Everything Changes

I’ve been thinking a lot recently about my so called ‘friends’.

Now Jonny and I were surrounded by wonderful people.
And I, of course, still am. Though that has dwindled considerably. His family are still an amazing support and I adore them all. My family have been incredible also. There are a select few close friends who have done an incredible job and I think it’s important to highlight how much they’ve done for me; phone calls, cheer up tweets and endless rants on facebook chat. 

Although for me it’s felt like the longest two and a half months of my life, it’s important to remember it hasn’t even been that long since Jonny passed away. So much has happened in that time it feels like forever since I last saw him walking and talking and smiling.
But in the grand scheme of things I’m still on the first leg of a very long journey.
And I don’t expect people to remember every little thing.
And I don’t expect people to always be treading on eggshells around me.
But it’s definitely hard that for some people; they literally cannot understand why I’m still so sad all the time.

It’s become abundantly clear that some people were only actually friends with me because my boyfriend just died and really that’s what this post is about.

In any life situation where two people become separate; whether best friends fall out, relationships break up or someone dies, it’s inevitable that some of your mutual friends will take sides or drift away.
But it’s still come as a shock that some people have gone as far as to exclude me completely from their circles now that Jonny’s gone and it’s all over and done with (in their eyes).

I thought I’d be spending the new year with a close group of mine and Jonny’s mutual friends. But what actually happened was they all had a party and I wasn’t invited. They spun me some silly excuse about how they thought I’d find it too hard without Jonny. But in actual fact I felt like the stupidest person in the world thinking that I’d be able to say goodbye to the hardest year of my life with people I thought were my closest friends. Instead they said good bye to the year (and not Jonny, because luckily for them they’re able to move on faster than lightning) and I sat alone at home and cried my heart out for half the night until I fell asleep from sheer exhaustion.

This is just one of the many cases where people have backed away now that I’m not ‘interesting’ anymore.
I’m clearly not worth their time as a unique individual person, without Jonny.

In the spirit of the new year I am course going with a ‘f*ck them’ attitude and trying to leave it all behind me. I have far bigger problems in life that some silly, ignorant youngsters.
But it’s easier said than done.
It still hurts.

Sometimes I go all day without even speaking to anyone out loud.
I feel so abandoned lately.
I know that, on the most part, people haven’t set out to make me feel that way.
And I know I isolate myself.
But I feel there are so few people left I could turn to in confidence. Because evidently those I thought would always be around were only really in it when it was dramatic and interesting. Now that it’s just heartbreak, grief and the very real world of depression it’s not much fun for them anymore… *sarcasm*

But there we go. A slightly bitter post about friends, or lack there of in my case. My life is all change at the moment and I’m sure I’ll blog more about things as they become relevant. At the moment I’m just trying to get out of bed each day and not sleep til 2:30pm…. 
It’s a start, I guess.

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I’m Still Here

Morning wordpress…

Sorry it’s been a while. I hit a low point, lower than ever before. I didn’t even want to be part of this world let alone part of a blog.

But here I am; still here. 
Somehow.

I lit candles for Jonny last night, I placed them around his picture and in that moment I felt lower than I’d ever felt before. I hit depths of sadness I didn’t even know existed. I curled up in bed and I was distraught, completely. A mess of tears and snot and hair. I just couldn’t stop. Eventually I cried myself to sleep and woke up this morning with the heaviest heart full of disappointment at the fact I was still here.

I don’t think anyone ever really prepares you for the fact that grief just keeps getting worse. I’m sure there’ll come a point where it’s reared it’s ugly head so much that I start to move forward again. But for now the analogy that grief is like the sea; it comes in waves, has never been more apt.

I got myself a job.
I went straight into full time work and didn’t look back. I didn’t tell them why I wasn’t at uni or hadn’t had a job for months, I didn’t tell them anything. I just got up on my first day and went in like I was the happiest girl on earth.

But sure enough, that took it’s toll. Going from nothing to everything was not the soothing distraction I had been promised. Everyones chorusing of ‘get back out there, get a job, it’ll give you purpose, a distraction’ was, quite frankly, a load of crap. Yes, it is a distraction, but it just means the come down when I get back home and realise I am alone again is even bigger than before.

I find myself crying on the bus in the morning, crying during work, crying in starbucks as I order my coffee. This is certainly not the life of strength and forward moving that I was led to believe it would be.

Mainly I think I get upset because a little part of me knows that I am, in fact, moving forward.
And I don’t like that.
It’s not fair.
Why does my life get to continue when Jonny’s didn’t?
The more normal everything slowly becomes the more the guilt weighs heavy on my shoulders. How can I be normal? How can I get up and go to work and pretend nothing is wrong when Jonny is dead? HOW?!

It’s such a long road, and it just stretches endlessly in front of me.
It’s relentless.

I’m sure it gets better eventually. It must do.
Surely….

Candles In Memory

Are You Over It Yet?

Things have been tough lately… Which is probably the understatement of the century.

