” you ask, voice deep and full of longing.

I answer by reaching for a condom in the beside cabinet, “You’ll never know how much I’ve missed you.” I roll it on to the tip of your dick, a soft moan pulled from your throat as I sit up, kissing along your toned belly as you kneel on the bed between my legs. The smell of your skin is intoxicating, it had fast become one of my favourite scents. I linger for a moment before pulling you with me as I lay back.

You slip your tongue in to my mouth and I savour the taste of it because who knows when we’ll do this again. I feel my heart hammer against my chest at the thought of never having this with you again. I begin to kiss you back a little harder and eventually we’re fighting for breath as you push your cock in to me gently.

You groan in to my mouth, one hand tangled in my hair, the other stroking the back of my neck. We slow down to kiss and grind against one another, then speed things up as the kisses get greedier and the grinding gets more frantic.

“Fuck, yes. . . Dolly. . . Come for me. Come for me. . .” I felt the white-hot pleasure begin to rise as you fuck me harder and harder. “I love you.”

I felt you reach between us as my muscles stiffen, your thumb connecting with my clit, rubbing in all the right ways until I come. I moan, I cry out for you, I curl my toes and hug you close as you let go, too.

We lie beside each other afterwards, sweaty and sated.

“I love you too, Nicky.”



Sugar, Sugar

Before we split for the Christmas holidays, I was informed I’d be travelling to Edinburgh with AKA Nicky today to meet some clients in the city centre. We’d be taking them for lunch, then drinks to discuss their plans.

I always enjoy trips to different cities to meet our clients. It gets me out of Glasgow for a while and I feel like I can get to breathe. But that’s usually because he’s not with me and I can freestyle my approach over dinner and build my own professional relationship with the client. Nicky operates differently to me, he likes to butter them up with compliments and reminders that we’re here to meet their needs but lacks the ability to really listen to what they want, because he’s too busy schmoozing. I, however, remind them that they’ll probably be paying a lot of money for this and that it should be 100% what they want. (Not that I’m saying I’m better at it than him but, y’know, I kind of am. #humblebrag)

So, this morning he arrived at my flat at half past eight on the dot. I opened the door and felt like I had gone back two years. There he was standing there in a dark navy suit, bright white shirt [bites fist] and a red scarf tightened neatly around his neck with his hands casually by his side.

I got butterflies.

The last time he was here we ended up in bed together after a New Year’s party at a colleagues flat. I’d unceremoniously kicked him out after realising that he was in no way good for me or that I’d gain anything out of him spending the night.

“Ready?” he asked, expectantly.

I shook my head, “No, um, I just have to grab a couple of things. I’ll only be a minute.” I walked away from the door and in to my bedroom to put on the rest of my make-up and get my jacket. When I straightened myself up in front of the mirror I turned and caught him watching me from the hall. He immediately turned away and I smiled to myself.

We got in to the car, our driver dressed in the full chauffeur get-up, and made small talk all the way to Edinburgh. We spoke about the clients, about the weather and about how tired we both were. The usual kind of chitchat you make when you’re excruciatingly uncomfortable, but really, how cosy can you be with your boss/ex-boyfriend who used to give you orgasms on a regular basis but now barely speaks to you? I’ll tell you: not very.

We arrive earlier than expected and Nicky orders us both breakfast as I nip to the loo in the chic little café. My head is pounding as I look at myself under the bright toilet lights in the mirror. My eyes have dark circles that no amount of concealer can cover, my hair badly needs cut and coloured and my belly, a tad bigger as a result of eating a ton of unhealthy yet deeply satisfying food over Christmas, seems to stick out under my white blouse.

I quickly try and salvage what’s left of my self-esteem by picturing Nicky’s face as he watched me get ready in my bedroom. He looked the way he used to when we were going out; waiting for me to add the final touches to my outfit or try to find a clutch bag to match my shoes. It was a familiar, soft, warm watch he had over me this morning.

