I awoke several times this morning, first time being approximately 7:15, after just over an hour’s sleep or something within that time frame anyhow. I was having some odd nightmare about a gunman trying to shoot me through my living-room window. I hid behind the door in the living room that leads out into the hallway of a house I’ve not lived in for some time now. (Lot of protection that would afford, being just hard-board. LOL.) He… (or in these days of pc- ness should I perhaps say ‘gun-person’!) Anyway they/he fired a volley of shots through the huge glass pane. It was very loud, in fact, more like explosions renting the air. From behind my hiding place I screamed “if you don’t stop I’m going to throw this cup of scalding water in your face.” (Cup of scalding water suddenly appears, as if by magic, in my left hand.) This in my dream is a perfectly logical solution of course. I mean what self respecting gun-person wouldn’t quake in their boots at a 5′ 2″ mad, screaming woman, bearing dainty China tea cups of hot water, right??? (It was a pretty cup though… fine bone China covered in sprigs of flowers with gold leaf edging, enough to scare off the most determined of attackers I can only imagine.) I don’t know if it worked or not as I woke myself up calling out at that moment. LOL But I’m still here to tell the tale so must have. So, yeah, I now know how to handle this situation anytime should it ever arise .

I thought I was awake for the morning after that. I text my therapist, like ya do. (Just to let her know our day this week was okay to be Thursday.) Don’t have a clue if the text was coherent or not. Come to that, I’m not even sure I know what I said… think it was in respect of our appointment hopefully? Also, I text several friends, too. If you are one of my friends, by the way, and you have some odd nonsensical text from me, it wasn’t my fault. Please forgive me. The gun-person made me do it. I’m so sorry! 😁 After waking up half of England, I think some of America too come to that, not just with my snoring, but with odd missives, I then, in my infinite wisdom, or sleep confused, who knows, put on Downtown Abbey, the really sad episode where the dog dies, and i promptly fell straight back into a deep sleep. After all, a girl needs her rest. I had rampant gun toting folks to slay…

Mostly, though, I was still tired from being awake the night before, binge-watching Knightfall on Flix of the Net box thingy, with my love, Jesse. We find a new series that appeals to us both, (not that difficult. We have much the same taste.) then that’s it… we just can’t rest till we have watched at least four episodes of our latest addiction. (We have even gained the art of syncing them up perfectly, so I watch mine on my tablet and listen to the sound from Jesse’s TV. (Yeah, your impressed, I know I can tell!) Last week it was Last Kingdom, full of swash-buckling Saxons and hunky Danes. Not a patch on my darling, mind, (Hmmm… he has that beard now, though. Wonder if I could get him to wear the leather garb and do the accent! Phoarrrrr! Stop it, Treez! Behave!) Just no man bun honey, pleaseeeeee!!!!!! (Shudder) Can’t wake up next to a man who needs help getting his hair back into its bun before leaving for the office, or having more scrunchies than I did at one point. (Remember those?) Plus longer hair….. I meander off topic once again. (Sighs. I wander more than those Danes did over England in truth.) Anyway, after Last Kingdom we found Knightfall. It’s not as action packed but okay, even if it is rather odd seeing Carson from Downtown Abbey out of his butler garb and being none other than The Pope!!!!! Kept waiting for him to say “you rang my lord”! Or Mrs Patmore to appear moaning at Daisy for letting the pies burn. Yes, I watch far to much TV, I know.

When I eventually woke up for around the fifth time that morning, it was far more successful. I even managed to get out of bed… my brain functioning on some kind of weird go-slow that even an icy shower couldn’t penetrate my sleep filled head. It worked enough to semi waken me. (The shower, by the way, is icy cold, due to the fact my son doesn’t only share the internet with the butcher’s shop below us (I’m reliably informed this is called piggy-backing. Hang on… who’s the piggy?) but we also share water. Many a time I can be heard doing a very good rendition of the Madame Butterfly opera, as the water changes from lukewarm to icicle forming in no time. I know cold showers are supposed to be good for you but, believe me… when it’s so cold you can’t catch your breath for around an hour after, this is not quite so amusing. (But I decided blue was quite me and maybe I would make a very good Smurf though just not wearing that blooming white dress or shoes. What I am sure of though, after all these months, is that those butchers wait till I get a lather on my hair, then run their taps. (On full! Lol)

After dressing in record time (Not easy while shivering), doing my hair and make up, I decided it being Monday an all that good stuff, and my having survived a night of gunfire and Artic showers, Carson as butler/Pope/person and tears from TV dogs dying , surely coffee was much needed, in fact, essential… crucial even. Not just any coffee, though; double-shot March Hare pumpkin spiced coffee. This stuff goes straight through to my brain, not passing go and collecting $200. (Monopoly term.) Normally I actually start to think with something resembling clarity. (Maybe that’s an exaggeration. Just almost normal anyhow.) But today my head was having none of it. My hard disk had a virus and my mind did that really annoying circling dots thing, (Erm, yes, that’s it… buffering!) and my mind hadn’t stopped bloody buffering all day. I can barely string together two words, let alone whole sentences. When I’ve tried it they come out full of typos and expletives. How I managed to go down there I’m not ever going to be sure, or even if, come to that, I was awake enough to walk there. I can vaguely remember it though. My legs just didn’t want to co-operate with my still buffering brain. I actually did talk to the staff while there at some point. Well, I think they actually just humoured the dribbling-me-staring-into-space wreck of me. (They are so kind there. They fetch me my coffee and sit back, with saddened sympathetic looks on their faces, as I gradually return to the land of the living. (Normally. LOL)

I left to come home and wrap my darling’s Christmas present up to send off to the USA. Who knew it had got so near?! Rushhhhh!!! Having my legs still not taking orders from my mind, I knew this was going to be yet another challenge. This proved to be right, as I staggered from my seat, nearly collapsing back down twice. I’m sure the girls there thought I had had far more than the pumpkin spiced skinny shot thing I had asked for. They watched on with looks of half amusement, half pity, as I staggered out the double Narnia-painted Christmas doors. I tell you, I was that befuddled. I even said goodbye to the snow queen mannequin as I walked by (Aka Delilah by me). She didn’t reply, thank goodness. When I got home I flopped on my bed, then made some attempt at playing a free game I have on my tablet. (Farmville 2 I think it is.) This just wasn’t working out… even that took too much concentration, so I decided to wrap Jesse’s present. Oh boy! Was THAT ever a mistake. The brown paper I was using ended up wrapped around the box six times, but still wasn’t enough. I used enough Scotch tape to keep all Scotland in work for the next century or three. It went round the parcel, round me, in my hair… I ended up stuck to the parcel. I lost the end of the tape so many times that when I had finished I cut the blooming thing up with scissors out of frustration. (That will teach it, stupid sticky tape stuff!) Talking of scissors, I lost those, too, in my useless attempt at gift wrapping. I then used my teeth (Like we all do to break tape, don’t we?) In fact plaaaa plaaaaa. Yup, that’s better… just got that piece out between my front teeth that had remained. I put my by now expertly wrapped present (ahem) into the trolley my love bought me, affectionately known to all as Dilly, and sighed with relief. I couldn’t afford the gift I wanted for the man of my dreams but what I had chosen was with love, plus had filled a good sized box 📦. And there, folks, was a whole other story for yet another day. Don’t ask. No… I mean it! Just don’t!! But it matches the rest of my day and that’s all I’m saying at this point (sighs).

Take care my lovelies. My brain is still, to this point, buffering, so if this makes any sense at all I’ll be amazed. (Let me know if you will.☺) Love you xx.

