Every feeling

Do you ever hear a song and it just hits you there -a place inside and it speaks of everything of you and who you are in that moment? Your experiences, your thoughts, your pain, and your hopes and dreams?

This is one of those songs.
I heard it in a netflix show and it moved me, and I wanted to share.

Just in case it does not link right here is the name and lyrics.

Ezra Furman – Every Feeling

I’m gonna feel every feeling in the book tonight
Fuck the hurt
Fuck the pain
Fuck the panic
Fuck the hate

I wanna feel every feeling in the book tonight
And only love
Only love and happiness will remain
Only love and happiness will remain

I wanna feel every feeling in the book tonight
Fuck the panic
Fuck the hurt
Fuck the sadness
Fuck the shame

I’m gonna feel every feeling
And only love
Only love will remain
Only love will remain

My latest session – mother hunger, whistling and a repaired rupture

Following on from my post about maternal longing, I went to my most recent session with a plan to read out what I had written here. There were lots of things that I could have talked about, my upcoming sick note review and whether I was ready to return to work, thoughts and feelings about recent UK news/events, an update on some previous session topics…. But I was brave, and with all my WordPress people in my pocket I decided to do the tough thing. I’m glad I did, as I feel I was finally able to fully repair the rupture and let that awful August session go.

Unfortunately things didn’t start too well, I’d had a bit of a mare getting to session, I had a pharmacy flu jab appointment booked and they ran late, which caused massive anxiety (along with also being needle anxious too) so I had to make a mad dash across the city centre to get to therapy. Normally I like to get there about ten minutes early, gives me time to visit the loo and then acclimatise in the waiting room, get my thoughts in order and in the right mindset. This didn’t happen, I arrived 30 seconds before my appointment, a sweaty breathless mess. I was in no state to read anything out, and knew it would take up time to wait. So I asked if Ella would read it, explained how difficult and painful it was to be sharing and said that I was sorry. Ella asked what I was sorry for and I said she would know when she had read it. I shared that I wanted to hide, but that I was so out of breath and had already been triggered that day with the mask waring at the pharmacy. Ella said to hold the cushion and I could hide that way without covering my face, which I did, and that she wouldn’t look if I didn’t want her to. She then read my post.

On finishing reading she said in her soft, gentle Ella voice that she could find nothing that would require me to be sorry, and she thanked me for my honesty. She asked how I was feeling now. I was able to say that I was shaky and getting flashing lights and tunnel vision and I was fighting to stay in the room. We discussed some of the thoughts and feelings I had, I shared where and how I was feeling the sadness in my body. I spoke of my confusion around my mum and the conflicting feelings, and the shame. Ella responded compassionately to this, and validated it. I was feeling really heard, and whilst the pain inside was intense, it wasn’t overwhelming me and Ella was right there with me in it. I talked about how I blame myself and Ella said she was keen to help me shift this blame, not necessarily on to others as that might not be helpful, but to not be holding on so tight to it. I could feel myself getting vulnerable, a young part was here and was scared.

Then… whistling…. 

Whistling is a massive trigger, and whilst I have worked on it, just as a young part had come out it happened. Someone walked down the corridor past the door and started to whistle a tune. And me and my parts were gone, back to the past and the pantry and the abuser whistling as he came to get us. 

I could vaguely hear Ella trying to get us back, trying to ground us in the present, moving into my field of vision. I heard her say “can you hear me darling, can you hear me sweetheart” and I could but she seemed so far away and I was frozen and couldn’t let her know. She said she was going to touch me and I felt her reach out and hold and gently squeeze my arm, and slowly I came back into the room and started to shake and tremble. 

