The trouble with wheels..

I’m going to try and write this blog as positively as I can possibly muster, but it is about an issue that I have lived with since my teenage years and now annoyingly into my Adult Life.. I’m talking about singledom.

See the thing is, I’ve never been in what I can call a relationship with a member of the opposite sex, I’ve been close to them but they have ended up being rather one sided than the other, or if anyone has ever showed any interest in me, it’s been over before it’s began and never really warranted a mention to anyone, really.

So why is my love life so ridiculously pathetic? I’m not the ugliest kid in town, I take care of my appearance, I’m a good laugh and a great friend, apparently, there’s alot of affection inside me.. but none of it matters, because of one thing that will never change. My Wheelchair.

I’ve said before that sexy and disability go together like oil and water, I am more likely to be seen as a ‘good old dependable friend’ rather than the object of a Man’s desire. I see dating as a hurdle race for me, and I’m no Sally Gunnel of Love it seems.

Going out ‘on the pull’ never works, guys don’t seem to notice me, if I’m out with my able bodied girl friends I don’t stand a chance, sometimes you see the fear in the eyes of guys who are stuck talking to ‘the one in the wheelchair’ when they’d much rather be talking to the gorgeous girl to my left, for in fact anyone other than Me.

So I tried online dating, with both tacks as a socail experiment, for a couple of months I mentioned on the profile I was ‘withip h wheels’ and made the issue sound like not a big deal, which to me, it isn’t. I remain upbeat and positive, honesty is the beset policy after all. and then I tried not mentioning my shit legs on my profile, with the full intention of telling a prospective mate about my chair when the time came, I started to think that maybe if they got to know Me before they found out I was disabled they’d realize what I’ve always known, I’m not defined by my wheels.

The second tack has worked slightly better than the first, at least it leads to open conversations about the wheelchair an why I’m in it, but these conversations fizzle out eventually, the flirting stops and I’m left hanging mid conversation. It’s not like I’d don’t try and put myself out there. I do it’s just I haven’t had much luck.

I’m not saying that the single life is a constant source of trouble in my life, I often feel I’m glad to be single, when my Mates are in full throngs of love problems but every so often around a birthdays, and particularly at Christmas I get a weird feeling of loneliness and frustration, and not the kind of loneliness that can be filled by friends popping over or family being around you that can fix it.

It’s quite hard to describe the feeling that while you are living a full and enriched life in so many ways yo know that your missing out on not only the closeness that comes with the other half but I’m missing out on a big thing not having a relationship. Somedays it doesn’t feel fair. Or like it will ever happen

They stop looking and you’ll find it, but it my case, if I stop looking I fear nobody will discover me, I know I have alot to offer someone, somewhere over recent years, I’ve learnt to love who I am and not to feel ashamed. There’s no changing my disability and if someone doesn’t like that, well I can’t say anything that will change your mind.

I’ll keep going, it’ll happen. Just not anytime soon.
When it does I know it’ll be worth it.. Right?

Is ‘Spazzy’ Sexy?

I’ve said for years that disability and desire go together like oil and water, I’ve never felt ‘sexy’. Saying the word itself makes me cringe, and I don’t think I class myself as beautiful either – partly because, if you go round rating yourself as above average people will begin to hate you – and besides I’m not deluded, I’m no Jennifer Laurence.

The word Disabled, in it’s self doesn’t give you a image of desire, nor does it make you feel passionate. In the main, it’s a massive turn off, prompting pangs of panic and the inevitable stupid questions from the opposite sex. interest in romance is often non existent and when it is present, it comes with curiosity in the driving seat.

‘Can you feel your legs?’ and ‘Can you have Sex?’ are the most popular questions I get when blokes approach me.  The answer is Yes, if your wondering.

