the plot thickens for seemingly no reason

I am half way through celebrating 'recovery week'. Recovery week is the first week of the rest of my life and it is a healing week where I celebrate who I am, reminisce on fond memories and admire the beauty that is life, realising the symbolism in this special time of year. Next week is 'detox week', where I intend to cleanse my body from toxins and think about diet and exercise, but this week I've treated myself to help heal my soul.

I went out drinking and dancing last night at the Church Tavern, a working class bohemian style funny farm type of place on Erdington highstreet. Other highlights of the highstreet are the church and the market. It's a shit hole but I like it. I ended up being the most popular person there, causing a stir and even scoring some zuul. At home, we drank red wine and smoked. This morning I woke up feeling focused, and not at all hung over. I took advantage of this opporutnity by smoking a joint and going on an autumny walk, admiring the colours of all the trees and going back to where I grew up. I also had McDonalds.

The whole time I was thinking so much about how great everything is now and how lucky I am to be able to finally do what I want. I thought that the positive lessons I have learnt after breaking up are stand tall with good posture, don't talk too much, and always be as nice as you know how to be.

I'd write more but I am falling asleep. The one thing that is important is all the sleep I need to catch up on. So I leave with a photo from my journey this morning:

it's my point of view, coming up behind you

I feel compelled to write an entry after a drunken night where my now ex boyfriend asked to see a picture of Cameron (my younger, handsome yet equally neurotic ex boyfriend circa 2011) which meant coming back here. I admire the longevity of this blog, and thought, despite all the other ideas I have had since, I should still when possible write in Master Bracknell.

This year I had one of the most difficult relationhips ever. 6 months in and I've finally broke free. It was a testing experience, full of hurt feelings and self doubt. My summer poisoned, and I even had to start taking tablets and seek professional mental help. I have however gained a new life perspective as a result, as the whole thing has made me confront some serious issues regarding my attitude to my life and now I am as sure as I've ever been about it all.

Last night was the end, and no ending is pleasant. I am lucky enough to have a good friend to confide in when I drunkenly left his last night, but had to go to the blessing of the graves today for my grandad who died in January. I am an athiest, so being in church feeling like shit felt more culty than ever. I remember grandad in my own way, but that still didn't make me not feel bad for not wanting to be there. Why we have to have religion in the first places fucks me off, but to drag out this year in 'memory' of my grandad when my mother and aunt are clearly not coping with this doesn't really help. It's like the funeral is on repeat. It's ridiculous, and prayer doesn't help or save anything, and I feel like a weirdo when I'm around them all.

While I was standing in church, hoping I wouldn't spontaneously combust, I couldn't help thinking about all the things I can do now that I am single. I don't have to take any more criticism or shit, dye my hair, and go for food with people who think I'm a useless snob. No more feeling inadequate or dirty or crackers or riddled. No more snapping at and telling me off. No more unfair compromises and stupid social media obsessions. I can now move to London, talk to who I want, go where I want. I can shave my pubic hair. And I can stop apologising for being myself. I'll never let this happen ever again.

And you know what? I actually don't ever want a boyfriend. If all relationships are like this (and I'm surrounded by horrendous ones everywhere), then I'd rather do myself a favour and fuck it right off.