What Do You Want Me To Tell You?

What do you want me to tell you?

That I'm not awake in the middle of the night?

What do you want me to tell you?

That I'm doing fine and things are alright.

What do you want me to tell you?

That you aren't my first thought when I wake.

What do you want me to tell you?

That my sorry patched up heart cannot break.

But I can't tell you contents of that sad heavy heart.

And I can't tell you that my universe has torn ours apart.

I can't tell you that there's no music that can ever heal my soul.

And I can't tell you that it was you that made me feel whole.

I can't tell you how I feel about the mistakes that I made.

I can't tell you all of the things that I wish I had said.

I can't tell you of sunsets and slow kitchen dances

Or tell you that I wish for just one of those second chances.

The memories fade but they are still imprinted on my heart.

The onslaught of my emotions I had to impart.

Buried deep, lost their meaning, you had to let go.

But I can't, it's too much, my heart yearns for you

So

What do you want me to tell you?

That I don't need you or struggle without you?

What do you want me to tell you?

That I'm not the same man you once knew?

What do you want me to tell you?

That I can deny all the love I hold true.

What do you want me to tell you?

If you'd listen then I would just tell you.

The Mask and The High Wire

In the beginning I thought that the future was similar to that of a high wire balancing act and all I had to do was make my way along the wire, holding only a balance pole with Life at one end of the pole and The Kids at the other. Of course every so often there would be times when I would have to stop as the balance of Life and The Kids would cause me to wobble. Once I felt I'd gained some semblance of equilibrium I would gingerly continue on. Never once did I consider that the one thing that would endanger my high wire act would be me. It seems that I neglected to take into account how integral my own mental welfare would be to this whole act. And an act is what it is. Everyday is one big act. I believed that the act would get better and easier with time and practice but sadly that isn't the case. Everything just gets harder. The theatrical mask is slipping and wearing thin. The act is wearing thin. Balancing is becoming harder and when I cast a furtive glance below me there doesn't seem to be a safety net. 

This is not the first time I've been here. I have had these issues before, we all have, but not like this. I have never felt so little in control of things as I do now. I feel that I'm only just keeping all this together. Only just. 

Firstly though, I need to recognise how I got to this point. Over the last few months I have felt the threat of the dreaded Second Year on my shoulder. It doesn't have any real discernable form; it's just a lurking notion that things are going to get more difficult. All the while I have managed to stay positive through the love and support of friends and family. They have kept me emotionally balanced. There are ever present stresses; The DWP, for example, constantly put pressure on me to get another job as my 9 hours at school doesn't satisfy their algorithm. They don't take into consideration that when I'm not working I'm being a full time parent. I know there are other single parents that hold down jobs and look after children and that my situation isn't unique, but to me it is and I struggle. For the DWP, it's black and white and I find the pressure of that only adds more worry. So given that I struggle to get everything done with the hours I already have, I, rather naively, decided that I'd apply to do a Level 2 Teaching Assistant course online. I did this to appease the DWP and it's also something I really want to do but within a week I realised that the 18 hours study I had to do was just too much. I suddenly started panicking about the workload. I had felt that I had overreached and the realization that I couldn't do it as well as my job and look after the kids, was strangely too hard to bear. This then became the catalyst to the floodgates opening. I flicked a switch. I opened Pandoras Box. I couldn't put my finger on it but suddenly over the space of a few days everything changed. I lost my appetite, I couldn't sleep, I was shaking constantly, I had completely lost my motivation and I felt frustratingly lethargic. I couldn't go to the toilet, I constantly felt nauseous and my head was continually sore and stuffy. I was having overwhelming feelings of sadness and, most telling of all, I felt like I was being a burden to the friends that were trying to help me. I felt trapped. I felt there was no escape. I felt like I was falling to pieces and while I was trying to hold all the pieces in place, I was also trying to hold the mask up. The Mask was still preventing me from opening up entirely to anyone. The sheer folly of this was only exacerbating the issue. It was hard to tell anyone this, not out of pride, but more because I couldn't explain it. I needed to do something, so I made the decision to book a doctors appointment. After a lengthy discussion he unsurprisingly diagnosed me with depression and anxiety. 