 

 

 

 

I woke with a start, just approximately four hours after finally drifting off to sleep. Blurry-eyed, aching head and wanting to chuck my tablet across the room as its alarm cheerfully announced morning!!!!! I had had a fitting breakfast of two plums and mayonnaise on toast at about 4am as one does. Well, I knew I wouldn’t get time this morning. We (myself and my love, Jesse) were watching Charite’ on the netbox thingy. (We do this by first trying to find something we both have. America and GB have different programmes. Who knew?) This is frustrating as there’s so much we would love to watch together. But once we have found that rare of finds, something we both like and in both netbox flixy thingys, we then do a countdown so the programme starts at the exact same time. We now are experts and have this down to a science. We watched two episodes, then switched to our old favourite Call the Midwife. This we fall asleep to most nights. Anyway, I don’t remember sleeping, but I presume I did at some point as that blooming alarm screamed at me. I looked across to Jesse still sound asleep. (Least that beeping overly cheerful thing hadn’t woke him.)

I gingerly put out one foot from my covers. (Arghhhhh! Cold floor! Cold floor!) Seriously, I put a bottle of peach water on the floor by my bed. It’s perfectly chilled, ready I drink. My body protests at the sudden chill and it’s all I can do to drag myself out of those finally warm covers to start my day, creeping slowly as the floorboards in this old house think they are a crusty old butler… have to announce my every move. But I manage to get to the door without too much noise and suffering too much hypothermia. I have a ten-thirty appointment with my therapist down at my local cafe, so I suppose I had better make myself look semi-human or represent one anyhow.

I manage to wash up without too much of a to-do. I look in the mirror and see myself… dark circles, red lines in my eyes, and some mayo in my hair. (Well, it’s supposed to be good for hair isn’t it?) After convincing myself that really is what I look like and someone’s not playing an evil prank on me each morning , I crawl back upstairs to do the best to cover up those dark circles. (Didn’t have much luck, by the way.) I did a rush makeup job as it had gone ten and I hate being late. I threw on clothes. They were slightly damp, no thanks to what’s laughingly called the washer/dryer. (It hates me. No, it really does!)

I already had the feeling from the dark appearance emanating from the windows that it was raining yet again, Lincolnshire being the rain capital of the world at the moment. I grabbed my brolly (umbrella) and rushed out into the cool November morn. For some unknown reason I was convinced it was Saturday. (Well, it looks and feels like a Saturday!) I don’t really know what a Saturday looks like but you get my meaning, right? If anyone does, by the way, photographs would be appreciated. My legs immediately protest at this early morning assault on their usual resting period. I try to walk with purpose to convince them and me we are okay or at least conscious. I near the first corner. Now take into account i’m only just out of bed and not sure that I’m even awake yet, but for someone still running sleep out my eyes, I stop at the corner to let traffic go. (This, I’m convinced, is a good idea if one doesn’t want to end up squished.) Just as I get to the corner, a white van decides the road is a dangerous place to drive and half on the pavement it takes off the complete corner. How or what moved me at that exact moment I will never know, but a millisecond later and I wouldn’t be cursing this stupid tablet for adding capital letters where I don’t want them. I saw life flash before my sleepy eyes, said a few expletives, shrugged and carried on to my cafe where I prayed they had my coffee. (And large vats of it.)

I walked through the doors, looked about myself, just hoping that all the cozy sofas were not taken. I will put up with a table, but I just love plopping down in my corner to slowly come too away from people who might want to talk. And having just done the walking thing, talking, hmmm… nah! It was too early. I sat leaving my brolly hooked on a highchair that sat beside me. I had been there ten minutes when Catie, my therapist, arrived. She looked far too bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, I decided, but greeted her with my best plastered on smile. She went straight up and got coffee. ( I think she took one look at my face and thought ‘Yup, coffee!!!!!!’. We talked about my week and decided, yes, I had indeed made it through another by the will of God, the fairies, ancestors and a bit of myself. It wasn’t easy, believe me. LOL But here we were. I sipped the hot caffeine-soaked brew, it slowly reaching my head and clearing away the endless cobwebs, cotton wool and left over Halloween stuff. We talked of my depression that hit hard this week, not helped by a few things that cropped up in the week or the fact this time last year, I was with Jesse and his dog Cumzi.

Yes, this time last year I was having a ball with my love… newly engaged and meeting his lovely family for Thanksgiving dinner. (My first ever.) All week I had struggled to keep going about my usual routine. I had sat outside the church a few times. I find some comfort in this but as I sat I realized just how isolated and alone I had become. I have Jesse, my daughter… but even so, they aren’t here or me there. These dark, dull days brought my mood low. I couldn’t help but compare it to last year, waking up in my darlings arms, visiting friends, family… a whole new life. The food! Ohhhhhh the food!!!! Aunt Jean and Jesse’s cousins do not scrimp on the food. Believe me, even for a foody such as myself, it’s more food than any soul can eat. (Although myself and Jesse do them justice.) The tables fairly groan under the weight and my eyes didn’t know where to look first. .After we sat, tummy extended, trousers straining, and not thinking we could eat another mouthful, Aunt Jean says “Pie anyone?” Okay, so it would be rude not to try, right? It’s custom, I’m sure, and you can’t break with tradition. I swallow my cold root beer in hopes that it might wash down the mix of turkey and delicious dinner rolls, stuffing and green bean casserole, but I ate the delicious sweet confection that is pecan pie. The whole family repair to the sofas where I sat in silent bemused awe as his family talked fondly of those that couldn’t be with them: Jesse’s mother, their dad, husband. For once I was quiet. Cousin Mike ( I hope you don’t mind me adopting you, Mike!) told tales that had us all enraptured, and we laughed till we cried. This dear, sweet family showed my something I had missed… longed for all my life. This was a real family.

They didn’t isolate one. They never picked on one (all I’ve ever known), they never left anyone out, including me. I was welcomed with such warmth, I truly felt at home, I truly belonged with them to them for that moment in time. I fell in love not only with Jesse but his entire family. So, yes, coming back to this year who can blame me for feeling homesick for my American family and friends. It’s been a God-awful week if I’m honest. As Jesse readies himself to join them I can’t help but wish I was there to share their festivities and joyful day, but here I was in cold wet England on a THURSDAY!!!! (not Saturday), drinking Americano coffee with a skinny vanilla shot, in a now Narnia-themed March Hare cafe. Talk about confused! Noise and excitement went on around me. Decorations, twinkling lights on the Christmas tree… but I wanted to be miles away. The strong double shot coffee did it’s trick though and Catie left me to have another, which I needed and, yes, by the time I drained my large mixing bowl sized cup I felt semi-awake and part human. I actually spoke to the staff. I peopled. (Get me, folks!)

I don’t miss Jesse any less. Christmas is going to be so damn hard on me. I’m hating the mere thought of it. I won’t to go to sleep and wake up when it’s over. But, this said, in the true spirit of Thanksgiving, I have to thank the heavens, God and anything you believe in for the night my sweet man came into my life, saved my life and brought a wealth of love and joy with him. He also gave me a family, a real family, so even though I can’t be with them I’m thankful they are in my life. I love you, Jesse Cole, more with each day. True only to you, my darling xx

I woke from a very restless nights sleep. (Not a good idea on my broken bed. LOL) The First thing I do is check out what’s happening in my world. My daughter texts daily and tells me she loves me. This I find such a comfort. Facebook world beckons and I comment on friends’ posts or do the like thing… you all know where it’s at. As I scroll through cute puppy, kitten and horse pictures, one picture breaks through my still sleep-numbed brain. It wakes me instantly. It breaks into my sleep-filled mind with a scream. It speaks to me in a way only someone whose been in a similar position would know.

