Happy New Year?

My first blog of 2015 and I have never entered a new year with such optimism and drive in all my life.
2014 saw many highs and lows, from court cases to winning awards, it couldn't have been any more of a year of contrasts.
Every December, a rollercoaster of emotion begins, like clockwork, an annual turbulence decends upon my life and I hold on to save my life in the hope I'll make it to the New Year in one piece.
Everyone has a sad story, and I have a few more than most, but it's December 24th 2010 that creates a madness and sadness I can't shake. The year I broke away from my family and my mother decided to call me and tell me so on Christmas Eve 2010, that after some thought, I wasn't welcome and wasn't wanted for Christmas Day, little did I know at the time, that she actually meant forever. So in a crazed state of mind, I zoomed into Manchester city centre and bought up half of Marks and Spencers, spending money I shouldn't have, I blew it all on a turkey, all the trimmings, posh gravy, champagne, cocktails and just for a bit of class, I stopped off at Tesco on the way home and pick up a 24 pack of Strongbow.
Christmas Day came, I awoke in my halls of residence, alone. My last minute £1 asda tiny plastic Christmas tree dimly lit my little room and surrounding it were all the gifts I had bought my family. I went into the kitchen, poured a large glass of champagne and sat crossed leg, as I did with my family every Christmas morning and I opened the gifts I had bought and wrapped them as if they were mine. Quite genuinely having some sort of mental breakdown, I laughed, I cried, I acted surprised by said gifts, tearing open a reideer wrapping papered DVD I had bought for my mum - a copy of Elizabeth I with Cate Blanchett, quelle surprise! What a thoughtful gift....! A copy of Fivel Goes West for my brother, what a joy! And on it went... surrounded by crumpled wrapping paper and useless gifts, I engaged Barker cruise control. I was going to have my Christmas day the way we always had Christmas day. Champagne. Gifts. Breakfast. Silly TV. Cooking. Lunch. More silly TV. So a bottle of champagne in, the Marks and Spencers turkey joint to feed 4-5 went into the little University oven and I sat down on a plastic chair and watched The Grinch. In my drunken, epicly sad and lonley stupour, I text Sarah, who I was dating at the time. She had know idea the car crash she was involved with at the time. On the outside, I was a hard working, ambitious, lovely normal girl. She was the only person who text me on Christmas Day.
I laid the tiny table in the kitchen/common room, posh napkin, wine glass, cracker. All laid for one. The only fruit cake in halls of residence over Christmas. Total silence.
I ate. I drank. I cried. I laughed. And after I had finished my dinner, washed my plates, tidied the kitchen, I went out to a party. I made my way through the Strongbow, got a taxi back to halls around midnight and decided to take every pill I had in the flat. I had a frustrated, angry thrash around the flat, smashing plates and crying, and then I passed out on the kitchen floor, only for the warden to open my flat up to find out what was going on and duly rush me to hospital (which was convieniently for him just across the road)
I woke up in the MRI, angry. Angry at my failed attempt and angry at the man who saved my life for interferring in my Christmas present to myself.
Boxing day on a hospital ward, being assessed by the psych team, Merry Christmas Fran. The doctor asked me if there was anyone I wanted to notify, let them know I was ok, I laughed as the nurse asked "Is your next of kin still Kevin?"
Needless to say, I told them not to, a phone call to let me father know I had tried to off myself would only interupt their family Christmas, to this day, he doesn't know what ripping the family from me did to me that year.
I have text my mum, my brother and my dad, every Christmas Day and New Years Eve since - needless to say, the responses I get are not the ones I hope I will.

