Somehow, even when I’m trying my dam hardest to stay on the straight and narrow and keep my nose out of trouble, life gives me a little midday movies experience.

Two weeks ago, I received an email from someone who I should not be receiving anything but professional emails from. This email merely asking how I was, briefly opened up a whirlwind shit storm. When the first email arrived in my inbox I was intrigued, I did have a five-minute schoolgirl crush on this person. What did he want? What was the purpose of these emails? As my curiosity grew, the back and forth chit chat became more and more consistent, however, very one-sided. He opened up about his breakup with his wife, his kids, and I began to see he was lonely and in need a friend or someone to talk to. I’m not sure why I felt like the savour to the lost and vulnerable, but I continued to communicate with him with the hopes it would help him in the long run.

My naive view was met with a slap in the face when I realised he was after more. The so-called newly established friendship was tainted with invites to swim in his pool, or him wanting to take me on trips or to do some sort of activity with him. Not to mention the messages asking if I was dreaming about him and if he could come to pick me up when I was at a friends party.

As the endless dirty rushes of anxiety and stress washed over me, and I realised the inappropriateness of all this. He, as my superior, was crossing a professional boundary and not only was beginning to make me feel extremely uncomfortable but adding a lot of unwanted stress into my life.

I began to wonder about the repercussions for me; what if this got out? What would people think? Would my professional career be tainted? Would I lose the respect of others within my world?

With these added thoughts running through my head, the stress was becoming too much. I don’t want anything affecting my career path. I knew what I had to do. I cut the ties stating my reasoning with full transparency. I want to move on without this having any effect on my career or reputation.

Feeling freer with the notion that I got out before anything stupid happened, or people found out, I got wind that I am not the only one.

Stressed out again by this newfound information, I wondered, do I email him and pre-worn him a hurricane from higher above may be coming? Or do I ignore it and not get involved?

I want nothing to do with all of this and pretend like my stupid decision to open up communication with him never happened.

Ignorance is bliss. Right?

With sheer frustration and the hopes this will all blow over, I apologise.

I’m sorry you are so fucking stupid and opened up this can of worms.
I’m sorry that I allowed communication to take a turn to inappropriate vill.
I’m so sorry I was dumb enough to buy into his “friendship”.
I’m sorry, he thinks it’s ok to take advantage of this authority and power position.

I apologise.



As many of you know from reading my previous blogs, I have had an issue with binge drinking. Some may say I have had a drinking problem, I would agree.

I wanted to share my recent story, which involves my path to stopping, or at least drastically cutting down.

On the 19th of September, I took a leap of faith on my search to release myself for the ties of alcohol abuse. I decided to take myself to see a hypnotist. As I walked in a little sceptical and unsure if the powers of persuasion would be able to crack through my sturdy walls of addiction, I sat down, ready to try to open up for change. Leaving the session, I felt waves of emotion, emotions I didn’t even know existed.
I question why I was feeling so emotional. Was I sad because i officially started my path to a better me? Was I crying because I just gave a part of myself away? Was I anxious beasue now I have to face the world without the crutch of alcohol? Was I feeling shameful at the thought of all the alcohol I had drunk? Was I embarrassed at how young I was when I started?

Yes, yes to everything.

Two weeks later I had my follow up visit, the first question asked was “Mia, have you had anything to drink?”.

I confidently answered no.

For someone who has battled with binge drinking for over 15 years, I could not believe the words that had escaped my mouth. Generally, after a week to two weeks, I was dialling any willing participant to come along and partake in my drinking charades. However, since the first hypnotic session, I haven’t even wanted a drink. Actually, to put it frankly, when I think of sipping anything that contains alcohol, I’m rather turned off at the idea.

My real test was a week and a half ago when my housemate came home from her business trip. She is a wineo, and we have spent many nights sipping our lives away. This time around, when she offered me a glass of wine, I said no. I expressed my new life choices and how I needed to step away from alcohol and how I had been to a hypnotist to help assist me in my decision. Surprised and entirely shocked by this choice and new will power of mine, my friend questioned my experience. I explained how the sessions work, how she made tap into my past experiences and acknowledge where the drinking all started. I shared that I was not (and still not) feeling like I want to drink.

Impressed and ready to make changes herself, she is now about to embark on the same quest. Her goal, quitting booze and cigarettes.

My leaps of faith really was a chance worth taking. The two sessions were expensive; however, when I way it up with the money I’m saving from not buying bottles of whiskey all the time, I’m saving in the long run. Plus the added benefit of not waking up so hungover that it takes me early a full week to recover is helping me focus on my studies.
The other benefits I have been discovering are more energy, more focused and generally feeling more positive.