So here I am, The Second Year has arrived. The First Year was full of firsts; things that kept me busy and occupied. But all the time every one of those things were slowly draining me, I was using up all my energy on carrying on and hiding behind The Mask. I am now running on empty. I didn't devote any time to Me, to allow Me to recharge. I gave so much into keeping it all together that I seem to have run out of everything entirely. Then on top of that there is the crushing realisation that there is no quick fix. This is long term. The high wire has just gotten longer and more treacherous and when I was up there, concentrating so much on The Kids and Life on my balance pole, I forgot to check my own balance. Sadly this is still the case as I write this down. All those feelings are still here; overwhelming me, draining me, making me cry suddenly and for no apparent reason, causing me to lose sleep, confusing my thoughts, distorting my love, stealing my motivation, making me want to hide away, and that same feeling of being a burden that is stopping me from sending a message of help to a friend. Anytime I try to get a little positivity, something happens, just a random thought or doubt and I'm back there again. I'm trying so hard but my emotional state seems to be snowballing out of control and I don't know how to halt it. The doctor suggested medication and/or therapy and has given me time to come to an informed decision but in the meantime all those feelings are still here. And it's crushing me.

The mask was there to cover the turmoil, to project confidence, control. The mask was meant to make things easier while I made all the adjustments I had to make. But instead it just made things harder. The longer you wear it, the heavier it gets. And the heavier it gets, the more you lose of yourself. I thought I was brave putting a face on but it isn't brave at all. The bravest and best option is often the hardest one. So this is it. I've took off The Mask and I'm asking for help. I simply can't cope on my own. I will still be walking the high wire but I need that safety net. I need to know it's there.

All the while I just want to be happy again. I'd even be content going back a couple of months so I could perhaps see the change and adapt better but you can't reinvent history. There is a certain inevitability about this that I need to embrace. The me I want to be and could be seems so very far away. But I will get there. I've inched my foot out tentatively and I can feel the wire oscillating under it. I'm checking my balance. I cast a quick glance at Life and The Kids at either end of my pole and I check my balance again. The pole is shaking. I am shaking. I can't remember a time when I was so afraid, that all this responsibility for everything mattered so much. For the first time in forever I check to see if there actually is the safety net that I so desperately need. 

And I take that step. 

The Lesson

As I've mentioned before, most days we look at Facebook memories on Laura's phone as the kids like to look at the photos on her page. Her page is obviously still active and she is still a member of quite a few Facebook groups. They are mostly local interest, celebrity or lifestyle based. However, one of those groups is a Secondary Breast Cancer group. When I open her page there is usually a post from that group at the top. I only ever briefly scan that post and I never open the group up properly. There are two reasons for this. For one, it simply doesn't feel right. This is a closed group for women with SBC to share their concerns, worries and fears with other women in exactly the same situation, so I feel like I would be eavesdropping on their private affairs. The other reason is simply that all of their stories would break your heart. These woman have metastatic cancer, it cannot be cured. They know, like Laura did, the finality of their situation.  However, the common thread I see, beside the incredible bravery of these women, is the struggle they have with help, in respect to both asking for help and dealing with offers of help. 

Now, it's hard to write about this without sounding critical but the idea is to make you think. This has been on my mind for a long time now and it was a topic of conversation with my counsellor. Please read it and take on board what I'm saying without guilt, remorse or regret. On many occasions situations like these are new for everyone involved and unfortunately we only learn lessons from hindsight.

We all know someone in need. Sadly, I have never been so aware of so many people I know with cancer but It doesn't have to be cancer, someone you know needs help.

So.

There were times, especially after Laura's secondary diagnosis (today marks that 2 year anniversary) and also after she had left us, that we were inundated with messages of help. "Anything at all, just shout or let me know". The thing is, and I know this to be true of both myself and Laura, asking for help isn't an easy thing. I expect it is the same with many others. This isn't always down to stubbornness or pride, it's just that it's hard, for me personally, to categorise that help. I know what I struggle with and it's the every day things; housework, walking the dog and just your good old common motivation. These are things that everyone struggles with so it hardly seems worth shouting about. However, Laura simply wanted normality in her life. She didn't really want grand gestures. She wanted a cuppa, a biscuit and someone to pop by and talk about the every day stuff. Not cancer, sympathy, pity or general awkwardness, just friendship and a smile and a bit of gossip. This proved difficult though as generally people, unsurprisingly, couldn't see past the harsh emotion of it all. I've said this before but "you got this" is not what anyone with SBC wants to hear.