Ella asked me to name things I could see in the room. All I could focus on was the lamp, but I couldn’t say lamp, I was trying to vocalise but I had no voice. I started to shake more, panicking now that I could not speak. Ella continued to reassure that she was with me and I was safe. She then moved and reached for the pine cone, the transitional object I use for breaks. She held it in front of me and with lots of encouragement (as I was still trapped in frozen fear and didn’t want to move) I reached out and took it, and squeezed it in my hand. Ella asked if a drink would help, it took me ages to think and then answer, I was eventually able to say in a barely audible whisper “water”. Ella asked in such a caring voice if I would be ok for 30 seconds and I nodded. She came back and helped me take a drink, saying good girl and that she wanted to help me get my senses back online and try and slow my breathing down. 

We tried again naming five things I could see, and I could do it this time, mostly in a quiet voice and much slower than I normally speak. Ella then asked me about what I could feel and got me to notice the feeling of the floor under my feet, the feeling of the sofa I was sitting on. I also was able to share the feeling of the pine cone. Ella asked if I’d like to smell something lovely and she got out some room spray, it’s a smell I associate with Ella and really helped me with the grounding and feeling safe, but then being fully present again set off a massive shame response and I started apologising. Ella reassured I had nothing to be sorry for. I asked for a hug and Ella sat back, opened her arms and allowed me to snuggle in and she held me and said how well I was doing and I had nothing to be sorry for. 

I don’t know what it was, maybe being held and comforted, or feeling safe with the room and the smell, but I shared all the things I’d left unsaid about the rupture, and that I wondered if Ella wanted me to do better so she felt less pressure. Ella said I was doing great, that there was no better or worse, and said all the things I’d needed to hear about the relationship and the therapy process/journey. I held on tighter and listened to her heart beat as Ella told me how brave I was and that “we’d got this”. 

It was during this cuddle that I finally felt like Ella and me were really OK. The session and rupture two months ago had convinced me that Ella didn’t care, yet here, in this session (and probably in previous ones) was clear evidence that she did. She hadn’t run away from the maternal transference I had shared, she hadn’t run away from the intensity of my attachment to her, she hadn’t run away from my triggered state, she hadn’t run away from my feedback. She was there with me, literally and figuratively, holding me, holding my pain. Her words and touch had been tender and warm, her heart clearly was in the work and I could feel it, the love she has for me and my parts. I felt so held and so safe and had started to fall asleep but Ella gently roused me as it would soon be time to go. She gave more reassurance, more encouragement and whilst I didn’t want to leave this safe bubble I knew I must so I pulled away, looking Ella in the eyes and holding her gaze for longer than I have before, and again seeing the same evidence. 

And then it was time to go. We made more small talk about jabs and James Bond, and I left, and inside I was agreeing with Ella, we have got this. 

Thank you WordPress friends, I don’t think I would have shared my writing without your encouragement, and I don’t think I’d have been this honest without having shared the writing. That’s why I love it here and love you all xx

A journal entry on maternal longing, should I take to therapy?

I thought for todays blog post I would share an entry from my journal. Its a tough one. I want to read it to Ella in my next session but feeling the fear big time with that! When you read you’ll understand I think… 

Journal 9/10/21

I am feeling a lot of sadness at the moment, reflecting on my mum. Not particularly the abuse or loss, but more about the mother daughter relationship, what it was, what it wasn’t, and what little me then and now feels – pain, longing, and deep deep sadness. 

I don’t remember what age I was when I starting wishing I had a different mum, if this wish came about at the same time that I maybe realised something was different about me and mum and our family, or if it was the abuse that triggered it. I have some good memories of mum, of good times, so feel a lot of guilt and ‘badness’ that I wished for, no, yearned for someone else. She tried her best I think, she was unwell, she (I’m pretty sure) had her own unresolved trauma. But as a child none of that was known to me, I think I knew on some level that I just wasn’t wanted enough. 

There was a time, before the worst of the abuse started, that I was allowed friends. And I’d get to go to their houses to play, and I’d want their mum to be my mum too. I can’t fully describe them now, I wish I could, to try and understand what they had or did that my mum didn’t. I wish I could fully remember. There was hair platting I think, and laughter and childrens drawings on the fridge. But there must have been more. Children don’t generally want a new mum for something small like drawings being valued and having her hair platted. 