I’m 1 month sober and not even sorry!!

My only apology this time around is that I did not do it sooner.

I apologise.


CONFESSION- The One That Got Away.

Three years ago, at a crossroad in my life and my career, I was desperate for some guidance. I decided to seek out answers from a psychic. Unaware of what to expect, I went in ready to listen to whatever she had to say open-mindedly. I went in with the tactic to say nothing and let her do all the talking (you know to make sure I wasn’t feeding her information to build off), I was presently surprised.

She spoke of my deceased father and grandfather, who’s presence was in the room. She told me she could see me in my job and explained it to me in great detail (she was correct). She told me that I was going to be interviewed and could see me talking into a microphone. I was also going to enter and win a race. A couple of months later, all of this did happen. I was an interview, and on the news and I did enter a competition and win. I couldn’t help but ask about my love life and if she could see anything for that. She said she saw a tall man, with brown wavy hair and who is gentle-natured. She said she could see my dad drawing a figure eight (the sign for infinity) with his hands. She explained, there is someone that will be going in and out of my life for a while. After a long time apart, we will come back together, like the unbreakable chain of the infinity symbol. I had an idea as to who she was referring.

Two months later, I was back in New Zealand, back at my old job and back in the same town as my ex. I hadn’t seen him in nearly a year. These moments in time are the last of our story. This is where the chain breaks.

The knock on my door made my stomach flip. I couldn’t believe he was willing to meet up. As the door slid open he walked in, tall, rugged and looking so dam fine. After an exchange of hugs and how are yous, we walked out the door to the local cafe. Sipping on our coffees, we caught up on the time we had missed together. He spoke of his season in Europe, and I spoke of mine in Canada. Nearing the end of our coffees, he reached for my hand and held it, he looked at me and smiled. His touch, melting me into a puddle.

We left and walked for an hour around town as we continued our catch up. Like the perfect gentleman he is, he walked me home. Standing on the porch saying our goodbyes, I was not expecting it, but he leant in and kissed me. This kiss sent my knees weak; I had longed for this kiss for so many months. The adrenaline running through me made me shake as nerves and excitement covered every inch of my body.

I asked him inside.

Standing in the living room looking at one another, I wondered what he was thinking. My question answered by him walking over, placing his hands around the back of my head and pulling me in for yet another passionate kiss. He picked me up; I locked my legs around his waist, he walked me down the hall into my bedroom.

After, we laid in silence and looked into each other’s eyes. The smile he had on his face, disappeared, and I could see the look of what have I done wash straight across him. I knew at that moment; he was reliving all the breakups, the hurt and the pain I once caused. I could see, in one moment, he felt he made a terrible mistake.

As time passed and the weeks went by, we tried to avoid one another. I knew he wanted space from me; I chose to respect that by keeping my distance. It was the least I could do. However, the undeniable draw we had for each other pulled us in once again.

I wanted the chance to say I was sorry and that I just wanted to be friends. Our jobs, our social circles kept us in close proximities, and I wanted to make sure it could be as pleasant as possible for both of us. I sent one text, stating just that. He replied with ‘I need to talk to you, can I come round’. I was mentally preparing for our last goodbye. I knew, for me, it was going to be soul-crushing, but he deserved a clean break.

He walked in and sat down.

He began to tell me I had ruined everything coming back this season. He said he tried with all of his power to get over me, though he couldn’t. I was on his mind at every minute at every point of the day. He missed me, and that is was killing him. I started to cry. I felt the same way, my feeling never, even after the breakups; I too felt the same draw, he nor I could escape it.

We spent the next few months reestablishing our bond, enjoying every moment together. Our last adventure together was spent sailing around the coast of New Zealand. Just him and I and the open sea.

I left one week after that sailing trip ended; I had committed to another winter season in the northern hemisphere. We spoke for a month then lost contact. I didn’t hear from him again until I had returned home. I received a message asking how I was; I told him i was great, and it was nice to be back home. I then disclosed, I was now seeing someone and in a new relationship. So was he.

(Read Confessions- The Ex-Files, this is where the two stories meet up).

To my ex,
I’m sorry if our yo-yo relationship took a toll on you and your emotions. I know it did mine. I’m sorry for all the pain I caused you over the years, and I’m sorry for walking out on you twice. I’m happy that you are finally in a stable and healthy relationship and that she ticks all of your boxes. I’m glad you finally found your person.