There, in full colour, is a photo of another beautiful young lady, her face swollen, bruising already evident, her poor face slashed across, eyelids barely able to open. I can’t comment. There are no words I can offer up to comfort. This I see so many times now that I hate going on the page. It’s an abuse self-help page. These are people I know; brave, beautiful women/men whose only crime is to fall in love, to make that commitment with the wrong person. Each day there’s another photo, another person damaged both mentally and physically. Each day I find myself filled with sadness, anger, and grief. I know what you’re thinking. I hear it daily also. Why don’t these people walk away? Why do they go with men/women like this? Why not go get help? Yeah, it does sound easy doesn’t it? And you may think that’s what you would be doing in that situation. But that’s all very good in theory… trying to put that in practice is another matter altogether. There are refuges. There are places you can reach out to get help, phone numbers, etc.

But when your in amid this horror, you don’t know who to turn to safely, who you can reach out to, who of your friends, loved ones, will understand, even believe you. See, many of these abusers are the sweetest of people to the outside world. Their disguise practiced, their masks one of a loving partner. To everyone in their circle of friends the relationship is solid and loving. Even those close have no idea. And here’s the shocker: even the person being abused may not know! Yes, I know that’s hard to believe. I know I’m asking a lot of you, but in truth this is happening all around you, happening right now, to a good friend, a loved one, may be even, God forbid, a child in a relationship, your mother, father, as it happens to men too! It’s not selective.

How would you recognise it? I’m not sure because the person whose going through this also wears a mask of their own. One of shame, sadness, helplessness. Also protection… they want to protect you, ironically, from their horrors, their shame. They don’t want to involve those closest, in fear they won’t be believed, that deep down feeling of embarrassment, of letting this happen, firmly living in their own blame game. Did they deserve it? Is there something they could have done to avoid it? If they just stay quiet, not speak, not draw attention to themselves, do everything to please their partner, be that devoted loving spouse, everything will be okay, right? Truth is, this person is very alone in this because, try as you might, there’s no pleasing this abuser. If you hide in another room, they will seek you out. You can cook that perfect meal, have it on the table dead on time. You can wash their clothes, provide everything their heart desires, but they up their game to give reason for their next onslaught. If something goes wrong anywhere in their lives it’s your fault!!!! Bad day at work? Someone looked at them wrong? The shop was closed? The car wouldn’t start? In truth there doesn’t have to be a reason for the ire, no reason to have their temper released on you, for them to verbally, physically attack you. You’re just there… wrong place, right time. This is their right… you are theirs, theirs to use in any way seen fit. Some are not only verbally and/or physically used, but sexually abused. This, again, is hidden from the world. Maybe it’s so horrific to them they bury it someplace in their minds under the guise of ‘you cant refuse your husband/wife their sexual rights‘. How and whom do you ask ‘is this right?‘ No one talks about this stuff. Who do you ask as you hide from yet another verbal attack by curling into a ball, or your body invaded and you stare at cracks in the ceiling praying its over quickly so you can have your body back to wash away the hurt and shame?

I sit daily down in a cafe to get warm and drink my coffee. Each day I look among my fellow customers and ponder as they chat and go about their lives. I pray none of you know this fear, this horror. I hope as I get to see regular faces that they are indeed in wonderful marriages, with loving families, and never having to run out in the night with just what they can gather in quick time to escape debasement. I hope none of you ever hide the abuse from those who love you… never wear a mask to protect, then never have to try to justify why you walked away from what those same friends and families perceive as that perfect marriage. Right now, folks… right now sat next to you could be someone going through a living hell, too scared to speak out, waiting , watching their partner to see what mood they’re in tonight, listening for that key in the door, breath held. You may never know who they are but know they are screaming their pain in silence, all the while longing for someone, anyone to confide in, someone to reach out to. It’s all there to see. It’s all there behind that mask, in the face of that person with that same smile, laughing at some joke. If you look in their eyes you will read their dread, their fear. It is a well kept secret from the world but one that needs exposing, and more help and assistance given to those very brave survivors, because even those who are supposed to believe you – police, family, shelters – don’t always. It’s a very lonely journey to be on… very scary… and one most travel alone.

Well, after last Friday I never quite knew where this week was heading. The weekend was hard for us both. We still had to take in the Embassy news and adjust to the fact that we had to wait longer to be together… get through thanksgiving (last year being my first and such a wonderful occasion,this. Well, I’m still here, I suppose. Jesse, too. So that’s something to give thanks for.) But I turned to my friends for comfort like you do, and some were, in all fairness, sweet. Others had decided that, as we lost this round, maybe we should just give in and go our separate ways. (This cut me to the core as they hadn’t learnt by now just how I love, how much I love Jesse and how I could no sooner learn to fly or quit eating than walk away from my man.) I sat Sunday afternoon on a clear, crisp, sunny day outside a local church. Dazed by recent events, raw with hurt and confused by why people thought walking away would be so easy. Yes, I get that we met via Facebook… I get most don’t take these relationships seriously. It’s like some view it as a kind of petty infatuation that I’m going to have fun with and grow out of. We both have put ourselves through hell to get here… weathered life changing things, so, no, we are not going to give up… no, we can’t just walk away now.

I sat there a while regrouping, regaining lost energy. And then not only did anger kick in, but a renewed energy. I knew what I wanted. Whether it was the caffeine in the two large Americano coffees I had, anger or sheer bloody stubbornness… I don’t know and really do not care, but that night I spoke to Jesse and pathways cleared. I was sure of what I wanted, certain that nothing would get in my way now. Jesse is my pathway to happiness and now my back’s against that proverbial wall. I won’t give up on him or us. I sat with the sun breaking through the treetops, dappling it’s wintry rays on my face… closed my eyes for a moment and took in a deep breath. There was peace there a while. I could hear black birds singing, cars, people going about their day, Jesse pounding out drafted emails to clients. But despite the noise, a hush came over my stressed mind and I listened to me a while… to what my heart said I wanted.

This has been an odd week for me filled with cathartic rushes and dull rainy miserable winter days. But each day, no matter how low my mood sank, I got up and made my way down to the March Hare Cafe, sat in the warm hub bub of life listening to others in their normality, making Christmas plans, whose house they were eating at, hopes that aunt Ethel would cook the turkey properly. Someone’s sister would clean the house. Uncle whatsaface wouldn’t get drunk and show the family up to the in-laws (or is that outlaws? I can never be sure). But as I sipped my now new favourite drink, a large Americano with skinny almond and vanilla flavoured whatever it is, I looked about myself and thought ‘how wonderful it would be to be boring again’. Well, not boring, but normal, I guess… to go about life without a care, without wondering what the hell was going to hit you next. Decorations hang from light fittings, the tree sits in the corner twinkling away with every breeze from the ever opening door, and for the first year it means nothing. After last year’s sweetness spent with Jesse, our first tree, Cumzi the dog watching our companionable industrious goings-ons, laying in his arms, (Jesse’s not Cumzi’s)… it was all so perfect.

