I realised today that I'm waiting, I don't know what for, no one has told me I should, I just feel like I'm in a queue, and I don't know how long it is, and I don't know what's at the end of it.
I think I'm going to stop writing this. I'm in such a different place now to where I was when I started it, and I feel vaguely uncomfortable that I'm putting such personal information in such a public space. It doesn't feel like me anymore.
Thanks for reading. Who knows, I might start another one one day.
Wednesday, February 27, 2008
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
Monday, February 25, 2008
Nothing else to do but write....
Wandering around Hay on Wye, wondering why I feel so uncomfortable, realising that the last time I was here was just before I left for university, I was with Evil Ex Boyfriend R, so is this my brain’s way of reminding me that things have been bad before and they got better? Or is this my brain’s way of telling me that things suck, and just when you think your life is on track and everything has worked out for you, they suck again.
One of my thoughts this morning, as I froze in the bathroom, trying to make hot water come out of the shower by sheer force of will, was maybe the increasing numbness of my extremeties will distract me from the ache in my chest, and the sinking feeling in my brain. This has proved somewhat true, it is hard to type about misery when you can’t feel your fingers, but I don’t know. This felt like a very good idea as I drove away from Birmingham, but now I start to panic when I think about going back, I talk about moving away sometimes and there are two lovely ladies who tell me it’s a very bad idea, but how do you live in the shadow of what your life used to be?
A conversation I keep trying to replay because it makes me smile:
Me: My mum says there’s always someone worse off than you, that’s what I keep trying to remember.
Gareth: Like suicide bombers.
Me: Yes! Suicide bombers! Love them...
Do you think that if someone googles ‘smile suicide bomber” this blog will come up? I wonder if I’ll end up on a government watch list of some sort…
Fact – Facebook is horrible, just horrible, it is actually torturing me and I think it’s enjoying it, I can see it in its eyes, and no matter how much I think I'll just not look... it's like torture porn for masochists.
Going to take some photographs this week, the garden is so beautiful here at the moment, there are snowdrops everywhere.
Fuck I’m cold. Apparently part of the grieving process (for that is what I have been told I am going through) is bargaining, wherein you try and make a deal with God to make things right again, so at about 4 this morning, I tried to make a deal.
Dear God, I’m not going to pretend that he’ll come back if I ask you, I’m not naive, but I promise, I’ll help poor people, I’ll volunteer for… stuff, I’ll bake for the elderly, if you could just make the central heating work, or if that’s too much, maybe the heat from the fire could actually penetrate my bones? I’m not asking for a miracle, just a little bit of warmth… God, I am wearing three jumpers, three! I just need to be a tiny bit warmer, and I am in quite desperate need of a cuddle, so if you could just see your way to making those two things possible, warmth and a cuddle, I will work in a soup kitchen, I will tidy my neighbours garden, I will tidy my garden, I can't promise to go to church obviously, but I will drive past them with due reverence, I will watch 'Songs of Praise' with my father and I won't make fun of him chanting the words to the hymms, although God, that is very funny. So just two things, warmth and a cuddle, I would like a cuddle from one particular person, but I'm not going to push my luck God. I'll make another deal with you, if you can't see your way to dishing out the warmth and the cuddle, then I will do anything you want, anything at all, if you will make him happy for me.
One of my thoughts this morning, as I froze in the bathroom, trying to make hot water come out of the shower by sheer force of will, was maybe the increasing numbness of my extremeties will distract me from the ache in my chest, and the sinking feeling in my brain. This has proved somewhat true, it is hard to type about misery when you can’t feel your fingers, but I don’t know. This felt like a very good idea as I drove away from Birmingham, but now I start to panic when I think about going back, I talk about moving away sometimes and there are two lovely ladies who tell me it’s a very bad idea, but how do you live in the shadow of what your life used to be?
A conversation I keep trying to replay because it makes me smile:
Me: My mum says there’s always someone worse off than you, that’s what I keep trying to remember.
Gareth: Like suicide bombers.
Me: Yes! Suicide bombers! Love them...
Do you think that if someone googles ‘smile suicide bomber” this blog will come up? I wonder if I’ll end up on a government watch list of some sort…
Fact – Facebook is horrible, just horrible, it is actually torturing me and I think it’s enjoying it, I can see it in its eyes, and no matter how much I think I'll just not look... it's like torture porn for masochists.
Going to take some photographs this week, the garden is so beautiful here at the moment, there are snowdrops everywhere.
Fuck I’m cold. Apparently part of the grieving process (for that is what I have been told I am going through) is bargaining, wherein you try and make a deal with God to make things right again, so at about 4 this morning, I tried to make a deal.