To myself,
I’m sorry you still can’t break free of this, and I’m sorry you continue to carry a torch for him. I am sorry that no matter who you meet now, he is the benchmark. I’m sorry I was never able to be that person for him.
I’m sorry, you can’t move on, even after all these years.

I apologise.


STORY 5- If The Walls Could Talk

In the season of all-season, it’s safe to say I got up to a lot of mischief. At the time, I was 27, full of energy, in full party mode and living on the mantra- ill sleep when I’m dead.


During what I describe as the best season of my life, I lived in a house known as ‘The Hippy House’. I shared this house with seven of the most amazing people I have ever met; these people were my international family. The Hippy House was a run down piece of shit but centrally located in town and massive in size. It was three bedrooms, one and a half bathroom, with two lounge rooms and a big kitchen with a built-in dining area. The balcony that surrounded the house was the highlight, breathtaking views of the Rockies in which we lived.

This view almost made up for the house’s shortcomings. In the large bathroom, only the shower worked, the only useable toilet in the house was the downstairs one, due to the lack of rooms the upstairs landing was converted into another bedroom just to fit us all in. The house came decorated with holes, missing tiles, wobbly handrails and very questionable looking carpet. However, as much as the house looked like a hot mess, I loved it. There was something so special about that house, it had a certain vibe to it. One could say the vibe was there because of the people that lived in it, but I think the house had an energy all on its own.

Our house was the towns party house, and that was fine with all of us. Everyone we knew and associated with would come round, invite or not, and hangout. We had a ‘the door is always open’ policy. However, this meant with the number of people that were always there, nearly every night turned into a party; a party with all of our companions, beer, spirits, wine, cigarettes, weed, MDMA, coke, and one night even acid.

The money I spent on narcotics that season was outrageous. After paying bills and rent, the only other place my money went, was on alcohol, cigarettes and to our friend who supplied the goods. Our friend was not a drug dealer, just a housemate and buddy who always had a stash when the party got going.

One random evening I had just returned home from work, and as soon as I walked in the door, I knew there would be no sleeping for me. Everyone was over, already half-cut and I could see the party favours were in the process of being passed around. A couple of friends walked straight over to me, took my hand and lead me to the kitchen. My gift for following, a scrunched up tissue that contained a wad of MDMA. Just as I was about to put the whole thing in my mouth, I thought to myself; you don’t know how strong this is or how much is in the tissue, maybe have a look and start slow. Five gold stars for that decision, it had a hell of a punch to it.

At one point in the evening all high, euphoric and full of wonder, I found a large, unused cupboard which I sat in for two and a half hours. I entertained myself by engraving all of the housemate’s and our close friend’s names in the wood. Fellow party-goers frequently stopped by to have a cigarette with me and to check out my progress. That same night, even after telling a certain someone not to give me any at any point, I ended up taking acid. My enhanced trip was entertaining, though the fact that I couldn’t sleep for nearly two days after was not.

This night, like many of the other party nights, I spent cuddled up on beds and couches smoking, talking to friends about our lives and how much we all adored each other. The drugs that coursed throughout our veins, undoubtedly amplifying the love and lust we felt in that particular moment. I have memories of dancing, laughing, beer pong, and hanging out on the roof watching that stars. The memories we created this night, the warped and distorted ones, have a special place in my heart, and I will cherish till the end of time.

These memories belong between us and the house now.

My apology, is to me.
I’m sorry I got carried away with the excessive drug use that season, my mind and body took a hit for it. I’m sorry that one night while drunk and high, I snowboarded down the stairs and split the back of my head open. I’m sorry for thinking it was ok to blow off friends one morning because you couldn’t get out of bed because you were so hungover and coming down off a bender. I’m sorry I spent so much money on wasted nights when I could have used that money to do more travelling around Canada. I’m sorry, I got caught up in the party.

I apologise.


CONFESSION- And With That, I Put The Bottle Down.

Two weeks ago, I made a decision, a decision that today, took effect. This choice will now alter my very existence.

My first blog, Story 1- My most recent, alcohol-related fuckup, shared the last time I went out. That night, like many other of my nights out, ended with me blacking out and not remembering a dam thing that went on. I woke to hear all about how I was extremely annoying, rude and destructive things I had done. Yey for me, right. It was at the very moment, listening to those horror stories that I realised, I couldn’t continue to drink that way I have been for the last fifteen years (I started young), and I had to make a serious change.

