Tuesday Journal: 02/06/20

*SH / suicidal feelings*



Things I’m grateful for:

  • Again, the escapism of Animal Crossing.
  • Again, crochet.
  • Family.
  • Board games.
  • That MH site I joined last week. Not got support from it as such, but at least it’s somewhere I can actually express my feelings freely without judgement.
  • Beautiful flowers I spot on my walks.
  • Sleep – an escape from pain of every kind.


What I struggled with:

  • Self-harm & going backwards in recovery & communication. Shut down. Unable to talk to anyone or express my feelings. Paranoia about people’s opinions of me / intentions. False accusations. Gaslighting. Stigma. Blame. Triggers. Trauma. Snowballing thoughts / feelings about everything – grief, loss, bullying, abandonments, way people treated me, the WC, hopelessness, never fitting in, self-hatred. I could go on, but reluctant to use my voice anymore. Only writing this for the sake of keeping a record for going back to the WC at some point. If I live that long. Otherwise done.

What I learnt from it:

  • Keep my mouth shut & my opinions to myself. Safer that way.
  • Don’t let anyone in. Safer that way.
  • Nobody will ever understand me or my intentions. I will spend my life defending and explaining myself but it will fall on deaf ears.
  • I’m alone. I deserve to be. I’m meant to be.
  • It’s better to live in my own little bubble, talk to nobody, keep myself to myself, bottle my thoughts and feelings up and take them out on myself, silently. Like I used to. People liked me more then.
  • I need to go back to being a doormat who never spoke or smiled. Who knew her place.
  • Yeah this all sounds negative. You won’t change my views on this though. I’m beyond broken now.  I can’t do this anymore.


What I achieved:

  • Finished May miles and signed up for June.
  • Continuing my vitamins.
  • Unfortunately that’s probably about it. Oh, spoke to family members on the phone and my work friend. Was a big struggle though. I’m all peopled out. I just want peace now. I’m not well. Physically or mentally. Recovery is gone. It’s all too much. Life keeps reminding me why I’ll never belong here. That I’m too messed up to cope with this world and the people in it. That it’s only a matter of time. There’s no coming back from all of this. You can’t fix a broken soul. And people will never change. Too much has happened since lockdown that’s closed me down for good. I quit.






Open Letter to ‘X’.

*Rant – very bad language*



To X,


I’m sorry for caring. I’m sorry for giving a damn. I’m sorry for worrying what the hell happens to you. I’m sorry for speaking my truth. I’m sorry I’ve yet again done the wrong thing. Now I have to pick up the pieces on my own.


You’ve taught me it’s wrong to care. So you know what, I don’t now. I don’t give a fuck what happens to you. I don’t want to speak to you ever again. I was going to talk to someone about all this, but now I’m not. Now there’s nothing to talk about. I fucking hate you right now.


You just don’t get it do you…. you’re akin to my ‘FP’…. how you interact with me has such an impact on my mental health and recovery. That last message minimised what I’m experiencing. It also told me it was wrong to say anything to you at all. So I never will again. I won’t even acknowledge you. For all you know I’ll be dead. I fucking well want to be right now.


At every turn you make me feel like shit for feeling how I do. I guess maybe you thought this distance from you would cure me of my feelings towards you….. it doesn’t work like that. But right at this minute I don’t feel feelings for you anymore. Not positive ones anyway.


Everything is black. There is no hope. There is no point to anything. Any efforts I’ve been making to keep going are fucked. I don’t give a damn about recovery now. I don’t give a damn about the help you’ve devised. I don’t give a damn about you. I’ve gone from caring and worrying so damn much, that I was in tears for how much I missed you and feared for your safety and wellbeing, to now being unable to breathe through my nose, or stop hurting myself, for simply the words ‘….to someone else in the future’. You made me feel shit for being a fucking human. Fine, you don’t want to know how I feel, then fine, you never will again. You’ll never see me or hear from me ever again. I didn’t think I’d fucking survive this anyway. You clearly don’t want me to. It’s clear you’re sick of me, even with all this distance I’m too much. So fine. I’m done. I give up on recovery. I give up on caring. I give up on worrying about you. I give up on everything.