Sarah shouts at me and says I'm wasting my time, punishing myself and that I should let them go, but for a girl whos craved family for so long, to loose mine, no matter how fragile we always were, broke my heart.
2010 saw the beginning of the end, I went off the rails. Angry. Hurt. Bitter. Despite falling in love with Sarah, the girl that woke up on boxing day was determined to destroy it all and I did a pretty good job of it, ending up in court, nearly sent to prison, it's only pushing my life to limit I realised just how stupid and selfish I had been. Pity gets you nowhere and I had been wallowing. There were no excuses for my behaviour. No sad story to aleviate such dishonesty. So upon walking out of court in 2013, I was a bundle of sad, mad and guilty. Such guilt. For wasting my life, for hurting those in it, such anger, for being so alone, left to disappear whether behind bars or dead.
How do you tackle demons like that?
You build great things upon them.
2014 saw me, Francesca Barker, win an award, for Best Female Entrepreneur. I've never won anything before and to achieve something like that, in recognition of my passion for change, hard work and rehabilitation.... it changed my life.
I feel proud of myself every day. From February 8th 2013, I have worked harder than I have ever worked in my life. I have fought to change, to live, to love. I have made friends that are true and kind (Becky, Luci, Charlie, Debbie, Kathleen, Dom) I have found people who have made me understand its ok to be broken, as long as you strive not to be more than just broken.
Christmas Day 2014 saw me waking up in a lovely warm bed, with my fiance wrapped around me (snoring her tits off might I add) having a glass of cava while crossed legged under the tree opening our presents together, we are an amalgimation of our family traditions and we will continue them into the future as we build our own. This year will see us married, becoming the Barker-Mills, so Christmas Day 2015 is definitely something to look forward to!
We are all the walking wounded, but we walk hand in hand for a better tomorrow. That is what 2015 is for me. To work for tomorrow, to live for today and to love every bloody second of it!

Happy New Year my friends, may 2015 be filled with laughter and love.
xx

From Friday 13th to Halloweeeeeeeeen

Well my friends, today is the first step to some real closure.

I made the decision a few months ago, having boarded a bus and been trapped on the top floor sat a few seats away from the man who attacked me 7 years ago, that I wasn't going to live with it in my life anymore.

Rape is a strange thing, as we all deal with it in different ways. Denial. Acceptance. Suppression. Repression and outright fantasy living.

I have lived all of these. The day I was raped (so strange to be so forthright and direct, but I find it eases the process, apologies if the bluntness offends in any way) was Friday 13th 2006.
Saturday 14th 2006 was the day denial began. With blood and bruises a plenty, I chose to ignore what had happened, got on the train back to University and carried on as normal.

I drank. More than I have ever drunk in my life. All of the time. SO much money, but I didn't know what else to do to make it go away. I drank so much I ended up in hospital, having collapsed in pain.
The doctors asked me if I knew I was pregnant and I thought my head was going to explode.

There is only so far denial can take you...but pregnancy in gay woman, is something you can't quite ignore any longer. I didn't cry. I just looked the doctor in the eye and said "How do I go about getting an abortion, can I get it done here" my only instinct is that I wanted all reminders of that night out, away, destroyed, as far away from me as humanly possible.

My GP in Aberystwyth was incredible, he held my hand, listened to my story, made me promise I would have some therapy and he agreed to arrange an abortion, the only problem was that I would have to wait. It was the longest wait of my life. By the time I had my abortion I was nearly 3 months pregnant. I sat in the hospital office waiting for my scan to date the pregnancy and decide what the best option was. The doctor left the room for 5 minutes without realizing she had left the photo of the scan on her desk. It's all I could look at. I felt sick. I felt guilty. I felt angry.

I was 19. It was an abortion that went wrong from the get-go, ended in surgery and left me with an uncertain future as to whether I can have children. When I was 19 it didn't hit me like it does now. Now I'm 27 and we are talking to my GP about babies, IVF, what our options are, if we have any.

From being a lost little girl, all I've ever wanted is to fall in love, be loved, get married and have babies. Have a family to call my own. To love another human with all my heart and to know that I will be a great mother. To know that may not be my future, breaks my heart. And so, there is anger.

I got on that bus a few months ago and the man that destroyed me sat there and he winked. He winked at me, he licked his lips and he winked at Sarah.
I got off that bus and went to a business meeting with my head so far up my arse I didn't know if I was coming or I was going. I was on auto-pilot, it was a great bloody meeting and I felt proud that I didn't let it destroy another day.

I decided it was time to face the music, to talk to my lawyer and find a way to bring some justice.
That's what we have been doing for the past few months, working, researching, statements, medical records, recounting horrible details, but liberating myself with every word spoken.

I wish I could have been so brave back then, maybe then the damage wouldn't have seeped so far into my life and I wouldn't have run off into fantasy land where lies were first nature and not second. I wish I had punished him the way he deserved it and I worry that because I didn't, there are other girls who suffered the same fate. How many were left pregnant and with an STD and happened to be gay, well I'm not so sure, but jesus, I should have protected them all the same.

