I wrote this post a while ago, yet I never gathered the courage to publish it. It's something that is so personal, yet I feel that it's a story that needs to be shared. The truth is, I've met a few new people recently, and there's always this growing sense of anxiousness of 'when will they start asking questions about my family?' and 'how am I supposed to tell them?'. Regardless of how it may seem on here, this is something that I really don't like talking about - after every post regarding this subject matter, I have to force myself to press the 'publish' button. The sheer thought that talking about it may help people always drives me to do it, no matter how against it I am.

Let’s start from the beginning then, shall we? I was born on the 7th April 1999, at whatever time - does that really matter? I was a tiny little thing, 3lbs 11oz, and was the last one to be delivered. Notice the ‘last one’ bit? See that’s the thing, this wasn’t just my day to shine; I shared it with my brother and sister. I am one of three, with one minute between one baby and the next. It’s hard to pinpoint the exact moment that I realised being a triplet wasn’t a very ordinary thing, yet I obviously didn’t know any different. It makes me laugh, because one of the most vivid memories of my child is me watching a documentary of a set of quadruplets, and sitting on the seesaw in the garden thinking 'Aw, I’m not special anymore’. 

I always knew I was a little different, yet for most of my adolescence I tried my very best to blend in with the crowd - which is considerably difficult when you have hair the colour of a tangerine. My family were a little quirky - we did things that not many other families did like bake bread, call poppadoms ‘pompadoms’ and instead of jetting abroad for 2 weeks in the summer, we would be just as happy nipping up to Wales with a 4 man tent, which we later upgraded to a trailer tent - how posh!

However, 2014 is the year that everything changed. After attending a Ben Howard concert in October, my brother had his first seizure. At first we blamed it on the vodka that he had sipped moments before he went into the O2 apollo, yet I began to be faced with what would later become daily emotions of mine - dread and fear. Luke began to undergo a series of scans and tests at the hospital, and we later discovered that he had a growth on his brain.

He went for his operation 2 days after we were told the news and, if I shut my eyes, I can still remember exactly how I felt on that very day. I still remember trying to do up his hospital gown before he went into theatre, yet my shaking hand was fumbling too much for me to do it. I still remember saying ‘goodbye’ and wondering if that was going to be my last one. I still remember sitting on the hospital chair and crying for what felt like years. I still remember nearly fainting when they told us the operation had gone as planned, and that Luke was just sleeping off the anaesthetic. 

Everything had gone smoothly, and I truly believed that this was the end of this heart wrenching scare. I was proved wrong when the dreaded C word was attached to my darling brother, and the first time I set foot in The Christie hospital to watch him undergo radiotherapy. I will never forget the day that everyone found out, how I walked into a classroom full of people who had just been told the news about something which seemed so personal. I remember thinking, ‘It’s real now, everybody knows’ and I knew that I could no longer live in my bubble where I blocked off reality. 

Time passed, and it seemed as if the treatment was going well. We had the occasional scare - Luke underwent another operation, and we constantly received bad news, good news, bad news, bad news, good news and then bad news again. The last set of bad news was the worst news you could ever ever EVER imagine. The cancer was no longer just in Luke’s brain, it had reached his spine too. It had spread everywhere, and there wasn’t a chance that it was going to be cured. My darling brother, who I had spent every single day of my life with, was now a ticking time bomb - and we had no idea of how much longer he had left. 

I’m still completely uncertain as to how I got through this stage, but I guess it’s true what they say - your strength always shines throughout the hardest of situations. I’m sure you’ll have guessed how this story ends - Luke was taken away from us on 2nd March 2016, and we have just passed the q year anniversary. The thing is, nothing can ever prepare you for losing a loved one - no matter how many self help books you read, how many counselling sessions you undergo or how many times you tell yourself ‘I will get through this’. When you lose someone you love that much, you lose part of yourself too - a part that you will never get back. 

It’s the afterwards which is the hardest part. It’s the stares of people as you walk into school the first time after the funeral, who are so unsure as to what to say - because what can you say? No words, no amounts of ‘I’m so sorry’ can fix anything - and there’s the constant feeling of anger that was unleashed from every sad smile I got in the corridors. Something I struggled with the most was the feeling of guilt - which I still feel today. It’s the constant questioning of ‘why him, why wasn’t it me?’ which I find myself asking at the darkest of times. My brother was, and still is, loved by everybody, and I honestly do mean everybody. He had this infectious smile which you couldn’t help but replicate whenever he was around, and he could have you laughing even at times where you couldn’t ever imagine smiling again. And now, when we need that more than ever, he’s not here. When you lose someone, you begin to start idealising how certain situations would be if they were still here. You begin to think that if they were here, they’d be able to fix everything for you - even though you know deep in your heart that that just isn't the case.