I shouldn’t have said what I did. I realised after I said it. But thanks so much for handling it so kindly. This was a hard enough situation before the lockdown, when it just intensified, as this fucking Coronavirus shit is also a hard enough situation itself, and now both are even worse thanks to you. I hate you. You and your lot have no idea how this separation would feel for someone in my position. Mental health ‘experts’ have no fucking clue about this sort of thing. Someone should’ve known what this would do to me. But you’re all just glad I’m out of your hair for a bit aren’t you….. probably hope I die, then I’ll never bother any of you again. This is how you make me feel.


I didn’t need you to care about or worry about me too. I was just expressing what I’m struggling with, and wishing you well. But I’m obviously a fucking awful person for doing that. I won’t fucking talk to anyone ever again. Anything I do is always wrong. I’m so sick of being me. Hideous, disgusting, pathetic me.


Goodbye X. I’m sorry I was such a nuisance to you. You’re free of me now.


‘Kind regards’



Poem: Deluge.




And just like that, the lights went out…
Extinguished once more by those too afraid to let me shine.
It’s for my own good they claim;
“We’re on your side” they cry from the bank of the river
As they watch me flail around,
Dragged under by the current;
“We can’t give you the in-depth help you require” –
When all I asked of them was to throw me a line
And I’ll save myself from drowning just fine.
One word.
One simple line,
And my lungs would not be filled with silent screams
And bitter salty tears,
Stained red from the wounds they inflict
With each jab and kick,
At my absolute lowest.
None of this need be
If they would only help me…
Help me to help myself;
Prioritise my mental health.
Be human for a moment and see the person before them
Pleading, as she has her whole life,
To matter, to hear it and have her needs met;
Begging for once to get, that which she asks for.
For she’s only ever known rejection, deflection,
Detachment and denial of what could heal her heart.
Things given freely to others are withheld when she asks;
She’s learnt her needs come last.
I matter not to these folk…
Their idea of ‘help’ is an utter joke –
Help by denial of the one thing which would be of use,
For pitiful reasons they simply refuse,
Using any excuse
And leaving me to drown in a torrent of paranoia,
A deluge of pain,
A flood of anger and resentment as I circle the drain.
Nobody reaches a hand to pull me from these cold, lonely,
Devastating depths…
It’s too much trouble;
I’m not worth the bother.
So here I’ll drown… before their very eyes;
I’ll bid them all goodbye
And spare them the hassle of me being me.
I’ll set them all free,
Take one last desperate gasp of air
And give up the fight at last.



When They Ask… Tell Them…

*Note: This is not a suicide note… just me expressing the hurt I feel*



When they look back one day, wondering where it all went wrong…. what more they could have done to help me… why I didn’t ask for help…. tell them this…..


The signs were there. They were always there. They just didn’t want to see them. They just didn’t know what to do with them. They didn’t want me dragging them down with me.


I asked for help too many times to count, ranging from hints to blazing great statements. The most I got was a ‘like’. This says ‘I hear you’. It does nothing to help. It seems the more you ask for help, the less likely people are to give it, as they think you’re attention-seeking. But I only asked so much because it was never given.


Eventually I stopped reaching out. This did not mean I didn’t need help. It meant I realised my friends would never be there for me. They would always ignore my pleas. It hurt less to stay quiet.


They could have saved me six months ago. I made a video. I blogged. I tried to tell them I was starting down a path I knew would kill me. They ignored me then, they ignore me now. Now I’m so far gone I’m not who I was six months ago. There’s not enough of me left that’s worth saving. This is their fault. They could have stopped it going this far. They didn’t. Now there’s no way back.


At the time my granddad got sick, I was split from my friends, because of Hannah and others. At the time he passed I was still not connected with people properly. When I did my charity run in memory of him, hardly anyone supported me. On anniversary dates nobody was there for me. When I was away somewhere totally alone, and an important date happened, I reached out, and was ignored.  Nobody is ever there for me when I really need them. They don’t care about me and they don’t respect me. This is what killed me.