Society has a very narrow view of what beauty is and what you should deem to be desirable. People like me, don’t fit in that category, when I was a kid there was no disabled people used in Television, Film or in Literature who are the romantic leads, people with affliction, illness or deformity have historically been seen as the villainous bad guys, No one has ever had a secret crush on a fictional disabled person or at least if they have, they would never admit it.  Maybe this is the reason, I find it so hard to make myself appear alluring to the opposite sex, for years, it’s been a mythical unknown land and the thought of the differently able having a sexual appetite is, to many, a stomach churning thought, that others don’t wish to consider.

Disabled people should be the Baddies in Bond not the desirable forms in a Mills and Boon.

Sexy Sick Lit  is a new literary genre and is written about women who have chronic illnesses such as Breast Cancer, MS and Parkinsons as well as Disability that features, content of a sexual nature often describing passionate encounters with able bodied people.  It’s caused controversy, Many critics have called this the downward spiral of publishing, and parents are outraged at the content of such stories, with many worried about the effect it will have on teen readers, I can almost hear the cry of Helen Lovejoy from the Simpsons, screeching ‘won’t somebody think of the children!’ before I’ve even start to talk about this issue.

I am an advocate equality in all forms of our daily lives, Disabled a people have the same sexual desires and experiences as everyone else and like everyone else we have needs, I wish people would understand that just because we are unable in some aspects, we still have capacity to be passionate, sexual beings. I will be honest, there’s a bit of this Sexy Sick Lit that makes me feel weird.

Firstly the name of the genre is horrible, using the word ‘sick’ in anything in the traditional sense immediately makes people think ‘If people know I’m reading this stuff, they’ll think I’m a pervert’. Like its wrong and dirty.

It happens, get over yourselves, this is 2014. Sexy Sick Lit shouldn’t really exist as a genre, how about sticking disabled people, both Men and Women in  the more socially acceptable Chick Lit, or Mills and Boon, in formats suitable for Teens and Adults.

Wouldn’t it be refreshing to read a story about love that happens to feature one, or both of the characters that were disabled, not made out to sound like a freak show, but something that shows love as just that
Love in all of it’s glorious forms, that didn’t make the reader feel grubby and ashamed?

Maybe steps like this would begin to change perceptions of love, sex and disabilities in today’s society.

I hope

I don’t really know where to start with this blog. All I know us that things have happened that have made me reflect on what I’m doing with life.

Last week, I learned of the passing of a young lad, I won’t be going into much more detail than this, but the news has been a horrible shock. He was just 12, an age where innocence should be rife and all you should be worried about is where One Direction will chart in the top 40.

When I heard about him. The sadness swelled in my throat and the tears ran as easily as the last time I grieved for my Friend, who’s life was cut short by disability. I felt sick. It was happening again and I couldn’t believe it.

As I was driven home that night, I tried to fight off the tears, not just for the young lad who had died, but for those who I’ve lost, and for those of miss every single day.

It’s the hardest thing to cope with when your disabled, loosing those who are close to you, you become a tight knit group with the ones you build friendships with, there’s no explanation of life’s difficulties, your not judged on what you can or can’t do and at that early age, these people are the people who make you realise, often for the first time in your life, your not a freak. We are just people, trying to get the most out of life with crap bodies.

Some bodies, like second hand cars, will break down before you reach your destination. Sadly, leaving some behind for ever. It’s so unbelievably cruel. It breaks my heart and never, ever gets easier.

I wanted to call my close friends and tell them. I love them. And let them know just how much I care and are thankful for them. I don’t think I tell them often enough, and if I was to ever loose them, I’d regret not telling them.

I should stop winging and wasting time worrying about little, stupid, insignificant  things. Life is short what the hell am I doing, of any real difference to this world? Nothing, really.. So I’ve created a bucket list, do I don’t look back on this lucky life of mine and thing ‘shoulda, woulda, coulda’. I’m too scared of my own shadow at times, and get all too frustrated at my limitations. Yet I’m still here, breathing and stuff. I think I forget how lucky I am.

