Bare

My hair is long, it needs a cut. The red henna is fading and grey can be seen.

My eyebrows are bushy so I try to give them a pluck.

My eyelids have wrinkles and the eyeshadow falls into the creases.

I get spots, not like a pubescent teenager, but the odd one on my chin and nose.

My neck sags and with it a double-chin forms.

My upper arms flap like bats,

And my finger joints have painful stiff nodules.

My breasts droop slightly and one is better then the other.

Symmetrical boobs are a myth, but I still want them.

My belly gets bloated.

I’m too lazy to shave but I try to do it anyway.

I’ve cellulite, thread vines and hairy hobbit toes.

I’ve only ever had one pedicure in my life, this was on my wedding day.

I get grumpy.

When I’m tired I get really grumpy. When I’m drunk I swear a lot.

My heart feels damaged and I worried it will never heal.

At times I need to run, or hide, in order to escape the things that tries to hurt me.

Stress has completely exhausted me.

I still have grief…

Still.

It has stripped me bare.

I get so angry at the world and so fucking upset. I still can’t get my head round the unfairness of death. It’s random and cruel. It brings out the worst in me as it’s still overwhelming. It’s a never ending ticking time bomb, lying in wait for that trigger, for me to be at my most venerable.

Then boom!

Afterwards I look at my naked soul and see myself for whom I’ve become. The grey, the wrinkled, the bloated and the sagging included.

All of it.

And it’s not all bad.

I also have long hair and the flecks of natural gold & ageing silver light up in the sun.

My eyebrows are fair, so almost invisible.

I have big brown eyes and the skin around them creases when I laugh.

I’m blessed with good skin.

My arms are strong, and I’m still able to create art and stories with my hands.

My breasts are beautiful, and I’m curvy all over.

I’ve blonde hair on the small of my back that is light and fluffy.

My grumpiness is always replaced with a smile.

My heart is still beating and I love others with every inch of my soul.

I still have grief…

Yes, this part is true.

But it has also made me resilient. Death has not only shown me the fragility of life but also how precious it is too. I can have a hard exterior, but my emotions are there, just below the surface, ready to express my kindness.

I now value hope after feeling absolutely none, and I now strive onwards, with purpose, when I once felt there was no point.

I’m an ageing woman who has lost so much, but with my silver streaks, broken heart and everything laid bare I’ve so much more to give.

I am widow, hear me roar!

• 

Quite simply I miss you, Simon

Love your Hermit

X x x

Cosy at Christmas

My eyes are open but I don’t see the twinkling lights of Christmas. There’s a faint sound of bells far away in the midnight sky, but it’s difficult to hear them clearly. I do want to be a part of it again but there’s still too much pain. December is dark and cold when it use to be warm. My flat feels bare. I’ve stripped the many layers of wallpaper and took it back to its shell. I’ve step back and had a moment to think…

Will it ever feel like home and will I ever be cosy at Christmas again?

Perhaps I’m stuck, unable to ‘move on’ from the grief and loss? I apologise for using that term as I know you don’t truly get over it. It’s just as we plough towards Christmas I feel time is rewinding back to three years ago. I’m better at coping with it now but the festive season makes it feel as though no time has passed. I remember our last Christmas morning and Simon being so excited. He didn’t ask for much, just to laugh and share each others company. That’s all I want, so I’ve been surrounding myself with friends to try to fill the hole that death caused. Plus I’m angry as it’s so unfair to his life, my life and our life together. Simon didn’t need to go so soon.

I’ve also been particularly hard on myself since December arrived. It’s three Christmases ago so why hasn’t time healed me? Time has also brought the realisation that this is permanent, he isn’t coming back. Yet my new version of life isn’t all sad, in fact I’m quite happy. I spend a great deal of time with friends and I now look at the world with awe and appreciation. But with all I’m experiencing I want to tell Simon about it, and that’s when a wave of grief washes over me.

This December so far I’ve laughed and I’ve also cried. I’ve drank, eaten good food but I’ve also felt a knot in my stomach that has caused me to loose my appetite. I’ve danced around, sang on top note and hidden under the duvet. During all this it’s at the back of my mind that I still have to get through Christmas Day , the anniversary of Simon’s death and into another New Year without him.

