Saturday 31 December 2011

Hello 2012



New Year's Eve already, wow, that came around fast.

For the record, I HATE New Year's Eve. I just feel like there's far too much expectation and it never lives up to it, plus taxis are hideously expensive, and you have to pay it because you can't walk very far in killer heels. So I am staying in, I'm going to eat chinese and chocolate (although not together, thankfully), and I'm going to do some serious internet research on finding my way in this hideously complicated, and up to now, unfulfilling world.

I'm 30 year next year. Tomorrow I will have to say "I'm 30 in July", because it won't be 'next year' anymore. That is bloody scary. Reality check. Time for Nicky to get off her arse, stop procrastinating and actually DO something. I will say what I want to do is not as simple as jumping on a plane, it's not the first time this week I've had to say that either, because stupid little old me got herself landed with a nice loan for the next three years. But there has to be a way, right? And this evening's festivities involve me finding said way. And find it I will, because by god I need a distraction, and fast.

2011 has been strange. I can't say it's been a great year to be honest, it's been full of upheaval and worry, but it's also had it's major high points. I guess the best way to describe it is a year of high highs and low lows. It's taught me a lot of lessons. It's also taught me that love is a bloody painful thing and it might be best if in future I just don't bother with it. Either that or check into a nunnery, although I believe we've investigated this idea before and decided the uniform isn't flattering enough. However, if I have to hear Adele's 'Someone Like You' once more, I may decide sod the uniform and hot-foot it there sharpish.

In my last blog, I poured out my little heart about my current situation that I like to call "dire". Yes, it is still dire. No, I haven't heard anything. Yes, I'm stressed. BUT, but I have done something proactive. I've laid it on the line and I'm prepared to have to walk away. In fact, I may already have one foot out of the door, because I know how this is going to end if I'm honest. So I guess that's progress. It's hellish if I'm honest, I've been thinking of next year in Marmaris and the thought of not seeing him makes me come over all strange, I've told my friend she will have to literally handcuff herself to me, just to stop me ambling my way down there. But I won't go. Because if it's over, it's done with forever.

It's just really sad.

But that's life I guess.

Anyway, 2012. I figure if I'm going to distract myself with anything, then it might as well be something useful and constructive, and my future is a pretty constructive thing to start with.

The last set of commandments I made didn't work so well, they're pretty much what landed me in this situation, so these ones are going to be easier to achieve:

1. Finish my book. At the moment that isn't an easy thing to do, because of the subject matter, but I guess I'll get over it, it might even be therapy.

2. Learn Turkish, at least a basic grasp. And no, I dont mean just swear better.

3. Don't spend money on random crap, because it really would help if everytime I paid something off my credit card, I didn't add to it again.

4. Catch up with those friends I neglected this year by being far too involved with matters of the heart.

5. If I find a way to move to the place that shall not be named, then I will DO IT, and I won't pussyfoot around trying to figure out if it's what I really want after all, because it is.

6. Be more positive.

7. Visit one place at least that isn't inside Turkey. This may need the help of Miss Vanja Holm .....

8. But get my backside out of the country as much as possible and live a little. This will probably mean that the visa guys at Dalaman airport will be seeing quite a lot of me over the next 12 months.

And that's it. Eight resolutions. How many of these will I keep?

I don't think they're impossible, not like that last lot, they were made for breaking, and I won't lie, I had a lot of fun breaking them.

So Happy New Year to you all, I hope the next 12 months bring you everything you wish for, and I hope you stick to your resolutions for longer than a week. Now I'm off to watch hideous New Year's Eve TV, how many 100 greatest moment shows can they find?!

Wednesday 28 December 2011

Inpatiently waiting ....

Okay, I get the impression that I'm going to get a barrage of abuse somewhere along the lines of 'you stupid twit, let him go', or words to that effect, but I need to rant, and I need to rant rather badly.
See I have a problem.