Maybe it’s a sign, but I keep seeing things that strike a chord, in magazines, on the TV, I hear stories, harrowing ones that for some reason all have the same moral. I gotta keep going, and not waste my life, maybe it’s just because in sensitive or maybe it is my mates kicking me up the arse to do something with my life.

More importantly, I miss my friends do much. This Thursday would be my Best Friend’s 25th Birthday. It’s weird to think about him sometimes, what he’d be doing with life, what he’d make of me these days, not to mention what he’d look like.

I like to think he’s looking over me, and whatever I’m doing, he’s proud and I hope he knows how much I loved him and all the others and just how much I miss them..

Have no fear.. (four wheeled) Wonder Woman is here!

I’ve always been a big fan of cinema, for me it can be a distraction from discomfort and a complete avenue of escapism for an imagination that is sometimes limited in reality.  The best present my Mum ever got me on a whim has been a Netfix account. A good chuckle at a comedy or getting absorbed in a romance,  and routing for a hero in a action movie, lets my imagination run wild, like letting an excitable child of it’s rains.

There’s one kind of genre that I have become a massive fan of… Superhero Movies. I only really discovered my love of them when I became a Media Student, quite thankfully actually, if I’d have realized as a child, I would have been in a comic book store all the time and been classed as a geek.  

Now as a  20 something my love of Superheroes is quietly kept under wraps most of the time, I don’t do the conventions, I don’t go to the Supermarket dressed in lycra, but there is something about the whole franchise that is, to someone like me so cool that if professor X sought me out and asked me to recruit to the XMen. I would. Probably. with no hesitation in fact.

 Superheroes are outcasts in society, they feel different and yet in the end, despite this they are the eventual hero. the savior the one society calls on when it all gets a messy. XMen inparticular, have a form of disability to deal with, you often see the hero in an Xmen franchise, suddenly told, they are different. Struggling to comes to terms with it They come to a cross roads and have to decide whether they embrace and accept it, using their difference for a positive outcome. It just so happens that, they save the world. Mutants called on when you humans fuck everything up… 

Frankly an Xmen has a cooler disability than Me. they have super power. I ache, most of the time, They look sexy, I wear comfortable shoes and hardly ever noticed by blokes,  I know it’s not the same but I can definatley see the similarity. I don’t go round calling myself a Mutant, but even that is cooler than the horrible ‘Disabled’ label.

I’ll never the world, and I’d never try and be a superhero but watching a superhero Movie does leave me with a boost, I leave the cinema with a reinforced belive that just because I am ‘different’ it doesn’t mean I’m a write off. I have a talent, just like able bodied people and I might not have a metal skeleton, I can’t read minds or bend spoons but I do alright.

 I also have a renewed feeling of defince toward society and it’s assumptions about me, not in a aggressive way but more of a ‘hold your head up high, be proud of who you are because, actually your doing alright’




Don’t just settle.

 I want you to know this post is in noway fishing for compliments, it honesty on my part, you see, matters of the heart, have never been easy for me to successfully achieve. In the past it has been very difficult me to accept compliments from Men, If they told me I looked pretty, I’d instantly tell them they were wrong, convinced they were lying, or just being polite because they felt sorry for me knowing I probably don’get much attention.  I am slowly getting better, but it still is a struggle to accept anyone would ever fancy this broken toy of a woman.

I wouldn’t call myself overly pretty,when I look in the mirror, my minds image of myself is way off, what you have to remember is, in my head I am able bodied. So when I see the disabled me in the mirror, I’m always disappointed my body is uneven and I’m not half as trendy, or as slim as my mind wants me to believe.

I have always been single, with one only one thing close to one under my belt, that by anyone’s standards, well, it’s pretty tragic. People must think I’m gay or something. I can categorically say I am not. I go through waves of loneliness, the kind of alone that the love of your family and your dearest and closest friends will never fill, It’s not a constant pang, just intermittent, big life events, Christmas and family gatherings can sometimes when it hits and Valentines Day makes me want to cry.

