Month: January 2020

Inked

After an irrationally and uncontrollably weepy start to the day, I went into Bristol with Kevin, and got my calf tattoos finished. For whatever reason, it hurt more than usual, and I was very glad my two hours session wasn’t the previous 5.5 hour session. And now they’re both finished. And they look great. Tash’s designs look awesome, just like I knew they would. Which is why I decided to get the back of my calves done, even if I’d never wanted to tattoo my lower legs before. Once I saw those designs, that was it. I just knew…

Matt knew about them, even though he shook his head indulgently at me while rolling his eyes at me, for changing my mind about such a thing so easily. But he wasn’t surprised. He got it. He knew it was about family. He didn’t really mind. Even though I hadn’t gotten around to it, he knew I was going to get them done at some point, and I’m pretty sure he would love them. Actually sod that, I’m not pretty sure. I’m totally sure. He would love them as much as I do. But I so miss being able to show them to him, to share them with him. It hurts. And considering the clothes I’m wearing these days, no-one else is likely to see them anyway. They’re just mine for the time being, though I’ll post the pictures at some point when they’re healed. They’re just another part of me that you don’t get to see or really know about until you get to know me. I can’t imagine there ever being anyone in my life who I properly want to share them, or anything, with. But I do love that they’re still a thing that ties her and me and him together. He loved her artwork. He knew that artwork was going to end up on on me. And now it has. And I love it.

Whilst there, thanks to Ruby finally getting the stuck tunnel out of my left ear lobe, that one is now stretched to 10mm too, just like the right one, though it needs to settle for a while. Which is great. Both goals achieved. I’m symmetrical. Go me! But guess what? I miss not being able to share that with him too…

But all this being done means that anything I do from here on in is going to be something he didn’t know about. Something he is in no way personally involved with. I’m not going to know for sure that he would have liked it. I’m not going to have talked to him about it, shared it with him. It feels weird. It feels like losing him a tiny little bit more. Every step I take forward is a step further away from him, another step into a world where he isn’t, when all I want to do is run back into his arms, and stay there, secure and safe. That’s how being in his arms made me feel. That was home. This isn’t.

Now I just feel sad. I’ve been so good, I’ve held myself together for most of the day, from the tattoo, to the pub, to seeing friends, whatever, however pleasant it was…but now what I’d really like is some quiet solitary space now. I want to cry, the sort of primal crying that comes from deep inside. I want to, maybe need to, let it all out, to curl up around myself, and howl into the wind. I’ve held it inside all day, and it’s overflowing. But I can’t do that now, because I’m at home, and Austin is home, and I feel like I can’t let go like that when there’s any sort of audience. So it’s sitting there, bubbling just under the surface, like I guess a pressure cooker must feel… It will come out, at some point. It always does. Maybe a late night walk is called for…or maybe I just need to go to sleep and save that for another day, and hope it passes until the next time it overwhelms me.

And I keep doing things, and making plans, and doing them, and hoping that somehow those things being done will make me feel better, and it will be ok, and life will be right again. I’ve taken another step along the road. Like it’s a check box.  I’ve done good; can I have him back now? I did stuff without him; can I be ok now? Nope. I can’t. It doesn’t work like that. Grieving is not a linear process. It’s a f*cking rollercoaster, a maelstrom, a sh*t storm.

I felt shit this morning. Because every morning waking up reminds me of where I am, and the life I am living, and that it is still the same shit, and that whatever I’m due to to do that day, I will be doing without him. And part of the feeling shit is the worry that I will just keep feeling this way forever. That life will NOT get better. That this is it. This is my life. And sadly there is nothing to cling on to to tell me or show me otherwise. Whatever people may tell you, they are not walking the same path as you. I hope that that, as those further down the path than I say, it will get easier. Tomorrow is another day…but there’s not reason to believe that tomorrow will be any better than today.

But hey, I made it through another day, right?

 

Never.

On balance for the last couple of days, I’ve been marginally on the up side of down. You know, life’s still shit, but keeping it together for most of the time. Mostly. Dealing with my folks, getting on with the job. Busy. Etc.