The isolation I feel because of grief, and because of my illness, is something they could have done something about. They should have been there. They’d better not come to my funeral and cry, or act shocked and upset and talk about how much I meant to them. I doubt they would anyway, as clearly none of them feel that way about me. But if they can’t show it in life, don’t you dare pretend to care in death.


Where it went wrong…? Try 2012. Try Gill and Sam. Try Hannah. Try Joe. They destroyed the person I once was. Other contributors: bullies at school; all those who shut down my voice because of my different political views; all those who publicly humiliated me; therapy gone wrong & the handling of Matt; losing Grampa & not having support from friends, plus family falling apart because they hurt my family; all the times people ignored me and excluded me; the world forgot me.


What more could they have done…? They could have listened. They could have responded to me… acknowledged me…. cared about me. They could have treated me like they did everyone else. They could have shown me not only was I visible, but I actually mattered. They could have said sorry when they hurt me. They could have changed so as not to hurt me again. They could have put in more effort. They could have spent more time with me. They could have told me they loved me…. that they missed me…. that they appreciated me. They could have included me more. They could have told the world, or even just me, that they were lucky to have me as a friend. They could have fought harder for me when I pushed them away. They could have learnt about my illness and how to make things better between us. They could have noticed me.


Tell them:

I only ever wanted to belong somewhere. I only wanted to love and be loved. I only wanted to feel accepted. I wanted a friend. I wanted a life. I wanted what you all had. Or at least a chance for it.


Tell him:

I never saw you as ‘the awkward loser’ or a consolation prize. I just hadn’t had any experiences with men. I was too new to it all. I liked you. I felt a special connection with you. I wish you had told me you felt the same, instead of settling for her. Who knows where I’d be right now. Perhaps I’d have a life worth living. I’ll always resent the way you ended things between us. You hurt me.


Tell her:

You ruined my life. You took everything from me. I hate you with every fibre of my being. You don’t deserve what you got. I could have achieved so much, but you destroyed it all. For a friend you showed very little care for my wellbeing. You got all you wanted, at my expense. I’ve never recovered from your betrayal. You killed me.


Tell him:

You destroyed my faith in men. You broke my spirit. You never deserved my love.


Tell him:

I loved you. Though it made no sense. I never felt so strongly for someone as I did for you. I only wished to have the blessing of you in my life, in any capacity. My soul recognised a kind soul… a beautiful soul. It could never recover from losing you. The pain of loss will be with me beyond the grave. I miss you.


Tell her:

One day we were friends. Through thick and thin. She came back into our lives and you took her side. Things were never the same after that. I always doubted my place in your life.  I knew that your circumstances would make us drift apart. I wasn’t wrong. You have no time for me now. All that time I was ignored, nobody was there, you were only there once I disappeared. You asked if everything was okay, I told you it wasn’t – that I felt invisible and like nobody cared… that I should keep to myself – silence was your answer to that. I’m sorry that the loss of you upsets me. I have nothing now.


Tell them: 

I’m sorry. I’m sorry I wasted so much of your time, and zapped you of your joy. I’m sorry I was a burden. I’m sorry I was so demanding, and needed your friendship, for lack of anything else good in my life. I’m sorry I didn’t have the luck and success you had. I’m sorry I couldn’t be someone you wanted to have as a friend. I’m sorry my life was over before it began.


Why didn’t I ask for help…? I did ask for help. I prayed for help. I screamed for help to the bitter end. I didn’t give up without a hell of a fight. I deteriorated over an extended amount of time, but more rapidly in the last six months. Gone is the woman with a kind heart, a friendly smile, and anything to add to the world. I was reduced to a girl barely holding on… defeated, scarred, screaming bloody murder and suicide from the loneliest pit of despair. The care for others has gone. Everything’s gone. No joy, no hope. No more pretending. So distant from everyone, they’re practically strangers now. Not one of them helped when they had the chance. They let me die. I called out to them. I asked them to stop the hijacker taking me. They didn’t. They thought I was talking bullshit. But one day they’ll know. They’ll know I needed their help and they let me down. They could have saved me, but they chose to let me die.

