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…

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 :).

Ever the same

I’ve been out. I was honoured to be invited. And scared to go, since we’d usually have gone together. I got over the first “who’s she, with the purple hair and the piercings” reactions. And then later, when people were having the “she’s the one whose fiancé died last year” conversations, when they thought I wasn’t looking, I saw that too. Since you’re not me, I can’t explain to you how the looks that come my way are different depending on the conversation your spectators are having.  But you can tell. You can feel it in the quality of the looks that come your way. But nonetheless I went. I made conversation to strangers. I made an effort. I played nice. I was, thankfully, rescued by Gill and Tony reappearing, having apparently been there earlier, so I was with friends who I could actually talk to properly, honestly. And what has happened to me, has happened to me, and it, and other people’s reactions to it, is what it is.

And then we/I came home. Domestic bliss then became somewhat lacking since getting one of this weekend’s tasks – the emptying and removing of the long deceased axolotl’s tanks – had resulted in things ending up in places that didn’t go down that well in certain places. Which eldest didn’t appreciate when he came home from work. But I’m not going to apologise for parenting. My house is full of boxes of stuff that belong to people who are not me – most of which are eldest’s. All of it has other places to be, and if it’s yours, then I’m sorry, it’s yours, you deal with it, you sort it. I am the one working, covering the costs of the house, paying for the majority of all the food and socialising that goes on, when I know that you both have more savings than I do. Sort your own sh*t out, you’re not children anymore. I love you being here, and I don’t want you to leave because I am beyond scared to be alone, but that doesn’t mean you can take advantage of my gratitude for your being here.

In the meantime, my period has just arrived, three weeks late, which probably explains the last couple of days of being emotional. Hormones suck. I am now in a world of pain that most of you can’t imagine, I am drained, and tired, and you know what? I’d like just a little bit more appreciation of the shit I am going through whilst still managing to hold it together enough to keep a roof over our heads, to keep feeding us all, to basically give whatever I need to give both of them for them to be happy. They’re both old enough to know better. Like it or not, I am still the parent around here. Both of them are going to leave, to move on, to have their own lives, as they should. And I’m going to be left here on my own, inside my head, inside my four walls (if I can afford to keep them, which is seriously doubtful).

It’s not fair. None of any of this is fair. Life hasn’t turned out how any of us wanted it to be, none of us are where we saw ourselves a year ago. He should have been with me tonight. Last year he was, although looking back on it, he wasn’t at his best…and there I was tonight, feeling his absence a little keener then sometimes. Maybe the white feather I found on the walk down there meant something…maybe it didn’t. But for all that it’s ridiculous, that little feather brought me a tiny bit of comfort, and I’m not in a place where I can turn such things down.

I am trying to take these broken wings, and learn to fly again…but right now I feel like a fledgling that has prematurely and accidentally left the nest, whose parents have been scared off, and there’s no-one who has noticed; no-one is coming to rescue me. I’m just floundering around, trying to survive, the best I can, and hoping my best is enough. Nearly a year down the line, and I am still just coping with one day at a time. Reminding myself to remember to breathe when it all gets too much.

If you’re reading this, please check in, leave me a comment, msg me, whatever. It helps me so much, however selfish/needy that sounds. I’m just feeling lonely, and want to feel a little less alone. I need you.

Time to sleep. It’s safe there, mostly. It’s waking up that hurts. And tomorrow is Sunday, so there’s no rush to do that.

I hate the smell of lavender, but it’s supposed to help you sleep. So I’ll take the song instead, since deezer has just randomly brought it my way. After all, I was me for your love. Your love walked in and I was lost, but now the show is over, it’s time to say goodbye. Who am I now?

Helicopter

Something is going on out there in the fields south of us. There’s been a police car hurtling around, and now a helicopter is on its 5th pass. No idea why, or what they’re looking for, but all I can think of is the time the helicopter came here, and they didn’t save the day, couldn’t save the day, even though they did their best.