When Sarah was attacked in Piccadilly Gardens, I went into fight mode, I couldn't let what happened to me happen to her, I pulled that fucker off her and pinned him until the Police took him away. I thought we were getting justice, I thought I was making up for lost time, but he walked free as a bird out of a court room and she was left with nightmares and a £150 compensation cheque for an attempted rape.

I think the point of this blog is, it's never too late. If you have something you need to say, if you have something you need to share, then share it, speak it, free it.
Save yourself the hassle of eroding mental health and get talking!!!

I've been broken for a long time, not quite right from the start and in many ways, I think what happened in 2006 compounded all that I thought was wrong with me. I lie awake at night and sometimes wonder - is it me? Because I can't process the fact that as a child, I was a plaything for perverts and as student, I ended up with the same fate.
I wonder how Sarah loves me when my life and my body are so tainted, that these horrible things have happened to me, how will she love me, how will she touch me, knowing whats been before.

The past can be toxic. Don't let it.
I'm Francesca Barker my friends, you beautiful people, you have been my salvation, allowing me to be me, taking my sweet time on this journey of self discovery, my god, I'm far from perfect, but I am on my way to happiness and sharing my thoughts with you has helped me find the good in the world and in myself.

And on that hippy note, Happy Halloween everyone - there is one less monster on the streets tonight, if you are out and about and getting a little bit merry, be careful and stay safe xx

24 hours in Police custody......?

This is the second time I have watched this TV show on channel 4, and each time, I've had this horrible feeling in my stomach.
It's like watching history repeat itself....people being processed in the station, having their property taken off them, going through the motions.
It's not a motion I was ever intending to go through.

The day I walked into that police station was the bravest and most cowardly I could have been all rolled into one. I knew I had to go, I knew I had to tell the truth and make it right, so I did but my god it was hard - the cowardly part was not knowing if I had the balls to walk into that station and up to the glass to tell them I was there to talk. But I did it. And as backwards as it is, it was the best decision of my life, everything I had done, every lie I ever told, every person I may have hurt along the way, it lead me there... and now I'm watching this TV show and I feel guilt, it's the guilt that tries to take over.

I feel guilty. Every day. I wake up in my bed, with my other half, and for the seconds before she wakes up too, I look at her and wonder how we still manage to fall asleep wrapped up in one another after all that I've done. It's love. Or she needs carting off!
I lie awake at night and I wonder, if it could have been different, if I could have been different and stopped the destructive bullshit in it's tracks before it took years of my life and sough to do the same of others.

I've been broken for such a long time, I don't think I know how to deal with feeling this brutal honesty, it's one thing walking into a police station and holding your hands up to the things you've done and wanting to make it right and its a chance of fate when you get to walk out of courtroom and seize a second chance - but how do I honour it?

The day I went to the police station, I didn't know what to expect and I felt like every second I was there, I deserved it. I had been toying with my conscience for so long, it felt like I belonged there, that they should shut me in that cell and throw away the key, because that was the only way to keep everyone safe, from me. They did put me in a cell and I've never felt more alone and more disgusted with myself in my entire life.

They took my shoe laces, my earrings and then made me give them my engagement ring and I cried, like a little girl, in the middle of the processing area, I cried.
I gave it to them, they put it in a little brown envelope and wrote my case number on it; not my name... they took me into a room to be fingerprinted, photographed, and I sat there, tracing my star shaped tattoo, the same tattoo Sarah has, we match, and I felt sick, black lines etched in my skin was all I had whilst in there and I didn't even deserve to share it with her. I traced it so hard I thought I'd scratch it off. I was so angry with myself.
They drugs tested me - game over, positive for cocaine. Well that was that, they thought they had it all wrapped up, bad druggie posh girl living a life she can't afford, a PC all ready to question me in interview and I stopped him before he could begin. I said "Let me talk and tell you everything I need to, and if there's anything I've missed out, ask me then"
And I talked, and talked, and cried, and apologised and asked how to make it right. The lady police woman who was in the room with me reached out and held my hand and said "you did the right thing, in the end, that will count"
I got bail. Bail that went on for months, it was practically house arrest, not allowed to stay anywhere aside from my fixed address, not even for one night, extensive drug rehabilitation, immediately.

It's not where I expected to be at the age of 25. It's not where I was designed to be. But I suppose thats exactly why I ended up there, because I've never had a clue as to how to be what I'm supposed to be.

I have battled demons and memories trapped inside my head, I've battled rape and drug addiction and homelessness.
I have slept on concrete floors in mouse ridden warehouses in London, doing things of nightmares to survive.

