Two become one

Two years passed, and now nearly another 2 months more since then.
It could be two years, twenty years, two hundred years…but sometimes it’s two seconds.
When I let myself remember it all, it’s like I’m actually there, and I’ve just slipped back into my head back then, and no time has passed at all.
It’s all just as vivid as ever it was…and I can play it all over and over…

All my memories of us are like that. Sharp technicolour. They don’t fade, I just try not to visit.

Too long.
Too soon.
Too real.

The days are passing. Time is filled. But I’m not getting anywhere. I’m just treading water. But maybe that’s enough?

I now have two jobs. Because it’s good for me to get out, and to keep busy, and to be distracted. To be paid. To meet people, to chat, to play nice and friendly for a while, to have something else to be good at, to remind me that whatever I do, I will always do it to the best of my ability, and I need to remember that, and be proud of that. I’m also enjoying the work, which is a good thing, though the novelty will wear off, work politics and dynamics will eventually drive me up the wall, and I’ll have to leave at some point before I lose the ability to hold my tongue. It’s far from rocket science, so even though I need the extra money, there are other such jobs all over the place. The timer is ticking…lay bets on how long it lasts folks!

Of course all this constant working is also a distraction tactic. I know that. And there’s always the risk of doing too many things and none of them well. Plus, you know, work hard, play hard, right? I’m pretty sure I have a self-destruct thing going on because, hey, who’s going to tell me off? Or tell me to stop? I have no-one to answer to, other than myself, and I don’t ask myself questions I don’t want to answer, because I already know the answers am choosing to ignore them. I no longer have my boulder to lean on, and so I get to flail around wildly and aimlessly. No compass, no compassion, no roots, no direction.

Maybe a bit of me is hoping someone will call me out, and look after me for a while. Someone to care, to make it all a little less hard, take some of the weight off my shoulders, and let me just let go of all the responsibility, pressure, grief…for a while. Somebody I can lean on. But they won’t, and there isn’t anyone, and I know my sensible side will get a grip at some point, I’ll HTFU, and get back on with it. To be fair, I probably wouldn’t lean anyway, I don’t trust anyone enough to do so…and I’m not letting anyone get that close again any time soon. If ever.

Besides, I’m a grown-up, I’m single, and I can do whatever the f*ck I want, and f*ck up however I want. I neither want nor need anyone else’s approval. Remember, those that matter don’t mind, and those that mind don’t matter. Judge not lest ye be judged yourself, and you have no idea what it’s like in my shoes, nor do you want to have.

Two sides to every argument, and a truth in the middle. Maybe.

I still have two amazing kids.
Neither of whom currently live here.
Eldest is still living where he now does, in a new job, discovering that not working in hospitality means you can actually have a life.
Youngest is off being incredibly intelligent, doing a Masters in something involving stem cells and genetic research. Told you she was clever!
I am mad proud of both them.
They are the two best things in my life.
Though the house is too quiet without them, and my head is too loud.

No-one talks about him. Not to me anyway. If I talk about him, people start shifting in their seats and getting uneasy. I get it. But it’s like the only place he exists, and existed, is in my head. And I want to remember him, out loud and proud. Even if I do cry. Aren’t you all used to me crying in public yet?

It’s somewhat better than it was. Except for when it isn’t. And then it’s just as bad.

Being intelligent and self-aware sucks.

Fly on, little wing

I sat outside a pub for a quiet drink and to read earlier.
And sat outside the other pub was someone who looked a lot like Matt.
Which was a bit…unsettling.
Because of course it wasn’t him.
It couldn’t be.
Could it?
Much though I wish I haven’t, I have a fair few crystal clear memories that remind me that it couldn’t be.
And probably PTSD.
But…what if it was?
But if it was, that would mean he’d come back, but he hadn’t come back to me…
And that would be just hideous…

Round and round the mind goes, spiralling downwards…

Of course it wasn’t him.
I don’t know what I’d have done if it had been, and yet he hadn’t come to me…
Nonetheless I wish it had been.
I’d still rather he was here, even if he didn’t want me anymore.
Even though I know how much he loved me.

