Anger And Guilt – Grief Personified

This post… Is a difficult one.
I’m going to keep it short and to the point.
I urge you to keep an open mind whilst reading it because unless you’ve experienced it, you’re probably going to be confused about how I feel…

I think I finally understand what the grief counsellor said about being angry at Jonny for dying….

I’m not angry at Jonny himself.
I’m really not.

I guess… I’m angry at the situation.
Selfish as it may seem, I’m angry that he went and died and left me in this state, a wreck of what I was or could have been.

Does that make sense?
Or do I sound like the worst person in the world?

It’s incredibly difficult to articulate this feeling. I really bear no ill will towards my beautiful boyfriend. I adored him with all my heart, and I still do now.
I just….
I just feel so angry that through no fault of my own (or his) I’m now left a complete emotional mess, picking up the pieces of a shattered former life than can never be whole again.

I think of what other people my age are doing: flirting, partying, dating and even settling down, and I can’t have those things and when I think about the possibility of doing those things in the future I’m guilt ridden, paralysed at the thought of my own betrayal towards Jonny.

It’s exhausting.

Fake Friends And Fickle Feelings

Lately I’ve come to realise that some people were only friends with me because my boyfriend was dying.

Now that might sound harsh, but if you’re reading this and you were mutual friends with both Jonny and I yet you’ve not been in contact with me since… Maybe step back for a second and put yourself in my shoes.

The way I see it there are a whole load of people who were shocked, upset and heartbroken at Jonny’s death but I break it down a bit. There’s the inner circle – the people who’s hearts will never fully heal: family, I include myself in that group.
Next there’s the friends, radiating outwards like ripples; the best friends since childhood, the best friends from adulthood, the mutual friendship circles, the college buddies, old school friends, etc.
And lastly?
There’s the ‘hanger on’s.
These are the people that don’t quite fit into the ‘acquaintance, old friend, mutual friend of a friend’ group. These are people that like to think they’re in the inner circle. These are also people who use Jonny’s death to their advantage.
I’m talking about people who get a little kudos from being part of charity things inspired by Jonny’s memory because it makes them look good. People who know if they post something about Jonny on social media it’s going to get a lot of attention.
People who think they know how I feel because Jonny once got drunk and let slip a little emotion about his illness.
Worst of all, these people (and they are few and far between, obviously, the majority of people are understandably and legitimately grieving) like to think they know how I feel.

But lets get this straight, yes?
This is aimed not only at ‘hanger on’s but also all Jonny’s friends who were sad for a week or two but now don’t even acknowledge me in the street:

Do you wake up every morning and feel your chest tighten when you remember that someone you love is gone? Do you reach over in bed only to realise the one person you want isn’t there? And will never be there?
This isn’t a break up. My boyfriend is NEVER coming back. 

Do you spend each and every day biting your tongue when someone mentions something vaguely related to Jonny?
Because if for even a second you let your guard down you will cry.
Again.

Do you wake up in the middle of the night because you’ve had such vivid nightmares, stemming from the post traumatic stress of having watched someone you love die, that you can’t even cope anymore?
Do you still send Jonny texts or call his answerphone in the middle of the night?
Do you say goodnight to his picture before bed and cry?

But lastly…
Do you think what I’ve written above sounds crazy?
Or like I’m not coping?

If the answer to that is ‘yes’ then I have news for you, my friend: you don’t actually know how I feel…
(shock horror!)
And you’re not actually grieving on the same level because you’ve already got through that bit.

So maybe I’m glad no one talks to me anymore, because maybe it saves me from having to keep explaining myself…
But take it from me – if this was the other way round I would make sure you ALWAYS knew you were loved and supported and looked after.

Because it feels like shit when you realise no one wants you around without your other half…
That’s how I’ve been made to feel.
Because some people were only really my friend because my boyfriend was dying…

Time To Change

Last night I drank like a 16 year old having her first taste of rebellious freedom.

I drank until I was sick.

And then I drank some more.

And do you know what?
I’m just not okay.

I feel like I’ve spent a few weeks wanting to be ‘fine’ so badly that I started pretending I was ‘fine’ and then I started believing that I was ‘fine’. But I’m not.
Not yet, anyway.