It's been bothering me since, oooh, June I think, actually yeah, June 6th to be more precise. June 6th is the first time I stepped foot on a plane this year, back to the place I knew would cause me trouble, but the place I can't keep away from nonetheless. Actually I'm telling lies, my trouble didn't start on 6th, because that was the Monday, and I didn't set eyes on him until the Tuesday. So 7th June, that's when it all started to go a bit Pete Tong.

I should've known he'd be trouble, he had a swagger, that spells trouble, right? But he was oh so pretty, the swagger didn't matter.

Fast forward six months and I'm definitely convinced that a swagger means trouble, no matter how pretty the face.

He had me at hello, or merhaba, and he has been giving me heart-shaped grief ever since. Yet for some strange and unfathomable reason I cannot walk away, I cannot let him go and for an even more unknown reason, I really don't want to let him go either. Despite his weird ways, which incidentally I'm not even sure he understands, I love him. It's that simple.

The boy, as he shall be known, made me feel alive and I'm sorry if that makes me sad and pitiful, but I kinda like feeling alive. He also makes me feel sad and like bawling my eyes out when he does one of his infamous 'leave me alone, don't call me' routines. Funnily enough, these routines always end the same way - him swearing blind he never said it, because he didn't mean it, and not being able to leave me alone.

Maybe we're both as bad as one another, knowing it's possibly a bit wrong, but not able to let each other go completely.

Doomed.

See the thing is, I don't really and truly believe it is wrong, I believe it could work, in fact, I believe it could be bloody wonderful, if he could just get over whatever the hell keeps making him act like, quite frankly, a dick. I have said how I feel, I've poured it all out, I've laid it on the line. You'd have been proud of me, I was very firm. So what now? Now I'm waiting for an answer.

Waiting very, very inpatiently.

I sort of got one, a week ago, it was quite positive actually, but now he's done a runner on me again and I have no idea what's going on. It's driving me insane.

So in the interim, whilst I'm going a bit madder than I normally am, I'm also starting to get angry. I'm pretty sure it won't be long before I fly into a blind rage, especially if this carries on into the new moon phase. God help us all.

Why do I let him treat me this way? I love the git, that's why. Why does he treat me this way when he's supposed to care? I deserve to be treated properly, surely? Yet all it takes is for his name to pop up on my screen, simply saying 'hello', and my heart is soaring and I'm smiling like a loon. There's something wrong here, surely?

I don't understand why he's acting this way, fine one minute and freaking out the next. What happens if we do decide to actually make a go of this and a serious decision crops up? Am I going to have to make it alone because he's freaked out and run away, back to the willage?! I thought I was the one that wasn't strong enough for this, I was wrong, I'm actually a bloody warrier princess compared to him, he's the one that's not strong enough.

For the love of god man, strap on a pair.

It's oh so easy to say, he's not acting good enough, walk away and find someone who'll treat you right, and yeah, if I was advising a friend, I'd say the same, but it's no way that easy in practice. The thought of never seeing him again makes my heart feel like someone's put it in the grips of a boa constrictor, the thought of him with someone else makes me feel sick and the 'what if' just makes me want to cry.

What the hell am I going to do?

A friend of mine put it best, you can't move forward because you're always looking back, and you can't look forward because something's pulling you back. Add to that not actually wanting to move forward without him, and you're spot on.

The only thing I know for sure is that this has to end somewhere, one way or the other. It is make or break. If he says yes, we'll try, and by god I'd give it every little bit of energy I have, and then some. If he stalls much longer, or goes off on one again, we're done. For good. 

So the waiting continues.

Surely it's not meant to be this hard?!

Thursday 22 December 2011

Guest post!

Check out my latest guest blog post here


Whilst you're there, have a read at Lily Pad's blog, she's currently living it up in Australia and making me very jealous!

Monday 19 December 2011

Memories .....

What a difference a year makes. It's been a hell of a ride, and it's not even over yet. I have to say though, I'll be glad to see the back of it.

