Good friends say..

"So it's been one year really"?

Yes...because I don't think it really ended, getting beaten up by her husband wasn't them ending it. I don't think it's really ended now...

"It sounds to me as if he's done"

"What do you think of me for saying that"?

That it hurts. 

It's what my friends say. 

What do I think?

I know that they are on my side..

"You have some good friends, most friends say 'yeah well never liked him, he's a bastard..."

Yeah, they've got my back.

Not sure what to say now, above is a bit of my dialogue with my therapist. Friends have been through this stuff before, friends have seen a lot, and my friends really do 'have my back'. But me? I'm down and out, I'm grieving, been grieving in and out for a year. the process interrupted again and again by hope, and disrupted by lies.

Going round Tesco's today was an ordeal, my whole married life flashing before my eyes. Wanting to curl up in a little ball and howl...twenty-five years of memory. But as Maynard explains (Pusifer track) - and I've been saving this track for the end - it is time, after all those hours, days, months of being made to feel guilty that now it is time to sever the heart line.

Nothing has changed.

I'm open to repair all this.

Me, flying with no legs (my hero was Douglas Bader) going on to lead the Battle of Britain, indomitable, never giving up.

I don't give up.

But things will change

--------------------------------------

Writing from November 2019.

21st November 2019.

Please!

A word I've been using a lot.

Please.

Please don't do this, please don't be angry, please hear me, please help me.

Please don't be angry comes before.

I am not hysterical yet, I'm not in terror. 

I know that if he speaks to me with disdain and voice full of warnings I am going to start keening, I cry as if bereft, a woman weeping for her lost love. 

I cannot understand what has happened, who took my beloved from me? 

Why is this man treating me in such a cold, cruel way? 

I say, "Please, don't talk to me in that way" and he walks out the room.

That's when the keening begins; grief overwhelms me, the full weight of abandonment. I am a child again and no one will come...

The pattern is old and entrenched, and I am well into despair. Please don't do this, is when he puts on his coat and says, his voice quiet and low "I'm going". That is when the tsunami of panic hits me and I shatter. At this point I will not, cannot let go of him. I hold onto his legs, I am hysterical. He says - voice controlled, quiet and low "let go, fuck off, just get off me" and I'm screaming in terror. As his tone becomes more angry he shouts at me "I can't even leave my own house, fucking hell, just fuck off!" My eyes are shut, I'm holding on to the fracturing edge of the universe. I'm holding onto nothing, no one. No hand reaches out. No kind word is given. Between my arms, he is nothing except a tiny shard of mirror glass. Hologramatically it contains all my memory of love. It fixes me above psychic dismemberment and crushing, the taste of blood, my absolute ending. I am hanging above slow grinding cog wheels into which I will fall if I let go.

I cannot let go...

The end of pain is nothing to fear, end of all hurt. 

He isn't that kind of man, he doesn't hit me, he wont kill me. 

And I will not let go, and this is making him hate me. 

I wish he would kill me now then I'd be safe. 

I wouldn't be making it worse.

How did it come to this. 

Why did I say the wrong thing. 

I should not, must never speak... 

Now only death is safe, the absence of making it worse. 

And now is not safe, nothing is safe.

Grief overwhelms me. I give up. 

Black despair slows my heart, I crawl as if through air as thick as mud upstairs. 

Lights off. Into the dark where I crouch, on my knees, head to the floor trying so hard to be as small as I can. 

Unseen. 

Silent. 

Trying not to drown in my tears, and to not make a sound.

And so dear reader, this is a postcard from Hell. I've been camped here, slowly traveling closer and closer to the inner circle of psychosis since May. 

There are reasons. The main reason why I'm here, describing as bad as it gets, is because I need to describe it for myself, to myself.