I didn’t plan to get drunk. I’m not a party person, I rarely drink, I don’t abuse alcohol or drugs. That’s not my release.
I don’t know what is.

I started with a harmless cocktail after going to the cinema with a friend. I had a pint or two in a local bar and then I went home. I picked up 2 bottles of wine on the way and when I got in I went and found a bottle of whiskey I bought for Jonny’s funeral.
I was buzzing, non stop chatting to my sister; talking so fast and changing the subject so often she couldn’t keep up.
That’s a combination of my medication and alcohol. It’s not a good mix. It’s why I don’t drink. I feel terrible enough every morning I wake up, why would I want to add to that?

And then I was hysterical. I don’t remember much but I was inconsolable. I was screaming Jonny’s name in between vomiting. I was begging my sister to let me die, to help me die…
The rest is pretty cloudy but I woke up this morning, half dressed, in a sick stained bed. My floor had vomit over it. I’d spilt a cup of water across the things I’d saved from the funeral; my notes, the service programme, sympathy cards. My hair was greasy and my make up was smeared. My face was puffy and blotchy from crying. Everything stank of vomit, alcohol or stale cigarette smoke.
That was a low.

I’ve gained perspective (and a hangover).
For someone who’s the polar opposite of any generic ‘skins’ character, I’m not used to waking up in a state after a wild night of excitement….
This was just waking up in a state having drunk myself stupid to try and drown out the pain in my head.

In that moment, I hated myself more than I ever thought I would.

I’m not okay.

This has to change. 

New Year

So I haven’t written a post for bloody ages!
I’ll give it to you honestly; the stress of the past few months, losing Jonny, and the depression thats followed has left my immune system shot to pieces and I’ve become more and more physically ill. I had a cold that turned into tonsillitis that’s turned into glandular fever and here I am. I have been stuck in bed for weeks on end now.

On top of that everyone knows christmas is a super hard time for people who have lost someone.
Christmas and New Years are hard times for so many more people than we realise.

I found christmas really tough but I found new years worse. I have been so utterly terrified of 2014 ending. I feel like as much as I want to say goodbye to this year I don’t want to comprehend being in 2015 – a year that Jonny will never, ever be a part of. Now rational people keep reminding me that, of course, I still have all the memories and whatever, but that’s no consolation. I don’t want the memories. I want to feel connected to Jonny and something as big as stepping out of a year he was apart of into a year he’ll never see is hugely upsetting.

I have been too ill to really leave the house and I spent new years eve curled up on the sofa with my mum waiting for the countdown. I cried on and off all evening. And then when the fireworks started on TV I didn’t really feel anything and I went to bed.

Such is my life now; a series of the deep emotional lows and then numbness for hours or days on end.

I’ll give you a quick rundown of the last month or two. I got a new job, that was good, I had a huge breakdown and left the job, left my house in London, got on a train home and cried in my mums house for a few days. I got dangerously suicidal and I visited the doctor to beg for a higher dose of anti-depressant which she agreed to. I spent the following week in bed, no matter how hard I tried I couldn’t get up.
And then I got ill.

So I’ve put everything to the back of my mind but now I need to start making major life decisions and I’m scared. All my possessions are in my house in London which I haven’t paid any rent for. I lost my job by never going back in. I have no money. I can’t just lie in bed for days on end smoking my lungs raw. I have to pick myself up again, for the sake of everyone around if not myself.

But it’s easy to pretend I’ll get back on my feet when I don’t actually have to try yet.

I’m using my illness as an excuse not to make crucial choices. I’m using my depression as an excuse not to get up or dressed everyday. I’m using my boyfriends death as an excuse to give up on everything.

But it really can’t stay this way.

I’m going to try and blog more, I’ve been so pre-occupied with coughing my guts up, drowning in antibiotics and painkillers and sleeping that I’ve neglected writing things down. But I shouldn’t because the support I’ve received from my posts on here has been one of the loveliest surprises I could’ve ever imagined.
Thank you to everyone who’s stuck with my posts.
Happy new year to you all, x

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…