After my blog the other day about the road that led me to where I am today, I have done a lot of thinking about my life. This is a pretty big thing for me, as I have got in the habit over the years of not thinking about things. I have conditioned myself to glide along, keep busy and focus on the here and now, the day to day, and avoid spending time alone thinking about my past, and the ghosts that are still there waiting for me to drop my guard so they can get back in and mess with my head.

Although, maybe I was wrong. Because, since I wrote about my life on here, I have thought about it, a lot. And, I'm fine, I don't feel the need to cry, I don't hate myself, I don't feel so overpowered with guilt that I don't know what to do with myself, I don't even blame myself anymore. I can look at everything rationally and see that I was just a naive young girl who got in a situation that put me way out of my depth and I did the best I could to cope.

I should have done things so so differently, but I think we can all say that about a lot of things when we have the luxury of hindsight.

I originally thought I would use this blog to help me plan for my future, focus on the challenges ahead, keep track of my life so far away from home, pass some time while I have few friends here. I never dreamed I'd use it for this. For talking about the past. For letting my demons out, and for who knows, taking steps to finally being free. But it just seems the time and the place are right to do it. I dont know how far I'll get with my story, I don't know how much it'll help. But now it feels right to talk about my guilt, to talk about the reasons why people tell me I have haunted eyes. Im not going to start at the beginning, because I get confused where that is, so if you choose to read I apologise now for how messed up its likely to be......

The one thing that puzzles me about it all is the fact that the guy I loved, a good man, with a beautiful heart, died. I was devestated. But instead of crying out for comfort from those who loved me, from the close group of wonderful friends I have, or from my family who would have done anything to take away my pain, I kept it all bottled up inside.

I felt more pain than I thought was possible, it hurt so much it took my breath away, the pain was so intense that it was actually like torture, it blew my mind, it turned me into some sort of a primative wild being with no control over my emotions. When I found out he was dead I spent a time, I dont know how long, in a complete hysterical state, I had no say in that amazing rush of grief, guilt, dispair, disbelief and then even worse realisation that it was true. I was overwhelmed, I cried and sobbed and screamed and begged and pleaded. As my heart was breaking, all I could do was to break with it, in the least dignifyed way possible. Maybe I was in that state for a few hours, I dont even know. But at some point I woke up, having no idea I'd been asleep. I had that second of hope, that second when you think its all been a sick nightmare. Then I saw where I was, and who I was with, and my world crashed down again. The nightmare was real, and I was taking the lead role.

I have no idea how or even why I did what I did next. I went, I took a shower, I tried not to look in the mirror but I couldn't help catching a glimpse of how bad I looked, but I guess I had a pretty legitimate excuse for that. So I did my best to hide the pain, guilt and anguish which were haunting me inside and plastered across my face. I did my best to look normal, although I think I knew I was never going to be the same normal again.

Then I went home. It had been less than a day since I left my happy home, my room with its bright purple and yellow decor everyone laughed at, but I loved cos it was so vibrant a lot like me, less than a day since I'd hugged my dogs and laughed at the cute little things they did, less than a day since I'd curled up on the sofa with my family and chatted idley about the TV programmes we liked to watch, less than a day since i'd almost been drooling at the amazing smells my mum's cooking makes in the kitchen, less than a day since I bounded out of the door to go and meet the guy I loved.

Less than 24 hours.

That's all it took for me to change forever. For my room to look gray, for a cuddle with my dogs to be too much for me to bare incase I broke down, for me to stare at the TV but not focus on what was happening on the screen and then struggle to have normal conversation about the programme I hadn't watched, for the idea of eating anything to make me physically sick. For me to know that I'd never bound out of the door again, that I would never ever get to meet with my wonderful Greg ever ever again.

It was right after I walked back through my back door that I made the most stupid decision of my life. Instead of running up to my Mum and telling her everything, letting her comfort me and help me come to terms with my grief and then start to heal, I instead, walked in, and somehow, from somewhere, founf the strength to be 'normal' to shout out 'Hi' and bound up stairs like I usually would..........

How I wish I hadn't.

That was the start. From that moment there wasn't just one of me anymore there were two. The real broken me who was frantically trying not to drown in grief and guilt, and the new fake me who I invented to hide everything.

I struggled through that day somehow. I kept it all together. I will never know how. I walked the dog, I had dinner with the family, and then I went to bed.

In bed was the only time I let myself be the real me, and every night for a long long time I sobbed myself to sleep silently so no one would ever know.

I fell asleep at sometime, having made a decision which now seems crazy, to live a lie. To purposefully hide the most devestating thing that will ever happen to me from all those that love me. Explaining why is a difficult one, so I'll leave that for another day.