It’s not just me. I know many people who are grieving and finding Christmas very difficult. I want to wrap my arms around them and tell them they’re not alone. I want to take their pain away so they can enjoy Christmas once more. I want to tell them it does get better to cope with. I want to reassure them that it’s ok to cry instead of pretending to be jolly. But it’s also ok to be jolly. Wonderful guilt free joy and laughter.

So if you’re hurting this Christmas please don’t suffer alone, as you’re not. It’s also ok for Christmas not to be the most wonderful time of year for you. Feel and do whatever it takes to get through.

You never know, maybe one day you’ll find yourself not turning the radio off because yet another Christmas song is playing. Maybe one Christmas you’ll see the beauty in the twinkling lights and hear the distance sleigh bells echoing across the winter sky. Until then give yourself lots of kindest this Christmas.

Much love to you all x

Simon,

Bah Humbug!

Love Hermit

x x x

Moon of Dreams

It’s 5.18am.

It was 5.10am yesterday and 5.20am the day before that. Waking early has become such a habit that it now feels normal. The only sound I hear is a blackbird singing outside. My only company is my cat. If I’m honest I’d rather be up this early, so I can prepare for the busy world before it wakes.

A big change is coming and even though it’s exciting I also feel overwhelmed. I’m doing too much, I know. I’m like the twitching muscles fibres of the body with their ‘all or nothing’ response. I know I can’t go backwards and I can’t stay put. All I can do is move forward. It’s exciting, liberating and purposeful. It’s also scary, stressful and sad without Simon.

Every morning I get up and go about my day as though nothing has happened. This is my new normal, one of self routine and choice. But something did happen and every so often I’m caught in a moment, a glimpse of a what my life should have been, and I quiver. It can be fleeting – blink and it’s gone – or it lingers for a while until I find stable footing again.

I choose, I change, I quiver and I cope.

Yesterday the quiver became a rumble and I felt the ground beneath me shake. This has been building up for a few days, a feeling of no control and lack of confidence. To put it simply I don’t want to do this without Simon. Why the fuck should I? Oh, that’s right because death dictated that I do. Luckily I was with a friend, so we sat for a while and chatted. Then I took ‘time out’ in the place where I met Simon. I played music and I drank wine. I talked bollocks and with it the struggle with self belief disappeared.

Simon was so confident in what I could achieve that he made it seem so easy. When I was with him I could reach up, grab the moon of dreams and bring it down from space. I didn’t just lose my best friend but I also lost my mentor, my Obi One. Now all the decisions, right or wrong, are mine. It’s an independent place to be in but a scary one.

The grief monster got me yesterday and I didn’t have the strength to tell it to fuck off. It attacked me because I want a home of my own. It suck the life out of me because I want to be happy and find enjoyment. It mocked me for even thinking about liking another…

A lady sat next to me and she appeared to be a hundred and five years old. We chatted for a short while before her rum-fuelled legs tootled her out for her bus home. I watched her go and thought I could be her in a few decades time. On one hand it’s good to think I could live to her age and still be drinking rum, whilst perched on a very high stool. But on the other I thought about whether I want to live another fifty years alone, going back to an empty flat and eating my fish meal for one? I’m not saying this is an accurate depiction of this lady’s life. She may have had a partner and is now content to be on her own. I’m just too young and have too much love to spend the rest of my days alone. Besides…

Simon would want me to be happy.

Yes, he always did. He knew what to say in times of doubt. He knew how to act when I stumbled and he knew how to love me when I fell. He had faith in me and all I could achieve. I own it to him…No, I owe it to myself to be the best version of me and to lift the moon of dreams right out its black sky. I need to hold it in my hands, see it shinning and realise that its not the one that’s glowing but it’s my brilliant soul reflecting back.

Simon,

We gazed at the moon together,

and saw the possibilities life had to hold.

Now I need to do it without you

but I’ll always have the memories of your love

to show me the way.

Love Your Hermit

x x x

Second Christmas

To my friends at Christmas

I’ve been struggling to write these past few weeks, even though I’ve so much I want to express. But it’s all mixed up in a well of varied emotions. I’m still here and I’m still doing this living thing, day after day. The truth is I’m out in a world that no longer has Simon and that is a hard to accept, especially at this time of year. I’ve said that before, I know, and I’ve expressed my grief and loss so many times. So when it comes to writing something new what really is there left to say?