I have been to University, I have ski-ed in France, Austria, Italy and Canada. This life is insanity and I don't know how I got here.

I can't take my eyes off this television program. People in cells, all over the country, trying to escape their fate. Does anyone reach the point of brutal honesty? Where theres no more running, no more hiding, no more lying, no more excuses?

I have based this second chance on honesty, because otherwise, theres no hope. It has to be real this time, it has to be me, it has to be great.
I have worked my socks off to get here and I've never felt so proud. I have found my purpose. I have found my heart and this life, it works for me.

Then there is the guilt, it creeps in, in the day and in the night, it hurts and lingers.

Positives over negatives is the only way to cleanse this soul, to work hard at rebuilding my life, to repair my burnt bridges and find a way back.

Nothing is insurmountable. I'm 27 years old, I've lived a hundred lifetimes and more. But I am the luckiest girl in the whole world to be able to wake up each day, in a warm bed, with a fiance and a cat. I climb out of bed, feet on the cold wood floors, to put the kettle on, start the day, and what could be better than that?
If success is measure by happiness, then I'm well on my way.

Don't ever give up.

London calling

It's the city that calls to me.
No matter where I am.

The biggest "positive over negative" I'm yet to stamp.

It was the city that made me and I'm about to make it my own. Hows that for a turn around?

I went to London on Friday, I stepped off the train and felt it run through me, the feeling, the knowing, that it is there I am meant to be. Sarah and I have been playing with the idea of moving to the country, getting away from it all, commuting, baking, living, loving.... and then we got off that train.... we are London.

We walk through Euston hand in hand like we've done it every day of our lives, we glide through the underground barriers with the grazing of an oyster card and we are rolling through the caverns of the city to a better place. That's what London is to me.. now.

It's a city of demons, and memories and hurt. It's a city of dreams and hopes and futures.
My future.

I had the greatest opportunity of my life on Friday. For the first time since starting out on this adventure, I felt really really worth something.... like all the hard work, it's been worth it. Every day, a struggle, striving, it's all worth it.

Late rent days, credit card bills, council tax monsters, and a court case or two from hell. It is worth it. Because I know exactly who I am meant to be. Not disillusion. Not lost.
This Francesca Barker, is destined to be great. To make change. To build and bring hope.
Why?
Because it's entirely possible.
Anything is possible.

One of the greatest inspirations anyone could have in business, as a woman, is Michelle Mone, magical, beautiful, and ferociously brilliant and if you were ever in doubt of such thing, then you've obviously not been paying enough attention to the Scottish Referendum!
We all have people in our lives, through TV screens, magazines, business and more, that we want to emulate, that we want to become.
Well she is exactly that.
One of the first few people I followed on Twitter, fascinated by the drive and determination to be distinctive and dominant, successful, independent.
Who wouldn't want all of those things?

There are women in business, who have inspired me to make this business something formidable, something known, something powerful, it is going to be the vehicle for change I dreamt it would be and I going to make it happen.
So thank you to people like Hilary Devey, Michelle Mone and Lorraine Pascale, to name a few. Through the power of social media, I find it hard not to feel invigorated and determined to do more!

Struggling with mental health issues and battling drug addiction often leaves you feeling ironically powerless. You let your demons run your life and find excuses a-plenty as to why you can't take control.
So what do you do?
In my case? You waste a decade of your life lost in a world of over compensating, over eager people pleasing, over selling bullshit, when all you needed to do was take control.
I did.
I took it. I held it. I ran with it and I won't ever stop.

London. Friday. Mentoring session with Michelle Mone and an award for Best Female Entrepreneur.

Bonkers.

I have pieces of paper, ten to the dozen, that say who I am, what I've done, the good and the bad.
I now have a piece of glass in my living room and it's my pride and joy.
I've never felt such pride. Such vision. Such inspiration.
The Barker Baker has only just begun, that's a scary concept considering how much has come to pass for this little business and me in just a year!

Next week, I'm going to a prison. To talk bread.
I said to Sarah whilst walking home from our grocery shop this morning, I'm the luckiest baker in the world.
My workshops arn't just about baking. It's about showing people what can happen with a little bit of faith and a lot of hard work.
A future.

So you can bake a loaf, you can bake ten, you can start a business, you can feed your family. Semantics.
You can spend an hour of your day, free, creating, learning, thinking, sharing.
You can plan your life and see new choices. Choices you didn't even know were there.