When I come back from the cafe, it’s straight back up here to my room. I perch very very delicately on my bed with a muttered hope and a prayer that it won’t make that dreaded sound; a cross between a loud bang and boinnnnng. This, ladies and gents, is, in itself, an art form. I’ve yet to manage this. I’ve never managed this. Each time I try and just think ‘Yeahhhh !!!! I’ve done it!’ the loud bang occurs. I sink into the slowly disappearing mattress that falls through the loosened bed slats. Jesse is left on my bedside table in phoneland, the phone either sliding down the side between the table and bed, dangling in mid air or just wondering where the hell I’ve gone as I sink further into oblivion. I try to pull myself out while Jesse is, by now, in fits of laughter. All he can see is flaying arms and legs in the air and the air blue with curse words. I do eventually right myself, like some upturned turtle, pulling myself out of my pit, then sitting about trying to repair the bed which requires much shuffling of wooden slats and shifting a heavy mattress. My back’s sore and I’m bruised but I’m getting quite good at gently perching my mattress over said slats without them moving again. This, I come to the conclusion, is solely to lull me into a false sense of security as the minute I sit on this bloody bed it boings, and I fall through again. Talking of which I had better set to and put it back together. It just went as I sat to writing this.

But despite the bed, people’s disparaging comments, the phone… oh, don’t get us started on how many times these phones have disconnected – those blooming pings and bloop bloop bloop before the calls dropped, sounds that fill me full of panic. It drives us both insane. Top that off with Jesse going in shops, putting me down in phoneland on the counters, paying, then walking out without me or said phone… me screaming out futily at his back as he walks away “Jesse! The phoneeeeeee!!!!!!” He, of course, can’t hear me without his earbuds. Oh yes, life is anything but dull in this wacky world of mine and my love’s. Whatever you’re doing folks, enjoy one another and most of all take care. xx

Yesterday was a huge day for myself and my man, Jess. It started some weeks ago, in a failed attempt to get me an interview at the American Embassy in London. (Long story, but I will give a brief history.) That attempt cost us both dearly; Jess monetary wise, me physically and mentally. See, I live in a small town in Lincolnshire, which is hours from London. It requires my poor son-in-law to drive for hours to get me from Essex where Jess had booked me into a hotel for the night with my daughter for company. He won’t have me be alone. He knows how my mind gets overwhelmed with thoughts. I start to panic and drive myself into an exhaustive state. (If you know someone with a mental illness, you will quite readily understand this. Jess knows it all too well now, so he arranges everything to the smallest detail. Nothing is left to chance (I love him greatly for this.) From Essex, my son-in-law and I took trains and undergrounds into the centre of London. This takes much walking and many flights of stairs. I have been sheltered in my room for a year now as you know from my story. I don’t go far to get exercise since Detroit, plus, since all this occurred, it’s flared up my HMS (hyper mobility syndrome) greatly.

I’m been in a lot of pain of over the last few months (doesn’t help I have a bad penchant for bread at the moment and I’m not supposed to eat wheat) but, my goodness, is bread good!… and such a comfort. Oh goodness, here I go wandering again. LOL Anyway, pain not withstanding, I’m also Agoraphobic, find peopling a mixture of fascinating and a trial. So, myself and Gary go through it all: trains, panic, people, me having a minor meltdown every other minute… I also made the mistake of buying new trainers (gym shoes). My feet were ripped to ribbons. My beloved is on the end of the phone going through all this with me, right there as strong and loving as always. I can’t imagine how this feels to watch and stand helplessly by, but he knows me well and a warm calm voice whispers often ‘I love you’.

These words are my balm, so necessary. It’s like he’s willing me on, taking each aching breath with me. I forget at times how hard this must be for him. (Sorry honey!) But when myself and my lovely son-in-law got there we were told we had the wrong papers for the interview. This bought my world crashing down around me at the time. I tried keeping a positive attitude and sound in my voice for both Jess and my fellow traveler, Gary. Inside my world’s crumbling. My heart sends a sudden pain through my chest. (Not sure if this is my angina or misery but right then I didn’t give a damn.) I didn’t care what happened to me, I just knew I wanted Jess more then than ever, those arms pulling me into his embrace, his voice healing my aches, my pain. It’s the most difficult thing I’ve had to do; be positive outside while my heart is crying out its hurt. Again while I sit on that train going home, slowly falling apart, a voice in my ear says ‘I love you, honey’. That’s all I needed right then. It’s all I ever need, more than food, more than anything, more than this next breath. He’s all there is.

Anyway, after that futile attempt, Jess was, unbeknownst to me, plotting with my Chook (my daughter Becky) and her hubby our next attack. This time he honed his plan, leaving nothing to chance. He arranged with Gary to drive up here from Essex again after work, stay in a hotel till 4am and meet me here, where a taxi from a local cab firm was to meet us both outside and drive us all the way from here to London. This at great expense to himself. Now take into account I know none of this (well, I didn’t until one of the cab drivers dropped Jess in it on a trip he also booked for me to go to a doctor appointment. LOL) I knew some of the plan after this, but not all. Poor Jess did go through it after I learned this. See, I won’t take anything off Jess, (His heart being his most valuable gift and I claim that unashamedly) but anything else, as his favourite saying goes, I will rip him a new butt for. (He uses other words but I’m being polite.) Jess and my daughter plotted this for weeks. I get told ‘it’s none of your business’ when I ask. (OK LOL I do give my guy such a hard time folks.) Anyway, the big day arrives. Friday morning is D day. Thursday night I didn’t sleep at all. I’m antsy, just can’t settle, so much relies on this, on me and my answers. I’m terrified. Will I mess this up? Will my answers ruin this? Will my fear of authority figures make me answer wrongly? Poor Jess had a blithering wreck the hours before. (Throughout that evening he tried his hardest to support me, folks. This is near-on impossible. When I come apart, gorilla glue wouldn’t keep me together.)

I watch the hours speed round to the time… the minutes, seconds… I hate each passing hour. We try to watch something on Netflix together. (We love this normally… brings us back to times sat on the sofa cuddling, watching TV.) This night I couldn’t concentrate. My whole body’s jumping out of its skin. My heart’s missing beats. For two weeks I’ve had the most terrible chest pain now. I clock watch constantly, almost a crazy fascination, like a bunny caught in the headlights. Then it is the time to get ready. I’m shaking. I can’t breath. Jess is still doing his best to hold me together. I cling to my phone where my love watches me intently, listening to the fear in my voice, watching me slowly fall into a desperate state of anxiety. I manage to wash, change, do my makeup. Goodness knows how! It was arranged for the cab firm to call me letting me know they’re out there for pick up. I change video chat onto my tablet from my phone. There’s no way I’m turning off chat when I need Jess the most. (Although at one point that evening I had suggested this when I was going through a moment of sheer panic. Jess is used to this and says a flat ‘Noooooo!’ ) Every little noise is making me jump out of my skin by now.