The truth is, there’s an art to losing yourself, and it’s so easy to pretend like you’re completely fine - even at times when you’re anything but that. I’m flawed in the sense that I put so much pressure on myself to be happy, mainly because I think that it helps people around me. Even when I get upset and I desperately need comfort and consolation, I hide away from everyone because I’m so scared of them seeing me this way. I’m terrified to let people in, because then they might see me as broken, and I know it’ll scare them away. Because, at the end of the day, nobody wants a misery guts. Everybody loves having happy people surrounding them, even when we all know that it’s impossible to be happy all of the time.  

If we hide away when we’re sad, then it’s like it never happened. Instead of crying, screaming and doing the most stupid things when I’m sad, I have learnt to turn to writing. It truly is such a cathartic sensation putting the pen to paper and releasing emotions that have built up over an infinite amount of time. Writing allows me to figure out how I’m truly feeling, and I am sometimes left in shock over the words which litter the page - I had no idea previously that I felt this way. 

When people praise me for my writing, it truly means the world to me. The words I write are words which come directly from my heart, and are so personal and dear to me. I struggle so much with vocally expressing how I am feeling, and my writing gives me a platform to be able to do that. Whether I’m happy, sad, angry or tired - the first thing I want to do is write. The moment that my pen touches the paper, or my fingers reach the keys, I know that I am about to be taken on a self induced journey - and it offers me a thrill that other people may find in rollercoasters, cliff diving or bungee jumping. 

And that’s it, that’s my story. Well, a bit of it anyway. The worst thing imaginable happened, and in the aftermath I’m learning to heal through the words that I write. I have experienced things at such a young age, that people will perhaps never experience in their lifetime - and to them, I hope they don’t take it for granted. I would do anything in my power to turn back time, but unfortunately the concept of a time machine only exists in the fictional side of popular culture. All I can do now is live my life, figure out who I am and what I want, and hope that one day everything turns out okay. I have goals and ambitions that I know I can so easily achieve once I set my mind to them, and whilst my life hasn’t turned out so great so far, I’m excited to see what the future brings.

See you next week,
Grace x

I've been feeling so uninspired recently. With my blog posts, I can usually just log onto my laptop and BAM! about a zillion words come flooding out. But right now my thoughts are scattered, and I am struggling to write about anything at all. I've currently got 5 different tabs up, with random thoughts occupying each one. HOWEVER, I can't have a Wednesday night without a blog post so I thought that I may as well just share with you a few of my favourite stories that have happened in my life, that will (hopefully!) make you laugh.

I'm one of those people who always has a story to tell. If you know me well, then you have certainly heard this one before...

"MAD MILL".

This one honestly physically repulses me every time I think about it, but I'm going to suck it up and just write about it. So, my family and I have been to Holland a couple of times now and we used to stay on this site which had a theme park and water park attached. Whilst it was fantastic, I know deep down that I could never go back there again - which is entirely due to the story I am about to tell you.

There was this ride there called the Mad Mill, which was basically a giant circle ride that would spin around and swing you up really high. (I'm so awful at explaining things so I'll insert a video of it here). We had been on it before, and I absolutely LOVED it! It would always make you feel really dizzy afterwards, but the good kind of dizzy which would make you laugh uncontrollably (or, maybe that was just me).

So, we'd just got belted up and then this couple walked on - the girl sat next to me and the boy next to her. The ride is going at full speed, and we're very high up when all of a sudden I hear the horrific sound of someone emptying their stomach. I look to my right and the boy is being sick - not only all over himself, but over his poor girlfriend too. Because the ride was spinning round, his vomit was going EVERYWHERE and I mean E V E R Y W H E R E. I shut my eyes and tried to block it out, when I suddenly feel something land on my leg. Trying to stay calm, I open my eyes to investigate.

There was a speck on his regurgitated food on my leg.

Now, I most definitely have mentioned before in one of my blog posts my extreme phobia of sick. So, as you can imagine, I was FREAKING OUT. The guy controlling the ride had, for some reason, failed to realise what was going on, and all I could think about was tHE FACT THAT THERE WAS SOMEONE ELSE'S SICK ON MY LEG.

