I was sitting on a train, and I realised that, for the first time in a very long time, I am really, really happy. With a couple of exceptions, everything is going incredibly well for me at the moment. I was just thinking about this in the context of this blog, and I’ve realised that I have trully achieved something magnificent. Happiness was always my aim.

I haven’t really mentioned this on this blog, because I wasn’t in ‘blog mode’ when it happened, but at the end of last summer, my family suffered a terrible experience. For two months and three days, my wonderful, incredible uncle was missing. The circumstances were not just mysterious, but completely bizarre. I’ll never, ever forget receiving the phonecall from my sister which started, “Sarah, are you with people? Ok, and are you sitting down?” These are the two questions that signal, “I’m about to tell you something that will shatter your world.” As she told me that my Uncle Marty had vanished without a trace, I sat there numb. I asked what I needed to do. She told me we were all going to meet at my aunty’s house the next morning. I hung up the phone and began to sob uncontrollably.

My Uncle Martin saved my life. I have always thought of him as my second dad, and he has always thought of my sister and I as his own. When I was 14, my mum phoned my aunty and cried down the phone, “Please come and take my children away from me – I can’t keep them safe anymore.” I won’t go into any more details, but as he always has throughout my life, my uncle was there as soon as he could be and he did everything he could to save us – he succeeded. (This is all another story – for the record, I have 100% forgiven my dad for everything and we are now on amazing terms. Love is the most important thing in the world.)

When Mart disappeared, everything became both surreal and ultra-real. I don’t even know if that’s a word, but it’s how everything felt. I will never be able to describe how it felt to walk up to my aunty’s house, with a police car sitting outside, not knowing what I’d find inside. The man she’d been married to for 39 years had vanished. How do you even begin to come to terms with that?

I learned a lot that weekend. We only got through it because we were in shock. We all sat in that living room for 2 days straight, watching the clock. We coined the phrase “ten minuteses”. We could deal with it ten minutes at a time. Not a day at a time, not an hour at a time. Every ten minutes we got through was an achievement. Everything felt so… wrong. Nothing was real, this had not happened to us. Sometimes the shock gave way to panic – as soon as one of us started to break down and cry, we all did. Then it would pass, and we would fall back into a bizarre form of calm, robotically going over impossible theories, and sitting in a numb kind of vigil, our gazes shifting rythmically from the clock to the door, the clock to the door, the clock to the door.

That weekend – that horrendous weekend – eventually passed. Our Martin was still missing. The police told us to prepare for the worst.

For over two months, we went up blind alleys, investigated every possibility, and continued in our strange reality. One of us was missing. We were not who we had come to believe we were. We have always been such a close family that we are our family. But he was not there.

When someone you love has disappeared without a trace, you have no way of knowing if they’re alive or dead. This was the reality we had to face. Two months is a long time. We entered the mourning process without knowing if we were even meant to be mourning. Can you be grieving when you’re not sure if you should be? You then feel terrible guilt for giving up hope. But doesn’t hope make everything even more painful? And every single day brings a new piece of information, throwing something else inexplicable to the already incomprehensible jigsaw.

As all this was happening, I made a major decision. I had been unhappy at my job for a while, and in a “life’s too short for this kinda shit” moment of perfect clarity, I threw it in. I signed up to a temp agency and worked shitty canteen jobs to pay the rent in the flat I love for a while. I then found my dream job.

A fortnight in to the best job in the world, I checked my phone at about 4pm. I had a missed call from my sister. I had to get through the last couple of hours knowing that we finally had an answer. I was so afraid about calling her back. I was so terrified that I was about to hear confirmation of what I’d spent the last two months fearing – we were too late, and he was a body, not my incredible second dad.

He was found hundreds of miles from home. He had suffered a major stroke, had been out in the freezing cold the whole time, and had no memory of who he was. He told doctors his name was Dave, because that was the name of the first doctor he saw. His feet had severe trenchfoot, and would most likely need to be amputated. But he was alive.