I’m snapping at poor Jess, I’m in such a state of nervousness and exhaustion. Gary comes to the flat just after 4am. as arranged. I did feel sorry for him. He must have been equally as tired, and there he is, having hours of dealing with his, by now, blubbering basket case of a mother-in-law. I swear, not only was I shaking head to toe, I was speaking Gaelic, Arabic, German, French gibberish… anything but making sense. It’s dark outside and I have to walk down a pitch black alleyway to unlock a gate to let him in. the path’s uneven and I pick my way nervously across, praying I won’t go flat on my face. Gary’s face is most welcome. It’s re-enforcement for, by now, an exhausted Jess. I swear, keeping me together takes super glue, the Navy, Air force and an entire Rugby team, but my hero, Jess, does this single-handed most days, bless his heart. When we get back upstairs we attempt to pass the time like the supposed civilised Brits we ain’t. LOL We make murmurs about the dreadful weather, the localised flooding, road closures, drive up here, anything but the ordeal ahead. I’m trying my best to look composed. I’m at least semi sane while inside I’m not so sure I’m even human anymore. Jess is fretting about the cab turning up in time. I’m just this mix of wanting to get it done and hoping a pestilence of frogs, geese, hippos falls and we can’t go. The phone screaming out (well, really just ringing) pierces the silence that’s fallen on the nervously anticipating room. I jump on it and answer. Not sure now what I said but that’s when I hear the lovely warm voice of Dave our driver to be from Tealby taxis. I instantly feel a little better. He has that lovely friendly Yorkshire accent. He’s chatty and I know he’s not going to be offended by my nervous chatter. (This is something I can’t halt.) I’m as ready as I’m ever going to be .

We have a lovely big minibus just for us. We introduce ourselves as we board our carriage in the cold dark early November morning. We instantly fall into a companionable chatter. I love this and start to feel better. Dave has a litany of stories and anecdotes that help keep me away from my own thoughts. I find myself taking to him and calming. We talk once again about the floods and how bad the roads are, fish and chips, childhoods, take-aways, our childhoods. I hear Jess’s soft breath in my ear telling me he’s fallen into an exhaustive sleep. (I tell you, when I’m in this anxious mess I would wear out the energizer bunny!) This lulls my own breathing. I feel okay as we drive away the miles, just wanting to get this over with now. The drive’s long and the nearer we get the more traffic builds. I’m worried we aren’t going to make it on time as you have to be there dead on your appointment. But our driver is confident and Jess has, as always, allowed for all eventualities. He’s planned this with every detail in place. He’s made sure of my every comfort, no expense spared. I feel bad about this but when the upset passes I realize just how fortunate in my choice of a mate I’ve been and how loved I am. This hits me square in the chest, the heart. How I love my man.

After one near miss by some idiot lorry driver and the traffic hold up we arrive in London at 9:30am. My appointment is ten. We are greeted by the sight of the armed guards outside the Embassy. I’m tempted to joke about the size of their weapons but their straight-faced appearance told me ‘that was not a good idea, Treez.’ LOL We queue with our fellow interviewees, all chatter nervously, most look at my bare arms in disbelief. (When I’m nervous I go two ways: either freezing cold or the sweat drips off me.) My body chooses the latter. When we have all had our documents checked, we are let in to go through the process of bag checking and the x-ray machine, arms in the air, and the thing beeps out its approval. I’m not dejected or is that rejected? Whatever… I pass. I’m okay. This is done. (By the way, I have to do this alone as you can’t take anyone in with you.) This, of course, adds to my state of apprehension, but by now I’m putting on my brave face and trying to joke with those in the lines. None were ready for my jocularity that time of the morning. (But this is my way of coping. This is the class joker that I am, but inside I’m a mess… I’m slowly going to pieces. My little world is ready to implode in on me.) I’m not brave, I’m alone doing this thing that decides mine and Jesse’s dream, our future. Don’t mind telling you I’m so bloody scared. It goes beyond scared, beyond terrified. Even when I got the news alone I had cancer doesn’t begin to match this. I can’t describe this terror that strikes at my heart., Jesse is there. His voice breaks through the dark, cold place I’m at. It reaches me like nothing can. There’s those words “you know I love you”. And I do. I know he’s going through this with me. He’s on the sidelines willing me on.

We stand in our lines, people from all around the world, joined in one common thing (that Holy Grail)… a visa, a golden ticket to our dreams. And my dream is to wake as soon as possible in my love’s arms, to have one of those hugs only he can do, to feel completed. I need Jess. We wait half hour in our queue nervously, until, at last, we are herded through. We are given a number. Mine: V119… a number I can’t forget. I’m told by a lady as she checks my papers (AGAIN!!!!!!) ‘Go left and left again’. We flock in our herd (safety in numbers) into the small box of an elevator. (Another of my phobias… one I struggle sorely with.) We reach first floor, our numbers checked and we are told where to go, quite literally. LOL I’m famous for having no sense of direction, so, of course, I get lost straight away. My feet hurt, my back hurts, I need the bathroom as I hadn’t been in eight hours, my knees swollen and all I want to do is sit down. I’ve been stood by now for an hour. But I go back to the lady at the desk. Again she explains to go round the corner. okaaaaay… you sure you don’t mean ’round the bend where I’m fast heading? I get to where I’m directed, finally see only four chairs and fifteen or so people. By now everything’s hurting. I’m overly tired, emotional and wanting to ugly cry, but for the sake of my fellow waiting folks I resist this. I lean against a pole and listen to the nervous chatter, stories of past horrors coming to the Embassy. I listen on in that scared, horrified way that we can’t avoid. I finally get seen in a type of triage. I nervously answer the question, about three in all. He takes the photos I had hated having done back in October. We joke about it. He’s a nice, friendly guy. I feel lulled into a false sense of security. And it’s not till I’ve walked away I realize he kept my passport and papers. Others have theirs, why don’t I have mine? So back I go to reception and ask about this to a very overworked guy being bombarded with questions. He reassures me that that can happen and to sit down and wait for my number to come up on the TV screen of which there’s several. Every second this continual ‘bing’ rings in the air. (Drove me to distraction. Not sure how the staff cope.) But as I sat I became more and more filled with trepidation, my nerves by now tattered. I hurt. I was scared. I wanted Jess there to hold my hand… his my strength, my heartbeat. He was there in phone land but I needed his warmth, his presence to sooth my ache. An hour passed slowly. Jess did all he could to keep me calm, but nothing could, not even my love’s voice. I wanted to break down, but I couldn’t. I had to hold it together that while longer.

Eventually my number appeared. My wait over. I won’t bore you any more, but in four simple quick cold questions, someone coldly sealed our fate. I was ready to fall there in a girly faint, I was so tired. I hadn’t been able to eat in hours, my body exhausted, the blow delivered in an inhumane, cold way in a standing position… no chair to catch me, not even a sorry you’ve not been successful, just “No! Read this piece of paper. It explains all”. Frankly, it does not, but I looked into the cold steeliness of the face in front of me thinking ‘you’re a woman, a fellow sister in life. Surely you can see you’ve just stopped my heart with those four quick questions’. No interview. In those four sentences my life was left in ruins . This blow I stood and took alone, like all important things that have rocked my world, as you have to turn off phones. I didn’t even have Jess to cushion the blow, the pain, this evil blackness that engulfed me, robbing my body of breath. I walked away slowly. My whole life I’ve been rejected because of one thing or another and here I was, again, in the rubbish heap of life, again facing rejection and again alone in a world. I suddenly felt freezing cold, my fleecy jacket didn’t protect the icy cold from eating into my soul. I sat on a bench alone, at that moment more alone than I had ever felt in my life, in a city huge and full of faces I didn’t know, my world coloured in a darkness, a blackness I couldn’t understand. Hadn’t I been told how kind people were, basically? Hadn’t I been lead to believe there’s good in all? So why this overwhelming feeling that no one wanted me? I was that broken item to be disregarded. I was held in a lifetime of not being good enough. I was so so scared that I would now lose the man I had waited a lifetime to find, hearing that soft calm voice, not even seeing him on the phone anymore. I won’t go into what crossed my mind for that fleeting of moments, but the pain was far too great to bear, and I had to travel miles in a cab with two people just hours ago I shared a journey with. I wanted out of this pain. I was desperate for a fleeting moment I am not ashamed to say. But I knew Jess would be waiting to hear the decision. He would be as nervous as myself. He would be there sat in his familiar office, the office I know so well. I needed to hear that voice. I needed him to keep me here, to anchor me to this earth that had threatened to cut me loose, but I was also fearing the worst… fearing this was one step to far for the man of my dreams, my life, the reason I do the mammoth things I do. I have no words to describe how I feel for Jess, but he’s the one person that can bring me back from the brink. He’s my warmth in this cold world, his arms my home, his love my nourishment. So I called to deliver my news. He fell silent, but I felt his sadness, his anger, hurt. I felt like I always did anytime anything affected his mood… like it’s my own feelings. We talked it over stiltedly, then he let Gary know where I was via text. I didn’t see Gary’s friendly smile or actually hear a word he said, but somehow we got into the cab and made the very very long drive home. I wanted to cry. I wanted to be in my cold, dark room suddenly. I wanted to just curl up and not wake again. But most of all I wanted Jess, and now… when would I ever see him? I was torn between the impossible and walking away from the man who filled my world with beauty… with a reason to be.