Well, an awful lot and yet nothing at all. I feel I’ve two options, either progress or get left behind. I’m trying to get on with things and I know Simon would want this. I’m looking to a future that has a new home and career. I’ve activities planned and will spend time with family & friends. There’s a lot to be thankful for and I’m trying to not take life for granted. I have all this and yet there’s a giant ‘but’ coming and it has Simon’s name all over it. The ‘but’ is I have the good of life, the bad of death and the very ugly grief. I’ve optimism with a dollop of fear, joy with a backdrop of sadness, and purpose with a hint of apathy. I’m the hermit that is fighting the extrovert.

If I was to describe my state of mind then it’s a cold exhausted soldier, who’s already fought a long hard war but still has to continue fighting. I’m probably being too harsh and dramatic on myself but that’s how I feel. I’m tired and it’s bloody Christmas FFS. I can’t find the enthusiasm to be jolly on that one day that’s over in a glint of a bauble. When I think about Christmas my thoughts turn to him. He is not here and I miss him more then ever…

Is it possible to really feel the strength of his absent with nearly two years gone? The endless swiping hours have turned the days into years. Surely time has enabled me to adapt to life without him? Yes it has, and yet with another year comes an awakening of my actual reality. Death took Simon, it really did happen, but I’m so desperate to deny this.

There are many moments in my day when I forget him, or even force him out of my head. It’s no good interacting with people and having Simon on my mind. When a grief trigger happens I usually freeze and just ride it out, as I know it will pass. The more time goes by the better I am at faking it, even though the grief is always lurking in the background. I take it wherever I go and wear an internal scar of widowhood. I know I’ll always be Simon’s widow. I was one hundred and three weeks ago, I still am as I write this today, and no matter what happens in the future I always will be…

Even at fucking Christmas!

So I write to you as I approach two years to Simon’s death. I want to let you know that I’ll go a little quiet. I’ve done my best so far and this festive season was better, in some ways, to last year. I’ve managed to get through the shopping crowds and even have a mulled wine or two at the Christmas markets. I’ve be able to work and serve customers, all deciding on gifts for their loved ones. I’ve bought presents too but the whole panic buy stills eludes me. I’ve dedicated a tree to Simon, instead of sending cards. This isn’t laziness but my gift to him. I’ve even been caught singing a Christmas song, even if it was just a few lines…

So my family & friends, thank you for your support and friendship. It’s such a blessing to have you all in my life. Christmas should be about love and kindness, not stress and gluttony. Don’t loose sight of what’s important. Be happy, be jolly, be good, even be bad as there is no one judging you, not even Santa. Most importantly please love with every millimetre of your being, as there is no greater gift in life then this.

With love and best wishes this Bah Hum…Sorry, I mean this Christmas x x x

My Simon

Merry Christmas

Love your Hermit

x x x

 

The Right Words

The defects and faults of the mind are like wounds in the body; after all imaginable care has been taken to heal them up, still there will be a scar left behind, and they are in continual danger of breaking the skin and bursting out again.

Francois de La Rochefoucauld

I take another sip of coffee, to try to feel a little better, a little more human. The sun is beaming through the window and, due to the heat of the night, its unfortunately open. I say ‘unfortunate’ because it also lets the world in, with all its chaotic noise. There are cars speeding along a cobbled road, closely followed by wagons with their heavy loads. There are sirens in the distance and helicopters flying in the dry sky. There’s a man on his phone, and every other word is FUCK. There’s a bird in distress, as it calls to find its baby, who was cheeping earlier but has now gone silent.

My head is like the world, not quiet. It has been for a while but I’ve just been controlling it, holding back the sadness and a feeling of being totally lost…

‘So what’s next for you?‘ said a friend I’ve not seen since Simon’s death.

I hear the words, and the casual lighthearted tone but I don’t know how to respond. I was already in a highly anxious state, and on my way to becoming drunk. I’d gone into town by myself, walked and stood alone in a busy bar whilst people chatted in groups around me. It was good to have someone to talk to but he wasn’t saying the right words. I wasn’t in counselling, I didn’t want to be reminded of the shit state of my life, and I certainly didn’t want to feel anything. That was days ago and I still can’t get the question out of my head…

What is next for me?

It’s the same question I’ve been asking myself for 18 months. What now? Most people try to say the right words, to show concern and empathy. Sometimes they do say the right things and sometimes they don’t. I don’t take offence anymore as, in their position, I wouldn’t know what to say to me either? I don’t have the right words, and I certainly don’t have the correct answers.