Now a bit of advice if I may. That someone you know that is going though a hard time, whether it be earth shattering or earth moving or simply a issue that may not seem like much but is being underplayed, go see or call them. May I suggest that that help isn't of the aforementioned grand gesture variety, but just a simple thing. Suggest going for a walk, go for a coffee, make them a cup of tea. Maybe a Tunnocks Teacake too. Those are the things that are most likely required. Read the room. They probably don't need you to walk the dog or do the housework, although that can be discussed and be a result of being in their company. You will know in your heart if you listen, truly listen, what that person is comfortable with. 

Now this is the important bit: if they refuse because they don't feel up to it, don't give up. It may simply be that; they don't feel up to it. Try again tomorrow or the day after. Never presume that because your help wasn't required one day that it's always going to be that way. Keep trying. Again, if you truly care-Don't. Give. Up. Of course, there is a fine line here, but the benefits far outweigh anything else.

The last thing I want to do is sound judgmental or ungrateful. I don't want anyone who was close to Laura to feel bad in anyway. Don't overthink it. It was a first for everyone and the love and support was unconditional and gratefully received. But would it not be the best thing if we learned something from it, something we could pass on? I still get messages of support and help to this day and it means the world to me. It has also made me see things in a different light. I feel I have to pass it on. I no longer sit on a message to someone who I think I should tell how much I appreciate and love them. I make it known. Go see that person. Drop them a note.

There are lessons here. For everyone.

If Truth Be Told

It has been nearly two months since I've written. I'd like to say that this was intentional, that I took a break to gather my thoughts or to have a creative hiatus, but that's not true. I simply couldn't write. I didn't have the energy. I didn't have the focus. Frankly, I couldn't be bothered. It wasn't for the want of trying. I have ideas. I have topics. I have issues to address, I really have issues that I need to address but I just didn't have the energy to do it. And that is essentially the heart of the problem. Writing is almost like a metaphor for how I'm feeling. It is a struggle to write because, in essence, struggling is what I am doing. Or was. It's hard to say it out loud and to make it public, because despite my outward signs of coping, I wasn't. You'll notice I'm using the past tense to that. While I still feel like I am still struggling, and I fundamentally always will, I also feel that I have turned a corner on that period. Or at least moved along the road a little.

I've had help. 

I've needed help.

But first let me describe what it has been like recently. In isolation most of the worries I have are simply the same worries that every parent has. I don't know why they snowballed in my mind, but they did. Collectively, everything just felt that little bit heavier than usual. I felt that sometimes I was being short with the kids. I hate that when I snap or even moan at them for the littlest of things. I always hear myself doing it and there's a voice inside, probably Laura's, telling me to calm down, that they are just doing what kids do. It was the overthinking afterwards that was the real issue. I would feel that I should have dealt with some situations better and in turn that would make me feel guilty and incredibly sad and annoyed with myself. I would struggle to break out of this loop. These feelings would linger long after the kids had gotten over the episode and had moved on. I still do it now but I'm trying not to linger on it so much as that feeling of guilt can be crippling.

The other part of it is just everyday stuff. Housework, shopping, finances and organising that same every day stuff, etc. Generally life. It is no coincidence that I've stopped writing since I've started working again. I got myself a job at the kids school. It's only an hour and half, Monday to Friday and as much as I love it and benefit from it mentally, it is right in the middle of the day and has totally thrown whatever routine I had been building over the last year. So I have less time to try get on top of the things I was already struggling to get on top of. I have never felt so exhausted. Even when I was working 6 days a week, shift work, sometimes with only a few hours sleep between shifts, I used to just power through. There are times now that I'm afraid to sit down as I struggle to get back up. I've been fighting this now though and I let myself sit and try not to stress about the things that I should be doing instead of having a rest.

So I asked for help. Professional help. I organised a session with a bereavement counsellor. It was a major step for me. It's a major step for anyone I guess. There is just so much stigma attached. I had to admit to myself that I'm not coping. And now I'm saying that out loud, or writing it down at least. I am no stranger to this.