And then I was at work today, sorting out various stuff, digging out images for this that and the other, and there he was. Smiling out at me. It’s not like I hadn’t seen the photo before. But this time it came with a little voice in my head which thought it would chime in, and point out that I will never see him again. Never. Ever.

And it’s not like I didn’t know that, right? I know he’s dead. I know he’s not coming back. But there was just something about it. About the never word. Never. Never again. Forever. And it kind of mentally sent me flying. Knocked me for six. And it’s been stuck in my head ever since. Like an ear worm but much, much worse.

It wasn’t helped by the fact that I am now having to exchange emails with his wife, with whom I had previously had no contact at all, as she sorts out his estate. They’d been separated for well over the necessary three years, but since divorces cost money, and Matt had money problems…   So technically speaking she’s still his next of kin. And legally I’m nothing. It’s all very surreal.

So here I am, in the house, on my own again. I’m tired, I’m ouchy, and I’m crying my eyes out like a child, feeling raw and ripped to pieces all over again. Because yes, I’m never going to see him again. And I’d give anything to. Never is a very very long time… I think an early night might be in order, just to get today over and done with.. Man, my life sucks. It’s not really a life is it? It’s just a one day at time existence. 🙁

Size matters

Today I officially got my right ear lobe up to 10mm (my left one will follow shortly – I like to be vaguely symmetrical). This is the gauge I’ve been aiming for. Which is where Matt’s left ear lobe was, the only stretched piercing he had. And now I’m wearing one of his pieces of jewellery in it. It feels right. I was there when he stretched his up to this size. We did all such things together, and I bought him a lot of the jewellery he has at this size. And some for when he decided to go bigger which he inevitably would have done; it was on the list of things he hadn’t quite gotten around to doing… Now I get to wear his bits of jewellery, and remember him by them. Like this one. I know it, just as I knew him, so well. I have it seen in his ear so many times. It is so, so  familiar, so him. And it hurts and comforts and it is, as are most such things, massively bitter sweet.

My life has changed beyond recognition now, even if no-one else notices quite how far that goes. Matt would have noticed. I don’t dress like I did, I don’t behave like I did. When he was here, he loved what I wore, he loved how I expressed myself with clothing, he supported me in it, as he supported me in everything else. When he died I weighed rather more than I had when he first met me, as the endo had brought an end to my cycling, and comfy coupledom tended to compound that. But none of that ever bothered him, he loved me however I was, curves and all, in sickness and in health. Whatever size I was, I always knew he loved me, found me attractive, and wanted me. Properly wanted me. Always, any how, and any where. He made that perfectly clear, and I was secure and confident in that knowledge. He just had to look at me… And man, that feeling was so mutual. We were so compatible – mentally and physically. He gave me the strength to be me in so many ways, and me him, and it was so freeing. As someone who has had life long body issues, and now has them all back again tenfold, being made to feel like that is beyond worth its weight in gold. It’s unquantifiable and indescribable. One of his last messages to me said “I know you’re not feeling good in yourself at the moment but to me you’re still the most beautiful amazing woman ever and you’re mine and that makes me so happy 🥰🥰🥰”…

Now I wear comfortable, and alternative, and big, and baggy, and I hide myself away under everything. I know that I’m not as fit as I once was, as slim as I once was, and the anti-depressants don’t help- weight gain is a side effect. However I think giving them up right now would be seriously unwise, don’t you…? And it’s not like I want to be attractive to anyone else anyway. So I insulate and protect myself; I hide under my layers, and my head scarves, and my piercings and tattoos. Once upon a time I had many walls, built up over many years for many reasons, and he gently knocked them all down, with care and understanding. Now I am building myself back up into an untouchable fortress. Don’t look, don’t touch.