I walked back up the steep stairs and towards our table as Nicky typed on his phone. The waitress arrived at the table just before me with our coffees and I watched as she lingered by his side. Her eyes moved over his expertly styled tufts of blonde hair, down past his long eyelashes and stopped to admire the thankful smile and pink, full lips.

I remember the first time I saw him, too, I said inwardly. I looked at him like that. Nicky has that affect on most women; outrageously good-looking, well-groomed and will disarm you with one flash of that cheeky smirk. He makes you feel like you’re the only girl in the room when he speaks to you and has absolutely no idea that he makes you feel this way. We would be out on a date and I’d ask him to kindly stop looking at me, because it felt like being under a microscope; when he was interested in what you were saying it would be like he was examining you. His eyes would move over my face at an uncomfortably slow pace and he’d stare at my mouth as I sipped from my wine glass. At times it would be unbearable, but mostly it would be excruciatingly sexy.

“I ordered a latte. They’ve not got a very good variety of drinks here,” he rambled, removing his scarf. “Lattes are still what you drink, right?” he eyed me cautiously.

“Yes, thank you. I haven’t changed that much, y’know.” I smirked, following him by removing my jacket and placing my bag between my feet. I felt him check me out over the rim of his cup. “So…”

We discussed what we’d be doing/saying during the meeting and each jotted some extra points down. Soon the clients arrived; a chairman of a semi-well known production company and his wife. Both were in their mid-fifties, expensively dressed and highly demanding but when you’re willing to pump 40K in to an advertising campaign then you have every right to be demanding.

By the end of lunch we’d managed to piece together their ideas and come up with a solid first draft to take back home and work on. I didn’t eat very much over lunch time as my breakfast had been sufficient enough, but we saw them out to their car and decided to celebrate with a drink in the nearest pub. Our car wasn’t coming back to get us until five o’clock, so we had three hours to kill, we may as well drown ourselves in gin and beer.

We managed to find a small booth at the back of the pub near the fire and settled in with our drinks. If we weren’t here on business, this would have made quite a nice place for a date, I thought.

“Did you go home for Christmas? I didn’t get a chance to ask you before the holidays.” Nicky asked, his fingers moving over the condensation on his glass.

“Went home. Ate lots. Got fat. Didn’t get drunk enough.” I laughed, albeit darkly.

“You’re not fat,” he snaps before glancing up at me, realising he’s showing human emotion, and fixes his face in to something a little harder and less caring, “Anyway, that’s good that you spent it with your family.”

I nod, “What did you do? Did you go and visit your Mum in London?”

He snorts, “No, she’s spending the holidays in South Africa visiting my aunt and uncle with her new boyfriend.” Nicky’s Mum is in her early sixties and extremely chic; she dresses as if she’s going to a ball almost every evening and designs her own line of clothing. She’s not your typical mother, but that’s what I liked about her the first time we met. She’s very liberal and used to getting what she wants, evidently something she’s passed on to her son. “I don’t like him, he’s a bit… I dunno… moochy.

Nicky has always been protective of his mother, it’s one of his most attractive attributes. He doesn’t see his Dad anymore (he left him and his Mum when he was a teenager) and doesn’t take kindly to other men coming in to her life.

We spent the next hour or so talking about our lives and, inevitably, the conversation veered toward the uncomfortable.

“Are you still seeing the Australian bloke?” he asked, his teeth worrying at his bottom lip.

I took a long sip from my G&T, “On and off. We meet up when he’s over here on business. Haven’t seen him for a few weeks now. It’s nothing serious, or anything.” I shrugged my shoulders. I had no idea why I had felt the need to divulge such information to him. It just came toppling out of my mouth. “What about you? You seeing anyone?”

[Takes a longer sip from G&T.]

“No one special,” he replied dismissively. I decided not to dwell on his answer. “Same again?”

He came back a few moments later and, surprisingly, picked up the conversation where we’d left it. “I never understood why you kicked me out that night,” he blurted, wincing every so slightly as he heard the words pour out of his mouth, “You seemed so in to it and then all of a sudden you weren’t.”

