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by Lori Dwyer on November 1, 2011 · 41 comments

I turn thirty years old today.

Fuck.

A year ago, at twenty nine… I had everything. I was so happy. And that’s not even retrospect, grass-greener talk.. it is true, and I said it many times while Tony was alive.

I was happy. And I had everything I wanted. A husband, two kids, a dog and a little suburban life. Happy and quiet and normal, and I would have been satisfied to live in that Purple existence forever. The irony of it… I’ve never been one to ask for more, to whinge and bitch about what I had.

I was happy.

We had pans, Tony and I… I was going to be thirty. A weekend away for the first time since we had kids. A party with dress ups and cocktails.

I’m doing nothing much for my birthday. Some family round for dinner, and then I’ll cry myself to sleep. A weekend without my children, but with no one to share it with, nowhere to go.

Happy Birthday Lori.

***

I wrote that so long ago…. and it’s still true.

I’m still here, I’m breathing… just.

I still love chocolate, and the colour pink, and sunshine. I still believe in fairies and accidental magic. I still sing, badly, in the shower. I love flowers and cold weather makes me sad. I smoke too much, drink too much Coke and don’t eat enough.

I’m a geek who likes tech stuff and speaks semi-fluent html. I’m a bit of a princess, but I don’t mind getting my hands dirty. I’m a reformed perfectionist, a retired ghost hunter, an ex-clown, a tea drinker and a book worm who just bought a Kindle.

I speak sign language, I can juggle and touch my nose with my tongue. I like to laugh; The Simpsons and Kevin Smith make me giggle.

I used to be married to a man who loved me very much.

I’m a mum to two gorgeous kids.

When I was younger, I thought I was ugly. It took until I was seventeen years old to realise I am beautiful.

Once upon a time, I cut myself when things hurt too much, just to watch myself bleed. I don’t do that anymore. I get tattoos and piercings and pash random men instead.

I’m a shy extrovert who needs to be loved.

I’m needy, broken, insecure and terrified.

I am little, but fierce.

I’m still Lori.

But I’m still not sure who that is.

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