Outwardly, I’m coping and I’m all the things that people say. I’m brave, I’m strong, and I’m bloody resilient. I’m fucking Ripley, as she squarely faces the alien and blasts it. Inwardly, I’m a emotional fucked-up mess. I’m venerable, broken, anxious, angry and sensitive. I’m Kane, after the alien has just burst out of his chest. I spend the majority of the day holding my grief guts in. My life is constant control, afraid to lose it for even a second. But after my night out I did, and the grief goo seeped into my reality.

It’s then that I feel it all, the utter devastation of losing Simon and the complete forfeit of my life. My one act of trying to live again has resulted in me retreating back to my hermit hole. Yet my safe cocoon is now a room in a house shared with my parents. It’s a storage unit for my things and a bed for me.

And it’s all so fucking noisy…

The other night I tried to sleep but was unsuccessful. When I did finally drift off I woke to the noise of the world beyond the open window. I decided to wear ears plugs but that didn’t stop the chaos in my mind. I cuddled into my cat, careful not to crush him but he then turned into a small kitten, and I lost him in the covers. Then I felt something wrap around me. I wrestled with it, trying to get it off my neck, body and legs. I turned to it and said, ‘who are you’ and ‘let me go,’ seeing it for the first time. It was a shadow creature that was attached to my back. On my words it flew away and I woke up…

I was terrified, my survival mode in full activation but I didn’t run or fight, instead I froze. I told myself it was only a dream, not real, a nightmare in which my brain was trying to sort things out. The problem with survival mode is it also triggers a physical response. My heart was pounding, my breathing fast and my eyes wide open…

When will this dark shadow of grief end? I’m 18 months in but it feels as though no time has passed. Simon’s the only one that can resolve my pain, yet it was with his death that caused the grief. I’m quick to add that my current state is not his fault, as he had no choice in what was ‘next’ for him. He only ever loved me with the best of his beating heart, and now I’m left wondering ‘what’s next for me’ in this world full of loud black anarchy.

What’s next?

I can’t answer this question as I don’t have the ability to access this information in my head. When I sweat the big decisions I find myself retreating back to nowhere land. It is like trying to think whilst submerged in a vat of heavy black treacle…

So what now?

Well, all I can do is…

Wake up each day, and breath in & out…

Do whatever is necessary to stay alive and to function…

When I laugh I know I’ll feel okay, and when I’m sad I’ll know that this is okay too.

I’ll communicate, I’ll care and I’ll be the best human as I can possible be, but I’ll also retreat, be grumpy and feel the rawness of loss.

I go on in my present knowing Simon is no longer there. I’ll dip back to my past because I know Simon is there, and I’ll try to not to let my uncertain future get the better of me.

The world is so rowdy and purposeless that it’s hard to hear my erratic thoughts. But do I want to? Do I want to actually hear, with clarity and with emotion? Do I really want to hear the silence once the bird has stopped calling?

Do I really want to know the answer to ‘what is next’ for me without Simon?

Because that’s the most scary part of it all…

 

You taught me to be in the present.

You also knew my strengths and potential better then I knew myself.

How can I work it out without you?

Love your lost hermit

x x x

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Lost in the Forgotten

I forget,

When I first wake from a deep sleep…

As I listen to the banter on the radio…

When I’m immersed in a book…

As I catch up with my friend…

When I play with my cat…

I forget,

When I’m being mindful I forget the past and don’t worry about the future. Exposed to reality I feel content. My time is absorbed by life, there is no beginning or end, just a pause in my ruminating thoughts and memories.

When I forget the tears don’t come and I can let my mind rest. It’s good but I can distract myself too much, as it’s easier not to deal with the pain. I can fill my day with many distractions as I try to become lost in the forgotten…

But in my current state of mind my concentration is limited. So my ‘present moments’ may only last for a few seconds, possibly minutes, but never any longer. The in-betweens are the times when it all comes back, and then…

I remember,

After a few seconds from waking…

With a sentimental song…

When I start a new book…

As I talk to our friend…

As I play with our cat…

I remember…

To live in the present means a break from my grief and to have new experiences. Present time is our access to actual life and it’s where are memories are created. To be in the ‘now’ means not listening to thoughts, and not remembering a time that has already gone.