Dear God, I’m not going to pretend that he’ll come back if I ask you, I’m not naive, but I promise, I’ll help poor people, I’ll volunteer for… stuff, I’ll bake for the elderly, if you could just make the central heating work, or if that’s too much, maybe the heat from the fire could actually penetrate my bones? I’m not asking for a miracle, just a little bit of warmth… God, I am wearing three jumpers, three! I just need to be a tiny bit warmer, and I am in quite desperate need of a cuddle, so if you could just see your way to making those two things possible, warmth and a cuddle, I will work in a soup kitchen, I will tidy my neighbours garden, I will tidy my garden, I can't promise to go to church obviously, but I will drive past them with due reverence, I will watch 'Songs of Praise' with my father and I won't make fun of him chanting the words to the hymms, although God, that is very funny. So just two things, warmth and a cuddle, I would like a cuddle from one particular person, but I'm not going to push my luck God. I'll make another deal with you, if you can't see your way to dishing out the warmth and the cuddle, then I will do anything you want, anything at all, if you will make him happy for me.
Sunday, February 24, 2008
Sunday evening - and we thank God another week is over.
"Go to Wales!" they said, "a change of scenery! That’s what you need!", they said, "fresh air! Wide open spaces! People who love you! Go!". At no point, did any of them think to tell me, that the central heating at the house in Wales is broken. I’m in bed, wearing about six layers, and I can’t sleep because the chattering of my teeth is keeping me awake. This is a new reason for not sleeping, it is not any better than the old reasons.
Listening to Radio1 on the way here, I heard an advert for some self-help programme, and it went like this;
Kelly Osbourne: "So, is there a difference between being broken hearted, and being depressed?"
Doctor person: "That’s a very good question…."
Voice over lady: "Listen again on BBC Iplayer"
Me, in car: "NO! What the? No! What is the answer to the question? WHAT IS IT?!"
Something to think about – Do I delete this blog after someone used the word ‘horrendous’ to describe reading it? God bless them, they were totally right.
Genius comment of the week:
“I’ve got something which will get you through the next few weeks, five little words: Jon Bon Jovi – Tight Buns.”
Gareth Coombes
Number of blog entries I have written and then deleted: 24.
Number of sentences I have written just now and then deleted because heaven knows, we shouldn't go there: 32.
And finally, here’s sentence to remind you that actually, not everything is about you:
“Don’t forget, your father’s appointment with the oncologist is on Monday, not everything is about you Hannah.”
My mother.
And she's right, of course she's right.
Listening to Radio1 on the way here, I heard an advert for some self-help programme, and it went like this;
Kelly Osbourne: "So, is there a difference between being broken hearted, and being depressed?"
Doctor person: "That’s a very good question…."
Voice over lady: "Listen again on BBC Iplayer"
Me, in car: "NO! What the? No! What is the answer to the question? WHAT IS IT?!"
Something to think about – Do I delete this blog after someone used the word ‘horrendous’ to describe reading it? God bless them, they were totally right.
Genius comment of the week:
“I’ve got something which will get you through the next few weeks, five little words: Jon Bon Jovi – Tight Buns.”
Gareth Coombes
Number of blog entries I have written and then deleted: 24.
Number of sentences I have written just now and then deleted because heaven knows, we shouldn't go there: 32.
And finally, here’s sentence to remind you that actually, not everything is about you:
“Don’t forget, your father’s appointment with the oncologist is on Monday, not everything is about you Hannah.”
My mother.
And she's right, of course she's right.
Friday, February 22, 2008
Trying
There comes a point where you have to admit to not being able to do something alone. I have the most wonderful and supportive friends and they are as kind and as caring as anyone could ask anyone to be, but all I do is drain them. They have run out of words and I have hit a brickwall.
I went to see my GP, several people advised me to do this, after an incident at work which led to me being gently urged to take some time off, I thought it was time to admit defeat and go. I talked to her about the events of the last three weeks and about the events of the last three years. She agreed that whilst I have hit a spectacular low because of what happened two weeks and three days ago, things have been building up for quite a while.
There was a long conversation, there was a lot of crying (from me obviously), her head tilted to the side in a way that made me want to shake her.
She recommended running, apparently I should start running, had I thought about getting a dog? What about a long walk? Some exercise classes? I asked her how a person who barely sleeps or eats is supposed to get through an exercise class. She said "hmmmmm".
She gave me a website called www.livinglifetothefull.com which has given me a score of between 11 to 15 for anxiety and depression, this means it is 'affecting my life' and recommends I talk to my GP. Seriously.
I keep asking people how he is, what he's doing, which isn't fair. I just miss him so much, so very, very much.
I've run out of words.
I went to see my GP, several people advised me to do this, after an incident at work which led to me being gently urged to take some time off, I thought it was time to admit defeat and go. I talked to her about the events of the last three weeks and about the events of the last three years. She agreed that whilst I have hit a spectacular low because of what happened two weeks and three days ago, things have been building up for quite a while.
There was a long conversation, there was a lot of crying (from me obviously), her head tilted to the side in a way that made me want to shake her.