Then there was the teachers at school. One teacher I loved so much. I was six I think, still in the infants building. She was called Mrs Towns and one day I fell over and she took care of me, getting me a blue paper towel and drying my tears and sitting me on her knee and holding me. There were times I wanted to tell her about the games in the car but I didn’t. Instead I started to hurt myself deliberately so I’d get her care again and I’d fantasise that she told me she was really my mum or that she would adopt me like what happened in the book to Matilda, and I would get to go home with her. As I look back and see that little girl with a bleeding knee snuggled in I feel dispair and grief, she just wanted to be loved, unconditionally loved, and she never had that and probably never will.

In later years there would be more teachers, at high school I would linger in places and hope to be asked how I was, I would be the good student so I’d be noticed, praised and treated kindly. Its shameful to admit that this behaviour has re-emerged periodically at times as an adult, in education and in work. It’s also come into therapy, the presence of adult me who seeks approval and craves kindness and compassion, and the little mes inside with their needs and wishes, still wanting so much to be loved. Maybe this is why Ella felt the pressure and shared it that session back in August, and why the comment she made about dependency and why she doesn’t have kids hurt so much but also makes a lot of sense. I’ve been sending out mother me vibes, the maternal transference has been present, and so anything she said was going to feel rejecting to me, and maybe uncomfortable and unwanted to her. 

It’s not just when I’m awake that I am processing all this. I had a dream a few nights ago. In the dream I was told now as an adult they’d been a mistake and I had a new mum and I met her and became a part of her life and family and it was wonderful. I could go to her and be able to say how I felt and she’d look after me. Then after some time had passed I was told “actually your not the one we meant”. I had to leave and go to this empty room in a big old house with exposed floorboards and peeling dirty wall paper. Out the window I could see my no longer mum with her adult children, laughing and eating together and it was heart breaking. I then woke up, and remembering the dream cried into my pillow. 

There is a strong desire for me to start working on this, but a lot of shame and fear too. Some of the people I follow have been sharing screen grabs of passages from a book called Mother Hunger. The title immediately grabbed me and I could relate to it, the hunger, the yearning, so I downloaded it. I’ve not been able to read more than the intro and the first chapter. But I already see myself and my story in the pages, I can relate to the feelings and behaviours described. The introduction states that the book will help me recognise what I lost and reclaim what I need, but that it can be a painful process. So I plan to talk to Ella about it before I read more, as I feel I’m going to need her support for the powerful feelings I’m sure will come up, but need to check that she is OK with it before we go there as I would hate for her to feel the pressure again, or to cause another rupture in my pursuit of healing.

End of journal entry

So……. do I raise it with Ella? I guess my hesitation is wanting to protect us both, wanting to avoid more rejection, or, worst case scenario, termination. But if I don’t talk about it its a mighty big elephant to be going unacknowledged and unaddressed…

My trauma/therapy/mental health bookshelf

Hi everyone, I hope you are all well.

I don’t know if I have shared this in the past but I am a bit of a bookworm. I can read a book a day, and love time spent curled up under a blanket reading (its an escape). The kindle is up there with sliced bread in terms of good inventions (I struggle with traditional books for several reasons). Unfortunately being able to purchase books easily, and some really good deals (99 pence books) means I have a ‘to be read’ pile a mile long, including a range of non-fiction books I started buying before, but mostly after starting therapy. I would see peoples recommendations on wordpress or instagram and add it to my library or wish list.

I thought I might start sharing some of the books I have read (and will read!), and let people know some of the themes and content, and what I have gained from reading in terms of insight, ideas, triggers, topics for therapy etc. I would love to hear other peoples thoughts too, I gain so much from other people.

I have included some photos below of the non-fiction titles I currently have, so if you see one and want to know more let me know. I am also happy to take requests lol!

I will probably start with Carolyn Spring as it was a book recommended by my therapist in the early days and had a big impact, so look out for that.