The advice I was given is fairly obvious and basically I knew most of it already, or I had some idea about it, just not the actual professional terms or methods. What I didn't know was that people often find the second year is the worse or at the very least, harder. The first year is endless admin and finding your feet, all done in a seemingly endless haze. Feelings are often pushed to the side as we are immersed in finding how to live and adjust without the most important part of our lives, a irreplaceable missing part, a scale that was previously unknowingly perfectly balanced. In the second year, reality bites. In the second year I now realise that this is all very real and this road I am on, we are on, isn't actually a brightly lit road with the occasional hill and pretty scenery, lined with people ready to help direct me at a moments notice; it's an obstacle course. An ever changing obstacle course and some parts of it are so dimly lit that it's hard to see what's ahead, or beside, or behind. The hardest part of the last 18 months, and there have been many hard parts, is striving to keep things as normal as possible for the kids. I have been focused on trying to keep some semblance of continuation, to make it seem to them that nothing has really changed. Only it has. Everything has changed. And I need to recognise that more. I've been trying to hit the standards of a woman whose standards were incredibly high. I have had to admit to myself that this is impossible. It was hard enough when she was here but on my own I've given myself an unachievable task and worse, I've judged myself on it. I've actually set myself up to fail. So the advice is to change that. It won't happen overnight but I need to try to start doing things my way. I can still accomplish tasks with one eye on how Laura would have done it but I need to give myself a target that I can actually achieve. The counsellor also advised me to start leading my life again. I find it difficult to focus on me at all at times. There are occasions when I actually forget me. For example, I'll think about what they will eat for the week and it's only when I'm about to make a meal, I remember I haven't got anything for me! I haven't a clue what form this "me" will take as it's a challenge to find the actual me time but just thinking about it is the first step to doing. I don't know if I can but I said I will try and that's as good as it gets at the moment.

I was actually given similar advice from a good friend who is also fighting his own battle with cancer, successfully I hasten to add. He said these very words: 

You need to stop living up to your internal expectations. You are all over this in a good way. And you need to start taking the foot off the gas, for your own sake. You are a good man and have nothing to prove to anyone. But I get it, to a point: am I good enough dad? Yes you fucking are. 

The sentiment still draws tears to my eyes now. Am I good enough? I need to be and therefore I will be. It's all I can be. I'll still get annoyed at myself if I procrastinate and for not getting things done and I still huff and puff at the kids and hate myself for doing it. But what have I learned? I have learned that it's okay to change and no one is judging me except me. I'll now have to take the chance that they'll actually remember all the good things and only occasionally remember that the housework wasn't done, how I moaned at them for being children or how I was just too tired to give them attention on a particular occasion. I need to start leading my life and giving myself a break every so often. I know this will be a challenge as it's hard to actually put myself on any sort of level billing with the kids but Laura told me, and I've said this before, "I know you will always do the right thing by the kids." 

I have also said this before, I just need to remind myself sometimes; I am enough. What's more, we are all enough and, if truth be told, we are more than enough. 

. 

The Outside In The Inside Out.

On the outside everything is okay. On the outside I keep busy and do all the things I'm meant to do. On the outside I'm smiling and laughing and, on the outside, I'm being strong and I'm being organised. 

On the outside I'm coping with everything. Even though on the outside that everything is a list unending. On the outside my determination never falters. On the outside there is life, love and the willpower to go on. 

On the outside there is no silent, debilitating pain. On the outside there is no struggle or turmoil. On the outside there is no fear of the future and no guilt of the past. And on the outside there are no regrets.

On the outside there is no worry or stress or turmoil. On the outside there is no anger. On the outside there are no visible tears or sadness to see. On the outside no one can tell that my heart is breaking every other minute. 

On the outside life goes on. 

And it does, without you.

On the inside, and from the inside, the world exists without you but in the inside you are still here. From the inside I can see everything. I see the world turning, the days pass and life is as it was to everyone. On the inside I don't see those everyday things as painful, constant reminders that you have gone as you are always here inside with me. On the inside I hear you whispering comforts in my ear. On the inside I feel the calm touch of your hand touching mine. On the inside I sense, beside me, your infinite presence. 

Inside another world and another life exists. A world no-one will understand. A world complete and whole. So why let the outside in and turn the inside out? The outside is a mirror that only reflects what the world wants to see. So I'll stay in here a while longer. And a while longer again. Where you are. Safe inside the inside. Delaying that life without you that awaits. Delaying the pain and the sadness and the worries and the fear.

Delaying the evitable day when we have to turn the world outside in, inside out.