It’s been a bad day all ’round. The mob went off to see the Ex for the day, and I said goodbye, and then I rolled over and went back to sleep and fought as hard as I could to stay asleep for as long as I could, even though my dreams were weird and frightening, because I didn’t want to be awake, where my life feels like both those things and more. Finally I had to wake up and stay awake, and the first thing I did was cry. In fact I woke up crying, like a newborn baby ripped from the warm and comfortable into cold harsh reality. Partially because I could, I guess, because there was no-one there to hear me, and I guess also partially because I was going to be on my own all day with no plans, no sunshine, no anything, so I was lonely from the get go and things weren’t going to get better. There was no reason for me to be awake, no reason for me to be here, no meaning to my day or even my existence. I didn’t want to be awake and I didn’t want to be here. I still don’t, but I still am.

I did the usual stuff. I even hit the spin bike for a bit, and tried to do some invoicing and stuff at the same time, which I often do, until my computer and one of my email accounts fell out, and it all went pear shaped…and I just don’t bounce back any more. I have no margin for error. I have no wiggle room. If something goes wrong, that’s it. I can’t cope. I melt down. Everything becomes too much instantly and then I’m just a crying mess metaphorically bleeding out all over the floor. Although less metaphorically than usual, since it’s that time of the month, so now I have to deal with hormones, and cramps and, this evening, stabbing endo pain too. None of which I can cope with now, not on top of everything else. I managed to fix it all eventually, and have a shower, and sort of patch myself back together again, but that was it for trying to do anything constructive today. Wipeout.

Eventually the mob came home. They did their thing, I did mine. We watched a film and some TV. And now it’s bedtime and I get to do the whole thing all over again tomorrow. Maybe I’ll actually get the accounting and invoicing stuff done this time. Maybe I won’t. The painkillers are cutting in, which is something at least. Life just feels pointless. If I hadn’t been here today, nothing would have been any different. I neither added nor subtracted anything to anyone or anything. I just existed. The world kept turning, and would have done regardless.

And that helicopter is still going backwards and forwards, trying to find something or other, and now I get to have flashbacks before bedtime. Some things you just can’t un-see. They’re permanently etched on your retina; memories you wish you could forget but can’t. There are things you should never have to do, and we had to. And there it goes flying past again… I think sweet dreams are unlikely, don’t you?

Some days are just a living hell. Today was one of those days. Maybe tomorrow will be different. Or not. Guess which one my money is on?

 

Super moon

Tonight is the Super Flower Moon. And from where I’m lying, with the curtains partially opened, I can see it. And yes, it is big, and bright, and beautiful, and its light is streaming into our room…and once again I am not sharing it with him.

I am so low, so flat, and so lonely, at the moment. I just can’t pull my socks up, pick myself up from the bottom. Every day is the same day over and over again. Nothing changes. Nothing improves. My blood tests were clear, which you’d think was a good thing, but all it means is that I still have all the symptoms, and the pain, and no answers, thus no treatment. A referral, advice that might be forthcoming, an appointment that might happen if the world ever gets back to whatever normal was, but no answers. No help. Just more pain, on top of the usual pain (which is worse because my period finally arrived), on top of the pain of grief that is still ripping me apart however hard I try to be distracted, busy, focussed elsewhere… None of it works, and nothing is helping.

I’m just so damn f*cking sad all the time. I’m trying to avoid triggers, only to discover you can’t. They lurk, and then jump out and get you when you’re least expecting them – a random memory, phrase, something you see, hear…and I’m gone again, like I’ve regressed back to the early days, and the tears are falling, and the lump in my throat is back, and it just hurts all over, and over, and over again.

I’ve not just lost him, I’ve lost so much more than that. I’ve lost the me I was then, and am now someone I don’t even recognise, or like, and I’ve no idea who I’m going to end up being.