I've spent the majority of this year, well, the last six months of it, with my head stuck in the clouds and one hand on my passport. I choose not to remember the first five and a half months of the year, because they were, quite frankly, pants. So we'll conveniently skim over them, well apart from me finally getting to see Take That live. And oh my, was it worth the 18 years; wait.

I didn't lose my voice like I thought I would, but I was a bit croaky afterwards. I think I scared my friend, which is no mean feat because she doesn't scare easily. The sheer high pitched screech that escaped from somewhere in my throat when they launched into the dance routine for Pray, well, I wasn't aware I could make such a noise. But it really was a dream come true, no matter how sad you may think I am.

You see, when I was about 11 or 12, I was obsessed with Mark Owen, I was going to marry that dude. When I found out he was a bit of a love rat, I was quite shocked, let me tell you. It shattered all my illusions of little Marky, I was distraught - well, sort of. But anyway, wanting to be different and all that, I plastered my walls with posters, you couldn't stick a pin, literally. But because everyone did that, I went one further and plastered the ceiling with them too. It took me hours. I got vertigo from looking up for so long and nearly fell of the chair on more occasions that I could count. But I was proud of my work, at the time anyway. Thinking back now, it must have looked a right dog's dinner, especially considering I shared a room with my big sister at the time and her half, actually scrap that, her three quarters of the room (never right, I tell you) was all clean and sparkly. Anyway, I went downstairs, came back about an hour later. Disaster. I'd spent all day decorating my ceiling, only for the heating to come on and make all the posters fall down. They were hanging half off the roof, on the floor and covering my bed. It gave sleeping with Take That a whole new meaning. I was gutted. Needless to say, I stuck to just the walls from then on.

I still can't quite believe I shared airspace with all five of them. Yes, five.

Weird.

Anyway, what pretty much dominated my year was travel, specifically in an easterly direction. Three times. It was only meant to be once. Two weeks in June, that was all it was ever meant to be. We got back, we went again two weeks later - for my birthday of course, there was no other reason at all. Not at all. And when I went back again in October, on my own, it was to spend time finding myself and chilling out, it wasn't for any other reason. Honest, it wasn't.

Hmmm. If you believe that, you'll believe anything.

So Marmaris. June was fab. I don't think I've ever laughed as much as I did in those two weeks, and we had some adventures, good lord we did. We also nearly got stuck halfway up a mountain when our jeep safari, the oldest SAGA jeep known to man, struggled its way up the hill. I really thought we were going to have to get out and push. Once we'd managed to actually chug our way up the mountain the obligatory water fight amongst the jeeps broke out and my friend turned, what can only be described as, demonic. She was scary. She definitely meant business. When she started shouting abuse at the guy who was hell bent on drenching her from the other jeep, I thought it might be time for the driver to put his foot down before I had to figure out how to bail someone out of a Turkish prison. We then fell out with the tour guide after he kept blowing his whistle at us and telling us to 'move our asses'. Charming.

I had two near death experiences in Turkey this year, actually if you factor in the transfers, there were more than two, but anyway, the first was thanks to Mother Nature. Bloody hell that was one hell of a storm. When you're on the top bar one floor of a high apartment building, watching a rather violent and very black storm cloud sweep from inland, out to sea, passing over your head in the process, eeek. I think the rather dense guy on a jetski in the middle of this storm also thought 'eeek', or at least that may have been the family friendly version, when a bolt of lightening quite literally chased him and missed him by inches. I shrieked again. I shrieked several times. Loudly. I think I may even have suggested we find a basement to hide in. Seriously, I'd be crap in a real emergency.

The second near death experience was the run away taxi ride I endured through Armutalan to Malibu Beach in October. Good lord, I'm surprised we didn't end up through the windscreen. A bloke on a bike nearly ended up skittled, a load of tourists nearly ended up on the bonnet and my hair looked like it'd been a wind tunnel. Trauma.