Iv always drunk, all of my nights out have involved drinking. I have had the best times and the worst times drinking. The ‘best times’ or nights out are when I can wake up and remember the night before. For me, It means I have been in control all night and managed to stay sober enough to make smart choices and have fun. The worst nights are those that I can not remember, and I’m sorry to say these happen more than I would to admit. I have never gotten myself into a dangerous or compromising position during my blackout sessions, but I know that I get messy, embarrassing and say and do dumb ass shit. I understand we all have nights out like this, but mine seems to happen too frequently.

Drinking for me has never been a ‘hey, let’s get one drink then head home’. I seem to have one sip of a drink and frenzy takes over. That first drink I can feel that little devel, that party girl I tuck away, come out. One sip and she’s right there, taking control and put me in a first-class seat on the party express. My weapon of choice, a whiskey soda, I can drink this until the sun comes up or until I pass out. As much as I try, I have no control over how much I drink; I keep going and going and going until I can’t stand up anymore.

Now in the thirties, the punishment after drinking is getting worse and worse. I remember people saying to me ‘you won’t be able to drink like that and get away with it forever, wait till your thirty’. Oh, sweet lord, could they have been any more right. Hangovers now last days, it’s almost a week before I feel back to normal. Once I’m feeling tip-top again, I’m back out on another binge session, until now.

Today I saw someone to help me make a change, a change that will help me with my relationship with alcohol and set me into a healthier future.

Today, I saw a hypnotist.

I was not sure what to expect today, nor was I aware the experience was going to be so confronting and emotional. During the consultation, the hypnotist asked a series of questions. The questions she asked made me so aware of how my relationship with drinking all started, how long I’ve been developing the bond for and why I choose to drink the way I do.

Here is what I realised and disclosed to the hypnotist.

I had my first sip of alcohol at ten years old. It was bourbon and coke and was given to me by my stepdad. I was regularly allowed to sip his drinks and or finish off the last bit in his glass. My relationship with alcohol started here; I had witnessed that drinking often and in large quantities was an ordinary act. I carried this thought process into my teenage rebellion years, where I stole alcohol to drink with my friends on the weekends. Even in my mid teens, I drank until I spewed or blacked out. My drinking took to another level when I started to travel. In my early twenties, I was drinking six nights a week, late twenties not so often, but the amount never changed. It was always to the point of no awareness.

Relaying all this information to the hypnotists was overwhelming as it was clear my relationship with alcohol was never a healthy one. I knew right then and there that I had made the best life choice going to this appointment. I have spent too many years putting my energy into drinking, and I have no intention to continue this destructive cycle in the future.

After the session, I left, got in my car and drove home. On the drive home, I felt an overwhelming rush of emotions and tears began to run down my face. I’m not sure if it was the thought that iv started to close the door on a massive part of my life or the fact that I had to sit and confront an inner demon. Either way, the reality of the situation hit me like a ton of bricks.

I have another session next week and between now and then I have one assignment, have a drink and see how you feel. If I’m satisfied at one, we are on the right track.

Keep your fingers crossed for me; I’m hoping this is my new healthy relationship with alcohol.

This apology is to myself and my friends-
I’m that my drinking has never been managed or consumed in a controlled manner. I am sorry that I always took things too far. I’m sorry for all the drunk shit that iv done, and the friend’s iv embarrassed along the way. I’m sorry to my body; I can’t imagine how much damage I did over the years. I’m sorry to my friends, the ones that had to look after me on nights out when I took that messy turn and blacked out.

I apologise.


STORY 4- A Kiss Like No Other

Four years ago, I was in Canada doing yet another winter season in the ski fields. Unaware at the time, but this trip was my last to Canada and boy was it a good one. I had the best time of my life that season and got up to quite a bit of mischieve.

Here is story four, one moment in the season of all seasons.

One friend I had made this particular season, her and I had developed a close friendship from the get-go. We found each other easy to talk to and rather quickly created a haven for anything to be said between us, this solidifying the friendship. I found her extremely interesting, as she did me. She was a gay artist who loved to create pictures, sculptures and necklaces with wires, stones and leather. She exuberated this cool, calm, no fucks given kind of vibe. She was slightly damaged yet harboured a positive, hippy-ish mentality. I was undeniably intrigued by her.

When we met, I was casually seeing a handsome Scottish man; she was with her girlfriend of 2 years. The more time we spent together, the more she and her GF grew apart. It was not long before her, and her GF broke up. Most nights, she would come to my house to hang out with the crew that lived there. I lived with seven others, all of us the best of mates. On the roof of the house, you could lay in a nook and look at the stars. One night my friend and I were up on the roof looking at the Northern Lights flashing when I started to feel this undeniable electricity between us. I knew she felt it too. It was at this point the friendship shifted into another realm.