Since then, his memory has been coming on in leaps and bounds. He remembers so much it’s completely unbelievable. His feet are healing and he can walk. We know beyond any shadow of a doubt that we have been granted a miracle.

Alongside everything, life continued, as it so often does.

I began this post by saying that I am trully happy right now. I’m going to tell you why.

This weekend, it was my mum’s birthday. We decided to have a party at my aunty’s house. I made it there after work on Saturday night. My uncle was on top form, and my cousin (his daughter) had flown over from New Zealand, where she’s lived for nearly seven years now. I last saw her in December 2008. We all had the most incredible time. On top of this, my dad had sent a present for me to congratulate me on getting an incredible new job at my company, which I start first thing tomorrow morning.

As I always say, everything could be lost in a heartbeat. We’ve spent a lot of the last couple of days trying to really come to terms with what we’ve all been through in the last few months. I don’t know if we ever will totally. He might never recover completely, and we need to be prepared for that. He might never totally understand why he is so special to us, and might never know how he saved us all those years ago. But we will be there for him, and we will try to help him in any way we can, because even if he doesn’t remember that he’s our hero, we do.

Right now, I am so very happy.

When I first started this blog, I didn’t just sit at my computer thinking of things to write. I used to go out with a notepad into the world (well, down the road to the park, coffee shop, graveyard and other such delights that my home town had to offer) and write things, then copy them up online. So, feeling a little restless, I decided to go back to my roots.

At the time of writing this, I’m standing on the terrace outside my flat, looking across the beautiful night view of London. It is trully an awesome sight, and the impact doesn’t diminish. If anything, I see more every time I look at this view. Right now, I’m looking at it as a representation of some of what I’ve achieved in the last 12 months. I’m standing outside the flat I adore, looking across the city I trully love. Tomorrow, I’ll get up and go to the job I enjoy.

Ladies and gentlemen, this isn’t just an achievement. This is an awesome achievement. To me, to stop and think about what I’ve done is almost as breathtaking as this view.

I am all too aware that this is just a moment in time. My life is defined by instability, and I know I could lose allof this in a heartbeat. But there have been times recently when it could all have been lost, and so far, I have managed to fight and hold on, building this all to even more greatness. I have done this – I am that strong person that I always want to believe I am.

Unfortunately, while I am of course brilliant in many ways, I am not quite brilliant enough to have realised that standing outside in the middle of the night in January would make me almost unbearably cold, and so I fear I must retire, and head back inside before my fingers fall off. But there is one more thing to say before I go.

I started this entry with a Patrick Wolf quote, and I’ll end it with another. Some of my Facebook friends may recognise it as the quote that featured in my little box under my profile picture before Facey B rearranged everybody’s profiles. It saddens me that this quote has therefore now been relegated to the ‘About Me’ section on my information page, which only ever tends to be read by stalkers. But anyway, here it is, and it represents the spirit of this blog and particularly this blog post.

“Be your own hero. Be your own saviour. Send all your suffering into the fire. And let no foot mark your ground; let no hand hold you down.” – Lycanthropy, Patrick Wolf.

Sometimes, the pressure will be to conform to your label. If you are known as the life and soul of the party, then in any gathering you can’t have an off day for fear of failing and letting people down. Sometimes, the pressure will be to rally against your label. If you’re known as ‘blonde bombshell’, while it isn’t directly an insult, you could find yourself constantly having to prove yourself against the negative connotations so often attached to such a label.

So why do we do this? Why do we define ourselves, and others, in such simplified terms? The only thing I can think of is that despite the downfalls, despite the perceived restrictions, to have a label is to have a place on this great world stage. To be known for something, whatever that something is, is better than being forgotten. To be forgotten is ultimately to be alone, and we are such sociable creatures that it is better to be accepted as something that you might not necessarily always represent than to be alone.