And with the stretching, and the new tattoos, the changes to how I dress, and the lines that grief has etched into my face? I don’t look like who I was anymore. I look permanently tired. I don’t smile much anymore. I look at photos of us together and I don’t recognise that carefree, loved, happy person. Those happy people. That girl, that was me? Even when I look in a mirror I don’t look like me and I don’t recognise me. I don’t even feel like me. Let’s face it, I don’t know who me is anymore full stop. Maybe it’s deliberate. Maybe being this way is about mentally distancing myself from us, so I can pretend that happy loved person in those photos wasn’t me, and all of this has happened to someone else. Maybe then it will hurt right, less?

I always found it hard to believe that I finally had the kind of relationship that I had wanted my whole life. The love that soppy films and unrealistic dreams are made of. But I did. I don’t know how, or why, but I did. And now it’s gone, as if it never was. Maybe it wasn’t. Life seems so surreal now…

It always amazed me that someone could find me attractive like that, that someone could feel that way about me. Someone like that, and someone like me? As if! It wouldn’t surprise me if no-one ever does again. I’m just me. I’m nothing special; I’m not beautiful, I’m not stunning, I’m getting on a bit, I weigh too much, I have too much baggage, I’m not worth it, and I don’t deserve it. And besides which they say lightning never strikes twice. I will be forever grateful that it struck once though. Man, I was so lucky. For whatever reason, he loved me for everything and despite everything. And I felt that way about him. Whatever our flaws, arguments, whatever, that was just all just water under the bridge.  Soul mates is such a cliché, but that’s what we were. Warts and all.

There’s no point over-analysing. It doesn’t matter. These days, as I try and figure out how to get through life, I just have to do what feels right for me. And right now, this is it. This is currently me. This is how I dress now. This is how I am now. He’d like my clothes, because he’d understand what I was doing and why. He’d love my new tattoos, which will get finished off on Thursday. I know he’d approve. I know he’d like how my piercings look now. I’ve had to learn how to stretch my piercings without him helping me, just like I’m having to learn how to do everything else without him. He would have held my hand through it all though, just as I always held his. He’d have my back. Whenever we were together, we were always touching. Like magnets. We couldn’t not be. We just fitted. We were us.

I don’t care what anyone else thinks about me now. About who I am, about how look. I don’t care about anything anyone says about me. It’s all just so much background static. The only person whose opinion and thoughts ever really mattered to me isn’t here anymore. But I know what he thought and he felt, and that’s the only thing that matters. That is all I have left, and that is what I will be trying to hold on to. And the sense of perspective that gives me? It’s huge. And also liberating. Those who matter don’t mind who I am, and those who mind so don’t matter. They can in fact take a long walk off a very short plank. Matt didn’t care what people thought of him, he knew who he was and what was important to him. So I need to be more Matt. For how ever long I remain here, this is my life, and I will live it my way. This is me (and he loved this film too).

When I struggle, as I do every day, I will imagine his hand in mine, and his arms around me, and I will try and take strength from that, through my tears. I will try and be the me he thought, or even knew, I was. Love you my beautiful boy. You were, and still are, my everything 💔 😭.

The Scream

Today is just one of those days. One of those days when the grief sits leaden heavy inside you, and there’s so much going on in your head and in your heart, but there just aren’t the words for it all, there are just constantly threatening tears. You can’t talk past them. And you find yourself hugging yourself in a ball when they do come out because it hurts SO much, physically and mentally. And you don’t really let them out anyway, because you’re not in the right time/space for those floodgates to be open. Besides, who knows if you could close them again?

It’s kind of like a wordless, silent and painful, raw and primal, screaming into the unforgiving void, for everything you had, for what you were going to have together, and for what is lost and gone forever. For the years of shared history and memories and intimacy and trust that you will never share with anyone else. For all that we were to each other. For the plans we’d made and the wedding we would have had, and hadn’t gotten around to, because there wasn’t any rush was there? We had all the time in the world… Until suddenly we didn’t. And there wasn’t a we anymore. Just a me. Just like that. How are you not here anymore? And how the f*ck am I supposed to carry on doing this? This is just sh*t. Relentlessly sh*t. Same sh*t whatever day it is, wherever I am. It’s a very, very, very lonely place.

