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…

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.

November Rain

I have had a hideous few days. Days without seeing anyone. Days without going anywhere. Shitty weather. Serious pain levels. Off colour. Endless tears, mentally at the bottom of the well… I came close to taking myself somewhere else last night just to, well, not be here on my own. To be somewhere safe. But I didn’t. I told myself to keep breathing. To keep getting through each minute. To get to bedtime and let there be a new day, a tomorrow. And here we are.

My bubble came over yesterday to help out with my car problems. Turns out that whatever is wrong with the Hyundai is more than just the battery – that’s fine, unsurprisingly, as it’s brand new. Something else clearly isn’t fine. Marvellous. So currently the Hyundai is a useless lump of red metal that we managed to roll forwards far enough to leave access to and from the drive open. It is going to need breakdown called out, and then money spending on it. Add another straw to the pile on the camel’s back…

So I took Sofia off the drive to put petrol in her, and to make sure I have some form of functioning transport. That done, I took her for a quick loop, to give myself a bit of a break, have a little fun maybe, and give her a bit of a run…and it turns out that whatever was wrong with her before Matt tried to fix her is still wrong with her. Which is oddly heartbreaking. So she’s going to need to go to the garage again and have even more money spent on her. Yet another straw…

I came home, parked up, came in, and cried all over Dad’s shoulder. Couldn’t help it. He hugged me, and did his best, and he did ask if I’d like to come and stay with them that night – they’re my bubble so it’s allowed – but I didn’t. He was worried about me, and didn’t want to leave me feeling like that and possibly at risk of doing something stupid. He hasn’t actually witnessed how upset and depressed I can be, and I didn’t have the heart to tell him that crying like that is how I’d been on and off for days, and that staying over there wasn’t going to help, as I’d still have to come home to real life. Running away doesn’t fix anything, though I will arrange to go and stay over sometime soon.

Today has been better. Better because at least during the week I have actual work to do. Actual purpose. Wake up late. Work until I finish. Eat something, play inane iPad games whilst watching whatever series I’m currently binge watching. Go to bed. Start over. It’s the weekends that are the real killer.

That and not seeing anyone. At all. So it was good to see my folks, even though they couldn’t fix the car, and if my Mum wasn’t, and isn’t, really with us these days. They were people. My people. And I’ve got walks scheduled with friends on Wednesday and Thursday, and maybe Friday. After all, I’m allowed out of the house to exercise with one other person. I also have work to do for the rest of the week. I have chores to do. Mum and Dad got all the cat food and essential supplies I needed for me on their way over here, in case I wasn’t going to be able to get out at all. I have white wine. I have beer. So I should make it to the weekend. Oh good…

Here, have a cat picture. The three of them are still shadowing me… This is Bri, our matriarch, in a rare, unguarded, snuggly moment :).

Private Universe

Day 3 in the lockdown house. Did I see anyone? Is the suspense killing you?
No. I didn’t.
This doesn’t mean I didn’t try.
I got up.
I did chores.
I did, impressively, have a shower and wash my hair which, since I didn’t put curly gunk on it afterwards, means I can re-dye it tomorrow.
But no.
I didn’t see anyone.
Because I got all ready, and left the house to move one car so that I could take the other car and…despite its brand new battery…we weren’t going anywhere. Not in that car and, since that one blocks the drive to the other, not in the other one either. The lights came on but…not enough power to kick it over. Battery? Starter motor? Alternator? Who knows…and there was f*ck all I could do about it right then. I didn’t want to call the breakdown guys, and Austin has my jump leads.
So, cue very messy breakdown, in many ways.
Like, I know it’s not important, but I’d built myself up, got ready, forced myself to do all the things I didn’t really want to do, so that I could go out, so that I could do the thing I’d said I’d do, when I’d rather have just stayed in bed.
And then I couldn’t do it.
Which pretty much wiped me out, mentally anyway.

On the upside this means that my folks – my bubble, so it’s allowed – are coming over tomorrow to see if we can jump start it, and move cars around and just in case we can’t, they’re picking up some things from the supermarket for the cats for me on their way over. I’m going to see actual people, in person! And people who won’t mind when I lose it and cry on their shoulders for what could be quite some time. I’ve already cried all over them down the phone today. Silver linings I guess…

And then, even thought I didn’t feel like it, I did join the new zoom group thingy. Which went ok. I made it through, I hope I wasn’t too annoying, talk too much, or whatever.