Since passing the month mark the majority of people, most who didn’t know Jonny that well, have got back to their own lives. The obligatory ‘here anytime you wanna talk babe’ moment has passed and I now get flashed the look of ‘well really you should start just being fine again now….’.
It’s maddening.

It’s obviously completely understandable that those who didn’t know Jonny or who weren’t as actively involved in his life as I was have moved on completely now. That’s just how it works and I’m not angry at people for checking I’m okay once and then never mentioning it again.
It’s just frustrating when some people feel the need to point out the fact that I’m still upset about it….
Some people just can’t get their heads around the fact that grief is a lifelong thing…
You don’t get over it, you get used to it.
I spent three years with Jonny, and two of those were caring for him through terminal illness. I gave up my university ambitions, I gave up on nights out, I pushed friends away because I was never around. And then in the last few weeks I sat by his bedside 24 hours a day; panicking at every struggle for breath, kissing every inch of him while I still had the chance, cleaning his own sick off of him and crying so much my eyes were raw. It’s ridiculous to expect me to ‘get over that’ in a month.

So that’s where I am at the moment. I guess some people might think I’m in the ‘angry stage’ but honestly it changes on a daily basis right now.
I am trying, despite what some people think, it’s just hard. 

And I won’t let anyone take the struggle away from me – I’m hurting and it’s been a horrible, tough journey and I’m allowed to be a bit down about that!

Time

On Thursday it was a month since I said my final goodbyes to Jonny.

At the 24 hour mark I genuinely thought I’d never make it to a month.
But here I am.

I’m ticking along. Just. I still find it near enough impossible to get up in the mornings but I know I need to move forward. I’m completely broke and the lease on my flat in London runs out next week. I need to get my act together. I don’t want to.
But I don’t really have a choice.

I’m still staying at home with my mum. I sleep all day and agonise over memories all night. I talk to my picture of Jonny rather than talk to people in real life. At one point I hadn’t left the house in five days and I hadn’t even got dressed for the majority of that.

I was going to spend a night in Jonny’s room at the beginning of this week.

I know some people feel that I got the better end of the stick because Jonny’s illness allowed me to say everything I wanted to.
It doesn’t matter how much time you have…. You can never say enough. I still regret almost everything I did and didn’t say.
Because of the nature of his illness I spent a lot of time sleeping awkwardly curled up in a chair by his hospice bed. I never got a last cuddle because he was so ill. I think when someone dies suddenly, for all it’s cons, you’re more likely to remember the lasts of things. Whereas with Jonny getting progressively more ill, odd situations like half sleeping in a medical chair with all his beeping machines around me became normal.

I can’t remember the last time I spent a normal night with him. He was so ill in the last month or two I often wasn’t able to stay at his as I’d be up all night caring for him when I did.
I almost felt I owed it to myself to sleep in the bed we shared for 3 years one last time.
But when I got there, the reality hit that I would be sleeping in a big cold bed.
And I’d be very, very alone. 

So I couldn’t do it.
Five minutes standing in his room had me in floods. It was cold and empty even though it’s full to the brim with his belongings and possessions.

It’s still something I’d like to do.
Maybe eventually.
Maybe one day.
Just not yet.

It all takes time. An awful long, bloody time…

Getting By

It’s been a while since I wrote anything. Not intentional. I genuinely haven’t been able to make head nor tail of my emotions, let alone pinpoint something to write about. 

I reluctantly went to the doctors this week.

I’m no stranger to mental health problems but I seldom talk about it to even my closest friends, let alone publicly.
But this post is not about my complete inability to cope with life or function rationally as a grown up…
This post is about accepting when it’s got too much.

I struggled through the first couple of weeks trying to convince myself that everything I was feeling was normal and that I would just have to ‘get through it’ like everyone else does.

The reality is most people who’ve ‘got through it’ before me probably have done so because of counselling and medical help. It’s not weak to ask for help.

The doctor said something to me that made my blood boil. Something that a lot of people have said to me. ‘You seem very calm for someone who’s boyfriend’s just died’…
How am I supposed to seem exactly? Am I supposed to be a public mess or a bed bound recluse? Everything I do will be wrong in someones eyes. But it really hurts when people assume that my composure is attributed to coldness as opposed to strength or dignity.

Since realising that actually I couldn’t cope on my own I’ve been on anti-depressants and sleeping pills. I’ve seen no affect yet but I’m trying to focus on moving forward because there’s really nothing else at the moment.

The Hardest Day Of My Life

The Funeral.

So in a flourish of stars, sunflowers and hats we laid our Jonny to rest.

It was an amazing turnout, the crematorium was packed out almost everyone had bought single sunflowers as requested and customised their outfit in some way to include stars. Everyone was in hats, including silly, mad and homemade headpieces. It was quite a wonder to behold.

The funeral service itself was awful and wonderful in equal measure.
I was travelling with the family in a car behind the hearse. Waiting to see the coffin with my own eyes was my worst nightmare. I was most scared of seeing that box and knowing my baby was inside and I couldn’t touch him or see him. It’s bringing me to tears just writing this.