By and large though, I’m happy, I’ve had a taste of utter heart break, promised myself  that no other man would ever make me feel as useless and pathetic as he did, I get admirers, they last about a week if I’m lucky, they soon disappear when they find out that my wheels are included.  I have learnt never to get my hopes up, He’ll be gone when morning comes, so I keep my mouth shut until I know exactly what’s happening and if he’s gonna stick around.

I don’t want a Hollywood romance, one that’s perfect and fleeting. I want a love built in the trenches of war, one that is full of passion and a belief that nothing else, despite what people say, think or do; none of it matters. with a a courage to fight that will make you hold on when life makes it difficult.

There is more to me than a pretty face and wheels, I need someone who will be here on the days when my disability is making me the worst human in the world.  I will not settle for someone who wants to be with me outta curiosity. I am not a freak show. 

Some may say that I’m picky, I’m not. I just want to have someone who gives me as much love and respect and I’m ready to give Mr. Right in a like for like deal.

My friend thinks that, I’m a very special person and when I find him He’ll be the one who last the distance and that will be it, forever. 

Fingers crossed… Good things come to those who wait, right?


I should be better…

I’ve never been more proud to be a Midlander, than I have this week. The eyes of the world have been looking at us over the past few weeks and months as Burntwood teenager Stephen Sutton battled with terminal cancer.

I didn’t know Stephen, but I knew about his campaign long before the cameras appeared, his determined nature and refusal to let his circumstances dictate what he able to do was something I could relate to, he just got on and turned the most negative situation possible into a catalyst for positive impact.

I hate the term inspiration, and it’s all to often used to describe me, something which is quite simply, ridiculous and wholly misplaced, when you compare me to Stephen Sutton. I will never be as eloquent or as stirring as him, he was about to die and yet remarkably calm and at peace with that fact.

Sometimes it’s a struggle for me to keep smiling, the smile and seemingly positive impact I try and spread can slip, and actually if you knew what I was really like, you take every nice thing you thought about me and think again. My positive attitude doesn’t exist for greater good, I don’t raise awareness, and I don’t think my words have enough sway to raise millions for charity. My attitude exists for purely selfish reasons. I don’t want to change the world.

Stephen made me feel like I don’t do enough, made me realise I complain too much and made me want to be a better person, and an ambassador for disability. Infact, I feel quite selfish, and guilty that I’ve occasionally sulked about the circumstance I’m in,  yes, life isn’t perfect, but I’m not dead, maybe I should be creating a legacy, because people aren’t going to remember me for long after I’m gone. I’m nothing special.

Stephen, lost the fight this week, it’s fair to say he is a local hero. I never got emotional about his story when he was alive, but its only now I realise just how remarkable he was.

His death brings very painful memories back for me, I’ve lost a number of class mates, all around Stephen’s age through health. Unfortunately, disability didn’t get along with them in thier cases and picked a fight with every fibre of thier being every single day.

Loosing a friend is never easy, and like any grief it never gets easier. One Christmas I lost two close friends in the space of three days, my grief was unbearable, There was always a chance my friends could die earlier than me, we knew in some cases it was a for gone conclusion, but everytime I’m told about another friend, It kills me. A bit of my spirit goes with them.

It’s shitty when a funeral service actually doubles up as a school reunion. And the the reason for there death is even more upsetting. They weren’t teen tearaways, we didn’t go out doing lines of cocaine, and gallons of booze, we were just a happy bunch of friends.

Seeing the pain and anguish that Stephen’s friends were in, made me miss my friends who died, I felt that same sickening knot, that forms when you discover someone has gone and felt the hopelessly numb feeling that hits you. My heart goes out to them.

Stephen will never leave them, not really, I only hope that I have made my friends proud. I’ve lived my life partly for them since they died, mindful that I’ve still got the life they wish they had.