I can’t listen to music any more, when it’s been a massive part of my life for longer than I can remember.

I can’t drink fizz just for no particular reason at all, like just because it’s Wednesday and we fancied walking up the hill and drinking fizz, and even when there’s a genuine reason for fizz, it just feels all wrong somehow, to be drinking it without him.

I haven’t been able to go to a beach, any beach, since he died. And now I can’t even if I wanted to, and I don’t know if it would help or just make me feel worse anyway. We were never happier than when we were at a beach together, and I almost feel like I’d be betraying him by going there without him.

I can’t, and don’t want to, ride a bike without him, even though I’ve made it as far as the spin bike, I can’t imagine getting out on the road on my own, without him, without his support, without knowing that he’s there to get me home if it all gets too much.

I had music before him, and I had beaches before him, and I cycled long before him, but I don’t seem to be able to get those things back now that he has gone, having spent those years when all those things were done with him; always together, never apart. That was us. Even when we weren’t physically together, we were always in touch, always talking, texting. Always together, never apart. And now it’s never together and always apart. From one extreme to a very painful other. Together, alone. (take a listen, the lyrics pretty much cover it).

Time does not heal. Time just makes the distance between where you are now and where you were then greater. It takes you further away from your person when all you want to be is closer. Sometimes it makes the ache, and the yearning, even stronger. As time passes, I guess/hope I just get better at carrying those feelings, the loss, the insecurities, the void, with and within me. It’s pretty clear I’m not there yet…

And I know there are probably those thinking I should be moving on, I should be “over it” by now. I’ve already lost one friend, many months ago, who basically said he couldn’t read this anymore, that I was wallowing too much, and so he’d be taking his leave. So long and thanks for all the fish. Fine. Off you go then. Because that’s b*ll*cks.

There is no timetable. Everyone walks this path their own way, and if you’ve never had to walk it, well lucky you. Don’t you think I’d like to be feeling better, and happier, and positive? That was who I used to be. This is not the person I was used to being. But it’s just not who I am now. And I can no more make me turn from this into that, than you can hold back the tide. I will end up, once the waves have receded, washed up on my own internal beach, and I will never be the person I was. When something like this happens to you, your story becomes split. There is the life you had before it happened, and then there is the life that comes after it. And to have cared and been cared for, loved deeply and been loved deeply in return, and then to have lost that? How can you ever be the same again?

I am trying to learn to be kinder to myself. To not expect so much of myself. To not let other people’s ideas of how grieving is, or how it should be done, or when it should be over and done with, influence me. To take each day as it comes and to do what I can, when I can, to do what feels right for me. And if all I can do is sit and cry, then that should be ok too. Right now I really can’t imagine a time when I will ever be happy again. All I can do is hope that maybe that time will come, whenever that may be, and ride out the waves the best I can in the meantime. I just hope they don’t completely swamp me before then. Because I’m so tired of it all. I feel old, ugly, worn down, eroded; not waving but drowning. I cannot picture my future.

It is what it is. One day at a time.

I have to admit it’s not getting better

It’s not getting better. Not even with the sunshine. Not even with Austin at home.
I know the people talk of depression as the black dog.
This is not a black dog. Or cat. Or grey cloud.

I feel like I’m trapped in a hopeless dark place.
It’s the kind of feeling I think potholing would give me.
Stuck in a tight space with the walls and weight of the earth pressing in around me.
And panicky and scared that I’ll never get out.
That this is it.
This is how it’s going to be forever.
That this is my life until my life is over.

My thoughts have been ending up in some very dark places…

Oh, and the endo is off on one again too; now there’s a surprise. It always did have the most immaculate timing and, due to its hormonal nature, probably excarbates how I’m feeling. And it’s harder to cope when I’m in pain. It’s all very circular that way. Cycles, circles, circadian rhythms, ebbs, flows…

And with so much having happened, and still happening, as my oldest friend and I discussed today as she feels much the same albeit for different reasons (and it was so good to talk to her btw), I feel like I’m just waiting for the thing that finally breaks me. The one next thing that breaks the camel’s already weak back, and pushes me over the edge, to a place I won’t make it back from.