The Lonely Mountain.

The Lonely Mountain


*Self-harm & swearing*


13th July 2018

Life is hard at the moment. I haven’t been coping very well. I’ve been unable to talk to people. I’ve been incredibly stressed out about politics. I’m still trying to recover from being attacked by someone because of it. I’ve been so fragile emotionally.


When we got through to the semi-finals in the football I felt good, but had an awful headache so went to lie down in the garden as it was so hot. Some prick let off fireworks almost over the garden… in the middle of the day! You can’t even see them, so they were obviously doing it to be noisy and anti-social! I tolerated it for a short time… well, when I say ‘tolerated’ I mean quietly swearing at them, telling them to kill themselves with a firework…. but eventually I went indoors, slammed the door, stormed upstairs swearing and punched the wall. I knew it was an overreaction but I couldn’t stop it. I wasn’t in control. It was someone being unnecessarily annoying and I had a bad headache, so wasn’t able to keep control of my emotions like I normally might.


Wednesday was hard. Someone close to me said something I found hurtful. The trouble is they have their own issues, ones that make them unable to see how their words could be hurtful, so I have to accept it’s how they are. I love them and I know they wouldn’t really want to upset me. Their issues and mine just don’t always go together very well. So I had to pretend it didn’t upset me. But when I got home I self-harmed… those words spinning in my head. I was upset because the words attacked who I am – they rejected my care, told me I was doing something wrong, that I was an annoyance, and being the caring person I am is wrong … I felt I couldn’t say anything after that. I’d been lumped in with someone else who they think is ‘overbearing’ – they don’t recognise it’s called caring and being concerned – loving someone! Also I was asked to care on behalf of someone else, so I was put in the firing line. The annoying thing was that I had told myself a second before the question came out of my mouth ‘ they’re going to say *this*’… so when they did it was instant regret for opening my mouth. I went quiet, excused myself and went and punched myself for saying anything. I then went back and pretended everything was fine, until I got home and cut myself.


Later on we lost the football…. not really that big a deal. Just a shit ending to a shit day. I blamed myself for buying the flags…. told people…. thought they blamed me. I’d ‘done the wrong thing’ again. So went away and punched myself again. It’s become my preferred way of hurting myself lately. I know it makes no sense, but then self-harm of any kind makes no sense to those who don’t know the struggle.


I couldn’t stop causing myself harm. I was really upset about life. I self-medicated. I took a diazepam, hoping it would calm me down. I wanted to just sleep, as at least I’d be safe then. It helped. It made me very tired. I’m thinking of asking the doctor if this would be an okay thing to do in a crisis or if there’s something extra I can take if I just can’t stop hurting myself. I know it’s not the answer – I need to use skills I’ve learnt, but for times I’m beyond that it would be good to know there’s something that can keep me safer.


There’s only one other time I ever self-medicated, and that was during my therapy course last year. The anxiety got too bad that I took a diazepam before the group once. That was a low point for me. Nobody ever knew I did it. I wrote about it on my blog, but never told anyone. I know it’s not good, but the other day my body was telling me what I needed. I needed ‘restraining’ and if the only way I could manifest that was through medication making me too tired to do anything, then that’s what I had to do. I won’t make a habit of it, but it was that or break my hand.


25th July 2018


A couple of weeks have passed since writing the above. I had my doctor’s appointment on Monday, and I’m being referred to CMHT, to see if they can be of any help to me. I don’t hold out much hope, but the doctor does… so we’ll see. I’ve also been told that in a crisis it’s okay for me to take the diazepam… my doctor knows that I won’t abuse it, and will only take it when all else fails. And that just having it there as a ‘just in case’… a safety net, might help too. I won’t be using it all the time… only when absolutely necessary like the other week.


Things don’t feel good at all right now… I’m on a break at the moment, but very soon I’ll be back to normal and expected to continue as before – doing my volunteering, I’ll have my hospital appointment, job centre stuff to worry about… it’s all too much to cope with.