Another day done. And one more step along the world I go.

Words, but not mine

There’s been a lot of talking about lots of stuff today, and that always brings memories and thoughts.

When it came to Matt’s funeral, I wanted to say something. I didn’t know what. I just knew it was important I did. And there were two poems that I nearly went with, before I realised that I needed it to be more than that. That I wanted everyone to know my Matt, and what we’d meant to each other. My eulogy to him is lurking back in a post someway back, should you care to go looking for it.

But that doesn’t make these two poems any less important, or relevant. So here they are:

‘Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone‘ by W H Auden

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead,
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood;
For nothing now can ever come to any good.

and then:

‘To an Athlete Dying Young‘ by AE Housman

The time you won your town the race
We chaired you through the market-place;
Man and boy stood cheering by,
And home we brought you shoulder-high.

To-day, the road all runners come,
Shoulder-high we bring you home,
And set you at your threshold down,
Townsman of a stiller town.

Smart lad, to slip betimes away
From fields where glory does not stay
And early though the laurel grows
It withers quicker than the rose.

Eyes the shady night has shut
Cannot see the record cut,
And silence sounds no worse than cheers
After earth has stopped the ears:

Now you will not swell the rout
Of lads that wore their honours out,
Runners whom renown outran
And the name died before the man.

So set, before its echoes fade,
The fleet foot on the sill of shade,
And hold to the low lintel up
The still-defended challenge-cup.

And round that early-laurelled head
Will flock to gaze the strengthless dead,
And find unwithered on its curls
The garland briefer than a girl’s.

I’d like to end it as the film did, because it’s beautiful and heartbreaking. But her truth is not mine. Yes, he brought us joy and we loved him well. But he was ours, and he was mine. And there will always be a part of my heart that is forever his.

Wherever, whenever you are, I love you.

 

Do I get an Oscar?

I’ve been out tonight. Somewhat of a rarity, and later than planned. Which meant I spent three hours rattling around the house after work, on my own (Austin is at his Dad’s), doing chores, trying to kill time, manically trying to keep busy, trying to be ok. I think it’s fair to say my report card would say “could do better” if there was one. I tried. I cried. That’ll have to do. These day’s it’s all about good enough. I don’t have high expectations of my days. Or my life to be honest.

And then I finally went out. And spent the kind of night at The Crown that Matt and I would once have had. Had had, many times. Since I’ve lived here for 20 years, it’s the kind of night I’ve had there before Matt, with Matt, and now since Matt. I went with my mate, who was also his boss/bff, Kevin, and we played pool, with lots of interchangeable others, most of whom I variously know, and we drank (me in moderation), and talked, and laughed, late into the night, and it was all good.

Apart from the glaring obvious fact that it’s not good at all, is it? Who the f*ck am I kidding? I don’t wear makeup these days, since it would get washed off on a regular basis. But I definitely had game face on, even if I couldn’t actually put my war paint on.

I did all the right things, I said all the right things, I smiled in all the right places. Fake it ’til you make it right? Somewhat surreally I sat inside me and watched me do it. I only publicly lost it once, triggered by whatever, and had to have a brief cry on Kevin’s shoulder, for what was and what will never be again. He misses Matt as much as I do. Just like seeing Liam earlier this week, it’s like those of us who miss him speak a shared secret language. And it just helps being together.

So rah, go me!  I did good! (I’m presuming you can detect the sarcasm there). There were people who hadn’t really seen me since Matt died, who had things they needed to say to me about it all, and I let them say what they needed to say, because they’d been worried about talking about it to me, and hadn’t, because they hadn’t wanted to upset me. And it’s lovely that they wanted to. OK, I kind of wish they had earlier, because it’s not like you can say anything to me that makes me feel worse than I do, and I’ve had plenty of times when I wish someone was talking to me. But I get it. There are right times, and right places, and there we were and it worked. So I let them say what they wanted to say, and I played brave and didn’t cry on them, so they wouldn’t feel bad for it, and I told them how much I appreciated it, and I lied and told them I was doing ok, and not to worry about talking to me. That in fact I’d rather they did. To be fair, the very fact that people out there are thinking about me, and feeling for me, makes me feel that little bit less alone. And it all matters. Especially as there are those out there who are not half so charitable. It was nice to be able to talk about him. To know people care about him, and me, and us. To bring him back into the room.

