Turning 20 last year was scary for me. It was strange because I've never really been one to be that bothered about birthdays but last year was a whole different story - it was a deep fear that rooted from a place that even I don't know. Turning 20 isn't a big deal but little 19-almost-20 year old me thought it was. Maybe I just had some kind of intuition about the year to come, but the fear was real. I can remember sitting in my grotty old uni room and having a full on meltdown about it to my ex housemate. Maybe it was something to do with the end of my teenage years and this whole idea that when you're in your twenties you should kind of have your shit together. Honestly, who knows? All I know is that it was a stressful time for me back then.
If we fast-forward to now, it's hard to fathom why I was so worried about it. I'm in a much better place but the year wasn't easy. It was hands-down the hardest, most emotionally draining, challenging year of my life. I know I've said this on my blog before but I've never been one to feel unstable or really let my emotions kind of take control of my life - I've always had my shit together in that aspect. But, boy, did I not have my shit together this year. I was a mess for probably three quarters of the year - I'd say the entirety of the uni year and then summer was really when I started to get myself sorted again.
The year was a rough one. We started 20 being kind of heavily reliant on alcohol to have a good time, and get over the 'trauma' of moving back down to London, in the midst of a shitty boy situation and just generally not wanting to be back at university. Then we moved onto a uni project that really could've been the death of me - group projects are my least favourite thing in the world and there was one particular project that pretty much took over my life (and dreams) until Christmas. It was so worth it in the end but I thought I was going to lose my mind. Christmas really took it out of me - moving back to London in January was the hardest thing in the world because I had had these realisations about friendships and living situations and realised that I really didn't want to be there (and that goes for both the living situation, and certain friendships). After Christmas, everything went downhill. I had a meltdown and everything went to shit - my parents didn't know what to do. My friends didn't know what to do. And the worst bit was that none of them knew how bad things really were.
My university work was great - that's the one thing I could've been proud of; that I was managing to get firsts in every assessment, despite having this breakdown in every other aspect of my life. I spent the majority of my time on trains or at home because being here, at uni - in London, even - was that draining and full of dread for me. It was awful. Add a boy to the mix and we've got a cracking cocktail of emotions going on. The best words to describe the whole time would be unstable and, I guess, unpredictable. Emotionally, I was a wreck. When things were good, they were good - when they were bad, they were bad. But at least I could pour my energy into my uni work (and that obviously paid off).
I went to New York in March with one of my best friends on the planet, Emma, and had the most amazing time. There was nothing I could've welcomed more than a few days away from everything - you know, different atmosphere and an opportunity to get out of everything and really sort my head out a little bit. And it worked. I came back knowing what I needed to do and felt quite refreshed about everything. Easter came around and it was great - but being back home always is.
And then... back to uni for the final semester. This is when the boy situation started to really crash - but I could deal with it. Again, I put everything into my work (and, again, it paid off) and then did an internship on the fashion desk of one of the UK's biggest newspapers. I had a great experience and made the most of my last few days in London. And then moved out of the hell-hole house I'd lived in all year. And when I say I felt relieved, I mean I felt relieved - I've never felt relief quite like it. It was the best feeling ever.
Moving home bought a lot of change - good change, this time. I got my old paralegal job back (love of my life), I cut off friendships that weren't working for me, I had the best holiday with my whole family and - this one's my favourite of all: got a whole load of new friends. The group of friends I have now are genuinely my favourite people on the planet. I love them with all my heart and wouldn't want them any other way (ah, here's that soppy bit I was talking about). I really got my shit together - perhaps not when drunk - but emotionally I was okay. The boy situation was kind of revived for a bit but, ultimately, that went nowhere either. Again, a shitty situation (and I'd be lying if I said I was completely fine about it) but I'm not holding a grudge - things don't always work out. And that's the biggest lesson I've learnt this year. Things don't always work out, and it's absolutely fine to cut things off, or get out of situations if you don't think they're good for you anymore. As brutally honest as it is, at the end of the day, you are all you really have in this world - so you've got to put yourself first, and you have to be okay with doing that.
So I've changed a lot, during my twentieth year. I'm a different person than I was this time last year - and that's something a lot of people have said to me. But I think it's change for the better. I'm happy with who I am, nowadays. I'm a hundred times more confident and okay with being myself than last year. I'm putting myself first, and if someone has a problem with me, they can have a problem with me - I'm done with drama and stupid people; you do you, I'll do me. So this year was rough, and without a doubt the hardest year of my life. But would I change anything? No.
Some of my favourite ever memories have come out of this year. Some of my favourite ever people have come out of this year. My favourite 'me' has come out of this year. I'm happy with myself. Don't get me wrong, things aren't perfect (they're far from it), but I'm getting there. Twenty one is the year for me to get my degree, put myself first, and leave the shittiness in the past - the people who've done me wrong, or made me feel shit, or boys that have binned me off; they don't matter. I'm not holding any grudges. I'm moving on. And I feel ready for it - onwards and upwards, and all that.
So this turned out to be a shitty little reflective post, yet again. Soppy, and cringey and generally tragic, but how else to celebrate the end of an emotional rollercoaster of a year? Whatever. If you got this far, congrats - you did well. So, on that note, happy birthday (for Saturday) to me. And goodbye (and good riddance) to my twentieth year; you were a tough one, but you made me the person I am today. And I appreciate that.
Okay. I'm done. See you soon, pals.
love you so much!!!!
ReplyDeletelove you forever
Delete