Ain’t nothing rational about grieving…

It ain’t easy

Today I had to give my Mum a bath, and wash her hair.
And I now have some very complicated complex emotions going on inside, related to that.
Not least of which is…he promised me he was going to be with me through what was clearly coming.
And he knew what that was, he’d been there before.
He promised.
He promised…

But he’s not here. is he?
Over and over again, all the time, I’m reminded he is not here.
Like I didn’t know that.
Like I don’t think about that 24/7.
Like I don’t spend all that time wishing he was still here, wishing he would come back…
Like there isn’t a constant void where he used to be that no-one else can fill, and neither would I let them.
He broke far more than just a promise.
And he’s still not here.
Neither is anyone else.

So here I am looking after my folks, pandering, being patient and cheery, playing nice, driving, catering, caring…
It’s really not easy, on so many levels, even if I am actually very good at doing it.
And I can do it. I can. It’s my job. I don’t resent it at all. I love them both very much, even if one of them isn’t really here anymore. After all that they’ve done for me? This is nothing.
But that doesn’t stop it being hard.
It doesn’t stop the feelings…

This is the third time I’ve done it.
First time around, Matt was here.
Second time around, Austin was here.
This time, it’s just me.
And sadly it looks like it won’t be the last time either.
Cancer is a bitch…

Which all makes it so much harder.
It’s not like I was coping very well with life anyway.
And life sadly seems to enjoy piling it on…

Who’s looking after me?

Loneliness really hurts.
Physically and mentally.
Holy crap, I am SO lonely.
And I was already hurting enough.

I wish I’d been enough… I did my best, but I lost him to demons I didn’t know about until it was too late. A lot of people have a lot to answer for, but that’s between them and their consciences. I know what I know and it will stay that way. I tried so hard, and I did the best I could with what I knew at the time. And hindsight is 20/20. I wish…

But that’s irrelevant now.
Their baggage is not mine.
And their opinion is beyond unimportant.

These days I’m fighting battles on many fronts.
Thanks to my meds I have put on weight and feel horrible. But no matter what, whatever the scales said, he always got it and made me feel desirable, and the feeling was mutual. He was SO fit!
I hope one day someone will do the same, but I doubt it.
I was always amazed that he found me attractive, and that he loved me.
And hey, thanks to my meds, I’m still here.

But I came SO close to not being…

I still love you, my beautiful boy, and I always will. Counting down…

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 forever: I was wrong.

One day…

A million dreams

I want to write.
But I’m worried that if I write how I feel, that I will be judged,
That there will be people out there going, “really?” “you haven’t gotten over it yet?”.
And even if they’re not saying it, a bit of me is hearing it…

And no.
I’m not over it.
I’m not even moving forward with it.

A few days ago it was his 50th birthday.
A milestone he will never reach.
And a milestone that I will reach ahead of him.
On my own.
I will be older than he ever was.
It was not a good day.
A lonely day in a very specific way.

I do sometimes have better patches.
But the bad patches are just as bad, if not worse, as they ever were.

I should have killer abs.
Because my gut clenches when those thoughts hit.
It physically hurts.
My face is streaked with dried tears.
And I really cannot explain how literally painful it is.
I have endometriosis.
I have had broken bones.
I know pain.
This?
Way beyond…
It is tearing me apart, day after day after day.

And before you accuse me of wallowing…
Do you not think I want to feel better?
Have those “get up and choose to feel better” memes sucked you in?
They’re all b*ll*cks.
It’s just not that simple.

This is how it is.
To deny it it would be wrong.
Just a pressure cooker that explodes, sooner or later.
Grief is your path, that you walk on your own.

There are no short cuts.
I have to keep on living through it.
Loneliness hurts almost as much as grief.
And life keeps throwing extra challenges, as if the current status quo wasn’t enough.

My self esteem is at an all time low.
Weight gain, age, meds…
I feel fat and ugly and old.
And frequently in serious levels of pain.

I work.
I keep busy.
I distract myself.

But then suddenly I want to talk to him.
I have something to share with him, that he’d totally get, like no-one else.
Or I need a Matt hug. To be engulfed and understood and comforted.
The sun is shining, but I can’t go to a beach without him.
It’s a weekend and I have nowhere to go and no-one to see.
Just the same old, same old, stay in bed, ignore the world, sleep as much as I can, until it’s over.