Rest in peace guys. You’re always with me, even when you think I’ve forgotten…

Don’t believe your Television

Television and Film will always be a main passion of mine, I love to create anything that entertains, I’ve got hundreds of half written scripts, there’s nothing I like more than being on a filming set.  Learning about the process of making telly and film was something I enjoyed immensely, creating things that can not only inform and educate but also entertain can allow anyone no matter what your ability to discover the world around you.

But TV has never really loved me in the same way I loved it, and when I say Me, what I actually mean is Disabled People.  Television, and in fact the media as a whole, facilitate in my eyes the catalyst for pity and creates a widening gap of difference in society that I, and many others are doing our damnedest to close. 

I sometimes play disability bingo in our house, when you watch the TV I will try and spot a disabled person on the box, and whilst these days, Children’s output is overflowing with a diverse range of Asian, and Disabled Children featuring as contributors, when I was a kid, I didn’t know ant disabled people until I went to School.  Mainstream channels struggle to find an appropriate balance. It’s either Inspiring slow mo shots featuring Snow Patrol montage or we are portrayed a villainous humans, with a spiteful tongue and a chip on their shoulder so big you could eat a jumbo fish with it. 

For instance, Eastenders recently introduced a permanent Disabled character, a new member of the Market traders, I was pleased that maybe the Beeb like Corrie were prepared to help change perceptions in 2014… Instead it took all of 5 minutes for me to realise they’d taken the opportunity to change the minds of millions and instead stick to the formulaic, grumpy bitter persona that most writers for entertainment  believe we are.

I do understand that these types of disabled people exist, but in all honest by and large most of us aren’t bitter, grumpy and unapproachable. If anything we are the opposite. 

I don’t know how many times I can say this, but I am not an inspirational figure, I don’t want you to feel pity if you happen to read, hear or learn about my struggles, I don’t need a smalshy soundtrack to make you feel like you should be in awe of me, we all have stories that are in someway inspiring so stop it. If you take strength from my stories, then fair enough. Just don’t make it out to be a conscious effort made by me to change the human condition to become understanding and full of empathy. I am no stronger nor no weaker than the next man, I am not a saint.

Coronation Street, have got their quota spot on in my opinion, Izzy arrived on the street, found a job, a man and a well rounded social life, with no real fuss about the D word, when it’s referenced Corrie writers seem to insure its in a casual way the way I do in my own life. Not placed in a script like a herd of Elephants in a room that no one mentions, with the actor behaving like a savage dog, baying for blood if the issue is ever raised in an Ali G ‘ Is it ‘cos I is black…’ situation.   

If the creative form I loved so much took a more rounded and sensible view of disability, ditched the extreme depictions of what it thinks we are like, then maybe, just maybe, it’d change the views of the public..

Maybe our stories aren’t sexy enough for TV

Talk to Me..

I have always been a social animal from a very early age I was a talkative kid, my physio at the time said it was because my brain wasn’t having to cope with walking as a skill so my language flourished.  My circumstances meant that I have always had to be vocal to prevent being pushed to the back of a crowd.

Society sees me differently to able bodied folk, so over the years, I’ve developed a style, a laid back comical attitude, and a chatty persona, indeed anything that makes me memorable. I always refused to let my cerebral palsy infect anymore of my life.  It’s had it’s fair share. it’s not having anything else, least of all my spirit.

Scope launched a campaign to irradiate socail arkwadness in the UK earlier today, following a ‘shocking’ statistic that two thirds of the population are frightened of disability and don’t quite know how to deal with someone who has a disability for fear of offence.  Sadly, I know all too well that this statistic is bang on.

Despite my confidence and socail skills, I still secretly get a nervous about meeting people I don’t know for the first time.  I don’t like the thought that l am the reason people are nervous, because at a basic level, I’m just a human and no human, in my eyes should ever be made to feel uncomfortable just by being in the presence of another.

