Sad, but numb and sad, not restless and sad. I was sad about Abby and Mum and Grandpa and Rachel and Trump and helpless animals and children with no one to love them. I was sad about everything and nothing at all. Today I feel something like a sadness hangover, with tears just behind my eyes and my stomach feels funny like I forgot something and I can’t put my finger on what it is.
I’ve been trying to write, and I’ve been getting frustrated. I’m happy, I have nothing to write about. I need to write lyrics for a song, I hate everything that comes out of my head, I never realised how proud I am of my misery. I re-read every sad thing from every horrendous and painful moment I have documented, nothing. Everything I put on paper sounds generic and dull, who knew being blissfully content was so unproductive.
He stroked my face as he fell onto me. He observed my skin, some modern art he was trying to make sense of where no sense was to be made. The morning sun shone bright through the window, illuminating our milky skin wrapped closely round our bones. We had sex. It was fairly awful. It felt nice, but it was fraught and took place in a void where passion once existed in both of our lives. I wondered if it made him miss her more, I dare not ask. It didn’t make me miss anyone. I let him have control, I watched his face betray his new experience and I watched him finish much sooner than he would have liked.
Without limitations, transformed through the kaleidoscope of love
Everything’s beautiful now
Home’s not a room anymore; it could never be a house
It’s always where you are, my home is where you are
A close up of a corner, the curve before you smile
The shape of your shadow, with your shirt hanging down
Kiss, touch, look, laugh, push me, take me, hold my hand
Everywhere I look i’m seeing you
And everywhere I go i’m taking you, with me
Being happy retains novelty above any other experience I can claim to be my own. The bliss of 4 consecutive wonderful days leaves me peaceful, grateful and content. Bank holiday Monday draws to a calming close; I’m currently sat in a hot bath with the smell of roast potatoes creeping in around the door. I can hear Abby tidying, cooking. Draws bang and plates clatter but it’s a relaxing kind of noise, a homey and therapeutic soundtrack to accompany my last hours of the Easter weekend. I try to run all my thoughts through my head over and over, remembering every beautiful detail so that they might keep me company on darker days.
After having someone close die, a broken heart is the worst pain my body has been through. It wakes me up at 5am, I can’t eat and sometimes I can’t breath. There is no mental release and my muscles ache as much as my chest does. The foreign idea that this will get better is all that keeps me going.
Not only am I mourning the loss of my best friend and home, I am also acutely aware that she is going through a similar pain and somehow that makes it all ten times worse. I do not feel happy or hopeful, this doesn’t feel right, how could anything this painful be done with conviction.
I’m trying to comfort myself thinking of the resetting of bones, the pain that has to be experienced and even after that, the restrictive cast and the unreachable itch. I think I’m suffering some aftershock from the reset and I’m waiting to have my cast, some much needed support and structure even if im sure that too will come with its own struggles.