#WorldMentalHealthDay2023 

The Messy Drawer

I wrote this earlier this year. It's just another example of my "weirdo ways" as Laura called it. The idea just came out of nowhere as I was driving. By the next morning it had pretty much written itself. It happens sometimes. Stuff just pops into my head. I tried to explain it to her more than once. I have his strange inner dialogue that makes me think about colours and words and ideas while I go about my day. I could be walking along and I would notice the light and shade of a tree. I'm captivated by it. My mind will drift and I'll think about the colours and the light and shade. I don't just see a brown trunk and green leaves, I see blues in the shadows and a myriad of yellows, oranges and greens. It's true, I probably talk a better art game than the actual act, but it happens still. It's not like I'm drifting off into some psychedelic hippy daydream, I'm talking seconds. It's the same with words. Little phrases come out of nowhere and I think that's a nice idea or they lend themselves to a nice image. I need to be quick to remember them as, like my dreams, they can disappear as quick as the came. This is once such example. Anyway, these little moments used to get an "eye roll" or the Laura Look as it is now called since Hallie started to perfect it. I'm sure this would get the same. I understood that the look wasn't disapproval, she just didn't like things to be out there, as it were. She was quite private and this may have broken that code! However, here it is. I feel like it belongs here.

The Messy Drawer

There's a messy drawer at home.

I know you've got one too.

Mine is in the kitchen,

Near the fridge,

Full of reminders of you.

A messy drawer of memories

It's full to the brim.

The drawer,

Like my heart,

Can't fit any more in.

Cards for a birthday that you'll never sign.

Notes, accounts and numbers now exclusively mine.

Shopping lists of things that now I won't buy,

Handwritten by you that I touch with a sigh.

Those little things that belong in a memory box,

Your key, never again, will marry its lock.

A hair band, a bauble of red and of black,

Missing your hand to tie her hair back.

A brush, and some lip balm, a small Lego toy,

Bought for the child who is now a grown boy.

Letters from school, the council, the bank,

Kids party invites, the replies remain blank.

A stone, a shell, a green sea glass shard,

A doodled red heart, I Love You on the card.

A purse, passport pictures, tissues, some gum,

A keyring as a gift, the world's greatest mum.

Receipts, bills and pictures now frozen in time.

And all those things now exclusively mine.

A letter from the doctor, informing us when,

The contents of the drawer won't be the same again.

I've a messy drawer full of memories

In the kitchen at home.

The drawer,

like my heart

Is best left alone.

Rule The World

It was unexpected generally. I mean those closest to me know I'm partial to a bit of pop music but I'm not sure if anyone really expected us to have Rule The World by Take That as our first dance on our wedding day. My taste in music has always been of an "avant garde" persuasion, a point that was made by my Best Man in his speech. It was just another one of those opposite things that me and Laura had. Earlier in the day, during my speech, I remarked that it's the opposites that made our dynamic work. We were opposites in many ways in the things that we liked but all those things were exactly that, just things. They didn't define us. I said in my speech we didn't have to see eye to eye in such trivial subjects, after all it's more important to be facing the same direction than looking at each other or behind us. That wasn't the way we were going.

You light the skies up above me. A star so bright you blind me.  

So Take That came as a little surprise. We had watched the movie Stardust leading up to the Big Day and had liked the song when it was in the charts, so I suggested it and Laura agreed. That was that. Another thing ticked off the wedding list. To be honest it was possibly the only input I had! Well, that and writing the names on the place cards.

I always thought the lyrics to be apt as a first dance song. It says everything you have to say. It's uplifting and full of promise.

Yeah, you and me we can ride on a star. If you stay with me, girl, we can rule the world.

13 years later the lyrics have taken on a whole new meaning. I didn't consider for a single moment back then that the words "don't close your eyes, don't fade away" would hurt my heart so much as they do now. The lyrics of the song are now completely about the loss of Laura. Rarely a day goes by when I don't listen to it. At first it was difficult but I played it anyway. On my own. On repeat. I would play it even though it hurt me to the core. I'd try to sing along but my voice would always break or I simply couldn't breathe due to the lump in my throat and the heaviness in my chest. But play it I did. I played it whilst doing chores around the house, crying over the kitchen sink wiping away tears with an already wet hand or stopping while hoovering, too weak with sadness to push the damn thing. It elicited feelings of anger and frustration, of sorrow and futility. It was like I was exorcising my grief. Those little episodes were the only occasions that it actually started to show. In the house, on my own, I'd let it out just enough to stop it totally debilitating me. I can play it more now without the almost overwhelming feeling of devastating heartbreak but I still feel every single syllable of those lyrics.

You saved my soul. Don't leave me now.

Although the song now describes perfectly the irreplaceable loss of Laura, the image that fills my head isn't the song playing as we said our final goodbyes at the funeral. What I see is us on a dance floor, me lifting her up and spinning her around at the chorus and that feeling of unbridled happiness we both shared 13 years ago today, 21st August 2010.

All the stars are coming out tonight, they're lighting up the sky tonight, for you.

For you.