She recommended running, apparently I should start running, had I thought about getting a dog? What about a long walk? Some exercise classes? I asked her how a person who barely sleeps or eats is supposed to get through an exercise class. She said "hmmmmm".
She gave me a website called www.livinglifetothefull.com which has given me a score of between 11 to 15 for anxiety and depression, this means it is 'affecting my life' and recommends I talk to my GP. Seriously.
I keep asking people how he is, what he's doing, which isn't fair. I just miss him so much, so very, very much.
I've run out of words.
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
Introspect
Moch wrote something on her blog about me, I think it was about me, she said my heart had been splintered into a thousand pieces and sometimes I wished I could forget.
That is only partly truthful, my heart has been splintered into a thousand pieces but I don't wish I could forget. I wish I could sleep, I wish I could eat, I wish I could find the other half of myself and bring him back, but I don't wish I could forget.
I tried last week to write, I started and five pages later I stopped, I posted some of it here and then I deleted it, I wrote;
'she remembered a night, not so long ago, she couldn't sleep, she whispered in the dark, he gathered her up in his arms, he stroked her hair, he said 'now you can', and she did'.
Now there is empty space, in my heart and in the house that used to be my home, nothing stops the thoughts that race over and over each other in my head, the conversations that repeat themselves, the wishing and the wishing and the regretting and the regretting.
I did a terrible thing, a thing I will always regret, a thing which makes me vomit and choke and fall, a thing which removes speech and hunger and sleep. It defies logic and reason and no one will ever know how sorry I am or how sad, how could they? There are no words to describe it.
I hear stories, of people who got through this, and I hear stories of people who did not. I want to scream and scream and scream, I want to shout at everyone who tells me things will heal in time, I want to shout that no one listening to me, that there is nothing in me to heal, there's just empty space and I can't breathe. My heart was broken, a long time ago, it was splintered into pieces by disease and self hate, and now it has gone.
That is only partly truthful, my heart has been splintered into a thousand pieces but I don't wish I could forget. I wish I could sleep, I wish I could eat, I wish I could find the other half of myself and bring him back, but I don't wish I could forget.
I tried last week to write, I started and five pages later I stopped, I posted some of it here and then I deleted it, I wrote;
'she remembered a night, not so long ago, she couldn't sleep, she whispered in the dark, he gathered her up in his arms, he stroked her hair, he said 'now you can', and she did'.
Now there is empty space, in my heart and in the house that used to be my home, nothing stops the thoughts that race over and over each other in my head, the conversations that repeat themselves, the wishing and the wishing and the regretting and the regretting.
I did a terrible thing, a thing I will always regret, a thing which makes me vomit and choke and fall, a thing which removes speech and hunger and sleep. It defies logic and reason and no one will ever know how sorry I am or how sad, how could they? There are no words to describe it.
I hear stories, of people who got through this, and I hear stories of people who did not. I want to scream and scream and scream, I want to shout at everyone who tells me things will heal in time, I want to shout that no one listening to me, that there is nothing in me to heal, there's just empty space and I can't breathe. My heart was broken, a long time ago, it was splintered into pieces by disease and self hate, and now it has gone.
Friday, February 15, 2008
Conversation with my father.
Me: I can't do this, I can't, this is too much, this is too hard, I can't do it.
Dad: Yes you can darling
Me: I can't, you don't understand
Dad: You can
Me: I can't! There is nothing in me that can do this, nothing, I don't have it, whatever it is, it's not there, I can't do it.
Dad: Yes you can, you are the Hannah I know and love, you are stronger than this
Me: I'm not
Dad: Yes you are, now I want you to throw your shoulders back, look in a mirror and shout "I'm not taking any shit!"
Me: But I.. What?
Dad: I'm not taking any shit!
Me: Dad I can't say that
Dad: Yes you can! Say it!
Me: I can't say that word in front of you
Dad: Say it!
Me: I...
Dad: Say it!
Me: I'm not taking any shit!
Dad: There, doesn't that feel better
Me: Weird, not better
Dad: Weird is better.
Me: Dad, I love you.
Dad: Yeah, yeah, now go and give 'em hell.
Dad: Yes you can darling
Me: I can't, you don't understand
Dad: You can
Me: I can't! There is nothing in me that can do this, nothing, I don't have it, whatever it is, it's not there, I can't do it.
Dad: Yes you can, you are the Hannah I know and love, you are stronger than this
Me: I'm not
Dad: Yes you are, now I want you to throw your shoulders back, look in a mirror and shout "I'm not taking any shit!"
Me: But I.. What?
Dad: I'm not taking any shit!
Me: Dad I can't say that
Dad: Yes you can! Say it!
Me: I can't say that word in front of you
Dad: Say it!
Me: I...
Dad: Say it!
Me: I'm not taking any shit!
Dad: There, doesn't that feel better
Me: Weird, not better
Dad: Weird is better.
Me: Dad, I love you.
Dad: Yeah, yeah, now go and give 'em hell.
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