23.06.07
And so time takes its toll.
No John, no love, no fun.
No summer sun to look forward to.
No long nights.
No breathless mornings.
No sighs of relief.
No sighs of summer love.
Full stop.
Saturday 23 June 2007
Thursday 14 June 2007
Wish You Were Here
14.06.07
This is my cyber-postcard to you John.
I am in Greece, as you should well know, given that we planned to take this holiday together. In fact, this was one of the last things we talked about and the last leave entry you made in your work diary - just a day before you killed yourself.
So I am with the same people who sat with me through the aftermath of your death - my frinds Sandra and Marija - and with whom I waited until my twin brother was able to come and collect me. It's good to see them - a welcome distraction from my thoughts of you, which, if left unchecked, consume most of my waking hours.
They see a change in me since we last met - how could they not? I am more focused and balanced, as every day I remember that you are no longer here- the shock has receded.
And that is all; we talk about you endlessly, analyse the why and how, cite experts on suicide and self-death and begin to make sense of the fact that all the promises you made and all the plans we had are part of that same past and not a future of anticipation.
So this is, I guess, the first step in redirection. This is the first time since you died that I have slept every consecutive night at normal times, without waking or spending the night reading and thinking. My body is taking back some control at last.
So outwardly, things are better. Inwardly, it is still the same battle to understand and come to terms with your untimely death.
Your choice lovely man, and ours is now to wonder why.
As I said, wish you were here.
This is my cyber-postcard to you John.
I am in Greece, as you should well know, given that we planned to take this holiday together. In fact, this was one of the last things we talked about and the last leave entry you made in your work diary - just a day before you killed yourself.
So I am with the same people who sat with me through the aftermath of your death - my frinds Sandra and Marija - and with whom I waited until my twin brother was able to come and collect me. It's good to see them - a welcome distraction from my thoughts of you, which, if left unchecked, consume most of my waking hours.
They see a change in me since we last met - how could they not? I am more focused and balanced, as every day I remember that you are no longer here- the shock has receded.
And that is all; we talk about you endlessly, analyse the why and how, cite experts on suicide and self-death and begin to make sense of the fact that all the promises you made and all the plans we had are part of that same past and not a future of anticipation.
So this is, I guess, the first step in redirection. This is the first time since you died that I have slept every consecutive night at normal times, without waking or spending the night reading and thinking. My body is taking back some control at last.
So outwardly, things are better. Inwardly, it is still the same battle to understand and come to terms with your untimely death.
Your choice lovely man, and ours is now to wonder why.
As I said, wish you were here.
Sunday 3 June 2007
Disconnection
03.06.07
Every day I think of you and every night.
I tried this new approach, John - not writing - but it doesn't work.
I thought, as I am now in counselling, that somehow the sadness would lessen, and that I would find an alternative place for it.
To some degree, it has worked - but after three sleepless days and nights, I realise that this disconnection is not so easy. Would that it were. And that you were still here.
And so , we try to pad the wound you left behind. It is a difficult task. I read and read to try and find an answer. But, as any good psychoanalyst will tell you, we can only ever offer conjectural hypotheses - I think that may be a tautology, but I will let it rest for fear of breaking my stride.
So, I got to reading and thinking and realised that the word of others in a similar situation not only buoy us up, but they give us hope for the future, and right now, I am all out of that.
Let's see:-
"After he died, there were moments of total blackness when I felt I was trudging through a tunnel with no escape. I felt so heavy with depression.........let alone imagine being able to make a new life.
At first I felt a sort of despairing anger at the gods for dealing me this lousy hand. Until then, I had always thought of myself as lucky, so this was a terrible blow....."
"At times, I had to fight hard against self-pity.......And I missed terribly having someone to hug me.
Some of the best advice was also the gloomiest from friends who said 'This is a black time, but you will survive it. It is possibly the worst thing that will ever happen to you, but you will get better.'
Those words were so realistic about the emotions that go with bereavement that it was like being given permission to hit bottom."
AF
"I think was anaesthetised by shock at first,......I keep expecting him to walk in and I still have moments of disbelief. And I talk to him all the time.....You cannot bypass the stages of bereavement.....I began to believe that nothing mattered any more. I was scared that I would never get out of bed again. I might have looked as if I was coping, but it was touch and go. I was angry too.
I cannot imagine meeting a man like him again. I would not even try. I just know that I have been incredibly fortunate to spend my life with someone whose company I adored....."
SB
Enough said great man.
I cannot disconnect.
Every day I think of you and every night.
I tried this new approach, John - not writing - but it doesn't work.
I thought, as I am now in counselling, that somehow the sadness would lessen, and that I would find an alternative place for it.
To some degree, it has worked - but after three sleepless days and nights, I realise that this disconnection is not so easy. Would that it were. And that you were still here.
And so , we try to pad the wound you left behind. It is a difficult task. I read and read to try and find an answer. But, as any good psychoanalyst will tell you, we can only ever offer conjectural hypotheses - I think that may be a tautology, but I will let it rest for fear of breaking my stride.
So, I got to reading and thinking and realised that the word of others in a similar situation not only buoy us up, but they give us hope for the future, and right now, I am all out of that.
Let's see:-
"After he died, there were moments of total blackness when I felt I was trudging through a tunnel with no escape. I felt so heavy with depression.........let alone imagine being able to make a new life.
At first I felt a sort of despairing anger at the gods for dealing me this lousy hand. Until then, I had always thought of myself as lucky, so this was a terrible blow....."
"At times, I had to fight hard against self-pity.......And I missed terribly having someone to hug me.
Some of the best advice was also the gloomiest from friends who said 'This is a black time, but you will survive it. It is possibly the worst thing that will ever happen to you, but you will get better.'
Those words were so realistic about the emotions that go with bereavement that it was like being given permission to hit bottom."
AF
"I think was anaesthetised by shock at first,......I keep expecting him to walk in and I still have moments of disbelief. And I talk to him all the time.....You cannot bypass the stages of bereavement.....I began to believe that nothing mattered any more. I was scared that I would never get out of bed again. I might have looked as if I was coping, but it was touch and go. I was angry too.
I cannot imagine meeting a man like him again. I would not even try. I just know that I have been incredibly fortunate to spend my life with someone whose company I adored....."
SB
Enough said great man.
I cannot disconnect.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