Thank you for reading 💜

Some thoughts…

This might be a bit of a rambling post so apologies in advance. I just need to get some stuff out, my head and heart are hurting so much. 

I have been aware of the news about Sarah Everard and her killer being given a whole life term today. 
I couldn’t read much. I saw the headline about how she was fake arrested as a way of taking her, and then a small part of her mums statement. My heart went out to her, and the rest of Sarah’s loved ones. 

It is so so horrifying and I am struggling with the feelings and thoughts about Sarah, and her last hours, and about woman in society and how safe it is for us. 

Then there has been the well meaning tweets and posts starting about what to do as a woman if you are arrested by a lone male officer. Resist the arrest, refuse handcuffs, call 999, refuse to get in the car. Its well meaning but I doubt would make much difference. Resist and you will be tasered or your arm broken. Try not getting in a car when someone is forcing you. How do you call for help if someone has taken your phone. 

People write these things because I think it helps them feel a tiny bit safer. That they have some sort of power and that the worst of humanity can’t happen to them. It’s like the usual advise, don’t walk home alone, stay in groups, wear appropriate clothing, don’t leave a drink unattended etc etc etc. As women we are told all the things we can do to try and stay safe, to try and survive. But if an abuser, a killer, has a need then you have nothing. Because they will do what ever they have to to get their need met. You have no power or control. 

I should count myself lucky that the guy on the bus just wanted to rape me. After that happened I blamed myself, that I’d drunk too much, been too trusting. The truth is, I was targeted. It was a busy bus during the festive season. I should have been safe but I wasn’t, not because of what I wore, or that I’d enjoyed 2-4-1 cocktails, or what bus I caught, or that I had left my friends, I wasn’t safe because a violent man decided I wasn’t.

Until the root issue of male violence and abuse against women is addressed there will be more of us hurt and killed. More heartbroken families. More pain, more fear, and more well-meaning, but ultimately meaningless advice. 

A letter to my best friend

**I have been watching Dug Days on Disney plus (its a spin off from the Pixar film Up) and the last few minutes of the last episode had me sobbing. I wanted to share something I wrote in May, I have edited the dates but the rest is the same and still spot on in terms of my thoughts and feelings now.**

To my beautiful doggy, 

It’s been over seven years now since we first met. I wish you were here to celebrate. Instead all I keep thinking about is the last time we snuggled, when I gazed into your eyes for the last time. Some days, even eight months on, I miss you like I’d miss air if that was to go from the world. Gasping, crying out, pain filled moments where I can’t believe you aren’t here with me anymore and life doesn’t seem livable.

I remember that first day, our first meeting so vividly , I don’t know how doggy memories work so don’t know if you would. We didn’t have much information about you, all we had was that there was a dog called Rex in need of a foster home, that they liked being on furniture and appeared cat friendly. Funnily enough, the lady who arrived at the door with you said you were called *****, and I learnt quite quickly your cat friendliness was actually chasing after them. It didn’t matter though. I answered the door and looked down at you, a bit scraggy, a lot anxious, and you looked at me. I wonder what you thought? All I know is our eyes met and I felt something shift. Some would call it love at first sight but it was more than that. I just knew deep down that you were mine and I was yours, meant to meet, meant to go on a journey together.

Within weeks I started to understand more of your history, more of the trauma you’d experienced. I didn’t know your age or what food you’d been eating, but I knew you’d been hurt. It took time for you to trust, you’d sleep with your eyes open, you wouldn’t show your tummy, you were the complete opposite of people’s view of what a springer is like. But soon we’d spend time every day having a cuddle, then more than once a day, you’d let me stroke you and not shake, you’d shut your eyes and sleep long and safe. You started to play, to smile, to be cheeky. It was amazing seeing the transformation and what love and patience could do. 