I can’t explain to you how this kind of unavoidable but pointless endless yearning hurts.
I miss him.
Three small words that try to encompass a world full of feelings that cannot be fixed.
A universe of loss and pain and tears and regrets and what could have been…and nowhere to go with all of those feelings.
I miss him.
Like someone ripped a part out of me, and left me less me.
And having been shown who I could be, with his support and his love, and how we were, I don’t know how to be anything anymore.
I don’t know how much longer I can endure this amount of raw, intense, all encompassing, agony.
I miss him.

I keep doing life.
Day after day.
Same shit different day.
But I don’t know how the f*ck to keep on doing it.
I guess I don’t have any choice.
So I’ll keep on doing it.

But it’s not getting better.
Time does not heal.
It just makes us further apart.
That’s not better.

We were everything.
And now I’m nothing.

My darling I’m holding on so tight…but it’s a losing battle.
I’ve lost him.
My other half, my soulmate, my partner in crime..
And I’ve lost me.

The sunshine through my window has gone.
I am forever grateful for having had him in my life…

…but I sometimes feel like I died with him.

Maybe tonight, I can dance with his ghost again…it’s as close as I can get, until I’m there with him, wherever that is, or isn’t.

Comfortably numb

So Saturday was predictably horrendous.  Four years since we got engaged…

To be fair it did have its good points. I saw people, ate pizza, drank wine, put on the mask, and played the game. Other than that…I was a wreck. An unstoppable, leaking, wailing, hopeless wreck.

Since then I seem to have achieved some sort of numb, which is distinctly more restful, though I doubt it’s healthy. I expect it’s a temporary reprieve. There are more big dates coming up, and more stuff that I’m going to have to cope with and deal with on my own, where once he would have been.

Being alive is hard work. But it’s work that has to be done. Life doesn’t currently come with options…

One of those days

When I got married I settled.
I knew that when I did it.
I was so scared that no-one would ever love me, that I settled for someone who was close enough.
Which I always knew.
And I can’t regret it, because I have two of the most awesome kids ever.
They are my achievement.
When they weigh the scales, and see how I did with them, I’ll be ok.

But then bad things happened.
And then I was single, with occasional distractions, for a long time.
And then Matt came along.
And he pursued me and swept me off my feet.
With the kind of relationship I’d only ever dreamed of.
Complete with fireworks.
With fire, comes burns but…
No matter what, we loved each other.
And regardless of what his close family think, it wasn’t toxic.
Anyone who thinks that is merely transferring their own guilt on to me.
And they can f*ck off.

4 years ago today (well, yesterday cos I’m still up) we got engaged.
I have never been so happy.
He was over the moon.
It was a totally amazing, all we’d ever dreamt of day, that was totally us.
Beach, waves, surfing, fizz, us…
It was a perfect day,
The day we both wanted.
It was everything.

I couldn’t believe someone like him would want me.
I couldn’t believe someone like him would find me attractive.
But he did and I did, everything was mutual, and we were pretty much always on the same page.
When it was good, it was breathtaking.
When it was bad, we worked on making it better.
But that day?
I’m pretty sure I’ll never be as happy again.
And these days I am as far from that happy as you can be.

I have tried to pick myself off the floor.
I have tried to make myself feel better.
But you can’t force these thing, no matter what the memes say.

I am apparently suffering from anxiety and severe depression.
I’m on meds again.
And they work some of the time.

But they can’t fix the root problem.
They stop me being suicidal, mostly…

But they can’t fix me.
He’s the only one who could fix me.
My partner in crime.
My soul mate.
My other half.
My beautiful boy.

He’s not here.
And I will never stop wishing he is.
And I still don’t know how to live without him.

No-one meets their knight in shining armour twice. Let’s face it, what we had was a miracle. So I guess this is it…this is how it’s going to be forever.

I’d like to think it wasn’t. But I’m pretty sure it is. After all, the bar is set pretty high…

Is there anybody out there?

I know.
It’s been a very long time since I’ve written here.
But then I’ve been in a very dark place for a very long time…since well before Christmas.
I don’t talk to people. I don’t see people. And quite clearly, when I’m down here, I don’t write either.

Finally, after a degree of offspring nagging, and my own internal thoughts, I realised that I couldn’t carry on feeling this way every day, and I finally contacted the Doctors. Who I didn’t really want to bother because, you know Covid. And it’s just grief right?

Only apparently it’s not just grief. It’s complicated grief, and serious depression, and anxiety, and I need to be on meds again, whether I like it or not.

So I am.
Sertraline.