I started thinking about my own labels. When I started this blog, I chose a label to which I could aspire. I chose to become Super Sarah, a name already used between my friend Hero Heather and I. But is that everything I am? Does prefixing my name add to what I am, or limit me? If I ever take on all the qualities I believe I should have in my Super Sarah guise, will I lose everything else that makes me who I am? Because I am not just the strong hero I aim to be. I am vulnerable, I make mistakes, sometimes I just can’t be bothered to make the effort to be happy.

Maybe I should take on a different label. Not instead of those already associated with me, but in addition. This one would be an extension of everything I believe myself to be, encompassing who I trully am. That label is ‘me’. It is everything I am and ever will be. It is all the other labels combined. It is universal and individual.

Whatever other labels I pick up along the way, I know beyond any doubt that I am the only one who can ever be me. And I am just so fabulous at it.

I haven’t felt able to really call anywhere ‘home’ since my mum, sister and I moved out of the house I grew up in when I was 17. Even though that place was full of bad memories, it was still my home, and none of us chose to leave. Since then, I’ve tried to trick my mind into believing that I choose where my home is. I don’t need one specific location – I just need to decide that the place I’m in is the place I want to be.

The trouble is, it doesn’t work like that. And fortune has pulled me away from anywhere that’s felt homelike too many times now. Was I at home at university? Was I at home when I was with my ex? (Any of them, for that matter). Was I at home when I moved back to live with my mum last year? Is this flat in London my home? Wherever it is, none of these are permanent. I was talking to my ex the other day, trying to make some progress through the fog in my head, and he said one of the biggest problems I face in my life is a lack of stability. Whenever I grasp onto something, it turns to dust in my hands very quickly. This isn’t because I’m a bad person, or because I’m particularly unlucky – it’s just how things are. I try very hard to convince myself that this lifestyle of never having anything permanent is what I want, that I’m just spontaneous and enjoy flitting from thing to thing, job to job, house to house, man to man… But he knows me so much better than anyone else. He knows how much my heart breaks every time I think I’m safe and then I lose my grasp on something I’ve loved.  This feeling of losing control every time is the same that I first remember feeling when I realised we were losing our home. It’s a strange kind of panic – you know you’ll survive, you know you’ll be ok, but you don’t know where you’ll be or what you’ll be doing.

This has all been playing on my mind a lot lately. With my job coming to an end, obviously I’m feeling very unsettled. But the thing that is overshadowing all of this now is my worry that I won’t get to be with my family for Christmas. I have found myself using the word ‘home’ more in the last few days than at any other time in my life. Could it be that I do have a home after all? Christmas, and the possibility of having to be away from my family, has thrown everything into a sharp perspective. I want to get home. I want to get to that little house we rent on the main road near the station, where my mum will be, where my sister will be, where my cats will be, and where my dad will come to visit.

So cross your fingers for me on Christmas Eve. I will be following my own Christmas star. I will – hopefully – be going home.

I have chosen the title of this post very carefully. I have gone for it because it epitomises exactly what’s going through my head at the moment… you see, even heroes can be afraid. I just have this terrible fear running through me at the moment, and I need to try to understand it in order to confront it.

It has caused conflict and confusion because on the face of it, it makes no sense. I am in the best place now that I have been for months, maybe even for years. I love my job so much, and I have made some true friends through it. I have also been so busy that I haven’t had as much time to focus on the pain of being without my ex, though this pain is still always present.

So why can I feel myself slipping into one of my bad phases again? Why can I not just let myself enjoy being happy? There’s only one real reason. The memory of the bad times is still so strong, and I look back at them and genuinely wonder how I got through it all. The fear is creeping in because I am so scared of falling back into my old ways, which is utterly ridiculous because this fear itself is what’s causing me to slip.

Effectively, I have been too happy, and this is what is now causing my happiness to falter. I have been so lucky, and so focused on keeping that positivity going, that when I was forced to stop for a moment last week due to food poisoning, I was reminded that it could all fall apart in a heartbeat. And then I realised that this will all come to an end at Christmas, as my job is only temporary.

