Opening The Door

It's 3:07am, Sunday 2nd of October.

This is the first entry I have made that hasn't been retrospective. I'm sure there will be more of these.

I'm currently alone, in bed, in an empty house, unable to sleep. Last Thursday afternoon I had a "coming together" with my boss regarding handing in my notice of my demanding job. I have been less than impressed by her attitude since I said I was leaving but I don't want to slander anyone, so I'll leave it there. I have made the decision because it's the right thing to do for both me and the kids. It is the first of many steps I need to take in my life to protect what we have. I need to ensure that I'm in the best position to be there for them for as long as I possibly can.

However, on Thursday evening I started to feel unwell. I didn't sleep at all at night, I was shaking, had a temperature, felt nauseous and had a very bad headache. I have all the symptoms of covid but I'm testing negative. I'm not implying the meeting with my manager caused these symptoms, but it certainly didn't help.  

This has always been one of my greatest fears, being so ill that not only can I not look after the children, but I cause them distress by not being able to do so. I worry that the kids think that all illnesses may result in death. 

As I lay there that night my worry got the better of me. My heart was beating uncontrollably fast, which in turn made me panic more, which in turn made me feel more nauseous. I started thinking terrible thoughts. I need to be there for them. I can't leave them. I may have been overthinking it but in my mind I couldn't stop it. I was disappearing down an all too familiar rabbit hole. This sensation isn't new to me. It is something that I have had all my life. But now, it has even greater meaning.

That panic. That dread. It's in me. And always has been.

I never let Laura in. These episodes used to haunt me when I was younger. When I met Laura they became less frequent. But they were still there. I didn't open The Door completely. Out of shame. Out of worry. She used to get so frustrated with me. The guy who was confident, knew how to formulate my sentences clearly and was never short of words, simply couldn't answer the question "what is wrong?" It just wouldn't come out. I don't know why, and I may never know. but I did try. The more I tried, the worse it got and the more frustrated she became. She was such a perfect light. I wish I had let her in. 

 

On Saturday I sat alone in the empty house. I missed the kids. I missed their voices. I missed sleeping in their tender vice. That feeling only exacerbated the fear. It's sitting on my shoulder. Whispering worries in my ear. This isn't grief. This is mine. This is my problem. This is my Door. I know I'm not alone. I have family and friends messaging me to see if I'm okay and offering help. 

I'm not alone or even lonely, I'm simply Laura-less. 

"How are you? Is there anything we can do to help?" 

“I'm okay thanks. Just feeling poorly"

The Voice: No, I'm not good, I've been sitting here crying for the last hour because sometimes the whole enormity of this task is overwhelming. I miss Laura. My guilt at never telling her my fears and worries are clouding me. I will ask for help. I know I must, but I need to open The Door first. 

So, when you messaged this morning to see how I am, my answer should have been: I slept okay but I woke up crying and couldn't stop. I'm feeling ill, lost and sad. I will get through this. I will need your help soon. I will ask.

Again, this is me opening The Door. Please don't pull it open from the other side. 

It is my Door. It is mine to open.