They’re not really helping yet, as it takes anything up to 12 weeks for them to start working, depending on how your brain and biology work. I think they sort of help in the “morning” (I live in a different time zone to you all, thanks to my sleep patterns) for a while after I’ve taken them, and then come the evening when they’re wearing off, and when I’ve finished being distracted by work (the only thing I can actually get done around here, luckily), and that’s it….

…I’m back to anxiety attacks before I go to the shop, or have to meet anyone, or need to join a zoom call (the number of which I have now bailed on is getting embarrassing), or anything. Then there’s intrusive thoughts, memories, floods of tears at random and frequent times, and it hurts so much each time – the loss, the grief, the loneliness, the pain, the fear – it never hurts any less.

I come downstairs at some point. Tash and I figure out some sort of food, which is a fairly random affair, especially as I have absolutely no appetite. We watch crappy TV, I try and hold it together and then it’s bedtime again. And every time I have to climb those stairs, up to a room where he isn’t, to sleep in our bed, it kills me inside. I still kind of expect to see him lying there, waiting for me… I can’t sleep on my side of the bed anymore, because the empty space next to me is too obvious and painful for me. But when I sleep on his side, then I also know I’m sleeping where he died…and…it’s not exactly a win-win situation.

But I can’t even cry myself to sleep. Welcome to insomnia. See, I can’t try and go to sleep until I’m properly tired, otherwise I just lie there and my thoughts go round and round and round in an ever-descending spiral and I end up so upset that sleep is impossible. So they prescribed sleeping tablets too, but neither type have worked, so that was a waste of time. So I play games on the iPad, and then I read, and then finally I reach a point where it feels like it’s finally time…and even then I have to go to sleep listening to a podcast. By then we’re talking 3/4am…if I’m lucky.

Then I wake up around midday, groggy as hell, especially if I was trying the sleeping tablets, hopefully earlier than that (but rarely), but usually in time for work, so I get to work, and the whole shitty wheel turns round again.

And weekends are worse, because I don’t even have work to do, and I can’t summon the energy or motivation to get out of bed, and I have plans for things I’d like to get done, but they just don’t. So it’s just me, my bed and I, and the lovely cups of tea Tash often brings me.

Last week marked 18 months since Matt left us. Not that I expect anyone to remember that, though his family probably do. There’s an additional grief in knowing that they’re out there (oh so wrongly) blaming me for his death, whilst knowing that there is nothing I can do or say to change their minds, because doing so is their coping mechanism. So I have to live with that. I’m sure I make a lovely scapegoat; I am an Aries after all. It doesn’t stop it hurting though. However I do wish I was more in touch with his kids…yet another thing I feel bad about. But the whole situation became so toxic, and things have to work both ways… As ever, I wish things were different. And, as ever, they are not. It’s just such a shame that such tragedy, rather than bringing us all closer together, as it should have, has instead just pushed me out completely. And it’s lonely out here on my own.

I feel so guilty and ashamed of myself for not coping better, for not being stronger, for not being able to hold it together, for not being able to get anything done; in fact for being generally hopeless all round. I feel bad for all the friends I have let down at short notice for plans we’ve made because I just couldn’t cope that day. I get nothing done, I do no exercise, I’m unfit and probably overweight (like I’m going to be stupid enough to stand on the scales right now).  I haven’t ridden the bike in two years now. I feel so bad for not being who I was, and for not knowing who I am now. I pretty much hate myself.

I miss all my friends – the pandemic has done a real number on us all in so many ways – and being able to see them would help so much. Since Covid happened, I feel like I’ve been stuck for a year, unable to move forward; paralysed. If anything I’ve gone backwards. As ever, when you think things can’t get worse, they can…

So here I am. Counting down to see if/when the pills help, and hoping beyond hope that they do. I know that they can’t fix the inherent problem, but if they can just bring me up to a level where I can function on a day to day basis, that would be good.

In the meantime, although I don’t talk to people, if anyone would like to message me, through any of the many channels that are available to us all, it’d be good to hear from the outside world once in a while.

If you want me, I’ll be staring at my wall of many treasures, from the security of my duvet nest…

😭💔 I miss him SO much, and still love him just as much 💔😭

 

Unspoken words

I just want to talk to him. Not a deep heart to heart, not questions about whys and wheres and hows and wherefores. Just for him and me to curl up on the sofa, shoot the breeze, chat about each other’s day, and just be normal us for a little while. I want to hear his voice. I want to make him laugh; to hear that belly laugh again. I want life to be, just briefly, what it was. Normal.