It wasn’t one way though, was it. You were there for me too. For a couple of years before you came to me I’d been trying to deal with the knowledge that I wasn’t able to have children, and was grieving the relationship that I’d lost with that awareness. I was working with children and at a point of career progression in that field when you arrived. But the pain of the additional grief for something I’d never have was too much. I made the massive decision and risk to move into another career and role in another setting, so different and difficult. You were there for me the nights I came home exhausted, where I cried my heart out. You’d sit up, let me sob into your fur, and when the crying stopped would gently lick the tears away. Week after week until the pain settled. You just got it, and you never stopped loving me.

Who was to know that we’d end up enduring the same losses together. Mum, granny, our home, all within ten months, but you never let me down or let me lose hope. As long as we had each other, I knew we’d be ok. Then there was your injury, and you needed emergency surgery. You needed nurturing back to health and I was there, lifting you up so you could still sleep in your favourite places, handfeeding you due to the cone. I didn’t sleep properly for a week, wanting to watch other you.

There have been times where life has almost got too much for me, when I was being hurt, and when I was sure leaving would be best for everyone. I think thinking of you stopped me, how could I leave you like that. You got me through some of the darkest moments when the only hope I had was in your gaze, or in your paw on my chest as we snuggled together. And then suddenly the whole world changed and I was home all the time so we mapped out a new routine together, you’d get a big snuggle in the morning (even coming to the morning zoom meetings where everyone would gush over you ) then you’d curl up by me feet while I worked. Anytime I took a break we’d do something together, pat, play, eat walk. Knowing now we were in the last year of your life I am so thankful we had those extra moments.

I am so so sorry that I didn’t realise how sick you were. When your tummy got bigger in late November I thought it was the extra treats and the shorter walks. Plus websites said senior dogs need less food and you’d turned 8 but we’d not adjusted your food. Your belly made a lot of noise at night but I put that down to settling after supper, and that I only heard it as it was the middle of the night and there was no other noise. You seemed OK otherwise, I have the pictures from the 29th December when we went out in the snow and you were doing zoomies and running round. In January when you started fussing over your food I thought it was you doing your biannual “I don’t like this anymore” thing, you’d eat it eventually. I had niggles and doubts, but with covid I didn’t want to risk taking you, it didn’t seem like an emergency, and I thought it would be like the time we took you for that cough and you immediately stopped coughing once we’d paid the £70 bill. Everything else seemed OK so I decided to wait. The vet I talked to the week after you died said that it would not have made any difference bringing you in a month or two month ago, but I’ll always wonder how much you suffered because I was late in acting. That I hurt you too, unintentionally but as effective as if I’d meant it.

I am still beyond devastated. I didn’t think I could feel more broken but here I am, taking on this next part of the journey without your strength or presence. I have your ‘brother from another mother’. You taught him well and he is trying to do what you did when I cry but it’s not quite the same, even though I love him greatly. He doesn’t have the same smell or the same velvet patch under his nose, and you can’t make his fur a mowhawk. He doesn’t fit in that nook in my shoulder that you did. He doesn’t require chasing through the house with stolen clothing, or crash online work meetings. He doesn’t greet me when I get home with jumping up and down and paws pawing the air. We have different moments together, like when I eat fruit he will sit on my lap and share it. You hated fruit so I’m guessing you would not mind, I know you were jealous of him sometimes. He’s still sisters dog in the way you were mine. And you will always be mine, your presence will never be forgotten so you’ll never really fully leave my world. 

Sending the longest snuggle, the biggest treat and a never-ending supply of kisses, you be happy and safe over rainbow bridge until we meet again, 

Your Clara xxxx

We are on a break!!!

Apologies – I am channelling the TV show Friends here, I’ve binge watched the series on Netflix, its the first time I’ve watched it since I was a teenager and I loved it so much I am going to start watching it though again.

