Today’s the day. Party day. The day I look my fear in the eye, do that sign with your hands that either means ‘I’m watching you’ or possibly ‘I’m coming for you’, depending on how mean your facial expression is, and tackle it head on. You know the look I’m talking about; it’s the one with two fingers, like…here are my eyes. And my eyes are watching you.

Yeah, you get it. I’ve organised an ice skating party for my 21st, because I can’t live with cryophobia any longer. If I want to be a constructive Melbourne citizen, I can’t just sit in my house for half the year racking up the heating bill and giving suspicious side-eye to waiters who ignore my orders not to put ice cubes in my drink. No, we have a real ice skating instructor and everything. It’ll be great. It’ll be fun. I will have lots of fun. Yes. Lots of the fun, more than I’ve ever had.

Yep, so I’m terrified. Not as terrified as I would’ve been without the year of therapy, mind you; I’ve still managed to get to the stage where I’ve planned this party at all, and I can think about it without fainting on the spot. Everyone knows it, of course…it’s not an easy thing to hide when you feel a cool breeze and run shrieking for cover like it’s raining mortar shells. They’ve all been so supportive as well! Mum and Dad have organised a few warm safe zones for if I get too freaked out. But I really want to make myself do this, because it’s not or never. Ice skating with all the people who’ve supported me through this: I can’t think of anything better. I’m going to do it. I’m going to DO it. I’m going to do IT. I’M going to do it.

Yep, so this is happening, haha, hilarious! Just me, skipping along to the friendly local Melbourne ice skating rink for some fun times with my friends. And loads of ice. SO much ice, seriously.