I’m in one of my depressions again, where I feel nobody outside of my family really cares about me. One person has spoken to me to see if I’m okay. Other than that people just ‘like’ things. Nobody chats to me. Nobody seems to care when I’m not okay. Nobody offers support. Nobody acknowledges my existence. And when I’m alone that’s a very hard thing to deal with. It is TRUE ISOLATION. Don’t get me wrong, I like being by myself. I often find socialising overwhelming and prefer my own company. I don’t always have the spiritual energy to respond to people. But it’s quite possible to enjoy your own company but to not want to be forgotten. It’s the whole ‘I don’t want to join you, but I’d still like to be invited’ thing. It’s nice to be thought of.


Where I have got a lot of time to myself at the moment, I have to stop myself from letting in the thoughts of being neglected. I’ve almost gone there a couple of times on my break, and I don’t want it to take me to that place of anger at the world. I don’t want to give air to the paranoia. I just have to switch off from it and focus my mind elsewhere. I have to tell myself that I don’t matter that much and to stop being selfish. I have to tell myself I am alone, and that will just have to do. It’s the way my life is meant to be.


The prospect of life continuing as it is when I get back… I don’t want to do that. It feels like an impossibility. My mind goes straight to self-destruction at the thought. But I have to tell myself that although things are going to be hard, there will be the possibility of help by the mental health team. I feel sure they will reject my plea for help, which will make me so much worse, but I’ve got to have hope for now. I’ve got to hold onto it as my one chance for life improving. I can’t go on like this.


I want to remember what it was like to want to live…  ten years ago, when I was doing DBT, my life was improving…. I had a group of friends, I was starting to consider the world of dating. I had a lot of problems sure… I didn’t suddenly lose my depression and anxiety – it was always there. But the social network I had gave me confidence – even if it was just a front… it’s more than I can do today. Even after a glass or two of wine I would do karaoke! This was totally out of character for me, but it was a phase I went through with friends at the time. I felt I mattered. I felt stronger. I felt a part of something and more connected to life. My group of friends would meet every week, sometimes twice a week – I’d see them all individually. Men found me attractive. I’d get beeped by cars as I went about my business. I started to have more control over my self-harm and my mind because of the DBT. I wasn’t ‘cured’ by any means. But I was on the right path. My granddad was still alive – I didn’t know the horror of grief… our family was still together so I felt connected to them all too. I had none of the cares I have today.


Now I have days I feel I don’t even have one friend (though I know I do). My group of friends fell apart because of two of them seriously betraying and hurting me. Any friends I have I’ll see once a month if I’m lucky. I don’t want to think about dating – I don’t trust men. I hate my body. I hate myself. I’m not attractive anymore… I have health issues which have contributed to my weight problems etc.. I don’t have any confidence – any that people may witness is a complete lie. It’s a mask. I will never do karaoke or any kind of performance again – even with wine… I wouldn’t drink wine nowadays. I did it to be social… I don’t do social now. I don’t feel I matter. I feel weak. I feel disconnected from life and like I’ll never fit in. I’m shown no interest by men… possibly because I’ve closed off from them… but more likely because I’m fat and ugly as fuck. I get no beeps anymore. I have no control over my mind or my self-harm – I’m a slave to both. My mind shares a space with a ‘hijacker’ who dictates where my thoughts are going to go for the day. I have no support with my mental health right now. When having help from an IAPT service I got the sense that because I’ve done DBT once in my life, I won’t be offered it again. That once you’ve done the course, that’s it… you either look at your folder and do it all by yourself, or you’re screwed. I always felt mental health services have wanted to wash their hands of me… they always have. But I didn’t know that DBT is a once only offer. I know they want to offer it to people who haven’t learnt the skills before – I get that. I don’t want to be a burden and take up the space of someone else. But I’m asking for help. I know it helped in the past. I’m desperate for something to stop me harming or killing myself. I know I have the folder, but that was over ten years ago now… am I meant to just drown now then? Now my granddad is gone… I know the full horror of grief and my family is split. My world is very small and I’ve never felt as troubled as I do now.