Last night I ended up throwing up when I went to bed. I think the flapjack I ate was too out of date. It could be because my pain levels are a bit off the scale at the moment. But then it could also apparently be a side effect of finally, after lots of tapering, coming off the meds. I was fairly nauseous today. But I ate marmite on toast. And it stayed down. So I joined the zoom. Both of which are good, right?

So that was Saturday. At least I think it’s Saturday… Luckily the final season of Game of Thrones turned up on my doorstep yesterday so I had that to watch. As the day passed FB and Google images delighted in telling me how wonderful my life was up until a couple of years ago. Lovely photos to see…if it wasn’t for seeing them, and his comments on them, ripping my heart out every time.

So overall, you know, not a great day. In case you were wondering, this is not going well.

Why’d you leave me? One day I will follow you into the dark. Let’s face it, there’s no light here.

Bubble

Day two of the second lockdown. It has now been over 48 hours since I have seen another person. Over 48 hours since I talked to anyone in person. Over 48 hours in which the only phone conversations I’ve had are for work or with family. The only physical contact I’ve had is with felines or reptiles. It’s just me, and a constant soundtrack of podcasts or, once evening comes around, the TV, until another day can be called quits and put behind me. It’s a very strange feeling. And now it’s the weekend. Which holds even less.

I’ll have to leave the house at some point, as I shall run out of cat food, and if I don’t feed them, I’ll be the mad old lady discovered because her cats have killed her and are eating the corpse. I’d say I’m joking, but they’re really into their food at the moment. They’re also paying me a lot of attention at the moment. They tend to all three be around me somehow most of the time. I guess I must radiate miserable. Or needy. Or something. Sometimes it helps. Sometimes it doesn’t. It doesn’t intrinsically change anything either way.

Maybe the sun will be shining, and I’ll gather up enough motivation to have a shower, and get presentable, and take Sofia out for a shopping excursion. Or maybe I won’t. I think I’m actually going to, uncharacteristically, join a new Zoom chat tomorrow evening. Because some conversation/virtual company is better than none, right? Either way I should probably have a shower and wash my hair. It’s coming to something when that counts as an achievement isn’t it?

Turn around

So it’s Tuesday. Lockdown starts again on Thursday. So in a bizarre way today feels like Thursday. And so tomorrow is Friday, because it’s the last day of the end of the current stint of “normal” life. Except it’s not Thursday. And I never could get the hang of Thursdays, virtual or otherwise.

But anyway. Thanks to the imminent re-closure of the world I have been unexpectedly blessed because several of my close friends have gone, you know what, we need to see her before this happens. So I have seen, and am seeing tomorrow, Ian. I’ve had coffee with Guy. I’ve had drinks with Chris. I’ve had drinks with Rob. Various people have checked in with me to see how I’m doing. I have talked to real people about real things, people I don’t have to be someone else with. Real, real, real, real. I am so thankful to you all for both thinking of and including me – for remembering that I’m struggling, when you have your own lives and challenges…and we’re all living chaotic lives and you didn’t have to make time for me. But you did. Thank you (as if those two words were anywhere near enough). Tomorrow is L-1 and I’m seeing Ian again, and we’ll hang out and chat, and it’ll all be lovely until…

…it all hits home. I’ll go home, and the prison door will swing closed behind me, keys will turn, and lockdown will be here.

But being boring, and sensible, rules are there for a reason, I have been brought up to do what I’m told. And if you’re bending those rules, or thinking that somehow they don’t apply to you, and you’ve got it all covered, you’re ok Jack…then you are most definitely part of the problem not the solution. I may not agree with the reasons behind it. I have done a lot of reading. I’m not quite sure what to believe any more. But if we’re in lockdown, we’re in lockdown. You may not agree with it either. But if there’s any chance of it working. it’s only going to work if we do what we’re told. Do what the rules say. It nearly worked last time, we just cracked too early.

You want to have Christmas with your family? Then follow the f*cking rules. Do what you’re told. You are not immune. Down here in the SW we got to feel somewhat safe and removed from it all for a long time. Low number of cases, low risk, blah blah. But it’s here now. We all know someone in town who has had it. Soon we’ll all know someone who’s ended up in hospital as a result of having it. And sadly some of us are going to lose people to it. It’s here. The zombies are knocking on the door. Don’t let them in! Is your reason for breaking the rules really worth someone else’s death? Let’s get this over and done with, let’s make it work. The sooner we behave, the sooner it ends.