But I survived, so that's all that matters I guess.

So after going home in June, my friend went all spontaneous, totally out of character for her, bless, and we ended up booking to go back in two weeks, planning to spend my 29th birthday in the sun. So really the second trip wasn't my fault at all - yes, I know, shocking. Of course I had to bat off all manner of assumptions that our reason for going back was due to a man. Of course it wasn't!

Honest.

Oh okay, it was, a bit.

Or a lot.

So for the first time in my life, I spent my birthday away from home and in the sun. It was fab. I spent the day with my buddy on the beach, I scoffed a rather lovely chicken kebab for dinner with the obligatory Efes, for hydration purposes of course, and I spent a bit of the day with the boy. Lovely. My evening was even better, a surprise, very chocolatey (yum) birthday cake courtesty of the boy (wow) and many, many cocktails. I'd quite like to spend every one of my birthdays from now on away from home in the sunshine, especially the next one, there's no way I can handle being 29+1 whilst pottering around in a pathetic excuse for an English summer. No way.

I had a lovely birthday present from the boy actually, a cute little bracelet that's hung on my jewellery plaque in my bedroom. For some strange reason it catches my eye every day and makes me think of him, not that I need a reminder, he's already in my head most of the time anyway. I keep telling myself I'll get over it one day .....

Anyway, it didn't really end well after all the good stuff, and we didn't speak for a few months afterwards. I swore blind I wouldn't go back, I meant it, of course .... alright, I didn't mean a word of it, I think I was going back all along. But I was brave, I went alone. And you know what, I'm proud of me for that, because I think heading off to Manchester airport and getting on a plane to Dalaman, finding my transfer all alone and checking into my apartment all alone, is the bravest thing I've done in my life so far. And you know what, it was fab. Freedom is pretty wonderful really.

Anyway, I won't go into details of that holiday again, I'm sure you're sick of hearing about it, I'm sick of thinking about it, okay I'm not, but there's only so many times you can re-hash the story of how you actually had a wonderful time with someone you realised you actually loved (and still bloody well do, grrr), but then you went home and he went weird, now you're a bit broken hearted but hey, you'll get over it, before everyone rolls their eyes for the millionth time and yawns. But it was great whilst it lasted.

In the middle of all this emotional trauma, I did find my new hobby, the one I'm indulging in now. Writing. It was because I was angry and stressing out after a rather irritating phone call from the boy back in August, that made me start typing, and before you knew it, a blog was born. I kinda love it. And I'm writing a book, yes, me, writing a book! I don't know if it's any good, I don't know if anyone will actually get to read it, but it's bloody good fun writing it, and it's getting me through the dark, grim winter days where daylight never seems to burn through the darkness. Is it me, or do we literally go to work in darkness and come home in darkness? I sit behind a tinted window at work as well, so I actually never really see daylight. It's no wonder I'm borderline SAD.  

So this year I've met some wonderful people, so lovely people and some pretty crap people. I will remember them all, for many different reasons of course. The wonderful people and the lovely people, I hope I stay in touch with them, the crap people can jog on. But the crap people taught me that even paradise has it's dark side, and I'll be more wary next time. So y'know, thanks I guess.

I think overall this year has taught me some lessons, some hard, some nice, but lessons all the same. It's made me stronger. I never thought I'd be sat feeling quite so pragmatic about the boy and what is or isn't happening there. Maybe I'm in denial. Actually y'know, I think I might be. I keep thinking my phone's going to ring or something and I'm clearly deluded because on the rare occasions it rang with him on the other end, it only ever rang for about three seconds, meaning that I had to call back and foot the bill. Lovely. But if you don't have hope, what do you have? Yeah, I'm in denial.

Anyway, as I'm probably now going to head into a stupour or chocolates, mince pies, alcohol and far too much food in general - Happy Christmas everyone. I hope you all get your Christmas wishes, and I hope I get mine, although I don't think it's likely, the UK Border Agency aren't that leniant, but I'll settle for my wish plan B please Santa.