And that’s the irony of it all, isn’t it?

The only person you want to talk to, who loves you, your best friend, who could give you the right hug, who knows you inside out and who would know how to help you, the only one who could properly comfort you and support you through your loss…is the person you have lost.

And there’s no getting past or around that…it’s a mobius strip, an infinity symbol, two sides, two dimensions; what you want, what you can’t have, just going round and round and round in your head…

I miss him. So much. All the time.

Ah well, at least Max seems to have decided that he can actually sit on my lap, right?

It’s been a bad week. Ouchy got up to morphine necessitating levels this weekend for the first time in a very very long time. Tash is here but I’ve been quite literally stuck in bed for days, only getting work done, mostly sleeping for the rest of the time. And pain makes it so much harder to cope with anything and everything. Any walls you do have just crumble before it. I just feel so fragile and pathetic and useless…

My counsellor hasn’t returned my call so I’m a bit scared to call her again, because in the current world, there could be anything going on in her world that I could be intruding on… And I can’t bring myself to call the doctors. It’s all too much like hard work to go through the filtering system and tell my many stranded story to some complete stranger over the phone, who will probably be completely useless like the last two times, so why waste my time?

So anyway, Tash is here, and she won’t be here for long, and I’ll feel even worse when she’s gone, and I should be making the most of it. I feel so guilty for letting her down and not being there, for not being mentally present. But she has work to do and I have work to do, and the weather is shit, and the pandemic means options for getting out for entertainment are limited, and so, apparently it’s ok, it’s all understandable, and she doesn’t mind, apart from the fact she’d like us to get some shopping done because there’s no food in the house. Which is a valid point. I’ve been feeling nauseous a lot lately, and the pain patch ramped that up, so food is so far down my list of things to do that I literally don’t even think about it. So yes, shopping is required. She has to eat even if I don’t want to.

In the meantime, we might get to see Austin briefly on the 23rd. Which is nice, though I won’t be holding my breath…best to under expect these days I find.

And I joined a ukbp Zoom on Sunday even though I so nearly cried off, quite literally. I was in floods of tears at the thought of putting on the mask and showing up and faking it, but Tash convinced me it might be good for me, and to be fair it was actually really nice to chat to them, so I’m glad I made myself and I’m glad she made me.

Other than that, the Hyundai definitely needs a new engine and, looking at the price of replacing it versus the cost of that, my poor much loved, with me since birth, little red car, is probably heading for the scrapyard way before its time. Which is rather sad. And “new” car shopping is a crapshoot….

As ever, various other sh*t is going on in the background, that has implications and connotations and emotional impact and the like. Then there’s the “C” word…make that “C” words, plural.

Things are not great all ’round. But then we knew that already. Time is not a healer, and anyone who says that…? It’s been a long time since I’ve punched someone. But right now I feel it might be therapeutic. Or maybe they’d put me away somewhere safe for doing it? So go on, I dare you…

Can we not?

So apparently I’m still here. Lockdown two came to an end. Not that it makes much difference to me, in Tier Two. I can’t meet my socially distanced friends in a pub. I can go for a walk with them, as before, but if I want to be out of an evening, I have to sit in a pub on my own, and eat food (ie spend even more, wasteful (cos I have no appetite) money than usual) whilst being surrounded by Christmas decorations and other households, or those masquerading as such, who I can hear having fun, and being happy, and all I feel is even more painfully lonely. I’ve done it once. I wished I hadn’t. I probably won’t be doing it on my own again.

Matt hated Christmas. He was, back before he was living down here, a delivery driver, so Christmas just meant he was even busier than ever, working ridiculous hours for neither enough money nor any appreciation, which wore him out and stressed him out. Even when he finally got to stop and take time off (which he had to pay to have covered), this was followed up by him being tied to family obligations, spend loads of money he didn’t have, having to be places he didn’t want to be, when he didn’t want to be, and he just hated the whole season. Things were changing slowly once he moved…and I will be forever grateful for the fact that, in our all too short time together, we were lucky enough to have two Christmas days together as just us. A day all to ourselves, with no other commitments, just us. Just the best…

Anyway, I’d forgotten how bad this time of year makes me feel, as it gets darker and damper and danker and colder, but yet also lighter and more festive for others. Neither of which I am even close to feeling. Understatement. I feel completely out of sync with the world. Being out of the house just causes me to feel massive anxiety. I wish it would all just go away. The second year is definitely worse as the shock and numbness wears off and reality properly hits home and sinks in, when everyone else has moved on.