The florist messed up my flowers. The family requested no flowers and allowed me a special wreath; so that it would stand out (considering everyone was bringing single sunflowers to carry they didn’t want hundreds of bunches to bring home).
A week ago I ordered the most beautiful customised star shaped wreath with sprays of sunflowers throughout. It cost me a lot of money…
The hearse arrived and my flowers weren’t there.
It wasn’t like I needed an extra reason to cry, but I really started wailing and gasping through tears. The coffin just looked so bare without my flowers. I was so angry and sad and I just kept thinking how much I was letting Jonny down. All I wanted was for this day to be perfect and now it felt ruined.

The hearse was followed by the car with the family (his parents, sister, her boyfriend, myself and my mum for support). A second car followed carrying his band mates and their girlfriends and behind them was a smaller car with his 3 childhood mates and a close friend of the family.

The hearse parked up in front of the family home. Jonny had always wanted to come home and this was as close as we got to fulfilling his wishes.
I was on edge the whole way to the crematorium, silent tears flowing constantly as I stared blankly out the window.

Just before we arrived the boys from the band, their girlfriends, and Jonny’s childhood friends got out and flanked the hearse, sunflowers in hand, as it proceeded to turn into the crematorium followed by the family car.
That was when it really got me. I just kept thinking how wrong it was to see 21 year olds walking their beside their best friends body to pay their final respects.
We turned the corner and it was such a sight to behold people lining the road, a crowd of mourners in funny hats and a sea of sunflowers swam into my teary vision.

It’s not right when the amount of young people at a funeral almost outweighs the proper grown ups…

The service was incredible, as a musician Jonny was carried into his own song. There were 5 speakers including myself. Though how I managed it I’ll never know. I only said a few words. I faltered completely on the first line and all I could hear was the celebrant asking if I wanted him to read it. I choked through it because it was so important to me to say it. I stood with his best friend who read after me and then I kissed the lid of the coffin because I knew that was the last time I’d ever be that close to my boy.

The closed the curtains and he went out to Johnny B Goode.

I don’t think there was a single second in that room that I wasn’t in tears. Everybody remarked on what a lovely service it was and how rock and roll and joyful it had been, for a funeral.

It was a lovely send off for a lovely boy.

It was also closure and finality, and that scares me. Everything changes now, more so than before. It still blows my mind how the love of my life is now ash and dust. I got through yesterday because I had to, not because I wanted to.

I hope that wherever Jonny has gone he’s sleeping tight. 

But more than anything, I hope it comes across on this blog, in my everyday life, and when I spoke yesterday, just how much I loved that boy. I would’ve done anything and he was worth it.

Rest peacefully Jonny Walker. ❤

Okay, I Hope.

I’m okay. 
Kinda.

I’m still going.

Though my friend put it beautifully when she suggested that life right now is just a series of distractions to keep our minds occupied from reality.
I spend my time either thinking about Jonny, or not thinking about him then feeling huge waves of guilt that I let him, somehow, slip my mind…

I’ve been making my own funeral dress. I don’t know if that sounds weird to some people? Jonny wanted stars and I wanted to give him everything. Turns out stars are quite hard to come by, especially black, funeral appropriate dresses also featuring stars in an equally sombre colour like white, that will be delivered in time AND fit me…
So I decided I’d make my dress. And I’d cover it in stars. And it would be completely appropriate and perfect and fitting and a unique tribute for my boy.

Jonny always loved when I was making things; over the years I’ve knitted him hats, made him personalised cards, customised clothes he already had in his wardrobe. He loved it, and so did I. Before he died I’d got into quilting. Jonny commissioned a big London themed quilt he could snuggle in during his winter months of chemo. Months we still believed he had ahead of him….

I didn’t finish the quilt. 

It’s one of those things now, that I use against myself. When I’m feeling bad, or down, I remind myself how excited Jonny was for the quilt that I would NEVER finish in time…. I bought it to him in the hospice, it was about big enough to cover his torso but had pins sticking out of it and no padding. I laid it across him whilst he slept each night just so I knew in a way, he’d had it.

He must have known something was going on.

He didn’t understand why everyone was coming to visit him or why I’d bought in all these things for him when I was supposed to be back in London going to uni each day…

No one ever told him what was going on. Not directly. He rarely asked. He knew. I’m sure he did. He knew he was dying and that upsets me a great deal.

I just hope he wasn’t scared. Or regretful. Or sad that his life was coming to an end. I hope he wasn’t worried about us; his family, me. I hope he wasn’t thinking about all the stuff he’d miss out on. I hope he wasn’t panicking over whether he should’ve been more religious. 

I hope, with all my heart, that he was’t frightened. That if he really could hear our voices that we soothed and comforted him. I hope he heard me repeatedly say I love him towards the end. I hope he heard us give him permission to let go.

I hope he’s happy now, I hope he’s safe and at peace. I hope he isn’t missing us and can’t see the pain and destruction that’s been left behind in the wake of his death.

I hope I see him again one day.

And I hope there’s a future where I’ll be okay.