Desperate times call for desperate measures, am I right? I tried to turn my back on him, to scream to my 'lovely and supportive' sister Alice that 'SOMEONE HAS JUST THROWN UP ON MY LEG" whilst practically breaking my back in the process, and she just looks at me, laughs and says 'What do you want me to do about it?'.

The ride finally stopped and I shot out my seat, running faster than I have ever ran in my life - high jumping over clumps of vomit in the process. I hopped down the stairs, my sick splattered leg high up in the ground - as far away from me as I could physically manage - getting to the nearest food stall so I could grab a napkin and finally feel clean again.

And that, my friends, is why you DON'T EAT BEFORE YOU GO ON A SPINNING RIDE. Before you proceed in doing that, please think about the poor sods (like myself) who will be eternally scarred due to your pathetic actions.


THE CINEMA INCIDENT
This, like the Mad Mill story, happened a couple of years ago - I'd like to think I've got a bit less embarrassing since then, but it's more the case of the embarrassing things that have happened aren't really appropriate to put on here (oops!). So, I was 14 years old - it was the Summer holidays and myself, Alice and Georgina had gone to the cinema to watch Anchorman (I'm pretty sure it was that anyway).

Anchorman is a 15, yet we were cocky as hell and thought that we looked mature enough to get away with it. So, we queued up to get the tickets and everything was running smoothly - my ego was rapidly growing and I was getting ready to hand over the money when the woman serving us goes, "Can I just double check, how old are you all?".

Now, I am an absolute rubbish liar - which tends to be a good thing, except for when I'm faced with situations like this one. Trying to do my best Meryl Streep impression, I confidently said "Oh, we're all 15" - which clearly wasn't as convincing as I originally believed it was. To this, the lady then replied "When's your birthday?".

I am absolutely awful at Maths and logical thinking, which I'm sure you are all aware of. So, instead of doing the normal thing and just saying my actual birthday yet changing the year I, admittedly the biggest idiot of all time, went "It's my birthday today actually!".

I'm not going to lie to you, I thought I'd nailed it.

That was until she said the dreaded words, the utterance that completely threw me off guard - "What date is it today then?". Okay, I struggle with knowing what date it is on a daily basis - but expecting me to know it during THE SUMMER HOLIDAYS? That's just cruel.

I'm not proud to admit this, but I panicked. I stumbled with my words, and the lady at the desk saw right through my lies. Instead of waiting for me to respond, she shot me back down with the heavily sarcastic interrogative "You don't even know the date of your own birthday?".

Anyone in this situation would've perhaps cracked, yet I wore my pride like a badge, and remained there with my head held high. That was until she suggested the 'other films' we could watch instead - all of which were PG animation films. Funnily enough, watching Tinkerbell & Friends, didn't particularly take my fancy - and we left the cinema in a state of confusion, embarrassment and dismay.

CRAWLING ACROSS THE TABLE
This is my family's favourite story of all time - at any gathering of sorts, this one seems to be brought up every. single. time.

I was in year 1, and I truly thought I owned the place (there seems to be a theme here, doesn't there?!). I was never really one to turn down a good dare, and when my friend challenged me to crawl across one of the big tables in our classroom, I simply couldn't say no.

The classroom was dark, and I assumed it was empty. All was fine and dandy, I was halfway across the table when something in the corner of the room caught my eye - my teacher. She was standing in the dark eating her sandwich, and if I wasn't so shocked I would've been a bit creeped out. (A modern day Dracula?)

I froze. Mid crawl. With my mouth wide open, and my eyes wide in shock. It seemed like we both spent an eternity staring at each other, seeing who was going to be the first person to speak. So, I did what I do best - ran away. I jumped off that table as though I was Jessica Ennis competing in the Olympics and ran as if my life depended on it.

I remember thinking I'd got away with it, and trying my best to be the first one out of the door when the bell rang to signal the end of the school day. However, my mother is a chatterbox, and in primary school we would usually spend an extra hour in the playground whilst she conversed with the other mums. My teacher followed me out, and asked if she could speak to my mum - the dreaded moment was about to occur. I was internally saying my prayers, hoping that whatever the consequences for my actions may be - I would make it out okay.

My mum still remembers the conversation with my teacher, yet I have tried my best to erase it from my memory. She recalls being told of what I'd done, and desperately biting her cheeks in order not to laugh in the teacher's face - who clearly took the matter very seriously.