On the upside, it turns out that I am going to be unexpectedly blessed as, not only is Tash home from uni, thus I am no longer currently alone for a bit, but thanks to my Ex (which believe me, is not a phrase I use often), she is going to be with me for Christmas Day. It is his turn to have them, and I was ok with that, but I’m not going to lie; it is nice to know I won’t have to spend Christmas Day on my own, or somewhere else where I’d feel like I was on my own. I have had some lovely invitations to be elsewhere, for which I am deeply grateful and touched, but I would have felt out of place and, well, just…wrong. I’m going to be tired, as ever, probably drunk, and inevitably emotional. I’m always emotional these days. Who really wants that with them on Christmas Day? Home was always going to be the best place to be either way.

So it’s going to be the two of us here. Food will be here in the form of a 5 course hamper for two from The Oakhouse. I will lay on treats, and fizz, and gifts. We will get up when it suits us, and basically just be us, doing whatever we want to do all day. Just like Matt and I did twice. Hopefully it will work out and be good, just like those two Christmasses did. No pleasing anyone else but ourselves. Luckily Tash is not big on Christmas either, and she’s perfectly happy for us not to put up decorations and toe the line, play the game. Which is lovely. Why pretend to be feeling something you’re not? And I’ll be missing him, just as much, and maybe even more, than I do every day. Il me manque toujours.

It’s going to be sad not to see the rest of my family, near and far, though. Just when we probably all most need each other. Tiers will separate us. Everyone else is in Tier 3 at present. My brother’s family are currently socially isolating as my 8 year old nephew has tested positive for Covid. The exceptional Christmas bubble doesn’t cover New Year. Austin will be working over Christmas, down where he now lives. My Mum’s worsening Alzheimer’s just means it’s easier not to try and do things all together, as she won’t cope, and it stresses us all out. The only positive otherwise currently? After Dec 21st, the Winter Solstice, days will very slowly start getting longer again. And that’s what I need. Light, and sunshine, and maybe, hope…?

So Christmas 2020? Just like 2020 as a whole, and most of 2019, it can go do one. Last year was my first Christmas without Matt. This year will be my first Christmas without my son, and my second without Matt. It doesn’t get better. It doesn’t get easier. Did I mention I don’t like firsts? And I also know other people are facing their first firsts and I know how that’s going to feel for them, and my heart is breaking for them…

Lockdown Mark 2 did me in. Nearly literally. Having Tash home is great, a temporary respite, even though we’re both currently spending a lot of a time working separately. Having Austin visit for social distanced contact and food earlier this week with us both, finally making us our eternal triangle again, albeit briefly, was lovely. But I had and have trouble enjoying any of it. Because I knew it was and is all going to to go away again and I know that in a few weeks time, I will be back to living on my own, and not coping… I can’t live in the moment and enjoy what I do have, I always know it’s something I’m going to lose again. I’m trying…and failing dismally. My well of tears is constantly overflowing.

Thanks to Tash making me a list, and a degree of nagging, I’ve gotten a few things done this week. Including calling my counsellor, so hopefully she’ll be in touch soon. Whilst doing some research online the other day, I ended up doing a few surveys, and it would appear I’m probably suffering from severe depression. So, depending on what my counsellor says, I guess I’ll be calling my Doctor, and discussing more anti-depressants, even though I don’t want to go back on them. On the other hand, I don’t want to feel this sad and hopeless all the time either, and other people need me to stay here. But I need something that doesn’t have weight gain as the main side effect. I’m way larger than I was or want to be, even if I’ve started to lose a bit, and that’s seriously counter productive when it comes to my mental state. So…well…who know’s what’s going to happen next with all that?

With the other things coming my way; like Dad’s next hip operation, and having to find residential care for my Mum now, as she is now deteriorating…it feels like it all never ends. And it’s all on me. I just can’t catch a break. Not with anything. Apparently the engine of the Hyundai is seized, which can’t be a good thing. Sofia is still going, but I wouldn’t trust her for a long journey.