Once that fear knocked me and started to take a hold, all the usual doubts started to creep in and have been dragging me down. Does anybody actually like me? Am I any good at anything I do? And the ultimate question… Will he ever put me first?

I hate that after so long, he still has so much power over me. But something good has come of this analysis tonight. It’s clear to me now that this time, he has not been the cause of my spiralling fall. This time, something else has been making me happy, and it’s the fear of losing that something else that is causing me pain. As I feel sad, my feelings for him creep back in. While this might not sound wonderful, this is massive progress.

I have loved being happy for this last couple of months. I did that. I created that happiness. I just need to overcome my own fear, and remember the hero I trully am.

I started to watch a documentary about the 7/7 bombings, and even though it didn’t start out as an over-emotional piece of television, within minutes I was in tears, so angry and upset that somebody had done this to my city that I had to switch it off.

When the attacks happened, I was at college in Winchester. I had visited London, and really liked it, but I didn’t have any emotional connection to it. It was obviously awful and frightening that such a thing had happened, but to me it was another attack in another city, just as sad as New York, Madrid, etc., but not any moreso.

But this time, I was watching footage of places I know, places that make up the city I now call home. This is my city. This is my home. I love it and I felt so angry that somebody attacked it.

It wasn’t even from the fear factor, the question of what would happen if it happened again while I was on the tube. It wasn’t that at all. It was anger that somebody felt that they had the right to strike at the heart of somewhere that is no longer just the capital. This is no longer just a tourist spot, or a place to work. It is where I live. It is where many of my friends live. It is where I celebrate birthdays, go out for lunch, cry over disappointments, make stupid jokes, stress about work, go for walks… This is where I live my life and how dare anybody think they have the right to break my city.

London, I love you. I physically and emotionally am in love with you, and if necessary, I will stand in the way of anybody who wants to hurt you again.

Do I still need it? Absolutely not. And I’m not going to be focusing so much on the heartbreak angle anymore – it’s still an agonising pain that I carry with me every day, but I want to talk about other things right now. And while the pain is obviously a Bad Thing, I know that while I carry it, I’m also carrying love, and that makes me stronger than I ever realised.

So, I live in London now. I did it! I had a dream and I have gone for it. When I started this blog, I had moved back home and was unemployed. Now, I live in a beautiful flat in north London with a stunning view, and have a great job in Soho. I did that! I turned my life around. I had a lot of help, there are people I could never have done it without, but nobody held my hand and led me through it. Nobody told me which direction I needed to go in or how to get life back on track. I just did it. And it was hard. It was so, so hard. But look how far I’ve come.

Sometimes, I feel like I’m play-acting. That this isn’t really my life, and one day I’m going to get caught and have to go back to the start. That I don’t really have the right to be here.  But while I’m dreading the day when they find out that I’m an imposter living a life that doesn’t belong to me, I’m fighting really hard to build substance around the bones of what I have here. And that’s where the blog comes back.

I have the London job. I have the London flat. I have the London friends. Now, it’s time for the London life. Hold on, heroes – I’ve just found my wings and it’s time I learned how to fly! (yes, it’s always best to use a cliche that doesn’t make an awful lot of sense whenever the opportunity presents itself)

Nice to see you all again

Hey strangers. Sorry I’ve been gone for so long… While I feel bad for abandoning the blog, it’s a good thing in many ways. I last updated back in January. It’s now April, and a lot has changed. Somebody once told me, back in my livejournal days, that when you stop writing about your life, it’s probably because you’ve started living your life.

I might come back one day, but for now… I’m doing well. The purpose of this blog was to help me through a really, really shit time. I don’t need it anymore, it doesn’t serve the purpose it was meant to. I might return and shift the focus, and if I do, I’ll let you all know.

Thank you for the support – you have played a really important part in my recovery. Thanks gheyz

For various reasons I need to keep my current location quiet. Sounds mysterious, but I have my reasons. Also for those who have been sending messages through various media and haven’t been getting replies, this is because I’m moving around a lot at the minute, rarely in one place long enough to catch up with everyone and am therefore avoiding replying to anyone in case I offend anyone I don’t manage to get in touch with.