So in the words of the scary bloke from Slade that looks like Santa on crack - iiiiiitttt'ssss Chhhrrrriiissssstttmmmaaaaaaassssssssssssssss!!

xx

Sunday 18 December 2011

Dear Santa

It's the most wonderful time of the year ....

Is it really?

Okay, I'm not a total scrooge where Christmas is concerned, and to be honest, it's only really this year I've gone all bah humbug to this degree, but it seems to have been going on since the end of September. There is such a thing as over-kill. I like sparkly lights and crackers as much as the next person, but summer seems to have merged into the most expensive time of the year without much of a break inbetween.

I'll put out a bit of a statement for shock value here - I've never been in a relationship at Christmas. I choose to see the positives in this, no present buying, no having to spend Christmas dinner in two different locations, no having to put on a pretend smile when the potential in-laws buy you a hideous top you wouldn't even wear to a fancy dress party. Of course there are down sides also, it's a warm, snuggly, coupled up time of year, and I spend it snuggled up to my Jack Russell - which is fine, because let's face it, he's a hell of a lot more reliable and will never let me down. I can also sit and scoff an entire tub of Celebrations without anyone shaking their head at me and looking disapproving. I don't care that I won't fit into my jeans on 1 January, nobody else will either - that's what January's there for, hardcore dieting and never leaving the house after you get in from work. It's such a happy, joyful month, don't you think?

I know I'm not really giving off the right kind of vibes to agree with this, but I do like Christmas really, I like food, I like presents and I like chocolate very much. What I hate with a total and utter passion is New Year. New Year swiftly follows Christmas, and I have an impending feeling of doom from Boxing Day.

Whilst Christmas might be a potential snuggled up couple time, New Year most definitely is, and a time of looking at what you haven't got, or didn't do in the previous year that you swore you would. I get depressed on  New Year's eve, so I often don't go out, but then I feel like I should be out and I get even more fed up, so just try to pretend it's a normal day and that those fireworks at midnight are just coincidence and the fact my phone won't stop bleeping from 11.30pm onwards is just because I'm popular for one hour in the year.

I'd like to go away for New Year, and one of these years I will do, when flight prices decide not to be through the roof and I win the lottery. Sydney would be good, I'd like to see the fireworks over the harbour bridge, maybe Times Square in New York. Istanbul maybe? I'll decide on that one when I've been and I decide whether I like it or not. But really, I'd settle for sitting on a beach with friends at New Year, not shivering my arse off with about ten blankets and having to endure whatever hellish rammel they've stuck on the BBC to 'entertain' us saddos that can't be bothered to go out.

So this time I've decided that I won't make any resolutions, because basically I never keep them, oh actually, I did keep one once, although it wasn't really a resolution, more of a decision; about ten years ago I promised I would pluck my eyebrows every weekend. I've kept to that one. Basically because if I didn't then lord knows what I'd look like.

No, this year I'm just going to say that 2012 will be about me working towards where I want to be. Hopefully I might fast track myself there if some things in the pipeline work out, but we'll have to see with that. If not, then I will save my arse off and put things in place - because I have decided once and for all that in three years' time, when the evil, evil loan is paid off, I am packing up and moving to the sun for good.

I have asked Santa for one this year - it's probably not going to happen but if anyone can do it, Santa can, right? I have asked him to sort out the tangled mess that is my heart, and hopefully knock some sense into the one that's making it tangled. It would be a Christmas miracle on a scale nearing the first one, but hey, that's what Christmas is about, right? Hope and all that.

So Santa, you lovely, red-suited, bearded dude, come on, I've been a good girl, honest I have ....

Friday 16 December 2011

Many a lesson learnt ....

If moving house is anything as stressful as moving blog addresses, then I'm not doing it in a hurry. Yes, I know, I've moved again. Please don't get too dizzy, this time is the last time, I promise.