Because now I’m back here again. Home alone, except without any of the comedy. Alone again. To be fair, even amongst so many friendly people up there, there were moments I felt horribly, horribly alone. And I wish he had been there, and I wish he was here. I just want to call him and tell him all about it.

He’d be so proud of me. He’d be proud of me for coping. He’d have been on my side and by my side, and would have cheered for me when I kicked ar*e at pool, as ever, and triumphed over the lads, even if later on Kevin and I decided to let it slide a bit, so that those who were bothered could win; because we were just there to have fun. The minute pool gets serious I’m not interested. I just want to enjoy playing. Matt and I used to play when we were there. He’d win some. But I’d win more. Overall, I definitely came out well on top, but he didn’t really mind. He got used to it. He had to 😉 We just enjoyed playing, and hanging out, and being together. Spending time being us. Us. Such a small word for such a big thing.

That is where we were, and what me, and him, and my kids were doing, on the night that everything went to hell in a hand basket. But I’m not going there now. There’s no point. I can go over and over and over it, and I can replay it and the day that followed it in my head ad infinitum, and believe me, there are days I do. Over and over and over…. A lot of it was horrible, and there are a lot of memories and images in my head that I really wish weren’t there. But there they are, and there’s no changing that. It is what is is, and none of the ‘what if’s and ‘I wish’s make any difference to where we are now. None of it changes a darn thing. Here we are. It’s all part of our story – the good, the bad, and the ugly. I was there from our beginning to our end, as was he. He died in my arms. And I have carried on through the formalities to the bitter end. It’s our story, and whatever anyone else thinks or says, they really don’t have a clue.  I don’t live your life, you haven’t lived mine. Before you judge us, or me, walk a mile in our shoes. He will always be part of my story. Sadly I have to carry on without him, I will carry him with me wherever I go, for the rest of my life. I can’t tell you how hard it is to carry on without him. I just know I have to. Even though I often don’t want to. I have no choice.

Tonight I was amongst friends. And I was out. Which is better than home alone with thoughts bouncing around the inside of my head. And I guess it’s all part of trying to find out what my new normal is. I did it. I’m so grateful to those of my friends and family who are supporting me, But holy crap, would someone give me my best actress award now?

I don’t have to act or pretend now. Because now it’s just me, and the cats, and a space where he should be and isn’t, and a void I can’t fill. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to, even should I even reach a place where I want to. Right now, the thought of having anyone other than him in my life quite literally makes me cringe and shudder. I’m not sure there are actually words for the physical reaction that it triggers in me. At least I can cry now, as much as I want, as messily as I want, and for as long as I want, without embarrassing anyone. Max (the kitten) doesn’t care as long as he’s getting a snuggle. And since if he’s getting a snuggle I’m getting a snuggle too I’ll take that. Beggars can’t be choosers.

I miss you SO much and I SO wish you were here. You are very much missed, by very many people. And I wish you knew that. Love you my beautiful boy xx.

A hard day’s night

Today I’ve had one of those very very rare days. Hen’s teeth days. Which would be a day that almost passes for a good day. Good by my standards you understand, not anyone else’s. I’m pretty sure it’s only the second one I’ve had since Matt died. And I can no more tell you why that is than I could tell you why yesterday was a particularly bad day. There is no logic to this process. Like everything else, it is what it is.

But maybe it’s because I had a night of very weird, not entirely pleasant, dreams, and somewhere in there Matt was in them. I don’t remember the details, mostly, which is probably just as well, but it’s almost like my brain feels a bit better for having had a visit from him, however weird that sounds. You see I have no videos of Matt. No recordings. He has no voice mail message that I can call to listen to. It’s only in the vivid memories that sometimes pop up from nowhere, or in my dreams, that I get to see him alive, and to hear his voice. And however bitter sweet that is, it matters.  It’s like a little tiny Matt fix. It helps.

