For whatever reason, today my brain has become obsessed with the reality of the fact that I’m never going to see Matt again. Now clearly I should have known this, but it just appears to be stuck on loop in my brain. Like I don’t usually cry enough. And it is so hard. To accept that I’ll never see him again. Ever. Anywhere.

To add insult to injury it’s “that time of the month” so I have added hormones and cramps and pain to go with the ever overflowing reservoir of tears. Peachy.

Every cycle. Every new moon. The season changing. All there just reminding me that the world is moving on without him. And I’m supposed to be moving on without him too. But I’m not. Maybe I don’t want to? But I’m definitely feeling worse not better, even if people keep telling I’m looking better. The only reason I look better is because I’m losing weight, have a minor suntan, and can’t be arsed to pick my face as much as usual, so my skin isn’t as bad as usual. Not because I’ve suddenly gotten over the fact that Matt is dead and I’m not.

The only thing I want to happen at speed at the moment is getting off these meds and on to the new ones. I’m probably over relying on them helping, but I’ve got to focus on something…

I don’t think I’m ever going to believe you’re gone. I do know I’m always going to miss you. ♥️😥

I did try

I did try not to cry first thing this morning. I held it off for as long as I could. Bit of a waste of time really. Didn’t work, dam broke anyway. Ah well, time to cry into my latte then. Then I’m going to try going to work. Then a break. Then back to work. Leastways that’s the plan…

We tried to go and stay over at my folks last night. I did the coastal walk down to the Windmill with Austin, which Matt and I used to do all the time, and pretty much wailed the whole way there. I couldn’t finish my food, conversation was choking me, and eventually by subtle txt msg I persuaded Austin to take us home once we were back at their place rather than to stay over; because I just couldn’t do it. I couldn’t go and sleep in “our room” in yet another bed where he wasn’t going to be. I must apologise to Dad better today…but there was too much Matt shaped void everywhere for me to cope with, including his favourite beer being on tap.

I tried to take a nice photo on the walk down, but I just can’t smile for photos, it feels like I’m lying, and the last photo taken there was with…yep, Matt of course. So shit photo really.

Luckily by the time we got back to our house, bike bracelet Gary was up for an emotional wreck turning up on his doorstep, and just being able to talk a lot and shoot the breeze a bit calmed me down quite a lot. Because if I’m not talking, I’m crying. And frequently I’m doing both. I need people not to mind that.

It’s just that I’m not really holding it together and when some very nice chap today asked me, while I was sat on a bench in the Square, if I had enough people around supporting me, my honest answer was no, not enough. Everyone expects me to ask if I need help or company, whilst not realising that reaching out is really difficult for me, and I don’t want to impose, or intrude, or bring people down.

It’s weird who turn out to be the supportive ones and who don’t isn’t it? I barely know him, but he was more help in 5 minutes than some have been in hours, and he came over cos he could see I was struggling, rather than turning his head and walking on by as others have been known to do. I may chat to him again at some point too.

I’m just lonely and needy and I don’t know what to do with myself the entire time. Whoever myself is now.

Waiting waiting waiting….

Waiting for the Coroner’s investigation to move on, whether we like the answers or not.
Waiting to come off these meds (which I think have made things worse) to get on to the new meds (which clearly I’m hoping will help).
Rang the recommended counsellor, who work have very generously offered to help pay for. However, predictably, it turns out that she’s away for a week and then on training for the week after. So that’s more waiting then.
And then I’m waiting for a patch, however small, when I feel like I’d rather be alive than the alternative.
Yes I’m getting through from one day to the next, kinda, but this isn’t living. It’s barely even existing.

Maybe I should just sell up, store everything, and then f*ck off somewhere until, well ever. Bearing in mind I barely managed to get out of bed today, that seems unlikely. At least here is where he was, and I can kinda sense the echo of him, and us, around me. If I concentrate very hard and close my eyes in the snug in the Oakhouse, I can almost feel him holding me. Scarce comfort is better than none.

And Axbridge have been really supportive, even if the novelty of looking after the wailing banshee has worn off now, let’s face it, who can blame them?

So if I left I’d be lost & lonely in the middle of wherever without you, knowing no-one. Instead of stuck lonely in the middle of a twilight world with you.