The way the world has been going over the last 8 months, I’m pretty sure it’ll come. That may sound fatalistic, but can you blame me? Really? I have plenty of reasons to feel that way. What can go wrong will, and has, gone wrong. I don’t know what it’ll be next. I don’t know what form it will take. I worry every time Austin goes to work. I worry about Tash being miles away and on her own and not with us. I worry about my folks. Heck, I worry about everything. And when whatever it is happens…?

A year ago, we were having a night away, in the sports car, in the sunshine, at The Sheppey, staying in our favourite room, just as a treat to ourselves. . It was amazing and private and happy and wonderful and everything we were at our best. And now? Another day of fears and tears. I don’t even recognise the me in that photo – that me is long, long, long gone. As is he. It’s like that me died with him. We’re both dead.

I was stupid enough to try and listen to music earlier…not a good move. And the random nature of what it churned out was beyond unhelpful. But since I did…in case, you need reminding, I need you, and I miss you, and I really would walk a thousand miles if I could just see you tonight.

And just so as you know, and you should have known, because I told you how much I loved you so many times; but I was amazed by you. You took my breath away. Eight months since you left, and I don’t love you any less. I think maybe I love you even more, because that love now has nowhere to go now. It’s all the things that aren’t. It’s the words I can’t say to you, the feelings I can’t share, the hugs I can’t hide in. It’s in all the tears that flow, the endless painful noisy crying that comes forth when I’m on my own. It’s in everything that isn’t and will never be.

What I wouldn’t give to have that car back on the road, with you behind the wheel, and us heading off again together, even if your driving did scare me witless half the time….

Love you forever, my eternally beautiful boy.

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…

Sometimes even sunshine isn’t enough

It’s been a bad couple of days. It’s the wrong time of the month, early, so my endo is viciously off on one and the pain is seriously hard to get on top of. With my hormones all over the place, and pain ripping through me, it’s just not a good place to be in to try and deal with how I was already feeling, let alone the latest tragedy.

Matt was the only person who understood my ouchy properly, and got it. I miss his support and empathy through the pain, not to mention his hugs. He’s the person whose shoulder I desperately, desperately want to be crying on now, now that we’ve lost Loren too. I am missing him massively all over again; it’s like the scab has been ripped off the wound and it’s all painfully raw again. I feel like I’ve been knocked back about four months; I keep crying all over the place, I can’t find the motivation to do anything, I’m just achingly sad all the time, about and for both of them, and I feel like I’m stuck in a black hole that I’m never going to get out of.

Austin is doing his usual sterling job, but in his absence, there is no-one to talk to, no-where to go, nothing to do. I can feel my mental health spiralling down the plug hole… He starts his full time job tomorrow, so I get to find out exactly how weird that feels, and how I’m going to cope. Not gonna lie, I’m scared…

The idea of just me left to my own thoughts rattling around my head all the time is not a pleasant one. Even the sunshine and being outside couldn’t lift me today. I bet I’m not the only one feeling this way out there either – this is not a good time for people living on their own, or with mental health issues, or both. I bumped into a couple of mates on my walk earlier – well, you know, at a respectable distance – and just having an actual face to face conversation was just amazing. It actually perked me up a bit, even if it didn’t last long. I just hope everyone stays locked down like they’re supposed to so that we can get this bl**dy virus under control asap, because I don’t know how much of this I can take. I’m lost and broken and scared and sad and incredibly lonely, and probably a whole heap of other not great things too. Life currently sucks.