Where I once wanted to live, I now don’t want to live. That’s not to say I want to die. I just don’t want to live. I know that would make no sense to those who don’t understand mental illness and suicidal thoughts. But it’s less about death and more about life. What I want is life to be how it used to be. I want it to be better than it currently is. I want a reason to live. I want to feel connected, important, valued. I want to like who I am. I want to feel worthy and attractive again. I want to trust people. I want people around me who genuinely care and go out of their way to show me they care. I want people around me who want to see me happy, and would never hurt me. I want to feel safe and secure. I want to be accepted. I want to not have all the cares and worries I have. I want to love and be loved. I want to achieve something. I want all the hurt to go away. I want to forget the past. I want to enjoy life. But none of that is possible. My reality is the previous paragraph. I can’t see beyond that. Sure I can say what I want it to be like, but I can’t make it so.


I am alone with all this. That’s why I want to give up. I’m being expected to climb a mountain, having never done so before, with only a couple of tools and instructions… no company… no guide… no protection from the elements…. no way of avoiding rockfalls or avalanches. I’m expected to figure it all out myself. So you know what… I’m going nowhere. I’m sitting down on the side of the mountain and giving up. I can’t do this alone. It’s a powerlessness – feeling trapped, because I can’t climb, and nobody’s coming in a helicopter to save me. I’m on the mountain, and I could easily jump down to my death – that isn’t what I truly want though. So I just sit instead. I give up. I don’t want life to end. I want the struggle to end. I don’t want life to end. I want it to begin. But it’s beyond my control. And nobody understands that. They think I just need to do ‘XYZ’ and I could have the life I want. No. Not with current circumstances I couldn’t. You don’t get it. Nobody gets it.


My life has changed so dramatically in the last ten years. Ten years ago I was at the start of my life, with a world of possibilities before me… with people I could count on, a feeling of belonging and a hope that things could improve for me. It’s all gone. I am a different person now. I feel I’m at the end of the road. Too much has happened to me. I’m not who I used to be. And I hate who I have become. My experiences have changed me. And the only thing that could change me back are better experiences. But my story in life has always been that nobody gives me a chance. Nobody is prepared to be the change I need. Nobody is prepared to put in the effort to help me. They all expect me to save myself or die trying. They don’t realise how close to the latter part I am. My spirit doesn’t want to do this anymore. It’s had enough. Existing in this world right now is hell… knowing what life used to be like, traumatised by the things that destroyed it, and certainty that it will never be like it again. It’s torture. And I don’t want to live with it.


I don’t want to die. I just want all the shit to be over. I want to be happy again.

Sadness Is A Silent Killer.

I’m feeling pretty sad tonight. My previous post-writing set me off, and now everything is making me want to cry. I’m feeling very muted at the moment. In some ways it’s good, as the last couple of weeks have been intense. But in a way I feel I’ve resigned now. I now know my place… I know where I stand with people. I know my importance, or lack thereof. I know who people want me to be…


I tried standing up for myself, defending my rights, trying to stick up for the broken little girl in me. I tried to speak out about my feelings. I tried everything I had within me, to be strong and be heard. But I give up now.


From this point on I’m going to be the girl I used to be. The girl people want me to be. The one who gives but does not get. The one who loves but is not loved. The one who smiles and does not complain. The one who does not speak out, but hurts herself in private. The one who gives care where none is given. The one who speaks only when spoken to. I’m keeping to myself from now on. I’m putting up with my lot. I’ve fought bloody hard to not be beaten down to this point, but I can only withstand so much. It’s not worth the hassle anymore. I feel flat… deflated. And more than this I feel sad. Sad that no matter how hard I try to move forward, people don’t welcome progress in me. They want me to remain that girl they once knew, or the one they thought I was before they got to know me… they want me to be the quiet little loser, who keeps to herself. That’s what they’ll get. Good luck getting me to open up again though.