But I want to remember. I want to be in the past as that’s all I have left of him. Simon will never be part of any of my present moments again. There is nothing new with him and by remembering will he be with me again. Remembering is hard to do, as there’s normally a strong emotion attached to it. Usually there’s a trigger that forces me out of the present and makes me remember. It’s rare that I just sit quiet, without any triggers, and let myself feel. When I do the tears come as easily as watching a weepy film and at times it’s so overwhelming that I end up distracting myself to stop it.

This is what’s going on in my head, the constant back and fore from the past to the present. In reality I feel awkward, like my gothic geeky school days, not quite knowing where I belong. My past is more comfortable and yet it’s rife with sadness and trauma. I don’t know how to get the balance right. I want both and I also want neither.

I was talking to Simon the other day, or should I say his photo. I was apologising as I felt I’d forgotten him during a brief moment of enjoyment. The guilt I felt was strong as I don’t like to forget him. But life doesn’t work that way as he’s not my present anymore, and I have to be. Sometimes I feel stuck because I’m in the past with him but that’s where I want to be. I want to experience present life but now it’s with a reluctance to do it alone. I spoke to him I realised there’s one thing that both my present and my past have in common.

Whatever I’m doing, however I’m feeling, I still love him even during the times when I forget.

This fact will never change, my love for him is frozen in time but I also hold it in my present heart, and I’ll always carry it forward in time.

I love you,

In the past, today and in the future.

Always, your Hermit

x x x

 

Normal Christmas

Dear Simon,

As life moves into yet another month without you, my thoughts turn this approaching Christmas. I honestly don’t know how I feel about it. I want to be anti Christmas, to shout and scream at anyone who shows festive jolly, but I don’t hate it enough to do that. I want the next few weeks to be a wipe out, as everyday I feel the pain of not having you here. I want to hide away until it’s over but I’ve got plans that are positive and even happy. These events are technically not Christmassy, so prehaps I could ignore the glitter and tinkling of bells around me?

Am I able to do that?

Christmas was you being all ‘bah humbug’ in the weeks leading up to it. Christmas was you buying gifts and wanting to reveal their secret identities before the big day. Christmas was you taking time off work to stay at home and be cosy with me. Christmas was you waking up at daft o clock, too early for the sun but you were too excited to stay in bed.

Christmas was about family, and my family was you.

I never wanted to spend Christmas with anyone else, just the two of us in our own festive bubble. I adored being thoughtful with my gifts to you, to see your face light up when you opened them. We always opened one present on Christmas eve, as the clock turned midnight. You knew your present without guessing, as it was whisky. We would toast another Christmas, a time to do whatever we pleased but most importantly, to spend it together. We were giggling children again, bringing the special magic of Christmas in to our adult lives.

I got 10 Christmases with you. That’s not a lot in my 40+ years but I do treasure them. There is too much confusion and sadness with this approaching Christmas, as it’s my first since you left. It’s not only my first, but also a year since you died and I have to go into another year without you.

I tried to do some Christmas shopping last week but I didn’t succeed. A piece of me was missing and it had taken my Christmas spirit away. The shop was playing one of my favourite Christmas songs, and the decorations were all bright and sparkly. I was staring at the bottles of whisky on the shelf, looking from one to another deciding which to buy. Which whisky for this festive time?

Which whisky would you want?

Which one have you not tried yet?

I drifted into my Christmas past, my thoughts buying presents and celebrating together. Then my memory lapse suddenly disappeared and with it reality returned. I became frozen as my stomach did a flip, and the tears rose to the surface.

I had forgotten.

I had forgotten about the last 11 months. I had forgotten you had died, and for that short time it was as though my old life was back, and with it our normal Christmas. I was brought back with a very hard slap by my new life. It was cruel, it was harsh and it was in public.

I didn’t know how to react, as the festive music continued around me, with people shopping for gifts. The tears came out, as they were too far gone to be pushed in. I grabbed a tissue, dab my eyes and quickly headed outside. Now able to breath, I pretended I had nipped out to use my phone. It’s ridiculous that I couldn’t show my true emotions in public, and instead put on the British brave face.