Now I wanted to be alone with Jess even just in phone land. I needed to see that warm smile, to be reassured, loved like only he knows how. For a time I was ready to give up. For a moment I felt selfish for wanting him to remain an ‘us’, a couple, my mate in life, my heart, but that was just that a second… a reactionary thought. I could not be without this man, my man, no sooner than I could halt the world from spinning. I may be selfish in my need of him, my greed of wanting him, but do you know what? This has only reaffirmed my resolve. I will hold my man one day. I will kiss that mouth that rocks my world. I will hear his heart beat under my ear as I sleep. I will love him like he’s never known because the thought of not is just too much for this woman to think about. I love the way you love me, Jesse Cole, and I love how you try to shield me even miles away. True to you, my love. True to no other. xx

 

 

It’s a simple title for what I’ve observed of late has given me a simple lesson. Every few days, as most know, I go sit down t my local cafe. It’s my little oasis of calm and gives time to escape my room, get warm and drink really good coffee. (Really is good coffee.) But, this aside, it brings me that perfect opportunity to do my other hobby (people watch). Since childhood I’ve always sat and took in my fellow passengers of life going about their daily lives.

This I didn’t do quite as seriously as I do now. Even up to a year ago I’d sit quietly watching people come and go. I enjoyed their interactions but mostly I would have the greatest time making up stories in my head about how I thought their lives went. This could have hilarious outcomes. I would see the most ordinary of couples and have them down as secretly living this parallel lifestyle. (Russian spies, undercover police, explorers, missionary workers or 70 year old phone sex workers.) LOL. Yes, you never knew, folks, why I’m sat smiling to myself while I’m sipping my large Americano.

But of late I have stopped this. Quietened the constant mind chatter, relaxed and really observed. I sit in my corner mainly alone, although of late I have had company; one, a therapy dog who took to getting up and coming over and laying at my side, the other, the sweetest little girl I’ve met in a long time who came over and showed me the game she was playing. I’m not sure how it worked but, hey, she was impressive, knocking out levels like a pro. I sat scratching my head and felt suddenly old. LOL. I get a lot from these brief moments of interaction with fellow customers. I’m told by my therapist and Jesse it’s good for me. I trust ’em. LOL. (sighs) I’m doing it again (digressing), but, yes, mostly I sit alone and today there wasn’t that many people there. But the ones that were, well, it saddened me. See, they sit and eat, drink, but never interact. Now I know you’re thinking to yourself ‘well, that’s what they’re there for! Maybe they don’t like each other, LOL, or just not want to talk… sit quietly‘.

But They are on their phones and just not talking. These are families, couples, friends, loved ones. If only they knew how I long to change places with them… what I wouldn’t give to be sat there with Jesse. Yes, he’s there in my phone and we chat, but if he was with me I would hold his hand and look in his eyes, chat like our days in Denny’s. I saw this while there, too… whole families at times sat texting or looking at something unmissable on their cell phone, not once looking at each other. Today there was a grandmother desperately trying to talk to her family. Instead she sat talking to herself. It reminded me of times with my mum and how very much I love and miss her despite things between us. There was also a mum and dad with kids, both on phones while the kids looked bored and restless, only taking their noses out of phoneland long enough to tell the kids to behave. Again the thought came: my kids are all grown up now. Oh what I wouldn’t give to have them that age, be going for picnics or out for the treat of tea and cake.

It’s here that we never realise just how quickly time passes us… how we take for granted time spent with our friends or families. Time for each other is our most precious of gifts. Giving of yourself to really not just listen but hear. I’m sure I’ve done this too at times. I’m sure I’ve only half cocked an ear or just murmured a response, but it is when I sit back and really see how we treat our oh so little time we have for ourselves and each other that I find we waste so many opportunities… to be together, to give that most wonderful gift: us and our time. xx

In an hours time, one year ago to the very day I was sitting aboard an aeroplane, my first ever flight, to see the man of my dreams for the very first time. I was more scared of the fact I was seeing Jess than the flight, which, if I’m truthful, had terrified me just weeks before. I could barely walk down the road alone and here I am, sat with my fellow passengers, crossing the sea, my thoughts never strayed from Jess not for one moment. Flight attendants busily saw to everyone, their confident cheerful smiles didn’t reach me. I was sat thinking of that night. Oh, I spoke to the crew politely and the couple excited about seeing their family… we shared stories and a mint or two. (My ears were tormenting the life out of me, so very painful with the pressure.)

Even the films playing on the tiny screens on the back of my neighbours seat didn’t distract my thoughts. I wondered ‘would he run screaming from the airport when he saw me?’ I had been, by now, traveling hours. I was tired but still those damn butterflies in my stomach did dogfights and aerobatics. I felt excited, sick… no, excited AND sick. In my head played scenes of how that first kiss would be, how his arms would feel about me. For goodness sakes, I was about to sleep with the man I had loved for months now and whose hand I hadn’t even touched.

That night turned out to be perfect. Jess and I had spoke at length of my nervousness around men. He was perfect, so gentle, so loving, and I could not have asked for anything more. As we lay in each other’s arms, time halted. Our hearts, bodies and souls spoke to wach other. We shut out a world that was harsh and not part of us. This man took me with him on a journey I can never forget. We became husband and wife in all but name. I was his forever that night, waves of love caressed skin that has never known a kind touch in its life. Soft words enveloped my once numb heart and it beat once more at the same pace as my love’s. They played love’s tune and we spoke the words, danced the dance only lovers know. It was a night such that if I live another thousand years I will never forget. It was one of many this beautiful man gifted from his heart to me.

Now a year on I lay in a cold, darkened room. He’s there as always in phonelandia, but I can’t hold him… can’t feel those lips caress mine. I can’t run my hand through his hair and he’s not here to wipe the endless silent tears I can’t control. They fall no matter how much I swipe them away. I can’t let this gentle soul see. I just want to lay and sob. I want to go out into the darkness and scream up into the sky. Why why why!!! What have I done to be punished so? Wasn’t 35 years enough punishment? Cancer… HMS… endless illnesses… I never questioned you, Lord, when you took my freedom for years. Good friends I never asked once ‘why me?’ when I lived in fear constantly. I took it as my lot. But all I want now is my last few years of happiness spent with my gorgeous man.

