I knew I loved you before I met you.

*I wrote this on Day 1 of my stay in the mental hospital.
I re-visited some of my diary entry’s from that time early this morning, purely to see for myself if I had in fact come as far, as the Irish one insists I have.
I found as I turned the pages, that I could not stop thinking of this very first entry.
I remember not being able to finish. I remember closing the book and throwing down the pen. I could feel the terror and shame I felt so acutely back in that moment, when I was reading it, it was overwhelming.
I needed to finish it.
8 months later is what I have added today. It is not the end, but it is a sort of closure for now. This is extremely personal but I hope you enjoy. Thank you all of you for your constant support and for never judging. Jesus, where would I be without all you fruitcakes? Thank you. 

DAY 1.          16/07/2011

There is this girl, and in her world nothing ever goes wrong.

She is the belle of the ball.

She is the life and soul of the party.

She is perfect.

She is listening to ‘I knew I loved you before I met you’ by Savage Garden, spinning around on a glimmering dance floor in a beautiful white and crystal wedding dress.

Her hair splayed out behind her as she twirls, she is caught in a moment. A stunning photograph to hang on her mantle, she feels gorgeous, she is bubbling, blissful, her eyes naturally and positively brimming with the promise of what her exciting future will no doubt hold. Her feet are bare but her heart is full.

Her man, the man of her dreams is holding her in his arms and they are laughing and lost in one another as they float around the magnificent ballroom.

She is a fairytale.

Friends and family become a blur of smiling faces and support, so much so, she wonders if it is actually a thousand angels dancing around them.

She is complete, she is loved, she is real.

Except she isn’t.

The same girl is now sitting on a hospital bed.

She is alone.

The only arms wrapped around her fragile body, are her own.

Her eyes are squeezed shut and her heart is broken.  She rocks to her own rhythm as the demons attack her soul.

She is a failure.

She is cracked.

Today isn’t the first day of the rest of her life. It is the last.

There is this girl, and in her world nothing ever goes to plan.

She is the reflection in a cracked mirror.

She no longer wants to be at the party.

She is exhausted.

She is real.

*There is this girl, and much to her disbelief and relief, she is still here.

A loud cry from the bedroom forces the watercolour memories back in to the past, dragging her tired but proud soul back in to focus.

As she opens her eyes she finds herself back at home, eight challenging months passing in the blink of an eye, toy trains, toy planes and squished gummy bears splayed out about her feet.

A smile plays on her lips.

Her beautiful son was sleeping next door after a morning filled with real laughter and tentative hope, now he is ready for his exciting afternoon.

There is this girl, and she is still struggling but she is struggling out loud, no longer hidden.

She is not a failure.

She is armed, with sticky tape and glue.

She is piecing back together her reflection.

Day by day.

There is this girl, and her heart is healing.

She remembers who she wanted so desperately to be, she remembers who she unfortunately became, and only now is she finding out who she actually is.

The journey is long from over, but every step, every smile, is a new chance, a new beginning, another day, to spend with the little boy who saved her life.

Thank you Woo.

I knew I loved you before I met you.

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