time has passed

I meant to keep this blog updated...but as has been the case for the last 18 months, I cant find the energy to keep on top of anything.

Since my last post, things have changed in that I have a new job with a company car, have decorated the house and planted flowers in the garden that Phil worked so hard to clear from weeds. I have also found that my confidence is at rock bottom, and every little challenge becomes seems unsurmountable. I still miss him every single day, and his ashes are still at the side of my bed, on the side he slept. This freaks so many of my friends out!

My boss called me in to his office a month ago and told me he was not happy with some of my work, and I broke down. I have now been off work for a month with stress - something I never thought would happen to me because I have always been strong. Apparently,  that was the problem. I am allowed to tell people what I want and tell them if their conversation offends...but I am just too nice. I need some assertiveness training - or Phil to hug me and tell me that I am not stupid and that my boss was having a bad day and has a history of doing this to staff...logic has gone out the window.

I wonder if I will ever find my confidence again. I know I need to stand up for myself and say no occasionally, but I cant seem to speak up. I seem to be drowning in anxiety and worry.

The guilt I feel at not recognizing the signs of heart failure in Phil that night (he felt sick and had heartburn), and then struggling at giving him CPR while on the phone to the 999 call centre (I have been on so many first aid courses it should have been automatic). Logic and doctors tell me that I could not have known, the symptoms were so vague, and that he could not have been brought back does not sink in. The guilt and what ifs always win. Then there are the day to day worries  - getting into debt because I cant manage money... not being able to go out and enjoy myself...panic attacks because the brand of cat food i get is not in stock...whinging and negative all the time...I have had a few stern words with myself but I don't listen. Phil used to joke that I was his "mare" because I could be stubborn..he was right!!

I now finally understand that you never get over the pain of losing your partner, but you make room for it. But it takes up a hell of a lot of headroom. anyway...smile and face the world yet again tomorrow, and stick to my plan to walk back into work on monday with my head held high. I was allowed a breakdown...if you cant fall apart after losing your partner, when can you?

Life will never be the same

My partner was 37 when he died suddenly of a heart attack. He had not been ill, was physically fit, and his death was a huge shock. I have decided to record my feelings, in the hope that writing my thoughts may help make them easier to deal with.  I never thought that at 37 I would need to deal with the realities of life as a single woman again. So, here goes nothing!

Monday 11th July

It’s been seven months and 9 days since Phil died. Today has been a difficult and emotional day, probably not helped by crying myself to sleep last night and smoking way too much today. I am physically and mentally exhausted, and it takes all my strength to do simple tasks in work. But the hardest thing by far is that in the last week my mind seems to be letting me feel real pain for the first time since Phil died.

Until now, I have been going from day to day without being involved in the world, a strange disassociation from my feelings that my brain put in place to help me cope. I don’t know which is worse, a numb unreality or the intense physical pain that I am starting to feel.  I have an awful feeling of longing, a gnawing, intense ache for Phil, and a future that no longer exists. While driving home I had to stop the car, it felt as though I had been kicked hard in the stomach as the voice in my head that reminds me of Phil’s sudden death once again demanded to be heard. I have been ignoring it, but that internal voice is screaming and any minute I am afraid that the awful sound will become real, external, public, and will never stop. Sometimes I think it would be easier to follow him - if there is an afterlife, I can see him again, if not, then at least the pain will stop. Phil would be so hurt and annoyed at me for thinking dark thoughts. He wanted me to be happy more than anything, and I have to carry on for him and the dreams we shared. But it is hard. Life is shite and pointless.

I hate coming home to an empty house, but also need to be at home, safe, secure and surrounded by our things and all the memories they hold. The oak cabinet that we found in a junk shop, a solid, heavy piece of furniture that made Phil’s knees give whenever he tried to move it…the small occasional table with twisted legs that he loved…the handmade leather sofa that we found in a showroom for a bargain price, with aged leather so it would hide the cat damage that was sure to happen…his 1930’s leather topped desk where he made his music…the bits of “tat” that Phil teased me about, the bits and pieces that made our house our own. He loved this house, and I loved him for making it our home.

h