So it’s been a very very very long time since I’ve opened up WordPress and written a blog post. So long that I didn’t actually know where my laptop was, or if it even worked anymore. Since the beginning of 2017 I’ve written a handful of blog posts, and I keep saying to myself ‘I’m going to start my blog again’ but it never happens.
In 2017 my life completely changed. Not in a fantastic, exciting kind of way, but in an ‘everything fell apart and was a mess’ kind of way. It started with being made redundant, starting a new job, and being made redundant again before just settling on taking part in odd temp jobs. And then on top of that, my relationship ended and I had to sell my home. I’d love to write a nice thing about how after nearly 7 years together we just grew apart and went separate ways, but there isn’t a nice way to write about what happened. He cheated on me, and not only that but with my friend. And although I knew it was true, I was lied to again and again and again and told it was all in my head, that I was paranoid and my mental health problems were making me think this way. And after a while, I did genuinely believe it was in my head, and I did start developing a lot of mental health problems. I didn’t work for a few months, spent a lot of time depressed, had a little run away to Canada, and had to go to therapy, before selling my flat I loved and moving into my parent’s house. Once our flat sale had finalised, and he had his share of the money, it all came out that it was true, not something I had made up, and while I was relieved that I wasn’t imagining things, I was hurt and betrayed.
2018 I spent the year trying to piece parts of my life back together. I started the new year living back in my childhood bedroom, with my two cats, unemployed and single. I was incredibly depressed and felt like my life was lacking a direction. On the 3rd of January 2018, I started a new job, after the past year of being up and down in employment and temping. Turned out I really enjoyed my job, and I was actually fairly good at it, and I got myself a little promotion, and now I bore everyone to death talking about holiday parks and caravans. After 6 months of living in my childhood bedroom with two cats, which meant I never slept, I started looking into moving out again. I found a nice little flat in a town I always wanted to live in, viewed it, put an offer in and it was accepted. I was very excited about my new flat, and spent ages doing it up before moving in. I planned on blogging all about my new project, but I wanted to wait until I had finished it, which never happened, mainly because…
In August, I met a boy. I had dated a bit, but I wasn’t really looking for anything serious, because the only way to make sure I didn’t get my heart broken again was to trust no one and be happy and single. And then I met Chris. He seemed to find me funny, listened to the weird things that happened in my head, wasn’t put off by my anxiety, and made me laugh. As I learnt with dating as an adult, everyone comes with a history. Mine was I was emotionally guarded, and Chris’s history came with an 8-year-old son. In the early days, it made it a little tricky to see each other as he had him every weekend, and we both agreed we wouldn’t involve his son unless it became serious. As time went on it turned out it did become quite serious, and we quite liked spending time together, so after a few months, I met his son. I was genuinely terrified, I’ve not really been around children, how do I speak to him? What if he hates me? Turns out meeting Kiddo went really well, and it’s all been a pretty easy process.
2019 started and things were finally settled in my life, and then with a bang in January I found out I was pregnant. It wasn’t a part of my plan or anything I was thinking of for years to come. In fact, I had planned that this was the year I was going to do the America road trip I’d wanted to do for years. It was a shock, and I didn’t even live with Chris, but we were happy, and although not the plan, it was something we wanted and it was going to work. We excitedly told family, and you’ve never seen anyone as excited to become grandparents as my parents. Everything was great and we were in a happy little bubble planning to move in together, and then I got sick. Not just normal pregnancy morning sickness, but full on Hyperemesis Gravidarum.
It hit me at about 6 weeks pregnant, and nothing would stop it. Being my first pregnancy I didn’t realise that being sick 12 times a day wasn’t normal, and it wasn’t normal to feel like absolute death, struggle to get through your day and become depressed. I was unable to do anything, I frequently cancelled on my friends and lay in bed crying because I felt so crap. I lost 3 stone before someone realised something was wrong, and I was admitted to hospital on two occasions to be on a drip because I hadn’t kept anything down in days, and my body was basically starving itself. On the last hospital admission, they realised that I needed some help, and I got prescribed some meds to stop me from being sick, and I was able to eat again, have the energy to do things and function like a normal person again for the first time in 4 months. Just in time for me to move house again.
So that brings us to here. It seems even more chaotic when I write it all down what happened in the last few years; I moved house 3 times, sold a flat, bought a flat, changed job a bunch of times, met a boy, and found out I was pregnant. While life has been a massive worldwind during the last two years, I have finally got the time to get back into my love of blogging again. Some of my posts will be about things now, and some of them will be telling you about things that happened during the mad months. But hey that’s us all caught up now