I've spent the past year of my young life with a very lovely young man. This is a nice event to celebrate, especially since I haven't shared an anniversary with someone since I was 16. I feel like I've definitely grown and learnt a lot in these 365 wonderful days. 

1. It is in fact possible to find someone who doesn't turn you into a neurotic, jealous mess. (Shout out to 2011 Paris, wahey.) 

2. There is no such thing as a private bathroom when you live with your other half. 

3. The best present you can give is your time. 

4. Working to support yourself is hard work, but working to support each other can give you a sense of pride and achievement that I haven't discovered before. 

5. Finding your best friend and dating them doesn't just happen in Hollywood. (That is as soppy as this will get, lets not forget that this man can be a massive dickhead and he fuckin knows it.)

Read More. Enjoy lay ins. Get up earlier. Stay up later. Get more sleep. Eat more regularly. Eat less and lose weight. Make time for others. Make time for myself. Write more. Look after my other half. Let him look after me. Save money. Treat myself. Do you see my point? Look after myself. Be more selfish. Put others first. Get a haircut. Stop caring too much about appearance. Wear less make up. Watch more old movies. Plan more blog posts. Realise that blog posts really aren't that important. Join the gym and actually go. Take myself less seriously. Take more photos. Carry on my photography. Do karaoke, just once. Drink more whiskey. Drink less alcohol. Smoke less. Enjoy myself. 

Paris 

The past 12 months of my life have been a shit storm, if I put it bluntly. The person I was on the 10th of April 2016 was a very different person to who I am now, which might have had an impact on me deleting every post I ever made before this moment.

I was employed with an awful coffee company in Eastbourne, lived with my mother and found myself in the same day-to-day routine of going to work, and then deciding whether to spend any free time asleep, or just in bed, staring at the damp ceiling that, in time, I liked to think was a reflection of myself. I was mould. I was decaying and ruining anything around me and I was fully aware of it.

I am forever grateful to the sleazy bosses, the tinder dates and the 2 for 1 wines that the Tesco seemed to always have, as you all gave me a good few months of entertainment.

Now, this is cliche as all hell, but I feel like I never understood what it meant to be lonely, until that famous spring of 2016. Post break up, leaving everyone I loved and thought I loved in a town that I never wanted to see again, and with enough spare time on my hands to grow plenty of resentment for any person I was once a part of. And trust me, I'm still trying to surrender some of that venom that my little head cannot help but make. 

But then I moved out, slept on friend's sofas for about three months, convinced myself I was like a poetic teen movie and that working in a nightclub meant happiness and that my ex boyfriend would one day regret losing such a mysterious lonesome gal. 

Goodness gracious.

Fast forward a little bit of emotional growth and some friends giving the slap around the back of the head that I quite obviously needed. I moved back into my old home town with someone I love very much, and his weird friend, and found that, although surroundings play a part, I am in charge of my own happiness. 

I am truly sorry to the friends that had to deal with my immutable moaning and self obsessive romanticising of... bullshit. 

So now I work in a place I, for the moment, love. I live without constantly searching for something to link my depression to, and instead just have the odd rough day. This is all on the up, and I'm feeling pretty good about the whole "living" thing. 

God, that was pungent. 

Paris