I'll explain the reason behind my moving in a minute, but really, it's a blessing, because I do like this layout so much better, and I know I said that the last time as well, but really, I mean it this time, honest.

So much has happened, I'm not entirely sure where to begin. I'll be honest, lately the quality of my blogging has been, well, pants. It's fine, you can agree, it's true. The reason for this is because I've not been able to write about what's on my mind, my creative freedom has been blocked by a bunch of bitchy girls that really should know better.

The whole point of writing is to express your thoughts, rant a little, blah, blah, but really, if you can't rant about what's on your mind, what's the point? I got into writing because I found it therapeutic, and it stops me bottling things up and getting stressed out. Not being able to do that has, you guessed it, stressed me out. I have spots, spots I tell you! This is not good, especially the week before Christmas when there's all manner of functions to be attending. Of course, this regression back to my teenage spot years has absolutely nothing at all to do with the amount of Dairy Milk I've been throwing down my neck, nothing at all.

So I'll start at the beginning. I've been dying to do this. Bear with me, it's quite a long story, but like all good tales, it has a lesson to be learnt at the end. Who said reading my blog wasn't educational?

So here goes ....

I went to Marmaris on my own in October, I'm sure a lot of you will know all about this. I met a bunch of girls out there that were also on their own, spending season out there, or in small groups. Originally we formed a merry band of tourists and enjoyed ourselves, it was great, all girls together. For all of about two days, before the inevitable bitching began. In fact, it might not even have been two days.

It turned into something out of Mean Girls, which would be fine had the girls involved been high school age. One of them was knocking on fifty-odd, in fact she was the ring leader of the lot. She ruled the roost and told everyone what to do, nobody would dare cross her and everyone did as she said, all except one. Of course, the one who didn't do as she was told, was ostracised and bitched about and then in the end, stitched up and pretty much bullied online.

I'm actually ashamed to say that I basically went along with whatever this old woman had to say, simply because I was, a) on my own, b) quite keen to go and see the ex, who then turned out not to be an ex again, but now might be, but I'm not sure (more on that later), and c) I was a bit of a plank really.

These girls, as nice as they were to me at the time, turned out to be your typical English/Scottish girls in Marmaris, or what the locals refer to as typical anyway. Slappers, that's probably the kindest way to put it. The old saying that you get tarred with the same brush by association is quite true, so at night time, when the slapperage was at its worst, I stayed out of the way, and spent time with the person who, if I'm honest, I went out there to see in the first place. The next morning I was filled in on the shenanigans of the night before and it made me glad I'd stayed in with the boy.

There was one girl who I felt I clicked with straight away; she turned out to be the only one with enough balls to stick up for herself at the time and did her own thing. Credit to her, I say. At the time I felt pulled in two directions, actually no, make that three. On the one hand, I felt like I ought to go along with the girls, I'm not sure why, maybe some twisted version of loyalty, but also for my own ends because I knew we'd end up down the end of the beach I wanted to be (i.e. to see the boy). Secondly I wanted to spend more time with the other girl, because I genuinely got along with her and I felt her kind of holiday was definitely my idea of a holiday too, but thirdly, and possibly most of all, I wanted to spend time with the boy. I wasn't happy when I wasn't with him or near him, because I am sad and have serious separation issues, and I really need to get a handle on it. But anyway, picture a brunette girl who had someone grabbing one arm, someone else grabbing the other, someone grabbing a leg, and all pulling at once in different directions. I was basically hopping around on one leg with someone grabbing me towards Icmeler, one towards the marina and another somewhere in the middle of the sea. It was awkward to say the least.