I remember being in the car on the way home, and my entire family taking the mick out of me for what I'd done - to which my 6 year old self sulkily replied "I don't wan't to talk about it". (It'd been a long and stressful day, okay!).

Right, well I think I've embarrassed myself enough for one day! I hope you enjoyed this blog post, I had such a laugh to myself whilst writing it.

See you next week!

Love,                                 
Grace x

I remember watching 'Breakfast at Tiffany's' for the first time with my mum, and becoming completely and utterly infatuated with the character of Holly Golightly. She embodied everything I wanted to be - confident, sophisticated and classy - and I fell in love with the film, knowing from the moment I finished watching it that it be regarded as 'One of my favourite films of all time' (with The Great Gatsby, The Danish Girl and The Curious Case of Benjamin Button being the other films I place in that category). I can't quite put my finger on what it was that drew me to the film, but I just knew that there was something special about it - the iconography, the costumes, the storyline - it was just so unlike any film that I had ever watched before.

Then, last summer, I finally found the time to read the book which, as cliché as it sounds, was considerably better than the film. Capote writes in a way which I found very similar to one of my all time favourite authors - F Scott Fitzgerald - and I found myself being more able to understand the character of Miss Holiday Golightly, and feeling more empathetic towards her than I had originally felt whilst watching the film.

Last year, on my 17th birthday, I opened my birthday card from my mum and dad - to find tickets to watch 'Breakfast at Tiffany's' at the Lowry Theatre! I was overjoyed, and that day will forever be regarded as one of my favourites. Pixie Lott conveyed the highly iconic character perfectly, yet for me - I will always regard Audrey Hepburn as the ultimate version of Holly Golightly.

As some of you may be aware, I study English Literature as one of my A - Levels, and for one of the pieces of our coursework we got to choose a novel of our choice, and either write an essay about it, or a recreative piece. The recreative piece seemed the most appealing to me, I love creative writing - and this really did give me the freedom and the excuse to write an original piece of work. Because I tend to write about a hundred words where only ten are necessary, I was struggling a bit in terms of the word count - and in the end had to chop down most of my work.

So, I thought why not put the original version on here? I'm not 100% sure if anyone will be interested in reading this, but I thought it was something a little bit different to what I usually post. (Spice things up a bit, you know). Right, this load of babble is about to come to an end ... so here you go lovelies!

{This is going to be an extremely lengthy blog post, just to pre-warn you!}

Entry number 1 

I'm here! I've finally made it. Wandering the quiet streets at 5am and looking into the windows of Tiffany's is everything I have dreamed of and more … yet why do I still feel so cripplingly unhappy? I still don't feel like I'm at home here. All these boxes are littering my flat, yet I find myself unable to empty them, fearing that then I am actually committing to something – and the thought of that scares me like no other. Perhaps all I need is some company. I miss Doc and the children, but most of all I miss my darling Fred. I'm just lonely, that must be why I'm feeling this way. 

Entry number 2 

I've surrounded myself with company for the past few nights, yet it doesn't seem to have much of an effect on me. I guess it just makes me feel less numb for a while, as if the gentle caresses of a man can warm my otherwise ice cold heart. Having a man in my life isn't the be all and end all – I'm completely aware of that. I just can't remember a time in my life when I've felt this alone before. Female friends aren't something I'm used to, for some reason women don't like me very much. Besides, the men in my life help me afford my new life here. A little powder room money sees me through from week to week. However, remind me to never see Mr Arbuck again – twenty cents is definitely not satisfactory for a woman of my calibre! 

Entry number 3 

Cat is my new companion. The poor slob without a name, oh how I adore him! I just don't feel like I have the right to give him one, seeing as we don't belong to each other. I'll name him eventually, once  find a place where I belong, and where we can fully exist together. Each day I'm growing more and more certain that it's not here. Singing and playing the guitar are things that focus my mind away from my broken heart. I wrote down lyrics the other day which utterly sum up my current situation -  

Don't wanna sleep, 

Don't wanna die 

Just wanna go a-travellin' through pictures of the sky 

Entry number 4 

I gave poor Paul, who I am now referring to as Fred, - for he reminds me of him greatly – an awful fright last night. Another one of my, how shall I put it, 'companions', turned frightening after consuming enough alcohol to wash an elephant, so I climbed up the icy fire escape and saw Fred lying there looking all cosy. It turns out he's a writer, and I'm going to help him, for he looks like me brother so. My new little project. Perhaps this will help me seek solace.  