I will be staying home. I will be working from home. I will not be seeing other people outside of that which is permitted. And, quite frankly, it’s going to be horrible. It is a seriously disastrous thing to be happening to me on top of everything else. My mental health is at rock bottom right now. Do you really think I want to be socially isolated for a month all by myself? Do I f*ck! And I don’t really care if I personally get Covid. But do I want to give Covid to someone else? Do I want to be unavailable if my folks need me because I have it or because I’m isolating because some other inconsiderate f*cker puts me in that situation? Do I want to be the patient X that spreads it out and beyond? Do I want someone to die because hey, you know what, work is a bit easier if I’m in the office, or because I wanted to have some fun, or do whatever is that I wanted to do to make myself feel better, because I decide I’m more important than everyone else, and it’s ok if I bend the rules right? Do you have any idea what the death of another person close to me would do to me right now? I think it would be the final nail in my coffin…

But hey, you know, have a rave in Bristol, because you know, you don’t want your civil liberties infringed, and you just want to have a good time…

*breathe*

But I refuse to face up to all of that until what is actually Thursday. What’s the point? I know it’s going to be a truly sh*t month. I know it’s going to be truly unbearable. I know that my feelings of loneliness are going to be even further off the scale than they have been lately. I’m going to have a month of that at least. Of that being my life. But is worrying it about it in advance going to help? No, it’s just going to make this particular period of hell start earlier than it needs to.

So I’m just not going there now. What’s the point? It’s coming, whether I like it or not. Don’t get me wrong. I am dreading it. I am quite honestly viscerally scared about how I’m going to get through it. But it’s not here yet. So, as they say, why borrow trouble from tomorrow?

Lock me down, and if I can get out of bed, I have things that need doing. I will get back on the spin bike more, since I can no longer hide in a quiet corner in a pub when life has become too much. I have a car that needs cleaning and valeting. If I’m lucky, I will occasionally go for a permitted and socially distanced walk with one person from another household. I will bubble with an as yet to be decided household, which will probably be my folks. I am going to end up having to Zoom more than I am comfortable with but, given the choice between that, and talking to myself and the cats, and the fact that if I don’t talk to people I’m going to be headed for a white padded cell or casket, I think it’s going to be another hurdle I have to get over. Hello Zoom. Hello Microsoft Teams. Hello FaceTime. I’m going to have to drag myself out of my comfort zone, since that comfort zone will no longer be comfortable anyway. And it will pass, and if we all behave, maybe we can have a couple of normal months before it happens all over again. Which it will.

I’m in a really really weird mental space right now, thanks to my stalker, the bitch next door, etc etc etc. But as ever it is what it is. I am managing to get some work done. I’ve got some chores done. And, oddly, just recently I have turned around all the photos of Matt and I again, and now I can see them all the time. I don’t know how long it will last; will I get to a point where it just upsets me too much and I have to turn them around again? Or am I going to get habituated to them and be able to smile back at him when I see him smiling at me? I don’t know. Right now it feels like a good thing. But…

I don’t know. Like everything else, there is no certainty. Everything is fluid. Let’s be honest, these days I don’t know anything. I don’t know how anything is going to go. Reality was already surreal. I am beyond lost. So one day at a time…

Here we go again…

Bubble

I’ve deliberately spent the last two/three days in my own little bubble. Austin has been working mostly. The sun has shone, until today. I have sat, I have read, I have listened to podcasts, I have played Evony and War Dragons, and I have achieved very little of any consequence. And when he has been home, we have hung out and watched films and eaten food etc, and I have generally spent most of the time trying very very hard not to think about anything in particular. Mostly successfully, apart from those breakthrough moments when some memory, some thought, breaks down those carefully constructed walls, and there you are, crying like a bereft child once again.