Ain’t No Sunshine

As predicted I slept through most of today. Part late night, part mad dreams, part complete lack of desire to be awake and dealing with reality. Austin went off to stay with the Ex for the day/night sometime mid morning, so being awake would just have meant me rattling around the house home alone, and that doesn’t go well in my current mental state. Eventually I did get up though. Places to be, people to see. I did chores, housework, washing, whatever. And I even went and sat on the spin bike for an hour, for the first time in probably like 18 months. I may not have pushed it much, but I worked up a sweat, so I guess that’s good right? I’ve been meaning to do it. I did it. So I achieved something today, if you look at it like that.

But even while I was doing it, it was like, why? Why am I doing this? What is the point? The last time I did this, Matt was here; he’d just arrived home from picking up Tate for the weekend. I could practically see them both in the doorway, in that vivid flashback way that seems to come with grief. If I turned ’round they’d be there, right…? Each time that kind of thing happens, it’s like being punched in the gut. It winds you, takes your breath away. Turns out it’s quite hard to cycle while crying… My exercise routine was part of what our normal life was. And life isn’t normal now.

I know I should be worried about being unhealthy, unfit, overweight, whatever…but I’m just not. I don’t really know whether I ever want to ride my bike ever again, because it had become something that I always did with Matt, because he would always be there to make sure I got home if my health issues got too much and I couldn’t carry on. I say I want to, and I know it would be good for me, for the headspace, and hopefully for getting back to riding with friends and so forth. Sounds great in theory. But the idea of getting ready to go riding, putting kit on (supposing any of it still fits), getting the bike sorted, and actually getting on it and leaving the house…doing all those things without him? I’m not sure I can face it. I’d probably be crying too hard to even make it out of the Close, let alone out of town. Him, me, cycling, us; it’s all so intertwined I don’t know if it’s ever going to be possible to get back to a place where I’m happy to ride on my own. And let’s face it, even if I got past all of that, my health issues haven’t gone away. It’s going to hurt so much on so many levels.

In a related note, I went out for a cigarette the other day and someone wherever I was said, “you do know those things will kill you right?” And I was like, yeah, I do, and I don’t care. And I realised that I wasn’t just being flippant. I actually don’t. I don’t care if I get run over by a bus tomorrow. I may be doing my very best to cling on to life, and get the help I need to keep me here, but if someone/thing else should happen to take me out along the way well…that would be ok by me. That wouldn’t be my fault. It would probably come as a relief. Hey, by the looks of things, maybe Covid-19 will do the job. It’s certainly in the process of likely wiping out the few things that I have in my calendar that I am looking forward to. What chances of a gig in April or a show in May? I thought the shitty weather was bad enough, but no, life just keeps piling it on. Sure as f*ck ain’t no sunshine in my life these days.

Right now I’m at my folks again. Tomorrow morning we have another appointment as part of the long process of getting my Mum (agressive early on-set Alzheimer’s) sorted, so it made sense on several levels to sleep here tonight rather than at what passes for home, with Austin away. I had company, Dad had company, and there’s white wine. I’m fairly low maintenance really, even though I’m clearly also incredibly needy in lots of ways.

I can’t sleep all day tomorrow. I have to get up. So maybe I’ll try and make a start on this getting up earlier, going to bed earlier, drinking less thing. Or maybe I won’t. Ooh, the suspense…

Enter Sandman

Going away wasn’t good for me, as you’ll have gathered. I’m not surprised, I saw it coming. It was work, and he’d always have been there to help me; so that wasn’t a good start. But also Cornwall is one of our places. We’ve been there variously, for many reasons, many times. And being there without him? Not good. Beyond not good.