I’m doing a lousy job of looking after myself. I am at the bottom of a well without a ladder. How am I supposed to look after myself and deal everything else as well? Sometime it all just feels like too much. Too much responsiblity. When the next thing hits, and there’s always a next thing, I have no margin of error. No bounce. Knock me down, and it takes me forever to get back up again. The only thing I am consistently managing to get done is work, which is a saving grace. It keeps me busy, it passes time, and it earns me money, albeit less than it did thanks to this bloody pandemic. But at least I’m doing something, right?

I don’t know that there was a point to all of the above. It’s just a stream of where I am now. It’s not a great place. I can’t even imagine a better place. But I’m still here. Tash is here. We have some plans, lists of things to do. So, you know, one day at a time as ever, right? I wish I could believe that one day I will feel better. After all everyone says I will…even those in my situation…but I just can’t see it from where I am now. It feels like this is it, but that I just haven’t learnt to accept that yet. I’m still wishing what is isn’t…

 

 

Nest

My bedroom is a pretty small room. And there’s a lot of stuff in it. And a fair amount of mess. But it’s my room and I kinda like it, which is just as well, because it’s where I live. I sleep here. I wake up and work here. I venture downstairs occasionally to check the post, get food or drink, but mostly to feed the menagerie, before retreating back to my nest. On a good day I may end up downstairs at the end of the day to binge watch TV for a bit before bed. On a bad day I don’t. I just stay here, and read, and work, and sleep some more, and play iPad games, and kill time, before bed. Weekends I barely make it out of bed at all. Why would I? Have you seen the weather out there? The daily encroaching darkness?

My ability to sleep is prodigious. I am just so tired, all the time. The only thing I’ve achieved out of this ‘norm’ this week is to re-dye my hair again, and I’d been meaning to do that for like three weeks. Woohoo, go me, right?

Since lockdown started, I’ve seen 4 people. And I don’t count the people I saw at the shop yesterday, the first time I’d been out of the house in god knows how many days. All I’ve done is sleep, work, pass time, and repeat. I saw my folks a couple of weekends back and I’ve been for two walks – hence the four people I have seen – and I have two more walks planned. Which is good, I guess. But I still have to come home afterwards. And why would I want to do that? What is there to come home to?

It’s all just horrible. I am permanently sad and miserable. I feel locked down, and locked in inside my head.

Anywhere else I am in the house there is too much space. I am faced with the paperwork I should be doing. The tidying that should be being done. The washing, the chores, whatever. The cat crap on the floor again. Stuff I can’t face. And then there’s the space. The emptiness. The quiet. The void. Whichever room I’m in, I’m in on my own, where other people used to be. It all hurts. And a lot of the time I just can’t do it.

Back in my nest is just about ok. All the photos of Matt are back to facing the wall. As a space, it’s physically comfortable. There’s room for all three of the cats to be here, in whichever negotiated truce arrangement they’ve agreed upon. So here I am. The loneliness is overwhelming, and my brain just seems to be going “there’s no Matt, there’s no Matt” over and over and over again at the moment. I cry, a lot, all the time, at the drop of the hat. There is nothing, and nobody, to hold it together for.

I don’t write. I don’t post. It’s lovely when, rarely, someone pings me to ask if I’m ok, but how the hell am I supposed to answer that? You can’t handle the truth, and I’m just going to make you feel sorry for me, and bad because you can’t help me. So I don’t answer. I don’t reach out to people because, again, how the hell are they going to make me feel better? How are they going to fix things for me? And if you’re nice to me at pretty much anytime, by whatever media, or even in person, I’ll probably burst into tears anyway.

There is nothing I do that makes me happy. Sure, I can pass time, I can get distracted, I work. But no, nothing makes me happy. I’ve forgotten what happy feels like, it’s been so long. There just doesn’t seem any point to doing anything. Again, who cares what I do or don’t do? I certainly don’t.

I just don’t see anything changing. The only light is that Tash will be home for the Christmas holidays, at some point, for some time. And then she’ll be gone again, and I bet we get locked down again, and here I’ll be here again, just like this. So why the f*ck am I doing this? I know I’ll keep on doing this, one day at a time, because I have to. But having this be my life isn’t exactly a great thing to have to face up to and cope up with. It sucks. And that’s an understatement.