I found my student card from when I was at University today.
I spent the first 10 minutes romanticizing the time I had there and then the slow dawning of the realization of when that photo was taken.
I started my second term at Uni, happy, free from family drama, ready to take on the world. That photo was taken at the end of September, with me, hungover from a mad night, sat in the library rather unimpressed at having to have a photo etched onto a piece of plastic when not looking particularly attractive... I'm looking at it now, and jesus, time has changed me.
Second year at University began, with relief, escapism from a family situation which was splitting my mind in two. Playing the part I thought I was supposed to at home, and counting down the days to when I could take the mask off - all very dramatic for a 19 year old girl, but life was hard.
Easy in so many ways, so fortunate, so lucky, but so trapped.
I remember unpacking the day I got back to campus, I was with my dad for the last 5 minutes while my mum sat in the car downstairs. I had a great room. Top floor, sea view. Massive. Freedom.
Only downside - it was pink?!
I have the same problem with my dad, whenever I see him, even if its recently. I dread it. I faff. I dress up. I fake it. I smile. I lie. (not these days!)
I worry.
And still to this day, he never fails to rip me with the opening line. Last time it was "Lost weight have we?" sarcasm loaded like a bullet.
My favourite was last year, when he came to see me in hospital, he glanced at my food menu, I had ordered chocolate sponge and custard for the pudding, he laughed and crossed it out.
To say I have a problem with my weight would be an understatement, but looking at this photo on my old student card, I can see I've taken the "I don't care" diet a little too far.
That photo was taken at one of the happiest times of my life. I had aced my first year of Uni, was steam rolling into second year with not a care in the world. On Friday 13th October, everything changed.
A night that has destroyed me.
A night that I can't get out of my head and it's nearly 10 years ago.
After that night, I never said a word. I found out I was pregnant, I felt sick, disgusted, angry.
Still, I didn't say I word. I booked my abortion and fell apart.
I didn't leave that pink room at University for weeks, waiting for the date, first week of December. Bronglais Hospital. Counting down.
I hid in the daytimes and went out and drank myself into oblivion masquerading as student living, night after night, burning money, so much money. Washing it away.
I felt guilty, selfish.
The day came, I went to the hospital, it was hell.
Tablets. I fainted. I bled. I cried.
It went wrong. I had to have an operation. Some things don't change!!
I was so scared. I had hidden it all away and now I had explaining to do.
I couldn't be the perfect daughter over Christmas break, I was so ill. I had to tell them.
So I lied. And I still don't know if it was for my sake or for theirs.
If I told them I was raped by a big black man 1 month into Uni, would they care? Would they help?
Would they say it was my fault? Would they discard my attempts at coming out as a casualty of that night?
So I lied.
Fit, fantastic Fran, had a one night stand and made a mistake.
My dads response? He was an emotional wreck. Said I should have had the baby, he could have looked after it while I finished Uni and we could have gone from there. Desperate for the straight life much?
My mums response? I was a selfish cow. How could I have had an abortion when there were women like her who couldn't have children?
It cut me like a knife.
I hadn't thought of it that way.
Was I wrong?
No. It was toxic. A reminder. And it had to go.
I never pulled myself together after that. The lies split me in two.
Such a huge secret to carry. Only to have it aired in a court room as mitigation, a sob story.
It didn't feel real hearing it out loud, reading the doctors notes, the personal tutors emails, the head of department report.
One night and my life, my future was gone.
I pulled myself back together and plodded on into third year, left uni, left it all behind and made a hundred mistakes thereafter.
I'm looking at this photo. I am that girl again. With a purer heart (and a wider waistline)
But its beautiful closure.
I was determined to be something then.
To be proud of.
To be heard of.
To be respected.
To be loved.
I strive for those things every day.
I'm a fucked up 27 year old with a head full of vision and a heart full of truth.
It's only taken me a decade to find it.
I'm so lucky to have a second chance.
Secrets and lies, destroy us.
Set them free
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