Is anyone else like me, struggling to watch new things? I hear about all these amazing shows but am always wary – I find it much easier and safer watching things where I know what’s coming. I’ve been caught out by triggering plot lines before. I mean it’s a bit easier now with the Internet – but rather than read a full spoilery synopsis I go to a website called ‘Does the dog die’. You type in the film or TV show and it has a load of possible triggers (animals dying, blood, hospitals, assaults etc) and people who have watched the title have answered yes or no to each one, and if yes usually give a little discription. It massively helps but I still find myself going for things I know in an out. Maybe it’s a comfort thing. I’m still quite unwell and Friends and Fraiser and X-Files are all things that give me a brief escape and a little nice nostalgia at the same time…

Anyway I digress, back to the opening ‘we are on a break’ line. On Tuesday I had my last session with Ella for two weeks. I managed to make it in to the room, and Ella said how happy she was to see me. I had done two weeks of calls, I barely had the energy to get dressed those weeks let alone go out – in one session I confessed to Ella I was in my snoopy pj’s. The phone sessions had been intense, in particular the second one, where I made it clear to Ella how low I was and how close to suicide I was. Ella shared how much she cared about me and I shared a little of how that awful session a few weeks ago had made me doubt that. We didn’t talk much about the relationship, I wasn’t in a place for it, but afterwards I felt a tiny bit lighter that I had said it and that Ella had responded appropriately. She actually offered a lot of reassurance about us and I felt things settle a little. I was still anxious to see her though!

As always on arrival to the room we did a little small talk and I shared and talked about death (see my last post). Ella knows I blog now, and has said she is happy to read it or not, whatever I want. I’m keeping it to myself for now! Eventually though I mentioned being anxious about the break, about managing without her and about what she had said in the awful session about not wanting to worry about me when she goes on holiday. Ella said she was going to be honest, that she’d been worried about me the last week and was going to email me but didn’t as she didn’t want to confuse boundaries, reiterating that she cared. She also indicated she had sought supervision regarding her feelings. I mentioned her saying she felt pressured by me and Ella responded that that was something she needed to manage. We discussed email contact, Ella acknowledging she has noticed my withdrawal but reiterated I could email as often as I needed, but that she couldn’t promise to respond straight away or to every email.

I ran out of energy at this point with twenty minutes to go, so I asked Ella for a cuddle and we spent the remainder of the session quiet, with me snuggling into Ella. Unfortunately my rejection senses were tiggling and I felt like Ella wasn’t really hugging me back. Usually I feel like she is holding me but for the first half of the hug it was more like her arms were just there resting on me of that makes sense? Occasionally she’s rub my arm or back with her thumb. It wasn’t until I spoke, saying I wanted to promise I would be back and not do anything that she held me tighter. So yeah, my two weeks break is going to be fun dwelling on that!

Overall I feel like the repair from the rupture is underway, but that I am stitching very very slowly. I know there has been a bit of a shift, as a couple of weeks ago when she told me about the break I wasn’t arsed, but I am now, but it doesn’t feel as awful as previous breaks have. I am starting to trust again that Ella cares, but I am also managing my behaviour as so not to risk that changing.

Therapy relationships are bloody complex aren’t they!

Death and maybes

**I password protected this post earlier as I panicked I was being really selfish and disrespectful which is not my intention at all. It is honest of how I am feeling, and I always strive to be honest. Please read with caution. **

The last few weeks I’ve been thinking a lot about death and dying. I’m fighting a battle at the moment, I have been so close to suicide. Gosh, it’s hard to say that in such a blunt way. Normally I would be offering some reassurance or minimising it or adding something comforting. I think though it needs honesty, facing head on, and that way I will find the strength and hope in the midst of the despair and darkness. And, in the last couple of days, I think I’ve caught glimmers of light, but not for the reason you might expect.

Whilst in a battle with my head and heart about my life, I’ve been exposed to the deaths of others. A few weeks ago my cousins fiance died suddenly and very unexpectedly. There was no illness, no event, just a collapse – one minute he was OK and the next life left him. An undiagnosed heart condition the post mortem revealed. I wasn’t close to him, but I liked him, I’d spent some happy days with him when we visited for holidays. He was always full of humour, full of energy, full of life. A life, a light, that just went out, just like that. We all feel shocked and saddened. And it did get me reflecting on my own stuff. I feel like my light is dimming, getting darker and darker. That in considering suicide I am contemplating switching the light off. With the dimness though would anyone notice? Up until the last few days I was thinking the dimmest of dim lights might as well be off. The energy is still being used but with no obvious benefit, nothing glows, nothing is illuminated. What’s the point? I don’t feel like that now. I feel like maybe I’d like to try and adjust the dimmer, bring a little more brightness, bring a little more light.

