Something occured to me when in the shower this morning. It's not a new thought, actually quite a recurring one, but given that I'm in an oddly philosophical kind of mood today I kind of ran with it more... why is it that it tends to be the utter shite that happens in your life that teaches you the most? I haven't had a hard life, not in the grand scheme of things, but when people hear about some of the things that have happened that maybe weren't so great, they say "oh you poor thing" and "oh how awful" and "oh I'm sorry"... people so often want to forget about the bad things that happen to them, without taking anything away from it, when learning from it and using the hurt instead of trying to forget it moulds you so much more than the good things. I know that I for one wouldn't be the strong person I am not without taking some crap.

Getting bullied like hell taught me to stand up for myself.

The murders in the last couple of years of my cousin and my friend. The death of a boy at my school from a brain tumour that 2 weeks before it killed him, he didn't know he had. And the recent deaths of two boys at my uni campus, one in a car crash, and one in a freak accident, all taught me that everything, all this, can end in a second. All those people were so young, and not one of them thought it would ever happen to them, no one ever does... I've been seriously ill, and I've stared death in the face myself, but I came out the other side better for it... most people can't understand that... can't understand how I could be thankful for something that put a big black cloud over most of my teenage years, and will continue to affect me, although minimally, for the rest of my life. But all I know is that laying in a high dependancy unit hooked up to machines certainly makes you see things more clearly...

And France. Gah. My recent study semester in France turned out to be the biggest disappointment I've ever experienced, and I'm still not quite over that disappointment. But it was so not worth it. I left 3 and a half months into a 5 month semester, which might seem silly to some people because I've essentially thrown away a year of work because I didn't want to be miserable for just 8 little weeks. What did that epic fucking fail teach me? Just to be happy. Life's the longest thing we do, but it's still too damn short to be unhappy. As my Dad put it, 8 weeks is too long to stick needles in your eyes.

Anyhoo, after that spiel, it brings me to the original thought, and that was that in about a month, I'll be moving in with my boyfriend, who I will have been with for about 8 months, 6 of which will have been long distance... and that, is insane. Completely round the bend really. But it also occured to me that I really don't care, and actually, I'm excited about it, because why wait? Nothing lasts forever, so grab it and enjoy it while it does last. I refuse to live my life erring on the side of caution, because at the end of it, I don't want to be looking back and wishing I'd done this or been there or taken that leap. I want to BE HAPPY for crying out loud. We make our own fortunes, our own happiness... you have to reach out and take it, because it will rarely be handed to you.

I'm not writing this because I want to be a sob story, or because I want to make myself out as being brave or holier than thou or something stupid like that. Because I'm none of those things. A lot of the time I feel scared and weak, I'm just stubborn enough to refuse to admit it. I'm writing this because maybe someone will stumble across my wee area of webspace and reading it will make them think.

-xx-