Simon, for much of November the Christmas adverts have really annoyed me, and I found myself telling the TV to fuck off on numerous occasions. I don’t want to send cards, put up decorations and say Merry Christmas to strangers. Why the fuck is ‘good will to all men’ just at this time of year? You hated this notion and stated that, people should be grumpy, selfish and unkind for just Christmas day and be the opposite for the rest of the year. You, of course, couldn’t help but be the sweetest, thoughtful and kindest man for all of 365 days.

You know I never like the commercial side of Christmas, and I’m also not religious. All I want is to be with the people I love the most, but unfortunately that includes you, with your warmth and love. How am I supposes to move toward this festive period without you? With each day I move further away from our old life and into a unknown future. Christmas is not a subtle reminder that you died, but a heavy whack on the head with the biggest most sickly-sweet candy cane Santa could find.

I didn’t buy any whisky that day…I couldn’t. I’m not putting any decorations up, and I’m not food shopping as though the apocalypse is about to happen. I know I should be more ‘Carpe Diem’ but I can’t permanently hold my brave face for the whole of December. I can’t pretend that everything is all jolly when you are not here to be merry with.

But I write this to you…

One day I shall listen to a Christmas song all the way through, without turning the radio off mid jingle bells. One day I will decorate the house with as much 1980’s tinsel I can find (No sorry, that will never happen). I can’t make any promises but maybe one day I’ll feel the magic Christmas spirit once more. Hopefully one day I’ll smile at the memories of our normal Christmas, and feel fortunate that I got to spend 10 of them with you.

But until that day I can only send you and the rest of the ho ho world a

Bah Humbug!

With love at Christmas and the rest of the year,

Always Your Hermit

x x x

 

Life After Death

I wrote this a couple of weeks ago…

I’m not who I use to be.

How can I, as the shadow of grief follows me wherever I go. It’s always there, lurking in the background, ready to take me. I succumb to its darkness, it’s invisible cloak weighs heavily on my shoulders, so vast I have to drag it along. It’s impossible to take off, even for just a moment, as it’s a part of me now. I don’t want it to be woven into my soul and yet I can’t live without it. To not have it means to have never known Simon, as you can’t have loss if there were no love in the first place.

Friends, I’ve seen recently, have noticed a change in me from the first few months of grief. I feel it too, the grief less raw but still overwhelming at times. I don’t know whether they can see the old me, the one who had sparkle when I fell in love, the one who danced all night when I got married, and the one who created a life with another beautiful person. Do they see hints of who I once was, before death broke me, or just someone lost in grief?

I want to be the person they once knew but I can’t seem to fall back into her. I don’t know whether I can keep a visage for just a few hours, as the trauma of death is on my face and present in my voice. Whenever I try to have my old life, for just a brief time, I arrive back home to my stark reality and the depression sets in. I desperately want to move on but I’m clinging to who I was when I was with him…

Now, I just don’t know who I am.

I wrote this today…

For four days I was away from my present life. It was escapism, dipping back into denial for just a short time. This was something I had to do, to prove there’s life after death. I was in the company of friends, old & new ones, in a party atmosphere. I didn’t forget Simon, as he’s forever in my heart, but the cloak of grief became lighter as the sun warmed my cold bones, and my mind rested from the pain of what has happened. I had moments, when my emotions forced their way out, but I have to let it happen, feel the wave of grief and then let it pass.

At first it felt like holiday mode, a break from my life without Simon. Now I know it was something much more than this…

It was about living again!

It was an opportunity to grasp life with both hands and be there in the moment. Not to dwell on what has been and what is to come – the past with its pain, and a future of unknown. I didn’t worry about who I was, I just behaved and reacted to what was around me. It was freeing, it was living.

On my return, I journeyed along a familiar road and suddenly was reminded of Simon. I saw him on the hill we climbed one summer, and in the pub we use to drink in after a day’s walk. He’s in our home, his imprint still present, still strong. He should be alive to go on these adventures with me, or at least be at home when I return. He shouldn’t be a void, a ghost of someone who once was, and I once loved.

Now I sit quiet, after being a hermit for two days. I needed the time and space to reflect on how I feel. My life is strange without him, it’s alien being on my own. Despite enjoying life for a few days, I miss him greatly but I’ve found that my cloak of grief reminds light. I’m still unsure of what my future holds but I know I can laugh and dance once more, I know there is life after death.

As for who I am?

I’m creative, caring, loving, and have so much more to give. I’m still the person I once was, the girl that Simon fell in love with, but I’m also emotional, confused, frightened, broken and scarred. Life’s experiences have given me both, it’s given me love but also slapped me with heartache. I can learn to embrace life once again, and I don’t have to completely succumb to the darkness of grief.