I was due to leave in three weeks.

We spent the next couple of weeks hanging out, as usual, drinking, partying and squeezing in random adventures. Though nothing sinister was going at any point, you could still feel the chemistry. I knew she wanted to kiss me, and there was a part of me that wanted to kiss her.

A couple of nights before my departure, we decided to chuck a party once again. My friend and I spent the night locked at the hip, trying to maximise our last few days together. We had spent the night in and out of the party, socialising then finding solace in our own company. Halfway through the night and guess with the thought of my departure lingering, she followed me into the bathroom. As the door closed behind her, she grabbed me pushed me up against the wall and kissed me. Her hands held my head with her fingers entangled in my hair; she then explored my body. As her hands reached buttocks, she picked me up and wrapped my legs around her waist. With my back pushed against the wall, we kissed. As she put me down, her hands undone my belt. She slid her hand slid into my pants; then there was a knock at the door. In the blink of an eye, she let me go stepped back and opened the door. A drunken german stumbled in, and we quietly walked out.

Four days later, I flew home.

A few friends drove to me to the airport, including THE friend. The whole way there we tried to lighten the mood by joking about how we should turn the car around, so I didn’t have to leave. At the airport, we all said our goodbyes. The goodbye between THE friend and I was a prolonged one. We promised to keep in contact, and we did for a while.

Here’s what I want to say to my friend, and I guess, also myself –
I am sorry that I had to leave. Even though I identify as a straight female, I was curious to see what was going to happen next. I’m sorry that a year ago, you tried to reach out and I never returned your message or tired to get back in touch. I’m still unsure as to why I chose not to respond. Finally, I’m sorry if I played a part in you and your GFs breakup. The break up may have been coming, but I still get no satisfaction in thinking that I could have been the tipping point.

I apologise.

In this occasion, I also need to say thank you. Thank you for being such a rad human, thank you for being one the highlights of that trip. I will remember all of our wild stories, fondly.

Thank you.



Six months ago, I broke up with my ex; our relationship lasted two years. We had met while working for a ski company in the northern hemisphere. The tall European had the biggest, friendly smile id ever seen. He was easy to talk to and had a gentle nature about him. There wasn’t one person who met him that could say a bad word about him.

When we first met, I was amazed at how quickly I got the oots in my stomach. You know the ones you get when you have a school girl (or boy) crush on someone. We chatted and hung out often, and as the flirting picked up, our feelings continued to grow and on New Year’s Eve he managed to pluck up the courage to make his move. A blockbuster clique coming- we locked lips as the clock struck twelve.

In the ski industry you live, work and play (ski) with each other, this consequently, fast tracks any relationship. Three months of dating in the ski industry are equivalent to 12 months in the real world. So our love, or what I had thought was love, blossomed rather quickly and so had our decision to continue the relationship into our next season. We were officially together.

Over the next two years, we travelled the world together, lived together, bought cars together, got a joint account and even were starting the process of partnership visas. However, something over the whole two years was bugging me. A little voice, my sub-conscience maybe, was not fully invested. A few things were bugging me about him. The way he could never make a decision, the way he just agreed with everything and no matter what I said he had also had that same thought or repeated what I said not long after. It started to feel like I was dating myself or a parrot the way he used to repeat everything I said. The more time we spent together, the more tedious and frustratingly dull the BF was becoming.

It was around the eight-month mark, that I found I couldn’t stop thinking about my ex (the same ex from story 2). It was almost like the more I became frustrated with the current European BF, the more my ex’s qualities became enduring. These two men could not have been any more different; I went from one extreme to another, but I was missing the qualities of the ex so much.

As the frustration continued to build in our relationship, I struggled for outlets. The BF dependancy on me was becoming intoxicating. He could not figure out what he wanted for dinner, what he wanted to do in the afternoons or what he wanted to do with his time off from work. He was always hanging around, waiting for me to step in and decide. He would leave the house and do something, as long as I had planned it. If I organised a night with the girls he would come along; if I went to the store, he would find the need to go, if I sat in our room for some space he would appear so we could sit together. I could never get a moment to myself. I’m sure by now you are wondering why the hell I didn’t say something, and my answer is, I’m a nice person. I didn’t want to hurt his feelings by telling him to always go away or that I just wanted to be left alone to be by myself and do my own thing, though lord knows I tried. It’s hard to kick a baby bird out of the nest, you know.