Additionally, my previous post suggested a big change in my life, and implied that this would be revealed in my next update. I’m having to put that on hold for a little while as things aren’t entirely running to my schedule right now. But very soon, I will share all my secrets with you.

Right, that’s the boring business out of the way. Now, on to the theme of this update. In another post, I warned any potential men in my life that being a potential man in my life means that you will be blogged about. I’m keeping to my word readers, so if you are a man who has been in contact with me in the last fortnight and are of a sensitive nature, please stop reading now (although to be honest if you are one of these men and you know where my blog is you should already be well up to speed on how messed up I am in terms of relationships, so to be honest it’s your own fault for still wanting anything to do with me).

What has become clear to me in the last couple of weeks is that I have options beyond my ex. I know it sounds ridiculous to not have fully realised this before, but now I can see it very clearly. So, who takes my interest more?

1. The friend of a friend I got a little too close to on a dancefloor recently?
2. The guy I hardly know who has been making the most of knowing my phone number?
3. The old friend with whom I’ve been getting reacquainted, and through no fault of his own I had to cancel meeting up with?
4. The stranger in a bar who kept me very entertained for an evening?

All have their strengths, all have their weaknesses. But most importantly, all have served their purpose in reminding me that I am valuable, I am desirable, and I will not be alone for the rest of my life. The first guy in the list is indeed a nice enough guy, possibly the safest bet in terms of chances of not getting my heart broken as our mutual friends have offered positive testimonials about him. But neither of us have made any effort to stay in contact since our liaison, and my lack of sadness about this suggests I’m only interested when he’s there, and I’m not that concerned about whether anything further happens with him.

The second guy I find confusing. We met briefly once, and yet he texts me a lot. I have absolutely nothing against him, but the brevity of our first meeting makes me wonder what his motives might be and why he makes such an effort to keep a conversation with me going. I have no reason not to like him, he’s an attractive guy, but I always get a bit weirded out when men I hardly know pay me excessive amounts of attention. This has happened a couple of times in the last six months, and it confuses me because I have always been led to believe that it’s women who get too keen too quickly. If we had spent any significant amount of time together, and therefore if he knew me better, it wouldn’t make me so suspicious about why he makes so much effort. So maybe watch this space on that one.

Guy number three is my favourite of the group, as he’s the one I know the best and have the most interest in continuing to see. Trouble is, I am unlikely to be back in the same place as him for quite a while now, so I don’t know if it’s worth making that much effort until I know I’ll be around. And anyway, he might only be interested in me as a friend, and maybe that’s why we’re able to get on so well. It’s unfortunate that I had to cancel meeting up with him, as that would have helped to clear that one up.

Mr Number Four is a definite no-go. While there may have been flirtation and kissing in the bar, there was no exchange of details beyond first names and interests. Lovely as he was, he served only to add something extra to my night out with my friend, and to buy us cocktails. So goodbye beautiful stranger, and thanks for the drinks.

Am I pinning my hopes on anything further happening with any of these men? With some of them, maybe it’d be nice, but right now I’m not falling for any of them. If I had the choice, which one would be keeping me warm at night? Well, I’m afraid that would be Secret Guy #5… that’s right, the ex who stole my heart then broke it. While exploring other options is good fun, and good for me too, it’ll be a long time before anybody comes close to piecing me back together again. I love him, and that’s the biggest strength and weakness of them all.

Just a short one today. I’m going away and so won’t be updating again for a little while. I might still tweet while I’m away so do keep an eye on my twitter feed.

I’m really looking forward to getting away. My life is going to change forever this week, one way or another. I’ll explain that properly when I get back and know what happened. It all sounds very mysterious, but it’s not… I’ve just finally reached the end of what I’m prepared to deal with and now something is going to change. I still have no idea which way this is going to go. I’m pretty much terrified, but doing everything I can to make sure I have an amazing time anyway, even if the worst happens.