Yes, the darkness is within me but I’m also alive!

Simon, I miss having you in my life.

I miss having life experiences with you.

I just miss you.

Love your hermit

x x x

 

 

Technicolor Grief

This is an emotional fucked-up rollercoaster that goes from the surreal world of denial, to the smack-in-your-face shit truth of reality. Before I continue I would like to say this isn’t me constantly moaning and being stuck in grief. This isn’t, ‘here she goes again’, repetitive blog about how hard life is without Simon. This is a plea to anyone that can answer this question…

‘Why has my beautiful, intelligent, loving Simon been taken, when he had so much life to live and so much more to give?’

Fucking why? Please enlighten me, all you people out there with different faiths, your belief that this is God’s will, your notion that this is somehow ‘meant to be’.

The grief rollercoaster takes me on a ‘back and fore’ journey, one minute feeling like a semi-normal human that’s adjusting to a new life, to an erratic, crying, out-of-her-mind widow. For example, when I started to write this, 7 days ago, I was feeling the raw emotions of anger and betrayal. Three days ago, I was struggling to finish this blog, as I felt calm and ok. I then tidied out the shed, moving Simon’s bike, his outdoor gear and his tools, for the first time since his death. I briefly had to abandon sorting out to hide in the kitchen and cry. Yesterday I cried a lot, I was missing Simon and there was an emptiness that didn’t go away. This morning I was back to being calm.

My emotions change so much it’s difficult to process, from one day to the next. My counsellor said, ‘grief is hard and there’s no way around it.’ A polite way of saying, ‘I’m in the shit’.

A model of grief.

Initially, the grieving person plummets right down to the bottom. Then slowly starts to climb up, slipping back down, again and again. The shock of losing Simon has subsided, I think, although I don’t know whether I’ve recovered from the ‘suddenness’ of his death. Denial isn’t as strong as it once was. When it did dominate I desperately wanted to feel something, anything. Now that I do feel more, I want the numbness back to protect me from this pain.

Anger is still very present and it’s severity comes and goes. This blog evolve because of my anger against what I feel is an injustice to Simon. Today my anger is calm and I’ve surrendered to the fact that nothing can change my past. I try to not give in to guilt, as it keeps me in a regrettable state. It’s the ‘what ifs’ of life…

Why didn’t I see anything wrong in the days before he died?

What if the paramedics had got to him sooner?

Why am I alive and he’s not?

I should be grateful for what I’ve got, instead of being sad.

Guilt is soul destroying and as for hindsight, well it can kiss my hind arse. A few weeks ago depression became king, affecting everything that I tried to do and all the decisions I tried to make. I have to fight it now, but there are days when I’m too tired to do this. Fear lives with my anxiety, driving loneliness & isolation. If I let it take over I would never socialise.

I lost my purpose and replaced it with ‘what’s the point’. I have to work every day, with a planner, to visually see why I’m here, alive, and Simon isn’t. Not easy when I’ve lost all motivation and enthusism for everything I do. I then feel guilty for the state of my creative business, for the state of daily life, the state of my body and mind.

I wish the stages of grief were more linear, moving from one to the next in 5 easy steps. I wish it was like the above model but it’s not. The above is like going into a beauticians to ask for a straightforward Brazilian. Just take it all off so I can start afresh. Instead, the 1970’s disco afro is like Homer Simpson’s beard, it grows back in an instant.

I can’t take credit for these diagrams and whoever you are, you know the confusion of grief. I would like to think my squiggly lines are now less, but then denial, fear, emotional outbursts and loneliness all rear their ugly heads. I don’t know when they’ll strike next and for how long.

Total denial was like living in a protective bubble. I imagine it’s like taking crack cocaine as, when on it my reality went away. Now that the ‘denial drug’ is of less strength I’m facing up to what has happened. I’m like an empath, taking all the world’s woes at once, overloading my brain. I relive that horrific night, not in quick flashbacks but in glorious Technicolor. I’m seeing my reality, of the decisions I need to make for my future and it’s scary. Acceptance is part of grief but it doesn’t make my loss any easier or less painful.