So I will open with a joke, about the elephant in the room at the earliest convenience, the sooner I do the sooner the person will star to realize that I haven’t got a chip on my shoulder and I don’t blame anyone for the way my life is.  Humour has been a great friend of mine over the years.

I encourage everyone to ask me questions no matter how daft, believe there are questions about you normal people, daft ones, that I am always asking, for instance, is there a rhythm to walking? Ladies, what do heels feel like?  I could go on,   If it helps to put your mind at rest ask me that question, if I think your being to personal I will tell you, and politely tell you so.

I am approachable, but I’m not afraid to pull up the small minded folk who are quite frankly, real life trolls who behave in the most shocking manner, you wouldn’t believe I’ve heard it all from people who believe that speaking in one silable and patting me on the head is a sure fire hit, to the more sinister who believe that ‘my kind’ have no place in society and in the very infrequent cases been told I should be dead. Unacceptable, no matter who you are.

Sometimes the fact that my personality is constantlyseen as positive is exhausting. I’m positive by nature, people have come to expect it, who am I to disappoint? I pride myself on the fact that I am cheery. If I’m down, I’m not down for long.

There are days where I have to pretend I’m OK. Nobody wants to talk to a moaning Arsehole, I definitely won’t make friends then….

Even though, I deploy all of these tactics when meeting new people, I can still find it hard to make new friends, I get tired of the aww bless her routine that some potential friends use.  I don’t want pity. I don’t need it so please stop.  The friendships that I hold dear are the ones where neither of have had to try.

My two dearest friends one of 26 nearly 27 years, and the other heading for a decade where born from a love of me despite everything, they aren’t worried about my chair and never will be. They are mates with the person, not just because having a disabled mate makes them more socially aware.  They don’t except excuses, of I can’t do it cos I’m different and often forget I’m in wheelchair at all. It’s these I care deeply for, I don’t have many friends, but the ones I have enrich my lives more than a 1000 hangers on ever could.

Still feeling awkward?  well no matter how many campaigns charities champion or how may opinions disabled people, as individuals try and change. there will always be a small minority who are scared of what we are.  You can’t win everyone over, The sad thing is, if they got over the fear, you’d realize that the monster you think I am doesn’t exist.

It’s not what is written or said about you that matters, it’s what you become because of it.  

Want to learn how to talk to me?  Click here to view the Scope campaign

Fashionably F**ked

hWhat is it with Disabled People who insist on dressing in sports gear?

You know the ones I mean?  the ones dressed less for speed and more for comfort, the jogger bottom brigade, despite the fact that most disabled struggle to walk anywhere (never mind jog).  

In my experience, feeling trendy and fashionable is a rarity.  I often find myself going for practicality over style, Disabled bodies are different to the norm, a designer doesn’t make clothes with the thought that the customer is going to be sat down for 8 hours a day, instead they focus in the more popular body image problems held by the majority of women, which is to be expected, I mean that’s where the money is.

My body is a weird shape, my legs are thin, while my torso is muscle, my arms work everyday harder than most other people I know, my mid rift is that of Buddha, and yet when taken out of my chair really rather flat (which is beyond annoying, let me tell you)..

I am blessed with an ample chest, which whilst I’m proud of Grant and Phil it makes finding work shirts that are fitted and smart hard to find, that with daily, repetitive motion of pushing wheels make these a no go area… Wanna look smart, forget it and suit jackets are often too long in the arm meaning that, they get dragged through all manner of shit before I even get to the office, and with the pushing, comes the jacket flinging off your shoulders after three consecutive moves… they just need a button, just one, to keep it together… why don’t they do this?! 

My trousers need to be higher wasted than most due to the fact I’m on my arse all day, if not, your likely to get a view of my arse crack, which isn’t nice, for anyone.