My heart hurts so. I can’t even begin to describe the pain I feel especially now, especially tonight. Excuse me if I write poorly and my eloquence lacks, but my eyes waver under the constant barrage of tears, and I can barely breathe with this pain. Nothing can touch my pain, not even the soft words spoken beside me. This, to me, is cruel and no one, I mean NO ONE should decide if two people should get to spend their lives together… only themselves. Tonight is the cruelest nightmare, for tonight I don’t get to sleep. Tonight I don’t get to wake up and find it was all a dream. Tonight I do not get to hold the man I love. I long to lay and sleep the endless sleep, but even that is denied me. But if it wasn’t I would never feel those arms holding me tight… wouldn’t feel home. I love you endlessly, Jesse Cole. True to none other xx

Back in February after the big Detroit debacle something kind of odd happened. I got home that day from the airport filthy and exhausted. I showered, had coffee and went straight to my room. Jesse was on the trail of a new client, with the aid of his faithful steed. (car Ruby.) This meant a three hour drive to Kentucky and back. We didn’t get to talk much that day, but that night, as always, Jesse and I sleep-videoed. In case this is new to you (as it was us once) I’ll tell you what happens…

We started way back by accident one night while talking on phone chat. I dozed off , just a few minutes. I nearly died with embarrassment. Jesse was a gentleman and never mentioned the fact I snored. Okay… he never let me live it down! But it was all done in fun. The following week while he was up all night working he did the same. I listened to his breathing and before I knew it I actually slept. (Now if you know me, you will know sleep was rare, filled with nightmares and very hard to come by… some nights as little as twenty minutes.) But here I was sleeping a sound, deep and dreamless sleep. Jesse woke up eventually horrified and embarrassed, but when I explained how well I slept this seemed to mollify and he actually took comfort in it .

This happened a few times and each time I slept deeply and felt relaxed. Nightmares happened but Jesse was there. His closeness, albeit via phone, was such a comfort to me. Soon we both discovered that neither of us liked to sleep without the other. It became our thing and I benefited no end from actually sleeping. Still, by this time, I hadn’t video chatted. Jesse wanted me to. He said this would bring us closer and we could see each other go about daily life. I was embarrassed. Visions of him taking off as fast as he and his phone could run when he saw me. He had photos but well this was different.

One day I made him a small video message and sent it to him as a surprise. Well, he phoned straight away telling me he loved it and would treasure it, so an hour later I sent him a request for video chat. I was shy and ill at ease in the very beginning, but then he turned to me, this huge boyish grin on his face and my heart, oh I swear, it stopped right there. I looked into those twinkling eyes and was forever lost. This man has a smile that can melt my heart clean away. From then on we chatted for hours, days at a time. I’d sit and keep him company while he worked… he would play music. So would I. I even watched the England football game that year via Jesse’s TV because it was not on here. (I’m watching England play via American television! Sounds absurd but, hey, it worked.)

We didn’t chat twenty-four / seven yet but almost folks. We rarely left each other’s sides unless one of the other had to go somewhere. This we did until I visited in October. We loved the bond it gave. If we had known where it would lead, don’t think either would have believed it, but then who thought two people would fall in love quite the way we did after just one night of chatting .

Anyway after Detroit it soon became evident I was suffering the worst case of PTSD. I didn’t see it but then I wouldn’t. Jesse and my therapist on the other hand saw it all too well. I was a constant worry to them. I had became very withdrawn, never left my bed, didn’t want to eat, had symptoms of anxiety and depression, etc. etc. It was then one day Jesse said if I have to stay on with you 24/7 I will. You WILL recover. I won’t leave your side. Since then this is exactly what we do. We eat, sleep, share all day every day together. Now this was okay but neither knew where this would lead. The first time we had to go off was because Jesse’s phone died on the way back from Kentucky. Well, his battery did anyhow. He had to hang up till it got some charge. That’s when it hit me… I began shaking, became distraught, couldn’t breath, couldn’t think straight. I lay and sobbed my heart out. It felt like I would never hear from him again.

That night the two hours he was off air was the longest of my life. By the time he rang, I was a mess. It was obvious I was suffering from separation anxiety. Jesse tried hard to not let this happen again. He hated seeing how upset I had become. There were short spells of dead air and each time I became more and more anxious. I even started at the thought of it going off air. There were times that Facebook went down or we heard those dreaded pinging sounds telling us it was losing connection. I would hold my breath till it passed or until Jesse called back.

One night we were both about to find out just how much this loss of connection was to cost us both. Again, coming home on a Tuesday night, Jesse’s phone just wouldn’t charge on the phone charger and we both sat knowing what was the inevitable. We didn’t mention it because he knew I was already upset and tried to hold off for as long as he could, but the phone went down to fifteen per cent and we knew it was just a matter of time, so Jesse opted to go and let it charge a while which meant going off for at least an hour. He told me he loved me, hated saying goodbye and would be back as soon as he could.

I sat on my bed and howled. Yes, I mean howled. I hated it. The panic set in at once. I laid down on my bed, took some sleeping tablets and hoped I could sleep the time away. No such bloody luck! I was wide awake, clock watching for my sweetheart. In the end I just lay staring into space, my body overcome with adrenaline. My phone, for some reason, turned itself off. And I missed Jesse’s calls an hour later. I thought he just didn’t want me to call him. I always think: ‘that’s it, he doesn’t want to call anymore’. I looked across for some reason, saw the phone dead , screen blank and hurriedly turned it back on. There I saw umpteen missed video chats, missed calls, messages so I quickly called back. When I got through, there was my man, but instead of the calm Jesse I know so well, he, too, was amid a massive panic attack. He shouted at me for the first time: “where were you? I’ve been going out of my mind!!!!” See, Jesse, I thought, had always been the strong one, but here he was breathing ragged, sweating, the stress written across his face and there I am trying to calm him down. We both suffer panic attacks and here was when it became useful as we got how the other felt at that precise moment. I knew I had to calm him down as he was driving, so we breathed together until we both calmed down. From then on we knew this was no longer just for me. I wasn’t the only one who needed the twenty-four hour video link. Now we both did.

To be continued xx

I hate Sundays. Always have since the moment I met Jesse. Rainy, cold Sundays are just not on my favourites list. See, since we have been together, anything that could go wrong always happened on Sundays. Our first time apart after meeting was after something happened on a Sunday. I try to keep a low profile these days, preferably under my mound of fleece blankets, in my darkened room normally with cake, sweets or some kind of treat.

Today is one of those days. I’m cold, very tired (Long night. Little sleep. When I did it was full of my usual nightmares or I woke myself up snoring. Anyone else ever do this?) I realised within the first hour, sleep was but a dream (excuse the pun). So I watched Netflix. Well kind of. I looked across at my love in his usual spot, his phone home. (Yes we are still on 24/7). This has become more crucial to us both. I think I may explain about this tomorrow. Anyway, I digress as usual. I often do. Poor Jesse has a hell of a time following my conversations.

But my darling’s asleep. Soft breaths and the odd uttered word fall from the lips I miss terribly and while he lays there unaware, I look at him. I can enjoy staring at the face I know so well. This keeps me sane.

For months now we have been apart which, in itself, I find a horrendous toll on my nerves. I’ve lost much of the confidence myself and Jesse worked so very hard for weeks… months to instill. And when you started from rock bottom, this i find very frustrating as I know Jesse does. I hate it for him more than myself.

