Hello - this is my first blog post

I know it’s a cliché but I always thought that I’d do something great maybe not world changing great but enough to get a little bit more than a few free drinks and guest list places at dingy clubs in South London. I thought I’d be someone, do something...

After uni I went traveling, like everyone else. I came back from India sun kissed, full of energy and life. It was 2009, year of economic doom and gloom but I was happy, content just to have a job, just to be useful.

I didn’t mind working in a windowless room, alone, archiving ancient social work files listening to dour music from the 80s. In fact, I quite enjoyed it...

Since then I've had a string of equally mundane jobs doing equally mundane tasks. Ok well that’s not quite true, in one job I got to travel a bit. Once I went to Leeds for a meeting and had a curry and a sneaky beer on the company, alcohol wasn’t permitted on expenses. Not for us lowly project support officers anyway. You can’t see me but I’m rolling my eyes.

I used to be fun. I was never a what if person. I never gave myself a chance to ask or be asked what if? I just threw myself in head first; I worked it out along the way; you only fail if you stop trying blah blah blah... Guest list, back stage, no queuing ever, useless musician boyfriend who rapidly became useless musician husband and now ex. The ex who shall not be named, yeah kind of like my own Voldemort.

I’m ungrateful. On paper, I’m doing fine. I’ve got a slightly less mundane job than the one I had in 2009.  I earn above the average wage, my boyfriend is kind, considerate and gorgeous, we have a cat and a great bunch of mates. I can afford nights out, weekends away and my ebay addiction is ridiculous. But I’ve become bitter and resentful. I feel trapped and I hate myself for letting it happen. My lovely sweet boyfriend bears the brunt of it. And I’m starting to resent him too, for putting up with it, for sticking around... for loving me when I can’t stand myself.

It was as though I was both my own captor and prisoner - there was no escape. Go to jail, go straight to jail, do not pass go, do not collect £200. I decided that I had to die, There was no way out, dying was my safety net. It all sounds very dramatic, it was. If you’ve never been depressed you probably think that sounds bonkers, maybe it is. I’m still not sure sometimes... I still feel like I’m fading away...

So I made a plan, a proper plan not one where I die and my mates sit round cursing and weeping, stuffing chicken supreme vol au vents in their faces trying in vain to hold back the tears. Instead of necking a load of antidepressants and vodka, ending up dead, a vomit covered mess, alone in my flat I've made a plan. Instead I’ve booked a language class and a flight....