Entry number 5 

Every Thursday I catch the 8:45 and go and see Sally Tomato in prison. This has been going on for seven months, and I get paid a hundred a week every time I visit this dear old man, who I utterly adore. To confirm to Mr O'Shaughnessy that I have been, I leave messages on his answering service telling him the weather report that Sally has mentioned to me. Don't get me wrong, I am not the highly vulnerable and pathetic airhead that they assume I am. I am completely certain that "there's a hurricane in Cuba" and "it’s snowing in Palermo" is code for some dodgy business the two have got going on. I still go and see Sally Tomato because I enjoy my visits, especially when he tells me that he prays for me. It's nice to know that at least someone is watching out for me.  

Entry number 6 

Tonight I had a party at my place, in another unsuccessful attempt to make it feel more like home. It was almost pathetic the way the men swarmed around me like a pack of bees. However, there was only one man who I had my eye on – Mr Rusty Trawler, a millionaire since the age of 5. Don't get me wrong, I know that this is the easy way out – to marry rich – yet I'm so determined to better myself, and in this world only money will help you do that. Rusty is a good guy, I'm almost certain about that. He has power, status, and wealth – everything that I have always dreamed of having, yet seem unable to. However, there's a dark side to him – a side which I am determined I can change. There's rumours circling about the fact that he is a Nazi sympathiser, and I truly don't want to be associated with that side of him – I'm a bit bone idle at times, but I have morals and values that I will never change purely for the sake of a man. If Rusty Trawler adores me as much as he says he does, the dark side of him will have to leave … otherwise I will.  

There's something else on my mind. I'm angry at Fred. I know I complain about Mag but she's got a good heart underneath all her … issues. Yes, I neglected her in her drunken state, but there's only so many times I can hold her hair back whilst she empties her stomach, a literal purge of the bitter emotions that the liquor causes her to possess. Fred should've looked after her. I begged him to. I thought he was one of the good ones.  

Don’t get me wrong, women are most definitely not objects which need to be looked after by men. But once Mag delves into the spirits, she becomes incapable of just about anything. 

I've asked her to move in with me. I needed some company, and it's nice to have another female around. There's been a massive influx in women campaigning for liberation and equal rights, Mag and I are going to join a club which is only 5 minutes away from our flat. We both dream of a future which sees strong women standing up for what they believe in, and are determined to get the ball rolling so our future daughters can experience an equal society. We’re going to change the world, Mag and I. Watch this space. 

Entry number 7 

Oh my darling Fred, I am so proud of him. He's just told me the incredible news that his first short story has been published! I know that I am in no position to comment, but I can't help but feel that he should be more commercially ambitious with his writing, but nonetheless this calls for a celebration.  

I really would hate to think that I'm sounding bitter here, but I can't help but think how easy it is for men to succeed in this world. His stories are beautiful, but if I were to write something of the same standard, or better, then the publisher wouldn't even consider running it. Yes, my story may be perfectly written and fantastically interesting, yet it's the fact that I'm a female which holds me back, as usual. I'm fed up of it.  

As a women, I am limited to being in the movies – merely speaking the beautiful words that people like Fred write. Whilst this is a great honour too, I know that I am not in this industry for my superb talent or powerful voice. No, I am in the movies, and I hope I'm not sounding too vain here, because people like to look at me. I am seen as an object, a pretty thing for your eyes to focus on for a couple of hours, instead of as a voice. People aren't listening, they're just looking. 

Entry number 8 

I'm sorry I haven't written in so long, so much has happened and I've had a hard time dealing with it all. I'm sick of the men in my life screwing me over. I've known it for a while now, that I need to be by myself – but how would society accept that? Women who are alone by choice get isolated from society, and vicious rumours are spread about them – some even get accused of witchcraft, for goodness sake! 

I'm alone again. I belong to nobody, yet belong to everyone, and the thought of that terrifies me. I'm sick of being in a cage, there for everyone to look at and admire, yet never truly want. I admit, I find it hard to let people in, which is why I make up all these tales about a life that is so far from my own, I've begun to even forget the truth. 

Entry number 9 

This little family I had created for myself crumbled to a pile of dust when Mag suspected the affair between Jose and I. He's the only person who I feel understand me, and I find myself giving him pieces of myself that no one else has ever received. Mag and I talked of improving the world we live in, yet we never considered changing ourselves. We don't need men in our lives in order to feel fulfilled, and the sooner we realise that, the better.