I can’t go into to much detail in terms of my job, but I work in a service that supports vulnerable people, and over the last few weeks two of the people I supported or managed have died. They tried so much and fought so hard but sadly sometimes that doesn’t matter, some would say if its your time it’s your time. This made me reflect on my own life. Was it really my time? Was it possible that the awful horrible distress I was experiencing could in fact pass? Those glimmers are telling me maybe it could.

Last week I received a letter informing me that one of my mums oldest and closest friends, someone who my dad grew up with, had passed away. She was elderly and the letter commented on the happy life she had lived and that she had even found joy over the pandemic in small, but meaningful ways. I felt sadness, normal with loss, but not so much as I did with my mum and dad’s death. They died a much younger age. I always felt sad about the years they didn’t live. Yet here I am, thinking of blotting my life out. What if there was more I could do, more life I could live? If anyone wrote a letter, my eulogy, it wouldn’t amount to much. But maybe I could change that…

And then a few days ago, the thing that finally nudged me into a different space was an altogether different experience. About nine days ago I noticed a slightly odd smell upstairs in my house. I didn’t think much of it, we don’t have the best ventilation. As the days went on the smell got stronger. I couldn’t identify it as stale cooking or smoke from the nearby college construction yard, or something in the house. I had to put Vic vapour rub on at night, just to sleep. I wondered if it was the drains and got someone out, they checked and said they were fine, and that it wasn’t damp or mould. Later that day we got the answer. Sadly a body had been found at a property three doors down, and estimates were that they had been there for at least a week. I live in a terrace and the void spaces in the loft and cellers all link. The smell we were smelling was a body. 

It’s odd, I saw my dad shortly after he died, and I was with my mum as she passed, but this felt different, and felt like the closest I’d been to death, the grim reality. That possibly doesn’t make sense, even as I write this I’m trying to find the words to explain what I mean but I can’t. I want to say it was the realness of it, but of course the other deaths were real. I want to say that maybe it was because others died in hospital, it was almost a sterile experience of death, and my feelings and thoughts at the time were more about the loss of the person, not in the death itself. The realisation that I had been smelling a decomposing body was when the reality of death finally smacked me in the face, and when I finally understood and believed that death wasn’t what I wanted. I don’t want to die. I just don’t want the pain and distress of the life I am currently living. 

Even with the glimmers I think it’s going to be a tough recovery, a long job. I hope that I have the strength to fight though, I have a bit of an honour guard with Ella and my WordPress friends which is a good start. And whilst I send love, and rest in peace wishes to all those who have passed these last few weeks – S, H, J, B and my unknown but just as important neighbour, I will also be trying to send love to myself in the hope that I can live in peace before my time to rest arrives. 

When do you know…

That enough is enough?

When do you know you’ve reached the absolute limit of what you can endure?

Is it when you reach out to your (very limited number of) friends and get no response?

Is it when you realise how alone you are in the world?

Is it when all you can think about is it would be best to go and be with your dog?

Is it when bad stuff is being heaped onto bad?

Is it when the pain and hurt becomes unbearable?

I have this quote from Lord of the Rings in my head “Do not trust to hope, it has forsaken these lands”

Please, if anyone reads this… Just help me find a thread to hang on to. Just to get me through tonight 💔

Hold on tight when the wind blows

I wanted to quickly share a song. It is one that the lyrics just mean so much to me in so many different ways… I wanted to share it as a message to all my wordpress friends. I am here and I hear you 💜

“You should know you’re not alone
And that trouble comes, and trouble goes
How this ends, no one knows
So hold on tight when the wind blows”

Here is the full song:

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