After the mini-heart attack, I chewed over his words.

“I was perfectly within my rights to kick you out of my bed,” the calmness in my voice seemed to spur me on, “Let’s face it, you weren’t going to stick around much longer, were you.”

I didn’t ask, I told.

“I thought you wanted to give things another go, to be perfectly honest. I definitely would have stuck around, Dolly. I fucked up with you.”


“Yes, you did.”

“When I saw you with that Australian fella, it made me feel like absolute shit,” Nicky’s voice got raspier, “I know I’m a prick to you on a daily basis, but it’s the only way I can see you and not… well, not tell you all the things I just have.”

I felt my stomach sink and my heart began to flounder around in my chest. I clutched at the soft leather of the seat beneath me, fighting the urge to get up and run away from him and this conversation. Why couldn’t he have said all of this when I’d wanted to hear it? The nights I’d lay wide awake wondering what the fuck had happened to us, why we’d fallen apart so easily, how he’d stopped loving me so quickly.

Then he brought up the one person I didn’t need to be thinking about, let alone speaking about.

“… I know the Sam stuff fucked you up a lot and I didn’t exactly help with that when you wanted to speak about it. I just hated the fact that he had hurt you and I didn’t want to remind you of it all the time.”

“Like you are now, you mean.”

“Well, aye.”

We carried on for a few moments before my phone buzzed. It was five o’clock and our driver was waiting for us outside of the café. I had been saved.

We said very little in the car home until we arrived outside of my flat. The minute the driver got out to open my door, Nicky grabbed my hand and gently pulled me towards him. I felt him press his lips against my cheek and his fingers stroke the sensitive skin on the back of my hand.

“I’m sorry for today. I meant to say all of that more eloquently, like in a poem or something,” he laughed dryly, “I just wanted you to know all of that and it came out wrong, so I am sorry for that.”

“Okay.” I say, stiffly nodding my head as my door opened. I immediately placed a foot on the pavement to balance myself.

I got out of the car as quickly as I could, saying a hurried thank you to the driver and fumbled frantically for my keys. I was fuzzy from the gin and light-headed from the feeling of his lips against my skin again.

An hour or so later, I was laying on my bed staring at the ceiling thinking about him and how he’d put two sugars in my latte this morning; the little sachets crumpled on the side of my saucer. I didn’t mention it and neither did he, because it reminded me of how intimately he had known me once. It had reminded me of the first time he’d made me coffee in his flat, after we’d spent the night together.

“Sugar?” he’d asked, an eyebrow raised, spoon hovering over the sugar bowl. I scrunched my mouth in to an awkward smirk and nodded.

“Two, ta.”

From that moment on he never asked again. He always remembered how I liked my coffee.



Back to the Future


Since I’ve started seeing my therapist, I’ve been told to take time to reflect on what’s happening in my life; usually my day flies by in a haze of work, meetings, Pot Noodle lunches and eventually I get home and collapse in a heap, exhausted from the days events.

So, here I am, sitting in my old bedroom at my parent’s house at the end of a pleasantly peaceful Boxing Day. There’s been no arguments or disagreements (with the exception of who ate all the gateau at breakfast) and we watched re-runs of Friends, bonding with my sister over our crush on Chandler.

My room has been decorated and the furniture moved around in the wake of my departure several years ago, but it still feels like my room. Even my Mum still calls it “Dolly’s room”. This is where I kissed my first boyfriend with the door wedged open; we waited until my Mum had stopped walking past with baskets of washing, satisfied in the knowledge that he wasn’t impregnating me, and stole a quick kiss. This is also where I cried endlessly (two days) after breaking up with said boyfriend a couple of weeks later. (Young love, eh?)

All of my Westlife, A1 & Boyzone posters still grace the walls of my walk-in cupboard, ancient lipstick marks on their faces faded but not completely gone, my old CDs and CD player gathering dust on the top shelf. I miss going to sleep in this room to the sound of the rain tapping against the window and waking up to the smell of breakfast on a Sunday morning and my Mum chatting away to my late Grandpa.