Little things started to annoy me whilst we were there, like the older woman getting far too involved with the boys who I'd made friends with on previous holidays, and who I believe know me for the person I am, and who don't lump me into the 'just like every other English girl' thing they have. Again, tarred by association, and it worried me. She began to make little remarks about the boy, basically making it quite clear she would have jumped at the chance of flirting the life out of him if I'd not been on the scene. Now, rightly or wrongly, I am a girl who isn't the most secure, so when some big, brash, far too confident woman decides that she wants a go on my fella, I get a tad bit insecure and start worring that he would rather have her. He wouldn't, at least, he'd better not (and if he were talking to me, I'd ask him, but he's not, so I can't. Grrr, men).

For all of this, I must admit that at the time she treated me like a friend. She may have been overly controlling, but this I didn't see at the time because I wasn't interested, I was far too distracted by other things.

It wasn't until we got home that she showed her true, dark colours.

Now, I will state here and now that I am not proud of myself and the way I allowed myself to be sucked into a world that I can now see as completely not me. Why did I do it? I don't know, distraction from monotony, flattered that people I'd only just met really seemed to like me? Feeling like I belonged to a group that loved the same place as me? I don't know, but none of those reasons are good enough, and they're certainly not an excuse. I stood by and let them call people names and bitch. I may even have agreed at times, simply for a quiet life, when I certainly didn't agree. I hated it. I felt horrible.

So when things took a turn for the sinister, I called time and got out.

When someone's relationship is at risk because of the actions of a few childish, bitchy girls, who are trying to split a four year relationship up, simply for the hell of it, well, I'm out. So I blabbed to the girl who it involved, we got one step ahead of them and their plan failed spectacularly. I wouldn't be involved, I refused.

I slowly pulled myself away from that group, I saw them for what they were. I then learnt that the older woman had poured the blame of an argument onto me, simply to get herself out of the frame, when I wasn't even there to be involved. She then tried to cause trouble between me and the boy, by trying to get me insanely jealous over a fake profile on Facebook, which I'm not convinced wasn't of her making in the first place.

Reading this back, it's all so stupidly childish, I can't believe it actually happened.

Like most things in life, karma comes back around. The good thing to come out of all this mess is that I am now genuinely good friends with the girl that I wish I'd spent more time with on that holiday. We are planning our own holiday in a little while and I will no doubt go away with her in summer. So really, good deeds are rewarded, and karma bites those on the arse that are spiteful.

I have learnt that I shouldn't apologise for being me. I may not be the wildest, I might be a bit quiet at times, but I don't care. I'm a good person, I'm funny, I'm kind and I have a conscience. I care what people think about me. It has also taught me that you can't trust everyone you meet, because unfortunately not everyone is nice, and not everyone is a good person with a kind heart. Unfortunately.

October showed me the dark side of Marmaris, yet I still love the place. Maybe I needed to see that side of it, to toughen me up a bit. I don't regret going for all this crap that's happened since, I met a good friend out of it, I saw old friends and met a few new ones too. I spent time with someone that I genuinely adore, rightly or wrongly, and whether I ever see him again or not, I will cherish my memories because although I might not understand him at the moment, my memories make me smile even now. My heart was broken, I won't deny it, it's still not healed, and I get the feeling it might be cracked a few more times before we're done, but I'm tougher for it, and I wouldn't change a thing. It's actually beginning to teach me my own self-worth, and the way I do and don't deserve to be treated.

So this week I took the dive and blocked the lot of the troublemakers from Facebook, MSN and ignored texts. I have had enough. The upcoming year will be a new start. I'm not convinced the older one won't try to cause trouble for me, specifically by targetting the boy if I'm honest, but it's fine, I've got it covered, and I know who he'll believe - it's certainly not her and her lies. Thankfully a mutual friend has also seen through her and will back me up all the way.

Phew, I feel so much better for getting that off my chest. My wrist hurts, I've not typed that fast in ages.

So that's the reason I moved, I don't want anything I write to be used against me in any way, shape or form, so I've gone icongnito and shifted the lot. From now on my fingers are free to write whatever flows down to them.

Many a lesson learnt indeed.