But when you live in an aquarium (yes, I meant to write that. LOL) over the months we have been apart it has come to our attention, thanks to someone close, that everything I did and said was being relayed back to those who I’d rather it hadn’t. And I mean EVERYTHING. It got to the stage I swear people knew what I was doing before I had even thought it. No, this isn’t parawotsit (paranoia), this was actually happening. My life was an open book. Now that’s okay but I’m not getting any royalties! It got so that I didn’t know who I could and couldn’t talk to. Okay… I know I live in a small town and gossip is rife, but this got back before I even left the house.

I had enough demons to face on the streets and just walking out there, recovering from the whole episode at Detroit, became harder, not knowing who can I talk to, where could I turn in times of need. Oh yes, I had Jesse and my family, but even I, who really isn’t into peopling that often, knows I do need to share the odd ‘hello’ and maybe passing coffee. I’ve shut myself away further… withdrawn from society to the point I may go for a coffee once or twice a week. The rest of the time, well, that’s spent hidden from view thanks to those who have betrayed (and they know who they are) I’m slowly reverting back into the black world of Agoraphobia. I fight it. I push myself and my body to keep going out of love for Jesse, and dare I admit it… shear bloody stubbornness.

Sometimes I struggle not to give in, but I’ve worked so hard to gain the freedom from my past and the turmoil of my nerves. But this constant feeling of being watched over, my every thought, deed reported back, leaves one feeling that you cannot do something as simple as walk, breath, just sit outside a while with the sun upon your face. I must make a sad picture sat alone in the local cafe, slowing sipping my coffee and a bottle of posh pop. (These are my only luxuries.) I make it last for as long as I can until I have to go back to my room to hide. The staff are very good and don’t mind if I take up a sofa for that hour. They are used to me talking to the soft calming voice on the phone. They are aware that I use this time to relax as best I can and are all exceptionally kind to me. I love the fact I now have a usual. (LOL) It makes me feel noted, cared about, that at least THEY would miss me if I didn’t show. (Well, them and the local gossips.)

So, these are my thoughts on this cold ,wet and very depressing Sunday afternoon. I’m sorry it’s been a while but I needed the persuasive soft tones of my darling to start writing again. (I’m so lucky his encouragement in all things keeps me pushing my boundaries.) I thought about giving up for the longest time as I knew even this was over-viewed by those who delighted in spreading the goss. Hope they enjoy. For those who are genuinely interested in Jesse and myself, I Thank you for your support and love.

Till next time, much love. xx

Now first and foremost let me say as I write this, it’s not a search for sympathy. I’m not wanting anyone to feel sorry for me. (Lord knows I do enough of this myself) But today I was chatting through messenger to two amazing women, both going through a really rough time (to put it mildly), both just needing an outstretched hand… that kind word or two. I’m out of practice these days. In my past life I helped on an agoraphobia help group as admin… just being there for folks. I loved it. It gave me a sense of purpose and great satisfaction when my outstretched hand actually touched some one’s life, threw them that lifeline. (So here I am digressing again.) Anyway, I tried my best to find a word or two of comfort, but what struck me when I was done was this overwhelming sadness.

In with that was an anger mixed, and if you know me you know I have rejected anger over the years, choosing to let it go if someone upsets me. I try seeing it their way or what drove them to this, how they formed this conclusion, answer. This helps settle me. I cannot remember the last time I actually felt any real rage inside, that red mist, the need to scream or just throw something, but here I was with this rage building at the rate of knots deep inside. (Why you’re asking?)

Well before me were two of the most beautiful, vivacious, bright woman I know, both reaching out to someone who, let’s face it, isn’t much better off. But they needed someone, anyone… that voice in the dark, that hand to hold. And, knowing how that feels, how low you get to reach out to a stranger, sat behind a screen, I gave the only thing I could: my time. (So why so angry your thinking?) Well, because, as I say, both these ladies are, in my estimation, amazing, but life, people, and sheer exhaustion has bought them low. And all I could do is offer words. I’m angry because I can’t hold them. I can’t make it all okay. I can’t tell them ‘tomorrow it’s going to be fine‘.

So, I settle for words. I tell them I love them, and I do, as I never say these words without truly meaning them. But when I left I looked across at my baby picture cellotaped on the white door over from my bed… that same picture I stare at many times when I can’t sleep. And I long to hold this child, for this child was born to never know a kind word, never hear the words ‘I love you‘, never feel a loving hand or told ‘I’m proud of you‘. Instead she knew blows, taunts. She knew harsh words, lies and a lifetime of hell. (Now where you going with this you’re asking?)

Well I get so angry for myself and not just me, but hundreds like me. Because we don’t stay children. Each one of us, as children who have never known a kind word in our lives, grow up to become disjointed, disbelieving our own value, self worth. We grow thinking that we deserve nothing good, no one good in our lives.

There I lay in my dark bedroom, still in the jaws of my own depression, trying to reach out to these ladies, give them some comfort, tell them just how amazing they are. They are working so hard to survive, to find the strength to make it through that long long day. Both these ladies have been hurt, both have known exceptionally hard lives and I admire them greatly.

Then I realised: I’ve many such ladies in my life, my own daughter being one. She grew up knowing her mum loved her. I’ve always been so very proud of her, too, but she strove so hard to get both the men/fathers in her life to love her.

This effected her whole life. She grew up trying so hard to be what they wanted, trying to turn herself inside out to please. And along the way my sweet child lost part of her. (This saddens me deeply.) I’ve tried so often to impart the thing I’ve learnt over these months, each time I look across at my photo on that door. I long to take hold of that baby and say ‘Listen, honey… no matter what is told to you, no matter how many blows you take, how many cruel words, you’re okay. It’s never about you, it’s something lacking in them. You were born innocent and perfect, as we all are‘. What I think I’m saying is from birth some of us are set up to have these incredibly hard lives, whether it’s a bad childhood which, lets face it, then sets us up most times for low self esteem, or a lifetime of having no value in ourselves. We struggle to learn, to get on later in the workplace, then onto a marriage that, quite frankly, just makes things a whole lot worse.

What can we do about this? Well when someone reaches out, don’t just say the words you think they want to hear. Listen. I mean really HEAR each other, that sadness, that cry in the dark, that lonely voice begging to be heard. I spent 55 years of my life never knowing one moment of understanding, tenderness… never knowing the feel of an outstretched hand, one that wouldn’t let me go when things got tough. The first time I knew any gentleness, a soft voice, was when I woke in the middle of the night on our first night together to feel Jesse brush back my hair from my forehead. I saw gentle eyes look into mine. Before this, all I knew was the harshness of words, how they kept you low to control, to abuse… my body either used or treated as a slave.

There are many of us out there right now knowing so little of how to escape our situations. No support… never knowing where to turn or how to in times of crisis, or just for advice. Some just need to talk. Some just need told ‘this isn’t your fault, you were and are perfect… you are amazing human beings‘. My daughter, whether she knows this or not, is one of them, and to me she’s one of the most beautiful things I ever produced in my life, as are my sons. I know I’m rambling here but please reach out to each other. Share a little of your time. Your words could do what two people’s kindness did for me: allowed me escape a private hell.

Just spare a thought for someone tonight sat alone and scared. Call. Get in touch. I know it’s tiring, but give them that hand to hold. Be that soft voice for a short while. It really does make all the difference. I’ve now a man in my life who has to reassure a million times a day at times, but this he does with love and understanding. He reminds me he’s there and loves me through so very much, for which I never thank him enough. He’s my love, my hero, and I will never forget the night a soft hand touched me just to impart love for that very first time. It will stay with me for the rest of my life, even if I never feel this again. Please… for those of you lost in your own private hells right now, reach out to someone… anyone. Please… if not for you then for those that love you, stay strong.