Part I; Hell is temporary

Part I; Introduction to my crazy life


I’ve packed a lot into the last 6 years; I’ve been married, divorced, I’ve worked in a brothel, gotten gravely ill, I’ve had an abortion, a boob job, botox and a breakdown. I have been sexually assaulted and I’ve been through the justice system, reported the grooming of underage girls by my boss, all with which came anxiety, acne, bad credit and homelessness, as well as living the other side of the world, in NZ (are you keeping up?). I’ve had to come to terms with the fact my lovely Mum will never be the same again, after developing early onset dementia, I’ve watched my family fall to pieces and lose everything, including the house, but somehow, despite all of this, I’m ok. I never believed I could be happy, but here I am, with a grin like the cheshire cat, married to my best mate, healthy and no longer suffering anxiety, ending my days a quivering wreck, due to my bad life choices. I mean I still make some bad life choices (Hello junk food, occasionally smoking and procrastinating!!) but in comparison with the above, they are relatively normal vices to have. If I can get through that shit show of my 20’s, so can you. Your shit may be worse, it may not be as crazy, but everyone’s ‘shit’ is relevant to them and so it is important. It WILL get better. Life is already so hard these days, and often it feels as though us women got stuck with the short straw, dealing with the added duties than men don’t have to, periods being one in a long list (thanks a fucking bunch, evolution). Thanks to the shit the media puts out there, we end up competing with each other. Being an adult female is just like a progressed version of high school. Twice as catty, twice as emotional and half the metabolism. A few years ago, someone telling me it would be ok would make me want to punch the twat in the face or rock back and forth crying hysterically. I have had so many shit times, in fact I kinda had a shit decade that I’d love nothing more than to erase but instead I thought fuck it stop hiding gal and be proud of yourself! I wouldn’t be who I am today if not for that decade. So here I am warts n all, (well actually no warts here, not even genital ones thank fuck). If this ‘laying it all out’ malarkey achieves anything positive, in the way of making someone going through a shitty time feel better, or making you laugh or raising awareness around the subjects I am passionate about and have experienced then my job here is done…

So, it’s 2010, I’m broken-hearted, broken-souled and honestly just plain broke! My Mum has got early onset dementia, whilst my Dad is drinking excessively and living in denial. My first husband (my childhood sweetheart) has fucked off with some painfully thin blonde (chubby brunette over here, media standards strike again), I’ve no career goals, no direction and no family to turn to. To be frank, I felt like shit, in fact I felt like a, absolute failure. So of course, I did what many people do. I went out on self-destruct mode and got so shit faced, that I even lost control of my bladder. This wasn’t a one off. Did I care? Hell no! I told myself I was young and having fun! Except I wasn’t really having fun, I was making a goddamn fool of myself, buying friends with promises of free nights out, the only condition being, to come out with me on a Tuesday night in the middle of Palmerston North’s shitty winter. I saw the same people out, chatted to the same misfits (myself being one of them) and danced to the same shite pop-hip-hop crap, every goddamn night. I was a joke, even I knew it, (luckily NZ hasn’t got cocaine available on tap like here in the UK, where you can pretty much taste it in the water). You might be wondering why I’m in NZ, well that was another epic disaster which I definitely think contributed to my atrocious life choices and the breakdown of my family, but again, thats another story, which I will get to. One that makes me appreciate the saying ‘the grass isn’t always greener’. Though technically, it is in NZ, it’s pretty fucking lush but not in many other ways. Cut to November 2010 andthe only good thing in my life is my job as an Assistant Manager, at a designer shoe shop, which I bloody loved. The company was fabulous, the shoes were divine and I was a bomb saleswoman (my dad used to take me to be his haggler from a very young age, because of my natural ability to sell ice to an eskimo). We were really looked after at that company and I was so grateful. Every three months we received quarterly bonuses based on our sales, I always got a few thousand which had often gone on more shoes, party outfits and ‘Liquor’ as they call it in kiwi-land. The day that last big fat bonus landed in my account I decided to get the fuck out of the cloud covered backwards valley that is mid-central NZ and go home. By home I meant England and so off I marched to the flight centre to book tickets from my husband’s size 4 bimbo who was a travel agent at the only company local! Major awks!

That night after work I drove back to the home of my parents, where I had been staying since twat-face and I had separated, I was welcomed with the usual tirade of abuse from my pissed-up Dad, whilst my very sick Mum would be passed out slumped on the sofa with her cheap white wine next to her. The dogs were miserable and even the 11 cats my Mum had collected looked fucking suicidal, life was shit, none of us were living and my Mum was getting worse. By this point my older sister had cut us all off and gone were the weekends of faux family happiness with her kids playing in the pool while we had a Barbie on. My relationship with her has always been strained (I don’t blame her for hating me), at 13 years my senior, I guess thats slightly normal but all I’d ever wanted was a proper big sister and sadly thats never happened. I looked at my parents and it hurt me inside, I couldn’t believe their dream of clean, green NZ and a simple life had become this living nightmare, and to top it all off, they were really fucking broke, struggling to keep a roof over their heads broke. Three days after my bonus, I had left NZ; Dad had driven me to the airport and waved me goodbye like he’d see me in a couple of weeks. I didn’t hear a single word from him for 4 years, in fact not a word from anyone, even my sister. I had gone from a happy-ish, middle class privileged white girl, whose parents had a house with a pool, had bought me Ponies and sent me to private school to the shit show I referred to earlier.

Fast forward 6 months after my return to England and I’m the ‘receptionist-cum-manager’ (pun intended) in a seedy, brothel in Liverpool. My boss is a psycho, my life is the worst it has ever been but the money is good, and I had every intention of ‘saving’ my mum and dad from losing everything. The only problem is, is that my boss has me working 24 hour shifts, every time I try to sleep I am screamed at and the only way I can stay awake is by buying cocaine which in turn uses all the ‘good’ money Ive managed to make. I was officially fucked up, only wishing that I was back in the arms of my Mum, in our charming little ex council house in Norfolk where life was simple and we were happy before Dad had his grand plans. What followed was the worst year of my life, working for a mad man who groomed young girls, pimping them out, keeping me as his modern-day slave and having his pick of any of the girls whenever he felt like it. In that year of hell, I spent 6 weeks in hospital where I nearly died, the hospital rang any family members they could get hold of, as I was so dangerously ill, and to this day I believe it was my body’s way of telling me to sort myself out. I listened to my body, for once I listened, it took me a few years of hell but here I am, 6 years later with a Law degree, a fucking fabulous husband and Polly the dog with many many plans. I want to make this blog positive but honestly, your twenties can be a very turbulent time and I never had anyone to speak to about things like tits, boys and just adult life in general. I hope you enjoy reading my posts. I am in the midst of writing a book about these crazy few years, this is my outlet, my act of putting my past to rest.

I will be telling sales of my crazy-time working in the brothel and will be releasing a post for you all to read about it every week, detailing everything from then til now. Some of it will be hard reading for you but I hope you enjoy it. I shall also be doing various other blog posts around current affairs/things I like and of course, my loves which are fashion and Interiors. The Lo-Life page will be about my journey from brothel to graduation and everything else .. well you will see.

Lo xx

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