I know I’ll never see him alive again, but forgetting what he sounded like is one of the many things that scare me these days. The sound of his laugh…it was so infectious. You couldn’t help but laugh too. Sometimes I’d make him laugh when he wasn’t expecting it, and it would erupt from somewhere inside of him, and it was just so rewarding, like you’d won a prize or something. I loved making him laugh. And he made me laugh. Hell, we laughed together a lot, and there was a lot of love in sharing that. Just one of the many, many things I miss. And what I wouldn’t give to hear that laugh again for real…

This evening I finally got to see Liam and Claire, and their little’un, all together at the same time. Liam was Matt’s best mate from back where he used to live before he moved down here to be with me, and telling him Matt had died was the second worst phone call of all those I had to make, on the longest day of my life. They were so close, and worried about each other so much. I fought for him and my son to be amongst those who carried Matt’s coffin, and I know it meant a lot to both of them. It would have meant a lot to Matt too… And now it means a lot to me to keep in touch with him. I guess it’s all part of keeping Matt’s memory alive? And just like me, for him, five months is nothing. That says a lot.

The last time I saw the little’un was with Matt, and he was a colicky babe in arms. The baby, not Matt 😉 Now he’s about to be a year old. Which is mad. And sad. It made it so obvious how time is passing, how time moves on, how I’m getting further away from Matt all the time… But it was so nice to see them. To see people who knew my Matt. Who knew us. Properly knew us and knew about what we were to each other. We may not have talked about Matt much, but we kind of didn’t need to. He was there with us in all the things we didn’t say. The Matt in the room.

And now it’s just me again, at my folks’ place again, in bed, wearing his hoodie for comfort, with just my thoughts and my reiki teddy bear for company. Today I shared this blog with some of the new people I’ve met along this bumpy road, and I have had some really lovely comments and compliments from them. It really meant a lot to me. I’m genuinely touched by them all. I have always found it far more easy to be open and honest on ‘paper’ than I do in person, and to know that people, people like me, like what I’ve written, and don’t think how I’m feeling is mad or wrong is so lovely and so reassuring and, well…even if I wasn’t already tearful I would be now. It’s just so lovely to feel supported. Did I mention I can cry at the drop of a hat?

One thought away.

I am only ever one thought away from tears.

So, with various other chaos erupting around me, and work to be done, I can usually get by for a while by being busy and by not thinking about anything else.

And I’ve just had a really nice night out with a cycling mate Rob who remembered that I’m not one for reaching out and had reached out to me in the middle of the last shit storm week. Did I fancy a drink this week? “OMG yes”, I believe I replied. And in a coming together of things, and places I need to be, I’m back at my folks for a couple of days, seeing Rob tonight, sorting Dad’s staples’ removal tomorrow, and seeing another mate afterwards, then back here and “home” again on Thursday. Over the last couple of weeks I’ve noticed I’ve been isolating myself from people. Everyone says “call me if you need me”. Simple right? And so easy for you to say. And If I don’t call, I’m fine, obvs. Not. Because mostly I can’t. The only person I want to call is Matt. And I can’t do that either. Sadly if you’re down there it just doesn’t work like that. Why on earth would I want to contact anyone else, and burden them with me? But I’m making an effort and reaching out to people. I’m trying to be pro-active. I’m trying. No-one’s going to know how I’m feeling unless I tell them, are they? Apparently this is when you learn who your friends really are…

But it’s always there. In the wrong song that comes on. In the photos that someone shows you. In the dark hours, and the what ifs. In the random memories that pop up triggered by god knows what. In the hug that you get at an unexpected time or from an unexpected person, or both. It’s always just below the surface. I can now cry at the drop of a hat. Not that anyone is dropping hats around here. Plates, or balls, possibly. But not hats.

I guess to almost everyone else, Matt died last year. Ages ago. Old news.