My outlet became alcohol and a lot of it. On nights out I drank, at a casual dinner with friends I drank, any excuse I drank, and I drank a lot. Enough to mask the frustration and make him more interesting. I also drank because the more this relationship was falling apart, the more I realised how much I missed the old one. There was more passion, more depth, more undeniable chemistry and a hell of a lot more independence. I couldn’t stop thinking about how I let that one slip between the cracks. Even my dreams wouldn’t let me forget my ex. Every night while I laid by my current BF, I dreamt of my ex. The crappier my relationship was getting, the more vivid the dreams were getting, if you know what I mean- Don’t judge; I had no control over that.

When I finally realised that I wasn’t put on this earth to be the baby sitter of a grown-ass man, I ended it, flew home and started again. This next sentance is going to sound harsh, and I’m only saying it in the spirit of honesty for this blog. The day we broke up was the day I started to look at the world with humour, fun and joy in the world again- that’s saying something.

Looking back, my relationship with the European took off like a North American X-15 aircraft. The relationship grew so fast so quick that I guess once it was up and at full altitude, it could only go down.

I do feel bad for a few things that happened over the two years, and I wish to apologise for them now.

To my ex, I’m sorry in those last few months things were undeniably awkward and tense. I wish I were better at expressing my feelings instead of bottling them up and giving you the silent treatment. I am sorry that my coping mechanism was turning to alcohol. I know there were multiple nights where I drank too much, blacked out and you had to take my sorry ass home. I’m sure there were countless times I embarrassed you with my drunken behaviour, was even rude and horrible to you. I’m sorry that by the six-month mark of our relationship, I knew we were never meant to be. I should have been honest to you and myself instead of keeping the charade going. I’m sure that didn’t help with my growing frustration. I’m sorry that for close to a year I dreamt of another man while I slept next to you. I’m sorry, it didn’t work out.

I apologise.


STORY 3- Sorry I peed on you.

Nine years ago, on my first ever working holiday experience, I moved to Scotland. I remember landing and thinking, oh hot dam I can not wait to hear that accent and get a taste for the local cuisine. To my disappointment all I met were Australians. Australians working at the hostel, Australians living at the hostel, Australians everywhere I went in town when. The Australians at the hostel, which were plaguing up my Scottish experience, actually became my new international family and friends. They made moving into and living the hostel a fun and pleasnt experience.

Living in a hostel was a great I had never lived in such a community setting before. People were always there to talk to, hang out with and share knowledge and experiences. Most were passing on their knowledge to me; I was still learning how to spread my wings and fly. We called the hostel the ‘hotel California’, a lovely place and you never really had to leave. It had everything in there, cafe, movie room, bar and a great view of a lake. Each night the bar was well used and yes I’m not kidding each, and every night. I still wonder how we managed to do any site seeing or get our butts to work with the amount of drinking we did. One particular evening the party vibe was going off, and we were getting wild and silly. We danced on tables, sang to the music and shared stories of our travels and home towns. One person, who I had been chatting to for a few hours, came up with a ‘great idea’ and decided we should do a bull run. The game consisted of him and me charging at each other with our fingers by our temples sticking out like horns. This guy I would like to add was six foot something, built like a rugby player, well actually he was a rugby player, charged head to head at one another. Needless to say, the tall guy won the battle, and I ended up with a black eye.

As the night pressed on more and more alcohol was consumed, and the flirting between tall guys and I had picked up. Wobbly legged and barely hanging on to reality, the tall guy and I stumbled, hand in hand, up to his shared dorm room. We, not so gracefully, crawled up to his top bunk and passed out. I woke the next morning with a groggy brain, thoughts shit what room am I in and a splitting headache. I sheepishly climbed out of his bunk and took my sorry ass back to my room. I was in the process of getting into my pyjamas when I realised my jeans were soaked. A hot rush of panic coursed through my body. I pulled off my jeans and smelt the wet areas; my worst fear became a reality, yep urine. Shame, embarrassment, more panic and anxiety hit me all at once. I couldn’t believe I had peed in the tall guy’s bed.

I was pacing around my room, thoughts of oh fuck what do I do now. I cant see these people again; oh wait I have to, they live here too. Should I move away, do I go up and acknowledge what I did and apologise. What he confronts me, will he tell the whole hostel? Does his room smell of musty urine, OMG he now has to sleep in a pee-soaked bed! The endless inner dialogue continued to play over and over and over in my brain. I was humiliated, instantly traumatised and too mortified to show my face around the hostel. So I did what any other average person would do, I hid out of sight for a few days, I needed to let the dust settle. A few people around the hostel did find out, the story was shared, and some gossip began to spread. There were a couple of under the breath digs threw my way; however, I was amazed that the majority of people did not get involved in the inevitable scalding I should have endured. No one went out of their way to humiliate me, take the piss out of me (pun intended) or try to run me out with embarrassment. The tall guy left the hostel shortly after; we never saw or heard from him again. You could say I washed him right out of town.