Jane Mason and her amazing Virtuous Bread changed my life.
I baked one day. I baked for two. I baked for three.
I had no job. My life was a mess. I had no self worth, no confidence, no hope.
I baked again.
I baked for gifts.
I baked for friends, I baked for thank you's, I'm sorry's, I love you's.
Bread. It made me.

A year ago, a follower on Twitter, said this :-

On Friday this happened :-

Michelle Mone hugged me on Friday and said I was an inspiration. That she had read all about me and was inspired.
The woman who inspired me, inspired by my life?

I'm going to hold that in my heart.

Positives over negatives.

Come on London, lets have you!

Friday 13th October 2006, the day that changed my life

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

Time elapsing......

Today is August 8th 2014.
Back then it was February 8th 2013.

Today is the day.
The day my suspended sentence ends.

18 months that have changed my life.

So I think a few thank you's are in order.

My beautiful other half, you have held my hand through all of this, you mad bugger. I love you.
You have inspired me, supported me and made me a better person. You have trusted me to build a better life for us, to find myself, to find my way back to you, with patience and love and for that, I will be forever grateful.

My amazing in-laws, I will never understand your odd relationship with your dog or your obsession with quiz nights, you are beautiful kind people and I am proud to be part of your family. You hop in the car and zoom down the M6 when I'm in hospital, you give me hugs on Christmas day and a special place under the tree for my presents, you buy spontaneous gifts of cook books or hoovers, because you know their much needed. Sarah is the epitomy of your kindness, and she will bring it to our children, honesty and strength, you are really quite something <3

My friends, I've spent my entire life looking for you, and over the past year or so, I've discovered who you really are. You are the girl I grew up with, buying me Villeroy and Boch for my birthday as we strive to grow up and be the women we dreamt we would be, you are incredible, beautiful and a rock I've loved for a decade xx
To the man who saved me from a strange place and had faith that I would do him right one day. You gave me stability and hope. I will repay it <3
The people who don't know me, but read this blog and found they did, you helped keep me on the right track and supported me through it all. Kind words from strangers, and even donations to a page, you will never know how much I thank you, but I'll show you in everything that I do.
Silly things like people in other worlds engaging, through little comments and kind words. It keeps me driven and humble, it's more than I deserve. Thank you.
You are the people who saw my crowdfunding page on facebook and got back in touch, you invested your £5, £10, time and kind words, you gave me the confidence and pride to strive for me and keep at it. You are the secret cake baker, whose mum is legendary and still makes me laugh to think of. You are the rugby player who has the worlds most beautiful hair and heart - and who my mum actually liked (holy crap) You are the woman I want to be, you know just what to say, you keep me grounded and inspired, I read your blog every day. You are the trader, the magician, the reason I've put on a stone, when I see you, I can't help but smile because you are passionate and you are kind. We started out together and we've made our merry way, last week that hug in the rain, really saved my day. You are the full set I inherited through my lovely other half, you are the creative strong one, with words of wisdom beyond your age. You are the lawyer, the insightful, the quiet and the strong. You are the new girl, my love, my 400th twitter follower, my best friend and my goodness you are beautiful and know me better than I know myself, with posh cordials for presents and hugs on-tap, I am lucky girl, to have all of you. You make me better. You've made me Fran.

It's started to sound a bit poem like, but I'm writing as I feel, you have changed me and made me, and I feel so grateful. It's raining outside, literally bouncing off the pavement. I'm sat in my pyjama's on a Friday, they have dinosaurs on. I'm 27 and I'm happy, or the closest I've ever been. She is sat on the sofa, looking over recipes and ideas and we are brainstorming and we are working and we are planning our next move.

Today it's shepherds pie, we are reading Delia. The food is cooking, the house smells amazing. The cat is asleep on the window sill. This is heaven.
I have searched my whole life, for normal. For love. For pride. And I feel it as I'm typing.
We picked blackberries in the garden, to make a pie and some jam, as you do on a Friday in Longsight....

There are people in my life who have shown me what I lost. There are people who have trusted me. There are people who care.
I've had encouragement, support and love. I really am the luckiest girl in the world.

SO, it's 18 months on, and the next 18 are set to be a game changer, a life changer, a real step up.
We have markets, workshops, wholesale, business is good.
We have wedding planning and baby making and a life we knew we would.

