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It was a little over a year ago that I sat in the office of my GP and cried in the full on ugly way similar to that Kim Kardashian meme. Things had gone beyond the point of too much, that was when I was prescribed Sertraline and weekly therapy.

My family and most of my friends rallied round. I had a lot to be happy about, I knew that. I knew that I had great friends, a wonderful family, a job and, at 30, a great pair of still gravity defying breasts – however, the problem was that I couldn’t find joy in these things. That’s where depression is an asshole. You can see all this fabulous stuff going on around you, but it’s like when you put your head underwater and can hear everything going on around you but are physically unable to participate.

I gradually got my mojo back with the help of 50mg, then 100mg doses of the antidepressants I was taking, but I didn’t truly feel like my ‘old self’ until this summer. Until then, I was fit in the way you are when you run half marathons for Instagram likes and eat cheese and crackers most evenings. I cycled to and from work most days, but saw this as an excuse to eat more (and leave bad dates after just one or two drinks – far too dangerous to ride home otherwise). I needed something to get me up in the mornings, and around this time a girlfriend introduced me to F45.

‘Team Training, Life Changing’ is their pretty corny motto, and one that triggers a reflex like eye roll. I joined a two-week trial at their Islington branch, not really sure what to expect other than Victoria’s Secret- esque women in the changing rooms to compare myself too, and men who grunted over weights by way of communication. Well, me and my cynical, cellulite assed self were wrong.

The exercise was gruelling. I ran two half marathons at the start of the year without breaking a sweat, yet ten minutes into the HIIT style workout I was literally dripping in it. Did you know that humans could sweat from their knees? No? Neither did I until I was bent forward in exhaustion fighting for breath, forced to pause momentarily as I watched the salty liquid trickle down my shins. I was equally disgusted and delighted, for this was evidence of how hard I was trying. After the class, the endorphins flowed through my body and I felt on a high. The benefits of exercise for those suffering with depression are already well documented, but it wasn’t this that kept me coming back. It was the people.

All the trainers remembered not only my name, but how many chin up’s I could do (this was easy, a big ol’ zero), and what size weights I was working towards. They seemed to give a shit, and not in a ‘woohoo yeah man you go girl’ kind of way, but in a genuine sense you’d get if you were working out with a personal trainer or a mate. And now, I think they are my mates.

One of the tricks depressions plays on you is that your friends don’t actually like you, or my personal favourite; that they’re talking about you when they leave the room. I joined F45 expecting to turn up to class, do my workout and leave (though not before struggling to undress, shower and redress without exposing my body to anyone, therefore providing the girls around me with something to talk about). Now, I’m there early. I have dinner with the other members, share insta stories with the trainers, make the manager, feel awkward when I moan to him about my period, and get wasted on coffee Patron with his partner.

Half way into the initial three-month membership I signed up for, something traumatic happened that rocked everything. My initial worry was that it would set me back a year, to feeling how I had in that doctor’s office. I kept waiting for the relapse to happen, but it didn’t, and I honestly think it was down to F45. Because of them, I was providing myself with something 100% positive for an hour a day – no cheese in sight - and that was all I needed to keep going.

Did I also lose weight? Yes. Since I joined I’ve lost a stone and my body fat has dropped 5%, but I really don’t care about that nearly as much as the fact that I haven’t been back my doctor. It’s the way I feel, and the people I met that will keep me returning, not the way I look. I’m pretty sure regardless of how many classes I attend, I’ll only look like Kim K when I ugly cry.

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Legit just want to be in a countryside hotel, with a fireplace, a roll top bath, some gorgeous lingerie in my bag, beside a man I really fancy, only leaving for a walk wrapped up in layers of jumpers and scarfs, and bottle of red in a proper cosy dark pub with the windows steamed up.

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Some of you might have heard the somewhat cringe worthy voice note that’s been making its way around the net this week. (You can listen to it here)

A mystery woman leaves a message, containing over two minutes of strong telling off’s to George, the man she’d slept with the previous night. Silly George left in the morning without saying goodbye….and she is NOT happy. 

She then proceeds to proclaim that her past jobs, based in the House of Lords, and at Vogue and Net-a-Porter (to name a few) were all gained through her exemplary reputation, and that he was lucky to be imitate with someone who’s used to being with ‘real men’. Apparently Leonardo DiCaprio is among the lucky. Seriously, you must listen to it.

Whilst his behaviour is undoubtedly unacceptable, her reaction is totally uncalled for.

Of course, it’s not polite to sleep with someone and leave without even a note on the bedside table, but I believe that if you’re going to enter in to a one night stand, it should be with the idea that you’re unlikely to see them again. So, just enjoy the night, make the most of it, and set the dude free. 

What I hate most is the ‘guys just keep using women for sex’ narrative. It demotes us to sentient beings who lie on our backs with our legs akimbo, our where our only use is one as a pleasure giver. It’s bullshit. 

You wanna get laid? Go for it. Just don’t expect to be chased for a second date in every case, and definitely don’t leave a voice note like this. 

Buckle up guys. This is a doozie. SO…friend of friend slept with a girl on a first date, he left without saying goodbye, and she sent him this INSANE voice note. JUST WAIT for the Leonardo DiCaprio reference. pic.twitter.com/gm5ZHwhuZY

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Hey. it depends how important you think it is in a future potential relationship. I find that often if you mention something like that on your profile, it’s what people chose to hone in one, and therefore will see you as more of a sexual hookup than a future partner. Have you tried using one of the apps targeted to those in the kink community such as Whiplr? Perhaps using one of these, but making it clear you’re looking for a relationship, that way you’ll attract people with similar sexual interests and you can be candid about your kinks without fear of judgement :)

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It’s because I’ve been offered approx 10 dates in the last 3 months and most have cancelled. Urgh.

You feel my pain?

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This is the dress that had me offered a threesome last night by a tennis coach from Fulham. 

Him: do you want to have a threesome? 

Me: are you asking on behalf of your handsome friend over there? 

Him: no. 

Me: then no.

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Your daughter sounds fabulous. Unfortunately, being single can sometimes take it’s toll, but it seems as though you’re a positive influence on her. Best thing I can advise, is don’t ever ask her if she’s dating, or if she’s “still single”, when relatives/friends do this to me it can be upsetting and disheartening, plus, if I’m dating someone special I’d tell them without them needing to ask. 

Ask her about her achievements at work, or in other aspects of her life, and encourage other family members to do the same. When my Nan asks if I’ve met anyone, I’ve previously responded “no Nannna, how about you? You got divorced in the 70s, isn’t it about time you settled down?”.

Also, remember, just because someone *sometimes* gets down about being single, doesn’t mean they are unhappily single. xxx

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