So I survived the Christmas that, quite honestly, I had dreaded for months. I suppose, really, there was no doubt I would. (What choice is there and, if I hadn’t, it means I’m giving a whole new meaning to a ghost writer. LOL) My mood since October had taken a terrible spiral downwards. Most of you who have read my blog know the reasons and the why-fors, etc., already. I won’t bore you over again!!!! It’s mainly being apart from Jesse that mentally, physically and emotionally eats slowly away at me, and not having money for loved ones’ presents again this year… and I’m finding it much harder to crack that smile, to laugh at life’s moments of hilarity. (Yes there are some.) Even I am a person of great humour, a masker of sadness. But very few, if you were see me out and about, would guess what’s going on inside this head… only the odd (very odd in most cases) one or two are privileged to the inner sanctum that is my mind. (I hide so much that torments.) Be grateful, very grateful, you’re not one of these. LOL. Jesse has to have breadcrumbs, SatNav, searchlight, and a rope tied round his waist or, let’s face it, he would be forever lost. Seriously, I worry for him, my therapist and daughter who are my support team. Each are tireless in their care and support, their love. (Please… I mean this! If anyone right now has a loved one who is working through mental health issues and you are the one they trust to be there for them, their main caregiver, you are indeed a hero!)
Don’t give me you do this because you love them. It takes more than love, more than patience, more than sheer bloody mindedness. It takes courage, endless courage. I have put those who love me through hell. I don’t do this intentionally, of course, because, above all, I love them. I never want to hurt them, but when the damaged mind shuts down, it shuts out the very people it needs, loves most. I get lost for days at a time, wallowing my way through the dark swamps of cloying mud that threaten to suck me under. It weighs me down and all I know is if I stop going it will get me, it will suck me under to never be seen in this world or any other again. It robs the air from my lungs, life from me, it is only the light from those who love me that guide me home to them, keep me wading through the darkness that next day and the next. They are brave souls and I adore them for it. Moreover, I owe them my existence.
This said, one of them holds the light up way above the others. He knows I hate the dark. He has had to watch me battle my terrors. My demons walk in the night, as they do the day, only they are worse when I’m off guard and half asleep. But then he took me on in the very beginning, my mind battered, scarred, pieces scattered to the winds. He believed in me. We are not all doom, folks, because in that darkness we have moments of great joy in each other’s company. One of the things I love about Jesse and my daughter is their ability to make me roar with laughter. If you have any experience with depression you know how hard it is to go about ‘normal’ life. I struggle to sleep and, once I do, I then battle to get up out of bed. You just can’t win honestly. LOL. Eating? Oh, let’s do eating! It is normally my favourite of pastimes. I come by this nice svelte figure honestly folks, but my eating swings in a weird kind of balance… I can either pick all day at anything to hand orrrrrr go completely the other way and just can’t be bothered to eat. (I’ve been on the I-just-can’t-be-bothered mode now for weeks,
The sod of this is, I don’t lose weight. (sighs) No, seriously… I haven’t lost one solitary bloody lb. I know girls, right!!! It’s unjust, unfair and un-fricking-believable. I spent over two weeks before Christmas living on one loaf of bread. Back to my eating or the lack of, I had sunk low, money was tighter than my trousers, so I just didn’t!!! On the second week my mood really nosedived. I think we all know the correlation between good diet and a healthy mind. But bread and butter is all very good. Not twice daily though. LOL. My stomach began to hurt terribly (as I’m not meant to eat bread anyway but we all love it right?). I felt very dizzy, breathless at times. I had to go out twice… both times, how I managed I will never know, sitting on benches mainly from time to time.
There were times, though, I craved some fruit, (I adore fruit) but, again, I had none so this went unsatisfied, except there was one night, folks, I came across an apple, a Russet, renowned for their keep ability. It’s one I had left in a bag in my room. And my goodness!, that first bite! Ohhhh, that first bite was the most delicious thing I had ever eaten. I swear Jesse wondered what I was up to as I sighed softly with each mouthful. It was like coming across hidden treasure, its sweetness played with my taste buds. I savoured each gorgeous bite. I had eaten nothing more delicious in my life, I swear! The apple, being slightly wrinkled, did not ruin my joy. I hadn’t thought Jesse had noticed my meager diet at the time but, of course, living 24/7 side-by-side, how had I hoped to conceal it from him! I got told two days before Christmas one late afternoon, ‘you’ve a package coming.‘ At first I got antsy as he really does spoil me rotten given the chance, but I soon realized all he had wanted was for me to have something special from him (from home). In part 1 of my package, to my delighted surprise, was a case of Root Beer 🍺. (You will never know how much I adore root beer and the memories it evokes of my time with Jesse.) I couldn’t be angry at this most thoughtful of gifts, especially as I opened the first can and heard that sound of the ring pull, smelt that wonderful caramel-ly scent, the first sip… Ohhhhh my!!!! It’s bubbles danced along my tongue. I sighed at each mouthful as they took me right back to nights lying on the sofa, my head resting on Jesse’s chest, scents of woody, musky aftershave in my nose, my hand in his and Game of Thrones on binge watch….. If I shut my eyes I am there. I was with my love for that one moment.
