Friendship

One of the strangest things about starting a blog was not knowing who - if anyone - was going to read it. I didn't tell any friends or family what I was doing, I just got on with it.

I'm ok with the fact that I am undoubtedly going to reveal things to people who know me (in some cases, have done for many years) that they didn't already know.

When I started my blog in October 2011, I was unsure what direction it would take, and how personal it would become. The fact that I've already mentioned my history of depression is a massive step for me. That I've been able to do this is partly down to my best friends - two amazing women I've known for over thirty years. They have encouraged and supported my blog, and made me feel like I'm doing the right thing.

So I'm dedicating this little slice of my blog to them.

G and J also happen to be sisters. Here they are looking adorable:

Growing up, our lives were closely intertwined. We went to ballet, gymnastics and Brownies together. Our mums coerced us into taking piano lessons together. During our teenage years there was the inevitable spreading of wings: new friendships were formed, boys got in the way, and we became aware of the possibilities beyond the small seaside town we grew up in. Over the years we have separated, then come together again.

J and I ended up moving to Manchester (separately) at around the same time. We quickly picked up where we left off years before and became closer than ever. She was there for me through all manner of personal crises - even when going through emotional upheaval herself. When a relationship broke down and I had to move out, I moved in with J and her daughter. I can't thank her enough for that. There was absolutely no question in her mind that I should have her daughter's bedroom, and they would share a bed. We are now both back in Scotland, living only a few miles apart. She and her daughter - a beautiful, kind 12 year old who is an amazing reflection of her mother - are a huge part of our lives. When I experienced a particularly harsh period of depression right after Littlest J was conceived and finally opened up to friends and family about the illness that had plagued me, on and off, for most of my adult life, J was the only person to take me in her arms and just hold me.

I know if G had been here, her embrace would have been just as warm, just as tight, just as comforting. Since 2000, there have been long periods of separation between us. She moved to Thailand to teach English, met a lovely man and the rest, as they say, is history. J and I visited her not long after she left, for what will go down as one of the funniest, most intense, most eye-opening and reminisced-about trips of our lives. We have come to terms with the fact that G is highly unlikely to move back to the UK - ever. I miss her terribly. I wish she lived round the corner. I want to invite her round for a glass of wine. I want to have an impromptu night out that doesn't involve thousands of pounds, months of planning and more than one long-haul flight. More than anything, however, I want her to be happy - wherever she lives. I am secure enough in our friendship to know that no matter how little we see each other, or how much time passes between phone calls, nothing will break the bond between us. I am rubbish at keeping in touch. But I think about G all the time. Not a day goes by that something doesn't spark a childhood memory (my memory is abysmal, but all of those I do recall involve her) or make me wonder what she's up to at that particular moment.

I could talk about these two women forever. They are my family. Actually, they're better than family - because it was our choice.