Still riddled with the embarrassment and shame today, I share this story now so I can apologise.

Tall guy, I’m so sorry I drank way too much (again) that night. I’m sorry that the intoxication led me to do such a disgraceful act. I’m sorry for being so emabarrassed I couldnt confront you and left to clean up what I had done.

I also want to express some thanks, from my end, it seemed like you spared my feelings (I could be completely wrong). Even though we never spoke again, you never went out of your way to punish me for what I did. For that I, thank you.

I apologise.


STORY 2- From deep within the vault, a true confession.

This confession I have never shared, no one has ever heard this story. I’m sharing this story now because in the spirit of honesty, soul cleansing and this conscience clearing experiment, I felt this story needed to come out of the vault. This blog is my journal, and I’m hoping that sharing this will help me to begin to forgive myself for the terrible choices I made in my past.

Roughly five years ago, I made a horrible judgement call, one decision that, to this day, still haunts me. I have never been able to forgive myself for the choices I made that day. I was in Canada, enjoying my first winter season employed at a local mountain. At the time, I was in a relationship, though we were doing long distance as he was with a mutual friend at another resort. The season started fantastically; I was getting loads of work, progressing in my career at that time and had made lots of new friends, some of which I’m still best mates with today.

This story really begins with my first encounter with the tall English guy. One morning I was standing in a team huddle hearing listening to the morning meeting. Next thing I know I hear a whisper in my ear. He, the tall English guy, has lent in and said: “I have this urge to push you over”. I remember just laughing and thinking, well no one has ever said that to me before. As random as that comment was, he managed to get what he wanted out of it, my attention. My next encounter with the tall English lad was while I was running around panicked. I had accidentally given a child, who was gluten intolerant, a cookie (found out later they weren’t, so they were fine). I ran down to the kitchen, and while I was asking about the ingredients, he hugged me to reassure me that that is was okay. I heard him sniff my hair while I was in his embrace. Me being me I asked him about it, he shrugged it off as if he hadn’t done it. You would think by this stage I would have understood that these were his childish games of flirting. By the third encounter, I got the message loud and clear; he was flirting with me. The tall English guy was leaving on a road trip. On his departure from our staff locker room, he turned and hugged me goodbye. The hug included a whisper of farewell and a squeeze of my butt. The next day I arrived at work and went to put my work boots on. Inside one of the works boots was a letter, yes it was from him. The message read “Ill miss you, XXXX”. By this stage, I was in full understanding that there was flirting going on, that was now hard to miss. I was officially sucked in by his charm; we were chatting and texting each day; I was now a willing participant in the whole charade. So much so I was starting to form feelings for him.

The flirting transformed into much more when he returned from his trip. One night in the laundry room (we lived in the same building), I’m still unsure how he managed to do this, the lights turned off while we were chatting and folding our laundry. When they flicked off, he walked towards me, gently placed his hands on my hips and pulled me in and kissed me. I remember our hands navigating each other’s bodies like we were searching for clues from one another. My heart was racing, and legs were trembling I recall feeling a rush of adrenaline shoot through my body. This kiss was the most intense thing I had ever felt. Mostly because of the fact I still had a boyfriend.

Said boyfriend come out to visit a few weeks later. Now by this stage, our relationship was already becoming rocky. And no its not just for the obvious reasons. Let me just put it this way, long-distance suck and is extremely hard. I’m impressed by any couple who makes it through to the other side. While the boyfriend was out on his visit, there was tension between us. I could feel our time had come to an end. The break up had been brewing for a couple of months, and we had mutually decided to break up while he was out on the trip. However, the night before we officially broke up, there was a staff party. I went, the boyfriend didn’t feel like coming along. The free drinks were flowing, and everyone had the best night dancing, chatting and laughing. At the end of the evening and when I was all liquored up, I headed home with a friend. While on the bus back home, I received a message from the tall English lad. He asked to meet me at his apartment. Me full of liquid stupidity went, not only went to his place but into his bedroom. We hung out chatted, kissed and cuddled for a few hours until we fell asleep.
I woke the next day and ran down the hall to my apartment, where the boyfriend greeted me. I had to lie and say there was a group of us chatting to al hours, and I had fallen asleep on the couch. I was still wearing English lads jumper. It didn’t take me long to decide I wanted to walk back down the hall; I had intended to return the jumper. Next minute I’m back in the room, more than the jumper off. At that moment, I made the worst mistake ever. I chose to sleep with another man while my current man was right down the hall. I left feeling sick and distraught, mortified at the choice I just made. I never knew I was capable of such a thing. The only right thing to do was to, in my head, break up with the boyfriend and let him leave without being double hurt. A breakup with a cheating scandal was not how I wanted to end things. Selfish, I know, but I felt like I was protecting him.