Man I wish you’d come back. I miss you so much. I really hope you know that.

Out and in

I had a nice day out today at the Frome independent market with Sharon. But I did have to bail at one or two points – it was too busy, there were too many people, too many happy people. I couldn’t cope. But she coped with me, and we muddled through it, and being out somewhere else is better than my constant hanging out in Axbridge, wishing people would approach me, and talk to me, and include me. Mostly I just sit in a corner in a pub and people leave me alone. Well I’d have a sign on my head if I wanted company right?

Matt would have loved it today. Street food, artisan beer, cool clothes, funky jewellery… live music, buzz, everything. So I missed his presence massively all day, just as I’m missing it now. As always…so bad. How can you not be here? When I reach out my hand now, to where yours always was where are you now? I am a long way from acceptance that’s for sure.

I wanted to come home and tell you all about my day and share it with you. But I wouldn’t have had much to say as I couldn’t even really be bothered to shop or rummage or anything; what’s the point when there’s no one at home to share it with? It feels just like a waste of time. As does everything.

Claud the Butler (the coffee guys I’ve known for years) were there, so I said hi, and he expressed his condolences on my bereavement. God knows how he knew – Twitter I guess. But that’s who I am now, the bereaved one. They won’t remember but I’m pretty sure they met Matt. Yet another void opened up when I wasn’t expecting it.

Maybe some people would think I’m being over self indulgent and wallowing and I should be moving on and getting on. “Matt wouldn’t want me feeling like this now would he?” Well actually, he’d probably be quite pleased to see that I love him just as much as I always said I did, even when his insecurities wouldn’t let him believe me. I love you, you eejot! I told you so many times – was this much proof necessary? And whatever he might actually want, he can’t tell me, and I can’t do anything about how I am actually feeling, and I can’t stop expressing those feelings, because bottling things up just makes me feel worse. If you didn’t want me to feel this way, maybe you shouldn’t have died? Just a thought…

Youngest has gone back to uni. Fingers crossed… While eldest seems to have tonsillitis. One thing after another. And another shit day looms ahead. At least it’s a Monday so I might get some time passed by doing some work. I don’t know who I am right now, and I’m really hoping sorting the meds will give me a break. Which I know will take weeks. But I’m not sure how long I can cope with the relentless unbearable unending pain. I feel like what’s left of me is being eroded and there’s less and less left.

Miss you my beautiful boy. I thought time was slowly supposed to help. It’s not. It’s getting harder.

Broken wings

Matt popped up in a couple of my dreams last night. At some point when I had my middle of the night being awake bit, I vaguely remember thanking him for popping by. But after the second one, after which I had to wake up for real…waking up was 100 times worse than usual. Every time that happens, it’s like having him instantly ripped away from me all over again. And I can’t roll over into his arms, and snuggle, and tell him about my dream and how weird it was and have him hug me better. There’s just an empty space where he’s supposed to be. And I still can’t understand why he isn’t there.

So eventually I got up. Had a shower – because it’s considered socially unacceptable not to do that from time to time. On the upside, it’s harder to hear me crying when I’m in the shower, which is probably nice for the kids, especially as I was in full belly deep wail mode this morning. On the downside it’s one of the places I miss him most. We always showered together. My balance isn’t great – and he’d hold me up, make sure I didn’t fall over if my legs were having one of those days. And let’s face it, small shower, two people, skin on skin, is a cosy intimate thing. I miss him kissing me while I rinsed the conditioner out of my hair. I miss that he loved my body and I don’t even like it. I can almost feel him there when my eyes are closed, and it hurts so much I can’t breathe. Showers are very short functional things these days.

And here I am again. Hiding out. We made it out in time for the tail end of the Farmers’ market and now the mob are doing their thing. They’ll join me later. So I’m doing exactly what I used to do post divorce. Sitting in a pub, so I can see and hear life, without actually having one. Whilst also trying not to cry too much in public so as to not make anyone feel awkward.

Saw the Dr yesterday. Not the best conversation because I don’t agree with a lot of what he was saying. But we are going to change my anti depressants. Which means two weeks of coming off of the citalopram, before I can start the mirtazapine (which helped post divorce) and weeks before they will work if they’re going to. They’ll make me put on weight so you can bet I won’t be on them for any longer than I have to be!