I made the biggest mistakes of my life, and I wake up every day feeling guilty.
I feel angry and sad and wonder how to get up and make it right.

That is exactly what I'll do.
Positives over negatives.
Every single day.

Until this suspended sentence, isn't a death sentence.
It's just a sentence on a page.

On the streets of Manchester

I heard a laugh today.
A laugh I haven't heard for 8 years and it made me freeze. Stop in time. Go back in time. And I got lost.
On a day of such promise, I had part of my heart yanked out like I was 19 again.
Riding the lovely bus through Manchester, I was in a world of my own, brain storming in silence, 101 ideas a minute, standard.
And there it was. That laugh.
I grabbed Sarah's hand and asked her "The man, on the phone, behind us, sat near the back. Is he a big black guy, over 6ft" my description went on and on, specifics, like it was just yesterday I saw his face. He spoke, he laughed, he talked. A free man. Back on the streets of Manchester. And just like that, the child in me is reignited and my fear chokes me like it did back then.
I chose to be brave this time. I turned to check if my imagination was teasing me, but no, the nightmare was really true. There he was. The destroyer. The man who took my life from me. Laughing on the phone, jolly, life easy as pie, not a care in the world. Dressed in a supermarket uniform, sat 4 seats behind me on the bus ride to my future, dredging up my past.
Manchester likes to play these jokes on me, one step forwards, three steps back.
I've spent nearly a decade getting over it, boxing it off as just a bad dream.
There are some things you can't escape, not forever.
So what do you do when you are faced with the boogeyman? Your greatest fear?
You walk away.
I whispered to Sarah, we got off the bus, and as it pulled away, he gave me a wink from the window. I was almost sick right there on the curb.
8 years ago, I locked myself in my university halls of residence, drew the curtains, I didn't leave. I was too ashamed, too scared to face the world. I let it all go.
Tins of empty tuna dotted around my bedroom floor, empty bottles of alcohol and relics of a broken heart. He broke me.
When I sit and think about my future and plan my family, my hopes, my dreams. It comes back to that day.
The only child I'll ever have was his. A sick twist of fate. I passed out in the hospital when they told me I was pregnant, I couldn't believe what I was hearing. I'd fought to bury that day, that night, fought to put it to one side, carry on with my life and lo' the repercussions of it, inside me. I felt sick. Toxic. I put plans in place to exorcise it from me, controversial to some but not for me, I hated myself for even having it inside me, for not fighting hard enough, for not punching hard enough, kicking, screaming, non of it was enough to keep me from ending up here.
The pregnancy that ruined my future, that scarred me inside and out and made sure I would remember that day forever. Made sure I'd have to think about it when I'm planning a future with my love, my life.
We want children, we want family and because of him, there is no guarantee that it will happen.
I had to drag her off the bus today, she was like a woman possessed, determined to fight for my honour and my heart all these years on. I tried to tell her its too late. Theres nothing in the world that could make it right.
And there he was, smirking, at the two of us. He told people who questioned him about his crimes I was his crowning glory, the lesbian, the icing on his cake.
I hated that man for such a long time. I replayed it in my head 1000 times, what I could have done different, would he had survived it if I had fought harder? I looked him in the eyes today and all I heard was the last thing he said to me before his final strike across the face "I don't know why I bothered, it was like fucked a dead fish, you could have least pretended to enjoy it"
Hows that for a happy thought on a thursday.......

Off I went to my meeting, smiling, determined not to let him win. You see, he took my life once, I won't let that happen again. I walked, I walked, I drank coffee and made plans.
I breathed slowly and made it through my day, because thats what you do. You fight demons and darkness with the light. You put your best foot forward, you fight for your future and everything thats yours.
19 year old me hid and cried, and lied and lied. Drank myself into oblivion and took every drug under the sun to numb it, to dull it. Today was a snapshot of hell. But I conquered.
I didn't run to the nearest pub, I didn't dig around in my brain for mobile numbers I once knew by heart to bring me some sweet release. So you see, I won.
I walked around the supermarket, I bought a few treats. I reflected on the days plans and I looked forward to tomorrow.

If I can face my darkest demon, and look that bastard in the eye and still come out on top. Then he didn't take it all, just a short passage of time. Because now it's all me. And he is just a sad man who steals moments, and I'm the girl who creates movements in time. Past, present, future. The best is yet to come.
Positives over negatives.