So that was sh*t, even though pretty much no-one else noticed, which says a lot in itself. And then I came back, and the last couple of days have been a little…weird? I’ve slept a lot, I’ve worked more than I thought I would be able to, I’ve been in a lot of endo pain, and I’ve generally just about functioned. I was supposed to be visiting one of my best mates this weekend, but I found myself in a place where I couldn’t. I felt, and feel, awful for letting him down (sorry Mark 🙁 ), but right now I just feel like I need to be here. Even though this isn’t home anymore, because he isn’t here anymore, it still kind of is, because it’s my place, my house, the one thing I salvaged out of the divorce, the roof I fought to keep over our heads, the place where after a long time of living apart, Matt and I finally got to be together, though sadly not for long enough. And I just feel I need to be here, with my crap, my cats and my chaos, even though Austin is going to be away on and off over the next few days and I may have some scary alone time to deal with. It feels oddly like a nesting thing. Being away can sometimes be good, even if it wasn’t this time, because you get to run away…but then coming home makes me cry because I know I’m coming home to a place where he still isn’t, and being at home can be an empty, and so lonely place. So why I should feel like I need to be here is a little bit beyond me, so I guess I can’t really explain it at all. But it is what it is, and I’m doing what feels right for me. I need to be here, and here I am.

I just know I’m having a really bad patch. And I feel like I need to take a step back from life, and try and look after myself, even though I’m not sure what that means. I know that right now any pressure, any sense of obligation, any conflict, would spiral me downwards, because I would feel like I’m not living up, not hitting goals, and also letting people down. I feel very, very fragile. And I know that I have been really down for the last few days and I am scared of how down I have been and where my thoughts have taken me. I am still scared.

Tonight, unexpectedly, I was out again, with Kevin and Simone, and then Austin, and other friends. Playing pretend. Fake it until you make it. It was a nice night out as these things go. I faked it, I didn’t make it, as ever. But it was ok, and I’m still trying.  Right now I’m just looking forward to going to sleep. I had amazing dreams last night; the sort that last for hours, a lifetime away, transporting you to another fantastical world, and at some point or another he was there. Maybe that helped this morning feel not quite so bad. I know they’re just dreams, but if I get to be with him again, even in an imaginary world, I’ll take that. So I’m going to watch Masterchef, I’ll have a glass of wine, and tomorrow I’ll wake up to another day. But since it’s Saturday now and tomorrow, I can just roll over and go back to sleep, and ignore the real world for as long as possible. And yes, I know, that’s probably not healthy, and that I should be focussing on being awake and getting stuff done and moving forward. B*ll*cks to that. I’m sure that time will come. Tomorrow, or make that today, is not that day.

Right now I think, as I have been told by many people, I need to let myself grieve. Which sound like I’m not doing that, like I’m doing lots of things to avoid it, and escape it, and run away from it… But I’m really not. And I’m not sure how letting myself grieve works. I am in a place where grief is something that just keeps on happening to me, as many people who have been where I am probably understand. I am not avoiding it – I can’t. It’s just a rollercoaster ride that I don’t want to be on, a sea I am swimming through and drowning in. Even though every single bit of me knows that there is no way he can ever come back, I still want him to. I read a newspaper article today about a couple who had tragically lost their daughter, who said they were just waiting until they died so they could be with her again. And I get that, even if I don’t believe it works like that. Like them, I am just treading water.

So I’m going to hang out here. I’m going to do chores. I’m going to talk to the cats, in crazy old lady fashion. And in my empty house I’m going to cry when I want to, and wail and howl, and let it all out. Austin will be home at some point, and I’ll hang out with him when he’s here. And when he isn’t, yes I could reach out to people, but I won’t, because I know I won’t be honest with them, and so they won’t know they need to help me. That’s on me, not them. To be fair, I have tried, but I’m probably not very good at it. I don’t trust anyone anymore, as I’ve been let down when I have, so why would I? But I’m still here, and I’m still clinging on, even though I sometimes don’t want to. One day more…

To sleep – perchance to dream: ay, there’s the rub,
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil…

PS: I recently had a comment from someone thanking me for my blog and how it speaks to them. I can’t tell you how much that means to me. The very thought that, even from down here, I can be of any sort of help to someone going through what I am also going through is amazing. Thank you for reading, and thank you for commenting.