first

‘There were some complications’ says the imaginary doctor in my brain. She takes off her surgery mask, a results letter clutched between her fingers. (The results were emailed but smart phone doesn’t have the same “ring” to it...) ‘It took around five years.’ She continues ‘but after hospital beds, “crazy” meds, scars, burns, tears, locked doors, unfixable heart, boiling hot anger, sick, fear, suffocated sadness, loss, attempting…’ ‘No, shut up fictitious degree doctor, this isn’t that kind of post.’ I say ripping the letter from her grasp and pulling out (clicking on) the results. First Class Honours in Drama and theatre (no wonder I wanted to script this story…) Boy fucking wow!

Today is bubbles of lovely happiness.

Here are the fireworks.

I will graduate with a first.

I think I now actually understand the term “jumping for joy”.  

I am dancing. Really fucking well. Sparks of pride and joy and wonderfulness whisper from my toes to my ears.  Another battle is won, this time however, by me. I beat my black dog. (Not in an animal abuse sort of way, the dog is a metaphor).

He is sulking. Slumped in the corner of my mind mimicking my pride in sing song sarcastic slur.

How embarrassing for him; returning to this infantile behaviour. In my present state of joy, I can mute the bastard. He becomes a drooling fool, soundlessly gawking like a goldfish.

Yes, dog, fuck you. Look at me and my army laughing the way you’ve sneered at me so many times before, not that I’m sinking to your level, I was just curious to see what it was like below the floor.

All these beautiful people carried me through and made you lose.

The ones who silenced your abusive slurs with wonderful words that twisted your blistering growls into wings to make me fly.

The ones who sat between me and you in inky silence when your sour sent stank the loudest.

The ones who believed every second, never doubting despite your incessant negativity spitting down on me.

Yes. Dog. Fuck you.  

Today I am proud. Today I know I can keep moving; carry on.

And that is something I can hold forever.

This post is speedy and scatty,

I’m sorry for any mistakes, I’m just so terribly happy.

five years.

I’ve not written anything on here for a little while. I wasn’t sure what to say.

My laptop has sat cold, been made redundant. Neglected. I feel I’ve ignored him for too long. (Neglecting inanimate objects makes me feel guilty.)

Just under a month ago I finished university. (Hurrah! And all that…)

I started my degree five years ago. With thoughts of taking over the world. With dreams that stretched from the ends of the hairs on my head, that ran through my blood to the tips of my toes. With the confidence of youth tapping on my shoulder. I strutted into a world I thought I had in my pocket. I know nothing (much like a legendry Game of Thrones Character), but I defiantly knew nothing then. I thought I’d do three years of this “uni thing”, get a wonderful job, get married and so on and so forth.

It wasn’t till five years later I finish what I started. During those five years I was swept up from my child mind into the clutches of early adulthood.

Although now, of course, I have never felt so young.

The first two years of university were coffee, pints, parties, pubs, clubs, tingling excitement, friendships. All speeding and fast till the sadness.

It took me two years of fighting to return to studying after I lost my partner in crime, my best friend, my love. To call it fighting however makes it sound much more chivalrous than it was. It was two years of forgetting, or trying to forget, or trying to recreate, or trying to find something, anything. When I returned I was terrified. Little broken pieces of me still stabbing the sides of my soul. My old arrogance laughing at me.

Now I have finished. 

The weight lifting sensation I’ve so often heard of, that I had so expected and hoped for, wasn’t there. When it was over, it was over. That was it, that was all it was. Finished. Where were the banners and balloons, the fireworks and party poppers, where was the star dust fizzing in my tummy? It was empty. I craved the party that my peers wrapped themselves up in. I craved the buzz. Envied the normal. Felt myself dip into the most annoying mind place of all; self-pity. I climbed onto a stuffy Mega bus and that ugly emotion sat down in the front of my brain and down I sank with it. So off I ran to Bristol, back home. Without stopping for breath. Life pick up in Bristol and I was swept into a tornado of busy. Perhaps that sense of achievement will hit when I stand at graduation. Or perhaps it’s slow, like these last few weeks have been. Slow creeping pride. Gradual, so much so I have barely noticed it. As for now, right now, I am okay. I am excited about the future. I can find small pieces of joy. Life is not the instant hit I once knew it as. It’s softer, it’s subtle, calm. And in reality, that might be the best it has ever been, better than the grand finale, because it’s the beginning, the start of the show. The opening credits when your jaw is poised ready to dig your teeth into the world that zooms through your eyes and into your mind.

The lights are only just coming up.