Up and down. All the time.
For some reason it's hard for me to blog and read others' words, let alone leave comments for them at the moment. I feel bad about it. But I don't seem to be able to give right now. That's a first. And it's uncomfortable. It doesn't sit well with me. But I know that to survive I have to follow my intuition.
I'm having a tough time. Fuck, this whole year has been a nightmare. Much harder. Oh, so much more painful than the year before. I miss you more, baba.
I've struggled with my health, finances, housework. Everything. To be honest work consumes what energy I do have. I'm fucked. And fucked up. But not.
Well, I'm living half in the past ... and half in the future. I've spent time reading books that have helped me and made plans for more memory books ... and found notes and cards we wrote for each other that have soothed and ripped me apart at the same time.
I've replayed scenes in my mind ... Sobbing or laughing at them. But in the end ... It's always the same result. I'm so grateful he chose me. My heart expands with love for him. And slowly it will banish much of the pain that still resides there.
Struggle. Each day a battle. I know friends and family are expecting more from me. But it is what it is.
I have stuff to blog - Camp Widow, the Angel I met on my journey on the flight home, who curiously took the shape of a young drum n bass DJ (who miraculously became the first person I managed to tell - without losing it - no holds barred - what happened that day) .... and healed me so much as we swishes across transatlantic skies. My plans to move to Spain. And my happiness that Cliff's daughter and children intend to follow me there. I can visualize myself there.
I ache to be there now. I can picture it. Yet, simultaneously I find myself leaning against the walls he built - almost vomiting at the thought of letting go of our home. Home is not here nor anywhere on this Earth. It is with him. I want to go home but the timing of my reunion is not mine to decide. So, I dream of a new life. And I will make it as happy as I can.
I'm just clocking in to say hello. And to say I still care about you all. I'll get there. Just in my own time. I can't do it any other way lest I am floored and cannot find the strength to try again. So I've switched off. And pretend I don't give a fuck that peeps disapprove or feel I've not been in touch. It hurts. Because there are days when it's too much to ask me to brush my hair, let alone visit them or phone. Really.
And so I'll sign off for now. It might be a while till I post more. Conserving energy. Emotional. Spiritual. Mental. Physical.
Wish me luck as I attempt to open our safe to retrieve cash that's been there since he died. He's stll looking after me. Surreal! The old door is stuck. Solid. I've almost cracked it. The can of WD-40 has taken a caning.
More and more shit seems to be happening and I'm unsure whether it's just life or another unhappy by-product of the Cliff-shaped hole left in my very heart and soul - or a mix of the two.
Like the fact that I'm sitting in Tesco supermarket car park writing this post, whilst charging my iPhone because the fucking plug at home doesn't work anymore.
It's endless. Relentless. Exhausting. Sorrowful. My tooth cracked last night. Just another thing to add to the list. My worry that I may have to euthanize my deaf dog because he bit my toe in protest at not getting his own way. He didn't savage me. But ... I worry. What if it was a child. More importantly Cliff's grandchild?
More to worry about. Alone. I know I have peeps to talk everything through with but stll ... the harsh reality is that it is all my decision now. As is the fallout.
I want to have a bath and lay down in clean sheets with him. Just hold each other and look in his eyes. See the love and sleep like a child for a night. That is all.
Instead ... I see my battery is now at 70% so I'll head home knowing I can chat on facebook as a reward IF I can open the safe.
Laters peeps <3
But I'll get there, baba. For you. For me. For love. For the future.