It’s like there’s a little voice in the back of your mind constantly going “I just want him back, please can I have him back?” and you can’t shut it up, how ever much you try, even though you know that can never happen. I never knew what it was like to want something so badly, and to simultaneously know you can never have it. I could want to be famous, I could want to win the lottery, I could want to win a medal. With work, or luck or training…there’s a possibility these things could happen, however slim. I can never, ever, have Matt back again. I recently rediscovered the word ‘yearning’, and I don’t know why it’s taken me so long, but that’s what it is. An endless painful yearning for what can never be…

We accidentally ended up in the Square, running errands, on VE day at the same time as the British Legion were doing a very limited socially distanced marking of the event, complete with a respectful toast to those who have gone before, on the Church steps. And there were quite a few people out to witness, watch, partake. More people than I’ve seen in quite a while. Several of whom clearly have no idea of what two metres is. But that wasn’t my real issue. It was more that town was suddenly a place of people again. It was a small, but limited, Axbridge celebration. And I was suddenly surrounded by people who know me, who know what’s happened, and Matt wasn’t there sharing it with me, when he always would have been, and my anxiety levels went through the roof, and I suddenly felt very self conscious and naked and vulnerable and scared and emotional, and I just had to go home before I lost it in public. Looks like I get to add social anxiety and possible agoraphobia to life now too doesn’t it? I can’t really explain it, but I didn’t feel safe out there; I wasn’t, and am not, ready to cope with facing up to it all in public again. Social distancing and lock down may suck, does suck, but it does also give you permission and justification for not facing up to anything or anyone. It has made hermits out of many of us.

You see most of the time I’m kind of used to him not being at home. I don’t like it, but there he isn’t. Thanks to my keeping busy work, I now have my two safe spaces there, one indoor, one out. My places were I can sit, and rock myself gently back and forward in comforting fashion, and pretend, and not think, and just be in my little make believe chilled little isolated bubble. But out there, outside my front door, wherever I go, he should be there with me. And I haven’t had to face up to his absence in such a way for quite a while. It hurt. And yes, I know it’s coming. I know the world will start turning again, and people will go back to doing what they always did, but I’ll still be here, or out there, missing him, wishing he was with me, feeling his absence everywhere I go. It’s like you all got to join my weird little socially isolated world for a while…but I’ll still be here when you get to leave. Lock down has made my life, and my mental health, a lot worse, but once it goes away, I’ll still be stuck here, in my self-imposed isolation, wondering what the f*ck happened, and how the f*ck I go on doing this, and when on earth it gets better, if it ever does.

And tomorrow is my beautiful sparkly niece Loren’s funeral. Which are words that should never ever go together. How is this even a thing? But it is. Somehow it is. So I am taking my Dad up to London, whilst Austin Granny sits, and then we’re coming back again afterwards, when I intend to drink far too much white wine until I go to sleep again. I’m dreading it. I don’t know what to expect, I don’t know how a funeral with only 10 people works, I don’t know how I’ll handle it, and I also know that how I’m feeling about it all must be just a tiny fraction of how they’re all feeling. In fact I feel bad even talking about how I’m feeling. I’m just worried, because I’m not really coping with me at the moment, yet I want to be there for them, because this is SO not about me, and I don’t want to get it wrong. So I kind of need to seal my crap away into a box for the day, with iron bars around it, and man the f*ck up, and do my best to do what needs to be done. For them. And for her.  And man, she would have loved the DMs I’m going to wear for her, in her honour. Her kooky Aunt will be out in force, living up to expectations.

I can’t imagine how we’re all going to get through it, whilst at the same time knowing that we will because none of us have any choice. It’s going to be a long and hideous and difficult day, and I just hope they know how much I love them all, how much I feel for them all, and that I wish I could do more for them. There are no words, and not enough {{{hugs}}} in the world for a time like this.

Sometimes life just sucks, and it’s not fair, and that’s all there is to it.

I can lie to myself

It’s been a tough few days.
I’ve been up.
I’ve been down.
I don’t feel entitled to be down when my brother and his family are going through so much.
But I can’t help how I feel.
And grief is not a competition.
I can’t turn it off, much though I’d like to.

So it’s been a long few days.
An Easter weekend, a four day break, a thing that would once have been a special weekend; time away, time by the beach, time being us.
Two years ago we went to see The Wonderstuff for what was for me, not him, the first time.
I, and my 18 year old self, loved it SO much, and love sharing that with him.
Another highlight in many years’ worth of memories with him.

And the days pass, not that anyone knows what day it is anymore.
Lock down has removed any sense of routine, of schedule, of normality.

Sometimes Austin is working, sometimes he isn’t.
I try and keep busy.
I sleep a lot.
I dream; spending time in a hundred different vivid worlds.
The other night we were back together; just us doing whatever the dream had in store for us, like life was normal, almost like he was checking in.
Oddly it didn’t upset me.
I was just pleased to hang out with him for a while.
If you’re out there, pop back any time, I can pretty much guarantee to be asleep for 12 hours straight once I’m out for the count.