I feel sad because of the ‘transference’ issue, which I’m not sure was actually transference now. I think it was just meeting a soul that I liked. And I miss seeing him. I get times it’s not so bad and I barely think of him, and then I’ll suddenly get ambushed by feelings and it feels like my heart is being wrenched out through my throat. The trouble I have with it, is that when everything else feels a mess, like it is right now, I just want to see him, to hear him, to talk to him… to be back in that room once again. I’m thinking it right now, and I’m crying as I type this. I want to go back to then. I just closed my eyes and saw his face, heard his reassuring voice and felt like I was back in that room, and sometimes that’s my only comfort… a memory. You know when everything is really bad, and there’s someone you want to turn to for comfort, support or just to make it feel better…. that’s him. I’m aware it makes no sense. But it’s how I feel. And right now I’m really sad that I’ll never see him again. It just makes everything else feel so much worse.


I know I was told it was to do with my granddad. I don’t accept this anymore. Sure, the loss aspect possibly. But I think I just wanted to get out of an embarrassing situation, and linking it to that made me feel less ashamed of how I felt. I do admit it was a loss I couldn’t face… it was too traumatic, too soon after losing my granddad. So in that way it’s linked. But my feelings towards him were separate. But that’s just another thing I’ll stuff down. I can’t do what people want me to do… they want me to just ‘get over’ things… move on…. let go. If only they understood how impossible that is for me.


As for my granddad, I’m not dealing with it. I have times I cry about it… usually alone. The rest of the time I emotionally distance myself from it. I look at his photo all the time, but I don’t let the physical sensations in. I push them away as soon as I feel them rising. I don’t let myself dwell on the reality that he’s no longer here, and what that means for me and everyone else. I don’t want to delve into that tonight… I feel sick enough as it is. Let’s just say that I am flooded by sadness at how he went, the goodbye, and the hole left in our lives without him. I wish he didn’t have to go. I never imagined living without my grandparents.  I knew it would happen one day…. but that day was always somewhere in the future… it crept up on us… and now it’s been over a year without him.


I’m sad that now I’m just considered a part of the club… that ‘we all go through it’…. support may have existed initially, but now it’s gone. And that’s hard for anyone who’s grieving. But I’m just sad that nobody has the compassion to remember this was my first experience of grief. I’m sorry I was late to the club. I wasn’t expecting special treatment, like I have the monopoly on grief… I know others go through it. My sadness came from the fact it was my first loss… my first anniversary date. His first one. My first one. The sadness comes from that, and the ‘snub’ to his importance. All along since he passed, there’s been the underlying thought for me, that he deserved better. But I have to hold on to the love and pride I have in my heart for him…


He may not have mattered that much to anyone else. He might have been a quiet man, and he might not have been remembered how I wish he had… but what matters is how I remember him… how I love him… what he means to me. That’s what counts. It makes my everlasting bond with him all that more special… that long after others have forgotten about him, I remember him. I miss him. I love him. And he’ll always hold a special place in my heart, until the day I die. He was the only granddad I remember, as my other died when I was little more than a baby. So this was a major loss for me. I don’t think anyone realises that. But I don’t feel angry about it anymore. I feel sad at the lack of compassion and caring. I feel sad that this is what life is – death. And worse than that, ‘life goes on’. That’s tragic for someone whose heart is in pieces… for someone whose life has ground to a halt. They get forgotten and left behind.


I’m just feeling so much sadness right now, for so many reasons. Sadness scares me. Anger is passion…. anger is a fight to keep going and make changes… anger is at least something… it’s a driving force. Sadness is despondence …. giving up… depression…. a silent killer. It’s a passive emotion, but so debilitating and crushing on the inside… and nobody would ever know you’re dying. But it’s how I shall live my life from now on…. in silence… serene on the surface…. broken inside. And they’ll never know. They’ll never ask. And if they do, I’ll never tell. It’s who they want me to be… they liked her… or at least could pretend to…..  the old me, who didn’t say very much. They wished I’d keep quiet and suffer in silence. Wish granted.


Anyway, I’m getting tired now… thankfully. At least I might be able to sleep away some of this sadness soon. One of the perks of night-time meds… make you sleepy. Otherwise I’d be up all night thinking.