I hope you enjoyed this post, and I'm sorry for how long it was! If you've made it to the end, then thank you so much. :) 

See you next week, 

Love, 

Grace x

If I'm completely honest, I was struggling to think of a topic to write about for this week's blog post. Usually, I can just sit down with my laptop and start typing about the first thing that comes to mind, but I've been feeling pretty uninspired recently. At the moment, my life generally consists of school all day, coming home and doing more work and then going to bed (wow, how exciting!). Although I am prone to getting fed up when my routine begins to revolve around an endless stream of revision, I am extremely motivated in the sense that I only have a few short months left of school and then FREEDOM! (I am still massively unsure about the whole 'university thing'). To also inspire and motivate me to do work, I simply cast my mind to focus on the fact that I am extremely lucky to be able to have the opportunity of education that I do, and I really shouldn't take it for granted. There are people, especially girls, around the world who don't get to receive an education - purely due to their gender, and that honestly baffles me.

Figures such as the utterly fabulous Malala Yousafzai have brought light upon this issue, and organisations like 'HeForShe' and the 'GlobalGiving Girl Fund' are campaigning in order to create an equal future, where both genders receive equal chances and opportunities, without acts of discrimination standing in their way. Today, March 8th, marks International Women's Day - a day where women from all over the globe are being celebrated for their conscious efforts to creating an entirely equal society, with #BeBoldForChange being this years theme.

However, instead of writing a post where I celebrate the dominant female figures in society, I wanted to offer a more personal approach. I could easily write about Rosa Parks, Emmeline Pankhurst or Emma Watson, but I want to write about the impactful and insanely strong women in my life - all of which have shaped me into the person I am today. 

My Mum
So, starting with the most obvious one - my mum. I think we so easily take our parents for granted, and it sometimes gets in the way of us appreciating how much they actually do for us. I always have, and always will, admired my mum - when things get tough, and life is bringing you down, sometimes just having a cup of tea and a cry with your mum can solve everything. Whether you're sad, happy, poorly or angry, your mum is always the first person you want to turn to. Something extraordinary about my mother is the fact that she carried three babies in her stomach all at once. Even just the thought of that makes me want to throw up, but my mum just took it completely in her stride. She is constantly interrogated by people who only have to deal with one baby, with the most asked question being 'How did you manage?' - to that, she tends to answer 'I just had to be organised'. And that, Mother, you certainly are. There are some people who are just born to plan and arrange things, and my mum is definitely one of them. She has a reputation of having the Christmas cards sent out by December 1st, and she buys people's birthday cards and presents at least 2 months in advance. Despite being insanely organised and tidy, she is also one of the silliest people I know. If people think I'm a little bit (a lot) crazy and weird, then you have my mum to thank for that. Prone to pulling silly faces and uttering silly jokes, she still manages to look good whilst doing it (I have yet to master that skill). My Mum is 50 years old, and I'm not being biased here, but you sure as hell wouldn't think it. Fabulous at 50, yet still 5 at heart, my Mother is definitely one of the strongest people I know - and if I end up to be half the woman she is, I'll be eternally happy. 

My Sister 
Anyone who knows me personally, will know of the strong bond I have with my sister Alice. I am cringing as I type this, but she is my best friend as well as my sibling - and although we sometimes have the most violent arguments, we move on from them in less than 5 minutes. I have always looked up to Alice, mainly because she's a massive nerd and has an intellectual capability that I can't help but admire, but more so in the past year. Without a doubt, she is the strongest woman (can you call her that ... debatable) I know, and I am proud as punch to call her my sister. Although she does come out with the most vile things you could ever imagine, punch me so hard and so often that my body is covered in bruises, and burp CONSTANTLY (my ultimate pet peeve) - she is still someone who I massively look up to. Her determination to succeed is motivational, and I know that she will be massively successful. If you look at Alice, you may be deceived - she looks incredibly innocent and shy, with her immaculate hair and passionate love affair for anything with a floral print - yet she is one tough cookie. (did I actually just say that?). I'll tell you now, you would not mess with her - after experiencing her punches first hand, I'd advice you to steer clear. 