You don’t get those comforts when you live alone in your own flat. Sure, you get to avoid the headaches of being made to tidy your room or have to tiptoe in at 3AM, fearful of waking anyone up. But, in hindsight, those things don’t really matter all that much.

On Christmas Eve I received a text message from Sam in which he wished me a Merry Christmas and told me that he missed me terribly and wouldn’t I consider meeting him for a coffee because, after all, it is Christmas? I immediately told my Mum and brother who confiscated my mobile and reminded me of what an absolute cunt the man is and I realised that, had I been home by myself, I’d have been tempted to reply.

Honestly, I’m still tempted to reply.

I miss him.

I’ll always miss him.

I’m beginning to accept that I feel this way and know that I could text him back in a heartbeat, meet for coffee and spend time with him. But it will – again – end in tears for me because I want things from him that he will never give me: love and friendship.

Having such a strong support network in my family is what has kept me afloat. My head is above water and I’m in a completely different place than I was last year because of them and a hell of a lot of painful conversations with a therapist.

My perspective has changed dramatically and I’ve got a lot of tough decisions to make in the next few months, but that is a good thing. At least that’s what I’m telling myself; it’ll all be worth it in the end.

I’ll be healthier, happier and more content with my life.

Thank God for family.



Breathe In, And Out


I haven’t been blogging very much lately, instead I’ve been cheating on the internet with pen and paper, taking notes, as I watched old movies and caught up on the last season of Mad Men.

You see, I’ve been doing something that I never thought I’d do and it requires making changes to my life; as most of you know I spend 80% (if not more) of my time either at work or thinking about it which, lately, has become a major issue. I’ve been losing sleep and not making enough time to actually live like a normal person. Last month I had gone 40-odd hours without eating something because I didn’t have time.

“How the fuck does someone, who loves eating, not make time to eat?” asked my sister. It was then that I realised I had to take a step back and reevaluate some things. Things like how many hours I spend at the office compared to home, keeping track of my meals and noting changes in my health. I’ve also been feeling depressed, as if all my days are melting in to one with no break in between; I’ve even burst in to tears for no reason after meetings and have taken to spending more and more time in my office locked away doing paperwork instead of being with my team on the floor.

So, after a lengthy visit to my GP and one referral later, I am now in therapy.

Yep. Me. In therapy. 

It still feels weird that it’s happening at all, that I don’t really need it and that my GP has made a huge mistake. But my therapist says that’s completely normal (I’m one of those “my therapist says” people now, don’t you know) and that it will become evident in future sessions why I need it, which absolutely terrified me.

Am I going to be a mess? Am I going to cry and snot a lot?

My therapist says that’s probably going to happen.

I’m already a few appointments in and have so far talked about recent relationships, most prominently Sam. I received a text message from him a couple of weeks ago which sent my heart in to the stratosphere, only to have it come crashing back down to land by my feet. The rest of my day was immediately affected as I slumped down on to the floor of my office and stared at my phone screen. It was as if I’d been deflated, like someone had drained my batteries.

Hey. Drove past your office this morning and saw you. You look good. I miss you.

I was too exhausted to be angry or frustrated so instead I just felt confused and sad. Why was he coming after me again? Why was he telling me now that he missed me? It’s been over a year and all of a sudden he contacts me with this bullshit. What was I supposed to do with this?

I didn’t know, so I hit ‘delete‘.

I stayed on the floor of my office for twenty minutes afterwards, as if I was experiencing the aftershock of a huge, city-wrecking earthquake.

The day after was the first session with my therapist, Dr. J and I told her everything. Originally it was booked as a 30 minute appointment, but I didn’t leave her office for an hour and a half. I addressed things that I couldn’t tell friends or family (with the exception of my sister) and I felt like a weight had been lifted. I felt lighter than air walking down Queen Street, even with people walking in to me, bumping my shoulder and suitcases narrowly missing my exposed shins. For the first time in for ever I felt okay.

Not good, but okay.

My therapist says that that’s perfectly normal, too.