I’ve been reading Postsecret since I was about 15, and whenever there’s a relatable one I usually save it onto my computer, where it lounges around for a while before ultimately being deleted. This year I thought I’d put all the relatable ones into a blog post and share them at the end of the year, because it’s fun to look back and see what you’ve looked at and thought “omg same” throughout the year.
I don’t do this, but I don’t own many clothes, so on Sundays they all go into the laundry and I spend the day in my pyjamas, which means that when people go “Hey, do you want to meet on Sunday?” I often want to reply “I’d love to, but I have nothing to wear”, but I know they don’t think I’d mean it quite as literally as I do.
This is a weird feeling, and one I’m gradually settling into. I didn’t assume I’d kill myself, but I always thought I’d die before I was 20, and then I was given three weeks to live at 18 but survived anyway. They said I wouldn’t live for very long after that, so I’d never really planned beyond about 22. Now I’m 30 and still alive (yay!) but I’ve had to get myself used to just assuming I might be alive in 5, 10, 20 years. It’s a nice feeling but a strange one.
When I was 12, we moved from Scotland to England. I didn’t go back to school straight away, and I had no friends. When it came to Christmas time, a load of cards arrived for the previous tenants of the flat we lived in. I opened them and traced over the signatures into a book, pretending they were the names of my friends.
…after one time, when I was very tired and staying in a hotel in Dublin. I got up at 5am after two hours’ sleep. I went into the bathroom, had a shower, put my hair up, did my make-up, went back into the bedroom, PUT MY SOCKS AND SHOES ON… then went to the door, opened it, stepped into the corridor, thought “This feels a bit breezy”, looked down and realised I was naked except for my shoes and socks. Luckily there was no one else around, and I don’t think they had CCTV. If they did, I’m sure they got a laugh out of it anyhow!
This was how I felt the first time I went to uni. I’d been warned that it was the wrong choice, but I was eighteen so of course I knew better than the very experienced people who were telling me it wouldn’t work out. It turned out for the best anyway, because through that university I met the guys on the research team and joined that instead, but it definitely wasn’t the right learning environment for me. In related exciting news, in 2019 I will be going back to uni! I’ll be studying Psychotherapy & Counselling at Regent’s University in London, with the ultimate goal of fulfilling my lifelong dream of being a psychotherapist.