My Best Friend
Georgina, I'm pretty sure that you've read me talking about my mum and Alice, and have been wondering when your mention is going to be - well, SURPRISE! HERE YOU GO! 
I am lucky enough to have grown up with this amazing girl, and she is pretty much a second sister to me - and a third daughter to my mum and dad. We have been to nursery, primary school, high school and now sixth form together - and thinking about the fact that in a few months time we may be across the country from each other genuinely makes me cry. There's people who come and go, but I know that I'll be friends with Georgina for the rest of my life. We often joke about going on mental girls holidays when we're 40 - leaving our kids and husbands at home to fend for themselves - and I know for a fact that that'll be reality one day. Georgina has stuck by me through thick and thin - and is genuinely the kindest, funniest and more supportive person I know. There isn't a day that goes by where we're not laughing at the most immature and pathetic things together, and I can tell her absolutely anything - whether it be something serious, or something extremely embarrassing. Georgina, you are the bestest friend I could ever wish for, and I am so grateful for you - even when you're taking the mick out of me. 

My Nanna/Nana's
I couldn't write this post without mentioning my beautiful Nannas. I am fortunate to still have the both of them, and they really do mean the absolute world to me. They are both absolute polar opposites in every sense of the word, yet I love them both in equal measures. Nanna Janice is strong, brave, opinionated and witty - whilst my Nana Delia is soft, gentle, hilarious and, at times, a little bit ditzy. (sorry Nana!) They both have qualities the other one doesn't, yet they get along so well! I'm always at my happiest when the whole family is together, and I love looking across the dinner table to see my two nanna's (and Grandad!) sitting opposite me. Like the rest of my family, they are extremely supportive - and both of them sit and read my blogs, or 'blobs' as Nana Delia has the tendency to call them. I know for a fact that I wouldn't be the person I am today without their influence, and I am proud to have a mixture of the qualities that they possess. 

The truth is, I could sit here and write about every single woman in my life - as I am influenced and inspired by them all, but this blog post is already long enough, and the time before mocks start seems to be coming around very quick (wish me luck, please!). So, I'm going to finish off here - with a video created by Salvo Studios for International Women's Day 2017, which I utterly adore. 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rtXRnVCGh4Y

I hope you've had a great day, and I'll see you next week. 

Love,
Grace x

p.s. Did anyone notice that I changed my domain from gracyviolet.blogspot.co.uk to gracyviolet.co.uk - how professional! 

Tomorrow marks a year since you were so cruelly taken away from us, and whilst half of me thinks about how quickly those 365 days have come around, they also feel like a lifetime too. A whole year without you has been the most difficult thing I have ever had to face, and what makes it worse is that it's going to continue to grow. Another year shall pass, and another, and another and I may reach the age of 70 - sat in my rocking chair and thinking about how much time has passed, yet the pain never subsided.

It still doesn't feel real. I lie in my bed at night and the question that always springs to mind is 'Why?' Why did this happen? I'm still trying to figure that one out, and I know that I never will. Even when we were faced with what was going to happen, I still truly believed that it wouldn't. It kills me because I thought it was wrong, that the doctors had got it confused somehow. I remember telling you that I wasn't going to let anything happen to you, and I still haven't forgiven myself for breaking my promise.

I remember everything clear as day, and I am haunted by it. I get flashbacks which hurt me beyond belief, which make me grimace and squeeze my eyes tight - forcing myself to think about something else. I'm thinking about this very moment last year, and how I wasn't aware that my final moment with you would be my last. But, maybe I did. The truth is, deep down I knew - it was just the acceptance that I struggled with. I had to know, otherwise I wouldn't of said the words to you that I did on that last night. I count my blessings everyday that I hadn't just given you the obligatory kiss on the forehead and uttered 'Goodnight'.

'Us three against the world, forever and ever' - that is how it will always be. I will tell my children, if I ever do have them, of their wonderful Uncle Luke, who they'll never meet but I know loves them dearly. I'll tell them about how much fun we had growing up together and how, even after all this time, you are still the reason for my smile. I'll teach them how to grab life by their fists in the same way that you did, and how nothing is certain and you should embrace that instead of being scared of it.

There are things that still to this day I cannot bring myself to talk about. I made so many promises to you, and I am trying so hard to fulfil them. I told you that I'd visit Niagra Falls, and all the places you wanted to go but there's the pressure of time, and what if it runs out before I can carry out your wishes? What if time keeps passing by as quickly as it seems to be doing, and I've realised that I'm coming to the end of my life and never really done anything? I have so many dreams, goals and ambitions but the way I feel often stops me from reaching them. I don't even know what I want anymore. All I know is that I miss you, desperately, and the pain is becoming more intense with each passing day.