With all theses erratic emotions, there’s a inner demon in the main driving seat. This self-inflicting critic confuses, complicates and doesn’t allow me to see how well I’m doing. I have to try to not listen to its damming voice, concentrating instead on reflecting back to what I’ve done. Now at 32 weeks, I’ve survived the initial trauma, dealt with the worse loss I’ve ever experienced, felt completely dead inside, thought I was going mad, coped alone, cried so much dehydration was a risk, screamed, lashed out and fallen apart. I’ve been so angry I could have beaten someone to death with my bare hands.

But I’ve also talked, reflected, listened, joined in and…

Began to adapted and changed to my new life.

Explored new strengths and new patterns.

Put some order in my disorganisation.

Made new friends and hopefully helped them too.

Recognising old behaviour patterns and what drives my anxiety.

It’s hard to do the above, as my grief is overpowering. What I’m learning through all of it, the good & bad, the left & right side of the grief model is this…

Hope.

It’s fleeting but it does visit me, from time to time. Hope gives me a glimpse of my future and it shows that it doesn’t have to be doom and gloom. Yes, there will be many times, like yesterday, when hope is shrouded by the dark side and everything looks bleak.  During the depression, the anger, the sadness and the many waves of grief, I know it will eventually calm. I can then see how I’m doing and try to start to climb up the right side, instead of feeling stuck at the bottom.

Simon, you knew I could survive something like this.

You called me your hero.

I’ll try to kind to myself and brave.

Love your hermit

x x x

 

 

 

Primary Belonging

From the moment we’re born we belong to someone, a family and a community. We then grow and form our own groups, choosing who we want in our lives. I belong to many groups, from my parents to my sister. I have relatives, lifelong friends and live in a rich society where my basic needs are met. I have social media, which enables me to stay connected with groups all over the world. What I no longer have is the group I created with one other person…Simon.

Since his death I’ve suddenly found myself living on my own, for the first time. I miss him every single day. I miss the love we shared and the person he was. Simon gave me love, warmth, connection, safety, support, and through all this he gave me…

A primary belonging to my own family.

Humans are not wired to live in isolation, even the ones who choose a hermit existence. We are pack animals, this trait going back to our earliest ancestors. The modern world may have changed but our bodies still response with one goal, to survive. So it doesn’t matter whether a lion is chasing you or it’s a deadline at work, our reactions to danger & stress is the same. Stress hormones are released, energy is pumped to our cells and our basic primeval mode kicks in. Even caveman knew that belonging to a group was better then trying to survive alone.

I removed myself from society last year and Simon labelled me a hermit. He joked about it but he knew the serious stress I was facing. In reality I didn’t actual become a hermit, as I had him. He was my main group, my immediate family, my next of kin. Then suddenly, without warning he was gone and my primary belonging was instantly wiped out.

Now I know I still belong to groups but the grief of losing my immediate family is overwhelming. I’m struggling without Simon and I can’t go back to living with former groups, as they are now all secondary. I’ve been advised to join local groups, with activities and common interests. It’s that, ‘get out and do something’ attitude for the good of my health and sanity, to show there’s life after death. I’ve try to do this but ended up feeling alone in a room full of people, my survival mode hitting the ‘run as fast as you can’ button.

Despite these past attempts, I’ve persevered and just spent time with a new group, people I can relate too. It tested my resilience to stay when my survival mode turned to ‘flight’, but I didn’t let it take over. For the first time in 7 months I laughed for longer than a brief moment and found enjoyment in the company of others. It also highlighted how lost I’ve become, as my grief has been so dominate, I barely recognised myself.  This pack animal had become so serious and so sad, through loss and isolation. If I hadn’t joined this group I would never have faced up to how disconnected I’ve become. I felt a sense of belonging once again and realised this is what I need to help me to heal. The advise to join groups is all very well but it’s got to be with ones you feel a connection to.

Belonging is not just about being part of a group but what it gives – love, safety, security, nuture and warmth. In addition to this, it enabled me to see that the future isn’t as bleak as the dark grief hole I’m currently in. It’s not a cure for my grief as I’ll always carry Simon’s love and loss with me but I can’t move forward without belonging. I have to be with people, to feel the connection with them, to this beautiful world. This hermit can live alone, but I can’t hide away with the pain. Belonging is a crucial part of my happiness, important for healing and a basic need for survival.

 

Simon, I belonged to you and you to me.

Miss that connection with you every day.

Love your hermit

x x x