I got swept up in those moments and allowed myself to lose my morals and standards. I willingly participated in flirting and allowed that flirting to evolved into something more. I practised no self respect or respect for others peoples feelings. I lost my true self, and others had to suffer for my lack of judgement. My choice and my actions were appalling. I have hated myself for doing what is I did for the longest time. Its time I apologise.

To the boyfriend at the time, I’m sorry I wasn’t honest with you, I’m sorry I did what I did to you behind your back. I’m sorry I treated you with such disrespect, you deserved so much better from me. The time we had together, I still hold and cherish deep in my heart, and I wish I never did what I did. You are a genuinely beautiful person, and I hope that you no one ever does that to you again.
You will never know how deeply sorry I am.

I apologise.


STORY 1- My most recent, alcohol-related, fuckup

With the number of memories shooting through my brain, there are so many apologies I wish to make. It’s hard to know where to start in my endeavour for forgiveness. I guess the most practical would be to start with the most recent event, the one that has triggered this whole horrific trip through memory lane and sparked my quest for a clear conscience and cleansed soul.

A couple of weeks ago I organised for myself and three friends to head to a gig. I had been looking forward to this for weeks; this was my college break gift to myself. I had spent the next week shopping for the perfect outfit to wear, organising my next day survival (hangover) kit and staying out of mischief, so I was full of energy the night of the gig. My friend and I drove to where the concert was and check into our hotel. Once settled in we took it upon ourselves to start the ‘weekend festivities’, which I’m now realising was a little too early in the day. One drink here, one drink there and another two cocktails later, I was already on my way to the back out express…. it was 4 pm.

By 6.30pm, we left the hotel room all dolled up and ready for the night out. By this stage, I was a little too ready, meaning this is where the night goes blank for me. I recall being a dinner for a short moment, and parts of the gig, then dancing at some drag show. The next thing I know Im awake back in the hotel room and in desperate need of some water.

While trying to wake up, it had not yet dawned on me that the night just been is limited in its details. But luckily for me, I have a great friend who tells me I owe them more than a sip of my water for putting up with my shit last night. At that very moment the smile leaves my face, and my heart sinks, this is where I realise oh fuck, I’ve done it again. I have over drank and can’t remember a goddam thing.

Here are the parts I missed………
– Stumbling while trying to walk around the city
– Endlessly kicking the seat in front of me at the gig. When asked to stop, I felt it was appropriate to tell her and her friends to fuck off and mind their business?!?!?
– Using the poor guy next to me a recliner/ arm to lean on, much to his girlfriend’s disgust and frustrations.
– Abusively told my friend that they are a CUNT if they didn’t carry me home because my feet hurt.
– I attempted to chuck someone’s bike in the river.
– Tried to drink popcorn (I guess I thought it was a drink) unfortunately I ended up showering myself in it instead.

My friend proceeds to tell me that there could have been a good chance that I could of A) Got in to a fight, which in my state I would have clearly lost. B) Got kicked out as security was watching me all night and C) Potently arrested after I tried to discard of someones property in the river.

Now, these are just the things that were shared with me. I’m sure there are many other things my friends are not disclosing of the night to help shield me from the truth. For that I thank them, It was becoming increasinly hard. to listent to.

Embarrassed, mortified, regretful, shame, so much shame is what I was and still am feeling. I wish the night had not gotten away from me. I wish I saw the gig i was at.

Since that night, I have struggled to make contact with my friends. I have apologised to them all individually. I am amazed that they all said ‘hey it’s ok, we all have these nights at some point’. Even though they have excepted my apology, I still feel guilty.

To my friends, I’m sorry for my actions; I’m sorry for the things I said, I’m sorry you had to stand by me while I undoubtedly embarrassed you beyond belief. I’m sorry to the citizens around me that I abused and swore at. I’m sorry that even though I didn’t know you, nor have we ever met, I still managed to be that person who ruined your evening for you. To the girls who sat infront of me, I am sorry for kicking your chair and I rudely telling you to fuck off when you asked me to stop, I am so, so, so sorry for my disgusting behavour.

To you all, you will never know how sorry I am.

I apologise.