There are songs that I still can't listen to without choking up, films that I can't bring myself to watch and pictures which hurt my heart and cause the tears to fall within the matter of an instance. I tend to feel you beside me, I am aware of your presence hovering over me - but then there are days when I can no longer look beside me in the car and see you sat in the passenger seat. That's when things start to get bad. Things get so bad that I struggle to breathe, and all I can do I sleep in the hope that I'll wake up and the intensity and rawness will have cleared.

It's been a year, and whilst I miss you so deeply, I am also grateful that you were here - even if it was for such a short amount of time. Sixteen years doesn't seem enough for someone like you to be on Earth, but you lived more in those few years than some people do in their lifetime. Each day I'm trying so hard to be more like you, yet it never ceases to amaze me how you still managed to smile even on the darkest of days. I'm hoping I'll master that one day, but for now I'll just admire you for it.

If your watching over me like I truly believe you are, you'll know that these 365 days have not only brought such vast amounts of indescribable sadness, but there have also been some incredibly happy times too. I've achieved so much more than I thought I would, and everyone keeps telling me how proud you'd be - I desperately hope that's true. I'm almost reaching the end of A Levels - I never thought I would see the day. There's been all these moments when I've wanted to give up, but your strength has taught me to keep going no matter what. Although I'm late to school almost everyday because the getting up in the morning has become immensely difficult, I arrive with a smile painted on my face - completely in your honour.

I'm trying to keep your memory alive, but I fear upsetting people. You were, you are, so deeply loved and admired, and so many people feel the pain of losing you. We all love you, Luke. That's what makes it so difficult. In just a few months time I'll be moving on, I'll be meeting a new bunch of people who won't look at me and be reminded of such heartbreak. Whilst that's so refreshing - the thought of being somewhere where people only know my name and not my story - it's also terrifying too. Because when the time comes, I'll eventually have to tell my story and how do I explain it? How do I explain that the world is so cruel, and how the three of us became a lonely pack of two?

We were a team, and we've lost a player. No one will ever understand the bond that we shared and, if I'm honest, I don't want them to. Whilst the myths are not true, and we can't communicate telepathically, we all understood each other in a way that no one else ever will. My heart is broken, and I know that it can never truly be fixed. A part of me left on the day that you did, and I'll never get it back - I never want to. Because it belongs to you, and it'll keep you close to me forever.

One of my most cherished items is a necklace with your fingerprint on it. On days where I can't feel your presence, or where I particularly need you to be with me, I wear it and it's like you never left. I can place my finger on the top of it, and if I shut my eyes I can see you beside me. It's what happens when I open them which becomes an issue. Because some days I have to face reality, and that's something I struggle with. I try and exist in my own little bubble, but sometimes that bubble bursts and everything starts going wrong. My little game of 'let's pretend' is ruined, and that's when the sadness starts to come flooding in.

Then there are days when I'm fueled by the pain of losing you. I know that nothing lasts forever, and that I need to live each day like it's my last. I have changed in the fact that I know life is way too short to spend it being unhappy. In this sense, I no longer value other people's opinions in the way that they used to tear me down so much, I have become more confident and accepting towards myself - and I have realised that I can achieve anything I set my mind to, I just have to believe in myself first. I've learnt that a day without laughter is a day wasted, and I have tried to radiate happiness and positivity everywhere that I go. Although there are days when lifting my head off the pillow seems impossible, I think of the times when you continued going regardless of the obstacles which you faced.

I couldn't have gotten through this year without the incredible people that I have by my side. Not a single day goes by where I'm not grateful for them, and even when I feel so alone I'm constantly reminded that I'm not. Although I've lost so much, I can't forget how much I've also gained. I have always been a people person, yet definitely more so in these past 365 days. Despite the fact that I have the tendency to push people away when I truly need them the most, and I can be so annoying and hard to deal with, I am surrounded by people who have never given up on me. I will never be able to begin to thank them enough.

It's been a year and whilst nothing will ever hurt as much, I am comforted by the happy memories I have of you. Luke, you changed my life for the better and you will always be remembered. A whole year without your smile has been complete hell, but you had the kind of smile that I could never truly forget. Even when you were unable to do anything else, you always managed to turn up the corners of your mouth and my admiration for that will never wear off. I know that I will see you again someday, but instead of willing for that day to come, I will simply live a life that I know we'll both be proud of.

To you, Luke. I hope you're shining just as bright up there.

All my love,
Forever and always.

Grace x