Putting Me First

Thinking of a proud moment was surprisingly difficult. It's not because I have impromptu flash moments, moonwalk or swear at strange men all of the time but because of all of my proud moments, how do you select one? What's proud to me may mean jack shit to anyone else.

I have lots of proud moments and I'm delighted to announce that there is more to me than being a flasher, moonwalking and being rude.

I can admit it here because I don't give 2 shits, but I've been quite shit at choosing boyfriends. I was embarrassed to admit on holiday last week that there isn't one long term boyfriend that I feel even remotely fond about. There isn't one who was the best, just one that was the best of a bad bunch.

I was engaged just over two years ago for almost two years. I went through the mill with this guy and despite my efforts, things went tits up whilst I was in my final year at university. I hit rock bottom and went through the motions of life. I was grinning and smiling but it hurt like f*ck. All I kept wondering is how the hell I ended up like this and surely I could do better. I was in serious danger of throwing away almost 3 years of hard work on my degree because I was so distracted, but I had to pull it together.

It takes two to tango but he behaved so despicably, that he left me with no choice. Others would have stayed to try to work things out but I did some forward thinking and read the writing on the wall. It said: Get the f*ck out now before you lose yourself and everything that you ever thought you could ever be.

Where there had been an ambitious, vivacious, full of the joys of life girl there was a shadow of my former self. He creepy creeped his way back into the flat in the early hours of June 1st 2003 after being gone almost 18 hours 'playing cricket'. He was rude and obnoxious and instead of arguing I stared at him because he was unrecognisable to me and smirked at how pathetic he suddenly appeared in his boxers tripping over his trousers in the dark.

He left later that morning and when he was 20 minutes down the road, I dialled his number.

EX: Yeah. (He sounded so cocky that I must admit to enjoying this conversation)
NML: Hi. When you get back tonight I won't be here.
EX: Oh yeah. Out with the girls are you?
NML: No, I mean that I will be gone. I'm moving out. I've had enough.
EX: What? Don't be silly.
NML: Silly? Silly would be to stay with you and think that this would get any better.

I moved out and despite a shitload of tears I never regretted it. I lived in my aunts spare room for a month. I got a 2:1 for my degree, found a place to live and a decent job and never looked back.

I hated the loss of plans, the loss of routine, the loss of all that seemed to make me feel secure, but I hated the loss of myself more, and I got it back when I walked away from him. I'm so bloody proud of this because my life could be so bloody different, you really have no idea. I believed in myself more than I believed in the idea of forever no matter what.