In the second package there was food!!!!!! Tins of thick soups, mackerel in tomato sauce, breakfast cereal, bread, fruit, Pringles and chocolate. This was indeed a treasure and a most unusual Christmas gift, but to me it was one of the most thoughtful. (It’s hard enough getting someone with depression to eat at the best of times.) Jesse also knows this and wanted to tempt me. That night I made myself a tin of the soup more to please my love than to feed my body, but as I slowly ate each spoonful of the hot chunky soup it began to have its effect. I was slowly feeling better… it’s warmth and goodness really getting to work. Within hours of eating this I had some ryebread. My appetite restored and the horrible constant pain I had in my stomach for weeks gone, that night I felt better than I had in weeks. I thanked my darling for, once again, being there for me, with his unstinting thoughtfulness. I don’t know where I would be at times. We sat that night watching a series on Netflix called Marco Polo, which was only come across by accident, but it really is very good, full of history and, at times, we don’t sleep, just sit glued. As we sat one night a voice suddenly says ‘by the way, you have a delivery tomorrow sometime after nine am‘. I look blinkingly at him… blearly. 7am eyes trying to focus. ‘Erm… what have you done now?‘ LOL. I got ‘you’ll see.‘ And I sure did…
Just two hours later, I’m rudely awakened from a semi-sleep by my phone calling. Half there, I picked up my tablet, still merrily playing Call the Midwife (our go-to-sleep program), and try to answer it. Not getting any joy from the tablet, I look at my phone, my honey sleeping peacefully… Somewhere in my sleep-muddled brain THE PACKAGE!!!! screamed at me. I dived out of bed (Okay. I turned over and fell out), remembered, in time thank goodness, I was only in my vest and knickers. Grabbing my trousers I tried hopping while pulling them on, fall back on my bed as quietly as I could so not to wake a slumbering Jesse. How he slept with my cursing, then screaming to a now banging front door ‘Hang onnnnn please’ while frantically pulling on said trousers I will never understand. As I open the door, there stands some guy looking bemused, a mango in his outstretched gloved hand. I can’t help but stare. Why is there a man at my door at this ungodly hour holding a mango? Now it’s all very nice, mind, but to me, on American hours, I’ve no clue what’s going on. Eyes filled with sleep I stand leaning against the door, all that’s keeping me up, eyes glued to this mango. He looks back at me, (The man, not the mango. I’ve no idea what sex the mango is BTW but I know it hasn’t got eyes, thank goodness. After he had gone and I looked in the mirror I’m not surprised by his bemused expression.) both now looking back at the proffered mango. He says ‘there’s a mango for yah!!!!!’ I blinked, looked up at him warily. ‘oooo-kay’ I say dubiously but thank him anyway, whoever he is.
It’s not every day a man stands at your door bearing mangoes, right? I go to shut the door, still looking at the mango (it is, BTW, a very nice mango.) I’m by now clutching, thinking Jesse is never going to believe this!!! when a voice behind the half closed door says ‘And here’s some strawberries for yah!’ I turn and, yes, there is a punnet of strawberries in his hand. I look up at him again thinking I’ve no clue what’s going on but I best humour him just in case. ‘Ohhhhh lovely, thank you’ I finally croak out. I go to get back in the door, by now bursting to visit the bathroom from the 2 litres of water I had drank the night before, mango in one hand, strawberries in the other… dazed, when, again, out of nowhere, the voice says ‘here’s some apples for yah’. So by now I’m seeing a pattern here but still have no idea what’s going on. I place the fruit I was holding on the bottom stair. He then hands me bananas, pears, blueberries and kiwis each time announcing each one like some kind of fruit butler, or I look that daft/stupid indeed both. He feels sorry for me because outward appearances indicate I’ve no clue what these things are. Mind you, the way I stared at the mango in the beginning, I can well see the confusion. ROFL. This goes on until I’ve a nice stash of fruit building up on the stair, some bottled water, muesli, coffee, cottage cheese and other bits, each item announced with ‘for yah’ by my very own Carson (Downtown Abbey ) in high Vis jacket and gloves. Finally he hands me a piece of paper with your Tesco delivery on it. By now I’m doing the pee dance, and he’s wanting to run and escape from this weird, wild, half-dressed woman holding her trousers up. So I thanked him and the last I saw of him he was making good his escape, running away from me, carrying boxes to get away quick. I go back in finally, scratching my head, confused, and then it dawns on me: Jesse’s last words before he slept were ‘you have a delivery coming later’. Suddenly it all made sense. I’m not going crazy. And strange men won’t be calling to deliver mangos at unearthly hours. When I related the whole story to Jesse later that morning he fell about laughing , once again though it showed how thoughtful my darling is. Everything was a favourite of mine, things that are healthy and which tempt me to eat. I have never experienced someone so sweet or thoughtful. I am indeed fortunate in my choice of mate. Thank you, Jesse. Whatever I did to deserve you I will never know, but I thank God for the night I met you. Without you, Beck and Catie, I would be lost.
My American Man In Purple Lace Corsets 