So, I’ve been working on dragging myself out of the doom and gloom that the beggining of the year left me with.

I have shifted a few of the previously mentioned pounds that happily attached themselves to my middle, and I am well on track to shifting the rest.

I have stopped going home after work, and snuggling up with Jack and Cadbury on the sofa, watching pointless American sitcoms and letting my brain rot away.

I am trying very hard to banish the idea that all men are bastards. They still are. I said I’m trying.

As the girl who remains adamant that I will not let another soul make me hurt like the last one did, I have let someone put a very big smile on my face the past few weeks.

The potential for devestating herartbreak by careless action is limited, due to this person making their own way off into the world in six months time; for a whole year. Although that in itself will be hard to deal with, it has left me in the right frame of mind to deal with this for what it is.

And what it is, is just what I need right now.

And lets face it, never say never……

right?

In my ongoing struggle to move on with my life, I appear to have moved mostly towards the fridge, the pantry, the oven…. and the local Chinese takeaway.

As we know, I love to cook. It is my biggest comfort when I am sad, unfortunately it leaves me with lots of yummy things at the end and I am a habitual comfort eater. Combine this with my well documented love affair with Jack Daniels and ladies and gentlemen, we have a 10lb weight gain.

It has been brought to my attention by the fact that my work trousers are no longer a comfortable fit and I have ‘pinchable’ cheeks when I smile. Neither of these new features are welcome, especially as smiling is one of my favorite pass times.

It does not stand well with my new single-girl status as I do not feel particularly confident in myself and that is a very unattractive quality in a person, no matter what their size.

So last night I donned my running trainers for my first proper run in a while, not good as I’m cycling 55 miles in July for charity and should have started training by now. I used to run a few times a week, and that kept me trim-ish but eating cake has been the more appealing option recently.

It was windy, raining, and cold. I had cramp in my shins the entire time, and the wind made my cheeks hurt.

But, every time I wanted to stop my iPod would sneak in a little gem such as ‘Eye of the Tiger’ ‘Runaway’ and ‘Tubthumping.’ I was, again, reminded of what a beautiful area I live in and had smiles and nods of encouragement from other runners, dog walkers and the farmer.

He may have been laughing at me, I can’t be sure.

A stretch back home and the pain in my shins was forgotten. Until tonight that is when I go again. But I know that the suffering will be brief and in a couple of weeks I wont mind looking in the mirror again.

I will not be fat again. Watch this space.

Ok people.

Enough of the sad blogs.

Let’s party.

I am old enough to make my own mistakes.

I have a reputation for acting beyond my years, and enjoying doing so - hence the name of the blog. I like to drink out of pretty china cups. I am quite happy to be in the kitchen all day cooking. I love nothing more than planting seeds and nurturing them into things I can cook. If you want me to make you a dress out of a curtain; I probably could. But I am only 24.

I have watched my friends go out getting drunk and acting their age for the past 6 years, I mostly stayed home with a cuppa and my (now ex) boyfriend. I have hoovered, polished, mopped, decorated, tidied, gardened, sewed, ran a youth group, baked and worked full time hours, every day. But I am only 24.

My life has changed in the past three months. Since then I have travelled, far and alone.I have discovered how to party.I have drunk too much.I have flaunted myself.I have made mistakes.I have learned from them.I do not regret anything. I am only 24.

I still enjoy all of the things that I did before and I will continue to do them. But I will not sit back and watch the next six years wander away from me while I sit at home, cooking the vegetables I have grown, wearing a dress that I made and drinking tea from my pretty china cup.

Because I am only 24.

He touched my hair and asked if I’d dyed it.

I looked at the floor and replied that I had not.

He said he’d never noticed how red it was.

I think it’s because he stopping looking at me properly, stopped really SEEING me, a long time ago.

But I’ll be ok.

When your boyfriend of almost 6 years leaves you, drinking neat whiskey (and adding it to every other liquid that you consume) and crying in bed wearing his T-shirt are standard issue activities. A lucky few will have good friends to support them.

I didn’t have good friends to support me.

I had fucking excellent friends and family that have carried me through the fog that has been my heart being shattered into a million pieces. (clichés are, in fact, also acceptable post-break up)

I have had the support of a few people that I’ve never even met, in countries that I’ve never been to, sending daily messages of support and confidence boosting wonderfulness.

I have friends that didn’t need to visit me and witness my dark circles and unwashed hair, but who have text and called regularly with the unspoken agreement that if I needed their physical presence, I only had to give the word.

I have the friend who drove for 40 minutes to pick me up, drive another 40mins to walk around a castle in the cold rain and reverse the journey to take me home, and then drive home himself. All so that I wouldn’t stay in bed watching daytime tv and eating the chocolate left over from Christmas. Only to return a few nights later with Chinese food and enough gentle abuse to keep me grounded.

There’s the friend who calls every morning at 7:45 just to make sure that I got out of bed and got to work on time. Which, somedays was completely necessary and other days, just appreciated.

There are the friends of ten years who have taken it in turns on the lovingly named ‘suicide watch’ never leaving me to face a long evening at home alone. Who have dragged me out for meals and trips to the cinema, accompanied me to my Godsons pantomime, driven me to the shops and sat up with me when I can’t sleep.

There was an incident of a badly played out intervention, where a bottle of JD was sacrificed and a long friendship tested. We’ll laugh about it one day. Maybe. But you drove me to Heathrow when I needed to runaway, told me not to be scared and hugged away my petrified tears and sobs. You waited until I was through the doors to drive away because you knew I’d be watching. And I was. That’s how I tripped over that poor mans suitcase. You say you’re feeding my animals, I’m hoping this is still true.

My sister has done things only a sister can, my parents and my Nan are incredible people.

I am broken. But I won’t be forever. I am healing. It will take a long time but I know that I will be ok.

Without all of these people I would still be a broken mess hiding in my bed with a bottle of Jack.

You know who you are.

Thank you. Really, really. Thank you.