Shoes are my biggest disappointment in my life, you don’t know disappointment until you find yourself getting excited about the fact you’ve managed to bag yourself a saving, because your feet are so deformed your shoes are no longer classed as clothing, but as a disability aide and thus meaning the purchase is exempt from VAT.

Of course for every odd bodyshape out there, somewhere there is a specialist catalog or website, but unlike stores like Jacamo, or Simply Be, for the larger human, disability clothing is quite frankly a horror story..

If you do a quick Google  search for disability clothing (click the link… ) my point is proven, full of old fashion, wouldn’t be seen dead in, apparel with sarcastic shirts with slogans like ‘I’m only in it for the parking’ it infuriates me. 

I am a young woman in my 20′s who hasn’t got a chip on my shoulder I just want to be feminine and attractive, I luckily have a very honest Mum who tells it like it is and never lets me out of the house looking anything like presentable and my Nanna drilled it into me that I am never to go out without my eyes on, you  never know who is looking at them. So why does my fashion have to suffer?  I want to be just as fashionable as every other woman. 

I am s considering designing a complete range of clothing from accessories to underwear work wear, sleepwear, shoes, shirts trousers and evening wear for both women and men but don’t know the first thing about designing clothes 

My blogs are read by a larger audience than I realize and so I turn to the internet, my readers, fashion followers, designers, bloggers and highstreet chains for your help in designing this clobber and helping millions of disabled people feel fashionable.. The internet is amazing.. It might just work…


One day it’ll bite your arse..

I wouldn’t say I’m religious, despite the fact I’ve been christened I’m not a big fan of church. I guess I’m more of a spiritual person I guess you could say I believe in something, I just haven’t quite figured out what.

Karma is another thing, the whole, good things come around to those who are given a rough deal in the end crap was hard to swallow. It’s difficult to hold onto that with smile when you’re low and there’s been many a time, when privately I’ve crumpled. Unable to understand why things are unfair.

When I was 18, I fell in love for the first time, for the majority of the time secretly harboured. It was my then best friend, and it was only after a row my love for him was spoken about. What followed was two years of ‘will they, won’t they’.

At times he’d make me feel brilliant, I couldn’t have been happier, and in a blink of an eye, I’d feel a wave of confusion, upset and an abundance of the sneaky suspicion he didn’t really mean anything when he said I was attractive.

As time went on, things became akward, he moved on, started dating and soon he called me telling me he was going to become a Dad. By this point I’d distanced myself from him, but in all honesty I still held a torch. I was heart broken.

I kept smiling, but inside I thought ‘not only have I lost the man I am in love with, but my best friend is gone too’. All a bit ridiculous now when I think about it. Quite laughable..

He and his girlfriend moved in together round the corner from my house, which was tremendously difficult. I was just getting over him, and quite honestly I was worried about bumping into them, but the reality is I never saw them. He’d text me to ask about village related issues, nothing more.

That was until last week, I saw him outside the shop, my heart dropped and I felt sick, I didn’t want to speak to him, I didn’t want questions. I wanted him to go away.

He stood next to the car on the phone, he was so close I could hear his conversation. I didn’t want him to look  but my eyeline was darted backwards and forwards in a sheer state of panic.

Do I wave?
Do I smile?
Do I shout? Don’t do anything!

I wasn’t until I saw him I started to understand Karma. He is a year younger than me, and time had not been kind, tired unshaven, dishevelled and balding. Is it bad that this made me feel better?

It was only then I realised that, whilst my life isn’t perfect. I’m certainly better off now without the Man I was so in love with a few years back. That whole situation was horrible, and it’s only now I can stop and think ‘Look at what you could have been`.

I also realised, that maybe I am too hard on myself I’m not as bad looking as my minds eye would have me believe, I actually, am a nice person and happiness will happen for me eventually. I’ve just got to hold on.

So, if the bloke I used to love whole heartedly is reading this: Thank you. You were a prick, frankly but that made me strong, and I’m destined for big things.

It’s called Karma and you turned out to be the best thing I never had.