And then there’s the hours I have to be awake.
I read. I listen to podcasts. I spin bike. I tidy. I walk. I do chores.
I sort through things I don’t want to sort through or deal with, but I make myself.
I’m rediscovering the garden, inch by secateured inch.
I’ve discovered I’m pretty good with hedge trimmers, though my health & safety measures probably leave a lot to be desired, though I haven’t ended up in in casualty yet…
I’m covered in scratches and thorns and sore bits and aching muscles.
But if I’m doing, I’m not thinking.
If I’m not thinking, I’m not missing him, or her, or feeling for them.
If I’m not missing him, then I’m not hurting, and crying, and thinking of all the plans we had for the garden and the house, and our life together.

I can try and tell myself I’m not missing him, that I’m doing ok.
But I can’t even lie to myself.
I’m not ok.
But I’m doing the best I can to get by.

And I do miss him.
So much.

Whole of the moon

Our house, in the middle of our street. Well, cul de sac anyway.
It’s my house.
It’s nothing special really, but I love it. I chose it, and eventually I fought to keep it.
It’s my/our safe place, it’s the roof I kept over the mob’s head and, for a while, it was pretty much home for Matt and I.
It faces south, with large picture windows.
And today, with clearish skies, and the full moon above, moon beams are streaming in through my bedroom window.
On nights like these Matt and I used to open the curtains, curl up together, and just watch the moon go by, lighting up the entire room, and us, in its passing.
It was a pretty much a full moon when he left us.
And it’s a full moon today.
He’s not here.
But the curtains are still open, and the moon is passing by once more, oblivious.
We both saw the whole of the moon, and it’s just not the same seeing it without him.
But it does remind me of so much…

Apparently it’s a super pink moon, the biggest and brightest of 2020…who knew? Hard to tell through the hazy cloud but still…

I’m looking out, and I’m looking up, and I’m thinking of you. Always. You were my star, and you still are, and I still look up and look for you and think of you, whenever the stars are shining bright. I love you so much, wherever you’re currently shining. You lit up my entire life as you passed through it.

The light that burns twice as bright burns half as long – and you burned so very, very brightly…

Mind’s eye

So apparently it’s Monday. Not that you can tell these days. But in honour of it being nominally the start of the week, I got up at some point, and did some work. I FaceTimed Tash for a bit. And the afternoon passed by. It wasn’t great, but it was you know, okish.

Then the boy and I decided to go for a short circular walk, to get out of the house and to end up at the shop – we’d run out of beer amongst other things. And as we walked out from the reservoir, down the main tree lined drive, towards the main road, a cyclist coming towards us bunny hopped over the speed bump…

And suddenly, dragged forth from somewhere in my memory, there was Matt, clear as day, ahead of me on his bike, bunny hopping over a pothole. And as the memory reel turned, I expect I called him a show off as usual, and he turned around and grinned at me, in the way that he did. And it’s been playing on loop in my mind’s eye ever since. It’s so vivid. And I know I’m torturing myself by watching it, but it’s so nice to see him, so vibrant and alive and so…him. But really all it does is point out, all over again, yet somehow freshly and anew, that I’m never going to see him again. I’m never going to see that grin again. I’m never going to ride a bike with him ever again. In fact I’m increasingly convinced that, even though I’m riding the spin bike, I’m never going to ride my bike again, because I just can’t see how I can without him. How is my beautiful boy not here anymore??? How am I supposed to carry on without him?

Everything is back to feeling so raw, so painful, and so pointless. There’s no respite to be found in being at work, or hanging out in company, having a few beers and pretending it’s ok. It’s just relentlessly the same, day in, day out. The sun shines, or it doesn’t, but I still feel the same inside. I can’t get away from myself, and I can’t, and shouldn’t, lean on Austin all the time. But I haven’t got anywhere else to lean. Right now we’re all stuck within our own four walls, and inside our own heads. And believe me, that’s not a good place for me to spend too much time.

I just want him back. I feel like I’m never going to be whole or happy again, because there is always going to be a part of me missing, and a part of me will always be missing him. I have to be here, I will continue being here, because I have no choice. But currently I feel like I’m just marking time until my turn comes. I need this lockdown to end. I need the world to start turning again. How can I move on while nothing is moving?

You may have gone on ahead, but one day I’ll follow, I’ve got your back, and I’m on your wheel…