I know drugs aren’t the answer. But I need something to smooth out the rough edges a bit, numb things a little. I just need a break, because this is relentless and overwhelming and unbearable and my thoughts can end up in some very dark places about that…and I’m led to believe that’s a bad thing.


So the coroner still can’t give me any idea when we might get any information or progress. He’s very nice and professional and sympathetic but he can’t give me information that he doesn’t have.

I keep falling asleep early, probably to escape being awake and get another day over and done with . Except now I wake up in the wee hours, and can’t go back to sleep because he’s not there all over again and I so wish he was, and there go the floodgates.

Then I finally fall asleep again. Wake up at a more sensible time. And start crying all over again, because nothing has changed has it? I didn’t realise it was physically possible to cry this much. Mornings are like a non-stop flow. Right now I’m hiding at the Oakhouse again, crying, and girding my loins so as to try to spend some time at work again.

I am getting some work done, which is good, but two hours is my threshold. At which point I just can’t anymore, and I need to be somewhere else, because I just don’t see the point to what I’m doing. Work are being adorable though – more of which another time.

In the meantime…as of 8:30 this morning, it’s now been seven weeks. It feels like years, or minutes, depending. The changing of the seasons is upsetting me because I don’t want the world to move away from him and us. I’m not moving anywhere, I’m just stuck. And I have yet another completely empty weekend ahead of me, and what use are weekends to me now? Sure, we’ll figure stuff out. But it’s not something I’m looking forward to.

If a picture paints a thousand words…

I now have loads of printed photos of Matt, thanks to that thing we now do where lots of the photos of the deceased’s life get to be put on display at the “wake”. I try not to look at them. I tried putting some of them up. And sure, it was nice to see him. But it also just made me cry. I had to take them all down again.  Oddly though, I do still look at them sometimes, either the real thing or on my phone, like I’m worried I’ll forget him/us (plenty of others seem to have done), and I miss seeing him so bad. I love seeing his grin but… It’s a bit of a lose/lose situation. 

I have access to all his photos too. And to see how he saw me? Amazing. And all the photos we both have of us together, we just look so happy. But it’s like our whole life together has been reduced to snapshots, to photos. Static images of something that was so vibrant and active. And I know I should be happy to see them, and enjoy the happy memories we made, but all my brain can do is the “never again” thing and cry a lot.

Did I mention how fit he was? Like drop dead gorgeous. (Unfortunate choice of phrase I know). And he thought I was too. Neither of us believed the other. But he was gorgeous as and I still don’t understand how I got to be that lucky. And there’s no way I’ll ever be that lucky again. To meet someone who’s crazy matches my crazy perfectly, in every single way.

So, now we’ve established that, would you mind coming back now please? 😭💔

Who am I?

It’s weird.

I don’t have a ‘name’ now. Or a status.

I’m not a girlfriend anymore. I’m not a partner anymore.

Having not been married, just engaged, I’m not a widow either (his estranged wife gets that privilege).

So I’m back to where I was the best part of 4 years ago. I’m a mother. I’m a divorcee. And I’m single. Neither of which have anything to do with Matt. And I hate that loss of connection. I was everything to him and he was everything to me, and that’s all gone and now I just feel like I’m nothing.


Woke up. Wailed. Did some work. Lost the will to work and the ability to hold it together. I’m meeting Alan for a coffee at 2 so I’ve come out early.

Eldest is off being trained to be a C1 driver. And youngest is totally wrapped up in her own world. So much so that I feel uncomfortable being emotional in my own house. And I know she doesn’t mean it, but her vibe is a bit like ‘can’t you stop it now for chrissake?’. And bottling it in doesn’t work for me, it makes it worse.

So yes, I’m out. I can work from here later. I’ll probably go and sit in the church for a little bit too. Which is apparently something I do. Not for religious reasons (like, as if!), just for some peace, and quiet, and privacy. And if I want to talk to Matt, I might as well do it in a building dedicated to talking to another man that doesn’t exist right?

Matt doesn’t answer either…