But it’s a one way mirror thing.

That all makes sense from that side of the mirror.

Sadly, as I now know to my cost, thanks to the others I have met online and elsewhere, on this side of the mirror, in the club that no-one wants to join, 5 months is nothing. 5 months is early days. I have a long road to travel ahead of me, and since I apparently have to stay here, I have many miles to go before I sleep. If someone made a massive impact by coming into your life, it should be no surprise that they made a similarly massive impact by leaving it. And the stronger the feelings beforehand, the worse the grief afterwards. And it’s all true. All those seemingly trite memes – they’re true.

There hasn’t been a single day since he died that I haven’t cried. And most of those days I’ve cried a lot. There are still days that even breathing hurts. Some days I’m amazed I’m still here. But I am. I don’t feel like I’m coping, but then I guess I must be, because I’m still doing it, right? I’m getting up, I’m getting dressed, I’m working. I’m fine, right? Except I’m really not.

I don’t know who I am anymore. This isn’t the me I knew. People say I should go and do something I enjoy; without appreciating that anything I do that I enjoy I would now be doing on my own, without Matt, and the joy that used to be in whatever it is has gone. I can’t think of anything I enjoy. I can’t think of anything I want to do. Well I can, but I’m not allowed to do that.

I can’t tell you how much I envy people who don’t know how I feel. How I wish I didn’t know how I feel. I can’t imagine a place in time where I’m happy again. The best I can do is brief patches of semi-respite. And they never last long.

And then here I am again. Alone with a head full of thoughts, eyes filled with tears, and a heart that literally feels broken.

I wish… But wishes still aren’t horses and beggars still can’t ride.

With or without you

My body knows things.

When my Ex ran off with someone else, it was horrible. It was hellish. It was stressful. But not because he was gone. But because I nearly lost the house. I didn’t know if I was going to be able to keep a roof over our heads. I didn’t know if I was going to be able to be support the kids and me. I didn’t know how I was going to cope. I didn’t know how I’d ever have a life again. But I didn’t miss him. And as he’d been working away so much, for so long (can’t imagine why), his absence was nothing new. So when he was officially gone, the bed was mine. I replaced all the bedding, and reclaimed it. And I slept wherever. On whichever side. Diagonally. Upside down. However my body wanted to move around during the night. Which was fine.

But I can’t sleep on Matt’s side of the bed. Our bed, that we got so that it was ours, and untainted by memories or history. Even when it’s not our bed, when I’m sleeping somewhere else, it’s the same. I don’t even trespass into his space in my sleep. Somehow that side of the bed ends up being somewhere where my handbag, or book, or laptop, or whatever it is, just happens to have to be. I just can’t bear that he’s not here. And I guess having there being a big empty space there next to me would make it too obvious. And I guess subconsciously I don’t move into that space in my sleep either for the same reason. Because that would be just another painful step on the path of admitting he’s not here and that he’s not coming back. I don’t do it on purpose. I can’t undo it either. It just is what it is, and it will change if and when it does. Just like everything else.

One more step along the road I go… Slowly, sadly, one foot in front of the other, just trying to keep going.

Five months

I want to write. I do. God knows I have a world full of words inside me that I want to let out. But I just can’t. Right now everything is just too much. I’m living at my folks. Looking after my Dad post prostatectomy op. Trying to cope with my Mum and her ever worsening dementia. Trying to work at the same time. And today is five months since I lost him. Five months since I last talked to him. Five months since we were together. Five months without a hug, a kiss, a text, a touch. Five months without him and all that he was, all that we were, and all that we were to each other. It may feel like an age ago to some, but I still feel like a part of me has been ripped out. I feel broken and raw and empty and flat and lost and adrift and so, so, so sad. I need him even more than ever now, and I feel his absence even more than ever, which I didn’t know was possible. I miss my beautiful boy beyond words, and it literally physically hurts. I wish he was still here, I can’t believe he isn’t, and I am fighting SO hard not to join him. I just can’t see a better out there, but I have to be here. So here I am. Why isn’t he?